Deceived

by Megan Derr

  "There is no reason for you to have delayed this long had you any interest in her," Silver replied calmly. "At least half the city has you two already married. You are quite well-off, your family is good friends with the royal family, and despite the scandal in your family's past—and present—you are highly respected and well-liked. That you have recently won the championship is only an added feather in your cap. My sister has a generous income of her own and my parents are more than capable of giving her a grand wedding. There is not one single reason that you two should not already be engaged were that your intention. So I can only conclude that neither of you is so inclined."

  "As you say," Pierce replied, sipping his tea. "You are obviously decided upon the matter, so to what purpose did you request this talk?"

  Silver looked down at his book, expression still unreadable—but his anxiety was betrayed, Pierce realized, by the way he briefly yet restlessly stroked the spine of his book. "Do you know the source of my sister's unhappiness?" He held up a hand before Pierce could reply. "I am not asking you to tell me; the two of you share a confidence that is none of my business. I am not prying—I merely wondered if you knew it and could perhaps resolve it. She thinks me her enemy, but she is mistaken. Everyone deserves to be happy." Something in his eyes flickered, but too briefly for Pierce to figure out the emotion or its reason for being there.

  Anyway, the words were plenty distracting on their own. Pierce never would have expected to hear such a thing from someone so icy. He shrugged. "It's hard to say; in a few weeks, she might be right as rain or abjectly miserable. The outcome is reliant upon others, not merely her."

  Silver frowned. "I see," he said slowly. "That sounds…very much like Cress being up to something." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, the plainest gesture Pierce had ever seen from him. Astounding. "Do give me some warning before the event crops up and I will attempt to ensure that our parents do not overreact."

  "Ah—" Pierce blinked. "Certainly, if that is your wish. I'm sure your sister would appreciate it."

  "I'm sure my sister does not care what I do or do not do," Silver replied. "That, however, is neither here nor there. I thank you for indulging me in this discussion, Pierce."

  "My pleasure; I'm glad that someone at least believes that I have no designs upon your sister."

  "I'm sure I should be displeased that you are not enamored of her," Silver said, and Pierce almost gawked to see the slight smile that curved his pale lips. "However, I grew up with her."

  Silver was…making a jest? Pierce had to set his teacup down. "I'm grateful that I could return to Foxwood Manor at the end of the day, that is for certain."

  Silver smiled again and Pierce returned it, pleased that they had somehow managed to share a jest—and wouldn't it annoy Cressida to no end that they had been making it at her expense?

  The moment faded, leaving them in stark silence, and Pierce realized that he did not want to leave, although he could and probably should. Silver was probably most anxious to get back to his precious studies. Still… "Where are you going to study this summer, Silver? Is there a monument to learning with which you have not yet had your wicked way?"

  The look he got was briefly startled and almost… disbelieving, although Pierce could not fathom why. "I was considering visiting the eastern shore; the archives there are highly regarded and it would help a paper I am hoping to present next year."

  "Oh?" Pierce asked, surprised. "Well, if you ever feel like escaping your dusty tomes for a day or two, you're welcome to join me on my yacht."

  Again that disbelieving look, before Silver recovered his cool remoteness. "I will certainly consider the offer and likely take you up on it. I thank you."

  "I will depend upon your visit," Pierce replied, wondering at himself. What the devil would he do with Silver upon his yacht? To the best of his knowledge, they had nothing in common. Granted, his knowledge of Silver was thin…

  Oh, bugger it. He had made the invitation on impulse, but he would not retract it, and if Silver actually took him up on it, then Pierce would figure out the rest then. Surely Silver had a life beyond his books.

  Silence fell again and Pierce was damned if he knew how to restart the lapsed conversation. He realized suddenly just how thin his knowledge of Silver was.

  "I never did offer my own congratulations on your victory," Silver said, startling him from his thoughts. Blue eyes locked with his and Pierce could see the books behind him just barely reflected in Silver's monocle. "Your performance was most impressive, especially at the last. Gifford prides himself on his skills, but he has never learned to curb his impulsive nature."

  Pierce blinked and struggled hard not to gawk. "Thank you," he finally managed. "I did not note your presence amongst the spectators."

  Silver gave a slight shrug. "I was there only briefly to pass the time before a meeting at the Academy."

  Oh. Well, that certainly made more sense than Silver wanting to watch him. "I hope I helped pass the time sufficiently."

  "Indeed," Silver agreed, reaching up to adjust his monocle.

  A nervous gesture, Pierce realized abruptly; he wondered why Silver was anxious. Blue eyes met his, and then Silver dropped his gaze. They lifted again and Silver opened his mouth to speak. "Pier—"

  Below them, the main doors to the library opened, the noise enough that Pierce shifted his gaze reflexively to the source. Nothing of import. He turned back to Silver—and realized that whatever he'd been about to say would no longer be said.

  "I am sorry to have kept you so long," Silver apologized. "I'm certain that you've far more interesting things to be doing. Thank you again for indulging me. If you will forgive me, I have delayed in my day's work long enough."

  "Of course," Pierce replied, and stood up, sketching a brief bow before turning and taking his leave. He left the library to go in search of food, but even when he ran into a group of friends and was coerced into going down into the city, he could not leave behind that lost moment. It irked him that he could not forget it, but he sensed it had been important.

  What had Silver been about to say?

  *~*~*

  Pierce stormed into the sitting room ready to strangle her. Of all the things to do and just barely two hours away from the start of her ball—he was going to kill her. "Cress!" he snapped. "Just what do you—" He stopped abruptly as he took in her ashen face. "Poppet, what's wrong?"

  She bolted to him, tangling her hands in the black velvet of his formal evening jacket. "I know I shouldn't be here," she stammered, "but, Pierce—Silver has found out!"

  Pierce frowned and covered her hands in his own, dismayed to feel how cold they were. "I do not think that is cause for alarm, poppet. Your brother is not your enemy."

  Cressida blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. "But we were arguing—everything got out of control—I told him—" Her hands tightened in his jacket. "Then he stole my latest letter and stormed off, and I think he has gone to confront Seymour. I wanted to go stop them myself, but—"

  "No, that is the very last thing you should have done. Coming to see me was only slightly better. Get back to your parents at once. I will take care of Silver, all right? Do not get so upset—after waiting so long, Seymour should see you smiling, hm?"

  She looked at him, then nodded and let go of his jacket. Another blink and she was her usual self. He didn't know how she managed it. "Thank you, Pierce. I am sorry to add yet more drama to this affair."

  "My family has a history of drama, so I'm used to it. I will bring your beau to you one way or the other." Although he really didn't think that Silver was anything to worry about; he'd seemed sincere about wanting only for Cressida to be happy and Pierce knew that Seymour would make her happy.

  Although who knew; he'd barely seen Silver since that afternoon they'd spoken, and only for a handful of minutes at a time. His few attempts to speak with Silver always ended in failure. It should not bother him, for they'd never really crossed paths overmuch beyond the t
ime he spent with Cressida…but that ruined moment, those words Silver had not said, vexed him to the point of distraction. No reason for it, but there it was all the same. Perhaps he could use this near debacle to his own advantage once the matter of Seymour was secured.

  Pierce leaned down to kiss Cressida's cheek. "Off with you before anyone notices you missing, poppet. We will be back in due course."

  "Yes," Cressida replied. "Thank you again."

  "No thanks necessary—but you might have a bit more faith in Silver. He only wants your happiness, Cress."

  She gave sharp laugh, the sound wholly unlike her. "Oh, the fine mess we've all made of things. Go, Pierce. I will see all three of you shortly and in good temper. Understand?"

  "Yes. Now go."

  Cressida departed and Pierce wasted no time in returning to his own chambers to call for a horse and finish dressing. Mere minutes later, he was riding through the streets, making his way to the Castlethwaite Hotel where Seymour was residing until he could obtain a permanent residence. The ride was only fifteen minutes, but it seemed interminable. What had Seymour been thinking in sending a letter directly to Cressida? Could he not have waited a mere few hours more? Pierce would beat him senseless if Silver had not already done the job.

  Reaching the hotel, Pierce handed off his horse to a waiting groom and strode inside, ignoring the attendants and heading straight to Seymour's room. He pounded upon the door, causing the voices inside to abruptly stop. The door flew open to reveal a face he both knew and didn't—the last time he had seen it, Seymour had been a boy of eighteen, pale and scared, but determined. Seymour had always been stubborn above all else. He'd grown from a handsome boy to a truly beautiful man, with dark brown-gold skin and thick, curly black hair that was desperately trying to escape its thong.

  "Seymour," he greeted.

  "Pierce," Seymour said dryly. "Have you come to join the party, then?"

  "So it would seem," Pierce replied, entering the room as Seymour beckoned him inside. His eyes sought and immediately found Silver standing by the sofa in the small front room of Seymour's suite—Silver, who always looked his iciest in formal attire. Stark black and white, a diamond glittering in the lace at his throat, more lace at his cuffs to accent the hard shine of his monocle and the frosty paleness of his hair. Yet his expression was not as aloof as usual.

  "Pierce."

  "Your sister came to me in a tizzy."

  "Serves her right," Silver replied. "The next time she comes to me to pick a fight, perhaps she'll remember to guard her tongue more carefully."

  Cressida had started the argument? That was an interesting detail to have left out. "What in the world were the two of you having a row about?"

  "Happiness," Silver said, and the depths of the bitterness in his voice drew Pierce up short. Silver turned to Seymour. "So far, I can find no fault in you minus the ridiculous secretiveness you all opted for, but I think I will blame that on my sister. I am inclined this evening to blame everything on that fool."

  Pierce quirked a brow at that. "She was firmly of the belief that you were coming here to suggest pistols at dawn."

  Silver merely gave him a withering look. "I might be good for giving a discourse on pistols, Pierce, but that is all. Such idiotic displays of drama are not worth my time. I came to see for myself that the boy who once played with the two of you in that damnable creek had grown up suitable enough to court my sister." He returned his attention once more to Seymour. "I am satisfied with this initial interview, but you still have to contend with my parents. If I were you, I would not be caught alone with my mother."

  Pierce stared. This was nothing like the Silver he knew…but then again, his frustration had always been in not knowing Silver at all. He was always so quiet and aloof—this assertive and commanding side, the quiet, gentle jests interjected throughout… Intriguing.

  Seymour chuckled. "You are a St. Rose through and through, Silver. You were always so somber as a child. You've not changed a bit."

  "You have, however," Silver said. "I am thankful you've overcome the abysmal shadows of your father."

  "I assure you, no one is more thankful for that than I," Seymour replied quietly.

  Pierce shook his head, laughing softly. "It would seem, then, that this affair is well-ended. Seymour, shall we get you to your betrothed before she comes to fetch us?"

  "Do not say such things," Silver said, looking pained. "I would not put it past her and I do not want to deal with the debacle that would ensue. All of this nonsense is quite enough for me."

  "Well said," Pierce replied, grinning. "Let us return before the ladies notice our names missing from their dance cards."

  Silver made a face and Pierce agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly. He smiled in sympathy—and how strange it was to be exchanging such things with Silver.

  The three made their way out of the hotel, standing in silence as they waited for Seymour's carriage. Inside it, the silence stretched on, but for whatever reason, it did not feel awkward to Pierce.

  All too soon, the carriage pulled up to the St. Rose estate and one by one they clambered out, handing off their overcoats and hats to the footmen just inside the door. Silver slipped away to join his family inside, while Pierce and Seymour waited patiently to be announced.

  "I wish we'd had time to speak before tonight," Pierce murmured as they were announced and entered the ballroom.

  Seymour grimaced briefly. "Yes, I know. I can hear the reprimand in your tone."

  Pierce smirked and bowed low before he was lost to the whirl of social niceties. Although he wanted badly to be close as the chaos played out, this was Cressida and Seymour's moment—and he would be less likely to become a target himself if he hid from sight.

  Pierce had just finished waltzing with a young man whose name eluded him, but whose dance steps were lethal to his toes, when he saw signs the storm had begun—Cressida, her parents, Silver, and Seymour all ducking discreetly from the ballroom. Half-wishing he could be there to see the ensuing argument, half-grateful that he was not, Pierce took his dance partner back to his friends and went to find the next one to whom he owed a dance. Just as he was bowing over her hand, however, a footman approached.

  "Yes?" he asked.

  "Beg pardon, my lord, but His Lordship requests an audience at once."

  "Of course," Pierce replied. He turned back to the girl with whom he'd been about to dance and made his apologies, then followed the footman.

  In the study, he was greeted by an expression that was part glare, part resigned amusement. "Pierce, you knew about this," Lord St. Rose said.

  "If I said no, would I stand a chance of being believed?" Pierce asked.

  That earned him a few rolls of the eyes.

  Lord St. Rose gestured to Seymour, who stood beside Cressida, his stubborn expression wholly unchanged—except that it had been cuter when he was a boy. Pierce strove not to snicker.

  "What say you, Pierce? If you have been party to this ridiculous affair, I can only hope you stand firmly by your decision."

  "Of course I stand firmly," Pierce said sharply. "We three have been friends since we were children. I know how they feel; I know those feelings have not changed. This entire time I have watched the situation closely, prepared to end the entire matter the moment I felt it was necessary. Not once have I ever felt so. They have always had my support and always will."

  St. Rose snorted indelicately. "I might have known some manner of scandal would follow in your wake, Pierce."

  "Pish posh," Cressida interjected. "If we'd had a row in the ballroom, then that would have been scandalous. I doubt this will even make the gossip columns."

  "That is enough out of you," her mother said firmly, but there was a trace of amusement in her voice that she could not entirely hide. St. Rose glared at his daughter.

  "Oh, honestly," Cressida sniffed. "I don't see what the fuss is about. Great grandmamma was not much better in the end."

  Silver stirred from the c
orner where he had been quietly observing the proceedings. "That has nothing to do with this," he said sharply. Rather more sharply than Pierce thought was necessary, but then again, he did not know this family story.

  "Oh, phooey on you," Cressida retorted, and Pierce suddenly felt afraid for Silver. That gleam in Cress's eye only ever spelled trouble. Silver glared at her and snarled at her to be quiet, but Cressida ignored him—and around them, the rest of the family had fallen silent. Clearly no one was willing to interfere when Cressida had that look in her eye.

  She turned abruptly to Pierce, smiling that too-sweet smile of hers that spelled not just death, but a slow and painful one. "Pierce, do you know this story?"

  "Um—"

  "It's rather embarrassing, so the family never speaks of it. My great-grandmamma was in love with another man, but was forced to marry my great-grandpapa. Still, she could not entirely give up her love for the man she could not have."

  "Cressida!" Silver hissed.

  She ignored him. "She wrote him letters; the family only discovered this after she had died and was quite horrified that it had been going on for so long. We took her letters into our keeping. They likely should have been burned, but for whatever reason, we have kept them."

  "Devil take you then," Silver snarled abruptly, pushing away from the wall and storming from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  "Well, I never," said Lady St. Rose. "Whatever has come over my children this evening?"

  "Pierce," Cressida said sweetly. "Pay attention."

  "Never fear," Pierce said dryly. "I know not what you're about, but I want to continue living. Finish your tale."

  Cressida nodded approvingly at his words and obediently continued. "The letters she wrote were lovely. At the end of each she always signed them 'watching from afar, a pale and distant star'. Because she'd always been called the Star, you see? It was her nickname among her peers."

  But Pierce had stopped listening, all of his attention focused solely on those words…and the way Silver had left. No—the way Silver had fled.