Light to Valhalla

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  My Dearest Edward—

  Mancroft’s given name was Edward? How ordinary. Alex shook his head and turned his concentration back to the elegant script.

  Forgive me the deception I’ve subjected you to these last years. I fear the son I lovingly placed in your care is not yours at all, but the child of Alexander Rawlings. I accept your anger and any repercussions as a result of my actions, but I could not in good faith go to my grave without your knowing the truth.

  Yours in friendship,

  Bernadette

  Alex read the words again, this time more slowly, before crumpling the paper in his hand. “This letter isn’t real.”

  “Oh?” Charley quirked a cool, skeptical brow, while his mother remained uncharacteristically silent.

  “No. This is not her handwriting. The note is a forgery I’m sure of it.”

  Not even a flicker of hope lit the hard glint of Charley’s eyes. “If her health was ailing so severely I’m sure she could have dictated the letter. That would explain why you don’t recognize the script.”

  Alex ground his teeth against the logic. “If she meant to set the truth to rights why didn’t I get a bloody letter?”

  “Perhaps this is your letter.” Charley gestured broadly to the lace covered table nestled against the wall. A silver platter sporting a similarly folded and still sealed missive glared back at him. “It was delivered shortly after you left this morning.”

  How bloody convenient. Wordlessly Alex stomped to the tray and tore open the letter. “Son of a bitch.” He threw the note against the wall. Why now? After all this time why had she told him this on top of everything else? He turned on the men in working clothes. “Mrs. Barcelona has passed on?”

  The men shifted uncomfortably and concentrated heavily on their mud caked boots. “Er, I believe so, milord,” the taller man mumbled. “Our orders were to bring the lad here to you.”

  “Tell Lord Mancroft I will be paying him a visit shortly.” Alex nodded to the door. “You are dismissed.”

  “Thank you, milord.” The men shuffled a bow and scurried out the front door.

  Alex raked a dangerous gaze across the sea of servants pressed into the hall. “All of you are dismissed.”

  No one moved.

  “Anyone valuing their job will vacate this room in the next thirty seconds or you will find yourself seeking new employ without a reference.”

  Chaos erupted, servants scattering to their respective corners of the house, but undoubtedly remaining within earshot. Nothing but miserable gossip mongers, the lot of them. Alex detested gossips.

  “Mrs. Roark,” Charley called the housekeeper back. “Please take Master Jack to the kitchen and make sure he gets something to eat. Then see to it the nursery is prepared and settle him in there.”

  “You can’t mean to keep him here?” Alex and Regina exploded in unison.

  Charley speared Alex with an icy glare. “It seems he has nowhere else to go. If this child is yours, and I see no reason to believe otherwise, you will take responsibility for him.” She knelt before Jack and smiled warmly before giving him a hug. “There, there, darling. You have nothing to fear here, we’ll take good care of you.”

  The boy regarded her with the wide, skittish eyes of a deer.

  “Do you like chocolate cake?”

  The little boy nodded hesitantly, clinging to her fingers with a chubby hand.

  “Well then, go with this nice lady here and I’m sure Cook will find a piece of chocolate cake for you. Later I’ll come see you in your new room.” She dropped a kiss on his downy hair and stood. “Carry on, Mrs. Roark.”

  “Certainly, milady.” Following Charley’s example, the housekeeper bobbed a quick curtsy, and smiled warmly at the child before taking his hand and leading him away.

  Alex’s chest clinched. The way Charley gazed so patiently upon Jack… he’d hoped to see her smile that way at their child, a piece of joy they’d made and could share together. Fear that such may never be licked his belly.

  “Alex, what is the meaning of this?” Regina hissed, stalking forward, breaking through the depths of his thoughts. She stabbed a finger in his chest. “Once word of this gets out, and mark my words we’ll have callers here within the hour, you’ll be ruined. Ruined.” Shrewd, oddly haunted eyes raked the length of him. “You’re just like your father.”

  From across the hall Charley visibly swayed on her feet. Instinctively he moved to intercept her, slipping his arms around her before she teetered to the ground. “Easy, love.”

  Rigid in his arms, she shook her head and jerked away, gripping the banister for support. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  Pale and drawn, with garish blue circles under her eyes she looked anything but fine. He reached for her, wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms and wash the plaguing uncertainty from her eyes. “Charley—”

  She snatched away as one confronted by a vile serpent. “Keep your hands off me.” She stumbled back a few steps. “I just need to lie down.” She pressed a palm to her forehead, and fled up the stairs.

  “Charley,” he called, striding after her.

  Regina skirted the banister, blocking his path. “Not so fast.”

  He brushed her aside. “Not now, Mother.”

  “Fix this, Alex,” she grasped his forearm, the pointed ends of her vicious nails biting his flesh. “Fix this immediately or I will rip you limb from limb myself.”

  He stopped, glaring down at her. “What would you have me do?”

  “Get rid of that, that… urchin, and have a real son.” Without another word she turned on her brittle heels and tapped away.

  A real son? Alex stared after her. What the hell constitutes a real son? Anger swelled in his chest. Being a bastard didn’t make Jack any less human. There was an excellent possibility the boy sitting in his kitchen was Alex’s own living, breathing flesh and blood. If that were the case he wouldn’t turn his back on the lad, but at what cost?

  Heart thumping a monumental rhythm, Alex mounted the stairs two at a time, ignoring the dull throb in his thigh after all the exercise that morning. Miserably he paced down the hall toward the chambers he shared with Charley. What the hell should I say to her? Given that he still wasn’t sure what had transpired in the last ten minutes, no suitable excuse or explanation came to mind. The plausible thing seemed to tell her the truth except that he didn’t know what the truth was.

  Alex hesitated.

  Perhaps he shouldn’t go to her at all. Perhaps it would be best if he sorted it all out and uncovered some answers to the questions overrunning his life. Granted keeping secrets had not exactly swayed her favor in a positive manner to now. He stuttered to a halt at a total loss for suitable words or action to defend himself.

  Defend himself… Listen to him. It sounded as though he and Charley were at war when really they should be together. Partners. Somehow he seriously doubted Charley would agree with his logic. Alex stood in the hall, mulling over his options for so long his thigh began to throb, no closer to divining a solution to his problems.

  A variable army of maids, filed down the hall and into Charley’s room, halting the never ending circle of his thoughts. Intrigued he moved forward, stopping in the open doorway. One of the gray clad maids slipped past him, arms laden with boxes. Three other servants bustled about the room, folding and packing, rearranging everything they’d unpacked two days ago.

  “What are you doing?” Alex crossed his arms.

  Blatantly ignoring him, Charley showed him her back and lifted the lid on a heavy wooden trunk. “Trudy, I’d like these gowns aired out, brushed, and hung in the bureau for the Christmas season.”

  “Of course, milady.”

  “Charley?” Alex needled shifting impatiently.

  The maid, Trudy, scuttled past him, obviously uncomfortable.

  “Moving to another set of rooms,” Charley replied evenly without so much as glancing over her shoulder.

  Alex sucked in a torrential breath. �
�No,” he exploded. Charley and the other women jumped in unison. “Absolutely not.” He scooped the pile of gowns from a passing chamber maid and dumped them into a nearby chair. “Get out,” he ordered the servants.

  Charley’s worthless little brown dachshund growled from the corner then yapped twice. Even the damn dog was against him. Four gray and white clad women glanced uncertainly between Alex and Charley.

  “It’s all right.” Charley nodded. “You may go, and please take Willy with you.”

  The girls murmured a chorus of, “Yes, milady,” and hastily exited the room—Trudy with the snarling Doxy beneath her arm.

  Irritated Alex crossed his arms. In the army, he gave orders and they were obeyed immediately, almost before he could ask them. Here, in his own house, everyone looked to Charley for the final say. He may be Lord of the house but he certainly wasn’t master. That would change. Soon. Starting right now. “You’re not leaving, I forbid it.”

  Charley slammed the trunk shut, and whirled. Hellfire flashed in her eyes. “On what grounds are you permitted to forbid me anything?”

  “You are my wife, Charley. It is my God given—”

  “Your wife?” she spat. “Your wife?” A deep, hysterical laugh spouted from her. She crossed her arms, turning her face to the ceiling. “Tell me, Alex, are you reminding me or yourself of the fact? I, for one, am getting damned tired of you repeating it. I have no difficulty remembering my marital status, but it seems you have other women crawling out of the woodwork.”

  “That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

  “Is it?” She placed her hands on her hips, flicking cold eyes back to him. “Was I your wife while you were carrying on with Mrs. Barcelona?”

  “I can explain about Bernadette.”

  “Oh?” She quirked a menacing brow.

  “As an unmarried, unengaged man I had a very discreet, casual relationship with a matron that other men quite obviously frequented as well.”

  “Discreet? Not hardly. Tell me, Alex, was I your wife while you were away at war for three years without a word? Was I your wife while you wrote to other women? You never sent any letters to me, not one.”

  “Never wrote to you?” he cried incredulous. “I wrote you dozens of letters. I only stopped writing when I stopped receiving any back from you.”

  Charley rolled her eyes. “Please, Alex, I haven’t received a letter from you since I was sixteen years old.”

  He held up a hand, placating. “I admit that I stopped writing for a while after I visited for your seventeenth birthday, but that was because I knew it was wrong to covet my brother’s betrothed.”

  Her eyes widened at his declaration.

  “That’s right, Charlotte, even then I wanted you, probably even loved you, but you were not mine to have.” Common sense screamed to stop talking before he bared the raw truth of his emotions, but like the lovesick fool he was he plunged on. “After we married, things were so awful between us, my behavior was deplorable; I didn’t know what to do. Everything changed. For all I knew you didn’t want to hear from me. When I started getting letters from you I responded to them, but you stopped writing…” his voice drifted off.

  Skepticism lined every facet of Charley’s beautiful face. “Stop lying, Alex. I am weary of your stories and excuses. It is time you realize I am not the silly girl who once believed whatever tales you weaved.”

  “Charley, I’m not lying. I—”

  She sliced a hand through the air. “Enough. You forget, husband, that I saw you last night kissing Veronica on the Brumble terrace.”

  He ground his teeth. “I explained about Veronica. I was discouraging her advances. She kissed me and I pulled away. If you had truly been watching, you would have seen that.”

  “You don’t really expect me to believe that? Alex, you have done nothing but spin lies and half truths since the moment you came home and like a fool I—I—” She hiccupped as tears splashed onto her cheeks.

  Every masculine instinct screamed to go to her, take her into his arms, and hold her until the tears stopped, until she laughed or smiled, and ceased that miserable trembling. “Charley.” In one long stride he closed the distance between them, slipping his arms around her.

  “Don’t touch me,” she shrieked, leaping backward, wrapping her arms around her middle like a wall to block his advances. “I can’t believe I let you touch me,” she sobbed. “I gave myself to you in every way. I truly believed I could make everything better, that you might really love me.”

  “I do lov—”

  Violently she shook her head. “Leave me.”

  This was wrong. All of it. A huge misunderstanding, and he’d fix it if given half a chance. “I’m not going anywhere until you hear me out.”

  “There is nothing to hear, Alex. I tried to believe you, but this morning one of your by blows appeared on my doorstep, and now…” Once again her eyes rolled to the heavens as though imploring a higher power. “None of it matters anymore. It’s done.”

  He stalked forward, predatory. “I fail to understand your meaning.”

  Charley inclined her chin regally. “Your heir is presently eating chocolate cake in the kitchen. You have no further need of me.”

  “My heir?” Alex scoffed. “Not hardly. It’s not that simple and you know it.”

  “I fail to see where any of this is complicated. You are in want of a son and one rather conveniently appeared this morning. Give him your name and you have nothing more to worry about. Go back to the army, Alex. You’re a free man.”

  A bark of ironic laughter burst forth. “A free man.” The one thing he’d craved since inheriting the blasted title. “Christ, I’ve done nothing to deserve this.”

  “Well, you certainly did something.” Her gaze dropped pointedly to his trousers.

  “Doesn’t this all strike you as a bit convenient?” He moved in on her, desperate for her to understand and believe him. “You’re held for ransom the very day I return home, General Witherspoon returns to town, and another man’s brat is dumped on our stoop. Don’t you find that more than coincidental?”

  “Another man’s brat? That boy,” she jerked a finger toward the door, “is the spitting image of you. The color of his eyes…” Her chin quivered and a fresh rush of tears ran onto her face. “I believe those letters, Alex. I believe Jack is your child and I believe you were unfaithful to me.” Huge, wet eyes bored into his face with such raw accusation his chest physically ached. Wiping her palms across her cheeks, she sucked in a deep breath and bolted for the door.

  He caught her on the way by, grasping her upper arms, locking her into place. “Never. Not once have I been unfaithful to you. Bernadette and I had a longstanding relationship. I saw her when I was in London before we were married.”

  “It couldn’t have been long before. Jack’s age corresponds perfectly with when you were in London three years ago.”

  “I was with Bernadette the night before our wedding, but—”

  “Stop, Alex. You’re only making it worse.” She broke from his hold and swept from the room. “I’m through with your excuses and deceit. Leave me be. I don’t trust you and I never want to see you again.”

  The door slammed with such force the painting beside the door rattled and fell, splitting a transverse line across the frame. Gutted, Alex stared down at the ruined piece. For whatever reason the landscape in the painting reminded him of Spain. All these years he’d lingered on the edge of glory, striving for that elusive moment that would define his life and complete him, but never had he been closer to such absolution than in these last few weeks with Charley. Part of him wanted to go to her, demand she listen, force her to understand, but he was only just beginning to learn Charley’s level of moxie, and her forgiveness would not be given lightly… if ever.

  Misery lit a slow burn in his belly, spreading up into his chest and finally steeling around his heart. Oh, but he didn’t want this plaguing devastation. He wanted to be angry. Furious. Preferably furious at whoev
er had placed the range target squarely on his back.

  Alex paused. Convenient… too convenient… The words repeated over and again in his mind, weaving with the argument he’d spoken to Charley not five minutes ago. A theory of conspiracy took shape and solidified in his mind. His hands balled into fists. He’d been set up. By damn he’d stake his life on the fact someone was out to get him. The grand question was who?

  Witherspoon? The general certainly had motive, but somehow this calculated web seemed entirely too underhanded for the general. Witherspoon was the type to call a man out and make no qualms about the fact. What of Sidney? His behavior of late had been extremely odd…

  Alex shook his head. No. Not Sid. Never Sid. The concept was laughable. Sidney would never betray him. Alex was projecting the turmoil in his life onto his cousin. His best friend. In fact, Sid was exactly the one he should seek out for help. The two of them never failed to standby one another.

  With his mind set on a course of action, he exited the room and set a brisk clip for the front of the manse, ignoring the blatant stares of the servants.

  “Where are you going?” Regina snapped.

  “To fix this fiasco.” The only way to fight his way back into Charley’s good graces was to set this scandalous debacle to rights, and catch those intent upon his ruin.

  “And how to you plan to go about it? I warn you, Alex, this will not be easily swept into the shadows.”

  He ground to a halt, taking painstaking effort to keep “I realize that mother, and unlike you, I am not interested in hiding beneath a veil of secrecy. I intend to find the truth.”

  “How noble,” sarcasm dripped from the words. “But I know better. You’re not noble or chivalrous, you’re just like your father,” Regina jeered. “Never could keep it in his breeches. Not even with my own sister or his brother’s wife.”

  “Christ, mother, please, that is more than I ever needed to know or hear.”

  “Oh, but I think it’s time you do know.” She slid forward, each step deliberate, calculating. A sinking sensation trickled through Alex. He knew that wicked look. She was about to slam death’s gavel upon him. “Sidney is not your cousin, Alex. He is your brother.”