King’s Head
One week later
Eugenie smiled as her husband, Donner, announced at dinner over Cook’s delicious Charlotte Russe, “As you know, I’ve purchased a manor house near Canterbury, only twelve miles from King’s Head. Eugenie and I have decided to name it Longfield. It has thirty acres and several tenant farmers. It isn’t nearly the size of King’s Head, but it will suit us.” He took her hand. “And our growing family.”
There was silence, then Vereker said, “Blakeney, champagne. I am to be a grandfather and all of us will be visiting Longfield.”
Eugenie was grinning from ear to ear and Donner looked so proud he might pop his vest buttons.
When toasts were made and champagne drunk, Donner said, “I’m assured by our man the house will be ready for us to move in next week. We want you all to come for dinner to celebrate.”
Cam remembered the laughter she’d heard from Donnerand Eugenie’s bedchamber. Blakeney brought out more champagne and there the toasts continued through the second bottle.
Uncle Tally, who now ate at the house most nights, called out, “My beautiful Eugenie, may I come dine with you occasionally?”
And Eugenie laughed. “If you are not at our dining table once a week, I shall be sorely upset.”
Cam studied their happy faces. Eugenie even smiled at her over a witty toast by Uncle Tally. She wondered how she could have ever believed, even for an instant, that Eugenie and Donner were behind this misery.
So close to home. Betrayal,hate,blame, her mother had said. No, not Donner or Eugenie. And, of course, she knew it could only be one person.
Graham hadn’t asked her how she felt more than a dozen times today. Cam grinned up at him, laid her face against his shoulder. His bathrobe was velvet, smooth and so very soft beneath her cheek.
He kissed her hair, hugged her closer. Soon the stitches would be gone from above her temple, but now a constant reminder and whenever he thought of the beam hitting her, his heart seized.
She leaned back in his arms. “It’s time, Graham, time we talked. Come, let’s sit by the fire. And it’s time I told you about my mother. She woke me up, you know.”
He stared at her. “I don’t understand.”
She took his hand. “Come.” They settled in side by side in the comfortable dark blue velvet chairs. The embers were orange, occasionally sparking up. The room was warm, the unremitting rain slid drops down the windows. The draperies were open, as both of them preferred.
He squeezed her hand. “Explain this to me. Your mother woke you up?”
“Yes, right before I opened my eyes I was speaking to her. She told me to wake up. She was rather insistent.”
He said carefully, “You were dreaming of your mother?”
“Well, of course I was dreaming, in a way I guess, carrying on a dialogue between us, playing both her and myself, I suppose. But, Graham, when she yelled at me to wake up, I did. And isn’t that curious? I’ve thought and thought, but I really can’t explain it.
“But that’s not what’s important. I asked her why the attempts on your life and she told me it was all of a piece, betrayal, blame and hate, and then, of course, tragedy. She said it was close, Graham, so close.” Cam drew in a deep breath. “It’s time I said it aloud, time we brought it into the open. You know it’s someone here, and you know as well as I do who it must be.”
“Yes, it’s time we brought everything out in the open. I didn’t want to speak of it sooner, not with you still recovering.” He drew a deep breath, stared at the embers in the fireplace, glowing red, occasional sparks flying up. He never looked away from the fire, and said, his voice emotionless, “It has to be Uncle Tally, there is simply no one else, certainly not pregnant Eugenie or Donner, who simply wants to be his own man, out of another man’s house.”
“Yes, there is no one else. But why, Graham, why would Uncle Tally try to kill you and Simon? What about the betrayal, the hate, the guilt, the tragedy? What does that mean?”
Graham said slowly, “Uncle Tally was my father’s nominal heir until Simon and I were born.” He pressed his palms against his head. “But to murder your own nephews, it smacks of something I can’t bear to accept.” He struck his fist against the arm of the chair, winced. “If only I could remember, then we’d know, Cam, we’d know.” Even though he had no memory of Uncle Tally, it still hurt him, knew itwould devastate his father. But had his father always realized there was simply no one else?
Cam said matter-of-factly, “He abducted you and your brother, he wanted you both dead. He killed Simon, but Ryder Sherbrooke saved your life. You survived.
“He wanted you dead, Graham. You told me Mr. Sherbrooke said you’d been struck on the head before you were thrown into the Thames to drown.”
To hear the words said aloud—“Yes. As I told you, before Simon and me, Uncle Tally was my father’s nominal heir. With both Simon and me dead he would be my father’s only heir.”
“But, Graham, would he also have murdered more children had your father remarried after your mother’s death?”
“I don’t know, but why not? Damnation, I like him, Cam, his dealings with me since I returned have been that of a loving uncle.”
If Uncle Tally was the monster, she would kill him.Cam’s voice was as cold as the ice in her belly. “I’d be loving too if I needed to be. I’d surely hide the evil inside.” She paused, added, “And that is why he’s now dining nearly every night here. He wants to find out our plans, what we’re doing and when and how so he can make plans.”
