by Dayna Quince
Violet covered her mouth. “No.” Tears came again, but she didn’t bother to stop them this time. She wanted to go to him and wrap her arms around him this instant.
“The old duke left that day, forbidding anyone from seeing Weirick. He was bedridden but improving, per Chester. It was another month before we heard or saw him. He was recovered enough to come see Chester and bid him goodbye. Then he left, and I’m not sure where he went. Chester says he went everywhere. India, China, Africa. We never thought we’d see him again, even after the duke died a year ago. Then about a month ago, he appeared in the village, having a pint at the inn.”
“How could a father be so cruel?” Violet cursed the deceased Duke of Selbourne in her mind.
“His son was no longer perfect in his eyes, therefore he didn’t want him anymore. Roderick was still young and beautiful. His father had been easier on him growing up, expecting far more from his heir. Sometimes it makes me glad to be a girl. Weirick never had the freedom we had, never had the time to be a child and have fun. He more than made up for it at university. He was reckless, but until that night he fought and was burned, the duke had never cared.”
“Chester told you all this?”
“Most of it, the more interesting stuff I had to eavesdrop to hear.” Bernie smirked. “I know more than I care to about how men feel about breasts.”
Violet snorted. “I think I know what you mean.”
“I’m sorry.” Bernie glanced briefly at Violet’s bodice. “I envy you, and yet they do seem troublesome.” Bernie patted her own bust. “My sisters and I have perfected the art of illusion.” She winked at Violet.
Violet laughed, a relief for her heavy heart. She had much to think about, but she felt lighter having confessed. “Thank you.” She wiped a stray tear. “I don’t know what I will do with the knowledge, but it helps me understand him.” Violet stood. “We should rejoin the party before they come searching for us.”
“Good idea.” Bernie stood and they made their way back to the drawing room.
Chapter 6
Weirick sat in his study in the dark as the last of the light faded. He didn’t bother lighting a lamp, and he tried his best to ignore the chime of the dinner gong. His head throbbed, his body more so. Had he contracted some mind-eating illness? He hadn’t spent much time in Africa, finding Tibet to be more soothing to his temperament. He’d stumbled upon the small mountain village of Jungney after hiking for three weeks, and it had seemed the perfect place to erase his former life. It was cold and barren—much like him—surviving on the sparse vegetation that grew between the rocks and goats.
But it was peaceful and simple, a drastic change from the sharp edges of English society. He wasn’t a wealthy son, burdened with legacy and duty. In Jungney, he was only Weirick, and no one ever asked for his surname or his title. Only Sonam knew where he’d come from. Sonam was an outcast like him, an exiled monk deemed too violent, too unsettled inside, to achieve enlightenment. They had formed an odd friendship. Sonam had been traveling the world, using his knuckles as currency. Together they had built a little hut in Jungney, but decided the nomad life suited them better, and began traveling again.
Weirick rubbed his hands, feeling the scars over his knuckles. These weren’t the hands of a nobleman; they were the hands of a fighter, maybe even a murderer. He didn’t like reflecting back on the night of the card game, but the memories came unbidden, reminding him that nothing can ever truly be erased. They lived on inside you.
Just as Violet had.
He’d remembered her often through the years, a glimmer of light in his past. He’d tortured himself with thoughts of what her life had become, who she would marry, how many children she would have. It made him angry, but he’d done it anyway. Over time, the image of her face had grown fuzzy. He thought maybe he’d changed things in his mind, and that it wasn’t really her at all but an imaginary woman that represented everything he could have had.
But then again, her pretty face was nothing but a trap.
Sonam and he had debated this often, usually after a few strong drinks. Was love real? Were people truly capable of caring for each other, or only caring about what others could give them?
Sonam was adamant that everyone was out for himself. Trust no one, he would say. And yet, Weirick trusted Sonam, but maybe Sonam didn’t trust Weirick. Sonam had refused to stay in the castle, instead choosing a small cottage closer to town. Weirick could only imagine what the locals thought of a bald Asian man with tattoos covering his scalp. Sonam was terrifying, but he was still very monk-like. He never lost his temper, and he only fought for money.
A knock on his study door startled him. He swiftly grabbed his hat and put it on. “Enter,” he barked. He mentally chastised himself as his mother entered. She looked concerned, which wasn’t odd. She’d been worried sick for him most of his life.
She looked around the room with a perplexed frown but didn’t comment on the darkness. Weirick took pity and lit the desk lamp. “What can I do for you, Mother?”
“You can call off this charade for one.”
His mother was never one to mince words. “I’m doing this for you and Roderick. I refuse to marry, but I still recognize that I have a duty to see the Selbourne line continue. Roderick will continue the line in my stead.” He sat and folded his hands on the desk.
“Roderick shouldn’t marry—he isn’t ready. And I don’t need a daughter-in-law—not that I’d argue if either of you fell in love—”
Weirick laughed. “Love, mother? Is that what you did, fell in love and got married?”
“Don’t be cruel, Weirick.” She sat as straight as a rod.
“Is honesty cruel?”
She pressed her lips together, her eyes boring into his. “And how do you see this happening? Roderick marries, and you sail off into the sunset and simply…disappear?”
“That’s exactly it, Mother, but why make Roderick wait to inherit? If I fake my death, and pay for some witnessed accounts, Roderick will inherit sooner, and we can all go on with our lives.”
“Without you.” Her voice grew brittle and tears glistened in her eyes.
“I won’t really be dead, I assure you.” His chest tightened. This was all for the better, he reminded himself. “You won’t miss me when you’ve got a lap full of grandchildren to hold.”
“I’m your mother, I shall always miss you, whether your death is real or pretend. I miss the boy you were—”
“Don’t.” The single word was so dark and deep. He didn’t want to frighten her, but he didn’t need to hear her sentimental sorrows over his lost youth. He relived the tragedy every day he looked in the mirror.
“Can’t you forgive, Weirick? Forgive your father, forgive Benedict? He took his life in shame…”
Weirick surged to his feet, unable to sit still as his mother tortured him with her regrets. He paced the carpet behind his desk. “Do you do this to punish me? It’s your husband’s fault Benedict died.”
“He’s your father, do not dishonor him in the grave.”
Weirick spun and slammed his fists on the desk. “Which is exactly why I want nothing to do with his title and legacy. Damn the dukedom. He didn’t think I deserved it. He didn’t think I deserved to live any more than Benedict. All he had to do was send a note, but instead he condemned us both to die. Curse the man. I’m glad he rots in the ground.”
As he watched, she crumbled into pieces, sobbing into her hands. He should comfort her, but he wouldn’t because she was almost as guilty as his father. Almost, but not enough to wish her ill. He was doing this for her, and for Roderick. Instead of remaining and cursing the family with his presence, he would see them settled, he would see them happy, and then he would never see them again.
“Someday you will understand,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”
She sniffed, pulling herself together with a strength he admired. “You should be. I can only pray you will find peace, Weirick, but if you insist on this path, I have no
choice but to follow it with you. You can’t hide from your responsibilities, not yet.”
He accepted the barb. “Then I’ll see you at dinner.”
* * *
Dressed in fresh clothing, he entered the drawing room, nodding to Greyson to announce dinner immediately. His mother came to his side.
“I was worried you wouldn’t come downstairs. We have more guests.”
Yes, he could feel them staring. The scars on his head itched beneath his hat. “Why don’t you introduce me?”
Weirick didn’t bother looking amiable as his mother introduced the final guests of the house party, but he did pay careful attention. Lord and Lady Luther and their daughter, Miss Porter. Miss Porter was petite, had freckles dusting her nose, pale green eyes and dirty blonde hair. Her figure was lackluster, and she was far too reticent, a bonafied wallflower. Roderick was not going to be drawn to her.
Mr. Durand and his daughter Cynthia Aurand. She was tall and confident, her hair dark chestnut and eyes like sapphires. She was lovely but overtly sensuous for a young lady. She’d been deemed a social climber by the ton, her father a wealthy French shipping magnate with no refinement. Weirick suspected she’d been outcast because she was a threat to their simpering English daughters.
Sir Frederick Copperpot, Lady Copperpot, and Miss Delia Copperpot. Weirick pressed his lips together to hide a smile. His mother had warned him about this one. Her first season in town and she was dubbed Miss Coppertop. Her hair was garishly red, but in Weirick’s opinion, it was beautiful as were her flashing green eyes. He could see intelligence there, and annoyance as she stared back at him. He liked her instantly.
This was the one his brother should marry. She was a tad short, but he would bet she made up for it with tenacity.
He touched his mother’s elbow as introductions were finished, and the guests turned away to head into the dining room.
“I like that one for Roderick.”
“Miss Coppertop—I mean…” She blushed with embarrassment. “That was terrible of me.”
Weirick chuckled and the action caught him by surprise. He cleared his throat. “She will be a good match for him.”
“She’s too smart for him, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll make sure he’s too distracted by her other qualities to figure that out.” Weirick escorted his mother to her chair and went to his at the head of the table.
He sat with a jolt, catching sight of Violet dressed in burgundy silk, her lush breasts pressed high, forming two delectable orbs. He ripped his eyes away and swiftly picked up his glass of wine.
Violet shared a glance with Bernie farther down the table. Violet’s mother sat beside her, directly to the duke’s right, and Lady Luther was across from her. Violet happened to enjoy this more traditional seating arrangement. The bodice of her dress felt perilous, but there were no gentlemen close enough to gawk, though there were some stares while she was in the drawing room. Miss Porter sat across from her, and on Violet’s right sat Lady Copperpot. Violet would have been at ease if not for the brooding man at the head of the table. The first course had just come out, and he was already having his wine refilled.
Violet carefully glanced his way. Her mother, God bless her, had asked him a question about his travels. For a heartbeat, Violet thought he wouldn’t answer, but then he set down his glass and turned his attention to them.
“I spent a great deal of time traveling, my lady. There was no particular place I was trying to see, except maybe everything. I wanted to see everything.”
“That’s sound intriguing,” Lady Everly replied. She had that look about her, to Violet’s dismay. The look that said she was reading him, as she had read Violet on their trip here. Violet returned her gaze to him to see if he would catch on.
His eyes were downcast as he stirred his soup absently. His voice was magnetizing and a bit frightening. If he were an actor, she imagined he would always be cast as the villain, simply because of his voice. It was rough and dry, almost grating to the ear, but something about it made her want to listen closer. His words sounded harsh, especially when paired with his “damn you” attitude. He made it clear in his mannerisms that he didn’t want to be there. But right now, his tone was gentler, his eyes softer as he spoke to her mother. He was talking about goats wearing sweaters, and her mother and Lady Luther were laughing.
Violet wanted to reach out and touch him, to feel that soft gaze on her, and selfishly keep all his attention. For five years, she’d been starved of it. She nodded her thanks to the footman as the second course was set before her and tended to her food, afraid to speak to him when there were so many others about, especially her mother.
When dinner finished, the gentlemen stayed behind for port, and the ladies spread out over the drawing room to get better acquainted. Violet found herself seated next to Jeanette, or Jeanie, as she preferred.
“Do you like to play cards?” Jeanie asked Violet.
“I do.”
“It’s the only entertainment we have here in the winter. I think my sisters and I could start our own gambling club.”
“That is true,” Bernie stated. “Though, I would bar gentlemen from it just as we are banished from all of their entertaining enterprises.”
“My sister and her friends formed a society for themselves, though I don’t think it’s anything more than a name they use in their letters. They call themselves The Ivy Society,” Violet said.
“Why?” Jeanie asked.
“I don’t know. My sister wouldn’t tell me how the name came to be, only that it meant something special to them.”
“They didn’t include you?” Bernie asked as she stirred her tea.
“No. I don’t mind. They were not my friends, they were my sister’s. She deserved to have something that was just hers and theirs. She’s shared everything with me and Primrose growing up.”
“That I can understand.” Bernie leaned back and cradled her cup of tea in her hands. “I’ve shared a bed with my sister Anne for my entire life. I don’t think I could sleep any other way.”
“You mean, with a man?” Jeanie smiled.
Bernie grinned and beckoned Violet and Jeanie closer. “Can you imagine what it would be like to sleep with a man? Annette is bad enough. She steals the covers and kicks like a mule.”
“Why isn’t Annette here?” Violet asked. “Is she engaged?”
“She has a cold,” Bernie said. “Also, she hates Roderick ever since he baked a frog in bread and fed it to us.”
“He didn’t!” Violet gasped.
“He did. He was a terrible boy.” Bernie nodded. “Though, frog bread is not as disgusting as it sounds.”
“I don’t think much has changed,” Jeanie mused.
The gentlemen returned at that moment, and there was a flurry of excitement as room was made for dancing.
“Who will play first?” the duchess asked the young ladies, and Miss Aurand volunteered. Violet watched until the last gentleman entered. The duke was not among them. Drat! The evening would be wasted now. If she could she would retire, but perhaps there was another way to find out more about Weirick. Bernie was surrounded by her sisters. Lord Chester briefly spoke with them and then returned to a group of gentlemen. They were huddled together, not paying a bit of attention to the beautiful Miss Aurand who sang and played in perfect harmony on the pianoforte.
Feeling a tap on her shoulder, Violet turned to find Bernie. Bernie tugged her to the side of the room, away from the prying ears of the matrons.
“He isn’t here,” Bernie whispered.
“I gathered.”
“There is something going on. Chester means to take us home soon, but he won’t be coming with us. They’re all riled up over something.” Bernie nodded to where the gentlemen stood by the hearth.
“You think they have other entertainment planned for the evening.”
“No doubt.” Bernie sighed. “Why must their lives be so diverting and ours so dull?”
“I’m no
t planning on a dull evening, are you?”
Bernie straightened. “What do you have in mind?”
“First, we must find out what they are doing and if the duke will be joining them.”
“And if he is?”
“Then I will also be joining them.”
“Ohh…” Bernie grinned. “I knew there was something about you I liked.”
“Why don’t you stay here tonight? We can share my bed, after all we’ve become fast friends. Come, let’s inform the duchess.”
“Chester won’t be pleased about this,” Bernie hissed and followed Violet.
The duchess agreed that Bernie could stay. It wasn’t long before Lord Chester bundled the Marsden sisters into a coach, sparing Bernie a narrow-eyed glance as she remained at Violet’s side. Everyone soon retired. After Janice left them, Violet and Bernie redressed immediately to sneak downstairs. The house was far from quiet. The gentlemen were getting rather raucous and could be heard from the billiard room, one floor up.
Violet and Bernie crept down the dark hall to where the entryway to the billiard room oozed cigar smoke and murky candlelight. They inched closer, pressing themselves to the wall until they could hear the gentlemen clearly.
“You’re finally rid of your baggage, Chester. Have a drink.”
“All but one,” Lord Chester responded. “The most troublesome still remains.”
“Can you picture it now? Those two beauties huddled under the covers together.”
It was Roderick’s voice they heard now. Violet and Bernie shared a look of confusion.
“Bite your tongue, Roderick,” Chester said. “I’m responsible for one of those beauties.”
“Can you imagine having a wife with such carnal tastes? Heaven, pure heaven. If I marry the Everly chit, I’ll take Miss Marsden off your hands for half price.”
There was a snap of wood and the rustle of feet and bodies.
“Settle down chaps, the real fight won’t begin for another hour. Shall we be on our way?”
This voice was unknown.