Song Of The Nightingale (DeWinter's Song 1)

by Constance O'Banyon

  Raile smiled with irony. “Do you really believe my father would have expected me to furnish you with a new coach and a new wardrobe with money left to me by my mother?”

  Lavinia whirled around. “You are just being mean, Raile. Most probably, you resent every morsel of food that passes between my lips. You want to bury me in the country so you can gloat over my misery.”

  Raile drew in a resigned breath, but did not reply.

  “You go to London when it pleases you,” Lavinia continued. “Do you think I don’t know about your fancy piece and the house you bought her? It’s nicer than the one your father left me. And I have been told you buy her gowns and fine jewelry that would put mine to shame.”

  “Lavinia, I am not prepared to discuss my private life with you. If you find life tedious here, you should feel free to leave.”

  “Mother,” Hugh drawled, “you know Raile’s first commitment is restoring this old castle. Your needs will just have to wait.” He wrapped his arm about his mother’s shoulders, his eyes mocking as they met his brother’s. “It rests with Raile to play the family benefactor.”

  Raile moved away, wishing he could avoid a confrontation just this one night. Perhaps he should send Lavinia and Hugh to London so he wouldn’t have to listen to their complaints.

  Hugh’s voice droned on. “Even if our wants are many, Mother dear, Raile’s needs come first.” He shrugged. “We, Mother, are reduced to poor relations, living off Raile’s charity, thus forced to dwell in virtual seclusion until it pleases him to let us out of this prison.”

  Cynicism twisted Raile’s lips. “As I told you, you are both welcome to strike out on your own if you find living here unbearable. I do not keep you here against your will. I didn’t even invite you.”

  Mother and son exchanged glances. They had agreed not to antagonize Raile—not yet anyway—since they had neither the means nor the inclination to move out on their own. Lavinia had discovered that Raile was not as easily manipulated as his father and uncle had been. There was a strength in him that sometimes frightened her. Until she discovered his weakness, she would have to curb her impatience.

  She decided to move on to a safer subject—or so she thought. “I was most curious on hearing from Meg that an infant girl has been placed in your keeping. You know how closemouthed Mrs. Fitzwilliams can be. When I pressed her for information about the baby, she would tell me nothing. I wonder why you keep that sour old woman around.”

  Raile smiled. “Fritzy is as much a part of Ravenworth Castle as any one of us—perhaps more than some.” He raised a dark eyebrow. “I have always applauded her loyalty.”

  Hugh dropped down on the green sofa and leaned forward, his eyes dancing with humor. “I have heard that the women are beautiful in France. Can it be, brother, that you have been dallying your way across the continent? Do you have some young Frenchwoman’s brat in the family nursery?”

  “I am as mystified by the incident as you,” Raile said dryly. “Tell me, do either of you know a Miss Maragon?”

  Raile was watching Hugh for a reaction, and he noticed that his brother paled.

  “Do you know her, Hugh?” Raile pressed.

  “I may have been acquainted with her. But I know so many women,” Hugh admitted anxiously. He looked at his mother, worried about what her reaction would be if she learned the truth.

  Lavinia watched Raile’s face with growing concern. “You don’t mean some little chit has tried to pass off a bastard child as Hugh’s. I will not hear of it!” Her eyes snapped with anger as she rounded on Raile. “You dare not bring a baby into this house and try to foist it off on my son.”

  Raile ignored Lavinia’s outburst and moved to stand over his brother. “She’s not some chit, but a young girl from a good family. Tell your mother and me about Miss Maragon, Hugh.”

  Hugh smiled nervously. “I liked her well enough, as I remember.”

  Raile pinned his brother with a hard look. “I know well, Hugh, about your responsibilities where women are concerned. Have I not taken the blame for many of your indiscretions? It was the result of your disregard for women that I chose to leave England.”

  “Whether you believe it or not, Raile, I always regretted that misunderstanding with Uncle William. I hope you will not hold me responsible for the misdeeds of my youth.”

  Raile looked at Lavinia, who was squirming uncomfortably. She had hoped this conversation would never arise. She should have known Raile would not forget how she had lied about him to his uncle.

  “It was not a misunderstanding, Hugh,” Raile said in a cold voice. “Your mother can confirm that if there is any doubt in your mind.”

  “I am not answerable for what my mother does. And it isn’t my fault that most women find me irresistible.” Hugh’s laughter was amused. “And I find them equally irresistible.”

  Lavinia saw what Hugh had not—she saw the dangerous fire in Raile’s eyes, and she decided to save her foolish son before he went too far.

  “Raile, I have suffered gravely for causing the rift between you and your uncle. But you are stronger than Hugh, and if your uncle had banished my son, he would not have fared as well as you did. You came home a hero, did you not?”

  “You have a convenient little mind, Lavinia,” Raile said in warning. “Have a care that you do not push me too far.”

  The threat hung in the air until Lavinia blurted out: “This conversation grows tedious. Can we not speak of more agreeable matters?”

  Raile turned back to his brother, ignoring her. “Tell me, Hugh,” he asked, “could that baby in the nursery be yours?”

  Lavinia tried to intervene again. “Now see here, Raile DeWinter—“

  “I’m going to ask you just one more time,” Raile interrupted. “Did you father Miss Maragon’s child?”

  Hugh toyed with the gold button on the sleeve of his coat. “I have found that I am fertile, so I will not deny it is a possibility that the child is mine. I do recall that the girl was a virgin when we became ... intimate.”

  Raile glanced up at Lavinia. “Madame, your son has gone too far this time—he impregnated a woman from an old and respected family. He will now face the consequences.”

  A feeling of uneasiness moved over Lavinia’s heart. She had always turned a blind eye to Hugh’s obsession with women because she had never felt threatened by any of them—none had challenged her place with her son. But this might be another matter altogether.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Raile turned his dark, riveting gaze on Lavinia. “I’m saying, Madame, that if Miss Maragon will have your son, he is going to become her husband.”

  The room fell silent but for the steady ticking of the mantel clock.

  The amused smile had been wiped from Hugh’s face, and a look of indignation took its place. “I only admitted the baby could be mine.”

  Raile’s voice was even, his tone deep. “Then you will marry her. And you will also recognize the baby as yours.”

  “I don’t think so, Raile.”

  “You have no say in the matter. You will marry the girl and give the baby your name.”

  Lavinia became the protective mother and flew across the room to stand before Raile, her chest heaving. “You cannot do this to my son. I will see you dead before you force Hugh to marry some slut with a crying brat.”

  Raile looked from mother to son. “True, I cannot force you to marry the girl, Hugh. But if you don’t, you and your mother will vacate Ravenworth Castle at once. I will not allow you to live on any of my properties, nor will I provide you with living expenses. You will both be on your own.”

  Lavinia gasped and stepped backward. Raile was asserting his authority over them, and they would have no recourse but to comply. Hatred burned in her heart. Raile had all the power, the money, the means to bend them to his will, and he knew it.

  “On the other hand, Hugh,” Raile continued, “if you marry Miss Maragon, I will allow the both of you to live in the London house, and
I will give you a generous allowance. Will you agree to the marriage?”

  “Have I any choice?”

  “Only the ones I have pointed out to you.”

  “What about me?” Lavinia asked.

  “You, madame, will remain here at Ravenworth Castle for a time. It is my belief that newlyweds should live alone for the first year of their marriage.”

  Hugh laughed without humor. “Ah, well, there you have it, Mother. It seems I will be a bridegroom at last. She was a pretty little thing, so it might not be too unpleasant.”

  “No!” Lavinia screamed, running at Raile and clawing at his face. “You will not do this to us. You are trying to separate me from my son.”

  Raile caught her hands and held them in a firm grip. “Don’t ever try that again, Lavinia.”

  She jerked free, barely able to control her rage.

  “Hugh will decide what to do by Monday next. If by that time, Lavinia, you have given your blessing to the match, I will be generous with you also. On the other hand, if you decide against welcoming Miss Maragon into the family, I will consider my duty to you both discharged.”

  Without another word, Raile moved out of the room, his long strides taking him down the hall and up the stairs. He no longer wished to be in their company.

  His mind went back to his meeting with Miss Maragon. At that time, he had thought she was accusing him of fathering the child—but, no, she had merely been insisting that he was answerable for his brother’s actions. And she was right, of course. Someone had to take a firm hand with Hugh, and it would have to be he. Perhaps with guidance, Hugh could be saved from his mother’s destructive influence.

  The young lady who had faced him today had not been the timid innocent Hugh had described. She had appeared to be more than capable. She had known what she wanted and how to get it.

  Raile smiled at her daring. It must have taken enormous courage to face him with her accusations. Her defiant green eyes had been most arresting. It could be that Miss Maragon would be the one to save Hugh from his mother.

  Raile somehow envied Hugh the challenge of conquering the hot-tempered miss.

  10

  Lavinia turned furiously on Hugh. “My God, what have you brought down on our heads? I warned you that your preoccupation with women would be your undoing—but you wouldn’t listen. Are you such a slave to that thing between your legs that you would sacrifice your future and mine?”

  Hugh shrugged, an annoying habit that was beginning to aggravate his mother.

  “It’s time you looked around you, Hugh. How long are you willing to live in Raile’s shadow? When will you be a man and do something about our plight? We are but dust beneath his feet.”

  “There is little I can do, Mother. You heard Raile—I am to become a husband and father. I see no way we can avoid the inevitable.”

  “I’ll never allow you to marry beneath you. Don’t you know, that with my help, you will one day be duke of Ravenworth, and you must marry well. When the time comes, I’ll help you pick a wife worthy of you.”

  Hugh looked at his mother with a bemused smile. “Haven’t you forgotten my brother holds that title? I have my doubts he will relinquish it to me. Besides, it pains me to admit it to you, and I couldn’t admit it to Raile, but I already married Abigail Maragon.”

  “You what!” Lavinia shrieked. “You fool! You will ruin us both.”

  “It was a moment of weakness. I married her, thinking it was what I wanted at the time. I was sorry later on. I found wedded bliss intolerable.” He was quiet for a while. “I must admit that she almost tamed me.”

  Lavinia stared at Hugh as if he’d lost his mind. Then her eyes narrowed speculatively. “I wonder why she didn’t confess that to Raile? Surely it would have been to her advantage to tell him about the marriage.”

  “I can’t guess, Mother. Perhaps she grew weary of waiting for me to return. Or perhaps she has no wish to remain my wife. I did, in her eyes, desert her.”

  “Fool!”

  Hugh did not even hear his mother. “I never knew she was with child.” He smiled. “I have a daughter.” His eyes gleamed with mischief. “I cannot see you as a grandmother.”

  “Shut up, Hugh. I’ll not tolerate insolence from you. We have a dilemma, and you can only jest about it. You were almost in possession of Raile’s title and fortune. How could we have known that Raile still lived and would stand between us and our hearts’ desire?”

  “What do you mean, Mother?”

  She pressed her cheek against his, and said with passion, “I have committed my soul to the devil so you could inherit. I will not stop now.”

  “I never imagined that I would stand in Raile’s place—not even when I thought he was dead. I’m not sure I want to ... or that I can.”

  Lavinia wanted to churn the fires of ambition within her son, but first she would have to deal with his admiration for Raile. She would deal with Raile himself when the time came.

  “When I married your father, I would never have aspired so high as the dukedom—too many were before you. But when your uncle was dying, and we heard that Raile had died in Belgium, only John was in our way.” Her eyes gleamed with sudden hatred. “Now, there’s not only Raile to deny you the dukedom, but this damned Maragon chit trying to force her whelp on you.”

  Hugh was stunned by his mother’s malevolence. “I see nothing to do but admit to Raile that I’m not the rogue he believes me to be, and that the baby in the nursery is my legitimate daughter.”

  “You’re crazed if you think I’ll let you do that. Now, listen to me. First,” she said with a dark expression on her face, “we must deal with the woman. Do you think money would satisfy her?”

  “I don’t think so. Abigail has honor, which I fear you and I do not, Mother.”

  She patted his hand. “You just leave that to me. Raile cannot thrust this woman and her brat on you if he can’t locate her. If it takes everything your father left me, I’ll be rid of her.”

  Hugh looked worried for a moment. “I wouldn’t like it if anything happened to Abigail. I spent six months with her, which is longer than any woman ever held my interest. Since I left her, I have often felt pangs of guilt—don’t you think that strange, Mother?” He looked almost apologetic. “Stranger still, I believe I love her.”

  Lavinia smiled at him with indulgence. “You have loved many women, Hugh. It always passes.”

  Hugh had left Abigail only when he had received word that Raile and John were dead. Otherwise he might be with her still. Upon reflection, he did not find the notion of returning to her abhorrent—to the contrary, he had missed her quiet gentleness and her soft beauty.

  “I would not mind if Raile knew about the marriage. I believe I could be happy with Abigail.”

  Lavinia’s face whitened with repressed rage. “I have spawned a fool for a son. Why are you doing this to me?”

  “She is an enchanting creature. I’m sure you would like her.”

  Lavinia shook her head so violently her hair came loose and fell down her shoulders. “Is she of a wealthy family, Hugh?”

  “Her brother is warm in the pocket, but it’s my understanding he will not settle anything on Abigail. We lived very simply in a cottage, and only on what money I had.”

  “Then there you have it—you must marry where it will join two great houses and two great fortunes.”

  He was suddenly the devoted son. He always gave in to her in the end because she seemed to know what was best for him. “I would do anything to make you happy, Mother. But it is dangerous to defy Raile. You know how determined he can be. And his threat was not an idle one. He could make our lives hell if he so desired.”

  Lavinia’s eyes took on a reflective glow. “My foolish boy—don’t overestimate Raile or underestimate me.”

  Lavinia entered the darkened nursery. The light of the moon illuminated the cradle that had held untold generations of DeWinters.

  She moved across the room and stood staring down at the sleepi
ng infant. The sight of the child stirred no feelings of warmth in her.

  She refused to be a grandmother. At least not to a girl, and certainly not to this one. A grandson might not be so bad, someone she could mold as she had her son. Lately Hugh had not been so easy to control, and she could feel him pulling away from her. But she knew what had to be done.

  How fragile the child was, and how easy it would be to end its life. All she would have to do was cover its face and wait until it stopped breathing. There would be no cries, no marks on the body, and no sign of a struggle. No one would ever know the death had not been natural.

  Of course, she would still have to dispose of the mother since Hugh had been such a fool and married her.

  She reached into the cradle, and cried out in pain as her wrist was grabbed and pulled behind her back.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, Lavinia.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, trying to break his hold on her arm.

  “I knew you would come, and I wanted to be here when you did. I didn’t have to wait long.”

  He released her arm, and she spun around to face him with forged indignation. “I hope you aren’t implying that I would harm the child.”

  “I’m just here to see that you don’t.”

  The soft moonlight cast his face half in shadow. Lavinia felt his magnetism. There was something dangerous about him that excited her. She had always felt it, but had never admitted it to herself until now. She wondered what it would feel like to be crushed in Raile’s arms when he was aroused by desire.

  She saw the disgust in his eyes when he looked at her, and she knew she would have only his contempt. They were bitter enemies—they would be until one of them was dead.

  “I have little interest in this child, Raile. I was curious about her, nothing more.”

  “In there lies the pity, madame. She is of your flesh.”

  “Don’t keep on with this, Raile. You play a precarious game.”