Thomas sat forward, his elbows braced on his thighs, his head in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me? I had an allowance. I had made a friend or two at school. I might have done something…”
His protest warmed Theresa’s heart, because a part of him still wished she had sought his aid. She remained silent, though. Thomas was a man of the world, and while stubborn, he’d never been stupid.
“You did not want to involve me,” he said, sitting back, “because in the first place, my paltry funds would not have sustained you for long, and in the second, you were not of age. Grandfather would have hauled you back to Sutcliffe Keep at the figurative cart’s tail and restricted your freedom even more. I’m told this is the same reason slaves seldom run away—because the prospects upon recapture are too horrid to contemplate.”
Priscilla spoke clearly from the other room. “Top of the trees!”
Thomas was half out of his seat when Theresa put a hand on his arm. “She’s dreaming, reliving a moment on horseback with Matthew. She’s quoted Shakespeare in her dreams and done an amazing imitation of Sutcliffe’s butler rhapsodizing on the subject of cooking sherry.”
He sat back, wary gaze on the door to Priscilla’s room. “I hardly know my only niece. I hardly know you, Theresa, and yet I want to know who you’ve become and why. Who was your fiancé?”
“I would not have told you unless you’d asked. Sir Peter Hockstetter.”
“Shite.”
Oh, exactly. “I believe much of the time he was mad. He was certainly violent, and childless, but he and Grandfather had made the Grand Tour together. Sir Peter was willing to take me on because Grandfather had been able to keep my initial forays into wild behavior from becoming common knowledge among his cronies.”
“While I memorized Cicero and wallowed in the delights of Hindu.”
“While you finished growing up,” Theresa said, and that gave her a fierce satisfaction. Whatever else was true, Thomas had stomped, thrashed, and worked his way to a good life, free from Sutcliffe. She’d prayed for that too.
“Your letters from university were what sustained me, Thomas. I read them over and over, though I had to keep them hidden. Bertrand and Rothschild would have burned them if they’d found them.” Or exacted some extortionate fee for giving them back to their rightful owner.
Thomas rose, taking his boots to the door. “When I went to London, after university, I tried my hand at gambling and was good at it. I’d watched our cousins win, lose, cheat, and win some more. Most games of chance involve mathematics. Somebody suggested I frequent a particular hell, because Randy and Rotten played there, and one could win handsome sums off of them on a good night. Those two always won the sums back, for some reason, unless a fellow knew when to be called away from table.”
“You had no idea who Randy and Rotten were?”
“Not until they walked through the door, and I dodged out the back. They had aged, Theresa. Instead of high-spirited, idle young aristocrats, they were nothing more than their nicknames suggested—randy and rotten, and all I could think was that you had chosen them over me, over decency, over your own good name. I booked passage on a ship the next week.”
He stood by the door, and Theresa hoped he’d quietly slip into the corridor. She’d told him more than she’d intended to, and he’d believed her.
But no, he resumed his seat. “Tell me about Priscilla, but before you do, please be aware that Loris and I went up to London and met with my solicitors on the way back here from Sutcliffe. A trust has been established for my niece, and she’ll be handsomely dowered, if she ever chooses to marry.”
If she found a man willing to take an illegitimate bride to wife? Theresa was too grateful to press that point.
“Thank you, Thomas. I would never have asked, but thank you. Priscilla deserves to have choices I did not.”
Thomas’s silence was diplomatic, for given the circumstances of Priscilla’s birth, she might have very few choices indeed.
“Belmont raised the possibility that Priscilla’s conception was not consensual.”
Oh, Matthew. And yet, would Thomas be sitting in this darkened playroom had Matthew not forced such a consideration upon him?
“Tally ho!” Priscilla called, a heartwarming sound, even when the child was fast asleep.
“Grandfather’s health was failing,” Theresa said, choosing her words carefully. “I was still not yet of age, and Bertrand and Rothschild were coming around the Keep more and more often, whispering in corners, and casting glances my way that made my flesh crawl.”
“While I was…” Thomas waved a hand in circles. “Learning how to hold my liquor and flirt with tavern maids.”
While he was coming of age, far from the influence of two cousins who would have ruined him for sport.
“I needed to confirm my fall from grace for all time,” Theresa said, “and for that a child was necessary. I am not proud of the strategy I devised—I realized too late how Priscilla would suffer for my actions—but only a child proves a woman has entirely surrendered her chastity. If I could choose again, I’m not sure what else I might have done. Grandfather kept the eligible bachelors away, while the twins ensured the ineligible variety were ever close at hand.”
Not as close at hand as the loneliness, but examining that heartache took more courage than Theresa could summon in her brother’s presence.
Thomas scrubbed a hand over his face. He’d been a beautiful boy, and he was a handsome man. Theresa hoped she could watch him age, could have the comfort of his cordial regard as her own hair grew gray.
“I am relieved to know you were the author of your own ruin,” he said, “relieved being the closest I can come to naming a confusion of sentiments. You looked after Sutcliffe for me?”
“I knew you would inherit it eventually, and the twins left me alone as long as I became their free house steward.” They’d left Priscilla alone too, more to the point.
And Thomas.
“I’ve pensioned off most of the staff,” Thomas said, “and given the housekeeper leave to hire replacements. You did the best you could with a poorly disciplined, aging lot of slackers. In future, you’ll find the household more attentive to your needs, and to Priscilla’s.”
His tone was mild, simply a man tidying up a loose end two years after acquiring a title, but Theresa was studying her brother, watching the way firelight found the fatigue and sadness in his eyes.
Thomas was sad, not as a boy might be sad—mostly disappointment, some resentment—but as a man regrets what he cannot change.
Perhaps Thomas thought Theresa would turn down Matthew’s proposal, out of some excess of old shame, or desire to avoid her brother’s company.
“I had hoped never to return to Sutcliffe for anything but a visit, Thomas.”
“I do not relish sending you back there, but somebody is trying to kill the man who has offered you marriage. The attempts on Belmont’s life began only when he took an interest in you, which signal fact he doesn’t seem to have realized. I’m hoping you’ll return from whence you came, and for once allow me to protect you as I should have all along.”
* * *
Priscilla stared at the blank page, her sharpened pencil poised in her hand.
“Is that the story of your mama’s great adventure?” Miss Alice asked.
“Yes, Miss.” So far, the story was merely an empty page, a way to keep Miss Alice from fretting while Priscilla pondered a problem. “Are we to return to Sutcliffe Keep?”
Miss Alice was a prodigious knitter. Priscilla probably owned more scarves, caps, mufflers, stockings, and mittens than any other child in England, all courtesy of her governess’s knitting needles.
Those needles went still at Priscilla’s question, then resumed their steady clicking at a slower pace.
“Are you homesick, Priscilla?”
Priscilla wrote on the page: Once Upon A Time in a faraway land by the sea...
“Do you get homesick, Miss?”
&
nbsp; … where seagulls pooped on everything, and nobody had any friends…
“I do miss my home, Priscilla, especially around the Yuletide holidays. Cumbria is far to the north, and the seasons are different. We have a forest, a true forest, and high hills, almost like Scotland, but kinder.”
… and nobody ever rode a magical white horse, there lived three beautiful maidens. Their names were Alice, Theresa, and Pendragon, and they were kept prisoners in their castle by an awful monster named…
“Do you miss your family?” Priscilla asked.
The name of the monster was important, for he was very bad. He could have a simple name—Thomas the Terrible—or he could have a sermon-y name, like… MakeTrouble Meanface.
“I miss my siblings, Priscilla, but you mustn’t tell your mama I said that. I see my brothers occasionally, and they are very dear. After the first of the year, I’ll nip up to London and look in on them.”
“Before we go back to Sutcliffe Keep?”
Nothing had been said at breakfast, but Mama and Uncle Thomas had avoided looking at each other, while Aunt Loris had offered everybody tea a million times. Grown-ups thought they were so clever, but they were like the trails Mr. Belmont followed in the woods.
Easy to follow once you took the time to study them.
“I’m not sure what your mother has planned in terms of a return to Sutcliffe Keep,” Miss Alice said, starting a new row. She was working with solid black yarn made of lamb’s-wool, soft, but not at all pretty.
The monster was very hungry, and snatched seagulls right out of the sky for his dinner, but he’d eaten every seagull in sight, and so the beautiful maidens were growing alarmed…
Priscilla was not alarmed, she was furious. They had only just got here to Linden, Uncle Thomas and Aunt Loris had only just come home from their wedding journey, and Mama and Mr. Belmont had only kissed each other twice.
Now was not the time for the beautiful maidens to freeze and rattle their way back to the castle, and yet, at bedtime last night, Miss Alice had said that Mama and Uncle Thomas were having a discussion after dinner.
Discussions were not happy. Nobody laughed in the middle of a discussion, nobody made up a story with a happy ending.
“Miss Alice, would you tell me if you knew we were going back to the castle?”
Miss Alice rearranged her stitches along the needle so they were evenly spaced. “I would leave that discussion to your mother, Priscilla. I take it you do not want to leave Linden?”
“I hate Sutcliffe Keep. Here, I can play at the vicar’s house, and I have Tut. Nothing is made of stupid stones, and the food comes hot from the kitchens. The servants smile, and they don’t smell like mildew and fish. Sutcliffe is awful, and Linden is pretty. Mama doesn’t want to go back to Sutcliffe.”
Priscilla took little comfort from her mother’s position, though, because Mama’s discussions were peppered with unhelpful observations such as, “We must all occasionally do things we’d rather not, Priscilla Undine Jennings…”
“We are guests, Priscilla,” Miss Alice said, needles clicking away. “Your uncle is our host, and when he says our visit is over, then the visit is over.”
Uncle Thomas had said a great deal more than that. Priscilla hadn’t eavesdropped on purpose last night. She’d even tried to warn her elders that she was awake without letting them know they’d been overheard.
They’d been too busy having their discussion, much of which Priscilla hadn’t understood. That part about somebody trying to kill Mr. Belmont though, she’d heard that just fine. Mama had said Uncle was being fanciful and over-cautious, but then they’d gone off to discuss the whole business with Aunt Loris.
At breakfast today, nobody had discussed much of anything other than “pass the butter” and “the snow makes everything so pretty.”
Priscilla was angry at the thought of returning to Sutcliffe, not simply because the castle stank and had the creeping damp, but also because Mr. Belmont was a capital fellow who made Mama smile even when he wasn’t kissing her.
He rode white horses, he had golden hair, and his kiss had woken Mama from her enchanted sleep. A villain had entered the story, though, if Uncle Thomas was to be believed.
The monster’s name ought to be Vexatious Villainous, except both of those words were hard to spell right time after time.
“Is Mr. Belmont coming over to work with you and Tut today?” Alice asked.
“I hope so. Tut hopes so too.” Mama probably hoped so more than anybody. If somebody was trying to hurt Mr. Belmont, Mama would be upset.
Priscilla was upset, but she also knew that every handsome prince needed two things besides a princess: He needed a trusty steed, of which Mr. Belmont had an entire stable, and he needed a loyal page who guarded his back and kept a watch for wicked monsters.
If Mr. Belmont was in trouble, then Sutcliffe Keep was the worst place for his princess, and for his loyal page.
Chapter Eighteen
Matthew’s family had descended, Priscilla’s riding lessons were casualties of holiday disruption, and Theresa was once again avoiding her brother.
“This is simply a Sunday meal between neighbors,” Loris said, tucking the lap robe around Theresa. “The open house isn’t until Tuesday. Matthew’s brother and his sons are all on hand, and they will defend him stoutly.”
Not as stoutly as Theresa would. “A bullet can cut down many defenses.”
Thomas left off pretending to gaze out the coach window. “Belmont is the king’s man. He knows the criminal mind, and he has the loyalty of every member of his household. They are alerted to report any odd goings-on, any muttered threats at the Cock and Bull. We don’t even know for sure that he’s the target of ill will.”
Theresa wanted to smack Thomas for spouting reason, and she wanted to hug him. They weren’t on hugging terms, though, and might never be again.
“Have you met Matthew’s sons?” Theresa asked.
Thomas’s eyebrow—when had he acquired such eloquent eyebrows?—said he knew the change of subject for the dodge that it was.
“I know them,” Loris said. “Young gentlemen, of course. Christopher, Remington, and Richard. They have their father’s lively curiosity, his affection for hounds and horses, and they’re good-looking fellows.”
“If they treat you with anything other than perfect courtesy,” Thomas said, “you will apply to me, and I’ll address the situation.”
He could do it—now. Thomas could address situations involving his sister. The notion was heartwarming, also unsettling.
“Thank you, Thomas. I suspect Matthew’s sons will be civil on the few occasions they must deal with me.”
With Loris as referee, Theresa and Thomas had reached a compromise. Theresa would remain at Linden through the holidays, for that had been the original plan, but she would limit her dealings with Matthew to situations involving social groups, and if the risk to Matthew wasn’t resolved by the New Year, she would return to Sutcliffe Keep.
Matthew was concerned that ill will toward him could endanger Theresa, so she and Priscilla were to be sent away to the Keep for their own safety.
The irony of the Keep as a refuge was painfully exquisite.
“The boys won’t be civil to you if you’re scowling like that,” Alice said. “Priscilla will cast you as the monster in her latest story rather than the heroine, and that is a fate to be avoided. I wish we’d either get more snow, or the ground would dry out.”
The coach slowed to make the turn at the bottom of the Belmont lane.
“Watch out what you wish for,” Thomas said. “I don’t like the look of those clouds, and yet it’s too warm for December.”
The mild day was why Priscilla was up on the box with Beckman, that and Theresa’s unwillingness to tell her daughter of the planned return to Sutcliffe. Priscilla had made friends with two of the vicar’s daughters, she was enthralled with Tut, and already attached to her aunt and uncle.
Thomas tapped Theresa on
the knee. “Smile. We’ll get Belmont sorted out. He’s a canny fellow, and if his regard for you is genuine, it will survive a little distance.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Of course, Theresa had reassured herself with the same platitudes nine years ago: Thomas would sort himself out, make his way, and come back to Sutcliffe. He’d forgive, he’d see reason, he’d apologize for being so passionately offended.
He’d give Theresa a chance to explain and apologize as well.
Instead, he’d gone to the ends of the earth rather than make peace with his sister. Whoever wished Matthew ill might wait two years to strike again, and by then, some casserole-wielding sweet young thing with great, big—
The coach rocked to a halt, and Spiker opened the door. “Welcome to Belmont House. I see you’ve hired a new groom, my lord. A most fetching addition to your staff.”
Loris preceded Theresa and Alice from the coach. When Theresa emerged, Priscilla was still beaming down from the box, her cheeks rosy, her braids already coming undone.
“Mama, Mr. Beckman let me drive almost the whole way! The horses were ever so gentlemanlike and didn’t put a foot wrong.”
Thomas pried Priscilla loose from the coach and affixed her to his hip.
“Next you’ll be demanding wages from me,” he said, poking Priscilla gently in the ribs. “And your own livery and a place to sleep above the coach house.”
Beckman climbed down, the coach rocking with his descent. “Cease fretting,” he muttered to Theresa. “I kept my hands on the leaders’ reins the whole time. She’s a natural whip. Few children are.”
He sauntered off in the direction of the stable, and Thomas led the way to the manor house, Priscilla chattering madly the entire time.
“Priscilla is nervous,” Theresa murmured. “She knows she’s to meet Matthew’s sons.”
“You’re nervous,” Loris countered.
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