Rohan shook all those memories away. It was Tibolt who was important now. What had happened? Had Tibolt really been somehow involved in something nefarious with George before George had drowned? It seemed mad. Perhaps McNally had been lying. Perhaps Tibolt knew nothing about anything. Perhaps even if McNally had seen Tibolt, their meeting was innocent. But he knew he had to find out. Rohan had merely said to both Phillip and Susannah the previous evening at the dinner table, “Tomorrow we will travel to Branholly Cottage to see Tibolt. I want to know the truth. I must know the truth. If there is nothing, then I will come back to Oxford and break both of McNally’s arms.”
Phillip had nodded and said, after he swallowed a particularly tasty bite of baked lobster smothered in lemon sauce, “I will keep an eye on our Mr. Bligh McNally. If Theodore Micah shows his face, I’ll hear about it. I will put it about in the proper quarters that I want him. You and Susannah will return to Mountvale House? Or will you go to London?”
“I’m not certain yet,” Rohan had said slowly. “There is much to resolve here. We will see.”
And now they were riding in a carriage bound to the south of England to Branholly Cottage, situated not more than fifteen miles east of Mountvale House.
Rohan was afraid of what he was going to discover. On the other hand, McNally was a scoundrel. He had lied all his wretched life. Why should he not have lied about Tibolt?
Susannah, as if sensing his thoughts, squeezed his hand.
Tibolt Carrington, a very popular young man in the small market town of Edgeton-on-Hough, was renowned for his piety, his wisdom, surprising in one so young, and his quiet yet devout tending of his flock. He always had time for even the most dissolute of his fold, even Jasper the blacksmith, who drank so much he was known to have shoed his horses backward on the morning after a particularly debauched night. He looked up from his half-written sermon when his man, Nelson, cleared his throat from the doorway of his study.
“Your brother is here, sir.”
“My brother? Goodness, Nelson, the baron is here?”
Tibolt Carrington was on his feet in an instant, a wide smile lighting his face when his brother strode into the room.
“Rohan! Welcome. What are you doing here? Oh, is Mother all right? Has anything happened? You are well?”
“Oh, yes, I am quite well, Tibolt, as is everyone else. I have brought you a visitor. Susannah, do come in.”
Susannah came into the room and found herself face-to-face with a man she had never seen before, a handsome man who had much the look of Rohan and George, but yet there was something different about him. Perhaps it was the fierce intensity in his eyes or the hard set of his mouth. She wasn’t sure. He had the male Carrington cleft in his chin and the green eyes. His smile toward her was meaningless, vague and blank. She stood very still beside Rohan, waiting.
Rohan was watching his brother’s face very closely. Unlike Susannah, he thought he’d seen a flicker of surprise, of recognition, but it was so quickly veiled that he couldn’t be sure. He wondered if he would discover that he didn’t know this brother any better than he had known George.
Tibolt gave Rohan an inquiring look, raising his eyebrow in the identical way Rohan did.
“I see you recognize Susannah,” Rohan said quietly, without preamble, going with his instinct. “You saw her how long ago? Five years ago at Oxford? Did George want you to come to his mock wedding?”
Rohan saw clearly now that his brother wanted to lie to him. He quickly raised his hand. “No, don’t, Tibolt. Tell me the truth. I imagine that if you, a vicar, lied, your punishment would be much harsher than mine in hell. I am your brother. I deserve the truth from you. Come, spill it out.”
“Yes, my punishment would be harsher than yours would be. Oh what a tangled web we weave—”
Rohan’s voice fell in hard and cold, with a goodly lacing of contempt. “Spare me the literary platitude. All I want from you is the bloody truth.”
“Very well, Rohan. George made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone, particularly you. I found out by accident, I swear it to you. I was visiting Bishop Roundtree and stopped to see George. He was preparing for his, er, wedding. It was then that he told me. As for you,—” he was staring at Susannah, the hard set of his mouth now fashioning itself into an ugly sneer, “since you are with the baron, you obviously went to him and told him what had happened. You have obviously blackmailed him. He has taken care of things, hasn’t he?”
He turned back to his brother. “Rohan, will you give her money and send her to the Continent? She would enjoy Paris, no doubt—a woman of her sort. Yes, Rohan, it was no tragedy. George wanted her, but she pretended to be a lady, so he had to resort to McNally, something not at all uncommon at Oxford. So what is a bit of money to you? You are rich. She will gain a new protector quickly, I would just ask that you send her from England. It would harm my reputation—all our reputations—were she to parade herself about in front of everyone and announce what a Carrington had done to her. Even if no one believed her, there would be talk. My own precious flock wouldn’t understand. They would stand by me, don’t get me wrong, but it would be a blow.”
Rohan looked mildly interested, no more. Susannah realized, however, that he was furious. Odd how she knew him so well after less than three weeks. As for herself, she was so shocked by his brother’s words that she hadn’t moved from Rohan’s side.
“Tell me, Tibolt,” Rohan said now slowly, easily, his fists smoothed out at his sides, “what do you mean, it would be a blow? You mean that your flock would perhaps question your character were they to find out that your younger brother was such a perfidious little bastard?”
“They wouldn’t question me at all, for I would tell them the truth—well, perhaps not the entire truth. That wouldn’t be necessary. Listen, Rohan, George was just weak, I told you that. He wanted her, but she was coy and wouldn’t let him bed her. He told me she even lived with this old man who pretended to be her father and this small child, a little boy she claimed was her brother. George told me the little boy was probably her son, that she had begun in her sinful ways very early.”
“Ah, when she was twelve or thirteen?”
Tibolt just shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Listen, George wanted her. No, my congregation would revile her, not George—for is it not the woman who is the sinful creature in our world? Does she not lead men astray?—but still it would cast a blot on our family name. Don’t you see, Rohan? She must go, she must leave on the first packet to France. Oh, dear God, you haven’t become her protector, have you?”
“Her protector? Susannah, do you consider me your protector?”
“You are the best of protectors,” she said in a loud, clear voice. “But, you know, just perhaps I would prefer Tibolt. He reminds me of George, and I was fond of George. You are too knowing, too experienced, my lord. I would be unable to manipulate you as I did George. But then, George got the last laugh, didn’t he? I wasn’t really married at all. Tell me, Tibolt—”
“I am Mr. Carrington to the likes of you!”
She gently tugged on Rohan’s coat so he wouldn’t dive across the small study and throttle his brother. She heard him draw a deep breath.
“All right, Mr. Carrington. Tell me, is there hope for me? Surely you have more money salted away than what you gain from this living? I have had protectors who had very little and others were quite rich. I am not particularly greedy. Did I not let George keep me for only ten pounds a quarter? Nor am I uncaring. What do you say, Mr. Carrington? It would save the baron many difficulties and you would have me.”
“You are a strumpet, madam,” Tibolt said, drawing himself up as stiff as a lightning rod. “I do not bed strumpets.”
“Oh?” Rohan said, taking a step forward. He felt Susannah’s hand on the back of his coat, and slowly stepped back again. “Whom do you bed, Tibolt? The wife of the local wine merchant? The draper’s wife?”
“I am discreet, Rohan, unlike you, unlike our wretched mother. I d
o not flaunt myself or my liaisons. Unlike you, I do not bask in the reflected infamy of our parents.” Tibolt walked quickly to his brother, clutching at his arm. He glanced briefly at Susannah, his mouth twisting with revulsion. “Listen, Rohan, just send her away. Isn’t that for the best? You are the head of the family. You owe us all protection. We are your responsibility.”
“And what if one of the family is involved in villainy, Tibolt? Am I not also responsible for righting any wrongs committed by one of the family?”
“What villainy? What wrongs? What George did was a boy’s prank, no more. It wasn’t as if he hurt a young lady. Just look at her, Rohan, you can tell by her eyes that she is wicked, that she knows exactly what she is doing. Look at her clothing—a strumpet’s gown, a strumpet’s bonnet. I’m only surprised that she hasn’t weighted her face down with cosmetics. Ah, just look at her. She is now gloating that we are disagreeing.”
“Is she? I hadn’t realized that you saw so very much, Tibolt. Her eyes look wicked? Really?” He turned to Susannah and gently cupped her face in his hands. “No weight there with cosmetics. Are you a strumpet in an innocent’s clothing?”
She shook her head, her eyes never leaving his face.
“Are you gloating?”
“Actually I cannot bear this any longer. It is too much. Please.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I will bring this awful business to a close.” He looked back at his brother, the young man he’d thought he knew so very well. Had he been right about the character of anyone in his family? Perhaps his aunt Miranda—that maiden lady of so many good works—was really the jade of Brighton? He turned back to his brother.
“Did you know, Tibolt, that you are an uncle?”
“My God, Rohan, you have sired an illegitimate child?”
“No, George did. He and Susannah had a baby girl—Marianne. She’s three and a half years old. Did not George tell you?”
“No. He probably didn’t think it mattered. Why would he care? Doubtless the child wasn’t his.”
“That would be difficult to swallow, since Marianne is the very image of George. One could easily take you or me for the father as well.”
Tibolt drew a deep breath, a calming breath. He moved away from his brother to the narrow windows that gave out onto the small vicarage garden. It was a paltry garden, Susannah could see that from her vantage—overgrown, too much ivy that was choking out the poor rosebushes.
“You speak of all my responsibilities as the head of this family, Tibolt. Tell me, then, why didn’t you or George inform me of this sham marriage? If he wanted out of it, why didn’t he simply come to me and tell me?”
Tibolt said very simply, “He knew you would kill him. I agreed with him.”
Did his brothers see him as both a satyr and an avenging saint? How could that be possible? On the other hand, George had been right—he would have killed him. Rohan sighed. “George wasn’t so stupid after all. Yes, I would have been very tempted to kill him. But he died all by himself, leaving a wife and a daughter.”
“She is not his damned wife!”
“She believed she was. Let’s cut to the chase. I would like you to meet my wife, Susannah Carrington, Lady Mountvale. Ah, and Tibolt, I recommend that you monitor the words you wish to speak before they come out of your mouth. I am feeling particularly violent at the moment. As a matter of fact, I cannot recall when I have felt more violent than I do at this exact instant. Heed me well.”
24
TIBOLT WASN’T CAPABLE OF SAYING ANYTHING AT ALL. He stared with perfect horror from his brother to Susannah and back again. He swallowed, opened his mouth, then closed it again. “No,” he said finally, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “It can’t be true. Why are you torturing me like this, Rohan? It’s true that I knew what George was doing, but he was my brother. He has our parents’ blood. He had this vile streak. I had to protect him.”
“How many other girls were there, Tibolt?”
“But I didn’t—”
Rohan moved so quickly, Susannah had only an instant to suck in her breath. He had his brother by his collar and he was shaking him. “Listen to me, you pious little sod. How many girls did George lead through that sham marriage routine with McNally?”
“Three. Tarts, all of them. Who cares?”
Rohan took a step back and struck him clean in the jaw. Tibolt collapsed where he stood. Rohan stood looking down at him, rubbing his knuckles.
Susannah was shaking her head back and forth. “Three? He did this to two other girls? But how did you know?”
He saw that she was trembling with shock, with humiliation, then with pure rage. He gathered her to him and kissed her temple. “It wasn’t much of a guess really, Susannah. I’m so very sorry about all this.” He held her more firmly to him. She embraced him tightly. His pain was palpable, as was hers. Susannah spoke first, her voice low and quiet. “It will be all right,” she said against his neck. “I swear it will be all right. We will see all this through together.”
“All the deception, it is difficult, Susannah.”
“I know. But we will see it through together.”
“My lord!” It was Nelson, standing horrified in the doorway. “What happened to my master?”
“He had some sort of attack, Nelson. Why don’t you leave him be? I’m told that a man shouldn’t be moved right after an attack. Oh, and Nelson, do tell your master, once he recovers from this attack, that I will return this evening for another brotherly chat. Ah, I would like you to meet my wife, Nelson. This is Lady Mountvale.”
“My lady, it’s a pleasure,” Nelson said, not looking at her, just staring helplessly down at Tibolt, who was now twitching a bit and groaning.
Susannah nodded to the manservant, pulled away from Rohan and walked to where Tibolt lay on the floor. His eyes fluttered open. She looked down at him and smiled, the coldest smile Rohan had ever seen. He saw the rage in her and it pleased him.
“That you would dare call yourself a man of God must surely astound Him. It astounds me. You are a very bad man, sir. You are a fraud, a pious hypocrite. Are you more than that? We will find out if you are. You do not deserve to have Charlotte as your mother. She is good. You, sir, are a toad.” Susannah kicked him hard in the ribs.
Nelson rushed to his master’s side, falling to his knees beside him. “Why, my lady?” he said, twisting his neck to look up at her. “Surely you shouldn’t have kicked him. His lordship just said one wasn’t to move a man who had just had an attack.”
“I didn’t move him at all,” Susannah said. She turned on her heel and with her husband left the vicarage.
When Rohan left her at the inn that evening, Susannah didn’t argue. She felt sick, truth be told, sick to her very soul. Her belly roiled, nausea struck her, low in her throat. And she was worried about Rohan, but he just shook his head impatiently when she tried to keep him from going back to the vicarage. “It must be done,” was all he would say. “I must know the full of it.” He kissed her, and she felt the raging emptiness in him, the pain, the dread of the further knowledge he might discover.
He had managed to quash his fierce anger and his equally deadening pain. He prayed that Tibolt would face him tonight, not run away like he half feared his brother would. But no, he hadn’t run away. Light shone from every window in the vicarage.
His brother awaited him in his study, probably the only room where he felt at all confident. Rohan nodded to Nelson, then strode into the study, closing the door behind him.
“Well, Tibolt, I am glad you are here.”
His brother shrugged. “Where would I have gone? This is my home. The people of this town are my responsibility. Of course I would be here. You are not so frightening, Ro-han, although you still have a nasty right hook.” He rubbed his hand over his jaw. There was a faint bruise. Then he shrugged, looking directly at his brother. “So you have married a strumpet. I trust you knew what you were doing. Given your reputation, such a mating would probably suit
you. However, it is none of my affair.”
He was making it easier for him, Rohan thought, walking to the desk and seating himself in one of the old cracked leather chairs. He steepled his fingers, drumming them thoughtfully together. “No one knows that Susannah was married to George. I have told everyone that she married me nearly five years ago and I kept her hidden. Why did I do this? all of Society will ask. I will tell everyone I did it because I was too young to admit I’d fallen in love and married. I was foolish, but I love my wife and daughter dearly. You will maintain this fiction. Marianne is my child. Mother is the only other person who knows this, and Toby, Susannah’s brother, naturally. It is a question of family honor, of salvaging George’s reputation. Do you have any questions?”
“No, if that is what you want done about it. Everyone will be shocked when they find out, naturally. You, the Carrington satyr, married for the past five years, keeping your wife all tucked away while you continued to bed every female in London? That smacks of real wickedness. My flock will be suitably shocked.”
“Possibly, but I have already gone a long way toward redeeming myself. Rest assured that I will go the full mile. There will be tears in many eyes by the time I am through with my touching explanations. However, brother, if you do discover shock among your parishioners, you will remember what you owe to your family. Now, when we return to Mountvale House, we will have another party. I will announce my marriage—although with Lady Dauntry’s assistance I imagine that every sentient creature in England already knows about it. I will contrive to look properly contrite. I will be chagrined and charmingly sorry, with downcast eyes. Then Susannah and I will go to London and repeat the performance. Do you have any questions?”
Tibolt slowly shook his head. He was giving his brother an odd look, as if he were a stranger, a man he’d never really seen before. “I had not expected this of you. I do not understand why you have done this. She is nothing to you, nothing. And this child—”
The Wild Baron Page 24