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“You just didn’t trust me to do it. ‘Avenge Jason. Avenge me.’ That’s all you were willing to leave to me: revenge. You never considered the rest, did you?” he demanded. “Of what it would be like for me, to spend the rest of my days blaming and hating myself because I couldn’t find a way to keep you safe.”
“Then why would you not keep me with you?” she cried. “I begged you, but you would not listen.”
He winced. He should have kept her with him, should have known better than to let her out of his sight. But she wasn’t a child, and he would not play nanny the rest of his life. He could not live in constant fear that she’d do something insane if he wasn’t by to prevent it.
“I thought I explained everything at Mount Eden,” he said levelly. “I thought you understood. Yet you had so little faith in me, you didn’t even consult me. You could have written about what you’d overheard. I was only three hours away. Instead, you tried to run away with that cursed chess set. All by yourself, in the dead of night. In England, where a lady doesn’t step out the door in broad day without an escort.”
She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “I know that was wrong. But I had lost my temper. And you know how it is with me, Varian.”
“Demonic possession.”
“Yes,” she answered sadly.
She had him at point non plus. He couldn’t fight the demon in her breast.
Varian thought for a long while, aware of the anxious glances she darted at him. “Very well,” he said finally. “If you cannot manage your temper, we can’t possibly have children. Ever.”
Her gasp was sharp as a shriek. “No, you cannot—”
“I can just picture you as a mother. The first time the poor devil tries your patience, you’ll lose your temper and drown it. And be dreadfully sorry after, of course. Then you’ll promise never to do it again and pester me for another. The next thing I know, the blighter will wake you up in the night—and you’ll toss him out the window.”
“I would never, never harm a child.”
“I don’t trust you.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I can’t trust you to come to me and say, ‘Varian, the child is making me crazy. What shall we do?’ We,” he repeated. “As in asking for help. As in consulting my opinion. As in having some fragment of confidence in my judgment. And my honor. And affection.”
Her bottom lip began to tremble. “I know what you are telling me. I am sorry, Varian. I only wanted to give you what was rightfully yours.” Her voice wavered.
He scooped her up and onto his lap. “You shan’t distract me with tears. Tell me the whole truth.”
“I have,” she mumbled, her face downcast.
“You’ve told me only half. The other half is that you wanted to test me, didn’t you? You wanted to see how I’d react when you took away my excuse for not keeping you at Mount Eden.”
Her head shot up. He stared right back into her startled green eyes.
“Just because I’m not as devious as your side of the family doesn’t mean I’m stupid,” he said. “I’ll wager you’re still wondering what I’ll do. Gad, what a little idiot.” He crushed her against his chest. “What a stubborn, reckless, passionate little fool.”
It might have been worse, Esme told herself. She did not mind being called names, so long as he kept her on his lap. After a while, he even fell asleep so, his arms still wrapped about her. The stream of insults must have quieted his mind, else he’d not have slept. Her mind, too, was quieted, for she’d heard his pain and understood he was angry because she’d frightened and hurt him. He would not have felt so if he cared nothing for her. To feel assured that he did would have been worth even a beating, though she did not think she truly deserved one.
Esme wished she might remain so, snuggled close to him, forever. In a few short hours, though, they were in London, and minutes thereafter, at the Brentmor townhouse.
Percival dashed out into the street, a troop of servants behind him, even before the carriage halted. The Dowager Lady Brentmor, however, did not so much as step into the hallway.
Rigid as a pikestaff, she stood in the salon to await her family in state. She frowned at Varian when he entered with Esme in his arms, glared at Esme as Varian deposited her upon the sofa, and glowered at Percival, who trotted in a step ahead of his uncle. It was upon Jason, the son she’d not seen in two and a half decades, that the dowager bent the blackest scowl of all.
Jason smiled, put down the travel bag containing the chess set, marched up to her, and gave her a hard hug and a noisy kiss on the cheek. Then he drew back to study her with frank admiration. “My dear Mama, how well you look.”
Her sharp hazel eyes raked him up and down. “Can’t say the same for you. Brawling on the waterfront, was you? With a lot of sailors and godless barbarians. Not to mention the gel shot, and her numskull husband nigh beaten to pudding. And your scapegallows brother gone to Judgment. There’s one thing to be thankful for—at least we hadn’t to watch him be hanged, drawn, and quartered.”
After thus welcoming them, she plunked herself upon a chair, ordered Jason to serve the brandy, and demanded an explanation.
What she got was a highly condensed version of the tale Jason had related in the carriage. It appeared to satisfy her—for the present, she said. Then she turned one of her brimstone looks upon Esme. “Your pa ain’t seen me in twenty-five years—yet he knew what I was about. What in blazes was you thinking of?”
“I was angry,” Esme answered calmly. “I was not thinking clearly.”
“If you was angry, you should have come and quarreled with me. Never held your tongue before. Keep you, indeed,” the old lady muttered. “I’d as soon keep a flock of jackdaws.”
“I know, Grandmama. I am impossible. But if you wish to scold me, at least let the men go to bed. They are both weary, but too proud to tell you so.”
The dowager considered her son, seated next to her by the fire, then Varian, who was perched on the sofa arm near Esme. “Not a pretty sight,” she grumbled, “neither of you. Get along to bed, then.” She nodded curtly at Percival. “You, too. And no dawdling behind to listen at the keyhole. You’ve done enough of that for one lifetime, I think.”
Percival flushed.
Varian fixed his cool gray gaze upon the dowager. “I trust you meant that as a compliment, my lady. Every one of us has reason to be grateful to your grandson.”
“Only by the grace of God,” she snapped. “Things might have turned out different—”
“But they didn’t. Even if they had, no reasonable human being can fault him for trying to do his duty.” He rose and approached the boy. “Your uncle’s story ought to speak for itself. Since it evidently hasn’t, for some parties, I shall elucidate. We are all deeply grateful, Percival, for your courage and intelligence.”
Percival’s flush deepened. “Oh, dear. Not—oh, but I didn’t. That is to say, I did lie to you and keep secrets—and really, I’m very sorry.”
“I cannot imagine how you might have done otherwise.” Varian put out his hand.
The boy’s chagrin eased into relief, and he shook the offered hand.
Thank you, Esme silently told her husband. Even she had forgotten about Percival. She, too, needed reminding how much she owed her cousin: thanks as well as apologies, for she had misjudged him, repeatedly.
She heard her father echo Varian’s sentiments, and her grandmother grumbling that the boy had done his best, after all, and a body couldn’t ask more than that. All Esme could say would be redundant. Instead, she moved to her cousin and gave him a crushing hug.
Rather shyly, he hugged her in return. “I was monstrous worried last night,” he confided softly to her. “But I knew his lordship would find you. Mama told me he was much more intelligent than he pretended. She said—” He blinked twice, then went very still. As she stepped away from him, Esme noticed that Jason and her grandmother had fallen silent as well. They were watching Varian.
He’d taken the chess pieces out
of the travel bag and was just setting the last of them upon the low table near the sofa. When he straightened, he returned their stares with a blankly innocent one.
“I thought you was tired,” said the dowager. “You ain’t meaning to play now, are you?”
“I loathe chess,” he said. “It is tediously complicated. Just looking at the set makes me frantic.”
“You don’t need to like it,” Jason said impatiently. “All you need to do is sell it.”
Varian raised his eyebrows. “The St. Georges do not engage in trade. At any rate, I can’t possibly sell Percival’s inheritance.”
“My—oh dear. But it isn’t. It’s Esme’s dowry, sir. Mama said so, and wrote it in her will.”
Varian focused on Esme. He didn’t utter a word, didn’t need to. She didn’t so much as look at the set. “It has nothing to do with me,” she said. “The dowry goes to the husband, to dispose of as he chooses.”
“As I did, last night,” said Varian. “I promised it to Sir Gerald. He kept his end of the bargain, only didn’t live to enjoy the reward. Therefore, like the rest of his property, it must go to his heir.”
Percival swallowed hard. “Thank you, sir, but I—that is, Papa shouldn’t have needed to be bribed. You mustn’t think I…” He blinked, several times. “Mama wanted Cousin Esme to have it.”
“Only to be sure she got a husband. Your mama had no way of knowing Esme would get a husband all by herself. Otherwise she’d have left the set to you.”
Percival started to protest, then gave up, perilously near tears. “Th-thank you, sir. It is very—”
“Old,” Varian finished briskly. “Why don’t you see if you can find a proper container for it? You don’t want to wrap it up in Esme’s underthings again, I hope.”
The boy promptly fled. Just before the door closed behind him, Esme heard his choked sob. Her own throat tightened. She noticed her father’s eyes had become suspiciously bright. Beside him, the dowager sniffed, for Varian had reduced even that tough old lady to tears. Two tears, to be precise, which she swatted away indignantly.
