Chapter Sixteen
As far as their party of bachelors was concerned, it was still early in the day when Robert came thundering back up the woodland path atop Thunder's broad back. He was not expecting anyone to be out of the house before mid-afternoon, after a late evening at the billiard table the night before.
When Hart stepped out in front of his horse, then, he was so surprised he barely pulled up the reins in time.
"Good morning, Hart," he said pleasantly. "I have just been for a ride, but I have no objection to staying out if you would like to join me."
"It's a fine day for it," said Jonathan, looping his hand through Thunder's reins. Robert didn't like the tone of his voice, and he liked another man having control of his horse's head even less. Since Hart seemed inclined to talk, Robert swung down from the horse to meet him face on.
"Something on your mind?"
"Only the direction you rode in from, brother."
"Scarcliffe Forest is as much my land as the Duke of Loxwell's, Hart."
"Ah." Hart's jaw tightened. "I did not want to be the first to bring up the Balfour family, but since you have…"
"I don't know what you're implying," said Robert, taking a step forward and forcing Hart to drop the reins and back away. "And I'm not sure I want to know. Come, let's go back to the house together."
"I don't think you want father to hear what I have to say to you."
Hart was a little shorter and a great deal slighter than Robert. He had inherited their mother's slender, elegant build, while Robert was as broadly-built as their father. Robert had never been intimidated by his younger brother, but that did not mean he relished the idea of a fight.
"You are seeing things which simply aren't there," he said, and made to lead Thunder along the path. Hart jumped in front of him and slammed the palm of his hand into Robert's chest.
"How can you betray our family so?" To Robert's amazement, Hart's voice was trembling with emotion. "You have always taught me that loyalty and family are everything. Now you're sneaking off to Loxwell Park to cavort with that – that –"
"Watch what you say next, Hart," Robert warned him, unable to bear the thought of Cecily being insulted. "Watch yourself very carefully."
"That Balfour," Hart spat. "I know you went after her the night of the masked ball. What dark magic has she worked on you?"
"Be careful how you speak of her!"
"I'll speak however I like about the Duke of Loxwell's strumpet of a daughter."
Robert's hand raised itself of its own accord. His fist clenched, and he only stopped it from landing on Jonathan's face with a great effort of will.
"Are you going to strike me, Robert?" asked Hart, not even flinching. He did not sound angry so much as hurt.
Robert sighed and lowered his fist. "That was a warning, Hart. Don't tempt me."
To his shock, Jonathan answered by shoving him hard in the chest. Caught off-balance, Robert took a step backwards, clutching at Thunder's haunches to keep himself upright.
"Tell me you're ruining her," Hart demanded. "Tell me that father put you up to this. Tell me that all you mean to do is seduce her and leave her disgraced."
Robert knew he could floor his brother with a single punch, but he was not prepared to let anger get the better of him. He gripped Jonathan's arms and forced him to leave off his pushing.
"At this moment," he gritted out, "Cecily's honour means a great deal more to me than your pretty face, Hart. Have a care what you say."
Jonathan howled with rage and, unable to wrest his arms from Robert's grip, instead lowered his head and drove it forwards to catch Robert in the nose. Robert ducked at the last minute and, letting Jonathan go with a speed that made him stumble, brought up his fist sharply to catch him under the left eye.
Jonathan crumpled to his knees with a shout of pain. Robert's rage melted away.
He knew all too well how he would have reacted if faced with the same situation not a month previously. Hating the Balfours was what a Hartley did. There was no way around it.
But Cecily had managed to overturn everything.
"Are you much hurt?" he asked, putting a hand on Jonathan's shoulder. Hart shrugged him off.
"You've blinded me," he groaned.
"Nonsense." Robert bent down and lifted Hart's hand away from his face. "You'll have a fine black eye, that's all."
"My face, Robert! Why'd you have to hit me in the face?"
Robert helped him to his feet. "Steady, now. Take it easy." He put one of Hart's arms around his shoulders and took Thunder's reins with the other hand, walking slowly down the path which led to the Hall. "We'll tell father you took a tumble from Thunder into a tree."
Jonathan didn't answer. For a moment, Robert thought it was simply because he was angry. Then, following his brother's gaze, he saw that the ring on its chain had been pulled from beneath his shirt in the scuffle. He stopped walking.
Hart reached out and peered at the ring with his good eye. He turned the ring this way and that so that the Balfour crest glimmered in the sunlight. "Tell me it isn't love, brother."
"It isn't any of your business."
"If you feel nothing for her, this is a singular piece of good fortune."
Robert snatched the ring back and tucked it back under his shirt, where it felt cool and heavy against his skin. "How so?"
"Think of what father could do to the Duke's reputation with that ring!"
"That is only if he gets his hands on it, which he will not," said Robert. "I'm not afraid to black your other eye."
"And I'm not afraid to take a beating. Tell father what you've done, Robert. He will understand, as long as you're honest. You won't be the first to have his head turned by a pretty girl, but now – now that you have their ring –"
"I can't, Hart," Robert sighed. "That's not what I intend to do. In fact, it's the precise opposite. And if you oppose me in this, I'm afraid I'll stop at nothing to have my vengeance on you. That's a promise I don't want to keep."
Hart pulled away, touching his left eye gingerly. It was already turning purple. "Then it is love," he said flatly.
"It is."
"I'm afraid I have no sympathy for you." Hart shook his head wearily. "Love is for common people, Robert. Great families have better things to do with their time. Have you already forgotten how close our own sister came to ruin, and all because of this – this silly fancy called love?"
"You did not always think of it so poorly," Robert reminded him. Hart's face twisted into a snarl.
"I know better than anyone how love can wreck a man," he said darkly.
"Then you will not bring the same ruin on my head," Robert urged him. "Don't tell father."
Hart put his arm back around Robert's shoulder. "I won't."
"Thank you, Hart." Robert's breathing eased. He clicked his tongue to Thunder and made for the house once more.
"It's not because I'm afraid to fight you."
"I never dreamed it was."
"It's because you're going to give me your best hunting rifle."
Robert stopped in his tracks. The rifle in question was a beautifully-made weapon of steel-grey iron and polished English walnut, inlaid with a delicate design in silver wire. It was one of his most prized possessions. "You can't be serious!"
"Deadly serious." Hart managed a grin, though his blacked eye must have hurt him dreadfully. "Come now, Robert, what's it to be – the rifle, or Lady Cecily's honour? You can't have both."
Robert groaned. "You are a cruel man, Hart."
"I keep a practical head on my shoulders. Which is more than I can say for you."
"Very well. The rifle's yours." They crested a rise in the ground, and Scarcliffe Hall in all its majesty lay before them.
"To think you actually want to make that Balfour woman the mistress of Scarcliffe Hall," said Jonathan, with a theatrical sigh.
"That's Lady Cecily, to you."
"That's my newest, dearest sister, I think you'll find. Assuming you plan to marry her." Hart shot him a quizzical look. "What on earth are you hoping to achieve, Robert? You know the Duke would rather see her run off with a highwayman than give her to you. And as for father…"
"Leave it to me, Hart," said Robert, with an air of confidence that he knew was as infuriating as it was unwarranted. "A little vendetta of mere generations is nothing in the face of –"
"True love?" Hart finished for him. "You sicken me." He lowered his voice as they approached the Hall, as though the stones might overhear him. "I'm not happy about this, Robert. There's a good reason the Balfours have been our enemies all these years."
"Trust me," said Robert. "Trust in me, and I'll bring all that to an end."
He only wished he could truly be as certain as he sounded. He really had no idea what he would do to persuade his father and Cecily's to drop their ancient hatred. Hart was right to think it an impossible situation.
But Hart did not have the benefit that Robert had, which was that of viewing his plight in the bright and hopeful light of love.
He would find a way. If only because he felt that he would wither and die if he did not, he would find a way to marry Cecily.