Betraying Mercy. Amber Lin
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Название: Betraying Mercy
Автор: Amber Lin
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Исторические любовные романы
Серия: Mills & Boon E
isbn: 9781474000840
isbn:
Gerald put a hand on William’s shoulder. Gerald, who had chased him away from the cupboards with a cane. Gerald, who had finked on him at every opportunity, earning William a whipping from his father. Once his nemesis and erstwhile caretaker, now he looked at William with solemn understanding.
For a brief moment, the veil of servant-to-master fell from between them. Their shared grief connected them, exposed them. The butler was just an old man, and William just a boy.
The awkward touch of comfort burned into his skin. His eyes burned, too, and he pushed away from the butler and his unearned caring. Footsteps sounded from deep inside the house, and William flashed back in time, expecting to see the tall, lean form of his father.
A large, robed figure emerged from the study. It was Vicar Charles. Not his father.
Of course not. The long ride must be affecting him. Or maybe the long absence. He was torn between the idea that he should have come home more often—or not at all.
The vicar frowned, his jowls quivering. “Suicide is a grievous sin and as such—”
“No.” William clenched his fists and moderated his voice, speaking evenly. “No, goddamn you. She didn’t kill herself. And that has nothing to do with what’s happening now.”
At the time, the vicar had been sure his mother had killed herself. William had silently wondered, doubted, as well. Too much laudanum could be an accident. Or a grievous sin. But even as an underage, newly appointed earl, he’d had clout, and he’d demanded his mother be buried in the family crypt regardless. He wouldn’t let the vicar denigrate his mother. She had died grief-stricken and practically bankrupt. He hadn’t been able to do anything about that. But in death, she sure as hell would not be shamed, not then or now.
The vicar muttered his sermon to the ground. “A willful act against God…”
William unclenched his jaw and turned to Beck. “Take me to them.”
Beck left to ready the horses while the vicar continued muttering supposed holy words, those damnable holy words. Everyone falling down around him, dying, bleeding, but the vicar remained standing. Thriving, judging by his bulk and the embroidered trim on his robe. Favored by God, then? It was almost enough to make William believe. Just not enough to make him care.
William leashed his old sorrow, his ever present guilt, and strode out to meet Beck at the stables. He took a fresh horse and rode into the sheets of rain toward the cemetery, leaving Beck behind to cart the vicar.
The water in his face and the jolt of the horse’s stride tried to ground William, to make this real. None of it could touch him now, nothing could. He had only his memories to warm him, and little they did. His mother had cried when he left for school last time. He’d promised he’d see her again soon. Lies. Self-disgust roiled within him, but there was nothing left to expel.
Chapter Two
The cemetery gates were propped open, so he rode through. He slid off his horse and then draped the reins over the head of a Madonna. Spongy grass sucked at his boots. The entrance to the crypt yawned into the night air, and William forced himself inside.
As he crossed the threshold, the hush wrapped around him like a vice. The air was stale and the storm muzzled—even Mother Nature did not dare intrude here. He hated dark places. Closed, tight, suffocating places. They had always reminded him of graves, and this time, they were. Turning the corner, he entered the main chamber.
One body-sized pedestal stood in the center to display the deceased. Empty. Wiped clean. He found the marker for his father, intact. And beside it, cracked open, gaping, the place where his mother should be resting in peace. He knelt and reached gingerly for the granite pieces, feeling like he was disturbing the dead. Not him, though. Someone else had done this. Someone real.
Not a ghost.
“At least this place would have been locked, correct?” he asked Beck when he and the vicar arrived.
Beck nodded, not meeting his eyes. “Broken. Though not everyone is stopped by locks.”
Despite his unease, William gave a wry twist of his lips. “But the casket. And the body. Those would be stopped by a lock.”
A shrug was his answer.
William turned to examine the remaining engraving. His father had been a pious man, if not a strong-willed or cunning one. Through a lifetime listening to his mother’s wailing, he had never raised a hand to her. He had whipped William on occasion, but William had deserved it. Besides, his father had practically begged forgiveness each time after. It was a cycle William had ended by leaving permanently—and his family’s death had only reinforced his decision to live elsewhere. Anywhere else.
He would have been horrified to know his countess’s rest had been disturbed. He would have been horrified to hear how she died.
“It is that place,” came the throaty whisper of the vicar. “It called to the evil in their hearts.”
“The abbey,” Beck explained, as if it were reasonable.
William turned away to hide his expression. He wasn’t even sure what it would say. Annoyance, that the damned village insisted on this tale. Fear, too. Not of ghosts, but that old fear that the stories had led his mother to her grave. She’d always heard voices. What had they told her to do?
After a moment, Beck’s sure hand landed on his shoulder. “Someone will be here on the morrow to clean this up and fix the locks.”
Yes, of course. Wipe it away, like the pedestal in the center of the room. Clean and dusty until the next person in the family died.
Him.
He was the last of the line. As far as he knew, there wasn’t even a distant cousin to inherit his place. Sometimes he couldn’t figure out why he worked so damn hard. Just let the land, and the debts, be sucked back into the crown. The king could have the damned land.
But would he care for the people here, too? William couldn’t be sure. Not that he had been an excellent caretaker, but at least his tenants ate and worked and survived here. Even that could be taken away if the less scrupulous businessmen were given free rein. He’d heard about evictions happening farther north. No. He would stay. He would manage.
“It’s for the best,” the vicar muttered. “She didn’t belong here.”
William stepped forward, keeping his voice low. “And I don’t suppose you had anything to do with this?”
“This is holy ground and your mother—”
“Be very careful what you say next,” William said quietly. He didn’t believe the vicar would disturb sacred ground this way. His rigid moral compass would hold him in check even if respect for his master did not. Still, he wouldn’t allow her to be slandered.
Even if it might be true.
“She…” Vicar Charles’s throat worked but produced only unintelligible sounds. His eyes flitted to Beck and СКАЧАТЬ