chapter 8
When the butler left the room, having set out the gentlemen’s port, James fixed his brother-in-law with a glacial gaze. “Salstone . . . if you ever presume to condescend to my wife again, you will be out of this house on your backside. Do you understand?”
Salstone gaped at him. “I—I—intended no insult.”
“Even you are not that stupid. You knew exactly what you were doing and so did Patricia. But no one—” His eyes swept around the table. “No one who insults Laura will remain in this house.”
“J-James, I would never . . .”
“Not you, Walter.” James’s glance dismissed him and lit on Claude.
“Unlike Archie, I’m not an idiot,” Claude replied scornfully.
“I say, Claude . . .” Salstone began.
“I thought not.” James gave his brother a nod before turning toward Salstone. “Archie?”
“Well, of course, beg your pardon. That is to say, misspoke, all that.” Salstone took a gulp of his drink.
James turned away. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Salstone’s expression shift to a sullen sneer, but he ignored it. He didn’t care if the man hated him. Indeed, he rather enjoyed it. “Well, Walter . . . what brings you down from Oxford this time?”
As Walter began to shift in his seat and hem and haw, Claude asked drily, “Tell me, will it be my turn to be lectured next?”
James gave him a cool look. “Not unless you’ve done something irredeemably foolish. Nor am I about to lecture Walter.” He looked back at the young man. “I was simply curious what rule he’d found to break that he hadn’t already.”
“Oh, well, it wasn’t exactly new. It was just that Ned and I . . . well, you know his brother?” Walter began a convoluted story involving a pig, a don, and an upper-floor room, which James did not try to follow. His head was throbbing and his joints ached, and he worried that his hand might begin to shake in front of the people he would least like to witness that performance.
James wondered how soon he could leave. He had never enjoyed this postdinner ritual, its only advantage being that it meant fewer minutes spent in the company of Adelaide and Patricia. Thank God Cousin Maurice and his mother’s admirer had gone with the women.
“Who’s this fellow dangling after Mother?” he asked abruptly.
“Our future Byron?” Claude snorted.
“I thought his name was Netherly,” Salstone said.
James would have laughed if his head hadn’t been throbbing so. He wasn’t sure which was more amusing, Salstone’s puzzlement or Claude’s pained expression. Too bad Laura wasn’t here; he would have liked to meet her eyes and see the laughter brimming there.
“I think he’s talking about the poet, Archie,” Walter explained.
“Oh. Ha! Never much for poetry myself.”
“Astonishing,” Claude murmured, then said to James, “Surely you’ve met Netherly. He’s one of Mother’s admirers. At least he merely skulks around being moody and ‘interesting.’ It could be worse; Major Bellingham threatened to escort her back from the city.”
“Gad.” James could see that Salstone was working up to say something, but he gave him no encouragement. He knew the sort of subject the man wanted to broach with him.
“I’m glad you returned, James.” Unfortunately, Salstone needed no encouragement.
“Are you?”
“Yes. Benbroke—you know Benbroke, don’t you?” he said in a hearty tone. “Cecil’s cousin.”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“He’s on to something capital. I knew you’d want to hear it. It’s a canal. In Australia. Brilliant idea, but of course one has to act quickly.”
“Archie. Stop. I’m not lending you money.”
“Course not,” Salstone said in a hurt tone. “Wouldn’t think of it. It’s Patricia’s trust I’m talking about.”
“Nor are the trustees giving it to you.”
“Trustees!” Archie snorted. “Hah! The others don’t matter. You’re the one who decides. We all know it.”
“I’m surprised you don’t also know that I won’t allow you to squander the trust’s money on some ridiculous scheme.”
“It’s not ridiculous, I tell you. I’ve looked at it and—”
“I’m not giving you the money.”
“It’s not as if it’s your money!” Salstone’s face darkened with anger. “It belongs to me.”
“It’s for Patricia, not you.”
“Her money is mine.”
“That is precisely the reason Sir Laurence left it in a trust,” James shot back.
“It’s not fair!” The other man jumped to his feet. “Why the hell do you get to control all the money? You aren’t even—” He stopped abruptly.
James raised his brows, saying in a silky tone, “I’m not even what?” His brother-in-law simply glared at him, not answering. “I’ll tell you what I am, Archie. I am the man who controls the trust Sir Laurence left for his wife and children. And I won’t permit you or anyone else to squander it.”
“It’s not fair,” Salstone repeated, turning toward Claude. “You know it’s not. Why should we have to go begging to him for money that should be ours?”
“Fair doesn’t matter. Haven’t you learned that yet?” Claude shook his head in disgust. “Really, Archie, have you no sense? You insult the man’s wife at dinner, then ask him for money?”
“Don’t act as if you weren’t all thinking the same thing! She’s a nobody. I don’t care if he wants to pick up Montclair’s leavings, but to—”
James burst up from his chair, grabbing a handful of Archie’s ascot and shirt, and shoved him back onto the dining table. Salstone landed with a thud, knocking over the decanter and sending port streaming across the damask. James leaned on the other man, holding him to the table with one hand, his entire weight behind it, and with the other hand twisting the material in a choking grip.
“Don’t. Don’t you dare even say her name.” He rapped Archie’s head against the table for good measure.
“James!” Walter grabbed one arm and Claude the other, pulling him back. “Stop. Let go. You’ll kill him.”
“That’s what I’d like to do.” James released Salstone.
Salstone, coughing, stood up. “You’re a bloody lunatic.”
“And you’re a bloody fool, Archie,” Claude said dispassionately.
James ignored their exchange. “Get out.”
“What?” Salstone stared.
“You heard me.” James bit off the words. “I want you out of this house.”
“You can’t toss me out. This is Patricia’s home.”
“Patricia may stay. You are leaving.”
“James, wait . . . think . . . the scandal,” Walter began.
“I don’t care about the bloody scandal!” James turned and strode away.
Behind him he heard Salstone begin to bluster and Claude’s scornful reply, “What the hell did you expect, Archie? He told you.”
Then he was out the door, leaving them behind. Demosthenes, waiting patiently in the hall, followed him. James took the back door onto the terrace, going across it to the steps into the garden. He sat down on the top step, gazing into the darkness. Customarily, he would make a round of the garden with his dog last thing before retiring, but tonight the spurt of rage had drained him, leaving him shaken and dizzy.
This disease was making him a stranger to himself.
Archie Salstone could drive a saint to murder, and there was no way James could have let the insult to Laura stand. But it wasn’t like him to be violent. He had always been able to take care of any enemy with a few acidic words. These days, however, anger bubbled in him, seeking release.
Demosthenes, after a single puzzled glance at his master, sat down beside James and stared into the garden with him. James looped his arm around the dog. “Ah, Dem, have I done Laura a grave disfavor?”
He was not an impulsive man normally, yet with Laura, he had jumped in without thinking. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it; it wasn’t his inclination to examine his inner motives or deep desires. If he wanted something of beauty, he acquired it. If he sought pleasure, he bought it. If something needed to be done, he made sure it was.
It hadn’t occurred to him until tonight that he had put Laura in an uncomfortable situation. He had known Claude was bound to resent her, but then his sister and her husband had tried their knives on her at supper. James was accustomed to his family’s sniping and usually got in as many shots as he received—well, in truth, probably more. But when they’d started on Laura . . . Anger boiled up inside him again.
Perhaps he should send Laura to his London house, where she would be away from the bitter tongues of his relations. But the idea left him feeling empty. Irritating as Laura’s poking and prying was, he perversely enjoyed it, too. And though he would have denied it, he had meant it, at least a little, when he said he didn’t want to die alone.
It was peculiar that a virtual stranger could quell the icy fear seeking to take root in his chest. But somehow he felt more at ease when he looked into Laura’s calm face, her steady blue gaze. He didn’t want to send her away.
Laura had shown tonight that she could handle his relatives’ barbs. She had the advantage on them in intelligence. And in chucking out Salstone just now, he’d gotten rid of the worst one. She would have to deal with them after he died anyway. Might as well figure out how to do so while he was still here to step in.
God knows how long he would have the strength to do so. The confrontation with Salstone, coming on the heels of the journey, had left him exhausted. Two months ago, he would have scarcely noticed it. Now he could not summon the energy to even walk the garden with Dem. Indeed, climbing the stairs to bed seemed an enormous effort at the moment.
But, of course, he had to. He must use the steam treatment for his cough tonight. He’d already gone two nights without it while he was at the inn. He hadn’t noticed that the treatment had eased his cough, and more than once, he’d thought of simply giving up the tiresome practice. But of course he hadn’t. He could not have given up the struggle any more than he could have changed the color of his eyes. He would keep on until the bitter end. It was what one did.
James stood up and started into the house.