Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 14
Since the opportunity arose, Vi grasped her father’s hand with her free one and gently squeezed.
“Viola? Is that you?” her father mumbled. His head lolled to the side and his eyes parted slightly.
Vi pulled her hand from Lady Darlingiver’s clammy clutch and stroked the side of her father’s face. “I’m here, father.”
“You came?” A hint of surprise could be heard in his voice. “You finally came to London.” His eyes sprang open and he pushed the cloth that covered him away.
“No, Lippy. I brought you to Foldger’s Hall.” The dowager moved in closer.
Her father pushed himself into a sitting position. “Will you both give me a bit of air? It is quite stuffy in here without the pair of you leaning over me as if I am on my death bed.”
Both women sat back in their seats to give him room. Viola feared another fainting spell.
“Why are you both staring at me thus?”
“What happened last night?” Viola asked. Concern laced her voice.
Lord Liperton looked about the room, but focused on nothing. “Ummm, well . . .”
“You were at the Everheart’s ball,” Viola prompted.
“Oh, the last I remember Lord Hucklestone was droning on and on about—”
“Go on. Tell her what the gossip rags are saying.” It was Lady Darlingiver’s turn to prod her father on.
Her father captured her gaze and refused to let her look away. A new sadness filled his eyes. “All of London knows, Viola. All we have done to hide your activities the last several years was for naught.”
A chill crept down Viola’s spine. He could not mean what she thought he meant. Her activities over the last several years . . . All of London knows . . . for naught. The words flew through her mind. For a moment, it seemed as though she was in danger of fainting.
“It is true,” Lady Darlingiver said. “They know your father funded Foldger’s Foals and that you have been running the ranch since your exile from society.”
Her mouth gaping, she turned to her father. “Is this true?”
“I am afraid so.”
“But it is much worse than that. The gossipmongers have moved on to your father now.”
“What negative thing can they possibly say about my father? He is a pillar of London society.” Vi’s outrage overtook her and she stood from her seat. “What do they say?”
“Dear, that is not impor—”
“It most certainly is important,” the dowager spoke up. “They say your father should have hired you out as a governess.”
“Evienne.” The warning in her father’s voice was something Vi hadn’t heard since she was a young child caught stealing the pies cooling in the kitchen.
“It is only fair the child knows what is being said about her—and you as well,” she countered. “They say you are unfit to be a governess due to the likelihood that your charges would fall in love with you. They fear an epidemic of deaths in local school rooms.”
“That was unnecessary.” Her father’s sallow skin turned a deep crimson.
“Well, that is what they wrote. I believe the article was even accompanied by a sketch—”
“Leave us!” Lord Liperton shouted, turning from his long-time love.
She huffed and hefted herself from her seat. “I will see to your supper.”
The door closed more loudly than necessary, belying the woman’s ire.
“Who have you confided in, Viola?” he asked. “Have you corresponded with anyone from London? An old friend, perhaps?”
Viola shook her head in denial. “No, I promised I would not seek out anyone from my previous life. I have not even left the property in over five years.” The thought of her father being ridiculed for her bad behavior wounded her heart.
“I hired Miss Ruby as your companion and you agreed—”
“I told you I have not contacted anyone. No letters . . .” Her voice faltered at the mention of letters. She’d received correspondence from London—but it was impossible that Brock knew her true identity.
“Viola?” he asked.
“It is just . . . I had an unexpected client a few weeks ago.” She agonized over how much to disclose. Surely, she would not discuss their kiss . . . or the many hours she’d spent daydreaming about that kiss; the feel of his arms as Brock held her.
No, that moment she would keep private. She was resigned to the reality that she may never share a heated moment with any other man.
His gaze penetrated Vi’s. “Who came here?” he asked.
If she told him the truth, would he be able to help her?
“I cannot assist you, child, if I am unaware of the full potential for damage.” Her father’s encouraging words shored up her courage to speak.
“Lord Haversham—”
“The Lord Haversham? Viola!” her father’s voice thundered.
The door to the room opened and Smith poked his head in. “Are you in need of something, my lord?”
“I am not! My daughter, on the other hand, is in need of some common sense.”
Vi turned pleading eyes on the butler, urging him to depart and forget her father’s cruel words.
With a small nod, Smith retreated from the room.
“He recognized you, and now he seeks to ruin our family more than you already have.”
“But he did not recognize me—”
He held up his hand. “I assure you, no man can forget the woman responsible for his brothers’ deaths.”
Chapter 18
Viola sat to her father’s right as he ate his supper of cold quail and cheese. Her father and Lady Darlingiver had refused to make eye contact with her since the meal began, opting for benign conversation regarding the weather and the dowager’s son, who had recently purchased an estate not far away. The praise the current Lord Darlingiver received made him sound the epitome of London’s haut ton.
Vi continued to push the food around on her plate and awaited the opportunity to excuse herself. Why she worried about her manners now, she could not say.
The clink of Lady Darlingiver’s fork brought Vi’s head up. “What are we to do now?” she asked. “Lippy, she cannot hide away here in the country any longer.”
“I agree, my love.” Her father also set down his fork.
Her opportunity to slip from the room disappeared. Vi couldn’t help but wonder if the dowager was indeed worried about her, or of her own reputation.
“I plan to remain here and continue as I have.”
“That is not possible, Viola,” Lord Liperton said. “It is time you confront your past head on. If you have changed, society will see that—”
“What do you mean, ‘if I have changed’?” Did he have so little faith in her? It was as if he hadn’t seen her since her debut and subsequent disgrace from society. Had he not witnessed, firsthand, her transformation?
Her father continued without even a pause. “I am selling Foldger’s Foals, and you will attend me in London. I do not believe a match is out of the question, but you must be seen to garner an offer.”
“But, Father—”
Her father raised his hand to silence her protests. “My mind is made up, and I fear there is little you can say or do to change my plans.” He retrieved his fork and stabbed a piece of meat on his plate. “And if you fight me on this matter, I will be forced to remove Miss Ruby as your companion and you will be alone.”
“Going to London is out of the question—and marriage? You know I have no plans to marry. I will stay on here with Ruby. We will find things to occupy our time.” Vi was certain she would go stark raving mad within a fortnight of inactivity, but that was not something she’d share with either her father or his companion.
“Now is not the time to disagree with your father. He knows what is best for you and this family,” Lady Darlingiver chastised her.
The woman always managed to make Vi feel like a child—and in this case, a spoiled child. “May I be excused?” Social graces be damned. If she didn’t depart the room soon she was likely to show the woman just how childish she could act.
“Certainly. Please ready yourself and Miss Ruby for our departure to London.” The finality of his word caused dread to course through her.
Her years of running from her past were at an end. Her chair glided out from beneath her as she stood and made her way to the door.
“Viola?” her father called.
“Yes,” she answered without looking back, fighting tears.
“Things always appear much worse than they actually are.”
The words, meant to soothe her nerves, only added to her fear of what was to come. “They also say that things tend to worsen before they improve.” With her head held high and her back straight, Vi quit the room.
Vi needed fresh air—the wind against her face. And she knew exactly where to go.
Brock had ridden hard and fast, at a loss for where to go or what he was even expecting to find. The directions on the back of the business card had been a bust. The caretaker had said Mr. Cale had departed earlier the same day for whereabouts unknown.
Brock had been reeling ever since. The thought of ignoring the cad’s deception, acting as if he didn’t know, had appealed to him at first. It was none of his affair, anyways. But as a man, Brock could not stand back and let another person lie, manipulate, and crush the future of another—especially a woman.
Every lead he’d followed, thus far, had been a dead end. Earlier in the evening, he’d heard talk of a new foal ranch somewhere in the vicinity of Winchester. Again, he’d departed London without a word, no exact destination, but hoping to find something, anything to put his conscience at rest.
He pushed Sage mercifully through the early night rains, both soaked to the skin and the fear of sickness a great concern. He’d stopped at several taverns and inns along the way, hoping against hope that the proprietor within could help him.
Alas, there had been no information to be had.
Brock didn’t know how long he could continue or if Sage would make it to the next inn.
He squinted through the downpour, forcing his sleep-heavy eyes to focus on the rutted path ahead.
Above the sound of the wind Brock heard the neighing of an animal in distress. He pulled up on Sage’s reins, slowing his horse as the sound of hooves rent the night air.
A violent cry echoed across the vast fields, ever closer to him, sending a chill down his spine. Sage stiffened beneath him, as though the cold continued to pass through the animal to seek purchase in the solid earth below.
Brock searched the pitch-dark night for the cause of the disturbing sounds, fatigue falling away as his heartbeat increased.
With mud flying, a mare appeared. As fast as it came into focus it continued past him and into the darkness, its ride holding strong to the reins.
From the length of the hooded riding cloak, Brock suspected the rider female.
What was the woman, let along anyone, doing riding in this storm?
Without another thought, he pushed Sage into action, swinging around in the direction of the fleeing horse and rider. He may not be able to help Lady Viola this night, but another damsel was in distress—and likely more fitting of his assistance.
The rain hit him squarely in the face as he chased the pair. He longed to clear the water from his eyes but feared releasing his grasp on the reins.
Brock spurned Sage faster as he gained on the runaway horse.
The woman, hood still covering her head, held her face close to her horse’s neck, her feet still secure in her stirrups.
Sage finally came abreast of the other horse and Brock reached for the reins to slow the animal. “Grab the saddle,” he called to the rider.
For a split second he panicked, as the rider did not release her ironclad hold and her horse turned, teeth showing in a snarl, bit at his outstretched hand. His fear subsided quickly as she released the reins and Brock pulled both horses to a skidding halt.
He vaulted from Sage to calm the still-terrified mare before turning his attention to her rider.
“Can I help you down?” Brock asked, continuing to stroke the animal’s neck.
The woman lifted her head, her drenched cloak hood hiding her face.
“Come.” He moved to her side and grasped the woman around the waist, lifting her from the saddle and setting her on the wet, muddy ground. “Are you hurt?”
“Thank you.” Her shaking hands reached up and pushed her hood back. “No, my horse became startled is all.”
And Brock stared into the crystal-blue eyes of the very women who had him gallivanting about the countryside.
“Lord Haversham—” she stuttered.
“What are you doing out at this time of night?” he said at the same moment.
“I was returning to my home when the storm hit.” She stepped back and his hands fell from her narrow waist to rest at his sides.
“Your home?” The rain continued to pound the earth as Brock looked around, taking in his surroundings. They stood not far from the lane that led to Foldger’s Foals. How he’d ended up here, he hadn’t a clue. He’d ridden for hours, stopping at more inns and taverns then he could remember, but he hadn’t expected his search for information to lead him here . . . with her.
The panic in her eyes matched that of her mare, and for a brief moment Brock wondered if she knew he’d figured out her deception. If the time had come for them to face their past.
The dark and dankness, with the rain’s relentless beating, was the perfect backdrop for the ending of their sordid, painful relationship. He almost laughed at the absurdity of the thought. They shared no relationship, he and this temptress. No, she’d forced herself into his life. Placed herself conveniently in his path.
“I really must be returning.” Lady Viola grabbed the reins from his hand and made to re-mount her horse. “My father will be worried.”
Brock couldn’t be sure but her voice faltered. He looked closer.
Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose ran, and her hair hung haphazardly about her shoulders. Never had he seen her anything but completely together and in control of her person. Even during their brief kiss in the pasture, she’d kept herself at a distance, never fully leaning against him.
“Whatever is the matter?” he heard himself ask, almost against his will.
Her shoulders seemed weighed down under her cloak. She smoothed her hair with her free hand. “Truly, I must return before they send someone to look for me.” Her eyes pleaded with him to let her go, not to ask any further questions, and possibly forget their meeting entirely.
In that moment, he forgot who he was . . . and the terrible things she’d done. Before him stood a woman in all her honesty and raw self. She wore a cloak but was not hidden from his eye.
She was broken.
She was hurt.
She was forsaken.
A shell of the girl she must have been when she’d been in London all those years ago.
And Brock wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and make everything right for her—for them. To wash away the sins of her past as the rain washed away the dirt that clung to them both. To distance her from her sorrows and burdens. To bring the winds of change to both their lives.
“Please . . .” She pulled away and turned to her horse.
Brock let her go.
He watched her only long enough to see that she made her way down the lane safely before reclaiming his seat atop Sage.
And with that, the ocean between them returned.
She was not Lady Posey Hale, he reminded himself. She was no victim. She was Lady Viola Oberbrook—the girl who had caused his life to crumble around him. The girl who had taken everything.
And he was the man destined to make her pay for her sins.
Chapter 19
“I do apologize, my lord, but I am unfamiliar with any horse business other than Tattersalls.” Lord Galles turned his nose up at Brock’s mention of the working class.
“Thank you for your time.”
“Certainly. Do you plan to attend the musicale and poetry reading Lady Galles and Lady Sophia are hosting this afternoon?” he asked, perched high on his horse. His boots gleamed in the late morning sun.
Matchmaking fathers were almost as tiresome as the marriage-hungry mothers. “I do believe that I responded and included a guest. An afternoon surrounded by classic music and the latest poetry sounds divine.” Sage shifted under his weight. Brock wondered if Galles caught the sarcasm in his voice.
“A guest, you say?” The lord visibly squirmed in his saddle.
Brock was torn between letting the man think he intended to attend with another woman on his arm—possibly a mistress, which would be highly inappropriate—or informing the lord that his guest happened to be his best friend, Harold. Better to let the man sweat a bit. He had probably overstepped his bounds and promised an introduction to his most-likely pale and fragile daughter. Ignoring his question, Brock continued. “I look forward to meeting Lady Galles. Her reputation as a hostess of the first water is legend in London.” He bowed his head and moved Sage further down the lane into Hyde Park.
The white lie had rolled easily from him, when in truth he had never heard of Lord and Lady Galles before receiving their invitation two nights prior. Their affirmative response was solely due to the high likelihood that sherry would be served as the afternoon refreshment. Harold did not miss an opportunity to drink the vile watered-down stuff in socially acceptable place.
Brock had come to Hyde Park not to frolic with the haut ton, but to view the place where his brothers had lost their lives. A weakness toward Lady Viola had been worming its way inside over the last few days, particularly after their unexpected meeting in the rain two days prior. He could not take the chance of missing the opportunity to avenge his family for the wrongs this woman had done.
He hoped that visiting this site, though painful, would renew his sense of purpose.
The milling crowd slowly began to dissipate as he moved deeper into the park. Women no longer walked on the arms of their beaus with a maid close behind; men no longer rode the finest stock money could buy in hopes of attracting the eye of a certain female; vendors could no longer be heard hocking their wares. As the area fell into silence, he could not help thinking that this was what his brothers must have heard: Utter tranquility. But no, that would not be right. They had attended in anticipation of pointing a gun at each other. Had they thought it was a lark? That someone would intervene before it was too late?
