Pain of The Marquess: (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  “It’s possible,” he agreed. “I hardly believed God to be real until recently.” Until her. Love was fickle and fragile except where Irene was concerned. Her love was likely the strongest he’d ever come across. It had survived his stepfather’s malice. It had survived his own sordid past.

  Clive finally had reason to believe God real, because he’d seen love, felt it, and touched it every chance he got.

  Irene looked out the window again. “My brother and I didn’t get along, but I feel I should mourn him again now that I know the truth of his death.”

  “Whatever you need, I am here.” Even if she asked to sleep in her own bed for the next few days or weeks, he’d give that to her. She made him want to give and give until he had nothing left.

  She moved and came to sit by him. He lifted his arm, and she rested her head against his chest. The position felt easy. Natural. She was where she belonged and so was he.

  He loved her. It was undeniable. This soft woman with an iron will held his trembling heart in her hands. As he rested his head on top of her black curls, he dedicated his life to her again. The affirmation was freeing.

  She wrapped an arm around him. “I feel terrible for Cecilia.”

  For the first time, Clive felt pity for the woman. She would no longer have someone to hold as Clive held Irene at the moment. She’d be alone. “We’ll help her any way we can.”

  Irene tilted her head up and Clive brought his down. The kiss was hot and quick. Then Clive pulled away with a gasp. “Forgive me. You said you needed time.”

  She placed a hand on his nape. “I’ve thought about it. I can mourn my brother and still love you at the same time.”

  “You are a treasure.” He kissed her hair. “Let me know what I can do to help Cecilia.”

  “I’m still unsure of what to tell her. In my letter, I mentioned his death and that he fell off the balcony, but I didn’t tell her why.”

  “Harry seemed mad before he went.” He leaned away to meet her eyes. “He also recalls seeing your father with a book. He called it a tome.”

  “A tome?” Irene’s eyes widened. “I’ve been thinking it was something small. Are you sure?”

  He nodded.

  Irene frowned. “I recall seeing my father with something I thought to be the family bible.”

  Again, Clive’s mouth twitched.

  Irene slapped his chest and looked ready to defend her idea, but then her shoulders fell. “Oh, perhaps you’re right. It wasn’t a bible then, though he told me it was written by a god and held the greatest stories ever told. I simply assumed…” Her eyes widened. “My father was terrible.”

  He didn’t reply to that. “Harry said your father called it the key to power or something. I’m not sure what it is your father knew about him but…” He trailed off when Irene moved in haste toward her reticule. “What are you doing?”

  “The key. Cass’ letter from my father mentioned a key.” She pulled a missive out and handed it to him.

  Clive read.

  The key to my dynasty is in my throne. Wield the key well and you and your descendants shall rule forever.

  “His throne?” He looked at Irene. “Do you think he meant an actual throne? Please tell me that he didn’t actually purchase a throne.”

  Irene pressed her lips together. “All right then, I won’t.”

  “He has a throne?” Clive asked.

  “You told me not tell you—”

  Clive closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. “The Duke of Van Dero has a throne? Who did he believe himself to be?”

  “God, apparently. How blasphemous. How did I not know my own father was the devil?”

  “That is how the devil works.” Clive looked at her. He may have questioned God but never the devil. “He comes in sheep's clothing, as they say. Where is the chair?”

  “In London,” she said. “But… it might be gone.”

  “Gone? Where?”

  “My new man of business was to sell anything I didn’t wish to keep.”

  “You sold a throne?” he asked, amazed. “To who?” Who would buy such a thing?

  “I don’t know!” she cried before leaning back in her seat. “I didn’t think my father actually meant a throne. I thought he was being poetic and meant his title. I’m sure Cass thought the same.”

  “Only because he couldn’t logically find a reason for any man but the king to have a throne.”

  Irene nodded. “But I can’t worry about that now. I must get to Cecilia.”

  “I’ll leave you at her house with a footman and go look for the throne.”

  They arrived in the city as the sun was just leaving the sky. As Clive walked Irene to Cecilia’s door, he could hear the weeping.

  Inside, Irene turned to him. “I may have to stay the night.”

  “Take whatever time you need.” He hugged her before he left.

  Now to find a throne.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  4 6

  * * *

  “Let me make sure I have this correct. We are actually looking for a throne?” Marley said as he and Clive walked through the music room of Lord Van Dero’s London residence. “Like, an actual throne?”

  “That’s what Irene said.” Clive held out his lamp toward the room. There were artifacts, portraits, and draped furniture lining the walls of the great room. Everything of value had been moved in here so that the children wouldn’t break it before it could be sold. They wouldn’t know if the chair was here until Irene’s new man of business arrived.

  The five men stood in a circle with their backs to one another and held up their lamps. They could have called the servants in to aid their quest, but they trusted no one with this task. Their watchmen watched their families and kept them safe.

  “There’s enough in here to fill two homes at least,” James said.

  “Two manors,” Kent countered as he walked up to a tall covered portrait and pulled down the sheet.

  The men all turned to stare into the eyes of Gregory Hiller I, the Duke of Van Dero.

  Clive’s heart shook. The likeness was startling.

  “Does anyone else feel like his eyes follow you no matter where you go?” Garrick tilted his head one way and then the other before he shivered.

  Kent grunted. “The man is dead, and I still fear him.” He looked at Clive. “I’ll buy this one.”

  “You want a painting of the duke?” Clive asked.

  “I want to destroy a painting of the duke.” Kent looked the portrait over and smiled, likely imagining the damage he would do to the canvas.

  “Oh!” Marley’s eyes brightened and a smile that was all charm covered his face. “Oh, I like that idea.” He waved the lamp around. “Are there any more canvases of the duke?”

  “The man had a throne,” James crawled over a couch and disappeared behind a dressing screen. They heard his voice in the distance. “Any man who thinks that highly of himself is likely to have more than a few portraits.”

  Clive found an old one of a young Irene sitting on her father’s lap. Van Dero sat on his throne. The frame was a heavy wood with gilded gold. If Irene should keep any of her father, it should be this one. The man had been a criminal, but he’d still been her father. A note in the corner of the portrait had it marked for Irene. He didn’t recognize the handwriting.

  “Found one!” Garrick called.

  The other men turned to him.

  This painting was of a young Van Dero. It was still terrifying.

  “Take it out of the frame,” Clive said to Garrick. Then he turned to Kent. “Start that fireplace over there.”

  They could hear James shuffling through items in the distance.

  Kent grinned. “Are you sure Irene will be all right with this?”

  “She was going to sell it,” Clive said. “That means she doesn’t want it.”

  “I’ll pay you for it,” Garrick said as he began to take it out of the frame.

  Marley put his lamp on the floor and moved to ass
ist Garrick. “This is rather childish.”

  Kent chuckled. “I don’t care.”

  Clive smiled.

  Marley held open the painting and grinned.

  Garrick pulled out a short blade. “Shall I cut it evenly?”

  Clive wondered when they’d all become so violent.

  James gasped. “I don’t believe it.”

  “What?” Clive called. “What did you find?”

  “The man had a crown! A crown with diamonds and rubies.” A moment later, he added, “And a scepter. I think I’m going to be ill.”

  Clive turned to Garrick. “Even pieces.”

  He worked swiftly. The fire was lit, and James had rejoined them just as Garrick finished.

  Pieces of the duke were handed out.

  The men stared at what they’d received.

  “He haunts me,” Kent admitted.

  “You think burning his portrait will help?” Marley’s expression looked troubled. “Who knows what’s in that book? I can’t recall every sin I ever committed, but there are things I’d rather the world not know.”

  Clive said, “I’m sure we all feel the same.”

  Garrick moved toward the flames and tossed his piece in.

  The men moved closer and watched it burn. He had half of Van Dero’s face, since he’d been held captive the longest. The eye was the last to go, swallowed by the orange flames before it turned to ash.

  Van Dero had a book, but at least he couldn’t see them anymore. There was no one left to take note of the acts of the ton. That was a freeing thought at least.

  “How do you feel?” Marley asked Garrick.

  Garrick smiled. “Better.”

  The rest of the men tossed theirs in one by one.

  James had been given the other side of Van Dero’s face since James’ own face would forever be a reminder of what he’d survived. “I feel like a chain just fell off me.”

  “It’s not the book, but it will do for now,” Kent said.

  “What are you doing?” a voice asked from the door.

  The men turned to Mr. Frank Dawson. Clive knew his name, because Irene had told it to him, but he’d never met the man himself.

  Dawson was young, almost too young to preside over such an extensive treasure, but there was a kindness in his eyes that Clive thought the reason Irene had chosen him. He explained that he’d worked as an accountant to his father, who happened to be a curator for some time. He had experience with art and assured the men he knew what he was doing.

  Once everyone was introduced, Garrick said, “I would like to buy a painting.”

  Dawson brightened. “Which one?”

  “It’s in the fireplace,” Clive’s friend said.

  The accountant frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “I just burned it.” Garrick grinned.

  Dawson looked startled.

  Clive said, “We’re looking for the throne.”

  The accountant turned to Clive and smiled. “The throne was sold days ago.”

  “To who?” James asked.

  Dawson turned to him. “A Mr. Raven.”

  Marley cursed. “When?”

  “Almost a fortnight ago,” the man said, looking around curiously.

  Crow. Raven. It was no coincidence. Mr. Crow was likely sending them a message.

  “Where did you deliver it?” Clive asked.

  “Nowhere,” Dawson said. “Two men came and took it. I have no idea where they went. Mr. Raven paid the asking price for it. A heavy price, I might add. The deal was finished rather quickly through missives.”

  “Give me those missives,” Kent demanded.

  The young man looked taken back.

  Clive said, “Please, we need them now.”

  Dawson looked troubled again. “They’re at my office. I can send them to you tomorrow.”

  Kent stepped forward. “Go get them now.”

  Dawson bowed. “Yes, my lord.” He left quickly and quietly.

  James cursed. “Raven? He’s playing with us. He doesn’t have the book.”

  “But he has the throne,” Marley said.

  James shook his head. “If he had the book, he’d have used it days ago, but he doesn’t. He just wants us to think he has it, so we’ll stop looking.”

  “How are you so sure?” Clive asked.

  James looked at him. “The ton hated me for a reason. I understand how people think. I knew how to push them to the edge of madness.”

  “You mean you annoyed everyone,” Kent corrected.

  James shrugged. “Either way, I know Crow is lying. He doesn’t have the book. It isn’t in the throne.”

  “Then where is it?” Clive asked.

  James shrugged again. “I don’t know.”

  Kent ran both hands through his hair.

  Marley touched his shoulder. “We’ll find it.”

  Kent looked at him. “If we don’t, Alvin loses his inheritance. He’ll never see the title. It’ll go to my brother.” Kent liked his brother, but Kent also liked being the Earl of Ganden. He was the oldest. He’d survived his stepfather’s hate. He’d earned it.

  Everyone understood what was at stake.

  Kent looked at the ceiling and closed his eyes. “Maybe I should tell the truth. Lucy doesn’t care. She said we’d survive whatever came, but…”

  “Lucy is a strong woman,” Marley said.

  “And we’ll stand by you,” James said. “Let Society reject us all. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Kent looked at the men and nodded, but there was still defeat in his gaze.

  “Want to burn another portrait?” Clive asked.

  Kent’s lips twitched and then finally he smiled. “Maybe just one more.”

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  4 7

  * * *

  Irene held Cecilia as the woman sniffled in her sleep. They lay in her bed with Cecilia’s back to her. With anyone else, such comfort would have been unheard of, but Cecilia was the sister Irene had never had. They’d grown up together. Cecilia had held Irene when her mother had died and on many occasions thereafter and Irene had done the same.

  Yet never had Irene seen her friend cry so completely. Her heart was broken both by Harry’s death and the fact that he’d been Irene’s attacker. The man who’d struck her and frightened her that first night by laying on top of her. Cecilia had known about every terrible thing the assailant had done to her, yet now Irene wished she hadn’t said a word.

  How had she looked into her assailant’s eyes and not known them to belong to Harry? The false voice had thrown her off, yet so had his actions. She’d been unable to see the truth in Harry.

  Just like she’d been unable to see the truth in her father and brother.

  “He’s dead because of me.”

  Irene hadn’t be sure if Cecilia was asleep or not, but she was more than certain the woman was awake now. “What do you mean?”

  Cecilia turned around. Her eyes were completely red. “I failed him. As his wife, I failed him.”

  “Cecilia, that can’t be true. I’ve seen the way you elevate your husband in Society. You were a wonderful helpmate. He adored you— “

  “Yes, but… I…” She closed her eyes. “I never told you. He made me swear never to say a word.”

  Irene tried to imagine what secret Cecilia held. Knowing Cecilia as she did, Irene was positive her friend was being dramatic.

  Cecilia opened her eyes. There was a distant look in them. “Do you recall when I was carrying young Harry?”

  Irene nodded. She’d been with Cecilia frequently through the years, but she’d missed Harry’s birth. Her father had needed her. It was around that time the old Duke of Van Dero became ill for the first time.

  Cecilia began to weep again. Her voice was hoarse. “Harry isn’t our son.”

  Irene stared at her. “I don’t understand.”

  “I didn’t have a boy, Irene,” Cecilia whispered. “I had a girl. Another girl! But she was stillborn.” Cecilia cov
ered her face and continued to weep. “Four girls. My husband without an heir.”

  “I don’t understand,” Irene said. “You have little Harry. He is your son— “

  “He’s not.” Cecilia lowered her eyes and held Irene’s eyes. “We stole him.”

  Irene felt a cold shiver run down her body before she rolled from the bed and stood. “Cecilia.” She turned to look at her friend as she sat up in bed. “You stole a baby?”

  “After my fourth daughter was born dead, our midwife left when she got word that another woman was about to birth a baby as well.” Cecilia sighed. “Harry was so upset. The stillborn was the last we could have. The birth had been too complicated. I knew in my heart I’d never have a child. In the end, my husband’s title would go to a cousin, your brother at the time, and I’d forever have to live knowing I failed my household.” Cecilia tilted her head. “I couldn’t allow it to happen, Irene.”

  “What did you do?” Irene whispered.

  Cecilia looked down at the bedspread. “I told Harry my idea to switch the babies. He paid the midwife a heavy price to see it done. If the woman had the girl, we’d leave it alone, but if it was a boy…” Cecilia looked up at Irene. “I was given a little boy hours later. We named him Harry.”

  “You stole another lady’s baby?” Irene asked with despair.

  “No one was ever supposed to know. Only the three of us did. Me, my husband, and the midwife. The servants were simply told that the dead baby had woken hours later. They believed us and celebrated. They claimed we’d been blessed by God, but…” Cecilia choked on a sob. “It was a curse. Somehow, your father knew. He found out. Van Dero knows everything.” She said ‘knows’ as though Irene’s father were still alive.

  There were times when Irene felt the same. Everything terrible that had happened to her thus far was all his fault.

  Cecilia and Harry had stolen a baby.

  “Did you ever think to give Harry back?” Irene asked.

  Cecilia’s eyes widened. “Never. Harry became mine the moment I held him.”

  Irene sat on the edge of the bed and stared at Cecilia. “But he’s not yours, Cece. Harry doesn’t belong to you.”