CHAPTER TWENTY
“Explain yourself!”
“I’d be glad to,” Nicholas responded. “Where would you like me to start?”
Catherine Henley Stanton was a veritable bundle of umbrage, her offense oozing out.
“Where you should start?” she fumed. “How about with Libby Markham? Would that be a good spot?”
“Ah…Libby,” he mused. “So young, so misguided, so loose with her favors.”
“She was loose? Is that your excuse? It was none of your doing?”
“Not much. No. She fancied me beyond all reason, and I’m not a man who’s inclined to refuse what a woman freely offers.”
“I don’t suppose you might have taken advantage of her loneliness or naïveté.”
“I definitely took advantage of her. I don’t deny it, but she wasn’t exactly a saint. Will that be all?”
“No, that won’t be all!”
They were standing in a room at the rear of the house, and they hadn’t bothered to sit down. Catherine was too livid to sit, and she was pacing, scolding him. He could peer out the window, but from his vantage point he couldn’t see Sarah.
He was surprised she’d stayed outside merely because her sister had ordered her to. He kept expecting her to stomp in and be spitting mad over how she’d been shut out of the meeting.
The door opened behind him, and Catherine’s husband, Christopher, strolled in. They’d been acquainted for years, and Nicholas had often socialized with him in London where they’d spent most of their time chasing the ladies.
“Hello, Stanton,” Nicholas said.
“Swift.”
“Actually, it’s Nicholas Stone now. I’m adopting my father’s surname.”
“I heard you had some excitement in your personal situation. Stone was your father’s name?”
“Yes, Robert Stone.”
“And you’ve inherited some money?”
“Maybe in the future.”
“Good for you.”
If Christopher had a derogatory opinion about Nicholas’s connection to Mildred or Sarah, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he turned to his wife. “The twins came to fetch me. They claimed you were fighting with someone.”
“We’re not fighting,” Catherine insisted. “I found out he’d arrived, and he was out in the garden with Sarah. He was kissing her! I made him stop.”
“All right.” Christopher voiced the words slowly as if he didn’t quite understand what the uproar was about. He spun to Nicholas. “Catherine is in an agitated state, and I don’t like her to be distraught. What are your intentions, Nicholas?”
“I can’t believe you married a Henley sister,” was Nicholas’s reply. “I didn’t realize you were serious about her.”
“She sort of snuck up on me.”
“Christopher!” his wife snapped.
“What happened with your cousin, Priscilla?” Nicholas asked. “When I left London, I could have sworn you were engaged to her.”
Christopher flashed a visual warning for Nicholas to drop the subject, then he explained, “Catherine and I simply couldn’t bear to be apart, and we wed like a pair of reckless adolescents. We couldn’t wait.”
“Christopher!” his wife snapped again. “Don’t gossip about me with him.”
Christopher tamped down a grin, and Nicholas said to him, “You’ll have to tell me about it over a whiskey. Since you ended up with her as your bride, it must be a fascinating story.”
Catherine clapped her hands to get their attention. “Speaking of your leaving London, Mr. Swift”—Nicholas didn’t correct her on the surname—“why are you sniffing around my sister?”
“I’ve proposed, and she’s accepted.”
“A marriage will occur over my dead body!”
Nicholas and Christopher exchanged an exasperated look.
Women!
“I’m not requesting your permission,” Nicholas told her, “but we’d like to receive your blessing.”
“My…blessing!” Catherine was so enraged it was almost amusing.
“Catherine, calm yourself,” Christopher said, then to Nicholas, “She’s still a bit upset about Libby.”
“I’m not a bit upset, Christopher,” she retorted, “and don’t talk about me as if I’m not here.”
They jumped into a petty quarrel about London and Nicholas’s flirtations there and how he was the very last man they’d pick to wed Sarah. He ignored them and stared out the window, trying to calculate how long she’d tarry before she burst in with a thousand complaints over her sister’s bossy manner.
The door opened again, and Mildred entered the room.
“Hello,” she said. “I am Mildred Farnsworth. Sarah worked for me this summer.”
“Hello,” Christopher and Catherine responded in unison.
“As Nicholas’s mother, I should be allowed to participate in this discussion.”
He was always startled when she announced their relationship, and he supposed he always would be. It was lovely to suddenly have a mother, but very daunting too. He hoped he was always worthy of her.
“Mother”—the moniker rolled off his tongue more easily every day—“this is Sarah’s twin sister, Catherine, and her husband, Christopher Wakefield-Stanton. He and I went to school together as boys, and we used to gambol in town.”
Her appearance had flummoxed Catherine. She was perfectly willing to chastise Nicholas, but she wouldn’t do it in front of Mildred. She was too polite.
“I’m sorry we weren’t introduced earlier, Miss Farnsworth,” Catherine said, “but you were napping.”
“It’s all right.” She studied Catherine, then she glanced at Nicholas and smirked. “I can’t see a lick of difference between them. Can you?”
“There are plenty of differences.”
“Be careful they don’t play tricks on you as to their identity. Twins constantly revel in that sort of mischief. You wouldn’t want to accidently kiss the wrong sister. I doubt her husband would like it.”
“Mildred!” Nicholas scolded. “Behave yourself.”
She turned to Catherine. “Mary and Millie told me you were fighting.”
Catherine threw up her hands. “We’re not fighting.” Then she shouted over to the door. “And if those two girls don’t mind their own business, they’ll be in big trouble when I’m finished here.”
They heard giggles and footsteps hastening away down the hall.
“Where is Sarah?” Mildred asked. “Why isn’t she present?”
“She’s out in the garden waiting for me,” Nicholas said. “Mrs. Stanton thought she should speak to me alone.”
“Why?”
“She doesn’t think I’m much of a catch. She’s been telling me all the reasons I can’t possibly wed Sarah.”
Catherine blushed with embarrassment. “I’ve learned too much about him, Miss Farnsworth, and all of it is bad.”
Mildred peered over at Christopher. “You’ve been acquainted with Nicholas since he was a boy. What’s your opinion of him?”
“Well, he’s…ah…I won’t claim he’s a fine fellow. He can be wild and uninhibited, and he definitely likes the ladies. If I had a sister and she was sweet on him, I’d probably lock her in a convent.”
“Yes, yes”—Mildred was testy, as if the description was of no account—“he’s a libertine. Is that your only worry? You’ve known him for what? Twenty years? Twenty-five?”
“Thereabouts.”
Mildred scoffed. “I don’t consider licentious tendencies to be a negative trait in a man who’s about to take a wife. At least he’ll have some skills in the bedchamber.”
Catherine bit down a squeal of horror as Christopher said, “She’ll never be bored with him. I can guarantee it.”
“Christopher, will you stay out of this?” Catherine admonished. “I have to rescue my sister from certain catastrophe.”
Mildred kept on. “He’s rich now so he won’t need to gamble anymore.”
Nicholas chuckled. “Unless I feel like it.”
“He’s moved into my home with me outside London so Sarah will be safe and cared for. Even if he decides to let his immoral inclinations drag him away from us—”
“Mildred!” he scolded again. “I would never treat you like that.”
“I didn’t say you would, Nicholas. I said if you do, Sarah will have a place with me. If you ever act like an idiot, we’ll toss your clothes out on the road, change the locks, and carry on without you.”
Catherine and Christopher had just met Mildred so they weren’t aware of how flip and caustic she could be. They were both a tad alarmed by her comment.
“It doesn’t matter how I behave,” Nicholas insisted.
“Yes, it does!” Catherine insisted back.
“Or how you view me,” he went on. “I have to marry her.”
There was a stunned pause, then an appalled Catherine asked, “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Yes,” Nicholas replied. “She’s completely ruined.”
Mildred grinned. “You scamp! I thought I chased you away before you had the chance.”
“I snuck back in when you weren’t watching,” he told her. “I wasn’t about to let her get away from me. I had to bind her in the only way I could, and I was afraid if she pondered me at all she’d come to her senses and I’d lose her.”
“She’s ruined…” Catherine muttered, and she staggered over to a sofa and plopped down.
Christopher gazed at her. “I guess we’re having another wedding—whether you like it or not.”
“I don’t like it,” she churlishly mumbled.
Mildred chipped in with, “Don’t despair, Mrs. Stanton. Nicholas will grow on you.”
“Are we done?” Nicholas asked, and he wandered over to the window so he could look for Sarah.
“Yes, we’re done,” Mildred said. “Go to your fiancée, and I’ll work out all the details. I demand a huge wedding so I can have the fun of planning it.”
Nicholas smiled over at her. “You’re a romantic at heart. I always—”
But before he could finish his sentence, a commotion out in the garden caught his eye. For a moment, he was puzzled by the sight he was witnessing. It appeared as if Sarah was being led into the woods by a man who was holding her wrist, but she was supposed to be at the bottom of the verandah stairs. She was supposed to be fussing and stewing and about to march in and deliver a good dressing-down.
He narrowed his focus, then gasped.
“What’s wrong?” Mildred asked.
He glanced at her. “Clayton is here!”
“Oh, no!”
“And he’s making off with Sarah. My bloody sake, but the stupid oaf is insane!” He scowled at Catherine and said, “Would you excuse me? I have to kill someone. I’ll be right back.”
He whipped away and hurried outside.
* * * *
Clayton stomped along, Miss Henley’s wrist bound to his own. She kept trying to slow him down, but he wasn’t about to be foiled.
He’d been plotting for weeks, for all of eternity it seemed. His entire life, he’d been Mildred’s heir. His father had filled his head with stories about the injustice of Mildred having half of the family’s money. She’d never understood the unfairness of her windfall and had insisted she’d been entitled to it, but it was Clayton’s fortune! It wasn’t hers to give away. It was his!
His father had dithered, waiting for her to die so he could get it back. Clayton had dithered too, but Nicholas Swift’s arrival had been the catalyst for action. He’d finally moved against his aunt to retrieve what was his, but he’d been thwarted at every turn. He was growing frantic.
He had an obscenely large gambling debt that was coming due, and if he didn’t pay it he’d lose his property. He’d signed it over as security on the promissory note, and even with the settlement Mildred had forked over, he didn’t have enough. With his not being able to shift Mildred’s bank accounts into his own name, foreclosure was approaching.
Nicholas Swift had caused Clayton’s problems, and Nicholas Swift would be the remedy.
Clayton had to ingratiate himself to Mildred again, had to wedge himself back into the line of inheritance, but Swift had to vanish first. If he was out of the way, Mildred would forget about him. Clayton was convinced of it. He’d been spying on her for days, figuring out the best method to dispose of Swift, and what better bait to use than Sarah Henley?
Lady Middlebury had pointed out Swift’s infatuation, but Clayton hadn’t necessarily believed it. Yet he’d followed Swift to the Wallace estate, not certain what to expect. As he’d observed Swift kissing Miss Henley, he’d realized Lady Middlebury had been correct. Swift was desperately in love with Miss Henley and would likely do anything to be sure she was safe.
She was the perfect ruse to get him off by himself where any terrible accident could ensue.
“Mr. Farnsworth!” Miss Henley complained. “You’re walking too fast.”
“We can’t lag, Miss Henley. If you can’t keep up, I’ll have to carry you.”
“Where are we going? What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I’ve kidnapped you, and it was incredibly easy too.”
“But…but…kidnapping, Mr. Farnsworth? To what end?”
She was yanking on their wrists where the knot he’d tied grew tighter and tighter. She hadn’t grasped that her fetter was merely becoming more effective.
They were at the edge of the garden, and he dragged her into the trees. She gazed at the manor as if hoping someone was watching, but the forest quickly swallowed them, and they disappeared from view.
“Miss Henley!” he snapped. “Stop dawdling.”
“I’m not dawdling. I simply can’t match your rapid pace.”
“No, you’re dawdling. Don’t argue with me!”
He swung his pistol into her face, but she didn’t seem afraid in the slightest.
“I’m not arguing,” she said. “I’m worried about you. You don’t look well, Mr. Farnsworth.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re perspiring and your breathing is very labored. Shall we sit for a minute?”
“A clever ploy, Miss Henley,” he jeered, “but I won’t be distracted.”
“What is our destination?”
“We’ll proceed down the beach a short distance to where I have parked a carriage.”
“A carriage! You’re intending to abscond with me? Truly?”
“Yes.”
“For what reason?”
“I shall hide you from Mr. Swift. I’m betting—after I send him a note to tell him where you are—he’ll be eager to fetch you.”
“Mr. Swift? You’re mad if you assume he’ll come for me.”
“I saw him kissing you. If you were lost, he’d search forever.”
“Why force him to search? If you want to speak to him, why not march to the manor and knock on the door? He’s not barricaded inside. Just ask to talk to him.”
“I have no desire to talk to Mr. Swift in a house full of witnesses. What I have to say to him, I shall say when he and I are quite alone.”
“What’s happened to you, Mr. Farnsworth? If your aunt observed you when you were acting like this, she’d be very upset.”
“Don’t mention my aunt to me!”
Her comment about Mildred enraged him so much that he clouted her on the forehead with the butt of the pistol. The blow hadn’t landed very hard, but it created a small cut.
“Ow!” she complained. “You cretin! You hit me!”
“I didn’t mean to,” he claimed or maybe he did. He was just so angry.
She touched her injury, and when she drew her hand away her fingertips were covered with blood. The sight incensed her, and she furiously spat, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Yes, you are.”
He tried to continue on, but she planted her feet and wouldn’t budge. There was no hope for it. He’d have to manhandle her.
“Don’t make me be cruel to you, Miss Henley.”
“You’re too late on that score, Mr. Farnsworth. I’m bleeding, you dolt!”
He couldn’t guess how he might have responded, but from over in the garden a man called, “Farnsworth! What are you doing?”
He glanced over to see Nicholas Swift storming toward him like the Angel of Death. Clayton hesitated, suddenly not as sure as he had been. In his frantic raving over the unfairness of life, he’d forgotten how tall Swift was, how confident and bold. He possessed every trait Clayton lacked.
“Hold it right there, Swift!” he called back.
“Have you tipped off your rocker?” was Swift’s reply. “Is that what’s finally occurred?”
“Stay where you are!”
Swift hadn’t slowed, hadn’t paused to exhibit any fear over his safety—or Miss Henley’s—and Clayton was flummoxed by his rapid advance. It left him dizzy with terror and resolve.
“I’ll kill you, Swift,” he warned. “If you come one step closer, you’re dead.”
“You don’t have the nerve to kill me,” Swift taunted.
“Fine, then,” Clayton retorted, “I’ll shoot Miss Henley instead. I’m delighted either way.”
“You kill her,” Swift blithely said, “then I’ll kill you. It will be a perfect eye-for-an-eye.”
Clayton raised the pistol to her head, and he was disgusted to find that she wasn’t whimpering or pleading or showing any sign at all that she was frightened of him. She simply stared at Swift, and she looked calm and composed and completely convinced that he would rescue her.
Clayton might have pulled the trigger, but he was startled by a second man—who was just as determined and furious as Swift—appearing behind him. His arrival distracted Clayton, but he was even more diverted by the fact that his aunt was marching toward them too.
“Clayton!” she yelled. “You are absolutely out of your mind!”
Abruptly, he was too befuddled to react. Since the meeting with Thumberton, he’d spent every minute plotting and planning to the point where he could no longer think clearly.
He was supposed to have easily kidnapped Miss Henley, then lured Nicholas Swift to an isolated spot where Clayton could have murdered him. He’d have rid himself of Miss Henley too, then he’d have cunningly concealed the bodies where they would never be discovered.
Now he was extremely confused, and the entire scheme seemed a tad deranged.
Why were the stars aligned against him? Why couldn’t anything go right?
Miss Henley compounded his dilemma by sagging slightly. The drop of her weight yanked him off balance. Mr. Swift lunged, his aunt screamed, and the second man shouted an epithet. Clayton aimed his pistol at Swift, but Swift merely reached out and jerked it away.
Without it being fired, he tossed it into the weeds, then he punched Clayton as hard as he could. His eyes fluttered shut, his knees gave out, and he sank to the ground.
The last detail he remembered was Miss Henley leaning over him and peering down.
“Is he dead?” she asked.
“Unfortunately not,” Swift said.
Then everything went black.