Feathers in the Wind: The Cygnets Read online

  "Aunt Judith."

  Susan Fellowes’ bright voice echoed up the stairway.

  Going to the head of the landing, Lady Judith watched as her niece handed her packages to the hovering footman and removed her be-ribboned bonnet, shaking free her waist-length mane of thick, white-blond hair, tiredly running her fingers over her scalp. “I'm here, Susan. But why are you returned so soon? Did your visit with Rebeccah not go well?"

  "Oh, Aunt Ju. It was above all things, wonderful. At least, everything was wonderful until...” Her words trailed off, and a peculiar expression passed over her petite face. Taking a deep breath, Susan squared her shoulders and gave her honorary aunt a direct look from piercing peridot eyes.

  "Aunt Judith, at tea this afternoon, people started saying some horrid things about Merri. It seems that maggot, Viscount Worth, is spreading it about that he's had to break off his engagement with Merri because she is not a well-bred lady.” Susan gave her relative an aggrieved look. “I informed everyone there in no uncertain terms that Merri had never been betrothed to Worth. Lord Darrow claimed to have been there when Merri made some rather unsavory comments, but I'll lay odds he was coached by Worth. Everyone knows Darrow is brown-nosed where Worth is concerned."

  "Susan.” Lady Judith exclaimed. "Lay odds...? Brown-nosed...?" she almost whispered. “What vulgar expressions. I believe I have mentioned before that young ladies do not use cant...” The admonition was automatic, as inside, Judith was reeling in shock as the meaning of several phrases from Hector's recent tirade became apparent.

  "Aunt Judith, how can you worry about such trivial things at a time like this? Merri's social life is in danger.” Susan chided, beginning an undignified, rushing ascent up the stairs to where her aunt stood. “Where is Merri, anyway? Why did she never join us at Lady Henderly's? Both Rebeccah and her mother asked after her, and I didn't know what to say—"

  "Merridyth is in her room, sleeping,” Judith told her niece. She put forth a hand to halt Susan's headlong rush to Merridyth's door. “I'm afraid she had a ... disagreement with her father."

  "Oh, Aunt Judith, not again,” Susan cried, her outburst involuntary. Shaking, Susan allowed her aunt to turn her away from Merri's door. The bizarre, twisted relationships that existed between her uncle and his family seemed disquieting and unnerving to Susan. She had never before been subjected to the emotional strain and discomfort that was part and parcel of life among the St. John-Smythes.

  "Shouldn't I go to her?” Susan asked, compassion for her cousin coloring her voice.

  "You couldn't get in; Hector has the key. I've sent some of the men out to track him down, and they should return momentarily. Meanwhile, Berta is sitting outside the door should she awaken and need something.” Lady Judith patted Susan's hand. “You're a dear to offer."

  Though the two cousins were nothing alike in looks and temperament, being almost exact opposites, during the course of Susan's stay they had become as close as sisters. Merridyth, the elder by two years, had hip-length, curling raven-black hair. Her clear gray eyes, a legacy from her father, were huge, and fringed with thick inky black lashes that swept her cheeks when lowered. Her nose was pert, stopping just short of tip-tilted. Her lips were another gift from Hector, being shaped in an exquisite cupid's bow of blushing pink; a pink that found its echo in the coloring of her high-boned cheeks. Merridyth carried a small excess of pounds that were off-set by her unfashionable height—she stood five feet, seven inches in her stockings—rendering her voluptuously, pleasingly plump, though jealous debutantes and their mothers were wont to comment on her excesses of both height and weight. However, the men of the Ton were drawn to her lush curves as well as her dark, vibrant coloring.

  Being well educated, she was unafraid to voice her opinions in any company, and often did—with disastrous results. It was because of her forthright attitude that she had not been as popular as most during her first season. She intimidated the young males of the ton with distressing ease and many of the older ones, also.

  Susan, on the other hand, had pale gold hair that denied any attempt at curling. Though thick and lustrous, it fell to below her waist in an unfashionable fall as straight as a sheaf of wheat. Peridot green eyes peeped from beneath pale gold lashes. Her nose was slim and straight, and her mouth, wide for the prevailing fashion, was graced with full lips that were shaded a delicate peach. She just escaped being petite at five feet, three inches. Both cousins were generously endowed with feminine curves, family names and money. And though Merridyth had the larger portion, it was Susan, with her quietly shy ways, that was the more sought after.

  As Susan and Lady Judith began to descend the stairs, Judith found herself pondering over her husband's recent behavior towards their daughter. The furious outbursts and beatings had begun three years ago, just before Merri was to have her first season. Prior to that, Hector had seemed to dote on Merri—in as much as it was possible for him to dote on anyone other than himself. Somewhere, there was a connection that she was overlooking. The key had to be in the past ... and possibly with the Viscount Worth. Her mind wandered down familiar paths...

  It had not taken long for Hector to reveal his true interest in her. Much as she had hated to admit it, her parents had been right all along. Despite the trappings of high living, and his connection to the St. Johns, he was just a common fortune hunter; one with enough address to fool a young, fresh-from-the-country girl with declarations of romantic love. Judith clearly remembered the night her life fell apart. She had discovered Hector's true character the night of her wedding. Even now, she shuddered as the memories swept over her, blocking the here-and-now, and plunging her into a maelstrom of remembered emotion...

  "Well, you certainly managed to fool me, didn't you, my dear?” Hector's smooth, quiet voice dripped with sarcasm, his handsome face twisted into an ugly mask of anger and scorn. They were standing in the wedding suite of Gunther's hotel where the lavish afternoon-into-evening reception had been held.

  "I don't know what you mean, Hector,” Judith quavered, some self-preserving instinct causing her to draw back from her advancing husband.

  All during the reception, he had been silently brooding. Judith had stood by his side, growing increasingly more nervous and fearful as the hours wore on. The many sad looks she received from her mother, and the angry, helpless glances her father was shooting her way doing nothing to soothe her ruffled feelings. So that now, standing before her new husband in a modest nightgown, she was reduced to trembling.

  "Don't you, my dear?” He purred; the danger palpable in his silky voice. Hector moved to the bedside table. Resplendent in a wine colored velvet smoking jacket, he was every young girl's picture of a romantic hero. Picking up a small nick-knack, he turned it absently in his hands. “How could you not know that your father had disinherited you?” There was a loud crash as the figurine shattered in the fireplace.

  Judith jumped; her eyes wide with fright and disbelief. She dazedly shook her head back and forth. “I ... I don't believe you. My father wouldn't ... wouldn't do ... that ... not without telling me."

  "Exactly.” Hector growled, grabbing his shrinking wife by the shoulders and shaking her. “So you did know.” He tossed her from him in disgust, and she landed in a heap against the side of the bed. She attempted to raise herself up, to confront his raving with dignity, but her muscles shook so, she could not gain control of her legs. She stayed on the floor, dazed, listening as a stream of foul invective poured from Hector's mouth. With each sentence, her soul died a little more, shriveling under the heat of her husband's exposed duplicity.

  "A lousy monthly stipend.” He finally spat out. “A miserly stipend to keep up appearances, he said. Shall I tell you what else your dear father has done? Or don't you know that either, Judith?"

  Squeezing her eyes shut over the pressure of sudden tears, Judith slowly shook her head. “I don't know, Hector. I honestly don't kn—” Her voice caught on a tearful gasp.

  "You lying slut.” Th
e words impacted with almost as much force as the heavy blow from her husband's hand cracking against her cheek. The physical abuse shocked Judith, having never in her life been struck. She raised a shaking hand to her bruised cheek and huddled pathetically against the side of the mattress.

  Hector stood over her, clear gray eyes narrowed. The sight of Judith cowering at his feet brought a rush of power to him. Suddenly, she was all of society in one package. His—not only to command, but to punish. The sense of control was overwhelming. Five minutes ago, he had felt no physical desire for his wife. Her slight curves not nearly abundant enough to spark his interest, but now his manhood rose up against his form-fitting trousers as he visualized the punishment he would mete out to this duke's daughter, and through her, the almighty Ton. The pressure of the taut cloth against the rigid length of his swollen organ increased his arousal, and Hector absently used his hand to ease his discomfort. The look of fear in his wife's eyes made him chuckle sensually. “Since it seems I get nothing of real value from this marriage, I might as well reap this one benefit..."

  Judith's eyes widened as Hector calmly began removing his clothing. When he stood naked before her, his weapon jutting out before him like a deep red battering ram, he came to her, lifting her none too gently from where she slumped beside the bed. One quick wrench tore her expensive, lace bed-gown from neck to waist.

  "No-o-o.” she moaned, shaking her head in terror as he coldly bared her to his chill examinations. He pushed her so that she fell sideways across the bed, and followed her down, his hands roughly grasping her knees to spread her legs, making her vulnerable and open to his callous approach. He positioned himself at the cleft of her thighs, then brutishly entered her, ripping through her maidenhood.

  She was small and dry and could not withhold her cry of pain at his fierce entry. Tears flooded her eyes and fell across her cheeks as she lay helpless under her husband, his hips thrusting powerfully, hurtfully, forcing his engorged member deep within her narrow, abused woman's place.

  "He has bypassed you completely,” Hector taunted, grinding into her, pounding into her, not caring that he hurt her. Liking that he hurt her. “All of the money goes to your first-born, to be released when that child marries,” he grunted out against her skin, his anger and passion flaring anew as he witnessed the bruises already forming on her pale skin.

  Hector's mouth groped wildly at her breasts, teeth worrying Judith's nipples in an attempt to punish. Her groaning cries from the additional pain caused him to peak. The urge for completion was irresistible and his tempo increased, the bed shaking under his fevered onslaught.

  The change frightened Judith, and her eyes jerked open to reveal Hector's face contorted into a mask of animal lust. Numbly, she watched as a strange flush colored his skin, watched as the corded muscles in his neck swelled and distended. A guttural moan escaped from his wide-open mouth as he lunged hard one last time, holding high up inside her. She felt a jerking throb, as though the ... thing inside her had a life all its own. Then a jet of warm fluid erupted there, where his member was deeply embedded. She winced anew as her new husband's body collapsed heavily upon her.

  Hector got up shortly, and left the bed. After lighting a cheroot and shrugging into his robe, he sauntered back over to where his wife lay. Terror caused her body to quake uncontrollably. He smiled, looking on in dirision as Judith nervously clutched at a corner of the bedspread, pathetically attempting to cover her helplessly trembling body. She cringed as he yanked the covers away from her, exposing her shrinking flesh to his hard gaze. A hand at her chin forced her head up to meet his eyes.

  "Do you think I'm enamored with this child's body of yours?” Hector drawled sardonically. “It was necessary to consummate this farce so there'd be no question of an annulment. As long as we remain married, I shall receive a monthly stipend. I'll not be cheated out of that, too.” He grimaced in disgust, sweeping his wife's body with a fulminating glance. “But all may not be lost, after all. There are ways to control a child's monies, especially a girl-child. But first we'll have to make one..."

  Lady Judith blinked, disorganized by the onslaught of memories. Stumbled and caught herself quickly, grateful that Susan was still holding onto her arm. The descent right there was traitorous.

  "Are you all right, Aunt Judith?” Susan questioned gently, tightening her hold on the older woman.

  "Yes. Fine, Dear.” Lady Judith said, absently patting her niece's hand, her attention riveted to her inner landscape. The brutal memories had replayed in seconds and though they had lost the power to terrify her, one ominous sentence continued to echo endlessly: ” ... there are ways to control a child's monies..."

  As realization set in, heat burst in her head, rushing down the paths of blood and nerves until Judith felt as if a fireball had ignited under her skin. He had sold her. That inhuman, un-fatherly husband of hers had sold their daughter to the one money-grubbing Lord who would return to Hector a portion of his marriage-gotten goods.

  The process of rebellion that had begun in the morning room earlier that afternoon now came bubbling to a head. In truth, it had been a gradual change over the years culminating in a final tiredness of always being abused. She was tired of living in a state of terrified jumpiness. She was tired of knowing her children were constantly frightened for her ... and for themselves. Whatever caused it, her restraint at long last snapped its bonds. She was free. Believing that she knew best, a young, headstrong girl had married against her parents’ wishes. Her marriage to date was the result of her youthful rebellion. Looking back, Lady Judith realized she had never rebelled against Hector's treatment of her because she had felt deserving of punishment; perceiving her wrong-headedness, and her opposition against her parents, as actions requiring penance. And she had paid copiously over the years, till even she felt she had paid enough.

  But Merri had not asked for this. Her beloved daughter didn't deserve being a pawn in her father's continued quest for acquisition. Lady Judith's jaw firmed as she determined within herself that her daughter would not be mistreated further, would not be sacrificed upon the alter of Hector's greed. Unlike herself, Merridyth would not lie beneath a husband who had more love for her money than for herself. Hector had gone beyond the pale, seeking to profit from her daughter's unhappiness—for who could be happy married to Worth? And all for money, as usual. Judith—like every other well-informed mother in the ton—knew Lord Worth lived on promises and appearances. He was a gambler and a slacker, a wastrel who depended on the good name of his family to retain his position in society. A nobly bred fortune-hunter who was more concerned for the cut of his clothes than for his servants’ welfare and whose solution to his money problems was to marry it. He was not good enough to lick Merridyth's slipper. Eyes narrowed, Judith vowed that Worth would never so much as lay a finger on her daughter.

  Lady Judith smiled grimly as she entered her study. Like a general, she readied her battle plans, preparing to wage war. Plain ol’ Mr. Smith had better look to himself. She thought, filled with determination. His familial reign of terror had come to an end.

  Chapter Seven

  Selim, I grow so weary of missing my son. Will he ever forgive me? Was what I did so wrong? I only wanted to save his life. Would he have really preferred that I let events take their natural course and see him hang for treason? I cannot believe that he would have it so. Would you ask him for me—? Ask him when he came to be so unforgiving. I recall when he was sixteen and was sent down from Cambridge. The masters had wrongly accused him of participating in a series of disgusting midnight revels. To protect his roommate, whose father was a religious fanatic, he silently took the blame to save his friend from a severe caning and possible disinheritance. You see, he knew that he could tell Randolph and me the truth and we would believe him. We were so close a family. Sometimes I think I shall die just from the pain of our emotional separation. I was deeply depressed the other day when Arnold came by to visit. He took me for an invigorating ride and managed t
o take my mind off my problems for awhile. I was very grateful. But nothing can keep my thoughts from my beloved son for long. Speak to him for me. I am not as young as I used to be. Shall I die without the love of my only child embracing me? Oh, Selim, I fear I shall never know his love again. Why can he not forgive me?—Emily

  London, England

  Two hours before sunset

  The Boar's Head was a dingy, nondescript little pub situated midway between the fashionable dwellings of the privileged upper-crust and the fringes of London's worst slums. It catered to any and all who could pay the cover charge demanded by the landlord, and was a common meeting place for those individuals of all stations that had dealings with the darker side of human nature.

  It was around four in the afternoon when a hired hack pulled up to the back entrance of the pub, carrying a tall, slim man. His cravat was snowy-white and fell in carefully contrived casualness to rest against a figured-gold waistcoat. The outfit was completed with a matching maroon coat and pantaloons that clung snugly to his long, spare legs. The points of his linen shirt were sharply starched and reached well beyond the lobes of his ears, making it almost impossible to turn his head. After a quick glance assured the street was empty, the man alighted.

  With studied nonchalance, the man entered the pub. A furtive monetary exchange and a quietly-spoken word to the barkeep gave him egress to the door behind which lay the pub's labyrinth of secret passageways, which in turn led to even more secret rooms.

  The man stopped at the door of one of those most clandestine rooms. The men guarding it were easily identified as foreigners both by their swarthy skin and their outlandish clothing. The Englishman shook his head in disgust.

  That stiff-necked pride of theirs would lead to their discovery, he reckoned. These Turks would never learn to bend to necessity, to utilize deceit. Dressed so outlandishly, they were infinitely memorable. Well, it was their funeral ... literally. He was here to collect the generous payment being offered for services rendered. No one would ever be able to connect him to the disappearance of his ex-fiancée.