“I’m sorry, Derwall. I did not mean to, I was speaking from a place of anger and fear.” Gideon ran his hands through his hair and said, “No one shall be dueling, never fear.”
Setting down the lamp, Derwall came closer and said softly, “My Lord, if it pleases you, go upstairs and prepare to rest. I will bring you some tea myself. And if you feel so compelled, I will gladly listen should you need to explain.”
Gideon only nodded, unsure of how to answer. True, he was but a servant, but Derwall had been accurate in stating once how long he’d worked for the Cross family. He was the closest thing Gideon had to a living relative, a confidant, or even an advisor.
“Thank you, Derwall. That would be ideal.” He clapped the man’s shoulder reassuringly and headed up the stairs to make his way to his room.
Only minutes later, a soft knock at his door told him the tea was prepared, along with the sympathetic servant. Gideon opened the door, surprised and taken aback to see that Derwall had taken the time to dress formally.
“Derwall, I’m sorry,” Gideon said with a sigh, gesturing to his butler’s attire. “I did not mean for you to be bothered. I’m sorry you had to dress.”
“It is no trouble, My Lord. It’s why I’m here.” Derwall entered and set the tray on the table, then began pouring the Marquess’ tea. “I took the liberty of also bringing a bit to eat, I assumed from the time that you might be hungry.”
Once Gideon had taken a seat and had his tea, Derwall waited patiently. “Oh, good heavens, forgive me. Please, Derwall… won’t you sit?”
“Of course, My Lord,” the butler answered with a smile, sitting down opposite Gideon. “Now, what has troubled you so?”
Gideon began to pour out his troubles, and to his great surprise, the relief he felt was very real. Derwall listened patiently, affording the Marquess the opportunity to make sense of it for the first time himself.
“And so you see,” Gideon admitted in a tired voice as he fell back against the sofa, “I am deserving of every horrible thing Lady Ambergrave must think of me. Of every horrible thing everyone must think.”
“I don’t think horribly of you, My Lord, if that is any consolation,” Derwall replied quietly. “I think you’ve made a number of errors, ones that you are still quite capable of rectifying. The question is, are you willing to take that initiative?”
“What can I possibly do? I spent the entire length of the journey home trying to think of something that could resolve this terrible mess I’ve made,” Gideon answered. He sat forward and looked at the butler with earnest. “Tell me, if you know of something I might try. I will do it.”
“Well, you are a very intelligent and resourceful man,” Derwall said, crossing one leg over the other knee and looking disarmingly relaxed. “I’ve no doubt that you would be well-equipped to think of what you should do. I’m only hear to listen, and would never presume to make a recommendation on the course you should follow. It wouldn’t be proper.”
“I don’t know that I can agree. My intelligence and resources and ‘well-equipped’ nature have only succeeding in destroying the person I cared about most in the world,” he answered sadly. “I give you full leave to throw propriety to the wind and tell me what I must do.”
“Since you put it that way, I will confess that honesty has always been the rudder by which I steer my life. Have you attempted to tell Lady Ambergrave the entire truth?” Derwall waited tentatively, hoping he’d caused no offense.
“There was no time, everyone was so upset and before I knew what was happening, I’d made a laughingstock of myself by throwing fists at Lord Stillscar, then—”
“Excuse me, My Lord, but did you say Lord Stillscar was there?” Derwall asked, perplexed. “After the way he treated Lady Ambergrave here in her home?”
“Yes, he was,” Gideon said, blinking slowly as recognition dawned on him. “He’s stalking her. Like a lion hunting its prey in the Savannah.”
“It would appear that way, My Lord. But to what end? She is your legal wife, it would not benefit him to ruin her reputation now, though he may only do so for spite, I suppose?”
“Oh God, he spoke of blackmail to her father, he must still intend to extort money from Lord Thornshire. And all to protect me from being a cuckold whose wife is dallying with others,” Gideon jumped up and paced the length of the room. “But the thing is, I care not what anyone might think or say of me. I only care for Lady Ambergrave and how this sort of talk might hurt her.”
“Then you must explain yourself to Lord Thornshire,” Derwall said wisely, although quietly and at odds with how it felt to give advice to a Marquess, even advice that was welcomed and requested. “Beg his forgiveness and assure him that your only intention now is to see to his daughter’s eternal happiness.”
“But I am certain I am not welcome in Lord Thornshire’s home. And how would I begin to explain myself to the man who killed my parents?” he asked, still pacing like an animal trapped in its cage.
“Then you must put those words in writing. Perhaps they will mean even more to him with your signature and seal upon them,” Derwall reminded. “But moreover, the attempt isn’t at forgiving him for the deaths, it’s about seeking forgiveness for marrying Lady Ambergrave under less than honest intentions.”
“So put aside my feelings of loathing and revenge in order to beg of him his forgiveness?” Gideon scowled as he paced. “I would rather eat broken glass.”
“I do understand, My Lord, but I fear it is the only way. You do have my deepest sympathy, however.” Derwall smiled sadly. “And if it will preserve your marriage to Lady Ambergrave, will it not be worth it?”
Gideon continued his grimace of loathing at the suggestion, but he did mull it over as he walked the length of the room. It would betray his parents’ memory to debase himself to the man responsible for their demise, but Derwall was right. He had no other choice.
“Then I shall pen such a letter to Lord Thornshire immediately,” he said firmly, striding towards his writing desk. “And one to Lady Ambergrave as well, telling her of my intentions and my longing for her.”
“Perhaps, My Lord, you might be better suited to write such sincere, important thoughts in a few hours’ time,” the butler suggested, rising from his seat. “It will not delay the post any, and you might be more coherent if you’ve slept for a while.”
“Good point, Derwall,” Gideon said, nodding. “And as always, thank you for all of your help. But I must do it now, before I spend too much effort thinking of better excuses than the one I have, which is nothing. Would you be so kind as to disturb someone so that they might ride to Stonefield Park right away?”
“It is my pleasure, My Lord,” Derwall replied calmly. “I shall leave you to your letter and then your rest if you do not require anything further?”
“No, thank you. A letter, then sleep. That’s what I must do.”
After Derwall took his leave, Gideon scratched out his letters to Lord Thornshire and to his poor Luci. After he climbed into his bed, he stared at the ceiling above him for some time.
Suddenly wide awake, his thoughts rippled with an undercurrent of sadness. He had not let himself think on his parents’ tragic end in some time, and he was surprised to find that he felt more empty than angry. Their loss was a great hole inside his chest, but at least it was no longer a white-hot ember, burning inside his ribs with rage.
He willed himself to sleep, visions of Luci’s face behind his closed eyes. The image of her beauty and her laughing face were replaced with the look of agony she wore when he spoke to her yesterday evening. Gideon’s nightmares would need no other horror than to know how he’d wounded her.
Chapter 25
“Where is she?” Lady Hardigree cried, launching herself from her ornate carriage before flying into the house, her wake seemingly a swirl of full skirts and ostrich feathers fluttering out from her very fashionable hat. She looked about hastily before crying out, “Where is my niece?”
“This wa
y, Your Grace,” the butler said, leading the way to the drawing room where Lord Thornshire and his wife waited.
“Angeline!” Lady Hardigree shrieked, rushing to Lady Thornshire with her handkerchief already withdrawn. She wailed inconsolably while Lord Thornshire rolled his eyes at his sister-in-law’s dramatics.
“Mary! Thank goodness you’ve come!” Lady Thornshire cried, falling into her sister’s arms. “If anyone knows what to do at a time such as this, it’s you.”
Lord Thornshire looked perturbed as he nodded to the butler and muttered a word of thanks to the servant who’d ridden to fetch the Duchess. Lady Thornshire had been beside herself that morning, and nothing but the wise counsel of her sister would suffice.
“Now sit down and tell me everything,” Lady Hardigree began, her usually shrill voice replaced by a soothing sotto voce murmur. “I only know what I’ve already heard from a few of my closest friends.”
“Friends? Which friends? What have you heard?” Lord Thornshire demanded, coming around from behind the sofa where he’d been looking out the window.
“Remain calm, Edgar. It was nothing of import to your business,” she assured him, waving gently in his direction. “It only involved poor Luci.”
“How can word have possibly spread already?” Lady Thornshire demanded tearfully. “That horrible Lord Ambergrave has only left a day ago, how could he possibly have spoken out against our daughter in such a short time?”
“Lord Ambergrave?” the Duchess asked, pressing a hand to her bosom and leaning back in surprise. “Why no. I’m speaking of Lord Stillscar, the rogue who was located only yesterday, drunk in a tavern somewhere and spewing all manner of lies about Luci.” She looked at Edgar for a moment to gauge his wrath and whisper, “They are lies, are they not?”
“Of course they are lies,” Lord Thornshire shouted loudly enough for several servants working outside the door to scurry quickly away from their duties. “What do you take her for?”
Lady Thornshire looked away awkwardly, having only so recently questioned her daughter in much the same way. Finally, she pressed a hand to her sister’s and said, “Yes, that horrible man has caused such unrest here, and is determined to ruin our daughter’s name.”
“Well, never think of any further concern from the awful Earl,” Lady Hardigree said with a sniff of contempt. “I was certain his lewd and boastful tales couldn’t be true, and it won’t matter who he tells them to now.”
“Of course I shall think of him, look at the harm he has managed to cause to my beautiful child in only this short time,” Lady Thornshire began to cry again, tears of sorrow rather than wails of indignant anger. “In only the time since he left here, word of his horrible accusations have even reached your ears.”
“Oh, don’t trouble yourself with that, either,” the Duchess said. “I only know of it because I am well acquainted with his brother’s wife. After I bade several of my associates to handle the unpleasant matter, I felt it was my duty to speak to her and her husband and inform them of what I’d done.”
“What have you done?” Lord Thornshire asked, his eyes widening in fear, a fear that he’d always somewhat held for his wife’s sister.
“Once I was made aware of his egregious attack on poor Luci while her husband was not at home, I made it my mission to seek out the Earl and set him to rights.” Lady Hardigree sat up primly and began to pick at errant leaves that had clung to her skirt in her haste to come inside. She made no further comment until Lady Thornshire spoke up.
“But Mary, what are you talking about? You paid him a visit and… and… and had tea or what not? What!”
“Why, no.” Lady Hardigree sneered with a look of disgust. “I would never take tea with a person of that sort. I did not even meet with him at all. As I said, I sent my associates to find him.”
“And?” Lord Thornshire bellowed, frustrated at the timely length her story was commanding.
“Oh,” she answered, laughing lightly. “I had him signed up as a deck hand on a merchant vessel. He’s already on his way to Australia right now. Or was it Africa? Either way. He shall not be here, which is all that matters.”
Lord Thornshire exchanged a strange sort of look with his wife while Lady Hardigree resumed plucking leaves from her skirt and dropping them into her hand. When she’d finished, she looked around for somewhere to place the unwanted foliage but caught sight of her relatives’ faces instead.
“What?” she asked, her expression blank.
“You… you sent him away?” Lady Thornshire said quietly, her voice filling with hope. “How ever did you manage it?”
“I already told you. I had some associates locate him, drag him from the tavern, and help him aboard a merchant ship,” the Duchess answered slowly, as though speaking to children. “When he awakes, he will already be very far away and most likely given a mop so that he might set to work.”
“But what of his family? You said you know them, won’t they be furious about what you’ve done?” Lady Thornshire asked, a glimmer of hope still permeating her horror.
“Oh, not at all,” Lady Hardigree answered, laughing again. “That is the best part. The Earl has been a terrible, embarrassing burden for quite some time, and his brother has already threatened to cut him off entirely for what he did to Luci at Lord Ambergrave’s house. I only aided him in providing a ruse. Now dear little brother is far away and has signed on to travel the world.”
Lady Hardigree stopped laughing and turned very serious. “But now tell me, what of Luci? How is she taking this?”
“Our dear girl won’t eat, won’t talk to us, won’t even speak to Miss Ross,” Lady Thornshire said with a fresh whimper. “We’re on the brink of calling for a physician. You know she was so recently ill and nearly died as a result. This upset cannot be good for her.”
“Not at all. It could very well cause her to lapse once again into illness,” the Duchess agreed, trembling with real fear for her niece. “But she will not even speak to that governess of hers? I thought she was still in your household for being such a dear friend to Luci?”
“Quite right,” Lord Thornshire said, coming over to sit across from the ladies and frowning with worry. “But she reports that Luci is not even answering her when she speaks. She’s very nearly numb, only uttering a sound when her silent tears take a somewhat more impassioned turn.”
“It is worse than I thought,” Lady Hardigree said with a tearful sigh. “Shall I go speak to her? Would that help at all?”
“I doubt it, especially if there is already talk going ‘round of what Lord Stillscar has… accused,” Lady Thornshire answered, balling up her much-abused handkerchief in her fists. “It shall be enough that you came to call and stayed a while. When she feels up to it, I’ll tell her you’re here.”
“Very good. But in the time between, I’m afraid we must speak of a most unpleasant topic.” Lady Hardigree looked to the door to ensure no one was lurking nearby before turning back to her sister and the Earl. “We must discuss the possibility that Lord Ambergrave might… well, seek a divorce.”
Her whisper at that last word sent Lady Thornshire into a near faint. Lord Thornshire immediately came over and put his arm around his wife’s thin shoulders for support, bolstering her up for the vital but dreadful conversation at hand.
“He would have to be the devil’s own fool to do such a thing,” Lord Thornshire roared. “Especially after he admitted in front of us that he had only black intentions for marrying Luci.”
“Well, that is quite useful,” the Duchess said in acknowledgement, “but am I also correct that he has accused you of murdering his parents?”
“That is the most preposterous part,” Lord Thornshire cried, his hands gripping the curls above his ears in frustration. “I haven’t a clue what he’s speaking of, I’ve never murdered anyone.”
“Did you not discover they died in a fire?” Lady Thornshire asked. “How would Edgar have possibly committed such a heinous act all those years ago and s
omehow forgotten, then married our daughter to their surviving son?”
“I know, it’s as ridiculous as you make it sound,” Lady Hardigree acknowledged with a firm nod. “But that is what the man uttered, did he not?”
“How do you possibly know these things so quickly, dear sister? We only just learned of the entire sordid accusation ourselves,” Lady Thornshire demanded, confounded as to how her sister was so well connected and from such a great distance away.
“Pay that no mind, my acquaintances are not the sort to spread around such vicious lies,” Lady Hardigree said dismissively. “But if he is the one to cast Luci aside after such a confession, he will surely not seek a return of the funds he gave you. That should be a small comfort.”
“Hardly,” Lord Thornshire responded. “She would still be ruined, never to be accepted by polite company anywhere. Everything I have put her through was to prevent her demise, but it would have all been for nothing.”
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