“It must have been devilishly hard for you, losing your only son that way,” she said.
“Our son.” His jaw hurt from his clenched teeth.
Her painted brows shot up. “Of course. Our son.”
“Fred took it hard as well.” Her eyes widened and darted away. Charles had always known he didn’t father Julia’s child, but he loved him from the moment he held him for the first time. When his cousin and friend, Frederick Wheatly, had returned from India to become steward of the Murnane family seat, Eversham Hall, three years before, they had finally accepted what was plain to many others. Fred may have sired Jonny, but Charles was his father in every way that mattered.
She put on a smile meant to sparkle. “Fred came back? I’ll posit a guess he is a wealthy nabob, rolling in Bengali jewels.” She looked almost hopeful.
“Hardly. He has married and has four children. He and Clare manage Eversham Hall and the estate, and, of course, he is my heir now. His boy Arthur may be duke some day.” Arthur Charles Wheatly, two years old and brimming with health and life. God forgive how much I envy Fred.
“But Charles, you could—” The hand she raised to gesture with fluttered to her lap under the force of his glare. “That is, if you truly need a legitimate heir, I—”
“Offering your body for money, Julia? Not the first time I suspect. What is it you want?”
Her tightly pursed lips trembled. “You’ve been so miserly,” she ground out at last. “How am I supposed to live?”
“The solicitors notified you three years ago that no further allowance would be forthcoming from the Murnane estate.”
“That was horrid of you. Darling Conte Giacomo dropped me the day the message arrived. I’ve struggled ever since.”
“You must have run through the last of the Murnane jewels,” he said. “The tiara in Madras cost me a small fortune.”
She gave a shrug and sniffed. “It isn’t as if you have a use for them.” Her expression turned vulpine. “Unless you plan to offer them to Sudbury’s chit in exchange for . . .”
His fisted hands ached from the effort to keep from throttling the tart. Before he could formulate a sufficient retort, she went on. Her mask slipped entirely, revealing the unbridled calculation beneath it. “A word here. A word there. How long before London knows Lady Zambak Hayden has engaged in an affair with a married man? The ladies of Macao already believe you are a seducer of innocents, and a violent abuser as well,” she said, triumph giving force to her last words.
The suddenness of his movement stunned her. He gripped both her arms and put his face inches from hers, rage pouring from him. “Say what you want about me but stay away from Zambak. She has done nothing to you.”
She blinked, but calculation returned quickly. “You do want her! What would Sudbury say about that?”
He dropped her arms as if they were hot iron and ran one hand across his neck.
“Alas, Charles you prove the rumors. A man who assaults his wife cannot be trusted with innocents.” Her laugh, ragged and spiteful, ended in a coughing fit.
“Hurt her, and I will destroy you,” he roared.
Her laugh had brittle desperation in it. “Too late for that,” she said.
Something in that desperation struck him as significant. “Has Jarratt not been forthcoming with cash?” he asked.
“William Jarratt is a boor and a brute,” she said, something thick in her throat deepening her voice. An expression of genuine disgust, quickly shuttered, skittered across her face, and she licked the side of her cracked lips. “For sufficient financial assistance, I could make the rumors go away.”
Having seen Julia’s state, Charles suspected the ladies of Macao would not be fooled for long in any case. If Zambak came to harm in the meantime, however, he wouldn’t forgive himself, to say nothing of the hell he would face from her father.
“Let’s keep this simple,” he said. “You want money. You won’t get a farthing to stop your vicious gossip. I want something more.” He had her attention now. “Freedom. Come back to London with me, admit to the adultery the whole haut ton already knows about, and accept divorce with as little fuss as possible. I’ll make a one-time settlement on you. One time. We’ll be finished.”
“How much?”
He quoted a staggering sum. She tried to hide her delight and opened her mouth, but he held up a hand to forestall her demand for more.
“No more. That is my only offer. Cooperate or I’ll drag you back, let the scandal have full rein, and leave you with nothing after the divorce.”
She sank against the bench, accepting the inevitable. “Why now? You’ve been too weak-willed to do it all these years. Why now?”
“Jonny.” He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and lowered his voice. “I would never put Jonny through the ugliness of it. He’s gone now.”
“What of your uncle and all those loyal lapdog Wheatlys?” she chirped.
He brushed it aside. Will had urged him to divorce her for years, but she didn’t need to know that. “That is the only offer you will get.”
“I will need a small advance,” she wheedled.
He dreaded what she might call “small.” “No cash. I’ll rent a modest dwelling for you—that and credit at the butcher and green grocer—until I can arrange to go back to London. I have a commission to fulfill first.”
“Servants?” She raised her chin in a failed effort at contempt.
“One.”
“Nip farthing as always,” she sniffed. “How long until we leave?”
He considered his responsibilities. The report to the queen depended on Elliot’s actions. His report to Sudbury depended on what he could do for Thorn. As to Zambak—that situation had become too complicated for him to consider with Julia in front of him. “It may be a few weeks,” he told her at last. “I have work to complete.”
“Don’t take too long, Charles. I’ll get bored. You don’t like it when I get bored.” She sauntered away, swaying her hips to a man with no interest in her withered charms.
He leaned his elbows on his knees. He had done it; he would end his farce of a marriage once and for all. That much gave him consolation.
His foolish heart brought Zambak to mind, and he laughed at himself. Even divorced, he had nothing to offer her but a tarnished title marred by the two generations before him and battered heart corrupted by Julia. It will never happen. If I suggested it, her father would thrash me.
Chapter 16
“Thee describe someone deep in the grasp of opium, Zambak. The narcotic has thy brother firmly in its clutches.” Temperance squeezed Zambak’s hand. “Did thee also observe tremors?”
Zambak nodded, blinking back tears. “And he rubbed his arms violently at the end.”
“Some describe an itch nigh on to madness when the opium cannot be had.” Temperance put a gentle finger under Zambak’s chin and forced her to meet her eyes. “If you do what you wish, you must understand the terrible consequences. Pulling such a one as your brother from the pit in which he is mired will cause much suffering.”
Zambak pulled away and sniffed, sitting upright. “Are you suggesting I leave him there?”
“I suggest no such thing. He will die without help.” She studied Zambak closely. “I have seen strength in thee, and I believe thee have the courage to endure it, but it will take all thy skills and power to save thy brother. The effort will require all you can give it.”
“Will you help me?”
“Tell me first, Zambak. Why does thee wish to undertake this trial?”
“He’s my brother! He’s my father’s heir. He will be the Duke of Sudbury some day,” she said, raising her chin. Describing Thorn’s appearance dragged raw emotion to the surface. Pride demanded she reel it in. “My family’s honor is at stake.”
T
emperance’s face lost none of its intensity. “You wish to protect thy family’s prestige. Only that?” she asked.
“Jarratt wants to manipulate my father in some way through Thorn,” Zambak temporized. And me too if he can. She kept that thought to herself.
“Evil indeed. Will he succeed if thee do not act?”
“With my father? No. The duke is made of sterner stuff.” She held herself very still, but visions of Thorn refused to dissipate.
“Then why?” Temperance prodded.
This woman is merciless. Zambak’s heart threatened to burst open. “That man at Jarratt’s isn’t my brother Thorn,” she cried. “My brother radiates health and joy. He skips through life with a laugh on his lips. He—” She broke then, sobbing into Temperance’s waiting shoulder. Zambak had never been a watering pot; her inability to control weeping alarmed her.
“Tell me about thy brother, Zambak,” Temperance whispered, still holding her.
Zambak took a shuddering breath. Her tears subsided, leaving her drained and grateful for the embrace of her friend. “Thorn brought light to our house. When my parents quarrel—which they often do—the entire household descends into gloom. Even as a small boy Thorn would make us laugh. He pulled our brothers and sisters together in the nursery and peppered us with funny stories until he made every one of us laugh.” She warmed to her tale, describing pranks and mischief, until she grinned at the memory.
Smiling directly at Temperance, she said at last, “He also pokes holes in my nonsense when I get too bossy—never in a mean way, always with humor.” She sobered. “At least he did once. For the past few years, since the laudanum took him, he lives like a shadow of that boy, lost in his own world.” The respect she found in her friend’s eyes stunned her.
“I will help thee, Zambak,” Temperance murmured, “but thee must be prepared.”
“For the pain? I can bear it.”
“More than that. If thee restrain him, and force the opium from him, he may be well.”
“That’s what we want, isn’t it?” Zambak asked, puzzled by Temperance’s frown.
“In the end, he must choose. Only thy brother can decide if he wishes to remain free, and even then, he will struggle, perhaps for his entire life.”
Zambak sobered, considering what she had been told. “You mean, my effort could be for nothing?”
“Perhaps. He may never be the laughing boy thee remember,” Temperance concluded.
Zambak stiffened her spine. She could face the possibility of failure but not inaction in the face of the horror she saw. “So be it. We’ll do our best.”
Temperance nodded. “Thee are resolute. Thee will need to be. Come visit the new hospital. There is room there. Clean but secure. We will make thee welcome to bring thy brother, even against his will, and I will make space for thee to sleep nearby as well.”
Zambak, blinked, startled. She hadn’t considered the practical aspects of this. “You mean I’ll have to care for him. Physically.” She grimaced. She had ever hated the sickroom.
“Someone must wipe up his sick, soothe his aches, and watch over him so he does not harm himself. Would thee leave him to strangers?” Temperance asked.
At home we had servants—but no, Mother cared for each of us herself when we were ill. Another thought struck her. “Everyone in Macao will know.” Zambak murmured, still considering. Temperance waited at that, and Zambak answered her friend’s silent question. “I care not one whit about those people. I mind only for my parents’ sake, but they can bear it. Better Thorn alive with our reputation in tatters than destroyed by this evil.” She raised her chin and met Temperance’s gaze. “I will do it. I can, and I will—if we can convince—or coerce—him to come.”
Hours later Zambak waited in front of Mrs. Josie’s boarding house. “That rude woman told me I could not wait inside.” She stormed at Charles without preamble when he finally arrived. He hadn’t told her the nature of his business, but his appearance suggested it hadn’t gone well.
“Why are you here?” he demanded as if distressed to see her.
“I want to see Thorn again.”
“Zambak—”
“I spoke with Temperance Knighton. We have a plan for treating him. Now I need to find a way to remove him from that house.”
Charles took her hand in his. His smile, immensely sad, worried her. “By now your brother is back in the arms of Morpheus. There is no point in seeing him now. I’ll check in at Jarratt’s later tonight or tomorrow morning.”
She began to protest, and he yanked on her arm. “No. You will not go there. I’ll go and send word. We’ll formulate a plan. I promise.”
We. There it was again. She didn’t have to do it alone; she had Charles, and she had Temperance. She flung her head back fighting surrender, jerked it down again, and frowned.
Cow shite. “Very well, my lord tyrant. I will wait.”
It didn’t matter. When she came down for breakfast the next morning, Hua greeted her with a missive in Charles’s distinctive hand on a silver platter.
Unable to see Thorn. He returned to Whampao right after we left. We will talk later. C
~ ~ ~
Charles couldn’t say for certain what drove him to the newly opened medical center that morning. The Knightons’ description over dinner had impressed him, as had Daniel Oliver’s support and that of the Lau family. He could easily have had a bank draft delivered, but something drove him to see the place for himself. Perhaps the need for something clean and good would rinse the distaste his confrontation with Julia still in his mouth. Perhaps a visit there would keep him from seeking comfort from Zambak. Whatever the reason, he found the facility impressive and the ever-competent Temperance a rock of strength.
“Thy contribution is most welcome, Charles, but thee do not need to do my work.” A servant had called Temperance to the front before she could bathe the feverish and fretful child Charles took from her. He removed the cloth from her hand and urged her to go do what was needed.
“I have done more than my share of caring for a sick child, Temperance, and I’m good with children. I will manage this until you can send someone.” Her grateful smile warmed him, and he turned to the crib, the only occupied one of the four in the room. He wondered how long before the people of Macao discovered this place and the beds filled.
“Now, little one, shall we make you more comfortable?”
Cool clothes did their work eventually, and the tiny girl, perhaps two years in age, grew less restless, but no less unhappy. When she began to whimper softly, he reached in and pulled her into one arm. With his free hand, he applied a fresh cloth to her head and picked up the cup of water at his elbow and began urging sips into the tiny mouth. It seemed to settle her.
Voices down the hall alerted him that Temperance approached, perhaps bringing someone to take over. He turned to the door with a welcoming smile and came face to face with a stunned Zambak Hayden.
“Charles! What on earth?” She examined his tiny companion, peered deeply at him, and seemed to probe his heart.
“It’s a baby, Lady Zambak. Not an alien creature. Surely you’ve seen them before,” he laughed. “I rather like them.”
“I know. I mean, you’ve always been wonderful with the littlest ones, but here?”
Temperance laughed. “Charles came to contribute to our work and found himself lured into contributing more than money.” She reached down and took the toddler from him. “Thank thee for taking her while I greeted my other guest. We have not yet hired sufficient servants to care for those we expect to heal.”
“You are very welcome, Temperance,” he said. “The little one and I managed fine.” He rose, examined the wet stains on his coat, concluded they likely would dry without harm, and glanced up at Zambak. “What are you doing here?”
Only
then did he notice her distress. “Is there a problem?” he demanded. Has Jarratt bothered you? Or Julia?
“Zambak has seen what facility we have so that she may care for her brother and witnessed an unpleasant scene—a victim of opium dependence,” Temperance told him, bouncing the baby. “It is much to consider.”
She may care for . . . She plans to do it herself? She must have read his thoughts, because she squared her shoulders, determination in every line of her body.
“What needs to be done will be done,” she announced to them both.
Chapter 17
Bile rising in his throat, Charles studied the man who stood at ease across the Elliots’ drawing room accepting the greetings of his fellows, accepting adulation as his due. Tall and powerfully built, Jarratt looked about the company as if he ruled it. He glared at Elliot with open disdain. Oliver nodded at Charles, followed his line of sight, and shook his head. The Americans’ presence had been unexpected; they avoided Jarratt’s court.
His walk home from the clinic with Zambak that morning had not gone well. She demanded to storm Jarratt’s house and obtain her brother’s return from Whampao. He hated how quickly she deflated when she realized the foolishness of that idea, but he had been momentarily relieved.
To distract her, he had described Elliot’s plans to meet with the trader community and immediately regretted it when she rubbed her left middle finger with her thumb. He knew that gesture too well. “No. You will not confront Jarratt in front of all Macao,” he had said.
“How can I? Women will be excluded,” she responded bitterly before marching off, no doubt planning something worse.
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