He tried to focus on his plate. How horrible it was, how utterly horrible, to have his worst, weakest moments exposed to decent people. To an innocent person like Lady Ploverdale, who had every right to haul him off to London herself.
A sharp little whisper rattled around his head, a hint of his father’s voice in it. You are in very serious trouble.
He jumped as Caroline finally spoke. “So...please, clarify something for me. My brother has nothing to do with this?” She turned to Gabriel, who reluctantly dragged his gaze away from Edward. “You fainted in a flowerbed and woke up in the middle of this nonsense?”
“Yes.” Gabriel paused. “An accident. My usual walk through the gardens took a nasty turn.”
“Gabriel, in all your years of walking through the gardens you’ve never discovered more than a few overlooked leaves on the lawn.” Caroline shook her head, her eyes full of frustrated sympathy. “Why couldn’t you have lost consciousness in church or your own bed? Why did you walk miles to Hardcote House when you were feeling unwell, you insufferable man?”
Gabriel’s expression showed a flash of something that looked like guilt. His shrug was small, unassuming. “Duty.”
“Oh, Gabriel.” Caroline’s eyes were full of weariness, along with something more complex. Her expression was remarkably like that of Maurice. “So now, for the present at least, we must continue to impose upon your hospitality.”
“I suggest most strongly that you leave. I suggested as much to your brother, in slightly more...urgent terms.” Maurice paused. “There is nothing that prevents you from doing so.”
Caroline sighed. “Apart from my brother’s sense of what is right. That, and the after-effects of fever. We can hardly leave old acquaintances in such a desperate situation.”
“I do not know if I am strong enough to walk to the village yet.” Gabriel spoke with quiet dignity, avoiding Edward’s eyes. “Both sickness and charity compel us both to stay.”
Old acquaintances. Charity. Gabriel and Caroline would remain with him out of charity, not kinship. All the shame, all the self-hatred that Edward had felt in the drawing room, came back in force.
He swallowed, laying down his fork. “I’ll go to London, Maurice. I’ll do it myself. You’ve already bought off the earls, at most I’ll get pilloried—”
“No,” Gabriel interrupted sharply. “You won’t. It’s become a lot more serious than that.”
Edward looked blankly at Maurice. What had he missed in the drawing room? His brother nodded at Gabriel, who haltingly continued.
“From what your brother has told me, Sussex isn’t interested in prosecuting you. It would cast aspersions on his own son. The men he’s hired...will take more drastic measures. For you, and those who protect you.”
“What?” Edward stood up, knocking over his empty wineglass. “They’re going to—”
“Yes.” There was no rancour in Maurice’s voice. “Sit down, Edward.”
Edward sat numbly, his body obeying the command even as his mind raced. He’d known what he did was stupid, foolish, criminal—but never, in all his agonised imaginings, had he foreseen an outcome like this.
He’d put all of them in danger. Maurice. Caroline, who had barely walked through the door before becoming embroiled in all this...and Gabriel.
He had put Gabriel in terrible danger.
“Then I have to call Sussex out.” He’d never heard his own voice sound so hollow before. “Duel him. He can get his satisfaction that way.”
“He’s not going to duel you, Edward. He doesn’t consider you equal to him.” Maurice pushed away his plate, sighing. “They’re going to hunt you down. Hunt us down, if we protect you. A reaction which half the ton will quietly support.”
“That is nonsense and you know it.” Caroline shook her head, tutting. “The ton would be far more supportive of your death than of Edward’s. For one thing, the gossip rags I read so very avidly would have nothing to write about without Scandal here.”
Edward knew he was blushing.
Caroline continued, speaking reflectively. “This vendetta on Sussex’s part is exaggerated.” She absentmindedly patted her hair. “Foolish, even. Almost as if he wishes you silenced.”
“Of course he wishes him silenced.” Maurice drummed his fingers on the table. “He ruined his son’s reputation.”
“Then disown the son! He’s an inveterate drinker anyway, and a terrible gambler. That would be the best way to protect the family honour.” Caroline gestured to Edward. “Why risk money and standing chasing him all over Europe? It’s...strange.”
The table rested in uniquely thoughtful silence. Edward cast his mind back to the fateful night, going over each look, each touch.
He had been more daring than usual—but only because he had been more drunk than usual. He’d needed something, anything, to help him forget who he was, and he hadn’t been all that discreet about getting it.
Maybe...maybe someone else had seen his conduct in a different light. Someone more calculating than he, someone more narrow-minded, with something to protect...
He felt foolish, opening his mouth, but he did it anyway. “Perhaps Sussex thinks you have something on him, Maurice.”
“I wish.” Maurice tapped the table, his eyes suddenly searching far-off horizons. “Unless...”
Silence reigned for another beat. Then Caroline smiled, her face suddenly alive. “Unless the duke thinks something larger is at play. Like—”
“Yes! Of course!” Maurice thumped the table; Edward jumped. “All we need to do is—”
“Yes.” Caroline’s voice was hushed with excitement. “Quite.”
Edward was aware of having lost the thread. He looked at Gabriel and was relieved to find similar incomprehension in his eyes. He cleared his throat, having to raise his voice over the excited bubble of chatter. “Much as your sudden enthusiasm for saving my hide warms my heart, would you mind explaining your plan?”
“There isn’t a plan as yet. More like the seed of one.” Maurice’s eyes darted to Caroline, then back to Edward. “Because...it is entirely possible that the Duke of Sussex believes this is some sort of play on my part. A way of alerting him to a secret about him that I have discovered.”
“But as far as you know, there is no secret.”
“No.” Maurice’s slow smile was very cynical indeed. “As far as I know. But I am always willing to learn.”
Edward forced himself to remain silent. He also tried to force himself to stop feeling wounded. How was Maurice so comfortable with the idea of exploiting his predilections in a wider game of blackmail?
He remembered the last time Maurice’s work had become entangled in the pleasures of the Society—his Society—and scowled. Maurice was like a pet cobra; you never knew when he would decide to bite.
“We begin tomorrow morning. Or rather, I begin.” Maurice folded his arms as he looked at Gabriel. “Can’t I convince you to at least attempt to rejoin the outside world?”
“It is my duty to provide comfort to those in distress. This situation is...distressing.” Gabriel’s voice was deliberately, carefully blank. “Solutions to such grave problems are rarely discovered alone.”
“As my brother is concerned for the spiritual welfare of this house, I shall take a more practical role in the proceedings.” Caroline smiled. “My correspondence is extensive. One of my many gossiping friends will no doubt have heard something concerning Sussex. The more scandalous, the better. You shall find us indispensable.”
“I have yet to find an indispensable vicar. Or an indispensable member of the female sex.” Maurice glowered. “Alas, I find myself too weary to take the measures required to change your mind.”
Edward concealed his surprise. Maurice never normally showed such scruples. Did every person at the table have sentiments to conceal?
Maurice turned to Gabriel.
“Do you have a curate to help perform your duties?”
“No.” Gabriel shook his head. “But if Bryce can get a letter to Carstairs, Edgerton’s vicar, he could send his. Edgerton parish is much smaller. He could just about manage the business of both Edgerton and Hardcote.”
“All right. We’ll think of a way to maintain normal village business for a time.” Maurice’s mouth twisted. “Whatever that entails. Pig weighing and jam throwing, no doubt.”
“Typical London dweller.” Caroline raised an eyebrow. Edward thought he could detect a flash of disappointment. “So patronising.”
“In the meantime, we must do something.” Gabriel’s low, matter-of-fact tone gave Edward an inexplicable sense of comfort. “Tonight? Tomorrow?”
“Tonight, we sleep. Tomorrow will come whether we worry or not.” Maurice stood up, letting his napkin fall to the tablecloth. “In fact, I intend to sleep as soon as humanly possible. Unless Lady Ploverdale wishes to list more scintillating village minutiae.”
“Absolutely not.” Caroline turned to Edward. “Is there a bedroom? Or will I be sleeping in the glasshouse?”
“I can prepare a bed.” Bryce appeared to have recovered from his giggling fit, although his smile was a little too wide to be appropriate. “And for Lord Maurice? The master bedroom is still—”
“No.” Maurice glanced at Edward. Edward’s heart went out to him; neither of them had ever wanted to revisit places that their father had made his own. “Wherever a sofa can be made up. At this point I could sleep on the floor.”
Bryce nodded and left the room. Edward had the oddly pleasing sensation of his own choices, his control, slipping away. “Well, then. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” With a short bow, Maurice left. Was it Edward’s imagination, or did his brother’s step linger a little behind Caroline’s chair?
“Well then. I suppose I need to start writing letters. Are there candles in the morning room, Your Grace?” Caroline rose, smoothing down her skirts. “And is the morning room still where it was ten years ago, by great good fortune?”
“Yes to both.” Edward rose, as did Gabriel. “Lady Ploverdale...thank you.”
“Do not thank me yet, sir.” Caroline’s expression was too complex to fathom; sympathy, anger and concern all battled for supremacy. “Please. And Gabriel...”
Gabriel turned. “Yes?”
The note of warning in Caroline’s voice rang clear as a bell. “Don’t stay up too late.”
With an elegant sweep of her skirts, she was gone.
Edward turned to Gabriel. In the absence of Caroline, Maurice and Bryce, the silence suddenly seemed deafening.
Gabriel, his face half in shadow thanks to the candlelight, looked more like a dream than reality. In the space of a few hours, he’d learned everything that Edward had wanted so desperately to conceal. His ridiculous, foolish, dangerous behaviour with a completely unremarkable man—a man not worth any of the consequences Edward was currently living. A man as worthless as Edward was.
What on earth would Gabriel do? Walk away? Show Edward how hurt he was, how angry?
Gabriel’s eyes bored into his own, unblinking. When he finally spoke, the gentleness in his voice hurt Edward more than anything.
“Goodnight, Caddonfell. Don’t come near me again.”
Chapter Seventeen
Several hours later, Gabriel sat moodily in the large, well-appointed library as candlelight flickered against pitch-black windows. An empty wineglass stood on the desk, all but begging him to pour out another draught of the powerful vintage.
Trapped! Trapped in Edward’s house, with the man himself, for reasons that were now luridly clear. Reasons which burst into life in full colour, appearing in increasingly obscene fashion whenever he closed his wine-addled eyes.
Scandal had been caught out. Caught doing something that even the famously immoral London set could not forgive...something so grievous that he’d chosen Hardcote as his hiding place. And now he was being persecuted for it.
And what had he done, as an upright vicar of a godly parish, upon hearing such atrocious news? Agreed to help without a word of protest. Offered to help, even. All because Edward, after all these years, was still Edward—and just looking at him, hearing that cool, arrogant voice again, was enough to make him promise the world on a plate.
He had been trapped by his own sense of duty. Of responsibility. Edward would need a friend during this period of uncertainty, of danger...and priests were generally comforting figures, were they not? Like nuns. They comforted one merely by being present.
No. He couldn’t convince himself that he had chosen to stay out of charity. The idea that he was too physically weak to leave was nonsense as well, however confidently he had said it at the dinner table. The true reasons were much stronger, and much more ridiculous—and try as he might, Gabriel couldn’t bring himself to regret them.
He even felt terrible about the words he’d spoken to Edward that evening, after the dinner had broken up. Don’t come near me again.
How damned foolish could he possibly be? Edward would think he was repelled. The real problem, of course, was that he wasn’t.
He reached for the bottle with an irritated shake of his head, pouring out another glass of wine. Ten years of abstinence, self-mastery, and discipline were slowly draining away, leaving nothing but a base desire that dogged his every breath. Edward’s face, Edward’s hair, Edward’s body...oh, Lord. It was not to be borne.
He had known he would stay as soon as Maurice had mentioned Edward’s life being in danger. Edward living in London, Edward living in luxury, Edward living in other men’s beds—all of those were conceivable.
Edward being dead was not.
The sound of the library door opening almost escaped his attention. Gabriel half rose, preparing to ask Bryce to bring up another bottle—and stopped as Edward’s low voice filled the room.
“I see you had the same idea as I did. How perfectly awful. Now we will be forced to associate.”
“I told you.” Gabriel hurriedly turned, wincing as he banged his thigh against the corner of the desk. “Don’t come near me, or I’ll...”
“Injure yourself further?” Edward walked into the room. “All to get away?” His smile was that of a jungle cat, glittering, ferocious. “No, we are going to spend a civil amount of time together, as befitting a host and his guest.” He pulled a chair to the opposite side of the desk. “And you are going to tell me why, if my actions have offended you so, you have decided to stay.”
Gabriel almost laughed. Edward thought he was offended, and not bitterly, horribly jealous? How he wished to be merely offended. “You are wasting your time.”
“A day ago I would have thought much the same thing.” Edward poured a glass of wine with a characteristic, careless flourish. “But I’m not so sure. Not now. Because we both know that you did something in the midst of that remarkably convenient fever, and despite all that’s taken place today, I think you still want to know exactly what—”
He was interrupted by a small but piercing mew. Gabriel turned, astonished to find that the minuscule orange pouf in the high-back chair had grown a head and ears.
Edward cleared his throat, visibly irritated. “As I was saying, I—”
Another mew came, louder and longer this time, the kitten looking from Gabriel to Edward with enormous, beseeching brown eyes. It stretched out a small white paw, like a prince expecting loyalty, with a mew calculated to tug the heartstrings.
“Oh, for...” Edward rose, crossing the room to the chair. With one fluid movement, he plucked the kitten from the armchair and tucked it into his waistcoat. As he sat back down the kitten pushed his head out, watching Gabriel with an expression that could be construed as smug.
“He likes it.” Edward glared at Gabriel, the menace in his eyes somewhat undercut by the small, whiskered k
itten biting his shirt. “I’ll thank you not to comment.”
Gabriel nodded, wondering what on earth Edward expected him to say.
“As I was saying.” Edward relaxed back into his chair. “Until you know exactly what you did, I’d stop being so awfully pious. Even for a vicar, you’re extremely quick to judge.”
“I wouldn’t presume to judge the Duke of Caddonfell. Believe me.” The kitten blinked, clearly unimpressed; Gabriel hoped Edward was less suspicious. “It would not be my place to do so.”
“Oh, stop.” A hint of real anger flashed in Edward’s voice. “Don’t pretend we’re not in a similar class. You may fool the villagers here with your noble yeoman act, but it won’t work with me. You are titled, just as I am.”
“I prefer to prove myself through my actions. Not my name.” Gabriel fought the urge to stand. The next comment came without thinking. “Unlike certain men, I retain a capacity for shame.”
“I knew it.” Edward’s eyes narrowed. “I find it most curious, this condemnation of my proclivities. Would you like to know why?”
“No, I don’t. Because as astonishing as it may seem, I couldn’t care less about your proclivities.” Gabriel hoped the lie sounded convincing. “What I care about, very deeply, is your abandonment of this village. This estate.”
“I know for a fact that my brother pours my money into this house, this village.” Edward’s half smile was infuriating. “We do our duty by this place. We see to it. So why exactly are you so terribly upset about the things I did in London? Especially after what you did—”
“I am not upset.” Gabriel took a deep breath; oh, how he’d been waiting to say this. “I think you’re an arrogant, oversexed dilettante who abandoned all sense of duty and responsibility at eighteen years old. Who left behind everything, and everyone, on some selfish pursuit of pleasure that blackens the lives of all those closest to you. Who allows his brother to clean up his messes, as if he were a servant.”
The Vicar and the Rake (Society of Beasts) Page 7