Page 49 of The Viscount's Seduction
Sirena’s heart pounded fiercely, the drumming resounding in her ears and pushing against her eyes, clouding her vision.
“I found this box amongst your things, my dear,” Lady Jane said, “and the other was on the night stand. I thought you might want to wear one of them.”
Queen Brighid’s knot swung gently back and forth, its complicated turns pulling Sirena in, twisting up her heart, pressing on her lungs. Images flashed before her eyes, the knot resting in her gram’s gnarled hand, the knot against Jamie’s broad neck, the knot on the worn carpet at Glenmorrow.
“Sirena.” A hand clutched her elbow.
She sucked in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and opened them, glancing at the other dangling item, her mother’s locket.
At Papa’s death, there’d only been a few items of her mother’s jewelry left, and this one she’d purloined from the Glenmorrow estate, risking a charge of theft by her greedy cousin.
She fingered the locket. It was cold, firm, the etchings worn under her own shaking fingers, and thank God for it. Had she Gram’s and Mama’s Sight, the thing might be warm and buzzing as fierce as her head now.
“Perhaps something borrowed,” Barton said, moving in front of Sirena and fluffing a sleeve cap again. “It’s one of the traditions where my people come from.”
“Of course,” Lady Jane said. She moved behind Sirena and fastened a chain around her neck.
’Twas Lady Jane’s own small amber cross, the one she always wore.
“Will this do, then? It was my grandmother’s, and she had a long and happy marriage with many children.”
Sirena’s heart settled and warmth rushed her eyes. “And was that not her wish for you, my lady? I shall give it back directly.”
Lady Jane smiled. “I should like it back, but I’m afraid my time for marriage and children has passed.”
Sirena grasped Lady Jane’s hand and studied her, a knowing quaking inside of her for this friend she’d grown to love. And perhaps she did have some of her mother’s gift. “No, Jane,” she whispered. “It hasn’t.”
Lady Jane’s mouth opened and closed.
“Lovely.” Lady Hackwell said, sweeping into the room, tall and elegant-looking. “Lady Sirena, I’m so sorry, I must rush you on your wedding day.” She smiled, but there was a tension about her eyes. “He’s here, as is the vicar, and wishes to make all haste.”
Which meant, his lord father, Shaldon, might be hot on his heels. She put a hand to her stomach. She’d slept so little that morning.
Lady Hackwell’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have to do this if you’re unwilling. No matter what has transpired—”
“Lord Bakeley has been a perfect gentleman.” Well,almostperfect.
And what was she to do? She was trapped, by the simple need for shelter and food. If she ran off from Bakeley, Lady Jane couldn’t take her back and still be respectable. She didn’t love Bakeley, but God’s truth, he was handsome, and his kisses were magical.
And…he was the son of Shaldon, the man who might tell her where to find Jamie. She might find the truth. And if her brother trulywasdead, by all that was holy, when she knew the how and the who of it, she’d take her revenge, even if it meant going against her husband’s father.
She straightened her shoulders. “I do want to go through with this.”
That was the terrifying truth.
Afew squares over, a valet held up a dark coat for Edward Everly, Lord Shaldon, to ease into. The tight sleeves pinched at his shoulder, causing the old wound where a bullet had been dug out to throb. Even that could not bring him down.
His obstinate heir was taking a wife, finally.
“I couldn’t persuade you out of this?” The man speaking stood erect and alert. “No. By the grin on your face, I suppose not.”
“You shall accompany me and save me from the worst of my folly. As usual, Kincaid.”
“An Irish lass. Is it not poetic justice that the next Lady Shaldon will be Irish? Bink’s mother is laughing in her grave.”
He took his cane from his valet and dismissed the man. “But she would approve, and so would Felicity.” His late wife’s generous spirit had left hefty bequests for all the Shaldon offspring, including his Irish by-blow. “As do I. Imagine the boy saddled to that milksop lass of Denholm’s?”
“Would Lady Sirena have killed that man at the docks yesterday, do you think?”
