Ethan: Lord of Scandals ll-3

by Grace Burrowes

  “Not much. Hart Collins is a subject of the Crown. He was bound to return to England someday.”

  “You could bring charges,” Heathgate suggested.

  “Right. And have the whole world know I was incapable of defending myself? Only to have one of his cronies testify I enticed the man, or Collins was nowhere in the vicinity, and as I was facedown over the top of a barrel, how could I know for certain who was violating my person?”

  Discussing the matter in the pretty summer morning seemed blasphemous, but the topic had lingered in Ethan’s imagination—a reptile lurking in the muddy marshes of his memory—since the moment Heathgate had called him aside the previous night.

  “You bring the charges,” Heathgate said. “You don’t expect to prosecute them.”

  “He’s a member of the bloody Lords, Heathgate.” Ethan spoke tiredly. “I’m a bastard who married my mistress. Bringing charges would be a joke, and as far as my family is concerned, a joke in poor taste.”

  “It’s your choice, but you will likely run across him sooner or later, or Nick will, because he’s a member of the bloody Lords too—as am I, come to that.”

  Ethan shot Heathgate a look, but the man was impossible to read. “No offense intended.”

  “Likewise. I thought you should know he’s back.”

  “My thanks for the warning.”

  “You never told your family, did you?” Heathgate pressed. “Not even Nick.”

  “Especially not Nick.” Heathgate had kept his peace on this most unfortunate subject for nearly twenty years. It was a relief, in a way, to have it in the open, but the old humiliation was there as well.

  “Why not? He’s your brother, the head of your family, and he loves you cross-eyed.”

  “He loves me. I love him.” Hence Ethan would never bring up at least two very personal subjects with his brother.

  “If I had a bottle of whiskey for every time I’ve heard him brag on you or reminisce about his perfect childhood with you, I could get the Royal Navy drunk.” Heathgate paused and eyed the children.

  “Your point?” Ethan inquired, very politely.

  “You are trying to protect your brother,” Heathgate said gently, “because it will hurt him to know what you’ve suffered. It will hurt him more you didn’t think him worthy of your confidence. I have a younger brother, you will note, and speak from experience.”

  Ethan sighed, not sure if being a marquis gave one the right to divine minds or hearts. “The incident in question left me more deeply ashamed than I care to discuss.”

  Heathgate watched the ponies before them. The boys were concocting another scheme involving pirates on horseback. “Do you have any idea how much shame a man can build up when he has the wealth and the temper to pitch a nine-year-long tantrum? There were times I got some toothsome, titled young idiot drunk and indulged in all manner of foolery on a bored whim. Or I’d take women to bed, knowing they would not guard their hearts, and liking it better for being able to strike at them that way. I won fortunes from men too drunk to hold their cards and was only too happy to collect on their vowels, regardless that it would beggar them and put their women on the charity of relatives.”

  “This recitation doesn’t flatter you, Heathgate.” Ethan could not take his eyes from his horse’s neck. “Why burden me with it?” Though Ethan suspected he knew—there were many situations in life that yielded a harvest of regret and shame.

  Heathgate let out an exasperated sigh. “I have lifetimes of regrets I should be ashamed of, and I am. But you are ashamed of being a victim. If somebody did to your Joshua what was done to you, would you be disgusted with Joshua? Would you want him to be ashamed of himself?”

  “For God’s sake, don’t be ridiculous. He’s just a boy, and of course I would not want him ashamed of being the victim of a crime.”

  “You were fourteen,” Heathgate said, “and set upon by six boys older, bigger, and stronger than you. They laid in wait, they plotted this violence, and they carried it out against you, knowing you had none to aid you. And yet you don’t feel compassion for the boy you were. You feel ashamed of him. One can only wonder, Ethan Grey, what your own father might have done had he learned of your fate.”

  Heathgate urged his horse forward, having mercifully had his say. He engaged the boys in a pleasant discussion of foxhunting, climbing trees, and what it must be like for poor young Lord Penwarren to have a twin sister. Ethan was so lost in thought he didn’t hear his children laughing at something Heathgate said, or realize his horse was for once being docile, until he was almost hit in the face with a low-hanging branch.

  Fourteen

  “It’s an interesting mix of news,” Benjamin Hazlit reported as he lounged in a comfortable chair in the Marquis of Heathgate’s library. His arrangement with Heathgate, as with most clients, was that nothing was written down. For the sake of security, his reports were made in person, except under rare circumstances. This meant his clients had to meet with him face-to-face, and usually in their homes, since most of them would have been loathe to be seen calling on him.

  And meeting them face-to-face gave Benjamin all manner of opportunity to learn about them and placate his own well-hidden curiosity.

  “Well, don’t beat about the bush, Benjamin.” Heathgate paused while a footman brought in a tray. “Lemonade, cider, or something stronger?”

  “Cider.” Heathgate’s version of something stronger was usually a whiskey too smooth and rich to be profaned by business conversation.

  Heathgate passed him a tall glass. “I’ll send a little something else along for your private delectation when we’re through.”

  “I won’t refuse.” Not that sane men refused Gareth Alexander, Marquis of Heathgate, much of anything. “And now that you’ve impressed me with your manners, here’s what we know: Hart Collins has been traipsing about the Continent since Waterloo. Before that he was holed up on some Greek island. But to pick up the story closer to the beginning, you need to know, after leaving Stoneham—one of several institutions to send him down—he finally made a try at Oxford, where he lasted not one term. Cambridge flat wouldn’t have him, so he took himself back north to Papa’s barony and seemed to make an effort to grow up.”

  “A successful effort?”

  “Hardly.” Benjamin paused to rein in his disgust. Heathgate needed information, but not every fact in Benjamin’s head was pertinent to the marquis’s inquiry. “He was engaged to the local equivalent of the darling of the shire, an earl’s daughter, but the engagement ended amid some hushed scandal, and then he was off. Scotland first, Scandinavia, even the Americas, before returning to Europe. He pops back to England from time to time, but never for long. One can live cheaply on foreign shores, but Collins hasn’t acquired the knack.”

  “He comes back when he’s out of funds?” Heathgate’s expression gave away nothing, but Benjamin knew the man well enough to sense heightened interest. “Too bad I’ve not set foot in a hell for years. I could probably ruin him in a single night of hazard.”

  Heathgate’s tone said he’d enjoy that evening’s work a bit more than a night at the opera.

  “Doubtless, you could, and you need to get out more, old man.”

  “You should have a wife and children, old man. Except then you would not be available for my little queries and investigations. What else do we know about Collins?”

  Benjamin met glacial-blue eyes, knowing his lordship might well be planning that outing to the gaming tables. The notion appealed to a protective older brother’s instincts mightily.

  “He came into the title about five years ago, and his papa did what he could to tie up the unentailed wealth. Collins is back now, wrangling with the solicitors and getting nowhere. I have personal reasons to keep tabs on the man, particularly if he should malinger in the vicinity of the family seat.”

  Heathgate refreshed their drinks. “For once the solicitors are of use. And what of Collins’s accomplices?”

  “Two are dead. Bo
th soldiers who didn’t come home. One has emigrated to America, another has the living at some obscure little crossroads in Derbyshire, and the fifth is in the hulks.”

  “Can we buy the clergyman or the debtor?”

  “The debtor, of course.” Benjamin named a sum Heathgate’s marchioness might have spent on a single entertainment during the Season. “And the arrangements have been made.”

  “Benjamin, you are frighteningly thorough. What of the clergyman?”

  “Has his eye on a more lucrative living,” Benjamin replied. “I’ve not approached him. The element of surprise would be in your favor.”

  “Best send someone to deal with him. Have either the debtor or the clergyman been in touch with Collins?”

  “The clergyman. Collins had him invited to some house party, and the man dropped the Lord’s pressing business and came by post.”

  “So Collins has something on him. What we have is worse, I’m sure.”

  “Conspiracy to commit a felony is serious. I must point out you’re doing this all on your own initiative, and I can’t help but wonder if Mr. Grey would appreciate it. He seems to have moved on with his life.”

  Or with something. Benjamin wasn’t sure exactly what, though Alice appeared to be in better spirits for it.

  “Hmm.”

  The tone of that syllable piqued Benjamin’s instincts. “Heathgate, you can’t play God. An incident like this would have been the undoing of a lesser man, particularly when Bellefonte was no help to his son whatsoever. It’s only with the old earl’s death Mr. Grey has managed some sort of rapprochement with his siblings. Besides, my sister is half in love with your Mr. Grey, and that makes me a little protective of the man.”

  Heathgate looked unimpressed. “She’s governess to his boys.”

  “She’s his social superior,” Benjamin countered, an edge lacing his voice. Heathgate might have resented the title years ago, but he understood the order of precedence well enough. “She’s lovely, well damned dowered if she’d but allow it, and deserving of only the best. If she’s chosen him, then I will respect her choice, and I will not let you bring the man grief.”

  Heathgate’s eyebrow swooped aloft. “You come close to threatening a peer of the realm, Benjamin. I’m impressed.”

  “Stow it.” Benjamin snorted. “If I thought your intent was contrary to Mr. Grey’s interests—or my sister’s—I would never have undertaken this task.”

  “And here you work so hard to create the impression you have no loyalty, save to coin of the realm.”

  Benjamin sipped his drink placidly. “Don’t be tiresome, your lordship.”

  “My intentions are not contrary to Mr. Grey’s interests, but this moving on with his life you refer to does not comport with either his brother’s or my impression of the man. He does not socialize, he does not belong to a club, he does not ride to hounds with the locals except for the informal meets, and he does not attend services. Until recently, I’m not sure he knew which son was which. He sits, like a spider, in the middle of a financial web and spins money at a rate that impresses the Regent.”

  “And this is a crime, to do what one does well?”

  “To let life go by in every sphere save one is a tragedy. My marchioness says we have neglected our neighbor, and my conscience has agreed with her, as it is wont to do. He has not moved on with his life, Benjamin. I know when somebody is mired in their past, because I’ve been in the same slippery ditch myself.”

  “It still isn’t like you to interfere, conscience or not.” Personal disclosures were not like Heathgate either, much less unflattering personal disclosures.

  “I won’t interfere. I will simply ensure Mr. Grey has the information necessary to make prudent decisions in a timely manner. He does that well in the commercial realm, and if your sister’s affections are returned, he should be motivated now to do so regarding personal matters as well.”

  “I would not want you for an enemy, Heathgate.” Benjamin rose and set his empty glass aside.

  “My sentiments as well.” Heathgate set his glass aside too, his face creasing into a startlingly charming smile. “Now that we’ve covered my neighbor’s situation, come to the nursery with me. James, Will, and Pen will want to see you, and Joyce will want to see me.”

  “Your marchioness will want to see you.” And to his credit, Benjamin managed to sound not the least envious as he made that observation.

  * * *

  The anniversary of Barbara’s death came and went, and when Ethan realized he noticed the significance of the date only in hindsight, he had to consider he was putting Barbara’s death behind him. For the previous two years, his mourning period completed, he’d gone off to hunt grouse in Scotland or Cumbria—or to pretend he was hunting grouse.

  He’d consider it sport when the birds were given guns to defend themselves, though he’d never dare express such an opinion to another.

  He continued to meet up occasionally with Heathgate on the bridle paths, and sometimes with Lords Greymoor and Amery as well, all of whom were fascinated with their offspring’s every peccadillo and sniffle.

  This would have been a trial, except Ethan was fascinated himself. His children entranced him, with their funny little opinions, their odd fears, and their willingness to be silly over nothing. He liked the way they’d argue fiercely with each other one minute, and then be off to whisper in the corner the next. He liked the way each boy understood the other, and even in the midst of pitched battle, would tread lightly in certain areas.

  He liked that they were affectionate, particularly since Uncle Nick’s parting admonition to Jeremiah had been a whispered order to tickle Ethan at least every other day. That wouldn’t last—boys grew up and acquired dignity—but it had given Ethan a pretext for hugging his children and wrestling with them in the grass from time to time.

  And if the children weren’t thawing years of reserve, Alice certainly was. She was shy of her own body, but eager regarding Ethan’s. She’d touch him in little ways throughout the day if they were alone—smooth his cravat, take off his spectacles, squeeze his hand—and she was something else entirely at night.

  Scholars were a curious lot, and Alice was inherently a scholar. She took off his clothes and studied him. She touched and tasted and even listened to his body, pressing her ear over his heart or lungs and then, satisfied he was quite alive, over his belly.

  “It’s how you diagnose a colicky horse,” she’d said, frowning up at him.

  And then she’d listened to him laugh.

  They hadn’t made love—yet. Not in the traditional sense of the phrase, anyway. Ethan told himself he was giving her time to change her mind, but in truth, he wasn’t ready. He blamed his unreadiness on Gareth Alexander, Marquis of Heathgate, neighbor and Inconvenience at Large.

  Since Nick’s visit, Ethan had felt the presence of neighbors in his life, and not just on his bridle paths. Twice, the boys had been invited to Willowdale to play with Heathgate’s children. Twice, Ethan had been to dinner, once at Heathgate’s, once at Greymoor’s. They were an informal, affectionate lot, even when the children were not in evidence. The only one of the group with whom Ethan felt truly comfortable was Amery, the quietest one of the bunch.

  The hardest shock to bear was that these people touched him, physically. The ladies kissed his cheek and took his arm as if he were a long-lost cousin. The men were forever cramming themselves together on sofas and settles, sipping their drinks at the end of the day. They teased and fell silent, alluded to the occasional problem, and laughed gently at one another. It puzzled Ethan to be included in such goings-on, and he was growing to tolerate it better than he would have predicted.

  Growing almost comfortable with it, except every time he began to lose track of his separateness, he’d look up to find Heathgate watching him. The marquis’s eyes held the same questions he’d battered Ethan with the day Nick left: Why don’t you feel compassion for the boy you were? Why do you feel ashamed of him?

&nbs
p; And Ethan wished, as the air began to take on a hint of autumn, he could talk to Nick. Now, when Nick was busy with his earldom and his new wife and six other siblings, Ethan let himself miss his brother. He didn’t want to burden Nick with superfluous confidences, but he missed his brother.

  He just… missed him.

  * * *

  “Miss Alice?” Joshua was preparing for a midafternoon nap, which was unusual. That he was accepting the need without protest was more unusual still.

  “Joshua?” Alice sat on his bed. He looked a little pale, but then, he was an Englishman’s son, and Alice had never seen his color high.

  “If you said you wouldn’t tell a secret,” Joshua began, “but then something else happened, so you had not just one secret, but two, does the first promise not to tell mean you can’t tell the second time either?” Alice frowned and tried to puzzle through the riddle that was part logic and part little-boy inquiry into the heady topic of manly honor.

  “Give me an example.”

  Joshua’s brow puckered in thought. “If I saw Papa up reading past his bedtime, but I promised not to tell, then I saw him doing it again, should I tell?”

  “Before you tell, you should confront him directly and give your papa a chance to explain, unless you think it isn’t safe to do so.”

  Joshua fingered the hem of his coverlet. “Papa doesn’t hit. Why wouldn’t it be safe?”

  “I don’t know. I once didn’t tell my brothers something, because I was afraid they’d go try to beat up someone for me, and I didn’t want them taking that risk.”

  “Are your brothers as big as Papa?”

  “Not quite, and they were quite a bit younger at the time. Now close your eyes. Do you want me to read to you?”

  “Yes, Miss Alice.” His yawn was genuine, and before Alice could select a soothingly familiar story, he was asleep.

  “Is he all right?” Jeremiah’s voice was laced with anxiety.

  Alice smiled at the boy hovering in the doorway. “I think he’s just worn out from trying to keep up with his brilliant older brother. He’ll be fine.”