“It was eight minutes past two in the wee hours of the morning when the loud knocking at the front door woke me,” she croaked, her throat knotting as though to prevent the hideous words from being uttered. “I don’t know why I thought to look at the clock on the mantelpiece. The window of my bedchamber looked out over the drive. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have heard the commotion. When I looked out... the entirety of Scotland Yard must have been there. I suppose the butler, maybe a footman, opened the door to them and then the corridors were filled with the echo of stomping boots and yells. The door to my bedchamber burst open—”
She gulped some sherry. Its sweetness seemed contrary to the bitter words she was uttering.
“The inspector, or whatever he was, gave me a quick look and returned to the hallway. As though in a trance I followed as far as the threshold. My mother was shrieking, her maid striving to calm her. So many men were moving about I couldn’t cross over to her. They were dragging my brothers down the hallway—I suppose they’d dragged them outof bed as well—and all I could think was that they weren’t civilized enough to wear nightshirts. How curious. Then Marcus shouted, ‘For God’s sake, man, allow us to make ourselves presentable.’
“You’ve not met Marcus, but he can be quite intimidating. Probably comes from being the heir, as they did let them dress themselves. I remember as they marched him past, he caught my eye and said, ‘It’ll all be all right.’ And I believed him. Only it wasn’t, of course.”
Chapter 11
As much as he hated hearing the details of what had happened to her, he welcomed the opportunity to know her better, to understand her.
Her fingers were visibly shaking as she took hold of her glass and tossed back the sherry as though it would provide her with additional stamina. He considered getting her more but that would involve too much activity, and it seemed wrong all of a sudden to have any sort of movement other than the hands on the mantel clock ticking off the minutes and the writhing flames creating a soft crackling as they turned coal into ash.
Very slowly, as though she were a baby hare that would dash off if startled, he extended his glass toward her. “Here.”
Taking it, she stared into the amber. “Scotch?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never tasted scotch.”
“Then take a small sip.” Such mundane words after her devastating description of what was no doubt the worst night of her young life.
Briefly the rim of the tumbler touched her lips. He very much doubted she’d swallowed a thimbleful. She tapped her fingers one after the other in a rhythmic movement against the cut crystal. “They thought my brothers were involved,knew something. Only they weren’t, they didn’t. It was two weeks before they released them.
“A week after my father and brothers were arrested, my mother decided we should attend a ball to which we’d been invited. She argued that we should carry on as though all was normal, and that our appearance would signal that we were not involved in this conspiracy, we did not support it, and our loyalty to the Queen was above our loyalty to her husband, my father, the Duke of Wolfford.”
As she had yesterday, she spoke as though all this had happened to someone unknown to her, not to herself. Her voice was distant and flat. But he couldn’t help but believe that inside, a maelstrom of emotions bombarded her.
“I tried to convince her we would be better served to wait until all was settled. I had not yet accepted the notion that my father could possibly be involved in so traitorous an undertaking. I was certain matters would soon be set right, and he would be vindicated. All would return to what it had been. In addition, I was betrothed, you see, to the Earl of Chadbourne, and he had not visited to determine how I fared, and it gave me pause. None of my friends called upon us, and when I called upon them, they were not home. But my mother was insistent, and I couldn’t let her go alone. Only later did I realize the stress was affecting her judgment. She had begun to live in a world where her husband was not accused of treason. But I did not know it at the time, and so I went with her.
“After we were announced, as we descended the stairs, Chadbourne made his way to the foot of them. Gossipmongers—even the articles in the society sheets—made a point of recounting the joy that wreathed my face, describing my expression as that of a princess who believed a knight had ridden up to defend her honor. To my utter chagrin later, at the time I did very much feelthat way. He would save me. Only when I reached him, he turned his back on me, which resulted in everyone else doing the same. He felt the need to make a public statement regarding his loyalty to the Crown and England and my unsuitability as the daughter of a traitor to become his wife.”
An immediate loathing for the man ratcheted through him. He would seek him out, he would find him, he would destroy him.
“Mother swooned, and it was left to the servants to haul her out, rather unceremoniously, I’m afraid. She never recovered, never again spoke, never left her bed, simply withered away like a flower plucked from the soil and left without water. A few hours after they hanged Father, she passed. Couldn’t bear the mortification, I suppose. Which was all for the good because the following day they came and took everything from us. That alone would have killed her.”
She met his gaze, and he could see that it had cost her to reveal so much, and yet so much more remained to be divulged. “Tell me about Chadbourne.”
Her smile was self-deprecating. “He caught my attention during my first Season when I was all of nineteen and in no hurry to be spoken for. I enjoyed the dancing, the flirtation, the being sought after. He didn’t court me seriously until my second. During my third Season he asked for my hand.”
“And you hope to regain his attentions by becoming a courtesan?”
Her laugh was caustic, reflected the pain she still harbored. “Good God, no. But I wouldn’t mind being so sought after that hewouldwant me, and I could rebuff him. I’d find some satisfaction in that.” She tossed back the scotch, wheezed, coughed as her eyes watered. “It’s suddenly so frightfully cold in here.”
Setting aside the glass, she stood, wrapped her armsaround herself, and walked to the hearth. Cautiously, he joined her there and rested his forearm against the mantel.
“I used to take fires for granted,” she said softly. “They were simply always lit, always burning. I barely paid any heed to the servants who saw to the task.”
“We seldom appreciate what we have until we no longer have it.”
She looked so bloody miserable standing there, and he despised himself because he’d forced her to dredge up the memories, because his curiosity wanted to turn over every stone of her life in order to fully understand her, even as he knew he had no right to know anything at all. “Did you love him?”
Her nod was shallow, barely perceptible, but he felt it like a punch to the gut.
“More fool I,” she said flatly, and he knew the blackguard’s betrayal had cut her more deeply than her father’s, had stolen more from her than her father, Society, or the Crown. He’d stripped her of hopes and dreams. His actions may have driven her to Beast when she’d thought his proposition involved becoming his mistress.
“He was the fool.”
