Highlander’s Mysterious Lady (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance) Page 17

  “Aye, but even as a duchess, ye deserve tae give yerself joy,” he responded gently. “Is this bout the boy Frances?”

  Beatrice nodded. “I need to be there; I cannot keep avoiding him. He was the rightful heir before the laws changed, and I think I owe it to him to be there in the event he needs me. I never much cared for him, but James did. I feel I owe it to both of them.”

  “Tis sounds like the man is merely takin’ advantage of ye.” Brodie felt the words come out of his mouth before he had chance to think them through. He did not like how much seemed to be expected of Beatrice, how much she had to give up for a man who sounded more like a boy than a man.

  “Well, tis my duty!” Beatrice responded defensively.

  “Duty? Aye? Sounds like yer more frightened to give yerself joy than anythin’ else in this world. Why are ye so willin’ tae turn away from me fer a man who does nay seem tae truly care ‘bout yer happiness?” Brodie’s voice rose in volume. He did not want to argue with Beatrice, but he hated seeing her this way, seeing her so willing to turn away from her own desires simply because she thought she still owed some duties to her dead husband.

  “Brodie, you forget that you and I have only known each other for a short time. You have no right to speak to me this way.” Beatrice turned and stormed up the stairs, leaving Brodie to wallow in his own shame. He had not meant to hurt her so deeply.

  Chapter Twenty

  Frances was nearing the estate. His feet were sore, the hole in his shoe had let in rainwater over the last few days, and his socks hadn’t had a chance to recover before he stepped into another puddle. His face was coated with hair, more than a five o’clock shadows worth. For a bachelor who came from a notable family, he looked no better than a serf. Stopping to look at his reflection in a puddle that led up the road to the estate, he hesitated; he was reluctant to return to a place where he was not welcome. It was an embarrassment, and he did not like the servants to look down on him.

  Still, he moved forward. It was his only option, and he needed money to pay back his debts, to pay for drink and food, and his home. What little Frances had to his name was already spent, and he knew Beatrice was the only possibility he had to secure a small fortune. If he could only get a little money, he might be able to bet with it, winning back enough to avoid having to ask for more. With a win, he could pay off his debts without ever having to admit to how much he had lost.

  Gazing into the puddle, he adjusted his hair as best he could and tried to wipe his face clean with his sleeve. Frances had clearly seen better days. He rolled up his shirt sleeves to disguise the fact that his cufflinks were gone and that he had been wearing the same clothes on and off for a couple of weeks. Thankfully, he was able to get into his room and grab a few things, but given that the landlord had evicted him for lack of rent, the place was empty. He was able to bathe once, but little else. Frances was in great need, hungry and exhausted. If Beatrice were home, she would take him in seeing him in this state, she would not deny him—even if only for a short while. He hated that he had to pretend to get on with her when all he wanted was the help James once gave him without question.

  Frances turned from the puddle and marched towards the estate, hoping Beatrice had returned from her trip early. Though he thought he had many friends, he found they were few when in need. Knocking on the door, he fully expecting it to be ignored or opened only to be slammed again in his face.

  Sally answered. He imagined she would shut the door as soon as she saw him, but she surprised him by opening the door and silently allowing him to enter.

  “Ah, Sally, why thank you. Is it my manner of dress that has caused you to let me in? It seems I’ve found myself in a run of bad luck, unfortunately.” He tried to laugh at his own misfortune to make light of the situation, but instead, he found himself feeling more pathetic.

  “Not one bit. It seems the duchess has allowed you to stay in her absence. She will return soon. You are not to go into her room, or into the late Duke’s office. When she returns, she will speak to you.” Sally hurried away, but Frances called after her.

  “Do you have anything I could eat? I haven’t had much today.”

  Sally sighed. She instructed him to follow her to the kitchen, where he sat at a counter while she poured him a bowl of soup that had been simmering all day. After not eating for nearly a day, Frances began to devour the soup immediately. Sally shook her head. She could see that something was wrong, but she was in no position to pry.

  Beatrice had instructed her to keep an eye on Frances if he showed up again. She hated bothering the duchess with this person, someone she did not trust one bit, but still, she knew it was her duty to let her mistress know.

  Sally moved around the kitchen, cleaning and preparing for the next day’s duties. She looked over at Frances angrily as he slurped the soup.

  “Whatever trouble you’ve gotten yourself in, you better find a way out of it. The duchess is in no state to be dealing with the likes of you and your self-inflicted troubles.” She crossed her arms and stared at Frances while he ate.

  “Yes, I know.” Frances sighed as if irritated. “She’s in grief, still mourning, yes, we all see it very clearly, but she’s not the only one mourning, you know!” he added before putting a giant piece of cabbage in his mouth.

  Frances threw the cloth she was wiping with down in front of him. “No, tis not all I am talkin’ about! Yes, the grief, but more than that. She is likely still very shaken about the attack and the robbery, so you have better not add more stress to her. She needs to heal.” She shook her head at him and turned back to the pile of potatoes she needed to peel.

  “Robbery? What are you talking about? I didn’t hear anything about this.” Frances slowed down his eating, his intrigue piqued.

  “Yes, the robbery. She was on her way to Helena’s when someone attacked the carriage. They stole everything she had and killed two men. Poor Edward.” Sally moved her hand to her heart and wiped the corners of her eyes as a tear started making its way out.

  “A robbery, you say? How much did they take?” An idea started to whir in Frances’ mind.

  “Well, they took the entirety of her clothes. All of her jewelry. Thankfully, she had a few coins hidden in a compartment in the carriage. She was able to make it to an inn where she found help. But they removed everything. All of her money, her luggage, even her wedding ring. Can you imagine? Stealing a wedding ring from a widow? Those people will get what is coming to them, that’s for sure.”

  “Did they find the men who did it?”

  “Twas late; she couldn’t see anything and let it go after she arrived at the castle, happy to be alright. But tis why you must be cautious with her. She needs to recover from the fright of those events. Poor thing, she saw the men lying dead on the ground. She had no one to help her but was able to send the bodies back for a proper burial, but after all she’s faced these last years, it seems unbearable she had to go through such horror.”

  “Yes, it sounds like a terrible ordeal.” Frances looked back down at his soup and continued eating much more slowly, then watched Sally, who was focusing on the potatoes.

  Hm, Frances thought to himself. Surely there had been enough goods in the carriage to provide the robbers ample means for themselves. He wondered just how much she had taken with her. And had they made off with her ring? He recalled seeing the ring around her neck. The stone on it was nearly as large as his iris. Surely that alone would provide enough gambling funds for a long while. He hated that someone had so easily taken these things from her. So much money stolen!

  He thought about where Helena lived and recalled few direct roads that led there, and wondered if she would be using that same route to return home. An idea started to form in his mind—one that was bound to work, but he needed to think about it more clearly. Finishing his soup, he turned to Sally.

  “Is there a room where I can retire? I am weary from a long walk.”

  She nodded plainly and led him up the curv
ed staircase to one of the guest rooms. She had already taken precautions and locked Beatrice’s bedroom door, along with James’ old office door.

  Finally, he was alone. He stood in the room and began removing his worn, soaked-through shoes and clothes. He laid back on the bed and closed his eyes. Yes, it is all coming together. For a long time, he believed Beatrice was a strong woman. In fact, it was always why he chose to talk to James alone about the money issues. He knew if he spoke to James while Beatrice was around, she would likely shut down his request for money and help. But James never would. For a very long while, he saw Beatrice as a capable duchess, believing she had the necessary power and fortune behind her to be strong.

  That was why he continued to visit her, wanting to remain on her right side. He hoped that if she warmed to him, she would open up and help him when in need. He had believed it would take a long time because of her strength and focus, but now he was beginning to see her differently.

  The men who had stolen from her likely did so because they could see how weak she was. This whole time he had overestimated her, believing her to be much stronger than she actually was. Now he saw just how weak she was, not someone to fear, but someone to take advantage of if he was going to get everything he wanted.

  She is nothing but a weak woman. That was why it had taken her so long to get away, and why Sally was so determined, he should not add more burdens to her. She couldn’t handle anything after the death of James. That was why she locked herself in her room and rarely left home. She was afraid of the world and everything in it. Frances started laughing as the truth finally hit him—the knowledge of who Beatrice really was.

  The last time he saw her, she was much thinner than he recalled when James was alive. She was letting herself fade away because she could not handle the world or her new duties. She was going to be an easy target. Frances wished he had realized it sooner, and avoided the long stretch of homelessness and lack of food.

  But it was alright, because now he knew. He had an idea, but he needed to figure out the exact steps. He was going to formulate a plan that would get him everything he wanted. He was no longer going to be the forgotten one of the family, tossed aside so a woman could rule the estate—no, he was going to get what was rightfully his. And maybe even more.

  The truth was Frances rather enjoyed the bachelor’s life. He had not taken kindly to the idea of a wife, but tended to do well with women—when he did not appear to be in shambles. He did not mind that most came after him because they believed he had money, but he too was using them in his own way. Now, he started thinking that perhaps he would do well with a wife. But not just any wife, he needed a wife who could fund his addictions, a wife who he could convince needed him. It seemed Beatrice would be the perfect fit. She was so weak and so incapable of caring for herself or the estate, she would likely be grateful he was at her side. But he needed to do something that would ensure she wanted him near. Something that would prove to her he was protective and caring.

  Hearing Sally speak of the robbery gave him a grand idea. He only needed to find a way to pull it off. Once he did, she would run to his side and beg him to protect her. But first, he had to do a few things, and with the whole of the house watching him, he did not know if he would manage it. As tired as he was, he could not sleep and needed to wait until the entire house was quiet before exiting through the window. He had a plan, and only required to set it in motion. He would return early in the morning and say he had been on an errand. So long as no one actually followed him, he would accomplish his task. Sitting on the bed, he watched the clock, waiting for the right moment.

  * * *

  It was an hour past midnight when Frances finally left. He opened the bedroom door and moved down the hallway. In the bathroom were a few porcelain trays he knew could be sold for enough to pay the people he needed to help him. He moved quickly down the hall, pushing his body along the walls until he was just outside the bathroom door. He listened intently. All was quiet. With a quick motion, he moved inside, emptied the tray, and slid them into his jacket before moving back towards the bedroom. Downstairs he thought he heard a noise, a creak on the floor. Either the house was settling, or someone was awake. He held his breath in anticipation but heard no other sounds, and continued on into the guest bedroom. Moving to the window, he pushed it open. He had to leave now, or would never catch the person he needed; the man who would be leaving the gambling hall.

  Clutching the porcelain tray, he rushed off down the long stretch of road, his torn shoes catching at the stones, but Frances was focused. He no longer cared how he looked, because it was only a matter of time before he was returned to the state he was born to: that of a fine gentleman. In half an hour, he would be outside the gambling hall, where he could trade the porcelain tray with a man who would help him accomplish his plans. He wasn’t a man Frances generally liked to work with, but he needed to do something drastic to secure his fortune, and whatever it took, he was willing to do it. Beatrice would never see it coming. If only she had taken him in, given his part of the fortune, none of this would have to happen. But she would learn—he would make sure she never wanted to leave the house again. He would make sure he was there to protect her. Of course, she would be very grateful, and Frances could return to the life he led before all of his present misfortune.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Beatrice was in the library reading King Lear for what felt like the tenth time in two days, but was really only the second time. She was not in a reading mood at all, but needed something that would distract her conscious mind and allow her heart to drift on other things. Brodie had not spoken in two days, since their fight on the stairs. He was right, of course. She had denied herself joy, but wished he would understand, especially given all of his responsibilities. Yet she could see why she had upset him in not considering staying a little bit longer.

  She and Brodie were a good match. As Helena had said before, she had never thought of her and James in the same way. Their marriage had amplified each of their strengths, while they supported each other through their weaknesses. It was different with Brodie—she felt his equal, and was seen and cared for by him in a way she had never felt with James, especially in the last few years of marriage. But she had made a commitment, and that was that. She set the book aside, knowing she could not focus on anything so tragic as King Lear.

  At that moment, a servant rushed into the library and heading straight for Beatrice, handed her a small card.

  “Tis urgent, miss.”

  Beatrice opened the card and found another telegram. This time from her butler, Johnson. She scanned the telegram quickly and gasped in shock. It seemed Sally was very ill, and the girl had always been a kind soul and very caring toward Beatrice. The letter stated she was likely to pass away at any moment, and if Beatrice wanted to say goodbye, she must return home immediately. Rushing from the library and leaving the card on the table, she went straight to her room and began throwing what few clothes she had back into her luggage. She closed the chest quickly and dragged it from the room.

  Heading straight to Padraig’s nursery where Helena was setting the boy down for a nap, she caught her friend just as she was closing the door.

  “Bea, what’s wrong? Where are you going? You aren’t due to leave for a few days.”

  “I must go. Sally is very ill. I need to say goodbye while I still have time. I haven’t any money with me, and I need to know if you can lend me some, and allow me the use of one of a carriage and driver?” Beatrice was frantic. Her breathing was ragged and quick, and Helena could see the panic in her eyes.

  “Yes, of course. Here, let me meet you outside. I’ll run and order the carriage and get some money for you.”

  Beatrice nodded and rushed outside, and in her hurry to get to the carriage, Brodie’s face flashed across her mind. She wanted to give him one last kiss goodbye. But she knew it would be far too painful for either of them. He was likely still very angry with her, and even if they had
enjoyed their time together, it needed to come to an end, and it was much better to leave without a word. It would help her forget him that much sooner.

  Once outside, she waited until Helena appeared, and just as promised, had the money she needed. The two hugged and held each other silently.

  “Oh, this trip was everything I needed, Helena. I am very grateful for all of it.”

  “I too am happy, and please don’t wait another two years to visit. Did you say goodbye to Brodie?”

  “I cannot—I cannot bring myself to do it. It will hurt too greatly.”

  Helena nodded. She hated seeing her best friend lave so suddenly but hoped it would only be a matter of time before she returned. Sally was important, and she understood her friend's haste.

  “Well, then, I shall say goodbye to him for you.”

  Beatrice nodded and climbed into the carriage. Once the horses were ready, the driver drove steadily away as Beatrice waved goodbye.