by Robyn Carr
Charles looked at Elizabeth and almost jumped at the piercing look in her eyes and the superior smile on her lips.
“Charles knows a good deal about that,” she said sarcastically. “That’s exactly how it was for us, wasn’t it, my love? You were so overwrought with desire that you could not control yourself. Until you had my dowry, that is. Since that time, control has been your most charming quality.”
“Elizabeth...”
“Andrew,” she said, turning to him. “You will marry my daughter immediately. Charles will provide a dowry in addition to those lands which will be given back to you. I will consider no argument. It is marriage, or I will personally see you arrested and stripped of your useless title.”
“You needn’t go so far, madam,” Andrew said. “I will marry her to get my property back, if she swears the child is mine.”
The color drained from Faye’s face as she looked at him. “Andrew, do you...still... love her?”
“Vieve? That is over. She won’t have me.” He glared at Charles. “Your father’s advice was bad.”
Faye rose slowly from her chair. As she looked at Andrew, tears began to stream down her cheeks. “The child is yours, Andrew. There was never anyone else. I am not as pretty as Vieve.”
Faye looked at her father. “I wish you had not done all that, Papa. I might never have had a marriage proposal... but I think I would have been better off than this.” She turned slowly and left the room, softly closing the door behind her.
Elizabeth turned her blazing eyes on Andrew. “Sign the contracts of marriage. You will be our guest until you wed her.”
“Do you worry that I will flee, madam? With what, pray? Your kindly husband has already stripped me bare. I have nothing.” He laughed a little wildly. “Nothing but Faye.” Again he laughed, a sound so hysterical that it verged on sobs and Charles could not bear it. He stomped toward Andrew and lifted him by the lapels on his coat, drawing him up and shaking him furiously.
“God damn you, stop it. Stop it. It’s not my fault, do you hear me? It is not my fault that you didn’t get the precious little bitch. Had I known what you would do to my own daughter, I would have—”
He dropped Andrew abruptly, letting him fall back into the chair. The pressure inside Charles’s head felt strong enough to explode. His mouth was dry, his eyes moist. He looked at his wife. She smiled at the rage, but had not moved even slightly. Her hands were still folded in her lap, her eyes gleaming as she watched.
Andrew’s angry eyes were focused on Charles’s face. “You need remember only one thing, Charles. I did to your daughter what you paid me to do to Vieve. But your daughter was easier.”
Charles’s hand came out and slapped Andrew’s face. Blood trickled from his hp. Elizabeth rose slowly to her feet and glared at the young man. Although her posture was restrained, Charles thought she looked as if she could kill. As she slowly turned toward Charles, her expression remained unchanged.
“Charles, get the papers signed. If you wish to beat him later, you may.”
Elizabeth slowly moved toward the parlor door. As her hand touched the latch there came a wild scream from upstairs. She threw the door open and rushed to the steps, catching Beth at the bottom.
“Faye,” Beth cried. “Out her window... to the courtyard. She...she...jumped. Mama.”
Elizabeth threw a crazed look over her shoulder at Charles and then flew to the back of the house, her husband and daughter close on her heels. Elizabeth stopped so abruptly when she saw Faye’s lifeless form that Charles nearly ran into her. His hands grasped her shoulders for only a second to move her out of the way.
Charles rushed to Faye, kneeling to roll over her twisted form. His arms shook as he lifted her head. Blood spilled from her crushed skull; her eyes were open and lifeless. He stared at her for a long moment; the shock of finding her dead by her own will immobilized him. When he looked up at his wife, tears wet his cheeks.
Elizabeth was still and ashen. Over her shoulder Andrew quickly peered at Faye, his eyes rounding slightly in disbelief, before he turned and ran back into the house with great speed. His running steps through the house and out the front were the only sound.
“Is she...dead?” Elizabeth asked, her voice firm but soft.
Charles stared at his wife for a long moment. How was she so controlled? He had thought of her as frail, dependent.
The full force of what had happened hit him. He knew he was not the best husband and a less than perfect father, but he had not, until this very moment, thought that his actions would wreak such havoc on his own family. It was only the estate of Chappington he had ever wished to weaken...and he had been more than willing to build that up again once Lord Ridgley gave him his due.
He looked back at Faye’s stricken face. “Oh, my God,” he wailed. He let his head fall over hers and was racked with shattering, uncontrollable sobs. Distantly he heard the rustle of his wife’s dark dress as she turned away and left him alone with his daughter.
When Lord Ridgley arrived in London, he was stunned by the news. He had never figured Andrew or Faye doomed to such disaster. Upon hearing the details of his niece’s suicide and Andrew’s disappearance, he embraced his daughter so tightly that he nearly crushed her, and his old arms trembled.
“You must believe that I did not intend Charles even the equal amount of harm as he’s caused me.”
Tyson intervened with a hand on the baron’s shoulder. “You have not been the cause of this. It was not my confrontation with Charles that caused Robert to leave, Faye to die, and Andrew to flee into hiding. The source of this misfortune has taken years to develop.”
Vieve was amazed that her father insisted they attend the funeral. Not the burial, he said specifically, nor the wake, but the funeral only. And so, donned in black, Lord Ridgley and Captain and Madam Gervais were latecomers to the church, seated behind twenty or thirty others in the back. They sat tense and alert through the words of the Anglican priest.
Vieve watched her uncle’s back. She had never before seen him humbled, his shoulders rounded and trembling with emotion. Beside him, Elizabeth’s shoulders were straight and square, her chin held level in dignity, her posture erect. She did not weep, nor did she comfort Beth. The three nursed their pain individually, through the difficult words of mourning.
When the priest had finished, Charles slowly rose, his back bent and his head down. He took his wife’s arm and brought her down the aisle of the small church. Lord Ridgley stepped into the aisle to block their passage, and the two men met eyes.
“I am sorry, Charles, for your loss,” Lord Ridgley said softly.
Charles’s eyes flared slightly, but they were red-rimmed and full of pain. Elizabeth was pale, but her eyes were clear. She looked past the men at Vieve.
“Why do you come?” Charles asked. “For my daughter?”
“No, Charles. I came to end this feud. We know all about each other now. I will stay in London until you are recovered enough to speak to me. Please.”
Vieve looked at her aunt, and the piercing point of Elizabeth’s eyes caused her heart to sink and her stomach to jump in a fearful spasm. She had never seen such hate and loathing. Elizabeth did not even blink. Nor did she regard the conversation of the men.
“There is nothing to discuss.”
“Charles, think about talking to me. I do not wish to harm you. Please don’t force me to defend myself any further.”
Charles stared at his brother for a moment, then pulled his wife with him past Lord Ridgley and out of the church.
They lingered in the back of the church until the others in attendance had departed and the coffin was removed to the waiting cart. When the hall was empty, Boris gave a long, heavy sigh.
“I will give him a little time. Perhaps it can be over soon.”
“His pain is obvious,” Tyson said. “Somehow, I did not think he valued his family as much as other men. I almost feel sorry for him.”
“Elizabeth,” Vieve said in a br
eath. “The way she looked at me...” She gave a shudder. “It is almost as if she blames me.”
Boris put an arm around his daughter. “She will come around, once her grieving is done. Of them all, Elizabeth has always been the only one with any compassion.”
The first of March came, and Lord Ridgley was becoming frustrated with his idleness in the captain’s London house. Then the note came. Charles wished for a conference.
“Your mood toward him has softened,” Tyson said bluntly.
“I will be as easy on him as possible,” the baron returned.
“I have worked and put myself in danger for these months on behalf of...”
“I will not let him go,” Lord Ridgley said tiredly. “I never wished to control Charles. That I must to protect my own family does not make me happy. But I will show him that he will not ruin me. He will have to pay.”
Vieve was in a near panic at the idea of the conference, but she was determined to stand beside her husband and father in a show of strength, nonetheless. Doré and Lord Moresay were to witness Charles’s confession, so Vieve’s presence there was unnecessary, but she wore black to convey her grief and intended at least to show support for her family by being there when Charles arrived at their home.
She was tucking her hair in a tight bun at the base of her neck when Tyson came up behind her and gently squeezed her upper arms. He met her eyes in the mirror. “Are you frightened?”
“No,” she whispered, turning to him. “But it all seems wrong. Charles has spent twenty years or more trying to harm my father... and now he can simply come here, have a meeting, and it is over?”
“Well, not quite as simply as that, my love. Charles will have to admit guilt and bear restitution. And he will be watched, but by officials rather than your father’s distant suspicions. Yet it is what we hoped for, that he could be stopped before any more harm is done.”
She shook her head and her eyes were worried. “Do you think he will admit to his indiscretions?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tyson said.
She embraced him suddenly. “Oh, Tyson...I feel as if I’m in the midst of a black, vicious cloud. I feel terrible, and I should feel relieved.”
He caressed her back and lent the strength of his arms. “You will when it’s over. Come, he will be here soon.”
Vieve thought she would face Charles briefly and then simply await his departure, but to her astonishment, Elizabeth joined him. Vieve’s mouth actually hung open when she sighted her. Elizabeth’s eyes were glassy, her hands held together under a thick black shawl.
Lord Ridgley was quite discomfited by Elizabeth’s presence. He faltered slightly and embraced her to kiss her cheek, but Elizabeth did not raise her arms, and she turned her cheek away. The baron withdrew clumsily. “Well, ahem, I don’t see why you need witness our discussion, Elizabeth. We can handle this without the women, can’t we, Charles?”
Charles nodded lamely. His eyes were bloodshot, his pallor unhealthy. He touched his wife’s elbow. “This shouldn’t take long, Elizabeth. Why don’t you wait in the sitting room?” He looked at Boris. “She insisted, Boris. She wanted to come along. I thought it better than...”
“It’s all right,” Boris said, after clearing his throat again. “Vieve will sit with her until we’re finished, won’t you?”
Vieve looked at Elizabeth’s strangely focused eyes, her oddly dignified bearing, and her superior half smile, and decided she was quite mad with grief. Vieve nodded lamely. “Of course.”
“Come, Charles, Lord Moresay and Monsieur Gastión are waiting for us in the study. This is difficult business. Let’s get it done.”
Vieve watched her husband, father, and uncle go down the hall toward the study and looked back at Elizabeth. She tried to conceal the shudder of revulsion that went through her as she again witnessed that crazed look in her aunt’s eye, the stiff posture, the demure fold of her hands beneath the shawl.
“Come, Aunt Elizabeth, let’s wait in here,” she said, opening the sitting room doors. She took a step within, followed by the small, darkly garbed woman, and gently closed the doors. She turned back to her ailing aunt with the best effort at a smile on her lips and gasped abruptly as the flesh of her chin met with the long, sleek barrel of a pistol. The shawl lay out of sight somewhere on the floor, and Elizabeth smiled victoriously as she carelessly lifted Vieve’s chin with the gun.
“Don’t doubt that I can use it, darling,” Elizabeth crooned. “Your husband was injured by this very gun.”
“You,” Vieve whispered.
Elizabeth laughed lightly. “I suppose you thought that Captain Gervais was at risk. It was you I wished to kill, my dear niece. When I realized that your husband had such impressive support in the earl of Lemington, I could see that Charles would fail yet again, as he has for so many years. He would not be able to send the captain fleeing a murder charge. But I wished to have my daughter settled in marriage. You should have left London when I asked it of you.”
Vieve stared at her aunt in amazement. “And so you wish my life in payment for Faye’s.”
Elizabeth showed her teeth in a vicious snarl. “In just a little while. Do let’s sit down and be quiet for the men. My husband is about to beg for mercy from his brother; I wouldn’t want to rob him of one moment of that.”
Charles and Tyson sat in twin chairs while Lord Ridgley seated himself behind the desk. Doré and Lord Moresay stood in grim silence behind the baron. Two ledgers and a stack of aged parchment littered the top of the desk.
“I will be brief, Charles. It is clear from the records, deeds, and contracts contained here that you have been trying to ruin me with much malice. I offer you an opportunity to escape prison or charges of murder by an admission of guilt and a sworn statement that no member of your family will ever inherit the Chappington seat. And finally, there is the matter of restitution to the families who suffered losses as a result of your criminal actions.”
Charles’s hands gripped the arms of his chair, but still his shoulders were slumped. “I tried to buy you out, Boris. That is all.”
Boris lifted a piece of paper. “Here is a contract for Andrew Shelby’s land and loans against his marriage with my daughter. I’m sure he can be found...”
“The boldest thing I ever did,” Charles said slowly, “was to pay Shelby, pushing him to marry your daughter.” He sighed heavily. “You saw what that did to me. My own daughter was the one destroyed by that plan.”
“Dammit, Charles, it gives me no pleasure to hurt you further than you’ve been hurt, but by God, you have to pay for your crimes. The only thing saving you from the courts now is that I can prevent your imprisonment because you are rich enough to make restitution. Now...”
“Boris, I committed no crimes. I tried only to best you in your own holdings. I was ruthless, but I was not criminal.”
Boris’s fist hit the desk. “Every time I made a small gain, I suffered some setback because of fire or theft or...”
“Weather?” Charles asked blandly. “Can you find a way to make me pay for your losses because of winter’s plight and drought?” Charles sighed and held his hands together. “I will admit to what I did. I tried to buy you out. It was never so much of a secret; I wanted to share the title that was my mother’s.”
“If it was not a secret, why did you place puppets in those country holdings, as if they were not yours?”
“It seemed prudent,” he said lifelessly. “If you found out the property was mine, it did not really matter. But if you did not find out, I could continue to compete with you unchecked. Is that against the law?”
“And Lenore Fenton?” Tyson asked.
Charles turned to him. “Your money stopped me. I hoped to find a weakness in you that I could buy. ‘Twas my simple intent to threaten you, replace your investment with mine, and own my brother. I sent a man on my behalf to investigate you, and Lenore Fenton lied to him.” Charles shrugged. “I would not have used her against you any further unless you
resisted my offer, but I did not really expect you to suffer much.”
“Do you deny that you would have tried to see me punished for murder?” Tyson demanded.
“I would have tried,” Charles admitted, “because I thought you were a murderer. Even so,” he said, glancing at Lord Moresay, “I did not expect you to pay.”
“The warehouse fire?” Tyson asked. “The fire on my ship, the armed intruder in my house who tried to kill me?”
Charles looked almost amused. “Apparently you have many enemies, Captain. I only wished to assault your purse.”
“Fifty men could have died, had my ship burned.”
“I know nothing of fires. I cannot explain the ill fortune of you or my brother. I delighted in both, of course. I thought I was winning.”
Tyson’s jaw tensed. “You hired agents.”
“I will name them all for you unless you already know who they are. Spies, errand boys, agents to question and buy people on my behalf. None are in hiding, none were ever paid to commit crimes.”
Charles looked at Lord Ridgley. “I pushed you as hard as I could. I have nothing left. I will sign your promise, and Chappington will finally belong to only you...from your parents.”
“That is not enough, Charles. The matter of deaths as a result of—”
“I realize you can buy false evidence against me...but I am too tired to fight you now. My son has left me, my daughter is dead, Elizabeth seems undone in grief, and I have no ready money. I sold several properties to pay Shelby and Lenore Fenton. I have only houses and land in the country.”
“You will not admit what you’ve done?”
Charles shook his head. “You seemed never to understand, Boris. The way everyone looked at me while I was growing up, as if I was some bad seed. The way you doled out money, but denied every petition I made for your help in getting some noble recognition. I meant to prove to you that I could get it, somehow. I did everything in my power to get ahead of you. With every small disadvantage you suffered, I stepped in and bought up the spoils. I planned it so well: I would go to you one day with the proof that I owned you...and then you would finally see that I was made of the stuff of leaders.” Charles hung his head. “Do you think I attempt to escape Newgate or hanging? You have beaten me. It doesn’t matter what you do to me now. I have lost my family and I don’t care anymore.”