“What?” Elena swayed, all color draining from her face. Meryon reached for her, steadying her with both hands at her shoulders.
Mia was at her side immediately.
“Mia, I need to go home. Now.”
Elena turned away from Meryon with no further explanation of her distress. The two women left the ballroom through the little door at the back, the same one they had come through before.
It took all his ducal self-control not to hurry after her—not to find out why such news would upset her so, but to find out what he could do to help her. As quickly as those thoughts flew through his mind the answer came: Leave her alone and find a way to buy the violin for her. Give it to her as a gift, anonymously even. He never wanted to see her that upset again.
Meryon asked a footman to call for his carriage and on his way out he thanked Lord Monksford and his wife, explaining very briefly DeBora’s sale of the violin.
There was one other thing he could act on. He could send another apology to Elena. One from the heart. If Elena Verano could stand before strangers and share herself through songs of love, life, and loss, then he could write a letter to her that told the truth.
At home, in his study, he poured a brandy but did no more than sip it once.
Picking up his pen, he stared at the blank sheet of paper. It stared back, daring him to be as honest as Elena Verano had been. Meryon might have no hopes for a future with her, but he could prove that he did not need a dark room and anonymity to speak meaningfully and from his heart.
He called a picture of Elena to mind. The moment before she kissed him in the carriage, her eyes alight with laughter. Never, not once in his life, had he thought of laughter and kissing in the same breath. But with Elena it had seemed natural to smile back as their lips met. He realized now that that kiss had been only the beginning.
He would write the end now, with all the feeling he could wring from his aching heart.
33
ELENA AWOKE MUCH TOO early to rise when she had not gone to bed until two. She felt as though she had not slept at all, waking groggy, confused by dreams that she could not recall. Restless sleep was rare for her. It was her blessed godmother who had given Elena the key.
“You do not have to tell people, but …” Her madrina would always raise her finger to emphasize the word. “You must know for yourself the truth of yourself.”
Elena had lived by that rule. Alas, not perfectly, as last night’s sleeplessness proved.
Why in the world would the Duke of Bendas want Edward’s violin? Because he knew how much it meant to her. Because he wanted reconciliation and the violin would compel her to meet with him. Those were the two most viable reasons. Unfortunately, one did not exclude the other.
Elena could not know the answer without asking Bendas. The question she could answer was how she felt about a reconciliation or, at the very least, the need to approach Bendas about buying the violin from him.
She was tired. Tired of trying to understand. She wondered why her mind knew that but her heart had refused to give up.
She would reconcile with her father if it came from his heart. The “if” was too big. And that is what held her back.
Tears welled in her eyes. She had been so wrong about Meryon that she could not trust her judgment where any man was concerned. With Meryon she had come so close to finding love again, then discovered that he did not understand the concept at all.
Meryon had never told his wife that he loved her. That was a bit of honesty that told her more than all the other words between them. Now she was afraid that the Duke of Bendas was not capable of love either. Elena was not sure her heart could take that risk again.
She would live without them. Elena fell asleep, so very sorry for both Meryon and Bendas and sorry for herself.
THIS TIME MERYON had no expectation of an answer from the Signora and lost himself in the various prospectuses his brother David had sent. He had examined them before. This time he made a list of detailed comments and asked David to add any questions he might have, meet with the men whose projects had been selected, and start the contract process as soon as possible.
Meryon had completed his letter to William Wilberforce and was rereading it when there was a scratch at the door.
John Coachman came in, hat in hand, looking embarrassed but determined. The duke acknowledged his salute with a nod.
“You have something to tell me.”
“Yes, Your Grace. I’m sorry, Your Grace.”
“Tell me.” Meryon could not imagine it was nothing, not if the majordomo had allowed the coachman to come to his study.
“It’s the boy, Wilson, Your Grace. I saw him yesterday talking to a man out in the square while he was walking the dog. They were arguing, and the man made as if to take Magda, and the boy ran off with the dog. That ended it, Your Grace. But this morning he would not take the dog out to the square, only walked her up and down the mews, and swore at anyone who questioned him.”
“I see. He has been a competent employee as far as I can tell. And honest. Tell me if I am wrong.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Happy as a lark most days except for when he has to take his wages to his mother. He comes back no happier for the visit home. Your Grace, I think this is his home now. But it weren’t right, yesterday. I could see he was angry and scared, if you know how you can tell that by the way someone stands.”
“Yes, yes, I do. Thank you.”
“Oh, no need to thank me for bringing what could be bad news, Your Grace.”
“Yes, there is, Coachman. You could have more comfortably ignored it.”
“Not really, Your Grace. This is my home too, and I like the boy and would hate to see him take a wrong turn.”
“I still say thank you.” Meryon stood up and nodded.
“Then you are welcome, Your Grace,” the servant said as he bowed himself out of the room.
Meryon wasted no time sending for Wilson. The boy came to him, smiling and proud. Meryon wasn’t sure if the livery added to his cockiness or made it less offensive. Meryon stood behind his desk, towering over the boy.
“Wilson, I can see that you like it here.” He would not be angry, Meryon reminded himself, not before he knew the truth. “At the very least you like the clothes you wear and I can guess you like the food you eat.”
“Yes, sir, Your Grace,” the boy said, his smile fading.
“And you like Magda.” He could not help but smile a little. He had seen Rexton and the boy playing with the dog, all three acting like puppies, which none of them were.
“Yes.” The smile was back, a grin now.
The boy did love that dog.
“Then tell me the truth about who you were talking to in Penn Square yesterday.”
Wilson’s smile disappeared. He looked like a trapped animal. Meryon waited, prepared for the worst.
“I don’t want to lose my job, or leave Magda. Lord Rexton’s been showing me the globes and giving me books to read. Please, sir, Your Grace.”
“Explain what you did to endanger your position here.” Meryon knew he sounded like an unsympathetic magistrate, but Wilson’s first words were not encouraging.
“I said no, sir, Your Grace. I said no both times.”
“Explain. I offer no promises until I hear the truth.”
The boy seemed to shrink by inches. Wilson stared at something on the desk for almost a minute, took a deep breath, and began. “The day after I came to work, a man stopped me when I was walking back from my mother’s. He asked me if I wanted to earn five pounds, maybe more. I was that suspicious, sir, Your Grace. There weren’t be nothing honest that anybody would pay you five pounds for. But I said as how maybe and what did he want me to do.”
The boy took a deep breath. “He said that all I had to do was loosen the wheel on the carriage.”
“Loosen the wheel.” The duke repeated. So it had not been an accident.
“Yes, sir, Your Grace, but I said no. As how someone might be hurt.
He said that was the idea and that if someone in the carriage was to be hurt bad he would pay me ten guineas and if someone died, man or woman, he would give me one hundred.”
“Man or woman. He said man or woman.” My God, Elena was in danger too. The boy might not be dishonest but he was viciously money-hungry. Meryon’s fury must have shown.
“I said no! I said no!” Wilson words came out loud and panicked. “Don’t look like that. Please. You can beat me if it will make you feel better, but I told the man no and ran away as fast as I could. Ran and ran and ran back here.”
“I will not hit you. I would never hit you.” There are worse things he could do, but he kept that to himself. Meryon relaxed his fist. “Go on.”
“I didn’t tell anyone ‘cause I was afraid I would be let go and then my mum would kill me.”
Meryon’s anger faded to a dull glow. He did not think Wilson was lying about his mother.
“Then when the carriage wheel did come off I knew the man had found someone else to do the job.”
That was easy enough to figure out. “The groom who had to stay behind when you all went for cake.”
“Yes, at least I think so. He’s gone now. Walked off without notice not three days after that happened.”
“But you still said nothing.” The question was implicit in the statement.
“No. ‘Cause of Magda.”
“Go on,” Meryon urged, not quite understanding the connection.
“She needed me. To walk her and take care of her, especially after she was hurt. I didn’t want to leave her,” the boy said, the first sign of tears showing.
“Then yesterday the man came back.”
“Yes, sir, Your Grace. He told me that I would do what he said or he would kill Magda for sure this time.”
“So the man had a different plan. Tell me what it was.” He would kill the bastard for endangering Elena, making the boy’s life a misery, and threatening Rowena’s dog.
“I don’t know, sir, Your Grace. I ran before he could tell me. Honest. I didn’t want to hear.”
“I am very disappointed that it never occurred to you to tell someone.”
“I thought about asking his lordship’s tutor, but I was afraid he wouldn’t let me sit in on the lessons if he knew. I couldn’t’ve held out much longer, sir, Your Grace. My gut is in a knot and I can’t sleep without nightmares about Magda.” Wilson rubbed his stomach as if it was still aching. “For sure, I couldn’t ‘a kept quiet much longer,” he said again.
“I assume you have never seen the man before or since.”
“Oh, but I did, Your Grace. At one of the parties, the big one at the palace. He was coming out with an old man, a real important, real old man who had a carriage even fancier than ours.”
Rogers. Bendas had put Rogers up to this.
“There’s something else you have to tell me.” When the boy looked at him with something like amazed fear, Meryon just smiled.
“Yes, sir, Your Grace. I was thinking, after the men attacked us in the mews, that maybe the firecracker weren’t an accident either.”
The idea had never occurred to him. Meryon prayed it was a virtue that the boy could think like a criminal. “Good thinking, Wilson. You might be right.”
Wilson stood straight again, as if expecting to hear he would be transported to Australia the next day.
“You made an excellent report, Wilson. If a little late to be particularly useful. If this happens again”—the boy looked stunned at the idea that this might be a regular occurrence—”tell someone immediately. Now, back to the stables and catch up on your work.”
The boy stood in place, still waiting.
“That’s all,” Meryon said impatiently.
“Can I still take care of Magda?”
“Yes. Nothing changes, Wilson, except for the tonguelashing you will have from the head groom if you are any later seeing to your duties.”
“Yes, sir, Your Grace,” the boy called as he raced from the room. Meryon could have sworn he heard a “Whoo-hoo!” cheer as the door closed.
The duke sat down, stunned at the boy’s revelations. Elena had been a target as well. Or at the least, which was still appalling, Bendas would not have cared if she died too.
He walked over to the window and stared out into the back garden. A servant or two hurried across the open space, probably using it as a shortcut from one part of the house to another. The early flowers were in bloom and one of the gardeners was pruning and trimming. Meryon tried to let the everyday activities calm him.
Meryon knew Bendas was mad but he’d always thought Rogers was there to keep his insane ideas in check, not to abet them. He had to take action. To protect Elena and his own household.
Acting the gentleman was the last thing he wanted to do, but he would wait for an hour and if Lord William did not come he would take matters into his own hands, beginning with a visit to Elena, talking with Tinotti if she would not receive him, and then the Bendas trustees.
Meryon sat down, distracting himself with the realization that Elena could be reading his note at this very minute.
34
IN THE VERANO HOUSEHOLD, breakfast was always served late the morning after an evening performance. Usually they were all voraciously hungry and in the best of spirits, congratulating each other on the high points. After they had eaten they would talk about the weaknesses and plan further practice, rehearsals, or teaching as needed.
Elena ate what was put in front of her and listened as Mia rattled on about how successful the evening had been. But for Elena the day did not really begin until the butler handed her a letter that had arrived a few hours before.
The moment the butler gave it to her, she excused herself from the breakfast table and went up to her room, her head so filled with speculation that she walked by the door to her boudoir.
The maid had already tidied the room and Elena could hear her in the bedchamber. Closing the door, Elena then went to her desk, broke the seal, and spread the paper out before her.
She read it through four times. The salutation brought tears to her eyes, so she could not make out every word and had to read it again.
My dear Signora Verano. My dear Elena,
If it were possible to turn back time, I would. The hours and minutes would begin at that very moment when we kissed in Hyde Park, when I recognized the longing in you that matched my own.
I would also know that the first time we met, and each time thereafter, was a gift and not something to be suspicious of. Before God, I apologize for the insult I will not even name that finally made you abandon me.
There is no place to put the responsibility for these numerous insults but squarely on my shoulders, where it weighs me down as though I were Atlas bearing the world.
Perhaps any intimacy between us is unwise. I fear you would too soon grow tired of my constant need to apologize, and would look elsewhere for someone who can treasure you without limitation.
The time we shared together, as strangers and at the most intimate, is in my heart, a treasure that I can relive when I want to torture myself with what might have been.
With profound respect, deepest admiration, and undying affection I will always be your devoted servant,
Lynford Pennistan
The third time she read the note for turn of phrase, the meaning behind each sentence. The salutation told her Lynford Pennistan was at once a gentleman and a lover. Both and neither.
The kiss in the park was the first time Meryon had felt that yearning? He had not known it was the reason for their quiet conversation in the dark? He had not wanted it ever since their second meeting? Or had he been so caught up in his fear of exposure that he had not even noticed?
No man existed who knew what a treasure he had until she was gone. He had said as much about his Rowena. Did he think it was a lesson he had learned with her death? She supposed it was possible.
The last line she had already memorized.
The time we shared
together as strangers and at the most intimate is in my heart, a treasure that I can relive when I want to torture myself with what might have been.
May it torture you always. She thought it and wished she meant it.
Elena did not know whether to laugh or cry. So she settled for a tear-filled smile. He had signed it as Lynford Pennistan. Not the duke. But they were one and the same.
This letter was Meryon at his most honest, both charming and incredibly frustrating. And he could still not say the word love. It would cost him.
She could never give herself to a man who could not accept that, for her, love was at once the greatest gift and the greatest responsibility.
That was one of the things her godmother had not had to teach her in her urgings to know herself.
Elena had known that from the moment she had decided not to sing the song her father chose and to sing one that she liked better. She knew it was a test of his love, which he had failed.
The consequences had astounded her, but she could have made no other choice. Even at fourteen she had become a woman who would not compromise on the important things, and at fourteen what she would sing was as important to her as her father’s votes in Parliament were to him. Now it was love that could not be compromised.
“Is it an invitation, signora? Will I need to prepare another ensemble for you?”
Elena did not turn around for fear that Tina would see tears on her cheeks.
“No. It’s a personal letter, Tina, one that needs no response.” She tucked it into the drawer.
When Elena turned to her maid she wore a smile with no tears behind it. “Now please, tell me that Mia understands that I must go by myself to this lesson. Signor Ponto will see her when he can fit it into his schedule.”
“Lord William is coming later and I think Mia will be quite content to practice her English with him.”
It was not the first time Elena wondered what “practicing English” was a code for, but she was sure it was too late to try to find out.
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