With a clear sky and a full moon, Vincent and two of his most dependable employees rode through the night, stopping only to change out their horses. By the time the sun rose to the center of the sky, he surmised he’d arrive at Bryony Manor within an hour.
He’d been rash to leave while in a temper. The thought plagued him now.
When she’d speculated that her father had something to do with Keenan’s death, however, she’d stirred a suspicion he’d dared not contemplate before.
His brother was not the sort of man to kill himself over financial ruin. Their father had fought against seemingly insurmountable adversity to keep the dukedom strong, as had their grandfather before them. More than once, Keenan had shown the same strength of the men who’d preceded him as Duke of Pemberth.
Quimbly knew something and, by God, Vincent was going to find out what it was.
And after that…
Vincent would return to his wife, her sister in tow, so long as he wasn’t required to kidnap the girl, and he’d make known to Lila his feelings regarding their marriage once and for all.
Because after sitting in the saddle for hours on end, he’d turned the circumstances over in his mind quite thoroughly.
She’d had reason to fear her father before their marriage, and he’d been an ass not to acknowledge this the night before. She merely feared for her sister. Of course, she’d seek protection for her as well!
To hell with the fact that she hadn’t told him right away; they weren’t in dun territory after all. She’d been going through papers for days now, and she’d only wanted to be certain before getting his hopes up.
He owed her one hell of an apology.
He loved her. It frustrated him that he hadn’t said it before, that he only realized it when he could do nothing about it.
He shouldn’t have left. At least not in anger.
A dark cloud drifted over the sun, sending a chill through him at the same time Bryony Manor appeared in the distance.
She’d said she thought her father could have had something to do with Keenan’s death. Was it possible Quimbly had been at Glenn Abby?
Vincent rolled his shoulders. He would not have known. He’d spent most of his time in the fields. He should have been paying attention. The thought that he’d inherit the title had never entered his mind. Ever.
Only after turning onto the short road leading to the front manor steps, did he become aware of a flurry of frantic activity. One of the manservants had mounted a horse and was riding toward them.
“Ho, there!” Vincent held up a hand. He vaguely remembered this particular servant from his prior visit. On that occasion, the man, who’d been ever-present in Quimbly’s shadow, had seemed inordinately loyal to his employer.
The servant pulled hard on his horse, having recognized Vincent immediately. “He won’t take her back so you’re wasting your time. I’m to fetch the physician. The master is ill!” As quick as that, the man spurred his horse and raced off the property.
Vincent met Calvin’s gaze and then the two of them urged their horses toward the manor, arriving at the entrance in a matter of seconds. A young girl had stepped outside and for a moment, Vincent had to blink his eyes, almost certain she was his wife.
“Lady Arianna?”
The girl nodded, eyeing him suspiciously.
Vincent landed on the ground and handed off his mount. “I am Pemberth.”
“Where is my sister?” She lifted her chin in a remarkably familiar gesture.
“She has sent for you.” But if Quimbly was ill, Vincent might be running out of time. “Take me to your father.” He would have some answers while he was here.
Lila’s sister studied him for a moment, as though measuring his character.
“And then have your maid pack your things. My wife desires her sister’s company at her new home.”
At these words, she finally sprang into action. “This way.” She led him up the stairs and around but one corner. As they neared the master suites, the sounds of weeping drifted out from one of the chambers.
Lady Arianna stopped at the door. “Agnes, leave them be a moment.”
An older servant, eyes red and swollen, peeked out of the chamber with an anxious gaze. “Is he the physician?”
“I—” Vincent began.
“He is. Step away please.” Lady Arianna was obviously made of the same stock as his wife. He’d have found humor in the two sisters’ stubbornness under other circumstances.
Once the woman had reluctantly backed out, Vincent followed the girl into her father’s chamber.
Not one, but two people laid on the bed.
On the nearest side, a man, Quimbly, his skin a parchment-like white, his lips blue, his eyes…
Gazing lifelessly at the ceiling.
An uncovered chamber pot sat on the table beside him emitting a vomitus odor: a foul, almost chemical stench that stirred a vague memory in the back of Vincent’s mind.
“Mama?” Lady Arianna had gone to the other side of the bed and leaned over her mother.
“I took care of him, darling.” The countess’ words barely sounded between her gasping breaths. And then the woman held out her hand atop the coverlet and slowly opened her fingers. Inside of her hand lay two vials. Lady Quimbly chuckled. “Gave him a taste of his own, my dearest Arianna.”
Seeing it in her hand, smelling the stench of death, Vincent was not mistaken. It was the same vial he’d found in his brother’s palm. The same red cap. The same traces of powdery substance lining the glass.
“No more,” the countess said, sounding weaker. “He’s taken too many lives, hurt too many people.”
Lila’s sister’s shoulders began to shake, the magnitude of this moment in time penetrating her calm. “But why you, Mama?” She pressed her cheek beside her mother’s.
“He killed my brother?” It wasn’t really a question. But Vincent needed to know.
The woman finally seemed to notice he was in the room. Meeting his eyes, she nodded. “My husband needed a duchess for a daughter. I never understood. But your brother refused to marry her. My poor Lila. She’d already been rejected once.”
Vincent struggled between the relief he felt to learn his brother hadn’t taken his own life and anger at the dead man lying on the bed.
Disgusted by all the tragedies caused by a madman, Vincent accepted the former emotion and dismissed the latter.
It was over.
The sudden desire to leave all of this behind and return to Lila was all that mattered now. She was his life now. Lila…
“You love my oldest daughter?” the countess implored him. “She is happy?” Her breathing had become labored. If she’d swallowed the arsenic, she was likely moments from death, nothing could be done.
“I love her.” Vincent’s own throat felt thick. “She is happy.” And she would be, too, as soon as he could get home and clear up all of their misunderstandings.
The countess fell back with closed eyes. “She won’t be needing my sleeping draught then.”
Vincent rode as though the hounds of hell chased him. Thank God for the moonlight. Thank God a horse had been available at the last inn, a good, strong horse.
He never would have driven an animal so hard, but…
His wife.
He dared not contemplate what he might find at his own home.
Please, don’t go! She’d begged him.
And his words. Words he’d regret for the rest of his life. Words said out of temper, and hurt, and shame: Get some sleep, Lila. Take some of that draught your mother gave to you.
Why hadn’t he recognized it then? The vial was the same as the one he’d discovered with Keenan. He’d been so blinded by his own damn pride. He allowed the horse to slow to a walk. He could not make any animal run such a great distance. He’d be more the villain for doing so.
And then he realized… he could run.
He was close. He could not sit atop a horse ambling along while…
He could run. The horse would follow.
Vincent dismounted, landed on the ground, and settled into a pace he could maintain for a great distance, pumping his arms and legs, punishing himself in the only way he knew how. Ironically enough, the horse chose to trot beside him.
Vincent ran faster.
If she’d done as he told her, he’d never forgive himself.
Let her have been stubborn. Let her have defied her stupid ass husband. His mind alternated between chastising chants and desperate prayers.