The Wild Child

by Mary Jo Putney

  “I’m on both of your sides,” she said quietly. “I know you better, of course, but Dominic is as much my brother as you.”

  He bit back a furious comment; his quarrel was with Dominic, not Lucia. Brusquely he said, “Do you know what he did?”

  She nodded. “Letters from Dominic arrived today for Papa and me. Papa was told the official version of how the marriage came about. Dom told me the complete story because I’d helped him out, and he thought I deserved the truth.” She regarded her brother with furrowed brows. “He mentioned that you appeared just after the wedding, and that you were…quite upset to learn of the marriage so abruptly.”

  “How very euphemistic of him.” Mouth tight, Kyle took brandy from a cabinet. He’d brought the decanter up the night he returned to Dornleigh, knowing it would be convenient to have a source of temporary oblivion close at hand.

  He poured himself a generous measure and was putting the top back on the decanter when his sister asked, “Aren’t you going to offer me any?”

  Startled, he said, “You’re too young for brandy.”

  Her brows arched. “I’m of legal age, and on the verge of marriage. Surely I may be permitted a small amount of spirits.”

  Silently he splashed a finger’s worth into another glass and gave it to her, then sprawled in the other, less comfortable chair. “I hope you haven’t dropped by for a long sisterly conversation. I’m not in the mood.”

  “I’ve already deduced that.” She took a careful sip of her brandy. “Did you know that Papa and I visited Warfield when Dominic was there, pretending to be you?”

  Kyle stiffened. “Good God, Wrexham knew about the deception that long ago?”

  Lucia shook her head. “You know how vain he is about wearing spectacles. He never realized—Dominic imitates you very well. I knew who he was right away, of course, but Dom explained privately why he was there, and asked me not to reveal his identity.” She caught his gaze. “I agreed for both your sakes.”

  Kyle couldn’t help wincing when he thought about how Dominic must have felt when his family descended on Warfield. He’d probably been tempted to run for his life.

  For the first time, Kyle wondered what had happened in his absence. Obviously more had gone wrong than just Dominic seducing Lady Meriel. Reluctantly curious, he said, “You might as well speak your piece. Obviously you won’t go away until you have.”

  “Very true,” she agreed. “You need to know the whole story.”

  He studied his goblet, admiring the rich refraction of candlelight through brandy. “Did Dominic ask you to pacify me? He should have known it wouldn’t work.”

  “Which is why he didn’t ask,” she retorted. “Talking to you is my idea, because I hate to think that my brothers may spend the rest of their lives completely estranged.”

  “Accustom yourself,” he said tersely. “If I’m lucky, I won’t ever see him again. What he did was…unforgivable.”

  She made a rude noise. “Why? Because you were so in love with Meriel? A man in love would never have asked his brother to court his bride.”

  He looked up, his mouth tight. “I had my reasons.”

  Her voice softened. “I’m sure you did, but your actions were not those of a man besotted with his affianced bride. You’d only met her once yourself, hadn’t you? Hardly enough to recognize her, much less fall in love.”

  “You’re obsessed with romance,” he said, exasperated. “Not everyone makes a love match, as you’re doing. Lady Meriel is mentally damaged, not someone a man could fall in love with. The point of the marriage was to ensure that she would be protected from fortune hunters.” Anger swept through him again. “Instead, because of my carelessness, the fortune hunter who seduced her is my own brother.” Uncomfortably he recognized that guilt was part of his anger—he had failed in his duty, and an innocent, witless girl had suffered for it.

  “You looked at Lady Meriel as a pathetic creature in need of protection,” Lucia said austerely. “Dominic looked at her, and saw a beautiful woman worthy of love.”

  “Is that what he’s claiming?” Kyle swallowed his remaining brandy and reached for more. “I hadn’t realized what a talent he has for lying.”

  “Kyle, I met Meriel, and found her quite charming,” Lucia said earnestly. “According to her chaperons, she began to improve as soon as Dominic came to Warfield. Apparently she is very nearly normal now, and it’s Dominic’s doing. Could you have done the same for her?”

  Kyle paused in the act of pouring. Recollections of what happened at Kimball House were hazy because of the consuming rage he’d felt at the time. He’d scarcely noticed Lady Meriel. She had never been very real to him, least of all on that day, when all his attention was on his brother—but he suddenly remembered that she had spoken, saying in no uncertain terms that it was Dominic she wanted, not him.

  Of course she would say that, since Dominic had seduced her and poisoned her mind against her betrothed. But there was no denying that she had talked, and quite coherently. Everyone had assumed the girl was incapable of that, so she must have changed greatly in the short time since Dominic went to Warfield.

  Brandy splashed on his hand, and he realized that he’d forgotten the decanter. Flushing at his clumsiness, he took a large swallow, as if he’d intended to pour so much. “If this was a great love match, why did Dominic rush her to the altar with such obscene haste? If he’d waited until I returned and convinced me that he really cared for the girl, I probably would have been willing to bow out on his behalf.”

  “Dominic had no choice,” Lucia said flatly. “Meriel’s uncle had locked her up in a madhouse, and Dom wanted to make sure she wasn’t sent back there.”

  “An asylum?” he said, shocked. “Why would Amworth do that? He told me that a major reason for getting the girl a husband was to keep her out of the madhouse.”

  “It was her other uncle, Lord Grahame.” Lucia ran a distracted hand through her dark hair. “I’d better start at the beginning.”

  Tersely she explained that Amworth had become very ill, spurring first Grahame’s early return, then an unpleasant string of events that had ended in Dominic breaking Meriel out of the asylum and rushing her into marriage so that he would have legal control over her person. Kyle frowned as he listened, wondering if the tale was true, or just Dominic playing on his sister’s desire to think well of him.

  Lucia ended, “Dominic has done his best to resolve this without a scandal. The official story, which is what he wrote to Papa, is that you thought he and Meriel would suit, and sent him in your place because of your generous nature.”

  Kyle gave a bark of harsh laughter. “He really is a good liar.”

  “His version is better than letting the world know you couldn’t be bothered to court your own wife,” Lucia said tartly. “Did you genuinely want Meriel, or is it that you still can’t stand for Dominic to take one of your toys?”

  He stared into his brandy, wondering if there might be some truth to his sister’s accusation. “This isn’t about competition,” he said in a raw voice. “I trusted Dominic, and he betrayed me.”

  She sighed. “Part of me understands that. Another part thinks that a bizarre set of circumstances forced Dominic into doing something that hurt you terribly, but he didn’t have much choice if he was to protect the woman he loved.” She cocked her head to one side. “Have you ever been in love, Kyle?”

  His goblet stem shattered into tinkling fragments, gashing his palm and splashing brandy across his lap. Swearing, he waved Lucia away when she rose to help. As he wrapped the bleeding hand in a towel, he wondered furiously how Dominic dared speak of love. He’d indulged in casual affairs, never spending ten years faithful to a single woman. He’d never held his beloved as she died in his arms….

  With horror, Kyle realized that he was on the verge of breaking down in front of his sister. “Get out, Lucia. Now.”

  A stubborn Renbourne to the core, instead she approached and laid her hand on his arm. “Kyle, I
’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I can see how horrible the situation has been for you. But can’t you accept that this may have been for the best? Dominic loves Meriel. You didn’t, but now you have a chance to find a woman you can love.”

  He jerked away, terrified that he might strike her. “Lucia, you haven’t the remotest damned idea what you’re talking about,” he said raggedly.

  “I don’t know what it’s like to feel betrayed by my twin brother,” she said quietly, “but I do know something of love. Because I love Robin, and I love Dominic, and I love you.”

  He swung away, praying she would leave. After a long moment, her steps moved toward the door, but she paused for a last word. “Dominic and Meriel are holding a community wedding feast on Midsummer Eve. Papa and I are leaving for Warfield tomorrow morning. If you can bring yourself to forgive Dominic, I’m sure you would be welcome, too.”

  He shook his head, denying her and his brother and the whole hellacious world, where neither love nor trust nor honor endured.

  After his sister left, he locked the door, then fell shaking onto his bed, his blood-drenched hand curled against his chest. He should ring for Morrison, who had caught up with him the day after his return to Dornleigh. Though the valet had been unable to prevent the disaster at Warfield, he was quite adept at bandages. But Kyle could not bear the presence of another human, even one as self-effacing as Morrison.

  In a dim corner of his churning mind, he realized how much of his fury at Dominic was really rage against the heavens because of Constancia’s death. He’d returned from Cádiz clinging to the idea of Lady Meriel, welcoming the fact that she was weak and needy because that would give him something to think about besides his grief.

  It had never once occurred to him that she might be capable of recovering, or that she could be a real wife. He didn’t want a real wife—he’d had one, even if the actual marriage had lasted only for hours. Meriel was infinitely better off with a man who had the patience and understanding to bring her into normal life. Someone like Dominic, who had always been a healer of injured beasts and unhappy humans.

  Would he really have waived his claim on Lady Meriel for Dominic’s sake? He wasn’t sure—he’d needed the idea of her too much. Without Constancia or Lady Meriel Grahame, who was Kyle? What was the point of his existence? What was the bloody bedamned point?

  In the midst of anguish, a thread of peace formed, as if Constancia had just entered the room. She had always radiated serenity. He could almost see her lying beside him, her dark eyes warm and profoundly wise.

  Fragments of the conversations they’d had on the journey to Spain began tumbling through his mind. “I would give every valuable I ever possessed for the chance to tell her how much I loved her.” She had wanted him to reconcile with his brother, to avoid the guilt that had plagued her after the savage death of her sister. If something happened to Dominic now, when their relationship was strained to the breaking point, would Kyle be left with guilt for the anger between them?

  Damnably, he would.

  “Do you envy his freedom? Despise him for not using it the same way you would?” He’d rejected Constancia’s words at the time, but now he wondered. Dominic had never wanted to travel to distant places, had never burned with curiosity about the vast, empty spaces of the globe. He’d had the freedom Kyle craved—and had not even noticed because that wasn’t what his heart desired.

  Instead, Dominic would be an exemplary husband, father, and landowner. He would become a Shropshire magistrate and dispense justice with compassion. Perhaps he should have been the Wrexham heir—yet that honor had fallen to Kyle. The authority of command came naturally to him, and he would never give up his birthright voluntarily, even though that birthright included the responsibility that tied him to England.

  Would Kyle and Dominic have stayed friends if the birth order had been reversed? So many of their battles were caused when Kyle tried to impose his idea of the best course on his brother, and Dominic stubbornly refused, even if doing so was cutting off his nose to spite his face.

  Would Dominic have been as dictatorial if he’d been the elder? Hard to say—but Kyle would have been equally stubborn if his brother had tried to issue orders.

  But Dominic had not been the elder, and over time, an unholy mixture of competition and protectiveness, domination and rebellion, had eroded the bonds forged in their childhood. Kyle now saw with bitter clarity how much of the blame for destroying their relationship belonged to him. He had been the one who had attempted to dominate his brother from pride and anger—and most of all, from a genuine love that had expressed itself badly.

  Still, not all the blame was on his side. Despite Lucia’s eloquent defense, Kyle suspected that Dominic’s motives had been less than pure when he’d rushed Lady Meriel to the altar. Surely there had been a way to protect the girl short of a preemptive marriage. Instead, Dominic had chosen a path guaranteed to hurt and enrage his brother.

  With that between them, could they ever be friends again? He doubted it—though perhaps he owed it to himself and Dominic and Constancia to at least try.

  He opened his eyes and gazed sightlessly at the ceiling, hearing the last words Constancia had spoken to him. “For my sake—go forth and live!”

  He wanted to honor her request. But how?

  Chapter 39

  “Your tenants know how to have a good time,” Lord Wrexham said approvingly. Beneath a setting sun, the wedding celebration was in full swing at the base of Castle Hill, with children’s games, constant dancing, tables full of food, kegs of drinkables, and quarters of beef being whittled away as they roasted over open fires.

  “They do indeed, sir.” Dominic, who was sitting on a bench beside his father at the gentry table, was still amazed that the earl had come, and in such an amiable mood. “I think the tenants are pleased to be able to enter Warfield Park and meet their mistress after so many years of rumors.” It made them feel safe to know that she was sane and well—and of course, everyone enjoyed a grand party. As a special treat, Jena Ames had spent an hour painting small mehndi designs on the hands and faces of children and excited young girls, and a few brave matrons. East met West, to the approval of all.

  His father’s gaze went to Meriel, who sat at the other end of the table with Lucia and Jena, who had run out of henna and retired. “You seem to have taught your bride some manners.”

  “Her manners were always excellent,” Dominic said dryly. “It was her self-control that was sometimes lacking.” Luckily, his father knew better than to try to pinch his new daughter-in-law’s chin again. Meriel was learning to play the gracious lady, but there were distinct limits to her tolerance.

  After swallowing his last bite of roast beef, Dominic succumbed to curiosity. “I’m very glad that you and Lucia are here, sir, but to be honest, I’m surprised. I’d thought you would not approve of my marriage when there had been an unofficial betrothal between Maxwell and Lady Meriel.”

  “I had some doubts about Maxwell marrying Lady Meriel, but the original understanding twenty years ago had involved those two.” His father tipped his tankard back to finish his ale. “Besides, I hardly thought I could propose you as a prospective groom when you’ve disagreed with everything I’ve ever suggested.”

  Dominic flushed. “Have I been that bad?”

  His father snorted. “Worse. The stubbornest son any father was ever cursed with.”

  Dominic opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. He had been stubborn, and rebellious as well. Granted, his father’s manner was often heavy-handed, but he had not been unreasonable when it mattered most. “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you grief.”

  “All children do. Parents and children were put on earth to give each other grief. You were my punishment for how I behaved to my own father.” Wrexham’s eyes gleamed. “And I’ll have my revenge when you have children of your own.”

  Dominic laughed. “Surely there is more to being a parent than grief.”

  “Of cours
e there is,” his father said gruffly. “Children are the future. What other point is there to life?”

  Dominic was startled to hear the emotion in his father’s voice. Underneath the habitual brusqueness, apparently his father really did love his children. Dominic had always suspected that the relationship consisted entirely of habit and the need for heirs.

  Wrexham frowned. “I know there’s been strain between you and your brother, and I suppose this will make things worse.” His gaze went to Meriel again. “But I’m glad to see you so well settled in life. You and your bride seem to suit each other, and her fortune is allied to the Renbournes, which is what I wanted. Lucia could have married better, but she and young Justice will do nicely, too. If your brother will find himself a proper wife, the family is in sound shape for another generation.”

  Once Dominic would have been irritated by his father’s mercenary comments. Now that he was a married man, he was surprised to view things differently. When and if he had children, he would be equally concerned to see them well settled, though he was enough of a romantic to weigh the emotional side of marriage more heavily than the financial side.

  In fairness, he had to admit that his father had reason to take finances seriously. Having inherited a pile of debts and a run-down estate, Wrexham had worked hard for years to rebuild the family fortunes. It wasn’t surprising that money and property played an important role in his calculations for his children.

  With wonder, Dominic foresaw a future where he and his father would get along tolerably well, because at heart they shared similar values. Family mattered. The land mattered. Duty mattered. And if his father sometimes irritated him—well, no doubt Dominic could be rather irritating himself. But they would understand each other, and be friends.

  Of course he couldn’t say anything so sentimental aloud, so he merely offered, “Shall I get you more ale, sir?”

  Wrexham shook his head wistfully. “Any more and my gout will lay me out for the next three days.”