“Father, you know I trust you. But…”
“No buts, son. If you trust me, then you do as I say.”
Patrick sighed, giving in and reaching for the bottle of gin. He poured three fingers into his glass and gulped it down, eyes boring into his father’s, not saying a word.
“I can’t.” His voice was so quiet it was a surprise that his father heard him.
“You will, Bergon. You will do it for the sake of your future. If I am ruined, the entire family is ruined. I want you to keep that in mind at all times.”
Patrick poured more gin into his glass.
* * *
Patrick had given Henry the night off. Having returned the previous night at 4 am and found him still faithfully waiting, the reward had been two nights off and Henry was determined to use them in a gainful way. The girl, Brynn, was a lady’s maid which meant she was probably busy all evening. However, she just might consent to take the evening air with him while her mistress was at dinner.
Henry thought it was worth finding out.
He walked slowly toward Mayfair, a feeling of trepidation burgeoning in his chest. He circled to the back of the houses, walking at a leisurely stroll in the gathering twilight. Others might think him stupid for not taking the opportunity to either rest or visit the taverns, but Henry happened to think this was a much better use of his time.
He stopped, hearing voices carrying toward him in the mist. He wasn’t normally an eavesdropper but he had heard his master’s name mentioned.
“But Mama, if The Duchess is just hamming it up to stop My Lady from being with Lord Bergon, shouldn’t we at least tell her.”
“Wheest!” the reply was sharp and angry. “Do you wish to end up on the streets?”
The first voice made a sound of frustration. “But how long am I expected to watch her fight the blue devils?”
“You take too much on yourself, Brynn.”
Henry stiffened as he heard the name.
“I cannot help it; she is my friend.”
“She is your Lady, first, and you would do well not to forget that.”
“Yes, Mam.”
There were footsteps disappearing down the path and then silence. Henry wondered what he should do now.
* * *
“Good afternoon My Lady, would you like to take the air? Or we could sit in the music room and you can play the pianoforte. Perhaps you’d like to attend that recital at the Cholmondeleys?” Brynn made her voice as perky as possible but Melissa simply continued to stare blankly out of the window.
“Melissa please,” she could hear the desperate pleading in her own voice but could do nothing to disguise it. Melissa’s victuals sat untouched by her bedside table, she was barefoot, dressed in a shift, hair disheveled. She would not let Brynn groom her, or feed her as Brynn had tried to do earlier.
She was for all intents and purposes, vacant. Brynn did not know what to do. She turned away with a sigh.
“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.” Melissa speaking in that dead monotone was more startling than her silence and Brynn jumped, a hand to her heart. She rushed to her mistress, clutching at her hand.
“Melissa! You have to snap out of this!”
She turned slowly, lashes lifting slowly as hazel eyes regarded her with despair, “How?”
Brynn’s bottom lip trembled as she too tottered on the edge of tears. “You just have to.”
* * *
A tentative knock at the door had him lifting bleary belligerent eyes to the offending person, ready to eviscerate them for disturbing his descent into hell.
“What d’you want?” he growled; his mouth so heavy he could barely form the words.
“Sir? Uh...”
He squinted toward the door, to see his footman–Henry his name was–peering into his study.
“What?” he snapped.
“I uh...I,” Henry fidgeted at the door, wringing his hands.
“Spit it out and stop simpering,”
Henry jumped at the harsh tone and took a step back, reaching for the door. “Uh, I’ll come back later shall I?”
Patrick swallowed, a sad bitter twist of remorse burning his chest. His misery was not Henry’s fault. The footman clearly needed to tell him something and Patrick was too preoccupied with his own misery to pay attention. He tried to straighten up, and have a more dignified demeanor than his current one but it was difficult. He kept listing to the left and he could not bring himself to focus.
“Coffee,” he said.
“D’you want some coffee, sir?” Henry asked eagerly, already reaching for the door.
Patrick focused on nodding clearly. In a trice, Henry was gone and before too long he was back with a maid bearing a tray with coffee and honey cakes on it.
“Just the coffee, thanks,” he murmured and the maid poured him a cup.
She picked up the tray and left, Henry on her heels.
“Not you Henry, stay,” he called and the footman stopped in his tracks. He turned around, linking his arms together as he waited for Patrick’s next command.
“Now, what was it you wanted to tell me?”
Chapter 16
Rumors and Lies
It was difficult to decide what to do with the new information he had, especially with the terrific headache he was now sporting. The sunlight hurt his eyes even as he tried to squint as much as possible. He was strolling along the thoroughfares of Convent Garden, hoping to run into the lady’s maid, or better yet, Melissa herself. Perhaps she had not ceased her morning adventures. So far, he had had no luck.
He decided to go home, have some more coffee and think some more. When he got there, he settled himself in the sunroom, lay back on the settee as he stared up at the vines climbing up the walls of his stone wall.
Why are my father and Melissa’s mother so hell bent on Rose and I getting married? If I can answer that question, I can get to the root of the issue.
He sat up, thinking hard before he let out a sharp exhale, smiling wryly.
Thinking isn’t going to get me the information that I need.
He got to his feet and took up his coat. “Jeffries,” he called as he walked out of the sunroom.
“Yes, m’Lord?”
“Fetch my carriage, please.”
Jeffries bowed his head and went off while Patrick deposited himself outside the front door to wait. Soon he was traveling fast to White’s where he hoped his friend Stenwick might be holding court. If not, he could find out where he was. If there was anyone in this town who knew anything about everything, it was him.
Luckily for him, Stenwick was in the gambling room, arguing loudly over the result of a cricket match, hosted by the Viceroy of India a few months back. There was some dispute as to the result seeing as the Indian team had thoroughly thrashed the British one.
“Stenwick, pay up and let’s go.” Patrick interrupted, taking the man by the arm. Stenwick jumped in startlement before sighing and handing the money over. He let Patrick lead him to the bar without saying a word.
The barman brought their drinks to them and then Stenwick turned to him. “So, where’s the fire?”
“Fire? Try inferno. Try Dante’s Inferno.”
“I sense that I am in the presence of melodrama,” Stenwick said dryly as he took a drink.
Patrick scoffed quietly. “I need your help to find out why my father and The Duchess of Greyfield are so hell bent on me marrying Lady Rose. Please, Stenwick, if you have heard anything, tell me!”
Stenwick sighed, looking into his beer, forever reluctant to spoil Patrick’s image of his father. Patrick had heard rumors–which he usually dismissed–of his father’s less than savory pursuits. People were jealous and they said things. Stenwick looking into his glass like it might contain the answers to life’s problems was scaring him.
“Please.”
Stenwick looked up at him, lips pursed. “From what I’ve heard, your father is peddling your forthcoming nuptials as some sort of vote of confide
nce. I’m sure you’ve heard,” he lifted an eyebrow questioningly.
Patrick waved a hand dismissively. “Obviously it’s not true. My father is an honorable man. But people have been particularly cruel of late.”
Stenwick looked away. “Indeed.”
“But why the insistence on Lady Rose? Lady Melissa would do just as well and we are in love.”
“I do not know the ins and outs of this, Bergon. Nobody does. Perhaps you should ask Lady Rose.”
Patrick’s eyes lit up with fervor. “You’re right. It’s time my betrothed and I had a talk.”
Stenwick simply nodded miserably and then lifted his hand for another drink. “Plenty of time for that old man. For now, let us drown our sorrows.”
* * *
Rose had not seen her sister in a few days. She was a little relieved about that, but somewhere beneath the relief, was worry. Melissa was always a rambunctious child, constantly underfoot, seeking attention. This deathly pale, withdrawn person who barely spoke to anyone was an unfamiliar stranger. It made Rose uneasy.
Not uneasy enough to have her heart skip a beat when the butler informed her that Lord Bergon was here to see her.
She got to her feet, scampered to the drawing room and asked the butler to show him in, in ten minutes. She arranged herself as prettily as possible, her lady’s maid seated discreetly in the corner.
“Lady Rose.” Lord Bergon made a leg as soon as he entered, his eyes on her. She held out her gloved hand to him, to be kissed and he promptly took it, resting a kiss just above her knuckles.
“Lord Bergon, what a pleasant surprise,” she gave him a pleased smile and he swallowed. She watched with slight disappointment as he took the seat opposite her and not next to her. “I have wanted to call upon you for some time, unfortunately, I have been occupied with business. May we speak frankly?”
Rose lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “But of course.”
He nodded, eyes dropping to his shoes before he looked back at her with a very serious mien. “Why do you wish to marry me?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
He shifted, crossing and uncrossing his legs. “Is there any particular reason why you chose me as your betrothed?”
“I don’t understand.” Rose felt her chest tighten with anxiety.
“Your mother has gone to great lengths to make sure that you and I are together and I am just wondering, am I that much of a catch? Why me?”
Rose stared at him, with wide eyes. “Do you? Not?”
Lord Bergon gave her a tired smile. “I broke my engagement to you not too long ago. What do you think?”
Rose cast about for something to say. “I-I-I, but that was a mistake.”
“Was it? If you believe that, then why not wait for me to realize it? Why go through the charade of your mother’s illness to coerce your sister into cutting ties with me.”
“I never…we didn’t...that’s not...” Rose shook her head in confusion. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”
Lord Bergon got to his feet, which was a grievous breach of etiquette as Rose was still sitting down. “You’re right. I am speaking to the wrong Alford. Is it possible to have a word with your mother?”
Rose stood up; her mouth open. “I do not think she is at home.”
“Isn’t she? I am quite sure she is. Perhaps you would be so kind as to check for me, please?”
“I...” Rose shook her head. Her mother was in the sewing room, she knew that. But she also knew that her mother didn’t like confrontations and this man was definitely spoiling for one. “I believe my father is in the study,” she said to throw him off.
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “That is fine. I can speak to him too.”
Rose hesitated, not knowing what to do next but he just continued to stare expectantly at her. “I-I’ll get him.”
She scurried out of the room, heart beating triple time, and went in search of her mother.
* * *
Patrick was not surprised when The Duchess entered the room instead of her husband. He had seen her in close discussion with his father just before the wedding. He knew that if his father had any association with this family, it was not with The Duke.
He had heard of his father’s blackmailing ways, although he was not inclined to believe them. But perhaps if his father was in cahoots with her in some other way, she would be more inclined to honor his wishes. And it was apparent that his father wanted him to marry the elder sister and most definitely not the younger.
Do I need to know why she is going along with it, or just that she is? Patrick wondered as he watched her walk slowly toward the settee opposite him. She sat down without greeting him, hardly looking his way.
“Esme, you may leave,” she said and the maid who had been sitting in the corner got to her feet and fled.
“And then they were two,” he murmured softly. She turned her head to look at him.
“Why are you asking my daughter all these impossible questions?”
“I was not aware that they were impossible. They seem fairly simple to me.”
The Duchess let out a sardonic laugh, looking away.
“Why her? Why must I marry your elder daughter?”
The Duchess regarded him with feigned surprise, “Was it not you who cornered her in your greenhouse and sullied her honor?”
“A mere kiss sullies nobody’s honor.”
“Perhaps down in the pedestrian world you occupy it does not, but here we occupy more hallowed ground.”
Patrick could not help but sneer. “Please tell me the truth,” he snapped.
The Duchess gave him a look. “If you are asking me what your father gets from all this, all I can say is that you should ask him.”
“What do you get?”
“Me?” She held a delicate hand to her chest, “Not a thing.”
Patrick narrowed his eyes at her, “Do you hate your second child that much?”
She blanched in shock before she drew her face into a blank, “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t hate any of my children. Now I will thank you to leave my house before I am forced to throw you out.”
Patrick merely glared at her one more time before he turned on his heel and left.
* * *
“Your Lord Bergon is here,” Brynn whispered to Melissa. She turned her head to stare at her lady’s maid, unable to remember for a minute, why she was sitting at her windows with her legs freezing and no shawl. Her eyelids fluttered, and it all came back to her.
“What?”
“Your Lord Bergon is here,” Brynn repeated, looking hopefully at her, expecting Melissa to jump up and down with joy.
“Why?”
Brynn's face fell at that. “He asked to see Lady Rose.”
Melissa nodded slowly, lowering her head to hide her face all the while. “Of course, he did.”
Brynn exhaled sharply as if she wanted to say something but then the room was silent.
“Do you want to go and see him?” Melissa had never heard Brynn sound so tentative before.
“No. Why would I?”
“I...”
They were both startled by a knock on the door.
“Lady Melissa?” The sound of Lord Bergon’s voice, whispering through the mahogany startled them even further. Melissa shot to her feet and ran for the door, thrusting it open in disbelief.
“What are you doing here? She whispered frantically, eyes shooting down the hall in trepidation.
Lord Bergon shrugged, “May I come in?”
Melissa moved aside, pushing him into the room and shutting the door behind him before turning and staring with wide eyes. “How did you get in here?”
But Lord Bergon was not looking at her. His gaze was aimed lower than her face, his face filling with color, eyes heavy in a way she hadn’t seen before; his mouth hung open as if he were a halfwit. She looked down at herself, realizing that she was in her shift and it was quite transparent.
Even as her own fa
ce colored, Brynn was there, covering her up with a robe, her eyes narrowed at Lord Bergon. He shut his mouth with a snap, eyes shifting everywhere but on her person.
He murmured inarticulate apologies.
Bewitching The Forbidden Duke (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 14