“It’s been a month since I was here.” Douglas, threw his greatcoat aside, strode to the fire and thrust his hands toward the flames. “Will you bring me a brandy, Carter,” he called to the butler. “That was a damnably miserable ride. Should have brought the carriage. Should have brought my valet, instead of—” He was going to say, “departing in haste like an idiot,” but thought better of it. He slung himself into an armchair and started to remove his boots.
Alex looked puzzled. “Only a month? Why are you back so soon? As I recall, you declared in no uncertain terms you would not return for at least six months, if then. Since everything’s running smoothly here...hmm.” A troubled expression filled his eyes. “You haven’t been privy to certain rumors, have you?”
Douglas, busy tugging at his left boot, looked up curiously. “What rumors?”
“Nothing. So why are you here? Don’t tell me you’ve finally become bored with the hedonistic delights of London.”
“Suffice to say, I wanted to come home. Must I explain my every action?”
Alex sniffed. “You can do as you please as you always do.” He frowned in deep concentration. “Now let’s see, what would most likely bring my brother back to Ravensbrook? Could it be he’s finally decided to put his indolent ways behind him and assume his rightful duties?” Alex cast his brother a meaningful gaze. “As well he should.”
Busy with his boot, Douglas muttered, “Not likely.”
“Then it must be a woman.”
Douglas looked up frowning. “What makes you think that?”
“Because I know you. What else would bring you back in this foul weather to a house you loathe and detest? No, Douglas, you don’t fool me. I can even tell you which woman it is.”
“Can you now?” With a great show of casualness, Douglas settled into his chair, stretching his now bootless feet toward the fire.
“Miss Lucinda Linley.” At his brother’s look of surprise, Alex went on, “Who else? I remember your telling me of your conversation when you met in the woods that day. Whether you realize it or not, there was a certain sparkle in your eye. I noticed it particularly because for once you’d abandoned that usual blasé attitude of yours. Have you seen her since?”
“Once, in London.”
“Ah. So it’s obvious the beautiful Miss Linley has intrigued you even further. Tell me, have you fallen in love with her?”
“Certainly not.”
“What then?”
Douglas stared long into the fire. “I have come home,” he finally said, “to assure myself that I do not care a groat about the aforementioned Miss Linley.”
Alex’s reply was a loud, skeptical snort. “Do you really expect me to believe such nonsense?”
Douglas frowned, annoyed. “Believe it or not, as you see fit.”
“Where in London did you see her?”
“We bumped into each other at Hatchards, quite literally.”
“I suppose you fell all over yourself trying to impress her.”
“On the contrary, I made her angry. Quite unintentionally, of course.”
“So now you’ve returned to Ravensbrook to...to...?” Baffled, Alex asked, “To what? Assure yourself you don’t like her? If that’s the case, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”
Silent, Douglas stared into the fire. He did not wish to talk further on the subject of Lucinda Linley, not even to his brother. Why admit his mind had been in a turmoil ever since he’d met the woman, especially since London? What an idiot he’d been, misleading her in Hatchards. What an idiot he was still—returning to Ravensbrook like some demented fool. Worse, he could produce no semblance of a valid reason why he’d returned, other than the flimsy excuse that he wanted to assure himself he was not enamored of her. No wonder Alex was looking at him that way. He must set his brother straight. “I have no desire to involve myself with any woman—other than Rose, of course.”
“And she doesn’t count.”
“All women count, Alex,” Douglas replied, slightly annoyed. “But I’m sure you grasp my meaning. Rose is a Cyprian. She scoffs at romance, as do I. She would no doubt double up with laughter if I suddenly professed out of the blue that I truly, deeply loved her and wanted to marry her.” Douglas chuckled at the preposterous thought before he continued, “The truth is, I lead a comfortable life and don’t want it changed one iota. I have my lodgings in London. I have my books. There’s Rose, an occasional night at White’s, a trip to Scotland now and then for grouse. I am so content it’s uncanny. In fact, I often wonder, how is it I deserve such bliss? Why, then, would I have the least desire to disrupt my life for a bit of baggage who watches birds?”
Alex regarded him skeptically. “You don’t fool me, you’re as transparent as glass.” His mouth pulled into a sour smile. “Bad enough, one of us has gotten involved with a member of Edgerton’s family. I shudder to think what would happen if we both did.” Having issued his startling statement, Alex sat back and waited for his brother to react.
After a second, in which Alex’s words sank in, Douglas sat straight and asked, “And what, might I ask, are you talking about?”
“I have been meeting in secret with Alethea Linley,” Alex promptly replied. As astonishment spread on his brother’s face, he continued, “In the woods—whenever we can meet—ah, Douglas, I have fallen madly in love with the darling girl.”
Caught off-guard, Douglas stared wordlessly before he finally managed a quiet, “What sheer folly, Alex. Good God, man, have you gone daft?”
Retaining his calm, as if he’d expected such a reaction, Alex replied, “I’ve not gone daft. I’m aware of the consequences. Belingtons don’t associate with Linleys–that’s all I’ve heard all my life. Well, they do.” He stood and declared, “Edgerton be damned, I shall marry the girl.”
Douglas rose to face him. “The deuce! I shall be dammed if you’ll marry a Linley.”
Alex glared at his brother, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. “I shall marry her! I must marry her!”
“Must?” asked Douglas, grasping the significance of the word immediately.
“Yes, must.” Much subdued, Alex sank back into his chair, his expression one of mute wretchedness. “It was there, in the deep woods...we...we...I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“Oh, my God.” Douglas felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. “Is she...?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. All I know is I shall marry Alethea if we have to run off to Gretna Green. We love each other. When we’re together, when we kiss, it’s like a fire igniting within me, it’s like—”
“You needn’t define passion to me, Alex.” Seeing his brother’s anguish, Douglas contained his anger. “Suffice to say, you will not, under any circumstances, do anything foolish. I need to think. I need—”
“Think all you want, Douglas, but I warn you, I shall soon take Alethea for my bride, you—Edgerton—the world—be damned!”
Ah, the passions of youth, Douglas thought as he took note of the bright determination gleaming in his brother’s eyes. Shocked though he was with Alex’s behavior, he felt a close affinity for what he had done. Softly he said, “Can we think on this a few days, Alex? Perhaps we can come up with a reasonable solution.”
“Very well,” Alex replied, clearly relieved Douglas had not, at the very least, cursed him and knocked him flat. “I shall wait, but bear in mind, only for a few days.”
* * *
It was getting close to dinnertime. Lucinda and Alethea sat in the main salon, both busy with their needlework. Lucinda’s mind was distracted. How she dreaded the approaching doomsday hour of eight o’clock! Every night, tension built within her as she contemplated how the family would soon gather in the dining room, heads down, eyes averted. Occasionally someone would make an attempt at a light topic of conversation, but however hard they strived to please Edgerton, it never worked. Every night, no matter what, he subjected his family to his criticism, haranguing, nastiness, and abuse.
How
she wished she could be elsewhere, anywhere but here. In fact, she wished she’d never come here in the first place. But then, if she had not come to Ravensbrook, she would never have gotten to know the sweetness of her Aunt Pernelia, or the charming capriciousness of darling Alethea. She would have missed her chance to bird-watch in woods thicker, more beautiful, more filled with birds—in fact, better in every way—than the woods at home. Then, too, she would not have had those lovely days in London with her new friend, Lady Perry. She had enjoyed herself tremendously, a visit marred only by that incident in Hatchards when she bumped into the insufferable Lord Belington. At least, she kept trying to convince herself he was insufferable. Even now, the memory was most troubling. She had been back at Southfield two weeks now, and for some reason still could not get the man off her mind. What she needed, she supposed, was some distraction, but now it seemed all she had to look forward to was Edgerton’s nightly tirades.
With a heavy sigh, Lucinda carelessly stabbed through the green velvet of her petit-point and pricked her finger. At her small cry of, “Oh!” Alethea gazed up from her own stitching and made a small moué.
“What’s wrong, Lucinda? You’ve been so quiet, ever since you returned from London.”
Lucinda quickly mulled over which of her problems she should disclose and which not. Naturally, she would not discuss Edgerton, who was, after all, Alethea’s father. As for Lord Belington, to discuss him would be to acknowledge his existence, which she did not wish to do.
But before Lucinda had a chance to form her answer, Alethea remarked, “Would you like to hear the latest on-dit?”
“Do tell,” Lucinda answered, not enthused. She had never cared for gossip.
“I heard through the servants that Lord Belington is back.”
Despite herself, Lucinda’s heart jumped at the sound of his name. She pretended indifference as she asked, “Is that so unusual?”
“He’s hardly ever home. Who can blame him when the whole countryside has shunned him most of his life?”
Lucinda bent over her embroidery, feigning a great interest in the evenness of her stitches. “I wonder why he came back then.”
“Perhaps he was encouraged by the friendly reception he received at Lady Perry’s ball. Other than that, who knows?. Alex does a fine job of managing the estate. He doesn’t need any help.” They fell silent, stitching on their embroidery until, involuntarily, Lucinda heaved another troubled sigh.
“You’re thinking about dinner, aren’t you?” remarked Alethea. “We’re accustomed to dining with Papa every night, but I can just imagine how difficult it must be for someone who’s not used to Papa’s ways.”
Alethea had opened the gates. Before Lucinda could stop them, her words blurted out. “How could you ever get accustomed to such treatment?” When she realized what she’d said, and how hurtful her words might be, she opened her mouth to apologize, but Alethea spoke first.
“We are accustomed to Papa’s harangues.” A look of sadness crossed her face. “Which, of course, does not make it any less painful. Oh, Lucinda, it’s truly awful!” Alethea looked as though she might burst into tears. “It isn’t so much for myself—I’m used to Papa’s meanness—but I hate the way he treats Mama, and the way he treats Charles, ordering him about all the time and telling him what a terrible child he is in that cold, nasty way he has. He’s been even worse lately, and I fear it’s my fault. Since he found out about my talking to Alex, he’s been more dreadful than ever.”
“But at least he’ll allow you to go to London for the Season.”
“I suppose, but it isn’t me I’m worried about. I worry about Mama, even though...I hate to say it, but she’s almost a lost cause. You would be hard put to picture how she used to be—jolly, full of high spirits, singing about the house. But now she’s so subdued, like a little mouse, with nothing to say for herself. It’s almost as if she’s given up, he has so crushed her spirits.” She sighed, looking as if the fate of the world lay on her shoulders. “But mainly it’s Charles I’m worried about. I want to do something to help him, but I don’t know what.”
Lucinda could but nod in agreement. “I, too, am concerned,” she replied, glad she could at last openly discuss the matter that had weighed heavily on her mind ever since she’d arrived at Southfield. “Forgive me for being painfully honest, but from what I’ve observed, I fear Edgerton is ruining the child.” And you, too, dear Alethea, she thought but refrained from saying.
Alethea’s shoulders slumped. “He’s such a bright little boy, so affectionate and full of fun—or he was. When he was smaller he never seemed to mind how strict Papa was, or his constant criticism. Lately though...well, you’ve seen for yourself how withdrawn he’s become. It’s never been like him to sulk and be so unfriendly.” She sighed. “If only Papa would ease up—not criticize so much and constantly belittle. It’s terrible, the things he says.”
“I know.” Lucinda’s impulse was not only to whole-heartedly agree, but to pour out her real feelings and tell Alethea she could hardly stand it when Edgerton, in his mean, cold, calculating way, ripped into nearly everyone every night, but most particularly Charles, sometimes driving the boy to tears. But what would be the use? Truly, there was nothing to be done.
Alethea opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, then continued, “I have something to tell you, Lucinda, something very, very secret.”
“You can trust me.”
“What bothers me most, you see, is that I may not be around for Charles much longer. Oh, Lucinda!” Suddenly her eyes lit, she clasped her hands together and exclaimed in an ecstatic voice, “I cannot keep this in anymore, I’m bursting to tell.”
“My word, what is it?”
“I am madly in love with Alex, and he with me!”
Lucinda knew her mouth had fallen open, but she was too stunned to care. “I don’t know what to say. I want to be happy for you, but your father—”
“Papa will kill me.” In a gesture of complete despair, Alethea dipped her forehead into her hand. “Not if, when,” she moaned. “Sooner or later he’s bound to find out.” She looked up at Lucinda with a combination of fear, defiance, and desolation in her eyes. “I’m so desperate. What shall I do?”
“What if I said you had best forget him?” Lucinda inquired, knowing the futility of her question.
Alethea flung out her hands in simple despair. “I love Alex. I could never forget about him. Besides, I have done something that isn’t easy to undo. I am in a spot of trouble. I—”
“Dinner is served,” announced the butler who had just entered the room.
Lucinda’s mind congested with doubts and fears as she and Alethea rose, both attempting to calm themselves and strike an airy pose. She wondered what, exactly, Alethea meant. Did she mean that she had been—she hardly knew how to put her thought into words, even to herself, too intimate with Alex?
Lucinda felt her knees go weak at the thought. She pictured Edgerton’s wrath and knew that if what she suspected was true, Alethea would be far beyond just “in a spot of trouble.”
But it can’t be true, Lucinda tried to reassure herself as they entered the dining room. Alethea must have some other explanation.
As expected, dinner was the same grim affair with Edgerton acting his usual cold, rigid self, holding sway at the head of the table, lashing out at his cowed family who, for the most part, sat with heads down, faces expressionless.
My family was never, never like this! Lucinda thought as she unenthusiastically scooped a spoonful of le potage à la Monglas. She glanced around the table. Aunt Pernelia, who, it appeared, could never be confounded, was the only person at the table with anything near a relaxed expression on her face. Alethea looked like a scared rabbit. Sarah, blank-faced as ever. Jane, Edgerton’s long-suffering wife, was nervously shifting her gaze from one to another with that perpetual “please, don’t anyone make a scene” expression upon her face. Poor little Charles, his face averted from everyone, looked as if he was poised, ready
to escape at the earliest possible moment. Lucinda scooped another spoonful of le potage, trying to remind herself of all the good things that moving to Southfield had brought, but they went right out of her head when Edgerton focused his small, mean eyes on Charles.
“So, Charles, your tutor has informed me of your sluggardly efforts in history.” With disciplined preciseness, Edgerton laid his knife and fork on his plate and glared at his son. “What have you to say for yourself?”
Lucinda held her breath as Charles, head far down over his plate, remained silent. Please answer, she called silently. You’ll make him even angrier if you don’t.
The whole family flinched as Edgerton, in a cutting voice, demanded, “Answer me!”
No answer. Charles had squinched his eyes shut. If anything, he had bent his head farther over his plate.
Shifting to a low voice, controlled but full of rage, Edgerton continued. “I warn you, Charles, I do not tolerate disobedience. If you do not answer me in the next five seconds, you will be sent to the fourth floor. I vow, this time for a week.”
There was a collective holding of breath as all eyes were riveted on the small, defiant boy who had yet to raise his head. He won’t, Lucinda thought with dismay.
He didn’t.
Edgerton pointed towards the door. “Go to the fourth floor now, Charles. You know the room I mean, since God knows you’ve been there often enough. I shall be there shortly to give you the whipping you deserve. You will dine on bread and water for the next seven days. And furthermore”—Edgerton cast a menacing glance around the table—”there will be no visitors. I don’t want anybody pampering the boy. I shall make a little man of him yet.”
An air of shock and dismay filled the room as Charles, his face ghostly pale, silently slipped from his chair and left the room. No one said a word but instead, took a great interest in their plates—all except Lucinda, who, near-choking with anger, gazed at her cousin with glaring, reproachful eyes. Edgerton noticed immediately. He returned a look so belittling that Lucinda felt like cowering. “Is there something the matter, Cousin Lucinda?” he inquired in a voice deadly calm. “Have you something to say to me?”
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