Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Gwen was so scared she could barely put one foot before the other. Her worst fears had been realised. Oliver had summoned Simon to Whitney Grange and meant to make him pay for stealing her virtue. She pushed through the snow-covered fields, desperate to reach the Grange before Oliver did something stupid.

Please don't shoot him!

"Keep up, Myrtle. The cold won't kill you."

With the snow inches deep, the maid lagged behind. Perhaps it was unwise to force her to come, but Oliver would not embarrass himself in front of his staff. And if Oliver was the spy, was it not better to have a witness to his crimes?

"Happen I should return to Westmore. I'll send a carriage, save you walking back on foot, miss. You'll be frozen to your bones when you reach the Grange."

The idea had merit. The cold had worked its way into every extremity. But a twinge of distrust drew Gwen to a halt.

"Are you certain Mr Garrick mentioned Whitney Grange?" Would the beach not be the best place to kill a man? One could weigh down a body and cast it out to sea.

Myrtle brushed snow from her gloves. "His lordship told Flanders to give Mr Garrick a note. Flanders said one of his lordship's pistols is missing from the case he left on his desk."

The butler had confirmed as much.

"And Mr Garrick said to tell me he'd come to the Grange?" Gwen attempted to confirm. It didn't take much to put Myrtle in a tizzy, though perhaps an empty house was a perfect place to fight a duel.

"Yes. He said not to follow." Myrtle glanced nervously behind. "I'll go back and have Mr Davies bring the cart. If his lordship has shot Mr Garrick, we'll need help."

A knot of fear tightened in Gwen's gut. Surely Oliver wouldn't be so cruel. "No one is getting shot today. My brother will fetch the carriage once I've given him fifty lashes with my tongue. Now, keep up, Myrtle."

With mumbled complaints, Myrtle kept Gwen's pace.

While Whitney Grange's ancient cedar tree stood as a symbol of strength, its broad branches healthy and robust, the manor's exterior spoke of neglect. Beneath the winter blanket, the lawn was likely overgrown. A stone urn lay smashed on the steps. The rendering was cracked and faded, the windows filthy.

So why did Whitney Grange feel like home?

Memories of secret liaisons slipped into Gwen's mind. The moonlit walks. The stolen kisses. Every tender caress. It's why she had not ventured to the Grange for years. It represented all she had lost. But she'd be damned before she'd let Oliver ruin her life again.

Gwen stepped over the debris and entered the house. The front door creaked on its hinges as she pushed it open, the sound echoing through the damp, cobwebbed hall.

"Oliver?" Gwen called but received no response.

All was deathly quiet.

Nausea roiled in her stomach.

What if she was too late?

What if she found both men lying in a pool of blood?

Raising the hem of her skirt, Gwen raced into the drawing room. Someone had been in the house. Embers glowed in the hearth. The smell of wood smoke clung to the air.

She faced Myrtle and pointed at the burgundy coverlet acting as a makeshift bed. "Is that not the coverlet missing from my mother's old ottoman?"

Myrtle shrugged. "Happen it's similar."

The creak of the upstairs boards had them glancing nervously at the ceiling. Someone was in the house, yet Gwen would stake her life it wasn't Oliver or Simon.

"Stay here," Gwen whispered, determined to investigate.

She crept to the first floor, though every stair groaned and the wood felt spongy beneath her feet. Dead leaves and shards of glass littered the landing.

Gwen headed for Simon's old bedchamber.

The door was ajar.

Heart pounding, Gwen pushed it open and stepped over the threshold. The person inside made no attempt to hide or flee. She wore her black hair loose, wore a grin that distorted her pretty features.

"Mrs Samuel?"

The woman snorted. "We both know I've never been married, my dear. Though, I mean to rectify the situation soon."

Gwen fought to calm her breathing. She scanned Mrs Samuel's faded blue dress. "Does Oliver know you've decided to spend the Christmas season in Whitehaven?" Had she fallen on hard times and found herself destitute?

"I could hardly broadcast my return."

What on earth did she want?

Gwen scoured her mind. "If you've come to pressure my brother for money, I assure you, he will refuse. As I'm aware of his betrayal, you have no means to blackmail him."

"I'm not here to blackmail a viscount." The lady stood a mere six feet away. She made no move to sit or draw Gwen into the room. "I've concocted a far more elaborate plan."

Was vengeance the plan?

A means to punish Oliver for casting her out?

Anger sparked in Gwen's chest. "Where is Mr Garrick?"

"He's dead."

The words hit like a punch to the gut, but she refused to fall for this woman's wicked tales. "You're lying." She would know if Simon had drawn his last breath. "You're not clever enough to overpower him."

The lady's evil titter grated. "All a woman has to do is pit one man against another, then sit back and watch the show. Two angry men in a fight with pistols never ends well."

Gwen's blood pumped at too fast a rate. "Where are they? Tell me!" She had to find them before it was too late.

"Likely dead on the beach." Mrs Samuel brushed dust off her sleeve as if proud of a job well done. "I couldn't persuade your father or brother to marry me, but I've had better luck with your cousin. Indeed, Thomas Caldwell will inherit the viscountcy, and I shall be his viscountess."

Gwen blinked in disbelief. Thomas Caldwell was a bumbling idiot. A dull man of science and a staunch advocate of reform who had never married.

"Poor Thomas was easily seduced. The besotted ones are quick to tame. Thomas alerted the Home Office of a spy willing to sell a list of British agents. I explained I had a contact in Whitehaven, showed him a few fake letters, and he convinced Lord Mowbray to send his best agent."

"You conspired to have Mr Garrick sent to Whitehaven?"

Mrs Samuel shrugged. "I prayed Mr Garrick would throttle your brother as soon as he discovered the truth. Sadly, it took a little more manipulation, and Myrtle was able to help."

Hearing her name, Myrtle slipped from the shadows. "Forgive me, miss. Mrs Samuel knows my brother stole two silver candlesticks from his employer. She has his signed confession. If I don't do what she says, he'll hang."

The foolish girl.

"She has lied to you, Myrtle. If you'd come to me in the beginning, we could have dealt with the matter swiftly." And yet, Gwen couldn't help but think a higher force was at work. One keen to right the wrongs of the past. "I just pray my brother and Mr Garrick had more sense than to shoot each other."

As soon as the words left her lips, a question sprang to mind.

One that sent an icy shiver shooting up her spine.

"Why summon me to Whitney Grange? I'm no threat. Thomas will inherit if my brother dies." Gwen would have always believed the spy story and that Oliver and Simon had fought over her.

Mrs Samuel straightened her shoulders. "Because your cousin will probably pity you and offer to make you his bride. I can't take the chance. They will blame Mr Garrick for your death. The man has never forgotten the cruel and callous way you discarded him."

Blind fury surged through Gwen. She was about to issue an ultimatum, but Mrs Samuel suddenly screamed and charged at her like a banshee.

A violent tussle ensued.

While Myrtle looked on, the deranged Mrs Samuel tried to push Gwen over the railing. The rotten wood cracked and splintered against the sudden weight. The railing and spindles broke away and crashed to the floor below.

Gwen gulped.

One slip and it would be a sure tumble to her death.

Mrs Samuel must have feared the same. With the devil's strength, she grabbed Gwen's cloak and tried to push her to her doom.

Gwen gritted her teeth, determined to be the victor. "You'll not hurt me again." She dropped to her knees without warning, throwing Mrs Samuel off balance.

That's when Myrtle rushed forward and shoved Mrs Samuel hard in the back. The lady tumbled over Gwen and fell to the tiled floor below, landing with a heavy thud.

Death's stillness descended, the silence punctuated by Gwen's ragged breaths and Myrtle's cries for mercy.

The front door burst open.

The Lord had answered Gwen's prayers. Simon mounted the stairs two at a time, while Oliver stared at Mrs Samuel's lifeless body in disbelief.

"Good God, Gwendolyn." Simon reached her, crushing her to his chest and raining kisses over her hair. "What were you thinking? This place is a death trap. You might have been killed."

"I—I feared Oliver would shoot you," she uttered as tears fell, tears of relief. "I was scared I might lose you."

Simon clasped her cheeks and dashed the tears away with his thumbs. "Love, the devil himself couldn't part us a second time."