Sebastian could think of an even better explanation. The owner or owners intended that scheme with the powder from the first, and hid their identities to try and save their hides in the event it became known.
“And then I soon learned that the mill had been sold for certain, as you told me you had heard,” Dowgill said. “The solution became obvious and simple. One cannot use a fictitious name in buying or selling property. A signature must be written and witnessed. I therefore wrote to Mr. Skeffley, the fuller who bought the property, and asked from whom he had obtained it.” He looked meaningfully at the papers on the table.
“You have a name for me?”
“I do, sir.”
Sebastian waited. Mr. Dowgill tapped his forefinger on the papers.
“Lord Sebastian, I find myself in a peculiar circumstance. I am your servant, but even so I am a counselor. I do not know the reason you wanted this information. However, unless your goals are the most benign, I advise you now to reconsider whether I must hand this name over to you.”
“I am very sure that you must.”
Although not the answer he wanted, Dowgill had resigned himself to hearing it. “Quite so. I am therefore required to ask you to keep my name out of any discussions that you might have with the individual in question. Not only my name, but my involvement even by reference to your solicitor. There are those who know I have been of service to you in the past.”
Dowgill was conducting some elaborate negotiations. That alone piqued Sebastian’s curiosity all the more. “Of course, if you require it. However, you have only done your duty to me, as my solicitor.”
“Any reasonable person would see it that way. Regrettably, this individual is not known for reason. Rather the opposite.”
“You know him, then?”
“I only know of him. His circles are more elevated than I will ever attain. You see, he is not only a gentleman, as I suspected. He is a peer.”
The solicitor’s long preamble and deliberate caution suddenly made more sense. “He will never learn from me that you pursued this on my behalf. If he discovers it some other way, I will make sure that no ill fortune falls on you as a result.”
Dowgill expressed silent gratitude with his expression. “I must sound like a coward to you, and counseling you to be one as well. Had it been anyone else—He duels, you see. It is commonly known he does, and—”
“His name, Mr. Dowgill. I would appreciate knowing it now.”
He slid a paper out from amid the rest. He handed it over. “Sir, as you will read, Mr. Skeffling reports that he bought that mill from the Duke of Castleford.”
Sebastian did not pay a morning call on Castleford. He wrote and requested a private meeting on a matter of great import. Since they had known each other for many years and were once good friends, he included a suggestion that it would help enormously if Castleford were sober, and if no pretty bottoms were nearby to distract him.
The reply came two days later:
If you are determined to be boring, come to my house at two o’clock Tuesday. Since that is the day when I schedule my weekly descent into tedium, I will not have to endeavor too hard to be boring too.
When Sebastian arrived, he was brought to the library. There he found Castleford conducting business with his secretary. The neat stacks of documents, and the sharp commands peppering the desk’s young occupant, revealed that when he descended into tedium, the duke could be as boring as any other man with significant responsibilities.
“I have discovered that if I make one long day of it, then I can go to hell the other six,” he said when Sebastian’s presence interrupted. “Leave us, Edwards, but do not go far.”
The young man took his leave. Castleford sat on a divan and stretched out his legs. “I hope this is not about some bill. If so, your masters are asking you to dip from the well too often.”
“It is not about any Parliamentary matter.”
“Thank God for that. You love that game so much there are some who think you will be Prime Minister before long. My money is on an impressive scandal taking you down first. One that you can’t marry your way out of. Does that sweet woman know what she has in you?”
“Government is not a game. Neither is law.”
“Politics is. Part chess, part gambling, part horse race, part lottery. You would not have taken to it so well if it were not. Now, what do you want with me?”
Sebastian had debated most of the night how to approach this. There had been some anguish in that vigil along with a good deal of anger. He and Castleford no longer faced the world shoulder to shoulder as in the old days, and a sharpness had entered the relationship they still had, but being obligated to make this accusation troubled him.
“As you know, I was looking into that bad gunpowder. I have found its source, and learned how it became adulterated. I know that you were responsible.”
Castleford barely reacted. He just looked at him.
“I felt that I owed it to you, to let you know that it was all going to come out.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“That powder came from your mill. I want to believe your managers arranged for the rest, for the skimming and replacement of powder from the kegs with another substance that rendered the powder useless. If you say that was how it was, that you knew nothing of the scheme, that is all I need.”
“All you need? An apology is all I need. Now, or I swear that I will call you out.” He stood and paced away, furious. He ran his hand through his hair and pivoted to glare. “Have you gone mad? This is me. I don’t own mills. Why in hell would I want one? Let alone one that could blow up. As for skimming and whatever else you think I did, why would I bother?”
“For the fun of it? You also like your games.”
“If you believe I would have risked those soldiers’ lives, you are an idiot. I might fuck their sisters, but I would not do this.”
“You owned the mill. I have seen the indenture by which you sold it recently. It is your signature.”
Castleford froze, astonished. Then he strode to the door and yanked it open. He bellowed Edwards’s name.
The young man hurried in. Castleford pinned him with a stabbing glare while he jabbed a finger in Sebastian’s direction. “Edwards, explain to him that I do not, nor have I ever, owned a mill.”
Edwards looked like a man trapped by a lion. His wide-eyed, wary glance darted to Sebastian. Then he took the duke’s measure and blanched.
“Well, tell him,” Castleford roared.
“Uhhhh—my lord—actually . . .” Edwards swallowed hard. “You did own a mill, briefly. Remember? It was signed over to you in payment for a gentleman’s debt. I recall writing the letter to your solicitor telling him to sell it off for whatever he could get.”
Castleford turned a black expression on the young man, who stepped back a pace.
“I could dig out the letter’s copy if you like, my lord.”
“Who in hell gave me this mill?”
“I do not know. I only remember that letter to the solicitor.”
“Go find this letter’s copy.”
Edwards was happy to do so. “It would be in the study. I will search for it forthwith.”
Castleford threw himself back on the divan. “I will speak with my solicitor and send you everything he has, Summerhays. If I owned this place during the time in question, he probably knows the names of the managers and whatnot.” His expression showed a degree of dismay. “If this scheme that you describe happened while I owned it, I will of course take full responsibility.”
The irony was not lost on either of them. Castleford taunted society every day with his behavior. He devoted his life to walking along the wrong side of the line of acceptability. His excesses were so indiscreet that scandal no longer could be bothered to erupt around him. Yet this advocate of calculated rebellion might finally be brought low by an incident of which he was completely ignorant.
“There is no hurry on this,” Sebast
ian said. “I will wait to hear from your solicitor or you about the particulars.”
“That is too good of you.” His sardonic tone reminded Sebastian of a younger Castleford, one just as bad but less enthralled with sin.
Sebastian had to smile as the memory of their old friendship passed between them. “I hope that I was not too boring this time.”
“Not at all. I could have done without finding myself checkmated in a match I did not even know I was playing, though.”
“I have decided that I will not be taking lovers,” Audrianna said.
She spoke into the night, during the peaceful aftermath of passion, at that exact moment when bliss turns to contentment and speaking will no longer destroy the holy awe that suspends time.
Sebastian’s lazy brain turned over what she said. “I did not know that you were intending to.”
“I was not, in any specific way. However, we agreed that I could later, if I chose.”
“And now you have decided that you will not so choose?”
“Do not worry. You already know that I am not like your mother, harping at you with jealous questions and resentments.”
He sorted through his reactions. Boyish glee, of course, that his singular possession of her would be eternal.
Relief that she comprehended the poison that resentments and jealousy could drip into a marriage.
Dominating them all, however, was an inexplicable annoyance with the assumptions she alluded to.
“It is not, perhaps, a decision that one can make for the future,” he said. “Ten years hence you may—”
“No. I will not.” She looked right in his eyes. “I will not.”
He was not going to argue with her certainty. If she had decided to be faithful, it was not in his interest to convince her otherwise. However—
“Is it because I said I would kill them?”
She laughed. “Of course not. I know you would not really kill them.”
Once again, it was not in his interest to explain that he very well might. She had probably saved him a duel or two with this decision. All in all there was no disadvantage here to him that he could see. And yet—
“What did you mean, I already know you are not like my mother when it came to jealousy and resentments?”
“Is it not obvious? I have not expressed either so far, have I?”
“No. But . . .” He had assumed that she knew she had no cause for either or both. It sounded like she thought that she did, though.
He found himself balancing on an odd precipice. He could tell her she had no reason to be jealous so far, and therefore had not really been tested when it came to jealousy. Or he could be grateful that even early in their marriage, his wife had accepted the wandering ways of men.
Common sense said that in the interests of peace and harmony in the coming years, he should leave the subject alone now. Definitely.
Then again—
“Why the hell would you think you had any reason to express jealousy so far? I have hardly been neglecting you. Damnation, woman, I haven’t had a solid night’s sleep in over a month.”
She went still, then sat up. She peered down at him. “I am astonished. I work up the courage to tell you that I have decided to be faithful, and now you are angry.”
“I am not angry.”
“You sound angry. I do not see why you would be. In a manner of speaking, this has nothing to do with you.”
“Of course it has to do with me. You are going to be faithful to me, aren’t you?”
“Would you rather I were not?”
“Of course not. I only want to know why you think I have already been unfaithful.”
“Why would I not? A rake does not cease being one upon an obligatory marriage. There are those who say he does not cease being one ever, no matter what marriage he makes. When you do not return to this house until early morning, you do not say where you were and I do not ask. I am capable of drawing some conclusions, however. I am not so innocent that I do not know how marriages like this go.”
He pulled her down, and braced himself above her so he looked down at her face. “You drew the wrong conclusions. I have been with no one else for a long time. Months.” Not many months, but at least not since they met. There was no need to get too fine on the point, however.
“Truly?” she asked in surprise, wonderment, and disbelief. He heard a wavering note too, as if the answer mattered to her a great deal.
“Truly. As for how marriages like this go . . .” A part of him shouted for silence now, before something regrettable were said. He ignored that voice and forged ahead. “Why did you tell me that you will break the mold?”
“I wanted you to know.”
“Why? If not for a pledge in return, why did you want me to know?”
She gazed up at him. “It was important for me to say it, that is all. So you would know, and could be sure of me, if it ever mattered to you when you wondered.”
If it ever mattered to you when you wondered. That took the wind out of his stupid indignation. What a sad thing for her to say or think.
She had actually been very sensible. She expected nothing from this union except those terms in the settlement and agreed privately between them, and his right to do as he pleased had been both explicit and implicit in it all.
Her “if” just hung there, though. If her having a lover did not matter, then she did not matter. It bothered him deeply that she took for granted that she did not.
“It would matter a great deal if I ever wondered, so you have given me a gift in saying this,” he said. She really did have a right to know that.
He had been jealous, after all. He had even been an ass because of her. He kissed her, and tasted a faint salty moisture on her cheek. “Has it mattered to you, when you wondered?”
She nodded, but did not speak.
Kiss her, give her pleasure and be silent now, you maudlin fool. He knew full well he should end this conversation. However, he did not like to think of her wondering, and assuming she could not even ask without being thought an unsophisticated scold.
The vows that they had exchanged were supposed to take care of this question, but of course they usually did not.
“It seems only fair that we exchange gifts, I think. I will not take lovers either.”
She looked so astonished, so utterly amazed, that he almost laughed. But something else in her eyes touched him deeply, and he would never forget the way she looked at that moment.
“It will be very nice not to wonder anymore,” she said softly. “However, if one day you—”
He touched her lips to silence her. He did not want her to release him from this promise before he even discovered if he could keep it.
“If someday one of us regrets this choice, we will talk about it, Audrianna, and try to remember when it mattered.”
And why.
Chapter Twenty-four
Morning was not very old when Audrianna alighted from her carriage. However, she had a full day planned and could not put off this visit. Fortunately, a woman need not be too particular about proper calling hours when calling on her own mother.
Mama was happy to see her. As they walked to the morning room, Audrianna noted a new carpet in the library. She wondered if Sebastian was still doing penance.
Mama was full of talk about friendships renewed and relatives rediscovered. Her willingness to let bygones be bygones both heartened and saddened Audrianna.
Since that meeting with the Domino, Mama’s stoical reaction to Papa’s disgrace had been taking on other potential meanings, as had so much else in Audrianna’s memory of that long, terrible time.
“Sarah has a young man dancing attendance,” Mama confided finally. Glints of delight sparkled in her eyes. “A gentleman.”
“That is wonderful, Mama. Does he live in London?”
“He must, mustn’t he? Although he has property in Yorkshire. His profession requires his presence here, however. He is a barrister.”
“That is impressive indeed.”
“I promised to obtain an invitation to Lord Sebastian. I knew you would not mind.”
“Of course not.”
Mama was not stupid. She heard the resignation. She also probably saw the evidence of resentment that Audrianna felt about being so “useful,” despite Audrianna’s attempts to hide it.
“I do have high hopes about this.” Mama cast down her eyes and spoke apologetically, like a petitioner who had stepped over a line surrounding the queen. “Perhaps more than are warranted. We could put him off if you like, until his intentions are more explicit.”
“No, that is not necessary. I will arrange an introduction whenever you like. I will be happy to do this.” It was unlikely that this barrister’s intentions would become more explicit unless her usefulness became so first. This was why she had married, wasn’t it? She should not allow her heart’s new discoveries to obscure that.
It was those new discoveries that had brought her here. That and her new lack of certainty about Papa, and the emotional confusion regarding him that would not go away except when passion banished it for a short while. She looked at her mother’s soft, gentle face, framed so nicely in her lace-edged white cap, and summoned the courage to broach a subject never before discussed.
“I have been thinking about Papa recently,” she said. “And about those accusations made regarding his negligence.”
Mama said nothing, but a new stillness entered her even though she had not been moving anyway. Her gaze remained down, as it so often had in Papa’s presence those last months.
“Do you think that he was involved in any way, Mama? You have never indicated that you did, I know, but attention settled on him for a reason. He was the person who saw all the reports on the powder’s quality. He gave the word that it could be distributed. You defended him, I know, but . . .”
Mama sighed deeply, as if a burden recently removed had just been replaced on her spirit. She looked up, but not with a mother’s eyes. Her gaze was much more honest than that.
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