Any Old Diamonds

by KJ Charles

  The Duke drew himself up slightly. Alec suspected he was not entirely pleased to be grouped with a mere earl and countess, but at that moment a man’s voice said, “Greta, how lovely! Hello there, Tim.”

  Lady Moreton’s face lit up at the sight of a very handsome young man of Indian looks in a remarkably well-cut suit. He was accompanied by an even younger woman who bore a strong resemblance to him, in a gloriously frothy white dress with a huge feather curling from her hat. “Freddy, Sophia, how delightful to see you! Now, I am sure you know the Duke of Ilvar.”

  The young man gave a gracious smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Lady Moreton said. “Your Highnesses, His Grace the Duke of Ilvar. Sir, Prince Frederick and Princess Sophia Duleep Singh.”

  “Your Highnesses.” The Duke bowed, somewhat stiffly. He wasn’t often obliged to do that.

  Alec and Jerry bowed as well, in silent unintroduced obscurity. The Prince and Princess were children of the last Maharaja of the Sikh empire, with Princess Sophia the goddaughter of the Queen herself. Their father had signed away his empire to Britain as a child, but his offspring still had its titles, even if they were empty, and its coffers, which weren’t.

  “Delighted to meet you,” Prince Frederick told the Duke graciously. “I believe you’ve a horse running?”

  He and the Duke exchanged a few words about odds and the state of the ground, while Lady Moreton engaged Princess Sophia in conversation that quickly became animated. The royal siblings moved on after a few moments, taking the Earl and Countess with them, and the Duke gave Alec a look in which he was sure he detected a glimmer of approval. “I wasn’t aware you knew the Moretons.”

  “Yes, sir. The Countess is charming, and Penny—Lady Penelope—is a wonderful young lady. There are twin boys as well, who are rather a handful.”

  “Hmph,” Ilvar said. “Not much to them in the way of land, is there? And some sort of trouble, I recall.”

  “There was a bad business with the previous Lord Moreton. Bigamy,” Alec mouthed, for discretion, though the scandal was two decades old. “The current earl inherited unexpectedly. They’re not great landholders, but Lord Moreton’s known for good management and they’re widely liked.” He hardly needed to point that out, considering Lady Moreton was on first-name terms with marchionesses and princes, but the Duke’s instinct was ever to dismiss those lower than himself.

  “And you’ll be dancing with their girl at the Cirencesters’ ball.”

  Alec attempted an embarrassed smile, very conscious of Jerry’s silent presence. “If she’ll have me. And if I receive an invitation, naturally, but Lady Moreton is very close to Lady Cirencester, and very practical.”

  “Well.” The Duke seemed to be considering. “Good company to keep.” He gave Alec a nod, seemed about to move on, then said, “By the way. Have you arrangements for the summer?”

  “None, sir.”

  “I’ll have Merrow write to you.”

  He passed on without further acknowledgement. Alec and Jerry spent a little longer in the enclosure, then sauntered out. They chatted idly on the way to the railway station, and in the crowded compartment, then once they were finally in a hansom cab, Jerry let out a long breath. “That was promising.”

  “I think it was,” Alec said. “I think he’s going to invite me.”

  “Did you plan to meet the Moretons there?” Jerry slanted a brow.

  “I found out when they’d be going. I did think, if Father saw me with the right sort of people, it might help. The royals arriving was an unexpected stroke of luck.”

  “Wasn’t it. You know, if you’re such pals with the Moretons, who are such pals with the Duleep Singhs—”

  “I’ve never even been introduced to Princess Sophia so no, I can’t help you rob them.”

  “Oh, well, worth a try. You were saying?”

  “Only that Lady Moreton is awfully good friends with Lady Cirencester, and that’s the kind of connection I think Father wants. I’m not sure how he feels about Indian royalty, but the Duchess would very much like to condescend to Lady Cirencester without the risk of being cut dead in return.”

  “Ouch,” Jerry said. “So what’s the lure you’re trailing with the Moretons’ girl?”

  Alec made a face, feeling vaguely embarrassed. As if Jerry would care. “It’s not really a lure. It’s—well, the thing is, Penny is still very young, and I’m afraid she has developed rather a novelistic view of me.”

  “Novelistic?”

  “Living in an attic, simultaneously well born and utterly unsuitable, a starving artist, yes I know, don’t laugh. She’ll grow out of it. Lady Moreton, who is enormously sensible, would far rather Penny realised for herself that I’m not an interestingly romantic figure at all, so she’s made a point of being friendly. She says Penny would like nothing more than for her wicked parents to oppose the match.”

  Jerry raised a brow. Alec sighed. “It’s nothing to do with me at all, not really. Penny just wants a romance. A proper melodrama with hearts and souls everywhere. Her twin brothers want to be circus performers.”

  Jerry snorted. “I see.”

  “They’re quite a family. But meanwhile—well, if my father thinks I might be on the verge of a society wedding, if he believes he could find advantage in that, it might help.”

  “Your brother’s married, isn’t he?”

  “Father didn’t attend,” Alec said. “It was before the final estrangement but things had been worsening for a while and Melissa’s aunt very helpfully died—that sounds dreadful—anyway they had a small private ceremony and George didn’t ask him to come. I’m sure he’d see the advantage in a big wedding now, with an earl’s daughter and the Cirencesters present and so on.”

  “Clever.”

  Alec ducked his head. “Well, it’s what you said. Giving him what he wants.”

  “Mmm. You don’t think the Moretons might actually consider you eligible, once you’re back in your father’s favour? He could settle a very nice income on you if you wanted.”

  “Possibly, but it’s not something I’d consider,” Alec said. “I couldn’t give Penny a normal marriage. I’ve no inclination that way, and even if I did, I’d still be what I am, and I can’t imagine any woman wanting that in a husband.”

  Jerry’s brows drew together. “What do you mean, what you are?”

  “You know very well. All the things you like about me. Passivity and pliancy and helplessness—”

  “Wait a moment. For one thing, there are plenty of women who like the whip hand in the bedroom. For another, why the tone of voice? What’s wrong with you?”

  Alec almost laughed. “Well, I’m not precisely manly, am I?”

  “Perhaps not, by the usual definition. Would you say I am?”

  Manly. Alec thought of Jerry’s contained violence, of his dark lust for control, and the way he’d probed into Alec’s needs to satisfy them both. “Well, yes, of course. You’re the very opposite of me. You know what you want and you do it without hesitation. You take charge.”

  “How flattering. So Lady Penelope would be better off married to me?”

  “Christ!” Alec found himself genuinely appalled. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not? Because I’m a dangerous degenerate who oughtn’t be allowed near an innocent virgin?”

  “Well, without putting it quite that way...”

  “Indeed. This isn’t about ‘manliness’, whatever that may mean. You ought not to marry any passing girl, not because you’re lacking in some way, and certainly not because you don’t have sufficient character, but because you have particular tastes that require a particular partner. That’s all, and it’s hardly unusual. I’m not sure how anyone expects a marriage to succeed when the couple are obliged to unite for life before finding out whether their desires are compatible.”

  “It probably explains why there are so many unhappy marriages.”

  “And you refuse to add to their ranks, e
ven though you have wealth, social position, and your father’s approval for the taking.” Jerry’s brows twitched. “I don’t know about manly, but I’d call that decent.”

  Alec felt himself blush. “Hardly. I’m not doing something good, only refraining from doing something bad.”

  “Trust me, most people don’t refrain. Talking of which, I should like to know what it is we do, or what I might make you do, that you consider particularly unmanly.” He rolled his tongue over the word.

  Alec swallowed. “Er, why?”

  Jerry’s grin was satanic. “Guess.”

  THE INVITATION TO THE Ilvars’ anniversary celebration came at last. Alec’s attendance was commanded from the first of August, for the whole period from the small house party to the grand dinner.

  “Now we need to get me in,” Jerry said. “It’s not a disaster if you can’t, you can take Templeton as your valet, but two of us will be a great deal better than one. Will there be any other young men there? If there aren’t you can hint you need company, and if there are, you can suggest I’d add to the gaiety of the event. But let’s see you ingratiate yourself with your father first.”

  Alec did his best, thanks to the promised invitation to the Cirencesters’ ball, where he duly danced with Lady Penelope. She was a tall buxom girl, almost his own height, who would probably be called handsome rather than pretty, but she had her mother’s eyes and smile, which in Alec’s opinion qualified her for beauty. Her sparkling looks and blushing giggles as they danced three times produced a crop of arch speculation about Lord A.— and Lady P.— in the society columns.

  “I am considering extending an invitation to the Moretons to the celebratory dinner,” the Duke of Ilvar informed him. “While not of the highest rank, they are acceptable, and your stepmother has been most pleased with Lady Moreton’s recent courtesies.”

  “That is very generous of you, sir. Uh, do you—do you propose to invite Penny?”

  “I do not,” Ilvar said majestically. “It is not a gathering of young people and I should rather not give rise to the inevitable speculation that such a visit would create. A wise man considers before linking his family to another.”

  Alec had to dig his nails into his palms, and even so it took him a moment before he could say, “Yes, sir. Will there be any other young people in attendance, may I ask?”

  Ilvar gave him a knowing look. “Worrying you’ll be bored, boy?”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing the house again, sir. But, well, I’m more considering if I’ll have much to contribute to the conversation.”

  “Very true,” his father said, unflatteringly.

  “Just a thought, but my pal Vane—you’ve met him once or twice, sir; he found Her Grace’s bracelet? He’s going up to Scotland for the grouse shooting at much the same time. Perhaps, if it wouldn’t be overburdening the staff...”

  And that was Jerry’s invitation to the house party secured. Not to the formal dinner, but he seemed unworried. “We’ll aim to take the thing before the great unveiling. Frankly, I’d rather be gone before the Moretons arrive.”

  “Oh. Why?”

  “Templeton,” Jerry said elliptically. “Wouldn’t want them seeing him. Warn me if they’re liable to arrive before the rest of the guests for the grand dinner, won’t you?”

  Alec nodded. They were strolling in Hyde Park, taking advantage of the morning before the heat became intolerable. London was baking in the mid-July heat, and it had been a dry spring; the grass was yellowing, the flowerbeds wilting. He found himself thinking of Castle Speight. His childhood home was not a place of happy memories, but the grounds were extensive, lush and green, cool and damp in the mornings, and the moors above them stretched for miles. One could breathe clean air there, at least outside the castle.

  “Not long now,” Jerry said. “Are you prepared? Anything worrying you?”

  Alec almost laughed. “Well, a few things. No, I’m ready.”

  Jerry didn’t respond immediately. Finally he said, “When we embarked on this I told you we wouldn’t be open to changes of mind or heart. In or out.”

  “I know. I’m in.”

  “I’d like you to consider that again.”

  Alec blinked. “I told you—”

  “No. Listen. I’m not suggesting you’re not committed. I understand you want to strike at your father. I know how much this has already cost you. But one thing I have learned in this game is that sometimes you have to walk away from an investment.”

  “Wait,” Alec said. “Is there a problem? Are you backing out?”

  “No, I’m not, but I would like to be sure the cost isn’t too high for you. Look, everything you have done so far is Lord Alexander. Apologising to your father, alienating your siblings, seeming to disregard his actions for profit: you know it’s all lies. But if you abuse your father’s hospitality to help me rob him, that is not Lord Alexander, and it won’t be a lie. That will be you, Alec. You’ll be a traitor and a thief.”

  “You’re a thief.”

  “Yes, and I’m not a good man.” Jerry was looking away, tapping the path with the end of his walking cane in a light manner that suggested he was making an effort not to do it harder. “I’m not a good man but you are. And this is a betrayal.”

  “Sorry?” Alec said. “You do remember what my father did?”

  “Your father is a piece of shit, and you aren’t. I’ve forced you into enough things—”

  “You have not. I made my choices.”

  “I don’t want you to force you into this,” Jerry went on over him. “I want you to consider that, no matter what, this will be a betrayal and to be sure that won’t eat away at you, because betrayal does. It’s one of those sins that sits in the gut.”

  “I find it hard to believe you’re warning me about sins.”

  “Who more qualified?” Jerry asked, with a mocking twist that Alec didn’t feel was directed towards him. “I’m not moralising; that would be a ridiculous spectacle. I just wanted to say that you can change your mind. You don’t have to; I am very ready for the job. But if you’ve had second thoughts, if you fear this will damage you, if you want to stop for any reason, I won’t hold it against you, and I will make sure Templeton doesn’t either.”

  Alec licked his lips. “Do you think I should stop?”

  “I fear this will hurt you. That’s not the same thing. Look, betrayal is the great unforgivable in my line, and, not unrelatedly, common as hell. When I go down, it will be because someone I trust sells me out, and I only hope it’s not Temp. It’s—ugh, how can I put this? Corrosive to the soul, even souls as tarnished as mine. I’d rather not see you suffer that.”

  “But don’t you feel, if someone has done something terrible, one should take whatever steps are necessary?”

  “Of course I do. You can’t betray someone to whom you owe no loyalty. But it’s probably quite difficult to tease out what loyalty means when it’s one’s father. I think he—if he were to find out—would feel betrayed. Don’t you?”

  “Why should what he feels matter to me?” Alec demanded. “Why should I care?”

  “You shouldn’t in the slightest, but I’m not certain you won’t. God damn it, I’m not trying to persuade you of anything. Left to myself I’d clean out Castle Speight of everything down to your father’s false teeth. All I’m saying is that I don’t want this to hurt you—I don’t want to hurt you—and if we go ahead, I don’t want it to be because you were afraid to ask me to stop.”

  Alec stared ahead at the park, the trees, a swirling flock of starlings. He couldn’t look at his companion.

  He was going to commit a betrayal. Jerry was absolutely right about that. The months of lies were going to reach a culmination in Castle Speight, the trap he’d helped build would be sprung. He’d embarked on this path certain in his soul that it didn’t matter what he did so long as his goal was clear, his heart pure. The lie of that had become clear weeks ago.

  Jerry was right. If he did this, he wouldn’t
be able to forgive himself. It would be unforgivable.

  He made himself think of holly berries squashed on the floor, the sharp smell of greenery and church candles, and the terrible void in his heart left by Cara, who had made them all promise never to forget what Father had done, and he took a deep breath. “We’re going to do it.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  They had first-class tickets up to Broughton. The Duke of Ilvar paid for it all.

  Alec arrived at Euston in a hackney, and a sweat. A railway station on a hot day was always a little bit like Hell and this was no exception. Whistles screamed and wheels screeched like souls in torment; steam billowed across platforms; the heat radiated out from the great black iron demon-steeds and beat down from the iron-girded roof, which lay suffering under the relentless sun. Ladies’ finery drooped; men’s collar-points wilted; bouquets and buttonholes lost their freshness as quickly as their wearers in the grimy, sweaty streets. Men and women hurried by, craning their necks to catch sight of clocks, platform signs, trains, or loved ones. And in the middle of it, cool, unhurried, in a light summer jacket and a very dashing grey soft hat, was Jerry, with an impassive black-clad clean-shaven attendant by his side. It took Alec a second look to recognise the well-built serving man as Templeton Lane.

  “Alec, old man,” Jerry hailed him. “You cut it fine. Let’s take our seats. Leave your bags with Fanshaw, he’ll deal with it all.”

  Alec indicated as much to the porter, tipped him, and followed Jerry down the platform. He didn’t dare look at Lane, who would doubtless be travelling third.

  The coach was one of the older style, divided into compartments of two facing benches. There were already two suited men in there. Alec nodded politely and seated himself opposite Jerry.