The landlord of the Royal Charles was astonished to be awakened at such a late hour. He was even more astonished when he realized the identity of his unexpected guest. He showed Bryony and Sally to the adjoining rooms at the front of the inn, and fortunately for Sally, there was no sign of his buxom daughter, who had originally caused all the trouble with Tom Penmarrion.
Bryony lay awake in her bed, listening to poor Sally sobbing into her pillow in the room next door. Bryony felt so very sad for the maid, for she knew only too well the heartbreak she was enduring, but then Sally Anderson and Bryony St. Charles were not so very different, were they? Both were turning away from the men they loved, and both felt they had no real choice, not if their lives were in the end to be made endurable.
She was almost drifting to sleep, when suddenly her eyes flew open again. She heard a quiet sound. An uneasy sensation crept over her, a sensation just like that which had touched her at the inn in Falmouth. Sitting up slowly, she listened again, and then her glance went inexorably to the foot of the door, where the lamplight from the narrow passage beyond crept in a thin line over the rough floorboards. There, very white and startling, was a folded piece of paper.
She stared at it in dismay, and her hand trembled as she drew the bedclothes aside and slipped from the bed. She picked up the paper and opened the door quickly, but the passage was deserted. She thought she heard a door close softly somewhere downstairs, but she could not be certain. Slowly she unfolded the paper, and found herself looking once again at the writing that purported to be Anthony Carmichael’s.
My dearest Bryony:
I cannot wait any longer without seeing you. I love you and must speak with you before it is too late. If you feel anything for me at all, then come immediately to the folly. I will be waiting for you, to explain at last why I have done what I have done.
My love forever.
Anthony
Petra! Bryony did not hesitate, for this had to be settled once and for all. She took off her nightgown and began to dress again, but as she picked up her brush, she accidentally knocked her comb to the floor, and the sound awoke Sally, who came hurrying in from the next room, her eyes still puffed up from crying.
“Miss Bryony? Where are you going?”
“There is someone I must meet at the folly.”
“At this hour? You mustn’t go alone! I’ll go with you.”
“No, Sally, this is something I must do alone.” Bryony tied the drawstring of the blue gown, picked up her linen cloak, and then hurried quietly out, closing the door firmly behind her.
The maid remained where she was for a moment. She was in a quandary, for she knew that it was dangerous for anyone to go out alone on a misty night, let alone that person be a woman. With sudden decision she hurried after Bryony, emerging from the inn into the galleried courtyard, where all was silence. Then hooves clattered and a mounted figure rode from the stables: it was Bryony, riding out into the road and back toward Polwithiel.
Sally listened to the hoofbeats diminishing into the night, then ran across the yard to the coach house, where she knew Tom was sleeping on the floor of the carriage.
She shook his shoulder roughly. “Wake up, Tom! Please wake up!”
He sat up with a jolt, his eyes alarmed for a moment. “Oh, it’s you, Sally! I thought the devil himself was at my tail! What on earth do you want?”
“You must go after Miss Bryony! She’s gone to meet someone at the folly, and I’m frightened for her!”
He stared at her in amazement. “She’s what?”
“Don’t be so slow, Tom! She’s gone to the folly, on her own! You have to go after her!”
“What, and find I’m interrupting some tryst or other? No, Sally, I’ll not risk that—”
“She isn’t like that, Tom, I swear that she isn’t. Someone’s been doing dreadful things to her since she arrived, and I’m afraid for her now.”
He climbed slowly down from the carriage, running his thick fingers through his tangled hair. “I still reckon it’s not my place to go after her.”
Sally stared at him. “Oh, Tom!”
“No, hear me out, Sally. It was Sir Sebastian she came here to marry, and who wanted her to go to Tremont with him tonight—I know he did, for I heard him asking the countess to go to her. I reckon it’s him I should go to for help right now.”
Sally searched his face for a moment. “Yes, you’re right. But please hurry!”
He smiled then, suddenly bending his head to kiss her on the lips. “If you promise not to go across to Ireland.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“I’ll ask you again, and again, and again, and I won’t stop until I see you on the ship and it’s set sail. I love you, Sally Anderson, and I want you back.”
“It was your own fault you lost, me.”
“I know,” he replied, going through into the loose stalls and leading out one of the Polwithiel coach horses, “and now I intend to put it right. You’re the one for me, Sally Anderson, and you know it.” He heaved himself up onto the horse’s bare back, smiling down again at her for a moment before urging the horse out across the courtyard and into the road, turning it toward Tremont.
It was quiet in the drawing room as Petra and Sebastian waited. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn back and the shutters were open, allowing the first faint fingers of dawn to creep tentatively in. The gilded plasterwork on the ceiling shone just a little, and the chandeliers looked like carved ice.
Petra sat at a little card table, playing patience by the light of a solitary candle. She wore a lilac wrap and her red hair was brushed loose to her shoulders. She glanced now and then at Sebastian as he lounged nearby on a sofa, an untouched glass of cognac swirling slowly in his hand.
His wounded arm had been properly attended to now and he wore a clean shirt. His black velvet coat was still draped casually about his shoulders and he looked almost relaxed, but Petra knew that he was in considerable pain. As he looked yet again at the long-case clock in the corner of the room, she slowly put down her cards.
“She won’t come, Sebastian, and I wish you would accept the fact.”
“I cannot accept it.”
“If she were coming, she’d have been here by now.”
“There’s still time.”
“For what? Oh, Sebastian, I wish you would forget her.”
“I’ll never forget her, I knew that the moment I first saw her portrait.”
“She isn’t worthy.”
“But she is, Petra. You’re very wrong about her.”
“I’ve tried my hardest to be friendly toward her, but each time she has dealt me a monumental snub. I’m not accustomed to being treated like that, and I fail to see why you are so enamored of her.”
“ ‘Enamored’ is not the word, Petra. It sounds too trivial. I love her, and I’ve done so since that first night I received her father’s letter. Dammit, I fell in love with a portrait, and then I fell in love even more with the woman herself. It was a perfect likeness of my perfect bride.”
He paused for a moment, gazing at nothing in particular. “Before her I was dissatisfied with my life, Petra. I didn’t wish to go on the way I was because my existence was empty and useless. I wanted a wife, but I wanted to love her and be loved in return, I little thought as I came home from the theater that night in April that I would see the woman I was seeking in a little portrait. How could I admit to you that I had fallen in love with her? And if I could not admit it to you, I could admit it even less to her, but I wanted to, dear God I wanted to.” He smiled a little. “She’s the one for me, and I will not give up until she’s my wife. If she does not come here soon, I will go to Polwithiel to look for her, Felix or no Felix.”
“She will not be at Polwithiel.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“She was dressed to travel when I last saw her, her things packed and her maid waiting. She won’t be at Polwithiel, and she won’t come here. You are a fool to think she will come to you. She believes too many things that are wrong.”
“Is that why you neglected to tell her I wanted her because I loved her?”
She met his gaze. “Yes, because I think she will destroy your happiness. I hesitated before making my decision, because I knew I should not interfere, but I love you, you are my dearest friend, and I could not be party to bringing her into your life. She will stop at nothing to pretend she is innocent, she even said that you were the one to change the plans tonight—you and I both know that she sent word that she wished to attend the ball after all! No doubt she still had hopes of snapping Felix up. How you can still love her after all she’s done, I really don’t know.”
Sebastian was staring at her “She told you I’d changed the plans?”
“Yes.”
Slowly he got up. “What if she was telling the truth?”
“She wasn’t, was she?” replied Petra a little acidly.
“I think she was.”
“I don’t even begin to understand you.”
“I can’t swear that she sent the message here, can I? Any more than she can swear I sent word to her.”
Petra took a deep breath. “I suppose you are about to say you believe all that nonsense she’s been telling you about the letters, the exchanged miniature, the so-called attack by the lurcher, and the imaginary figure in a cloak! Dear Lord, I believe her imagination is as lively and preposterous as her father’s, for he invented the wretched pledge in the first place!”
“The pledge was fact.”
“Oh, come now—”
“It was fact, Petra,” he repeated. “I discussed the matter with my father’s solicitor and he confirmed that the pledge had been made but that my father then had second thoughts and had all proof destroyed. So you see, Leon St. Charles didn’t invent anything, he was telling the truth all along. Just as I know his daughter is now.”
“But, Sebastian, the whole story is too fabulous, it is straight from a Gothic novel!”
“At the water party she really spoke her mind to me, and she meant every word she said. Someone has been trying to ruin the match—that much is becoming more and more obvious-—but she’s wrong to think that person is you. Whoever it is has been working very hard to stop the marriage, but I did not realize how very real it has all been until you said just now that Bryony said I had changed the plans.”
He paused for a moment, putting down his glass. “She needed me so very much tonight, Petra, but I doubted her, and she knows that I did. When Felix confronted me and defied me to ask anyone at the ball if she had danced with him and kissed him, I said that he was certain of his ground. She heard what he said, and I knew that she did, but I would not even look at her. I ignored her, and I used you. I deliberately made it appear as if I had lied about you, and I did so to hurt her as much as I thought she had hurt me. It was a cruel thing to do, Petra, as I knew when I saw her run from the conservatory after the duel. I fought for her, I made Felix confess his lies, but I did not grant her one gentle look. Can you blame her for behaving as she did toward you afterward?”
Petra slowly lowered her eyes. “No, I suppose I can’t,” she conceded quietly; then she looked up. “Do you think Felix is the one who has been trying to stop the match?”
“No, I considered him but I have to cross his name off. He did nothing until I took that money from him at the card tables in town the last time we were there. He had already perceived the truth, that I was marrying her because I loved her—we are not first cousins for nothing, you know—and he decided to try to seduce her in order to have his revenge. He has not come out of this smelling of roses, but he is not the one behind all these other matters.”
“It strikes me as the hand of a woman, Sebastian—and heaven knows, you have left enough disappointed ladies in your wake.” She got up suddenly. “I’ve just thought of something! I was right when I linked the accident with that book by Lady Anthea Fairfax!”
“What do you mean?”
“I borrowed the book from someone, Sebastian-—from Delphine.”
He stared at her. “It cannot be—”
“I’ve said all along that that business with Toby Lampeter was a ruse, an attempt to make you jealous. She’s always wanted you, Sebastian, and she is Felix’s sister: she’d stop at nothing to have her own way. She was with Bryony in the woods this afternoon, and when you sent her away, I’ll warrant she crept back and overheard everything you said. That would explain the false messages tonight. She sent one to you and then probably delivered the other in person to Bryony.”
At that moment they both heard someone hammering urgently on the front doors. Sebastian hurried through the echoing vestibule and flung open the doors, but it was not Bryony he saw standing there, it was Tom Penmarrion.
Tom snatched off his top hat, turning it anxiously in his hands. “You must come quickly, Sir Sebastian, it’s Miss Bryony ...”
Sebastian seized him by the lapel, almost lifting him from his feet in spite of his immense size. “If she’s come to any harm—!”
“Sh-she’s gone to meet someone alone at the folly, sir. Her maid came to waken me in the carriage!”
“Carriage? Explain yourself!”
“I’ve come from the Royal Charles, Sir Sebastian. Miss Bryony is staying there tonight before going on to Falmouth in the morning. She’s going back to Ireland, sir.”
Slowly Sebastian released him. “I was sent a message from the duke that she would be coming here.”
“Lady Delphine said the duke had changed his mind, Sir Sebastian.”
Delphine! Sebastian glanced past the anxious coachman at the weary horse he’d ridden at the gallop all the way from the inn. He turned to Petra. “Have someone saddle my horse immediately.”
She nodded and hurried away. Sebastian drew Tom inside. “Rest awhile and then go back to the inn and tell Miss Bryony’s maid that I will go to the folly immediately. How long ago did she leave?”
“I’d say about half an hour, sir, but she took the roadway, If you go round by the lake—”
“I know.”
Petra brought the horse around herself, and as she handed the reins to Sebastian, she put her hand on his for a moment. “I’ve been so wrong about her, and I willingly admit it. Bring her back safely, Sebastian.”
He raised her hand fleetingly to his lips and then was mounted, turning his horse swiftly toward the lake and riding away into the mist. She could hear the hoofbeats drumming on the grass.