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His gaze swooped to Lucinda. “Charlotte is happily married and enjoying a holiday at the shore. You’d do well to bless the union, for she has made her choice and it’s irrevocable.”
Lucinda’s gasp was muffled by his bellow for the housekeeper. “Tanny, I need you at once. Tanny!”
Where was she? Tanny was far more than his housekeeper. She’d taken him under her wing and nurtured him when his mother died. Ian had never ceased calling her Tanny, his childhood name for her, and to this day, she addressed him Master Ian.
Tanny bustled into the corridor, eyes widening at the unmistakable sound of china breaking in the dining room. “Whatever is she up to now?”
“Never mind her.” Ian strode purposefully across the foyer.
Tanny scurried to meet him at the bottom of the stairs.
“You’ve a key?” he asked, not slowing his stride.
“Yes. I have the master key.” She cast a glance toward the dining room, wincing as another ill-fated piece of china shattered. “Though she doesn’t know it.”
He made for the tower, the housekeeper hastening up the stairs beside him. Breathless from his brisk pace, she fumbled with the chatelaine at her waist. Ian paused one foot on the step above. Tanny was likely to tumble down the staircase if he didn’t give her a moment to remove the key and catch her breath.
He glanced at her. “How is she?”
Tanny shook her head as she finally freed the skeleton key. “I honestly don’t know. As well as can be expected, I suppose. We’ve been sneaking food and other items to her as we’ve been able. The dowager has an eagle eye, and she threatened to dismiss Jasper and me if we didn’t comply with her demands.”
They reached the top of the staircase. Turning right, they rushed the length of the portrait gallery paralleling the west wing. “Naturally, we refused to do her bidding, to lock Lady Warrick in the tower.”
Ian sent Tanny a sidelong look but didn’t slow. “How came she to be in the tower then?”
Puffing along beside him, Tanny said, “The dowager vowed she’d have the magistrate remove us, forcibly if need be, for trespassing.”
Sir Doyle, damn frig pig. Ian should’ve guessed he’d be involved somehow.
He and Tanny turned a corner, before heading down an extended carpeted corridor ending at another flight of stairs. Scrambling to keep up, her breath coming in harsh little huffs, she continued, “That poor dear went voluntarily so Jasper and I wouldn’t be forced from the manor. It was plain to us, the best way to protect her ladyship was to remain here.”
“A wise decision, and one I’m most grateful for.” He wasn’t the least surprised Vangie had willingly made the sacrifice to protect Jasper and Tanny. His gut knotted tighter.
“Ailsa helped too,” Mrs. Tannsen said. “She has gumption, she does. More than once that pigeon diverted the dowager, taking a vicious slapping as a consequence, so Jasper or I wouldn’t be caught returning from the tower.”
At the bottom of the stairs Ian held out his hand. “I’ll go from here.”
Tanny placed the key in his palm. He closed his hand around the cool metal and had already ascended the first step when she placed her hand on his forearm.
“Master Ian—”
He stopped, peering into her worried eyes.
“Your stepmother implied you told her to put your bride in the tower. Lady Warrick has reason to believe it was your order that placed her there. We’ve tried to convince her otherwise, but she simply changes the subject.”
The fury he previously held in check spewed forth. “Hell and damnation!” Hands fisted, through clenched teeth he said, “Get my stepmother out of this house. Use force if need be. I want that malevolent crone gone by the time I bring my wife belowstairs.”
“If I may be so bold, nothing would delight me more. For over two-score years the dowager has wreaked unhappiness and havoc within these walls.” Her color high, Tanny fairly spat the words. “It is an honor to rid this mansion of that heartless woman.”
With that pronouncement, his usually refined and impeccably behaved housekeeper hoisted her skirts and dashed down the corridor.
Ian climbed the last few stairs to the tower. Each one groaned and grumbled as if in pain, protesting his presence. The heartache in his chest mounted with each successive step. Reaching the turret’s vaulted door, he closed his eyes. He was afraid. Afraid to open the door. Afraid of what he would find on the other side.
Afraid of Vangie hating me.
Inserting the key, he quietly turned the lock. Holding his breath, he shoved the heavy door. He was surprised when it silently swung open, given it was not maintained and rarely used.
Vangie sat in a dilapidated chair, her head resting against the torn fabric, her eyes closed. A new wave of fear assailed him. She looked unwell—thinner than he remembered, and so pale. The dark line of her lashes a startling contrast against her ashen cheeks.
