Page 59 of The Dreaming Beauty
Those words meant everything to him. “You can speak to me about anything.”
She nodded, her vulnerability showing in her every movement. “I hoped, because you said we were friends, that you would come.”
Friends. Would they ever get past that stage to something more? “I would not have come if I did not care about you.” She could interpret that for what she wanted it to mean, but he meant it as far more than just feelings of friendship. “Please, tell me what has you so upended.”
Her shoulders relaxed, though she still clung tightly to her hands. “Tonight, while you were gone, I got turned around and ended up in the portrait gallery. Something I saw frightened me. Then your mother said... well, what she said sent my head spinning.”
“Slow down. What did you see in the portrait gallery?”
She studied her hands. “I remembered my aunts’ reaction to the portrait in your library of Richard—er, Westmorland VIII. I was curious, so I searched for another picture of him. I found one behind the door in a stack under a holland cover.”
“And?”
“It was a wedding portrait. It had to be. Marcus, who was Richard married to? Do you know her name?”
Marcus squinted, racking his memory. “I am sure I have heard her name, but I cannot recall it. It would not be very hard to find out.”
“Is there anything you can tell me about them? Either of them?”
She was shaking. “Here, hold this.” He extended the candle to her, and she accepted it. Then he cupped his hands around hers, doing his best to bring warmth to her icy fingers.
“Thank you,” she said, her eyes on the flickering flame.
He was tempted to draw her near him and comfort her in a different way, but not here. Not in the dark. He took a step back and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know much about their lives, but most people around these parts know of the tragedy of their deaths. They had been married only a short six months when they were traveling home from a ball in the town dance hall. On the road, they were attacked by a highwayman and...”
“And?”
He sighed, not wanting to talk of such gruesome things when she was already so distraught. His thumbs moved against her fingers. “They were both shot and killed. The story is that they were a love match. As tragic as the story is, it was merciful that they at least went together.”
Her eyes remained as wide as an owl’s despite how he had tried to soften the story’s ending. “They died together? Be-before they could have children?”
His head moved in a slow nod. “Westmorland IX inherited the dukedom, and the previous duke and duchess were buried behind the church.”
Tansy turned away from him, and his hands fell limply to his side. After a few deep breaths, she said, “And why do they say Rose Cottage is cursed? Is it connected to them? Did they die nearby?”
He sighed, knowing it was better to tell her now than let her learn it from someone else. “No, it is because the duchess’s ghost was seen here.”
Tansy whirled back around. “She was not a ghost. She was alive. She had to be, because she was my mother.”
The wind swirled through the willow branches, and the leaves stirred together like the faint echo of rushing water, or maybe it was just the sound of his thoughts whirling in his head, processing what Tansy was saying. “Do you mean to say that the woman in the portrait you saw was your mother?”
Tansy nodded emphatically. “I swear it, Marcus. I would not make this up. You can check it for yourself in the morning or even tonight. The canvas was slashed, but if you hold the pieces together, you will see her. Her hair was darker, but she looks... she looks just like me.”
His feet shifted, and he adjusted his stance. “That would mean your father was the late duke.”
“I know that sounds fantastical, and I am still trying to grasp the idea of it all. I have spent my whole life plying my aunts with questions about my father, but they always tell me not to ask. Just a few weeks ago, I asked Aster again, nay, demanded she tell me. She said that knowing about him could be dangerous. I did not believe her, but then I received this.” She withdrew a paper from her sleeve.
Accepting the proffered note and the candle once more, he flipped it open and held it close to the candlelight.
Leave this place. Whitfield has no need of you.
“When did you get this?”
“Just before I saw you, I discovered it on the steps in front of my house. Who would send this to me? You know this place better than I do. Is it because of Rose Cottage? Is it because someone knows I have discovered who my father is?”
“Tansy, you must not panic. You said your mother died when you were young, but that does not match up with Richard’s story. Let me verify it tomorrow; I can check in the family Bible what his wife’s name was. I will also find the portrait and in better light study the picture you saw tonight. It isn’t that I don’t believe you, but we must be certain.”
“Please do; that would mean so much for you to see to those things. But how will I know what you discover? I do not think my aunts will let me return to Ashbury Court for some time. Something transpired between my aunt and your mother tonight. I am not privy to how they knew each other or why they dislike each other so, but Aster and Iris made it quite clear when I returned that, until further notice, I am forbidden to step foot there.”
