Chapter 12
TWELVE
Belladonna stared at the three other people in the room. Eugenie was her dearest friend and now her friend had taken the opportunity to maneuver her into marriage. A complete romantic, she would simply see herself as giving fate a helping hand. As for Mrs. Hollander, she didn't know her. Not really. She didn't know how much she could count on her not to spread the tale far and wide that she had been alone for days with the very handsome and virile Desmond Crane. He was her brother, but it wouldn't be his reputation that would be damaged by the rumor. Only hers.
A dozen arguments came to her mind. A dozen reasons racing through her thoughts as to why marriage was a terrible idea. In the end, she didn't utter any of them. Not because they were baseless or lacked support, but because she didn't want to. Marrying him—being his wife—was a dream come true, and a dream that she couldn't run from out of fear. Mrs. Hollander was right, after all. Gossip was currency in their small village and her name was often bandied about, fairly or unfairly. Even a hint of gossip of the magnitude of her current situation and all of Reverend Stalker's attempts to run her out of town would come to fruition.
"Not London. Nottingham. It's closer," she said. "But not until you are well. It will be days yet before you can travel safely."
"It will be safe enough for me in a carriage. We will leave in the morning," he insisted. "And tonight you will not stay here alone, not after all that has happened. His contempt of you—I could not bear it if something were to happen to you, Belladonna. Come to Highwood Abbey."
"No. She will stay with me in town," Mrs. Frye said. "You may collect her at my home tomorrow morning and depart for Nottingham from there. It is on the way, after all. It will be, given everything that is already problematic with Bella's reputation, the best option all around. No one will be able to find fault with that or take exception to it."
Bella nodded. "It would be better. You can rest and recover today and I shall see you in the morning."
"Mrs. Frye," Mrs. Hollander said, "If I may use your gig to ferry my brother back to the Abbey, I shall send it back to you here that you may see Miss Goodwynne safely into town."
"No… Edwina, you and I will remain here. Mrs. Frye and Belladonna can stop by the Abbey on their way back into town to send our carriage for us. It will be easier for me to travel and to be quite frank, I'm not entirely certain I could manage to climb into a gig right now without falling on my face," Desmond informed her.
"He's been in and out of consciousness since the day of his att?—"
"Since the accident," he corrected her. "It was an unfortunate accident."
Belladonna noted his expression, one that asked for her cooperation. And since she wasn't really inclined to go into detail about all of the ugliness she had suffered at the hands of Reverend Stalker, it was much easier just to go along. "Yes. It was a terrible accident and one that could well have been prevented," she stated with emphasis.
"And it will not happen again," he said firmly.
Edwina and Mrs. Holland both appeared to be quite perplexed by the interplay between them. To avoid further confusion and further questions, Belladonna simply capitulated. "Let me gather a few things and then we can depart, Genie."
Leaving the three of them downstairs, Belladonna climbed the narrow and rickety stairs to her bedchamber. There she gathered her two best dresses, neither of which was particularly fine, along with a few other essential items and tucked them into an ancient and well used valise. Going to the small dressing table in the corner, she opened a drawer and retrieved a box. She owned very little jewelry and all that she did own had been passed down from her mother to her aunt and then to her.
Nestled inside the box was a simple locket on a length of pale silk ribbon. Within the locket was the only picture she had of her mother, a miniature that was so old and faded it no longer looked like the woman who lived in the vague shadows of her memory. But it had been painted by her father not long before he died and before she was born. The ;octet allowed her to feel some sense of connection to her past, some way of not feeling alone in the world.
And she was about to be married to a man she hardly knew. But who could make her blood race with nothing more than a glance.
Belladonna worried that perhaps her willingness to go along with his plan was prompted as much per her desire to no longer be alone as for all the practical and impractical reasons he had proposed. That thought created a hot, tight knot of fear in her stomach. Was it a mistake? Or was it truly her destiny? Was he the man she was meant to be with? Or would he simply be another casualty of daring to entangle himself with a Goodwynne?
Other memories swarmed her in that moment. She could recall the nights Amarantha had sat by her bed and told her stories of their family, regaling her with tales of love and tragedy. And after each of those stories, she had been assured that it would not be that way for her. That she would be the one to break the curse and find happiness. But the longer she had been alone in that small college, and the more the people of Highgate had turned on her under the guidance of Reverend Stalker, the less inclined she had been to believe those long ago assurances from the woman who had raised her.
With a last look around her small and mostly barren bedchamber, Belladonna turned to the stairs, prepared to meet whatever fate lay in store for her below.
Desmond had walked outside with Edwina. In the bright light of day, she gasped when she finally caught sight of him. The interior of the cottage had been dim enough to hide the extent of his injury, but now there was no denying it.
"It was not simply a convenient excuse," he told her. "I was legitimately unconscious for two days. I have only just been able to get up and walk around without falling prey to dizziness and nausea."
"Oh, Desmond. I had no idea," she said. "I knew that you would not simply go off on your own for days on end without giving me some notion of where it was you were gone and when you would be expected to return. But truly, I could not imagine that you would have been so gravely injured."
"It changes nothing. Mrs. Frye was quite right in her assessment. Belladonna and I must marry. There is no other way to avoid the scandal. Furthermore… I want to marry her."
Edwina's expression shifted to one of suspicion and concern. "You know what is said of her."
"I do," he agreed.
"Is it possible that she has cast some sort of spell to ensnare you?"
Desmond laughed, then winced as it made his head ache. "No. She is not trying to ensnare me, sister. Indeed, it has taken a not insignificant amount of persuasion on my part to get her to agree. In fact, she had not agreed though the question had been posed to her several minutes before the two of you appeared. I daresay that it had not been for the goading of Mrs. Frye that she would have continued to refuse me. In truth, I am quite grateful for your timely appearance."
"How can you be so certain? You've known her such a short time, Desmond! Yet you seem to be fully confident in your choice. I confess that I have never believed in such things, but there is something about her that makes me question whether or not such things are possible," Edwina said, chewing her lip nervously.
Desmond thought back to the flame that had danced so prettily in the palm of her hand. They were more than possible. It was a hard thing to wrap his very rational mind around, but he had been confronted with irrefutable proof that there was indeed something very different about Belladonna Goodwynne. "Even if I weren't certain, it wouldn't matter. The dye has been cast, after all. I have spent two nights alone with her and regardless of my condition for those nights, given that most of the people in Highgate have already turned on her, she would be cast out entirely. I will not do that to her when she has done naught but show me kindness and care."
Edwina was quiet for a moment. "Then I will wish you well, brother. Will you return to London with her?"
"I think not," he said. "There are issues here that need to be dealt with first. Also, I am not certain that London is the place for Belladonna. It would be ill suited to her nature loving spirit to live in that dirty, congested place. I think I will look for property here. A house that will suit our needs or that can be modified to do so."
"Then you should let me sell Highwood Abbey to you… I do not wish to live there. Not anymore. I've no wish to leave Highgate, but I can find a much smaller residence. Something in town perhaps, that will suite me better."
"It was your home… it was Thomas' home."
She nodded, her expression both sad and determined. "It was my home with Thomas. And without him, it does not feel like home anymore. I will pray that you find as much happiness there as he and I did."