Head in the Clouds

  Lucinda requested her maid see about replenishing her supply of powders, but the maid insisted that she was still mixing medicine into her lady’s tea every morning and evening, just as the doctor had instructed her. Lucinda trusted the maid’s honesty yet couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. She no longer tasted the bitterness of the doctor’s remedy. That’s when the maid explained that, according to the viscount, the doctor had recommended returning to the previous treatment. Therefore she had gone back to using the white powders that Lucinda had taken before the physician visited her. According to the maid, the viscount was so worried about his sister-in-law’s condition, he had instructed her to increase the dosage every week if there was no evidence of improvement.

  Lucinda questioned her maid further and discovered that Reginald had started her treatment roughly the same time as her symptoms first appeared. There could be only one possible conclusion.

  Poison.

  Lucinda was smart enough not to voice any accusations. If Reginald guessed she had found him out, there was no telling what he might do. Protecting Isabella outweighed all else, and until Lucinda regained a measure of strength, she was at his mercy. Therefore, she kept her mouth shut and simply stopped drinking her tea. She poured it into a potted plant near her bed when she believed no one watched. However, Reginald must have learned of her deceit, for the sickness continued to worsen. She stopped eating altogether then, fearing he had begun adding the poison to her meals. She sneaked down to the kitchens to pilfer food during the night, and occasionally Isabella would smuggle her a treat. But she couldn’t stave off the effects.

  Arsenic. It had to be. The white powder fit the maid’s description. Colorless. Tasteless. It would explain the lack of bitterness she’d noted after the doctor’s packets had been depleted. Decades before, arsenic had even been known as the inheritance powder by heirs who wished to speed along the arrival of their share of a relative’s estate. It was exactly the type of weapon her scheming brother-in-law would choose.

  Reginald had murdered her husband and was now killing her. She had to get Isabella away from him. Lucinda had no family with whom to take refuge, no one to protect her daughter when the poison finally won. So she plotted and planned until nearly every contingency was accounted for. God would have to take care of the last detail—to provide a guardian for Isabella before Lucinda breathed her last. She trusted, and the Lord proved faithful. He sent Gideon.

  The blackness outside Adelaide’s window lightened to a charcoal gray as the early morning sky prepared to greet the sun. The household would soon begin its routine, unaware of the staggering truths she had uncovered while everyone slept. The others would still be delighting in the sweetness of last night’s party, and she didn’t want to dim their pleasure. But Isabella was in danger. Something must be done.

  She might not understand why God had allowed such an atrocity to take place in Isabella’s family, but Adelaide grudgingly admitted to herself that he had not abandoned them, either. The hand of the Lord had been at work through it all, fashioning good out of the devastation the enemy had wrought. He helped Lucinda piece together the truth about her brother-in-law and gave her the strength to escape. He provided an able protector in Gideon and a place of refuge where Isabella could find sanctuary far away from Reginald’s grasp. And though Adelaide had a tendency to rail at him for being unfair when life didn’t work out the way her precious fairy tales had led her to expect, God managed to use her, as well. He led her to the journal and placed an urgency in her soul that didn’t diminish even when the hope of a new day crested the horizon.

  Exhausted from her sleepless night and heartsore from reading Lucinda’s tale, Adelaide pulled the blankets over her head and blocked out the predawn light that filtered through her window, wishing to postpone the inevitable. But her paltry attempt to forestall her responsibility proved about as effective as her blanket at holding back the sun.

  Why couldn’t she have had another day or two to enjoy the closeness that had sprung up between her and Gideon last night? She could still see the admiration in his gaze and feel his touch on her arm as he teased her during blindman’s bluff. Such feelings were meant to be savored, not shoved under the rug after only a few hours. Yet pouting would do no good. The Lord’s timing was perfect, and she had to have faith that there was purpose behind it. The cloud that had led her to Westcott Cottage was still hovering nearby. Only now it had darkened to an ominous gray. A storm was approaching, and Isabella was standing directly in its path.

  Adelaide pushed herself up and dragged her legs over the side of the bed. She sat slumped for several minutes, her shoulders curled forward and her spine wilted as a prayer tumbled out of her spirit.

  “Lord, your ways don’t always make sense, but I believe you brought Isabella to Gideon and me for protection. Whatever comes, give us the wisdom and courage to see it through. And if we fail, please intervene on her behalf. Don’t allow evil to triumph over her already wounded soul.”

  With a heavy heart and equally heavy limbs, Adelaide peeled off her white cotton nightdress and slipped into a clean set of undergarments and a loose-fitting ivory wrapper. During their conversations at the party the previous evening, Gideon had hinted that he would be amenable to having her join him for a morning ride down to the river. She had planned to meet him in the stables. Now it seemed better to meet him in the hall. He would need privacy and time to digest the passages she had marked.

  Adelaide splashed some water on her face and fashioned her hair into a simple plait. She knew she looked limper than a wrungout dishrag, but she was just too tired to exert any significant effort on her appearance.

  Feeling as if she were walking to the gallows, Adelaide picked up Lucinda’s journal, opened the door, and trudged down the long hallway to Gideon’s chamber.

  Chapter 19

  Gideon whistled softly as he buttoned his tan riding trousers. Stepping over to the washstand, he caught a glimpse of himself in the shaving mirror. He shook his head. Twenty-eight years old and he was grinning over a woman like an inexperienced pup. Although, he guessed he was inexperienced. The feelings Adelaide inspired in him were stronger than anything he had encountered before. Even now, a thrill vibrated through his bones as he anticipated the two of them galloping over the countryside together. After their ride, she would sit beside him in the grass and they would talk. Perhaps he’d even find a way to hold her hand or stroke the line of her cheek. His smile widened as he reached for his shaving mug and lathered his whiskers.

  Visions of Adelaide filled his mind as he scraped the razor along his jaw. She had been so beautiful last night. It was a shame that his servants had been the only ones to see her on his arm. He’d been so proud of her; he would have gladly escorted her to the finest soirees in London.

  Gideon toweled away the residual soap lines from his cheeks, chin, and neck and examined his jaw for any places he missed. Satisfied, he fetched his white linen shirt from where it lay draped over the back of a chair, and slid it over his head. He’d just turned down the collar when a quiet rap sounded on his door.

  Adelaide. He would have recognized Chalmers’s brisk knock, had it been his butler.

  “Just a moment.”

  He quickly fastened the three buttons down his chest and shoved the tail of his shirt into his trousers. Walking toward the door, he snapped his suspenders onto his shoulders and tossed his morning coat over his arm. He didn’t want to keep his lady waiting.

  The hinges squeaked as Gideon pulled the door open.

  There she stood, his little brown-haired pixie. He smiled down at the top of her head for a few seconds before it hit him. Something was wrong.

  Instead of her customary split riding skirt and matching jacket, she wore a flowing housedress that hung unbelted and shapeless on her petite form. A single braid reached forward over her right shoulder, its tasseled end caught between her arm and a book that she was clutching to her chest. Bare toes poked out from under h
er gown.

  Her silence worried him the most, combined with the fact that she hadn’t looked up at him yet.

  “Adelaide?”

  She tilted her chin up and his heart skipped a beat. Dark circles shadowed her red-rimmed eyes, and the pallor of her skin drove a dagger of fear into him. He dropped his coat and took hold of her arms.

  “You’re ill.” Not waiting for her to confirm his conclusion, he lifted a hand to her forehead and felt for fever. “I’ll send Chalmers for the doctor.”

  He moved past her, intending to see to the task at once, but her free hand latched on to his forearm and brought him to a halt.

  “I’m not sick, Gideon. I’m grieved.”

  What was that supposed to mean? Had someone died?

  “Danger’s coming,” she said. “We have to protect Isabella.” After making that cryptic pronouncement, she shoved the book into his hands.

  He frowned down at the slim volume. “I don’t understand.”

  She let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Gideon. I didn’t sleep last night, and I fear I’m not making any sense. Read the passages I marked. Then you’ll grasp what I’m trying to tell you.”

  He held up the book. “Is this what kept you up all night?”

  “Yes. I found it in Lady Petchey’s trunk when I returned her dress.” Her eyes met his. “I can’t explain it, but I believe God wanted me to find this journal. You may already know some of what is written there, but I doubt you know all of it. We must prepare, Gideon. He’ll come for her.”

  He was having the hardest time following her jagged thoughts, but her fear communicated itself to him quite clearly. Whatever she’d read had shaken her badly.

  “Who will come?”

  “Reginald.”

  Viscount Petchey. Relief flooded him. This he could handle. She didn’t know about the court decision and how his guardianship of Isabella was secure. He tucked the book under his arm and placed his hand at her waist. Adelaide looked as if she were about to fall over. He wanted to carry her to the sofa in his room, but that wouldn’t be proper. The study would have to do. She needed reassurance, and he planned to give it to her before her worrying made her truly ill.

  “Let’s go down to my study. I think I can alleviate your mind about this.”

  She resisted, her feet firmly rooted to the floor. “You should read the journal before we discuss it.”

  Gideon didn’t think there was much need, and she probably wouldn’t think so either once she heard what he had to say, but if he didn’t give her his word regarding the journal, she probably wouldn’t allow him to take care of her. Right now, getting her into a chair was his first priority.

  “I promise to read it when we get downstairs, all right?” He nudged her forward, satisfied when she complied.

  He’d explain about Petchey first, of course. Then, if she still wasn’t convinced of Bella’s safety, he would read the journal to placate her. Once he’d assuaged her fears, he’d see that she got the rest she needed.

  They navigated the stairs together, Gideon keeping a firm grip on her as she wobbled along. Then he ushered her into his study and directed her to the settee. He slid in beside her, not caring if one of the servants spied him cozying up to the governess. Comforting her was more important to him than his staff’s opinions. He wished he could wrap his arm around her and pull her into his side, but he wouldn’t flaunt propriety so much as to cause her embarrassment should someone stumble upon them.

  “I know about Lord Petchey.”

  She grabbed his hand, and her hazel eyes searched his. “You do?”

  “Yes.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, trying to erase some of her tension. “He contested Lucinda’s will and my guardianship, but the courts ruled in our favor. Bella is safe. He can’t take her away.”

  “Maybe not legally, but that’s not stopped him before.” In the blink of an eye, the soft woman who had leaned against him for strength vanished. Adelaide yanked her hand out of his grasp and lurched to her feet. “He wants the money, Gideon. He’s already killed twice to get it. He won’t let a court decision stand in his way.”

  “What do you mean … he’s already killed twice?” Gideon stood and reached for her, but she backed away.

  “I had him fully investigated prior to the trial,” he said in a soothing tone. “He’s a scoundrel to be sure, but the only crime he’s guilty of is trying to cheat at the card table. If he was involved in murder, there’d be rumors circulating. Not even a whisper of such a foul deed was linked to his name.”

  “That’s because he manipulates everything into looking like an accident or illness!”

  Accusation flared in her eyes as she turned on him. Why, she was glaring at him as if he were in league with the villain! He didn’t know what to make of it. She acted like a scared rabbit one minute and a defiant tigress the next. He blew out a breath. The only thing he knew for sure was that his efforts to comfort her had fallen far short of the mark.

  Before he could figure out what to do, she snatched up the book from where he had left it on the cushion of the settee and thrust it at his chest.

  “Read the journal, Gideon.” She flopped into one of the armchairs with a huff. “I folded the corners down on the most pertinent pages.”

  He cracked open the cover and began scanning the entries as he sank back down onto the settee. His eyes skimmed over the sentences quickly until his mind caught up and finally recognized what he was reading. After that, he went back and studied each word, absorbing the implications.

  A deadly rifle shot with no one to witness the shooting. Arsenic disguised as medicine. No proof to offer the authorities, only the coincidental timing of events and a grieving widow’s supposition.

  Gideon lost track of time as he pored over the journal. He’d met Lucinda Petchey. She hadn’t struck him as one prone to bouts of paranoia or vindictiveness. She’d certainly been frail and desperate to find a protector for her daughter, but everyone on the ship had agreed she was of sound mind.

  He set the book down and leaned against the cushioned back of the settee. Staring at the ceiling, he fought against the tremors that rocked through him. If Lucinda’s conclusions were true … God have mercy.

  Adelaide was right. No court dictate would fetter Reginald Petchey. An ocean might not even be big enough to keep him away. Gideon hoped the Lord had a plan, because his gut told him Petchey wouldn’t challenge him directly. No, the snake would continue his subversive methods and strike while hidden in the grass. Only God would be able to see him coming, and Gideon would need all the warning he could get.

  A soft purring sound arose across from him, drawing Gideon’s attention. Adelaide had curled up like a kitten with her head pillowed on the chair arm. A delicate snore rumbled out of her open mouth. His little tigress had succumbed to her exhaustion. Perhaps seeing him read the journal finally gave her the comfort she needed.

  He walked over to where she lay and dropped a whisper-soft kiss on her forehead. She trusted him—trusted him enough to let go of her burden once he had a solid grip on it. Warmth spread through his veins. He wouldn’t disappoint her.

  After tucking the journal away in his desk drawer, he returned to Adelaide’s side. She really did need her rest, but she’d end up with an awful crick in her neck if he left her in the chair for very long. A slow smile stretched across his face. He had hoped to get her in his arms this morning. Surely nothing could be nobler than carrying a weary woman up to her bed so she could get some proper sleep. He would simply be performing a good deed. His duty, even. And if he happened to derive a great deal of pleasure from that duty … ? Well, that was no one’s concern but his.

  Gideon carefully gathered her into his arms. She moaned and her eyes cracked open for a moment, but she almost immediately cuddled her cheek against his chest and resumed her deep breathing. He could get used to that sound.

  When he reached the top of the stairs, he readjusted his hold and carried her the rest of the way to
her room. Her door stood ajar, so he pushed it open with his foot and moved inside. Her chamber was a bit disorderly, but a delightful reflection of the woman in his arms—someone more concerned with people than things. The dress she had worn prior to the party lay hurriedly discarded atop a chest in the corner, while school papers littered the top of her bureau. A collection of Bella’s artwork sat propped against the mirror on proud display amid a bird’s nest of ribbons and bits of lace.

  Gideon lowered her onto the bed, thankful that he’d felt no evidence of stays through her gown as he carried her. As soon as he slid his arms out from under her, she rolled over onto her side and grabbed the second pillow. She snuggled the downy square to her bosom and mumbled a few unintelligible words before settling herself. An unexpected tenderness rose within him as he watched her sleep.

  Could there be more to his feelings than simple attraction? Something deeper and more lasting? He’d escorted countless debutantes about London in the past, beautiful women who inspired ample appreciation within him for their feminine charms. But none of those women had created the tug of possessiveness he felt when he gazed at Adelaide. None of them stirred this desire to cherish and protect. And no matter how suitable their background and manner, none of them made him smile like his Addie.

  Addie. The name fit. Fanciful, whimsical—just like the woman herself. Yet there was strength in it, too. Simple, straightforward strength. He’d known she cared for Bella, yet until her relentless plea this morning, he hadn’t realized how deep her affections ran. Gideon couldn’t help hoping that some of those affections extended to him, as well.

  The blankets were tangled up in a clump at the foot of the bed, so he straightened them and held them aloft. He hesitated to lower the covers, admiring her a second or two longer. But as he did so, his admiration became concern. Perhaps it was the nearly colorless hue of her gown, but she seemed to blend in with the sheets, her face still pale from her upset. She had lost her vibrancy, her zest. A pattern of small golden flowers dotted the ivory fabric of her housedress, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted the cheerful, full-blown yellow he associated with her personality. This faded version made his heart ache.