Silent Revenge Read online

  Jessica clamped her fist into the folds of her dress. She could not lose her home. It was her security. Her haven. Her refuge from all the curious stares and prying eyes.

  Loud waves roared against her ears until she feared her head would burst. “I cannot lose my home,” she said, fighting to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks.

  “There’s more, Jessica,” Ira said, taking her hands in his.

  Even though she was seated, the room felt unsteady around her.

  Ira dropped her hands and leaned back in his chair. “After your fever, your father refused to face what had happened. He still saw you as perfect. He never thought you would not marry. To ensure your future, he married Lady Tanhill. With her title to introduce you into society and the money he’d provided in your dowry, he was positive you were assured of a credible husband.”

  Jessica’s heart skipped a beat. Just thinking of the woman her father had allowed into their home after her mother had died turned her stomach. “I wish she had never married my father, Ira. She didn’t love him.”

  Ira shook his head. “She was destitute. She married your father for his money.”

  “So what does this have to do with her son? What are you worried Colin will do when he comes back?”

  The expression on Ira’s face remained grave. “According to your father’s will, on your twenty-fifth birthday, Lord Tanhill will gain possession of your house and everything in it. And your husband will receive your entire wealth.”

  Jessica stared at Ira in stunned disbelief. “My husband! But I do not have a husband!”

  “Your father thought that you would. He expected to live long enough to make sure you married someone who would always take care of you.”

  Jessica slumped back against the sofa. What would she do? If her stepbrother got the house, where would she go? Venturing out into the world was unthinkable. It took every ounce of courage she had just to accept the invitations to the balls. And she only went on those occasions if Mel would be there and if she knew someone would be there wearing one of her gowns.

  It suddenly seemed too much. She stood and walked away from Ira, distancing herself from his words. The facts he presented to her were inconceivable. She would lose her home and whatever small inheritance her father had left her unless she found a husband.

  She paced back and forth across the room, then stopped. “What will happen if I don’t have a husband, Ira?”

  Ira wiped his hand over his face. “If you have no husband, then the inheritance becomes yours.”

  Jessica stopped. The inheritance would become hers.

  The inheritance would become hers!

  Hers!

  She wanted to laugh. She took in a deep breath and released a quivering sigh of relief. “Then everything will be fine,” she said, rushing across the room to give Ira a quick hug. She muffled a near-hysterical giggle behind a trembling hand. “Oh, Ira. There is nothing to worry about. Don’t you see? Between my small inheritance and the money I receive from my designs, I’ll get by. I don’t require much. If I’m sure to always live within my means, I’ll be able to live quite comfortably.” She didn’t know how much money she would have, but it did not matter. She had her designs. She could support herself.

  Another thought entered her mind and she raised her hopes expectantly. “Oh, Ira. Perhaps Lord Tanhill will not even want the house. Perhaps you’re worrying for nothing.”

  One look into his face told her Ira did not think so. Jessica only knew she had to do everything in her power to make it so. This house meant too much to her.

  Ira’s reaction was not encouraging. He shook his head, then walked over to the small writing desk and placed his folder on the top. With slumped shoulders, he picked up the stack of papers and shuffled through the documents until he found what he was looking for. He handed her the single sheet of paper.

  “This is what you are worth, Jessica Stanton. This is the small inheritance your father left you.”

  Jessica skimmed down the page until she reached the number at the bottom. Her face paled. Even though she had never swooned before in her life, she feared she might now.

  “Is this right?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “But…” She looked at the staggering sum again. “Where did Father get all this money?”

  Ira poured a cup of tepid tea and took a swallow. “A small portion he inherited from his father. A great deal came from his profits from the East India Company. Your father was a very astute businessman. He was very frugal and invested wisely. Some of his wealth can be attributed to luck, but most of it was sheer genius. He had the Midas touch. Our queen even called on him for financial advice more than once.”

  Jessica looked again at the figure at the bottom of the page. “I had no idea Father had so much money. I thought I would be fortunate to be left a small inheritance that would provide for me until I died.”

  “I wish to God your father had indeed left you a small inheritance,” Ira said deliberately. “I wish more than anything that on your twenty-fifth birthday you would not become one of the wealthiest, if not the wealthiest woman in England. I wish that I had the power to protect you from your stepbrother.”

  Jessica frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know how he found out, but Lord Tanhill knows about your inheritance.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he has already contacted Percival Westchester, one of the foremost solicitors in all of England. I have a very close friend who works for Percival. As soon as you receive the money, your stepbrother intends to start proceedings against you.”

  “Against me? Why?”

  “To prove you incompetent. To prove that you cannot manage such a large amount of money by yourself.” Ira ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Tanhill is beginning preparations to have himself placed as your legal guardian. He intends to prove you mentally incompetent. To have you put away. In an asylum. He wants the money and knows he must have you committed to get it.”

  Jessica couldn’t stand by herself any longer. Her knees gave way beneath her. If Ira hadn’t reached for her, she would have fallen to the floor.

  An asylum.

  A place where they locked away people society did not want to look upon, people who were different. Where abuse and mistreatment were common, and compassion and caring did not exist. Where society hid those who were blemished, and forgot them until they died.

  The thought of living amidst such squalor, filth, and disease scared her to death. The idea of being locked in a dank, dark cell of cold, gray stone with bars on the windows evoked enough fear to give her nightmares. Jessica had been plagued with them while Lord Tanhill lived in her home.

  “Can he do it?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer. Of course he could. He knew her secret.

  God help her, she was scared.

  She swallowed hard. “What can I do? How do I fight him?”

  “There’s only one way, Jessica. You must marry. You must find a husband who is strong enough to stand up to Tanhill.”

  Jessica shook her head. “I cannot marry!” She knew her voice was too loud. She knew she sounded like the crazy person her stepbrother, Colin, would have everyone believe she was. “Who would have me, Ira? Who in all of London would consent to marry a freak?”

  “You are not a freak.”

  “Explain the difference to the people who would walk on the other side of the street if they ever found out about me. Explain that to the people who would believe just as my stepbrother. That I should be put away.”

  “Marriage is your only solution.”

  She could not keep the despair out of her voice. “Don’t you understand? That is not a possibility. No male in all of England would take me as his wife.”

  “I’m afraid you’re wrong. There would not be an end to the number of men who would take you. If only for the money.”

  Jessica paced back and forth, voicing each concern aloud
as if putting it into the open lessened its hopelessness. “Even if I could find someone who would agree to marry me, how would I know he wouldn’t put me away himself once he has the money?”

  “You don’t. You must choose someone strong enough to stand up to Baron Tanhill, and honorable enough to never betray you.”

  “I can’t do it, Ira. I can’t sell myself for money. I can’t trust any man enough to put my life in his hands.”

  “You have no choice. You cannot fight your stepbrother on your own, Jessica. He is the essence of everything evil. He will destroy you. I’m afraid only someone equally as ruthless can protect you from him.”

  “Are you certain Colin cannot harm me if I marry?”

  “Colin cannot touch your inheritance once you marry. Without your money, you are of no use to him. And, you will have a husband to protect you.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks and she swiped them away. “But I don’t want to marry,” she whispered.

  “It’s the only way, Jessica.”

  She was loath to admit it, but this was the first time since the day she’d been locked in her imperfect world she had to admit she was helpless to survive alone.

  “I’m afraid, Ira.”

  “I know. I’m afraid too.”

  Jessica took a handkerchief and wiped the traitorous tears that trickled down her cheek. “Ira, I don’t have much time left.”

  “I know,” he answered.

  She steeled her shoulders with all the determination she could muster.

  She would be twenty-five in six days.

  Jessica paced the drawing room like a caged animal. She knew what Colin was like. She knew firsthand the cruelty that came naturally to him. She knew the meanness that was a part of his personality. There wasn’t another man alive who was strong enough or intimidating enough to hold his own against him.

  She sat down on the sofa and dropped her head to her hands. She was exhausted. It had been hours since Ira had left her, reemphasizing the need for her to find a husband as quickly as possible.

  The shadowed figure of the tall, imposing man who’d dared to face the ton flashed before her. Jessica forcefully pushed it away. She refused to let his image become a reality. He may have had the courage to stand up to the ton, but that didn’t mean he could withstand the deviousness of which Colin was capable.

  She walked to the window. There was nothing but blackness out there. Nothing but the quiet silence of a town gone to bed.

  Mel said Northcote was her husband’s closest friend. She said the Duke of Collingsworth would trust him with his life. Surely if Collingsworth thought so highly of him, he was honorable enough to protect her. And, she knew he was desperate for enough money to pay his creditors and save his estate.

  She closed her eyes and the Earl of Northcote appeared again. This time she let his formidable stature and blatant strength envelop her. She let her mind focus on the challenging glare in his eyes and the unyielding force in his gaze. She let his power and dominance cover her and for a moment she felt at peace. She felt safe.

  Was it possible?

  A stab of frantic indecision clutched at her insides. He had, after all, evoked terror in all of London’s nobility. She’d seen it. Colin would not dare challenge him.

  Jessica rationalized that question using the same sense of order with which she solved every problem. Hadn’t Mel told her how desperate he was to find a rich wife? Wasn’t he about to lose everything if he didn’t marry someone with enough money to save his inheritance? Marriage to her would be a perfect solution with no risk to either of them.

  She would be safe from her stepbrother, and the earl would gain back everything that belonged to him. She would never make any demands of him, and upon thinking of it, she was confident he would never expect her to publicly play the role of his wife. Especially when he found out her secret.

  She sat on the edge of the sofa, digesting the decision she had just made. It felt right. Placing her life in his hands terrified her, but not as much as knowing what her stepbrother was capable of doing to get the money. Not as much as being certain of the hell she would live locked in an asylum.

  With determined resolve, she turned and reached for the bell rope. “Hodgekiss, have the carriage brought round.”

  Chapter 3

  Simon stretched his long legs before the fireplace and leaned back in the large burgundy leather chair. The comfortable wingback happened to be one of the few pieces of furniture that remained in his London town house.

  He fingered the three-cornered hole in the leather, thankful for the flaw that had saved it from being pawned. He was also thankful for the mar in the headboard of a bed upstairs as well as the loose leg on his desk and the imperfections of a few other damaged pieces scattered throughout the house.

  He looked at the meager belongings in his study, then lifted the bottle from the table beside him and tipped it until the last of the amber liquid filled his glass. He brought the glass to his mouth and swallowed, then dropped the empty bottle to the floor. It teetered precariously, then toppled.

  He wanted to get drunk. He needed to get drunk. He needed to forget today.

  As if his Indian manservant, Sanjay, could read his mind, the small, dark-skinned man crossed the room. In his ever-so-silent manner, he placed a second bottle on the table, then reached down to pick up the empty.

  “Before this is over, Sanjay, you will wish you had not been so foolish as to insist on coming back with me to England.”

  “That will never be, master. My mother and sisters are alive because of you. I am alive because of you.”

  “But not Sarai.”

  “That is because it was her time to be taken from this life, master. You did all you could. And I am thankful. To serve you in this one lifetime alone is not enough to repay you for what you have done.”

  Sanjay lit another candle branch and placed the brightly glowing fames on the far side of the room. The study shone with the brightness of day, as if the light could ward off the gloom.

  “I fear I will have to find you in my next life, too,” Sanjay said, turning up the one lantern so it burned brighter. “So that I may complete the task I have started. Perhaps I will come back as a donkey. To ease your burden and carry you where you wish to go.”

  Simon rubbed his hand over his eyes and lifted his mouth in a slight grin at his proud young friend’s loyalty. “Somehow I don’t think you would make a very good donkey.” He filled his glass with the liquid from the new bottle and took a deep swallow. His head fell back on the cushion, and he closed his eyes. “I’m afraid serving me will not count as such a noble achievement for you in this life. You did not realize you would be asked to serve such a weak master.”

  “It is only when the evil spirits attack your body that you are weak. In time you will destroy their power.” Sanjay opened the heavy drapes and let the light from the full moon fill the room. “The fever has not come to plague you for a long while, master. Perhaps it has found a more agreeable soul to torment.”

  Sanjay placed another log on the fire, and Simon watched the fames dance while he lifted the glass to his mouth. He doubted if he would ever destroy the evil spirits’ power.

  Even the strong whiskey he’d been drinking for the past two hours did not have its desired effect. He was becoming numb, but he was not that drunk. He had not forgotten.

  He had ridden to Ravenscroft earlier today, most of the way in the rain. He’d entered through the ornate wrought iron gate, no longer shiny and black but tarnished by the weather and lack of care.

  He’d turned down the long lane that led to his family home with an odd mix of dread and anticipation. His chest tightened painfully as he stared in dismay at the overgrown lawn riddled with thistles and weeds and broken tree limbs.

  His childhood home seemed vacant and forlorn. After taking a deep breath, he’d climbed the seven steps to push open the heavy oak door of the home that had been in his family for almost three hundred years. With slow,
leaden steps he’d walked through the empty rooms, each stripped bare of what had for generations belonged to his Northcote ancestors.

  The Gainsborough paintings that used to hang above the fireplace and behind the desk in the study were gone, as were the two Reynolds paintings, and a painting by a new artist, Millais. Gone, too, were all but a few items of furniture, each room devoid of everything except one or two of the older, less valuable pieces.

  As he walked from room to room, his footsteps echoed on the bare oak floors. Not that many years ago, beautiful Turkish carpets would have softened his steps. Their rich colors and thick texture had transformed the massive architectural wonder into a warm, luxurious home.

  The marble statues and Greek vases he was used to seeing in each room were gone, as were the delicately carved tables on which they’d sat.

  The silver, the china, the glassware—gone. The jewels—gone. Every drawer, cupboard, and secret hiding place—empty. Every floor and wall stripped naked. Everything. Gone.

  The last place Simon forced himself to enter was his mother’s favorite room. The room where her collection of priceless Chinese vases had been displayed with pride—eighteen in all.

  Gone. All of them, gone.

  Simon took another sip from his glass, then rose from his chair to escape the memory. He braced his hands against the mantle of the fireplace and lowered his head between his outstretched arms.

  The fames twisted and turned in mesmerizing configurations, forcing the hazy recesses of his mind to recall the last glimpse of Ravenscroft he’d seen as he’d ridden away. The memory would have to last a lifetime. After today, he would never go back again.

  “I should have gone with you to your home, master,” Sanjay said as he stood hidden in the shadows. “Perhaps I could have helped.”

  It had taken Simon a long time to accustom himself to knowing the man was with him. Sanjay was always there, even when Simon did not see or hear him.

  “I could walk through the empty rooms and the vacant stables, Sanjay. But I could not bring myself to visit the place where my father was buried. He rests in a quiet meadow a short walk from Ravenscroft Manor, next to my mother, but I couldn’t go near it.”