CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I was perched on the bench, dabbing my pinky fingers into each of the two tinctures and touching them to my tongue to try to decipher any difference in taste, when Gage entered the room through the connecting door to his chamber.

“What the devil are you doing?!”

I startled as he strode closer to stand over me. His eyes flicked furiously over the contents of the dressing table.

“Testing the tinctures.”

“Are you mad?” he demanded, reaching for the ewer of water and a clean glass. “It could be poisoned. Wait.” He halted abruptly in pouring the water, making it slosh onto the floor. “Tinctures?” He emphasized the plural.

“Yes,” I replied calmly. “Miss Galloway gave me a bottle of tincture she claimed was prepared from the same batch as the bottle we found in Alfred’s room so that I could compare them.”

“And you decided to drink them?” He thrust the glass of water into my hands.

“No! I was merely tasting them. And I already have a glass of water. How do you think I’ve been cleansing my palate?”

“Kiera, they could be poisoned!” He pushed the glass toward my lips. “Drink that.”

I scowled, but obliged, restraining myself from pointing out that drinking the water would force more of the tincture down into my stomach. “I highly doubt it,” I said when his hand moved away. “Besides, even if they were, drinking nearly an entire bottle didn’t kill Alfred. So there’s little chance a few small tastes is going to harm me.”

“Maybe not. But it might harm . . .” He stopped himself before he said the words, his eyes dipping to my abdomen and then back to my face.

My face flushed with warmth at the implication and I couldn’t stop myself from pressing a hand to my flat stomach. I wasn’t yet expecting. Or, at least, I didn’t think I was. It was too early to tell if any of our most recent efforts had yielded results. But there was the possibility. And I hadn’t even considered the effect my examination of the tinctures might have on him or her.

That thought made me go cold. Possibly days into motherhood and I might already be doing an abominable job. Considering all the uncertainties I’d been wrestling with recently, this was not a welcome revelation.

I set the glass of water carefully on the table, trying to calm my suddenly swirling stomach. Courtesy of my anxieties or the tinctures?

“Well, I haven’t noted anything suspicious that might lead me to believe these contain poison.” I spoke evenly, trying to use reason to allay my own concerns as much as Gage’s. “I compared their appearance, their texture, their scent, and . . . and even their taste. In addition to the gin the ingredients are dissolved in, I was able to distinguish all the herbs Miss Galloway mentioned, as well as a few more. As far as I can tell, there is nothing to cause alarm.”

Gage rested a hand on my shoulder in comfort, sensing my distress despite my attempt to hide it. Following my gaze, he read over the list of suspected ingredients I’d noted on the paper before me. “What did Miss Galloway say the tincture was used for?” His voice was still edged with tension, but kinder than it had been moments before.

“Stomach ailments.”

His eyes dipped to my face, not missing the irony of dosing such a substance with poison. “Did she know why Alfred needed it?”

“No. At least, she didn’t share the specifics. Though she did mention she sells this particular treatment to the villagers. Says she makes a new batch every few weeks.”

He cupped my elbow, helping me to my feet, and guided me toward the bed. I perched on the edge while he moved about the room, checking the locks on the windows.

“What else did Miss Galloway have to say?” He glanced back at me over his shoulder. “You were in her cottage longer than I expected.”

“Preparing to storm the castle, were you?” I quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

“Actually, yes.”

His reply made my tentative smile vanish.

“And Rory didn’t help matters. Toward the end, I practically had to restrain him.”

“He truly believes she means us harm?”

“He does.”

The last set of drapes closed with a snap, but when he failed to join me on the bed, I looked up from where I’d been worrying my hands in my lap to find him studying me.

“But what do you think?”

I paused to sort through my impressions of her before I spoke, waiting on Gage to sit by my side. The silk of his dressing gown brushed against the cotton of my nightdress.

“I rather liked her. She’s not responsible for the hand she’s been dealt, and yet, I think she’s made the best of it she can.”

“She could have let her father arrange a marriage for her.”

“And be made to feel grateful her entire life that her husband condescended to take her as his wife?” I shook my head.

“They don’t all turn out that way,” he reminded me quietly.

“And some of them end up quite worse.” I stared up at him through my lashes, reminding him how I felt about arranged marriages. After all, my first marriage had been arranged, and had turned out to be the worst mistake of my life. “Regardless, you cannot blame her for wanting to retain control of her own fate.” I propped my foot up against the mattress, clasping my hands around my bent knee as I considered my observations of Miss Galloway. “She’s intelligent and capable. She doesn’t seem to tolerate nonsense, and yet she’s not without empathy, even for the likes of Alfred.”

Gage laid back, turning to his side to face me, and propped his head on his hand. “What do you mean?”

I reclined beside him, staring up at the bed curtains. “From the little she said, I could tell she was better acquainted with him than I’d expected. I think they were friends, of a sort. If not something more.” I turned my head to look at my husband. “He seemed to confide in her.”

His pale blue eyes glistened with interest. “About?”

“His life here at Langstone. His perception that no one truly cared for him.”

Gage’s eyebrows shot skyward briefly before furrowing in a frown. “If so, it’s his own fault.”

Amusement curled my lips. “Oh, she was well aware of that. And I’ve no doubt she pointed that out to him.”

His eyes trailed over my features as he mulled over what I’d said. “You think there might have been something between them?”

I shrugged. “Stranger matches have been made.”

His face softened at my obvious reference to our own union, and he reached out to roll me onto my side closer to him. His fingers lifted to toy with the end of my braid. It was only a matter of time before he removed the ribbon and destroyed all of Bree’s efforts to keep my hair tame. “If that’s true, do you think she would have helped him? Either to hide or escape, if the situation merited it?”

I chewed on my lip in contemplation, not failing to note how Gage’s eyes became riveted to my mouth. “If the motive was solely to escape your grandfather’s wrath, then no. But . . . if the reason was good enough, perhaps if he was in danger, then yes.” It was my turn to scrutinize him. “What are you thinking?”

He frowned. “Nothing as of yet. I’m just . . . curious.”

I raised my eyebrows, hoping he intended to elaborate.

“Do you remember the bouquet we found in Alfred’s room?”

“The herb bennet? Miss Galloway claimed it’s for protection.”

“She admitted to giving it to him?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting,” he murmured as his gaze drifted to my right ear.

When he didn’t explain, I prodded him. “Why? Is it not true?”

“No. She’s right. It’s traditionally used for protection. What I find interesting is that it’s often used for a specific type of protection.” He settled in closer, as if imparting a secret. “Herb bennet has religious associations, namely that it can ward off the devil and evil spirits, in particular the venom of any beast. This is because St. Benedict, for whom the plant is named, was once given a cup of poisoned wine. But when the saint blessed it, the glass shattered and a demon emerged, exposing the giver’s evil intentions.”

My eyes widened. “How did you find this out?”

“I had a few extra minutes to spare this afternoon, so I looked it up in the library.”

I pressed a hand to the warm skin revealed by the gap in his dressing gown. “Well, then, if that’s true, it would hardly make sense for Miss Galloway to have given Alfred a plant to protect him from poison if she intended to dose him herself.”

Gage nodded, gripping my hand to quell my excitement. “But that also means she may have suspected he was being poisoned by someone else.”

I subsided deeper into the bedding, recalling something else she’d told me. “She might be concerned for us as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before I left, she . . . she told me not to remove my mother’s pendant.” I reached up to feel its solid weight hidden beneath my nightdress. “And she told me to keep the bottle of tincture because I might have need of it.”

His eyes flashed. “Was she trying to frighten you?”

“No, I don’t think so. She seemed genuinely concerned. The same as she looked when we discussed Alfred.” I hesitated, suspecting he wasn’t going to like what I had to say next even more. “She warned me there’s a shadow over this house. And suggested Alfred isn’t the first person to disappear from Langstone Manor.”

But contrary to my expectations, Gage didn’t even recoil from the possibility. In fact, he looked pensive.

“You’re not surprised,” I remarked in astonishment.

“There are . . . rumors. I heard them when I was young. About some ancestor before my grandfather’s time. Someone who went walking on the moors and never returned.”

“So you don’t know if it’s true?”

He shook his head.

Had Lorna merely been repeating popular lore, or did she know something? Something maybe Alfred uncovered?

“Would your grandfather?” I asked, pressing the tips of my fingers against his skin to recall his attention.

“Maybe.” He grimaced. “But will he share it?”

“Perhaps I should press Miss Galloway for more information.”

His eyes searched mine, understanding what I was really asking. He exhaled, as if answering against his better judgment, and touched his forehead to mine. “Yes, perhaps you should.”

I moved my head back so that I could see him better, surprised he hadn’t objected to my suggestion I revisit Miss Galloway. “Truly?”

His lips tightened in irritation. “I feel like I should be insulted. I know I’m protective of you, but I’ve never stopped you from taking reasonable actions, especially in the pursuit of an investigation.”

I wanted to argue that statement, for we seemed to have differing opinions on what constituted “reasonable actions” in the past, but I overlooked it in favor of a more interesting point. “I thought you’d be less inclined to trust Miss Galloway’s intentions given the accusations Rory leveled against her mother.”

“Yes, well, we have no way of knowing whether that is true or not, and as you already pointed out, it’s not fair to fault her for the sins of her mother. Heaven knows, I don’t want to be saddled with my father’s,” he muttered almost under his breath.

I brushed a stray golden curl back from his forehead, empathizing with that sentiment.

“To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure we should give any credence to Rory’s claims.” His jaw hardened. “He never displayed an ounce of loyalty toward my mother in the past. Not even at her funeral. It seems a tad too convenient that he should claim to now.”

Not knowing what had occurred at his mother’s funeral, I couldn’t respond with any confidence, but I felt I should try. “Yes, but you said yourself he seems to have changed in the fifteen years since you last saw him.”

“But enough for him to become outraged at an accused woman’s daughter on my mother’s behalf?” The ribbon in my hair gave way as he tugged on the end. “That’s too far.”

“You think he dislikes her for a different reason?”

“I don’t know.” He lifted the white ribbon, gazing at it without really seeing it, and then tossed it aside. “But I trust your intuition more, and if you think she’s not out to harm you or Alfred, then I think we should ask for her help. If she’ll give it.”

“She’s invited me to visit again. Offered to show me some places I can sketch.” I bit my lip. “But perhaps tomorrow is too soon. She’s canny. If I show up on her doorstep so quickly she might be too suspicious to talk.”

Gage’s fingers combed through my hair, unplaiting my braid, though from the faraway look in his eyes I knew his mind was elsewhere. While he was distracted, I leaned closer, inhaling deeply.

“So you spent all of your afternoon interviewing the staff and in the library?” I murmured as I smoothed my hand over the silk of his dressing gown’s lapel.

His eyes met mine briefly before sliding away again. “Mostly. Tomorrow won’t work for you to call on Miss Galloway again anyway. I have other plans for us.”

“Oh?” I replied, baffled by his decision to omit the fact that he’d been working with wood. The faint smell of sawdust still clung to his skin beneath the cleaner scents of his soap and his spicy cologne. I knew his grandfather had been the one to teach him such a hobby, while at the same time admonishing him to keep quiet about it, for gentlemen simply didn’t work with their hands. It was only natural that he should be drawn to the woodworking shed where he’d first learned, so why the secrecy?

“I want to visit the farmers and tenants bordering the moor to the north of White Tor. I can’t help but think that if Alfred walked away from the manor, it must have been in that direction. Perhaps some skilled questioning will yield more details than the men Grandfather sent were able to gather.”

“You’re going to go against your grandfather’s wishes?” I asked in surprise.

“Not entirely. I don’t intend to ask them directly about Alfred, or to let it slip that he’s missing.” His voice firmed with resolve. “But I’m not going to stay away when those people are the likeliest to hold the key to my cousin’s location.”

“I suppose you know many of them.” If so, that would make our surreptitious interrogations that much easier.

“If they’re the same landowners as fifteen years ago, yes. And land in this part of the country doesn’t change hands often, so I suspect so. The Seftons, the Porlocks, the Brays.”

The last name he listed sent a jolt through me, though I never moved. I’d hoped for an opening to ask Gage about the dagger, and I hardly believed he’d given me one. But still I hesitated. He would not welcome the query, and it would likely cause him discomfort. There was also the chance I would hear something I wouldn’t like. But still, the question needed to be asked.

“Sebastian,” I murmured, knowing my use of his given name as I did only when we were in private would draw his attention away from wherever his thoughts had gone.

He stilled his fingers and shifted his gaze to meet mine. Could he hear the uncertainty in my voice?

“What happened with the Brays’ ceremonial dagger?”

His eyes searched mine, perhaps trying to ascertain how much I already knew. For a moment, he seemed about to feign ignorance, but then one corner of his mouth quirked upward sardonically.

“I wondered when you would raise that specter. I knew it was too much to hope you’d missed Aunt Vanessa’s mention of it.”

I refrained from telling him that she’d made certain of it that afternoon in the portrait gallery. Nothing would be gained from relaying her hurtful accusations.

He sighed heavily, rolling onto his back to stare up at the bed curtains. “Thaddeus Bray was a boy my cousins and I played with on occasion, oftentimes at their farm northwest of White Tor. Thad’s father was a sort of squire, so Grandfather, and Aunt Vanessa, deemed his son fit enough to befriend us.”

I shifted closer to his side, allowing him to work his way around to revealing the most pertinent details. I knew from experience that it was easier to share disquieting things once you’d placed them in context, as if somehow that softened the sting.

“The Brays weren’t wealthy. Not like we were. But they did have a few priceless possessions that had been passed down through their family for many generations. One of those items was a ceremonial dagger. Mr. Bray kept it in a glass-fronted cabinet behind his desk.”

His frame grew tenser with every word, and his eyes gleamed with anger. I couldn’t stop myself from resting my hand on his abdomen where his chest rose and fell rapidly with each irate breath, but I didn’t offer him any further comfort, knowing he didn’t want it. At least not until he’d finished his story.

“One day after we’d been at the Brays’ home, the dagger went missing. I knew who’d taken it. He was always taking things that weren’t his simply because he wanted them. But I kept my mouth shut, knowing no good would come of my making an accusation. So you can imagine my surprise when Alfred instead accused me of stealing it. He even claimed to know where I’d hidden it. And lo and behold, that’s exactly where we found it.”

Outrage raced through my veins. I opened my mouth to express my indignation on his behalf, but something in his eyes arrested me. This time it wasn’t anger, but shame.

“I was so furious!”

“Rightly so,” I assured him.

“I couldn’t believe Alfred had done something so underhanded. And that Grandfather and Aunt Vanessa were going to believe him, and report it to my mother. Rory knew the truth. I could see it in his eyes. But he would never stand up for me.” The remembered anguish he’d felt as a boy resonated through his body. “I tried to tell them the truth, but they wouldn’t listen. And Alfred stood there so smugly, his eyes filled with laughter. I felt so helpless. I always had so little control over what was happening, and I didn’t want to be powerless anymore. So I . . . I grabbed the dagger and I . . . I stabbed at Alfred.”

I stiffened in shock and Gage’s gaze lowered to meet mine for the first time since he’d begun his story. His face twisted with self-loathing.

“Nicked him in the arm. It was barely a scratch, but when I saw the blood, I was horrified. I dropped the dagger and ran.”

“Oh, Sebastian,” I crooned, lifting my hand to touch his face.

He grimaced. “Funnily enough, that’s exactly what my mother said when she found me hiding in the old stable at the edge of our cottage’s garden.”

“What did she do?”

“Dried my tears and took me home. She had no need to scold me. She knew her disappointment in me was punishment enough. Particularly when I practically had to carry her back to bed because she was so weak from her illness.”

I frowned. “How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

No wonder he’d lashed out. Not only had his cousin played an unconscionably cruel trick, but he was almost alone in carrying the burden of his mother’s illness. His father had been away at sea, so it fell to him to care for and shield his mother with only the help of the maid who, it later would be discovered, was also poisoning her mistress. Something Gage blamed himself for. He believed he should have realized what was happening, that he should have been able to stop it.

Had there ever been a time when he wasn’t responsible for himself and everyone else around him? When someone had shielded him rather than the other way around?

“That’s when my father almost had me enlisted in the Royal Navy.”

This was not a shock, for he’d mentioned it before, but it still made me sick to my stomach to think of him placed in such danger when he was so young. Particularly with the war against Napoleon raging. “What stopped him?”

“Mother. She fought him tooth and nail to keep me with her. Said my banishment from Langstone Manor and my lessons for a month were punishment enough. And Father relented. I think because Mother asked him for so little. How could he deny her?”

I nodded, but I was really pondering why his mother could fight so hard on that point, but not fight to protect him from her family’s barbs. Perhaps such a reflection was unfair, for she couldn’t be with him all the time, particularly in her illness. But all the same, I couldn’t help feeling a bit vexed that Emma Trevelyan Gage had not sheltered her son more. What would I have done if I were in her shoes?

It was a legitimate question, for given my scandalous past and my current unorthodox involvement in my husband’s inquiries, my children were certain to face some scorn. When that happened, how would I respond? Would my children bring such slights to my attention or, like Gage, would they try to shield me? I didn’t know the answers, but I would have liked to think I would protect them any way possible.

If they would let me.

I studied my husband’s face, wondering if that was the problem. Maybe Gage hadn’t let his mother protect him. I quickly discarded the notion. When he was an older boy, that was possible, but at some point when he was young, he’d learned he couldn’t rely on others to defend him.

Maybe in some ways I should be grateful for that, for it had made his enduring the gossip attached to me easier. But sometimes I worried he too easily fell back on old habits, sheltering me when he shouldn’t.

I leaned over to kiss the honorable man I’d married, pouring all of my regret that he’d had to endure so much pain, and gratitude that he’d chosen me for his wife, into my caress. When I lifted my mouth to stare into his eyes, my chest tightened at the vulnerability reflected there. Gage so rarely showed weakness. Even in our private interactions he was usually so confident and self-assured. To see him expose his pain and insecurities in such a raw way made me want to wrap him up in my arms and never let him go.

Instead I settled for soothing as many of his hurts as I could with my love. Perhaps if I kissed every square inch of him, if I whispered enough words of love into his skin as I held him as close to me as humanly possible, it would be a start.