Such vigilance rid them of any further incidents thus far. There’d been minor accidents, but nothing suspicious. While Ian was glad nothing untoward had occurred of late, the lack of progress prolonged the need to secure his bedchamber door each night just to find a respite from the constant vigilance rankled him.
Life had become a series of watchful moments, of sickening anticipation.
He needed something to release them from the uncertainty that held the castle in its thrall. Everyone was walking on eggshells, including Hero, and he knew she was as weary as he of waiting for something to happen. Something to free them to live the life they were meant to live.
The worst of it was that there was something Ian was missing. He knew it but couldn’t put a finger on what it was. The answer to it all. It nagged at him like a distant voice calling at him, but he couldn’t understand the words.
And that frustrated him even more.
Following the sound of a piano being played, he turned at the bottom of the stairs and steered himself toward the music room. It was a mournful sonata that perfectly suited the dark mood of the castle. Hero had been subdued all week. Her worry for him was palpable. She feared for his life, fearing rightly that he would sacrifice his life for hers if need be. When they made love, she clung to him desperately. Her nights were tormented by nightmares.
The entire situation was quickly becoming intolerable. He’d promised her happiness, not this misery.
Pausing in the doorway of the music room, he was surprised to find not Hero but Beaumont at the piano. As lighthearted as the duke was, it astonished Ian to see him play the somber work with such passion. His deeply lined face creased with emotion as his fingers worked agilely over the keys, and it was easy to see from whom Hero had inherited her talents on the pianoforte.
The last note sounded, lingering in the room, and Beaumont sat frozen for a moment, staring at the music. “Good morning, Harry,” he said softly. “Well played.”
The duke looked up with a sad nod. “It is…wasValerie’s favorite work. I often played for her in the evenings before…of late, I remember more and more. I cannot say I like it at all.”
Ian wondered what the duke meant by that. Had Beaumont’s “madness” merely been a way for him to cope with the loss of someone who had meant far more to him than anyone had known? There was no way to tell unless the duke chose to share such confidences with Ian, but Ian knew he would never probe into anything so personal without Hero present.
“Where is Hero?” He’d risen early to oversee the installation of a new gate door in the dungeons before the tides came in. Hero promised to stay within the castle walls, but she hadn’t been above stairs when he returned to change. He’d thought she would be with her father. “Harry, have you seen Hero?”
“Yes, of course,” Beaumont told him as he began to poke out with one finger a more tawdry ditty. “We had breakfast together.”
“Where is she now?”
“She went shopping with her friends. The ladies do love to shop, don’t they?”
Ian came to attention in the doorway at that. Shopping? With her friends? He knew Beaumont wavered between reality and fantasy, but he didn’t usually round the bend into utter fabrication. Furthermore, Hero was well enough aware of the danger to either of them in leaving the castle unescorted. She wouldn’t have gone shopping. Surely not. “Which friends, Harry?”
“Lady Corbin? Lady Spears?” the duke shook his head. “It is hard to keep them straight.”
Ian turned back into the hall to look for Hero himself or find another of sounder mind to provide him answers.
After breakfast that morning, Hero had gone to confer with Mrs. Potts over the menus for the day and see to the delivery of a new shipment of linens that she’d ordered from France even before her original departure from Dùn Cuilean almost a year before.
The diversion was a pleasurable one, following an unpleasant week. Thank God for her father, she thought. Without his good humor, the castle would have been a veritable mausoleum with everyone tiptoeing about as they were. The word was out among the staff, and everyone was on guard following the fire. The estate’s perimeter and gates were so heavily guarded she was surprised this shipment had gotten through.
It was strange how quickly time flew. From her mother’s death, to Robert’s, to now. Just a year ago, she’d sat with Jennings and the factory’s representative looking over their new line of bed and table linens edged with a new machine-made lace. Incredibly beautiful and made only for custom orders with silk embroidery and monogramming, she’d placed an order with no way of knowing that she would lose her husband within the week and her home within months.
Now the order was delivered and she was once again at home and the mistress of Dùn Cuilean. It was curious how fate steered a person. “They are lovely, Monsieur Girard.” She ran her hand across the fine work Girard had laid out for her in Mrs. Potts’s office. “Just as you promised.”
“Again I apologize for the long delay in delivery, Madam Ayr,” Girard said in his light accent. “I must admit we had put the order on hold following your husband’s death. It wasn’t until your Monsieur Jennings contacted us several months ago on Miss Kennedy’s behalf that we continued. This castle has seen many troubled times,non?”
“You are quite right, monsieur. I do appreciate you bringing them personally.”
“My pleasure, madam.”
“I’ll just call in Mrs. Potts to see them put away.” She moved to the door. “Then tea, perhaps?”
“I’m afraid I cannot let you do that.”
“Call for tea?”
“Non, madam, call for help.” Girard opened his jacket and pulled out a pistol, training it on her. “My apologies.”
“Monsieur Girard, whatev—” Hero stopped, her eyes wide as the door opened and a woman slipped inside. “Daphne, what is the meaning of this? How did you get in here?”
