Chapter Twenty-four

Refused admission to Marguerite’s room—the doctor had given her laudanum and insisted she needed to rest—Ned headed for the library. There, he knew, he could find a decanter of brandy. Perhaps that could subdue the combination of fury and fear churning through him.

Slamming into the room, he snatched up the decanter and poured a healthy portion into a tumbler. He downed half of it, refilled the glass and carried the decanter with him when he seated himself beside the fireplace. Evening was drawing in and the lamps had not been lit, but that bothered him not at all. The fire burned brightly enough, and he stared into its flames.

This was not what he had expected love to be like.

Oh, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew nothing in life would be all sunshine and roses, and that included his future with Marguerite. Her musical career, composing, concert tours—he was still trying to understand what it meant to her, what it required. He did understand that it would require accommodation. Especially from him.

But these were practical problems, and could be dealt with. He knew himself to be perfectly competent when he had to be.

What he hadn’t expected was this pain. She had been hurt—punched in the face! He had been right there in the next room and had still not been able to protect her. His failure tormented him.

Should he have ignored her when she told him to leave? She thought she could manage, but obviously she had not been able to do so. Should he have insisted on staying?

He had no right to insist. Not yet. He wanted that right—he needed it.

Another gulp of brandy burned its way down his throat. It didn’t burn nearly as fiercely as his need to protect her. Once they were married, he could stand between her and creatures like Louvois. But until they were married there was always the danger that his protection would be misunderstood. He certainly didn’t want to make her life any more difficult.

Why wouldn’t she agree to marry him? Her stubborn refusal made no sense. He knew perfectly well that the problem was not indifference to him. He could feel her vibrate whenever they touched—whenever they were even near each other.

Had he failed to convince her that he would not interfere with her musical career? What more could he say? No, he thought he had made her believe him.

That nonsense about his family not approving? Would he have to drag her to Penworth to meet them before he could convince her that they were nothing like Louvois?

Or was there something else? There must be—he was certain of it. Some secret she still kept hidden.

He could help her. Whatever the problem was, he could help her. Even if he could not eliminate it—and he was not such a fool as to think all problems could be solved—he could share the burden so that it did not fall so heavily on her shoulders.

His meditation was interrupted when Tony burst into the room and began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.

Ned carefully centered the decanter on the table. “You are creating such a breeze that you could blow the furniture over.”

Coming to a halt and looking around at the heavy mahogany tables and oversized chairs, Tony snorted dismissively. “This furniture? A tornado would be needed to lift it an inch, and even that might not be enough. A nice big explosion—that’s what’s needed to obliterate this ridiculous monument to the past.” He slammed his hand against the carved escutcheon over the fireplace. This caused no damage to the stone but brought a grimace of pain to his face as he shook his hand.

Ned dragged his thoughts away from Marguerite long enough to peer at his friend. Was Tony actually looking ill again or was he just in a rotten mood? Ned couldn’t tell—he seemed to be having a slight difficulty focusing—so he asked. “Has something happened?”

Tony flopped down on the sofa with a snort. “Happened? Of course not. Nothing has happened here in years. Decades. All that old man can think about is something that took place a century ago. Will he listen to reason? Will he consider the future? No. All he can think about is that blasted treasure.” He leaned back with his arms under his head and stared at the ceiling.

Ned thought about that for a minute, then drank some more brandy. “He’s an old man. Very old. He hasn’t much future to consider.”

Tony turned his head just enough to glare at Ned. “That’s right. Be reasonable. No one else around here is.”

They sat in silence, each one meditating on his own problems. Eventually, Tony roused himself to speak. “Am I as mad as the rest of them?”

Ned thought some more. “Marguerite’s not mad,” he said with finality. “Determined, driven, yes, but not mad.”

“That’s because her mother escaped,” Tony said. “But the rest of the family? Mad as hatters, the lot of them. Do you realize that Delphine grew up in England but had to be taught English by a governess? That whole branch of the family is so obsessed with their noble blood that they have spent the past eighty years waiting for the restoration of the monarchy, and a constitutional monarchy was not enough for them. They spend their lives pretending they are living under the ancien régime. They even refuse to speak English.”

“That’s mad. But it does explain Delphine. A bit.” Ned considered, then shook his head. “They must be mad. Ignore them.”

“But should I ignore the old man as well?” Tony brooded in silence. Finally he shook his head. “To hell with them all. Pass the brandy.”