Chapter Twelve
Blackhaven’s picturesque little church was packed for the Sunday service, Mr. Grant being a popular vicar, both with gentry and lesser mortals. Caroline barely managed to squeeze onto the end of one of the back pews. Behind her, several people, including the servants from Haven Hall, were standing.
When Caroline had been before, she had occupied the Braithwaite pew at the front of the church. But while her current position was less comfortable, it afforded her a better view of the congregation. Half way through the first hymn, as she gazed about her, she glimpsed the pale man who had run from the castle party at sight of Javan Benedict.
He sat across the aisle from her, as though he, too, had squashed himself in at the last minute. Under her scrutiny, he glanced around and met her gaze. Somewhat to her surprise, he inclined his head. She returned the gesture and hastily averted her gaze to the vicar. For the rest of the service, she made a point of never glancing in his direction again.
And yet, as she emerged from the church, feeling somewhat stronger than when she’d entered it, thanks to Mr. Grant’s uplifting sermon, she knew this man followed behind her. He was there when she paused to speak to Mr. Grant and to Mrs. Grant who was admiring a fisherman’s baby close-by.
In the street, Williams and the cart—already full of the hall servants—waited for her. Some distance from them, Serena and her sisters waved madly at her. To go to them, Caroline walked across the grass toward the side gate.
“Excuse me,” a male voice said politely behind her.
Caroline turned and faced the pale man, who bowed to her.
“Forgive me,” he said humbly. “I know we are not acquainted, but I understand you are Miss Grey, Rosa Benedict’s governess.”
“I am.”
“My name is Swayle. Marcus Swayle.” He seemed to expect the name to mean something to her. When she only gazed at him somewhat blankly, he said anxiously, “Please tell me…how is she?”
Caroline frowned. “How is who, sir?”
“Little Rosa.”
“She is very well,” Caroline replied.
Mr. Swayle smiled deprecatingly. “I can see you are wondering what business it is of mine, and legally speaking, the answer is none. However, you should know that I regard Rosa as a beloved daughter.”
“You do?” Javan’s warning about this man echoed through her mind. “Someone who must never, ever be anywhere near Rosa.
“This is hard,” Mr. Swayle said ruefully. “I can only imagine what that man has told you about me.”
“To the best of my recollection, he has never mentioned you at all.”
This seemed to take Mr., Swayle aback, though only for a moment. “I expect he is ashamed, for I know all. The cruel way he treated his wife and daughter.”
“Cruel?” she repeated, startled. Even when she’d first known him, his only sign of gentleness had been toward his daughter. “Sir, you are mistaken.”
She began to turn away, but he flung out one hand to detain her, only swiftly withdrawing it again with a hasty apology. But belatedly, his possible identity struck Caroline with all the force of a hammer.
“You were her—” she blurted, only just breaking off before she uttered the word lover.
“Her lover?” Swayle said bitterly. “That is what he told you? It is true I loved her before he even met her and forced her to marry him. He wanted her money, for she was a wealthy heiress. You may think this wrong of us, but it was such a relief to us when we thought he was dead. I married her, was living with her as her husband. She and Rosa and I were a happy family at last and blissful that she was expecting my child. And then he came home. Clearly not dead at all. Enraged at finding us together, he beat me, half-killed me—as you see, I am still recovering. That, I can forgive. But Louisa’s death, that of my unborn child, that is firmly at his door. And I fear so for Rosa.”
Caroline’s ears rang with his terrible accusations. She felt almost dizzy. Williams strode purposely through the side gate, glaring at her.
“Care for her, I beg you,” Swayle said urgently. “And please, should you need help, or just wish to know more, you may find me at the hotel. Goodbye, Miss Grey.”
Bemused, she stared after his retreating back as he walked back toward the church, leaning heavily on his cane.
“We’re going home, Miss,” Williams said abruptly.
“Of course.” She turned with him to walk to the side gate.
“What did he want?” Williams demanded aggressively.
“You know him? I wondered if he was a little mad.”
Williams snorted. “Not he. Nor even deluded, though he pretends. Best if you ignore him. What did he say to you?”
“He asked after Rosa,” Caroline replied vaguely. “Mainly.”
Williams paused. “You do know you mustn’t let her see him?”
“Let her see him?” she repeated. “Does she want to?”
“No,” Williams said flatly. “And don’t believe a word that bas—that man—says.”
*
Marcus Swayle walked directly from church to the rather disgusting town tavern. Although he wasn’t much of a man for slumming it—he liked his comforts—this was the second time in two days he’d found himself there. The first was yesterday after coming upon Javan Benedict at the castle rout.
He knew almost at once that he shouldn’t have fled the castle, leaving Benedict, as it were, in possession of the field. But the shock had been great. And in truth, he was physically afraid of the man. It was only in the tavern, drinking a restorative brandy, that the possibilities for revenge had begun to percolate.
After the death of Louisa, Benedict had seemed to disappear from the face of the earth. Nursing his bruised body and aggrieved by the removal of Louisa’s funds from his reach, Swayle had merely been glad of his enemy’s absence. By the time he had recovered enough to re-enter London society, the juicy gossip of Benedict’s return to England had almost died down—until Swayle had added fuel to the flame.
It had begun as mere vitriol against the man who had taken everything from him. And yes, perhaps there was a little shame in being beaten so comprehensively in a fight with a man who could barely stand. So, he never mentioned Benedict’s injuries in his version of events. And it was then he had invented two ingenious fictions—that he and Louisa had been so convinced of Benedict’s death that they had married, and that he feared for Rosa’s life at the hands of her monstrous father. Society had lapped it up greedily. Only when Richard Benedict had returned to London, had Swayle felt it politic to depart the capital for the sake of his “shattered health”.
He’d never expected to find the Benedicts here in Blackhaven, of all places. He was short of funds and in search of a wealthy woman to part from her fortune. Preferably a sickly widow, since she was likely to be more grateful for his attentions. And of course, she might die and leave him free to enjoy his inheritance unencumbered. Having obtained an introduction to Lady Tamar, he had expected her rout to be the best place to begin his search…until he had looked into the cold eyes of his enemy.
Well, his departure had been more of a tactical retreat than a defeat. For in the tavern, he had heard all Blackhaven’s rumors about the family at Haven Hall. And had begun to tell his old stories.
Today, he had almost missed Miss Grey as the cart in front of him had disgorged several female servants. It had taken several seconds to connect her dowdy, respectable person to the beautiful lady he’d seen with Benedict last night. He’d followed her into church from instinct, listening and learning as he went.
Oh yes, there were possibilities there. Smiling, he raised his brandy to his lips just as someone large and clumsy bumped into him. Remembering where he was, he slapped his hand to his pocket and caught a grubby hand. It belonged to the man who had bumped into him, a big, villainous looking individual with his hat pushed to the back of his unclean head.
Swayle did not underestimate the difficulties here. The landlord didn’t like trouble and apparently, he didn’t take a moral stance over events like this, just took the quietest way out. Swayle was likely to be thrown out for any accusations of theft. Or the villain could simply stab him where he sat and walk away.
He suspected the man thought about it. Then the brute grinned. “Can’t blame a man for trying,” he observed. “Not when he’s hard-up.”
An idea began to dawn in Swayle’s head. He would find a way to a devastating revenge on the man who had humiliated and impoverished him. But he would need help.
“Hard-up,” Swayle repeated. “Then you are a man open to earning a little money, with no questions asked.”
The large man pushed his hat even further back. “Might be,” he admitted. He smiled in what he probably imagined was an ingratiating manner, but in fact was quite terrifying. “They don’t call me Killer Miller for nothing.”
*
“I was thinking,” Miss Benedict announced at luncheon.
“Congratulations, Marjorie,” her brother said provokingly.
She cast him a quelling look.
“What were you thinking?” Richard asked.
“That we should invite Lord and Lady Tamar to dinner,” Marjorie said in a rush.
Javan laid down his knife.
“Ah, the mythical Lord Tamar,” Richard observed, “who turned out not to be a myth at all. Did he really marry Braithwaite’s sister?”
“Yes,” Caroline said since no one else answered him.
Javan’s gaze was locked with his sister’s, though he looked more stunned than annoyed. Eventually, he picked up his knife again. “Ask the Grants, too, if you like. He’s a good man for a vicar.”
Marjorie’s jaw showed an initial tendency to drop at this easy victory. Then she frowned. “You confuse me. Isn’t a vicar meant to be a good man?”
“Never confuse your definition of the word good with Javan’s,” Richard advised. “The Reverend Mr. Grant will no doubt be discovered to be a man of wit and sound strategic knowledge in military matters. And probably learned in botany.”
Javan raised his wineglass to him.
“I hope they have well sprung carriages for getting up the drive,” Richard added wryly.
“Try to contain your concern,” Javan said. “I have some men coming over to clear and repair it next week.”
“Have you?” Marjorie said in surprise.
“They should be here first thing in the morning, so there’s no cause for panic if you hear a racket.”
“Goodness,” Marjorie said, clearly impressed. “What evening shall I invite them, then?”
“Whichever suits. I have,” Javan said self-deprecatingly, “no unbreakable plans.”
“Wednesday?” Marjorie suggested. “Richard, you will still be here, will you not?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Richard drawled.
“Excellent. Miss Grey, should we invite the Braithwaite children?”
Rosa’s head snapped up as she smiled from her aunt to Caroline and back.
“They are quite civilized,” Caroline replied, “and will be thrilled to attend an adult dinner. Especially with Rosa. I’m sure Lady Tamar will be happy to bring them.”
Miss Benedict beamed.
After lunch, Caroline and Rosa went for their daily walk. As was usual, Javan and Tiny accompanied them, although rather to her surprise, Richard did not.
“Does Mr. Benedict not care to walk?” Caroline asked lightly.
Rosa grinned, pointing to her feet and then leaping back as though horrified by the mess appearing on her boots.
Javan laughed. “You think he’s afraid of dirtying his fine footwear? He has a very superior valet to clean his boots. I expect he’s just tired after his journey. It’s a long way from London.”
Rosa shrugged and ran ahead with Tiny. Silence lapsed between Caroline and Javan, but in truth, she only noticed when he said, “You are quiet. Are you wondering how to treat me after yesterday evening?”
Caroline drew a breath for courage. “Actually, no. I have been wondering whether or not to worry you with something else entirely.”
“My shoulders are broad,” he said flippantly. “Go ahead and worry me if you can.”
“I spoke with Marcus Swayle this morning.”
Although she was gazing deliberately straight ahead at Rosa throwing a stick for Tiny, she was aware Javan’s head turned toward her, almost felt the new tension tighten within him.
“More accurately, he spoke to me,” she corrected herself. “Outside church.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked about Rosa.” At last, she met his intense yet veiled gazed. “And he warned me against you.”
Javan curled his lip. “I would expect nothing less. I’m sorry he chose you to bleat at, though. I was hoping he’d fled the country.”
“He said you beat him to within an inch of his life.”
“A slight exaggeration. Given what I suspect now, I wish I’d hit him harder. What else?”
“That you…that you forced your wife to marry you for her money and that you were responsible for her death.”
He kicked a stone out of his path. “Perhaps I was,” he said moodily.
“And he said that you mistreat Rosa,” she blurted.
He glanced at her with contempt, though for what or whom she could not be sure. “And you believe that?”
“No. I suppose I might have believed the rest if it hadn’t been for that, but I know nothing could induce you to harm Rosa.”
“You can’t know that,” he snapped. “One never knows what oneself is capable of, let alone what another person is. What you mean is, you hope I would never harm Rosa, because for some reason I have yet to fathom, you like me.”
“And that is why you hired me?” Caroline retorted. “In the mere hope that I would not harm her?”
A smile twisted his lips. “Exactly.”
She waved one dismissive hand. “You are impossible. Sir, if Mr. Swayle took the trouble to speak to me in this way, he may well be traducing you in Blackhaven to anyone who will listen.”
“I’m sure it’s all grist to the rumor mill,” he said without interest. “Which, judging by the way you looked at me when we first met, has already been working hard.”
“I had no idea who you were when we first met.”
“Do you know any better now?”
She held his gaze, watching with fascination as the icy contempt and fury behind them drained into something far warmer. “A little,” she whispered. “I think.”
His hand brushed her wrist among the folds of her cloak, and his fingers threaded through hers. “How did I exist without you, Caroline Grey?” His fingers curled convulsively. “How will I exist without you.”
Her heart beat so fast she felt dizzy. She was afraid to breathe, to say or do the wrong thing. But she could not prevent her hand clasping his.
“I will not leave unless you bid me.” The words came out hoarse, almost broken.
Abruptly, she was half-pushed, half-dragged off the path and into the trees until she felt the roughness of bark at her back and the hardness of his body pinning her there. His eyes blazed down into hers.
“You should not say such things to me,” he whispered.
“You should not do such things to me,” she returned shakily.
A warm smile flickered across his face. “No, I shouldn’t.” But he remained thrillingly pressed against her, forcing her to awareness of his muscled thighs, his hips, and the hardness that grew between. Delicious weakness held her still. Desire raged through her.
Slowly, his forehead dropped to hers and rested. “I wish…”
“What?” she asked desperately, and as suddenly as he’d seized her, she was freed.
“One day I might tell you that, too,” he flung at her as he broke back on the path. “Until then, you should avoid being alone with me because it seems I can’t keep my hands off you. Rosa! This way!”
Her trembling knees were reluctant to hold her up as she trailed after him to meet Rosa, struggling to work out what had just occurred.
*
At luncheon the following day, Miss Benedict happily revealed that she had received notes of acceptance to her dinner from both Lady Tamar and Mrs. Grant. And that Lady Tamar would gladly bring her younger sisters—news which made Rosa clap her hands, her face lit up with delighted expectation.
As they returned to the schoolroom, Caroline said lightly, “You’re looking forward to seeing the Braithwaite girls again.”
Rosa nodded.
“You enjoy their company,” Caroline observed, “as they enjoy yours. I’m glad you have found ways to communicate with them so that you can join in.”
Rosa’s smile faded. She looked away.
“You can’t always join in?” Caroline asked gently.
Rosa shook her head. A single tear squeezed out of the corner of one eye and trickled down her face.
“Rosa.” Caroline put her arm around the child, hugging her to her side. “No one thinks less of you for it. Your family loves you. I love you. Your friends will love you whether or not you speak. I just wonder if you wouldn’t have more fun if you could bring yourself to say the odd word here and there. We grow too comfortable sometimes, with the way things are, but we can always make them better. Like your father and your aunt giving up solitude for company.”
Rosa smiled wanly. For a moment, she clung to Caroline, and then broke free, and ran to the schoolroom.
Later that afternoon, while Rosa was lost in her painting of a bowl of fruit, Caroline was drawn to the window by the clop of hooves on the drive. Dr. Lampton, Blackhaven’s preferred physician, dismounted, and, leaving his horse with Williams, walked up the steps to the house.
Anxiety flooded Caroline. Was Marjorie taken ill? Was Javan? She thought his appetite had been a little better this last week or so, but she’d no real idea what his injuries entailed.
More than half an hour later, Dr. Lampton still hadn’t ridden away, and Caroline had to force herself not to pace and thus disturb Rosa’s concentration with her own worry. Ginny the maid stuck her head around the door.
“Master asks that you bring Miss Rosa to the drawing room, Miss.”
Rosa heard that at once, hastily shoving her painting to one side.
“That’s very good,” Caroline observed. “We’ll take a look at the light when we return.”
Javan Benedict was discovered in the drawing room with Dr. Lampton who, since his wife’s death, had developed a rather forbidding aspect to go with his already cynical humor. He did at least relieve his scowl as they entered, presumably for Rosa’s benefit, after she pulled up short at the sight of the unexpected stranger with her father.
Caroline’s anxious gaze could find nothing ill or even out of the ordinary about Javan. Dr. Lampton gave her a slight bow but came to shake Rosa’s hand when her father introduced them.
“How do you do, Miss Rosa?” he said gravely. “Your father tells me you haven’t spoken a word in two years and would like to see if I can fix whatever is wrong, so that you can speak to him again. Is this a good idea?”
Rosa gave a little shrug, which he appeared to take as assent.
“So, do you feel ill? In pain? Unhappy?”
To each of his questions, Rosa shook her head.
Dr. Lampton then asked permission to examine her mouth and throat, then turned her toward the light from the window.
“Will you let him examine you, too?” Caroline asked.
“He already has. And Marjorie. I got a special price for a family group. He’d probably throw you in for free if you’d like a quick—”
“Thank you, I am never ill,” she interrupted. “Please don’t be flippant. Did he find you…well?”
“I believe so. He gave me some ointment and a vile tasting tonic, and some exercises to strengthen my leg. He seemed to be a sensible man so I let him talk to Marjorie and Rosa.”
Caroline, who hadn’t expected to learn even those few details from him, cast him a quick glance, but his attention was all on Rosa. While he examined her, Dr. Lampton asked her a lot of questions, even fished a notebook from his bag and a pencil and asked her to write down answers that required more than a nod or a headshake. It was, however, doubtful she would write anything new. Javan had already questioned her in this way and learned very little from her short, evasive answers.
While Rosa wrote, Dr. Lampton walked across to Javan and Caroline.
“She’s frightened,” he said abruptly. “And is either afraid to speak of it, or simply doesn’t wish to remember. Therefore, she doesn’t speak at all so that she can never speak about that. I suspect she’ll speak again when she’s ready, for her understanding seems to be quite superior for a child of her years, and I can find no physical damage. If you want to encourage her to speak…my advice would be to confront her—while she feels safe in your protection—with a dilute form of whatever frightened her in the first place.”
“I don’t know what that was,” Javan said miserably. “I was not in the country when she first stopped speaking.”
Dr. Lampton shrugged. “Then give her time. For what it’s worth, I believe you are doing the right things.” His gaze flickered over Caroline.
“And my sister?” Javan asked with difficulty. “Can you suggest anything other than bleeding her?”
“Bleeding her will only weaken her,” Dr. Lampton snapped. “I would not suggest it at all. I have found a regular infusion of St. John’s wort to help in many such cases. Lavender also. And persuade her to take more exercise or she will atrophy.”
The doctor took a breath, perhaps realizing he had sounded too short. “Forgive my blunt manners.”
“I prefer them to any other,” Javan replied.
“I do not belittle your sister’s condition,” Lampton said. “In fact, you were right to consult me on all three cases, and if you are agreeable, I would like to see you all again in one month. Or earlier, if you feel the need. Good day.”
He collected his notebook from Rosa with a surprisingly kind smile and took his leave. Rosa and her father both gazed after him.
“I’m glad you consulted him,” Caroline said.
“Well, now that we have, let us see who can winkle Marjorie out for a walk with Tiny. My money is on Rosa.”