chapter 23
A stunned silence followed his words. “I—what?” Laura said at last.
James shifted his position, glancing away. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually . . . I shouldn’t . . . oh, the devil, I don’t know why I told you.”
“Because it’s the truth?” Laura suggested.
“Yes, well, that’s usually the reason something’s secret.”
“So you are saying that Tessa . . .”
“Had an affair. Yes.” He leaned his head back, looking even more weary. “No doubt you can guess the father.”
Laura began to shake her head. “How would I—” She stopped, sucking in a quick breath. “Not—Graeme’s father? Are you saying Reginald was . . .”
“Yes. Helps to explain the close family resemblance, doesn’t it?”
“I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Not much to say.” He edged away, folding his arms. “I hope you will not think too badly of Tessa. I shouldn’t have told you; I’m usually better at minding my tongue.”
“I’m sure you are. I have no right to judge Tessa.” She paused, but couldn’t hold back her words. “It’s just—Mirabelle is her sister.”
“To be fair, Reginald was not yet married to Mirabelle at the time. Tessa and Sir Laurence had one of their usual rows, and she left him in London and stormed back to Grace Hill. There was the future Lord Montclair just down the road, a bachelor with an eye for the ladies and a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. Mother had done her dynastic duty by producing a son and heir in Vincent. Where was the harm, Reginald doubtless thought. Tessa’s reasoning would have been that it would serve Laurence right for being so heartless.
“A few months later, Aunt Mirabelle came to visit her sister and Reginald met her. Mirabelle hadn’t even made her debut. I presume he realized he’d found a better version of the same woman—although no doubt my mother would claim that Reginald settled for her sister, knowing he couldn’t have her.”
“Or Graeme’s father was just a rake who liked beautiful women.”
“That, too. And Tessa is a woman who likes being liked.” He shrugged. “My parents, or rather, Sir Laurence and Tessa, were the worst possible people to be married. Absolute opposites.”
“It was a loveless marriage?”
James let out a bark of mirthless laughter. “Hardly. They were altogether too much in love. He was mad for her till the end. Anyone could see that. But they were nothing alike, and they brought out the worst in each other. Sir Laurence was a true de Vere, cold and logical, with, as Lady Eugenia would say, a deplorable talent for making money. My mother has little use for logic, and while she finds money useful for purchasing things, I think she believes it falls from the sky like manna.”
“Ah. I see. They argued over money.”
“Among a vast number of things. Sir Laurence was harsh and demanding; she was flighty and unreasonable. But at the base of it, it was all about one thing—love. Mother is an inveterate flirt. She lives to be admired, to beguile. Clearly there have been times when she went beyond flirtation, how often I don’t know and frankly don’t care to. Sir Laurence was jealous.”
“It makes a bad combination.”
“Bizarrely enough, in most ways he was much like me.”
Laura suspected that the truth was more that James had modeled himself on the man he thought was his father, but she said nothing.
“He was ruled by his head, not his heart. He couldn’t understand Mother’s vagaries, her moods, her love of drama and passion. His one passion was her, and in that he was trapped. Hopelessly lost.”
“Something you never wanted to be.”
“Something I am not, and I thank God for it.” His gaze slid over to her and away. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
“It does much to explain the gulf between you and Claude—between you and all of them. Have you always known?”
He shook his head. “When I was young, I thought Sir Laurence was my father. There was no reason not to, and everyone spoke of how alike we were. I had his head for numbers, his impatience, his . . . aloofness.” He slanted a wry glance at her. “You may find it hard to believe, but I was not a loving child.”
“No? I’m surprised. I would have thought you had a dog you loved.”
“I did.” James’s face lit up. “Maggie. I was three years old and scarcely reached her shoulders. She adopted me; I think I was more her pet than the other way round. Everyone else was terrified of her. Nurse nearly had apoplexy when I brought her into my room. But there was no budging Mags once she’d set her mind to something.”
“Or you, I’ll warrant.”
“Or me.”
“You said her name when you were in a fever.”
“I saw her— I suppose it was actually Dem. She was his grand—no, great-grandmother. Mother banished her from the nursery when Claude was born . . . even though I told her I was almost positive Mags wouldn’t eat the baby.”
Laura laughed. “I wonder why she wasn’t reassured.”
“Mags could be another reason for Claude’s animosity. As I remember, he and Patricia were frightened of her.”
“I’m sure you did nothing to dispel that fear.”
“Laura!” He widened his eyes dramatically. “How can you say that?”
“Because I remember you when you were young.”
“You do?” He looked surprised.
“Yes, you would come to see Graeme sometimes when Mama and I were visiting Mirabelle. I thoroughly disliked you.”
“Was I unkind to you? I do beg your pardon. I don’t remember.”
“Of course you don’t; I was merely that nuisance of a girl. When you were there, the two of you went off and did ‘boy’ things and I was not allowed to join you.”
“Ah. So I stole Graeme away from you.”
“Yes, you did, but I forgive you.” She paused. “When did you—how did you—”
“Find out I was a bastard?”
“You’re not.”
“Not legally. Sir Laurence acknowledged me. He may have wished otherwise once Claude came along, but he would never have shamed Tessa. It was when I was older, maybe thirteen or so; I overheard one of the servants say something about it, just an offhand remark, making a joke. But I realized what he meant.”
“I’m sorry.” Laura took his hand in hers, as she had so many times through his illness. “It must have hurt terribly.”
He shrugged. “It explained a lot of things. Why Sir Laurence often looked at me the way he did. Things he’d said that hadn’t made sense to me at the time. How happy he was when Claude was born. I must have been a constant reminder of his wife’s infidelity.”
Though his voice was even, as it nearly always was, Laura sensed the pain that threaded through it. She squeezed his hand. “Yet you were the one he left in charge.”
“Since he acknowledged me, I had to be the heir; I was eldest.”
“Only the title and this estate. You told me that was all that would go to Claude. Yet Sir Laurence gave you everything, did he not? Except for that fund for the others, which he put into your care.”
“I am the only one he could trust to handle the money wisely and not give in to their wishes.”
“I would think having earned the trust of someone like Sir Laurence would mean a good deal,” Laura said.
James glanced at her sharply, but he said only, “You can see why Claude resents me—getting all the things he thinks should be his.”
“If it’s unfair, it’s the law that makes it so—and Sir Laurence. It’s not your fault.”
“No. But he has to get rid of me to have what he thinks he’s owed.”
“True—but is he the sort of person who would kill his brother in order to get it?”
“Who else could it be? If the apothecary or a servant did it, it would have to be because someone paid them; I cannot imagine someone taking that kind of risk just because they didn’t like me. And while you can make something of a case for the trust beneficiaries, it is Claude who has the strongest motive.” He paused. “There’s another factor to consider. I got sick in London. Someone must have put a pan of the stuff under my bed there, as they did here.”
“Which would eliminate the servants—in both places. And anyone else who was at Grace Hill the whole time. Who was at the house in London at the time you grew ill?”
“I’m not sure. I was here when Graeme’s baby was born, and I returned to London a week or so later. Within days, I was sick. It must have been placed there while I was at Grace Hill or as soon as I returned. I don’t really remember who was in London then. Tessa, of course.” He paused, thinking. “Walter hasn’t been in the house in town since last year when he got sent down.”
“What about the others?”
“Patricia and Archie doubtless were in London during the Season, but they would have stayed at Lord Salstone’s home.”
“They would have called on your mother, though.”
“True. I can’t remember when Claude was last in London. My memory is still cloudy, I’m afraid.” He frowned.
“What about that man who’s your partner? Doesn’t he inherit something?”
“Caulfield?” His brows lifted. “Yes, the factory we own jointly will revert to him on my death. It was his family’s originally.”
“Then he profits by your death. Surely he calls on you in London.”
“Yes,” he agreed slowly, frowning. “He does. I have even sometimes wondered if he has a tendre for Mother.”
“You said he was a hard man.”
“Yes, he’d have the spine to do it and the intelligence. I wouldn’t have thought he had the animosity—but I’m beginning to question my ability to judge one’s character. He would be handy, wouldn’t he, if not as satisfying as blaming it on Salstone? Still, half of a business doesn’t seem enough for murder.”
“Part of a family business.”
“There are some people to whom that would matter quite a bit.” He sent her a silvery glance, the corner of his mouth quirked up, in that look that did odd things to her insides. “Care to place a wager on it? My money’s on Claude. Who’s your man, Archie or Caulfield?”
“I don’t prefer either one.” Irritation sparked in her. “Really, James, you want to take bets on the identity of your murderer?”
“Would-be murderer, one hopes. Come, it will make it more entertaining.”
“Entertaining!” Laura scrambled off the bed, her annoyance flaring into anger. “How can you—after all this—and you’re joking about it? I have been here night after night, watching you struggle to breathe, listening to you converse with people who aren’t there, worried every second that you—” Her voice caught, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. “Oh, blast.”
She whirled to walk off, but James caught her wrist. “Laura, no. Wait.” He stood up, tugging her back. “Don’t cry. Please.” His hand curved around her cheek, tilting her face up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—I’m a wretch. An idiot.” He smoothed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away the tear that trickled down. “I would not hurt you for the world. And yet somehow I always do.”
“I realize you like to pretend that nothing matters, that you care for nothing, even your own life. But I do care. I’ve been so worried.”
“I know. You are an angel. I promise you, I didn’t mean to make light of what you did for me. I was just . . . being too much myself.” His thumb caressed her cheek again. “Sweet girl. Don’t waste your tears on me.” His eyes moved over her face, his hand sliding down to her neck, cupping it. “Laura . . .” His voice changed, suddenly huskier.
He said her name again, little more than a whisper, and she felt the brush of his breath against her skin. Then he kissed her.