Chapter Thirteen
Lord Braithwaite had barely risen from his bed, had not even approached the crucial matter of his cravat, when his servant informed him that his lady mother wished to see him in the breakfast room.
The earl, being a well-mannered and tolerant man, did not groan. But he had his mind on the important speech he was to give in the House of Lords today and he really did not wish to be distracted by whatever trivialities his mother deemed important today.
However, she was his mother. And she never gave up. So, he tied his cravat in haste, allowed his valet to help him into his coat, and went downstairs to the breakfast room.
“Where is the fire, Mother?” he inquired flippantly, seating himself beside her at the table and pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“Nowhere, yet,” she snapped. “It is what I’m trying to avoid. We went the wrong way to work with your sister. We shouldn’t have sent her away.”
Braithwaite, who had said so at the time, refrained from comment.
His mother picked up a letter she had been reading. “I received this from Kate Crowmore, who for reasons best known to herself, married the new vicar of Blackhaven.”
“I know,” Braithwaite said mildly. “He seems to be an excellent fellow. I like him.”
“Well, that is nothing to the purpose.” The countess waved the vicar aside. “Kate has asked my permission to relax the constrictions we placed upon her, and chaperone her to the Assembly Room ball and a few other events in Blackhaven. Using her own experience, she surmises that without respectable distraction, Serena will no doubt make her own, which should be a terrifying prospect for all of us.”
“She’s joking,” Braithwaite observed.
“Well, of course she is. It’s her way, so as not to give us offence, but she does speak the truth. We were too harsh with Serena.”
Braithwaite shrugged. “I was angry. So were you. Write to her as well as to Kate, and give permission for her to enjoy herself.”
“No, I think we must go there. Immediately.”
“Well, if you feel you must,” Braithwaite said.
“We. I said we. We may leave before midday and—”
“I can’t go anywhere today,” Braithwaite said firmly. “I have commitments. To be frank, I don’t see why you have to go either. A letter will suffice.”
His mother shook her head stubbornly. “No, I need to see Serena. I know she said she was relieved to be no longer engaged, and I believe it’s true, but her mood was…strange. I believe part of her was hurt, and our reaction of immediately sending her away truly does make her ripe for mischief. I believe she needs me and I require your escort.”
“I’m sorry to disoblige you,” Braithwaite said with as much patience as he could muster, “but I cannot go today.”
His mother frowned and shifted with annoyance in her chair. “I will wait until tomorrow then, but no longer!”
*
“Where is Lord Tamar?” Helen demanded, in the middle of her lessons.
“I don’t know,” replied Serena, who had taken to disrupting her sisters’ lessons once more. It had been two days since her abduction and she was more restless than ever.
“He said he would paint us,” Helen said accusingly. “Why don’t you send him a note to remind him? After all, you like him, too.”
I did, but he’s not the man I thought he was. The vision of the unknown woman kissing him with such familiarity kept repeating in her mind. That and his face, unaccustomedly harsh and brutal. Murder.
Maybe, she kept them deliberately in her mind to make herself grateful for his absence, to stop herself missing him. It didn’t work.
“We could walk down to Blackhaven this afternoon,” Alice suggested. “We could call it an art lesson, Miss Grey!”
“Oh, yes, do let’s,” Helen agreed with enthusiasm.
“Right now, you must return to your numbers,” Miss Grey ordered, fixing Serena with her gaze.
Serena gave a faint, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, and slipped out of the school room.
A few minutes later, she found herself in the drawing room, sitting by the pianoforte with her fingers spread over the keys. She’d done all this before, on the day she’d first seen Tamar striding across the garden.
She couldn’t help turning her head, but she could see no one at all, let alone a tall, disheveled figure burdened by an easel and a battered satchel. She couldn’t understand why being so wrong about him hurt so much. Perhaps because at heart she didn’t really believe it. She just knew he was pushing her away, abandoning her. The reasons, true or not, seemed to take second place in her confused mind.
What kind of immoral fool does that make me? she wondered, pressing on the keys to see what sort of a sound they made. Discordant. She didn’t care about his poverty, or his womanizing, or even his crime. She cared that he wasn’t here.
Unbearable thought. Hastily, to make herself think of anything other than him, she began to play. It began badly, loudly, but as the music came back to her, she played as it was meant to be, and was still playing when Mrs. Grant was announced.
“Goodness,” Kate said. “You’re a lot better than I ever was.”
Serena smiled faintly. “I doubt that. I’m certainly a lot worse than when I was nagged to practice.” She closed the lid and stood up to ring for tea.
Kate came closer, examining her with calm perception. They hadn’t seen each other since Sunday night at the hotel.
“You’re looking pale and wan,” Kate observed. “Are you ill?”
“Not at all. I suppose I haven’t slept well since Sunday. Wretched spies.”
“Or wretched marquis?” Kate suggested shrewdly.
Serena laughed. It sounded unnaturally brittle. “Of course not. I haven’t forgotten he saved me on Sunday.”
“You haven’t forgotten he was with another woman on Sunday either.”
Impatiently, Serena waved that way, but Kate wouldn’t let it rest.
“Everyone knows Tamar doesn’t gamble,” she observed. “I daresay he needed someone to give him an excuse to be there.”
“You’re quite mistaken if you imagine I care about such things.”
“Am I?” Kate said with deliberation.
Serena looked away.
“Well, I have come to talk to you about other things,” Kate said at last. “Namely, entertaining Catherine.”
Serena brightened. “I sent her a note suggesting she meet us for an ice and a visit to the circulating library. If I can prevail upon Miss Grey, I’ll bring the girls—they tend to distract people! And I thought a moonlight revel on the beach might be something a little out of the ordinary.”
“And cold at this time of year!”
“And possibly wet at any time of year.”
“Not insurmountable problems, though,” Kate said thoughtfully. “It will take some planning, so we could even get Catherine to help.”
“That’s what I thought. And we will need all the old biddies to pronounce it respectable, so Mrs. Winslow’s support would be useful.”
“Well thought out,” Kate approved. “All I could think of was a theatre party! Which I have arranged, at least and shall write to Mrs. Winslow this afternoon. Oh, and Mrs. Penhalligan is to hold a rout next week.”
“Who is Mrs. Penhalligan?” Serena asked, dredging her memory.
“A widow. She came here for her health after her husband died—on the Peninsula, I believe—and liked the town so much she bought a house here. She has a son of about Bernard Muir’s age and two daughters, who are now trying to drag her out of mourning. They had persuaded her to hold a small party and invite their friends, but I have worked on her to expand it!”
Kate wiggled her eyebrows in a theatrically wicked manner, and Serena couldn’t help smiling.
“You are ingenious,” Serena approved.
“I am. You should receive an invitation today. I assured her you were very condescending.”
Kate wrinkled her nose. “Does she think I am some great lady? She’s going to be disappointed—or perhaps just relieved!”
“Well, you are the greatest lady currently in Blackhaven, and the town reveres your family.”
Serena sighed as the tea tray was finally brought in. “Speaking of my family, I’m not really obeying the strictures of mine, am I?”
“Well, I did write to your mother. And if you don’t receive a furious letter in the next day or so forbidding you, I think you might consider it consent.”
“With Wicked Kate as my chaperone?”
Kate looked unnaturally prim. “My dear, I am no longer wicked. I am the vicar’s wife. Oh, and speaking of the vicar, he does have duties, so we can’t make him escort us to everything. I thought we might prevail upon Bernard Muir.”
“Truly?” Serena said doubtfully. “Doesn’t he admire you excessively?”
“Oh, that was months ago. Now he is in love with a mill owner’s daughter who is also a fabulous heiress and that is lasting much longer. Unfortunately, her parents don’t like the match.”
Serena bridled on her old friend’s behalf. “What is wrong with Bernard?”
“He doesn’t have a title. They think because the girl is so rich and so beautiful, they may look as high as they like for a husband.”
“They should talk to Lord Tamar,” Serena said brutally. “It would be his perfect solution.”
“I daresay the girl would come around. She is quite malleable, and Tamar is handsome and good natured. Would you really wish them well?”
Serena looked away. “I am angry with him. But I do not wish him ill.”
“My dear, you are more than angry.” Kate nudged her arm. “I don’t like to see you so down. I heard what he said to you, but truly you don’t know the circumstances or even if he meant it literally—”
“I don’t care if he meant it literally,” Serena all but snapped.
“Then it is the actress. All men have women in their past.”
Serena cast her a glance that Kate read easily enough.
“According to Tristram,” Kate said, “she accompanied him to the club to give him an excuse to be there. Everyone knows Tamar doesn’t gamble.”
“I don’t care about her either,” Serena said, pushing her teacup across the table and rising to her feet.
“Then what?” Kate demanded. “Because you cannot pretend to me that you suddenly don’t care for him.”
“But I don’t. He isn’t who I thought he was. Don’t you see, Kate? He found it too easy to push me away and be back in her arms—if he ever left them—the very same day! I read too much into a silly flirtation. I hate him because I was fooled!”
Kate searched her face. “Do you?”
“Yes.” Serena turned away, walking to the window. “And I saw it in his eyes. He was trying to push me away, to hurt me, in order to make me leave him alone. Let it be, Kate, I have some pride. Did you come in the carriage or walk?”
Kate permitted the change of subject. “I walked since the weather is fine.”
“Then we shall accompany you back to Blackhaven. The girls have decided Miss Grey looks peaky, so we are all going to make her drink the waters.”
Miss Grey permitted lessons to finish early, but by the time they reached the Pump Room, Serena had the impression that the governess had merely been the girls’ excuse. It was Serena they truly wished to drink the waters.
“Are you involved in this conspiracy?” Serena asked Miss Grey as they left. She felt rather full of water and sat down on the bench opposite, in a blink of autumnal sunshine.
The girls were kindly rushing in and out of the building, refilling glasses of water for old and infirm people who wished to enjoy the fresh air, too.
“Well, I agreed they could pretend I was a little under the weather,” Miss Grey confessed. “They’re really worried about you and don’t want you to know. They are sweet-natured girls.”
“They are,” Serena said, touched. “But truly, I am not ill.”
“But you are a little blue-devilled,” Miss Grey observed.
Serena would have denied it, except the girls suddenly flew across from the Pump Room, calling, “Lord Tamar!”
Serena’s stomach gave an unpleasant jolt, for the familiar tall, rumpled figure of the marquis was loping up the steps from the beach below. It was too late to stop her sisters from talking to him, so she had to be content with not looking. She turned her accusing gaze upon Miss Grey instead.
“Is this part of your conspiracy, too?”
“No,” Miss Grey replied with a hint of nervousness. “But since the subject has come up, I did want to say… I hope you have not dwelled too much on the suspicions I once shared with you? Concerning his lordship’s involvement with the smugglers who turned out to be spies. Because subsequent events obviously proved me utterly wrong.”
“Of course not,” Serena said.
The girls were walking with Tamar, chattering away to him as they always did. He had to come this way to return to the center of the town and as he drew closer, Serena saw that he looked as he always did. Except, perhaps for a little pallor, no doubt caused by the loss of blood from his wound. He wore his disreputable satchel over his other shoulder, the uninjured one. Serena swallowed. She could not afford to worry about his health. He was clearly well enough.
His banter with the girls might have been a little distracted, but that was normal for him, too. The ache of loss intensified. But no one could ever know.
“Look, Serena, we have found Lord Tamar,” Helen cried.
“So I see. What a happy chance for him,” she said wryly, and the girls laughed.
Lord Tamar bowed in his casual manner. “Lady Serena. Miss Grey.”
“Good afternoon,” Serena said distantly.
“Come and have tea with us at the hotel,” Maria invited.
Appalled, Serena could do more than frown at her.
But Tamar was shaking his head. “Another time, I would love to. Sadly, I need to be elsewhere. Good afternoon, ladies.” And he walked on.
He hadn’t even looked at her, apart from that one brushing glance as he’d bowed. She should have been grateful. It made the encounter bearable.
So why did her heart ache and ache?
*
Several days later, just over a week after the capture of the French spies and the retrieval of his paintings, he saw her again.
As he strode down the high street, she sat in the ice parlor with her sisters, Miss Grey, and Catherine Winslow. In spite of everything, his heart gave a huge leap. He missed her and the warmth of her family which somehow seemed part of her. And it was such a bright, laughing group he couldn’t help but pause, his eyes devouring her face.
The last time he’d seen her, outside the Pump Room, he’d barely looked at her, aware it was bad luck the girls had seen him. Her whole manner had been repelling and cold, which was just what he’d wanted. And yet the awkwardness, the freezing civility between them had seemed somehow tragic after what had passed between them before. Seeing her again, even in that one glance, had churned him up. But he hadn’t wavered. He knew he was doing the right thing. And, clearly, so did she.
But in secret, a man could look, just to remember and to assure himself she was well.
She was smiling at Miss Winslow, talking with, surely, just a little less animation than he remembered. She seemed pale to him, brittle, as though she might break. And her eyes…surely there was something dull about them? It didn’t make her less beautiful, but it did make her look unspeakably sad.
Christ, did I do that to her?
And then the moment passed. She laughed at something Helen said, and he walked on hastily before she saw him.
But that look troubled him. He itched to paint it, but he longed, too, to wipe that sadness from her eyes and make her laugh with him as she’d done before. He walked faster in an effort to untwist his stomach, to diffuse the pain.
When he next paid attention to his surroundings, he found himself at the church and frowned in confusion. Surely he’d been heading homeward?
On impulse, he walked through the gate and up the path to the church. Since it seemed to be quiet within, he opened the door.
From the front pew, Tristram Grant turned his head and blinked. “Tamar?”
“In the flesh,” Tamar replied flippantly, strolling up the aisle. “And at risk of being struck down.”
Grant rose to meet him “Trust me, there have been wickeder men than you in here over the years, and none of them were struck down.”
Tamar glanced at the books and papers the vicar had dropped on the front pew. “Don’t you work at home?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes I get inspiration here, especially if Kate is out. She and Lady Serena are on a mission to make Catherine Winslow happy after Valère turned out to be what he was. Apparently, he had raised hopes.”
There wasn’t much Tamar could say to that. He was pretty sure he’d raised some of his own with as little right. Her last look at the hotel haunted him. And her pallor today.
“What can I do for you?” Grant asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Tamar said awkwardly. “I was just passing. How is Lampton?”
“In pieces, though he’ll never show it.”
“Poor bastard,” Tamar said, then glanced at the cross above the altar. “Sorry.”
“It’s a lesson to us all,” Grant said, and it took Tamar a moment to realize he wasn’t referring to bad language in church. “We have to seize the happiness of the day, and savor it, because we don’t know when it might be taken from us.”
Tamar searched his face. “If you mean Lady Serena, say so.”
“I mean Lady Serena.”
“Then you shouldn’t. You know what I am, what I have—and don’t have.”
“Kate married me though I’m poor.”
“You might be poor, but you have a respectable profession and prospects of promotion,” Tamar retorted. “An ancient title is all that keeps me out of debtors’ prison. And worse.”
Grant frowned and sat down again. “What is this worse business? Did you mean what you said to her about murder?”
Tamar tugged one hand through his hair. “Of course, I meant it. It’s true.”
“Who did you kill?” Grant asked steadily.
Tamar’s lips twisted. “A bailiff,” he said, seating himself on the steps up the altar.
“Why?”
“Does it matter?”
“Oh, I think so.”
Tamar shrugged. “Perhaps, but that isn’t my story to tell.”
“Then why did you tell her anything at all?”
Tamar rubbed absently at his healing shoulder, which had begun to ache again. “Because I wanted her to know the worst of me.”
“To drive her away?”
“To make her understand,” Tamar got out. “Why I cannot have her.”
“She doesn’t see that. She just saw you driving her away.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Then tell me the worst of you and let me judge from knowledge.”
“I can’t.” Restlessly, Tamar began to rise again, but Grant grasped him by the good shoulder, pushing him back down.
“Tamar. You have to tell someone. It’s eating you up.”
“It isn’t,” Tamar denied. “Of course, it isn’t,”
“Whatever you say. How old were you when you did it?”
Tamar shrugged. “Sixteen. I think. It doesn’t really matter. Certainly, it was in the early years after my father died, and we had to leave school. We were all pretty much running wild about Tamar Abbey, while the house decayed around us. The servants had all left, or I’d sent them away because we couldn’t pay them. But it was fun in an odd way, because I was too young or too stupid to think of the future. I thought I was looking after them if I scavenged some food for them. Hunting was fun and we cooked it together…”
He rubbed his forehead, trying to dismiss the memories. “And then we grew up. The day that Peter Rivers the bailiff came. They couldn’t touch me for my father’s debts, but they’d started to dun us about my late uncle’s, claiming some of the few valuables still left in the house belonged to him. I sent them all away, but then Rivers came when I wasn’t there. He tried to make my sisters hand over a Greek vase—I had a buyer lined up for that vase which would have fed us and clothed us all year. The girls refused, of course, but he was a bully. He really thought he could get away with it. They might have been a marquis’s daughters, but they were poor and without protection and he no doubt thought he could make them too afraid to speak…”
He dropped his head into his hands. He didn’t want to remember this. He didn’t ever want to think of this. He swallowed. “He told them he would take payment in kind. You know what he meant. They didn’t. They were fourteen years old. I can’t talk about this.”
“Jesus Christ,” Grant whispered.
“When I got home, and rushed into the room, he had Anna by the throat, her dress ripped to shreds, and Christianne had just broken the Greek vase over his head. He was slightly dazed and still laughing when I flew at him. He had a dagger in his free hand—a Tamar dagger with our crest on it. I killed him with that as we fought…”
He raised his eyes to Grant’s. “His brother saw us from the window. He saw the dagger go in. I swear to God I would have killed him, too, and buried him in the same unmarked grave as his brother, except that he ran.”
There was silence in the church. Tamar wrapped it around himself like armor. He was sure somehow that he’d need it, as if the world would end now that he’d finally spoken these words.
Grant said, “If I were God, I would forgive you. I doubt I would forgive the man you killed.”
Tamar’s lips curved without permission. “But you’re not God. You’re my friend.”
“Yes, I am.”
“And you’ll agree it’s not the kind of story Serena should hear.”
Grant’s brow twitched. “She’s a woman, Tamar, made of flesh and blood and understanding. Not a piece of precious porcelain. She won’t break.”
“She looks as if she might,” Tamar blurted. “I saw her through the window of the ice parlor. I don’t know if I’m a coxcomb or merely delusional to wonder if I did that to her.”
“Yes, I think you did,” Grant said brutally. “But cheer up. No one truly dies of a broken heart.”
Tamar groaned. He felt as if he would. “Stop it, Grant. Apart from the insurmountable poverty, you don’t know the end of Rivers’ story. He waited two days, until I was calm, until I realized the magnitude of what I’d done. I couldn’t give myself up. There was no one but Julian to take my place, to look after my family and what was left of my people. John Rivers knew that. And he watched me bury the body—or said he did.”
“And he’s been extorting payment for his silence ever since,” Grant said quietly.
Tamar dragged a tired hand over his face. “I felt I still had to look after them. But our innocence was over. The boys ran wilder, went their own ways. In time, Anna grew a shell hard enough to break teeth on. At least Christianne retained her sweetness and married a good man. She and Anna will always look out for each other. Julian and Sylvester are grown up and making trouble of their own. So, I won’t pay Rivers again. I’ll stand trial.”
“It won’t come to that,” Grant said. “It’s past, Tamar. If you love Serena—and I think you truly do—offer her the man you are now, with all that you have now.”
“A crumbling ruin and a debt the size of a Scottish island?”
Grant shrugged. “I could tell you you’re a good man, a kind man with a rare artistic talent, and an even rarer gift of making people happy. The wealth difference is immaterial. Do you know she told Kate that Braithwaite’s disapproval wouldn’t matter? That she would simply wait until she was twenty-one and no longer needed his consent?”
Tamar dropped his hands, raising his gaze to Grant. “She said that?”
“Don’t imagine you’re doing her a favor, immolating yourself. You owe her happiness, not wealth.”
“I’ve always believed they go together.”
“No, you haven’t. You’re one of the happiest people I know, despite all the dross that’s been flung at you over the years. None of it has broken you or your love of life. And you’ve never had a penny.”
Tamar regarded him, trying in vain to prevent the hope leaping in his emotion-battered heart. “I think you see the world very differently from most people.”
“No. I just help some people see it from a different perspective.”
“I don’t think most people would agree with the perspective that I would be granting Serena Conway a favor by offering her marriage!”
“Well,” Grant said, leaning back and gathering his papers. “You have to decide if they’re right. Or if you are.”
Tamar threw his head back, lying right down on the steps. “I hurt her, I know I did, I thought it was for the best. I was trying to be good. And I don’t know if she’ll forgive me.”
“She probably won’t,” Grant said flatly and grinned at Tamar’s appalled look. “At first. You’ll need all your charm. And a little time.”