She leapt to her feet.
Suddenly, sitting here in this home, the home of the man who intended to destroy them, she saw herself for the coward she was. She needed to face her mother and Andrew. Justina lurched to her feet. With wooden steps, she found her way to the foyer.
The butler materialized from the corner. “Your Grace?” There was concern stamped in his wrinkled features.
“I would have the carriage readied,” she ordered.
He hesitated and looked about with a strain in his eyes. She curled her fingers into tight fists. Did he seek his employer’s permission and approval?
Oh, God. I am no different than property. With one faulty and costly misstep, she’d become—her mother. Would her husband carry on with other women and reduce her to the same miserable state her father had done with the viscountess? Your dowry is yours, as is your family’s property. She stopped with her gaze fixed on the double doors. Why would Nick do that? If she were simply another piece of his plan to inflict hurt upon Edmund, why had he put those gifts in her name, allowing her that vital control? “I want my carriage readied,” she said in firm tones that sprung the butler into motion.
After an endlessly infernal stretch, the butler reappeared, opening the door for her.
Not bothering with her cloak, Justina rushed outside and, accepting the driver’s proffered hand, allowed him to hand her inside the elegant black barouche. With the fresh paint of the seal and smoothness of the lacquer, the carriage stood as a testament to Nick’s wealth in the face of her own abject circumstances, until now.
As the driver closed the door behind her, she huddled against the side of the carriage. His wealth, however, had never mattered. Who he’d been and how he’d treated her had mattered more than anything. Through all of it, the sale of her family’s belongings, even the books, she’d not mourned the material. She’d, instead, sustained herself with the dream of what her sister knew. The love penned on the pages of those sonnets discovered only this Season. The carriage lurched into motion and Justina bit the inside of her cheek hard.
Everything had been a lie. You made me forget my hate and made me…feel again. Except, once more, those pleas, the emotion bleeding from his eyes had told a different tale than that of revenge. She knocked her head against the back of her seat. “You are trying to see only what you want,” she muttered into the confines of the coach. She’d had her foolish dreams of love and desires to be seen as more than a Diamond. But in the end, she’d been less than that useless Diamond to Nick. She’d been a pawn. A piece he’d manipulated and maneuvered upon the chessboard of life, a game which could never be replayed.
And once again, she gave herself over to tears. She buried her face into her hands and wept.
She cried for the death of her dreams.
She cried for a love she’d so desperately wanted and believed she’d found with Nick.
She cried for the boy he had been who’d been so brutally destroyed by his hate and thirst for revenge.
And more, she cried for what they would never have together. That beautiful love known between Phoebe and Edmund. For her, that emotion would remain nothing more than a dream upon a page. She cried until her eyes ached and there wasn’t another tear to shed. With a shuddery hiccup, she rubbed the tears from her cheeks.
The carriage rolled to a halt before a familiar townhouse. Suddenly, she was very much like the small girl who’d scraped her knees and sought out her mother. Not waiting for the driver, Justina shoved the door open and leapt from the conveyance. With a grunt, she landed hard on the pavement. She shot her arms out to steady herself.
Aware of the blatant stares from passersby, she kept her gaze trained forward. Manfred, God love him, stood in loyal wait. He opened the door, allowing her entry.
“Miss…” Pain bled from the man’s eyes. “Your Grace.”
He knew. Of course, he’d know. Her father would not be able to contain his vitriolic outbursts. Gossip would spread. By the stares in the street, it already had. The gossips could all go hang. None of their opinions mattered. “M-My mother?”
“Is in his lordship’s office.”
Oh, God. The viscountess would pay the price for her husband’s fury. As she always did.
Quickening her strides, Justina rushed down the hall. Unbidden, she took in details she’d come to accept as part of her existence; the diminishing wealth, the bare places where paintings had once hung…all gone…claimed by Nick. …Your brother and father wagered away their wealth… She slowed her steps. Because they’d allowed it. Nick may have tricked and trapped them, but had it not been him, they would have lost all to Tennyson or some other bounder.
…he intended to sell you without the benefit of marriage…
Thunderous shouting reached down the hall and her stomach pitched. Her mother’s answering cry filled the corridor. With all the secrets revealed this day, she wanted to lay this all at Nick’s feet. But God help her—she could not. Just as he’d been wrong to lay blame solely at Edmund’s feet for his father’s folly, so, too, could she not put this all on her husband. Squaring her shoulders, she turned to go and intervene on her mother’s behalf when a faint sniffling from within the library froze her steps.
Justina turned and opened the door. Pain struck her heart once more. Andrew sat on the leather button sofa with his head buried in his hands. His usually greased and immaculate hair hung tousled over his fingers. His cravat lay at his feet. Just another suffering Barrett. “Andrew,” she whispered and he raised his head slowly.
His eyes, ravaged by tears, may as well have been mirrors of her own grief. “’Stina,” he greeted hoarsely. That childhood moniker he’d assigned her as a girl wrenched at her heart.
What was there to say? He had been fooled just as much as she’d been. They’d both committed a great folly in how they’d played fast and loose with information and trust. “I’m—”
“She ended it.” Andrew’s voice broke. With his throat bobbing up and down, he held out a letter.
His unexpected pronouncement cut across her agony. With a welcome confusion, she walked over and accepted the ivory velum. The cloying scent of roses slapped at her senses as she read.
My Love,
We could never have been. We both always knew that. We just allowed ourselves that dream. Alas, with all dreams come awakenings. I can no longer see you. Please do not contact me. It would only bring me greater suffering. You will live in my heart.
With love and devotion,
Your Heart
Justina read those beautiful words etched in parting and her heart hurt all over for different reasons. “Oh, Andrew,” she said softly, sinking to a knee beside him. She reached for his hand and took it in hers, crushing the letter.
Her brother stared through bloodshot eyes at their connected fingers. “She must know, I gather. Must know about my debts and that Huntly will see me on a turnip farm.”
“Don’t you see, Andrew? If she loved you, it would not matter. Your love would be enough.” She squeezed his hand. Just as she was not enough for Nick. His twisted revenge had always mattered more. If he’d chosen them, then mayhap they could begin again. But how could they, when he was determined to hurt those she loved? Justina damned the tears that stung her vision.
Andrew peeled his lip back in a cynical grin that gutted her. He’d been forever changed. “You believe that still after Huntly?”
She released his hand and let her arms fall to her sides. “I have to.” For if there wasn’t love for at least some fortunate souls like her sister, what was there in the world but darkness and despair?
“It is far more complicated than that. There is another…gentleman and she belongs to him and always will.” His words ended on a whispery hush.
A booming shout reached into the library and they both looked to the doorway, recalling Justina to her own misery. She briefly closed her eyes. Sucking in a shallow breath, she shoved to her feet. “I must go see to Mama.”
“I’ve
been a lousy son,” Andrew said quietly. “I have,” he said over her sound of protest. “I was an equally rotted suitor.” His face contorted in a paroxysm of grief and he coughed into his hand. “But my greatest regret is that I was a terrible brother. I was so bloody self-absorbed that I allowed that bastard to trap you…” He scoffed. “And all along, I took drinks with the chap and joined him at his gaming tables.”
“We were all deceived,” she insisted, not making excuses for her traitorous husband’s actions. “My willingness to believe the lies he fed me, that is not your fault, Andrew. It is mine,” she said, willing him to see the truth there. Willing herself to start seeing it.
Another distant shout went up, recalling her to the upheaval their mother now faced. Spinning on her heel, she hurried from the sparse library to her father’s office. She reached for the handle and stopped.
“You encouraged her bloody foolish dreams,” he cried.
“I encouraged her to believe in love.” The viscountess’ words rang with a sharp rebuke which set off another bevy of cursing from her pitiful husband.
“We are ruined,” her father thundered. “Ruined. It is all the stupid chit’s fault.” He dissolved into a noisy round of tears.
And perhaps she was a wicked daughter, but the evidence of his despair did not bring her any proper sadness. Since she was a girl, she’d borne witness to how those gaming hells proved more valuable and important than even his own kin. If it hadn’t been Nick, it would have been someone else. She knew that. Knew he would have done just as her husband had said and sold her off to settle a debt.
Certainly not to a man who’d allow her the keys to her dowry and a prosperous landholding. Whereas Nick’s devotion to his family had turned him into a figure bent on revenge, Justina’s own father had never been driven by anything more than his own material wants. Even her brother was guilty of that charge.
“By God, she has far more intelligence in the whole of her hand than you do in your entire person.” Love for a mother, who’d always defended her, filled her. Despite the misery that came with being married to Viscount Waters, she’d always sought to show her children laughter and happiness. “You are the one who beggared this family. Not me. Not Justina. Not Phoebe. You. And you poisoned Andrew into believing your love of whores and cards is the way to live.”
Crystal shattered and with her mother’s gasp penetrating the doorway, Justina quickly shoved the door open and stepped inside. Her parents swiveled their stares in her direction. She quickly took in the punishing grip her father had on his wife’s delicate wrist and fury sent her surging forward. “Release her,” she seethed, quaking inside at his violence. He’d been a diffident father. A disloyal husband. But he’d never been violent. Until now. Whereas Nick had taken every word she’d thrown at him and never laid a hand upon her. Had allowed her the right to her feelings without attempting to oppress her.
“You’d come in here and order me about?” he boomed, his large belly shaking with the force of his yell. “Do you see what you’ve wrought upon this family? You couldn’t have just spread your legs for Tennyson.”
Not married…spread her legs for. That pointed reminder of a truth Nick had given her. Justina gritted her teeth. “I said release her,” she ordered, rushing forward. He’d never feared her, his wife, Phoebe. The only things he responded to were power and influence. To him, a woman would never be anything more than just that, a woman. “If you do not release her,” she threatened, “I will tell my husband.” As hurt as she’d been by Nick’s machinations, he’d granted her great power with the name and title she now invoked.
That penetrated whatever mad haze consumed the viscount. He released his wife and wheeled around. His large frame shook with his desperate, mirthless laugh. “Do you truly believe your husband cares what happens to a single member of this family?”
I love you.
“Yes,” she said quietly. For there was no reason for him to lie. With calm and logic restored, she could admit that he may have deceived her, but somewhere along the way he had come to…love her. There was a calm, graceful healing in that. “I believe he does.” He simply loved his plans for Edmund more.
Her father’s deep, belly laugh shook his frame. “You’ve always been a fool.”
Nor would her husband call her names and seek to belittle her. He’d wanted to shame her but, by his admission and then his actions, had been incapable of it. “You are a vile bully,” she said, taking delight in the way his eyes bulged in shock. “You are a coward. My husband may have exacted his revenge upon Edmund, using our family, but you allowed it,” she said in a calm matter-of-factness. With each true admission, a further weight was lifted, setting her free. “You were the person who sat down with countless men for countless wagers. You were the man who kept on with whores and mistresses.” She jabbed a finger at him. “You were the one who was going to sell me to Tennyson without the benefit of marriage.”
Her mother gasped and alternated her horrified stare between her husband and daughter. Yes, because ultimately Mother had forever been silenced by the man she’d had the misfortune of marrying. He’d never allowed her the freedom of her mind.
The viscount sputtered. “You mouthy chit. I will—”
“You will do nothing,” she said calmly, plastering on a cold smile. And with each bold challenge, strength infused her spine—and something more—pride. For the whole of her life, she’d been the dutiful daughter. Silent. Silenced. She may resent Nick for having lied and deceived her, but he’d at least given her one gift—he’d set her free from those constraints and she’d not be quiet, anymore. “And you will not put your hands on her again.”
Her father ambled over and Justina locked her feet to the floor, holding firm. “You’ll not give me directives, you stupid chit.”
She’d not allow him to cow her. Not anymore.
“If you say so much as another word or touch either one of them again, I’ll see you dead.” That quietly spoken utterance brought their gazes to the door.
Justina looked to her brother who stood in the frame, his face flushed with rage.
“Don’t you dare…” Her father’s blustering words died on a whimper as Andrew strode across the room. Hands outstretched, he gripped the viscount about the neck and drove him against the wall. A golden-framed portrait shook under the force of the movement.
“If you touch them again, I will end you,” he whispered. Andrew squeezed his father’s neck tighter.
Justina stared, frozen, as their father choked and gasped. His face turned red as he pried at his son’s hand. Spittle formed in the corners of his lips.
In the end, it was not their father’s certain death that penetrated Andrew’s efforts, but the touch of his mother’s hand on his arm. “Andrew,” she said, between tears, a plea in her voice.
He stopped and blinked slowly. Then with alacrity, he released his father.
The viscount collapsed in a sobbing, gasping heap at his feet.
Yes, Justina, Andrew, their mother had all been deceived by Nick. But with his actions, he’d helped them all: her, Andrew, and their mother, find their voices and stand up to the jailer who’d held them captive. She stared at her cold-eyed brother, her cowering father, and her quietly weeping mother.
Now, what would Nick do with the chains that bound the Barretts to him?
Chapter 21
“Uncle Dominick.”
Nick tossed his arms wide and Felicity charged into them. Surely, the sole person in the whole of the kingdom happy to see him since he’d brought his life crashing down yesterday.
Shoving aside his misery, he hefted her into his arms and staggered back. “You must have grown at least four stone since last we met.”
“And grown a foot?” Felicity piped in.
“I was going to say two feet.” At her innocent giggle, he managed his first smile of the day. And he imagined a world with he and Justina having a child of their own. With her wit and spirit and—
�
�Are you going to cry, Uncle Dominick?” his niece asked, jerking him back from a precipice of yearning for that vision of a babe born of him and Justina. “Your eyes have gone all sad like Mama’s.”
Sad like Mama’s. His chest pulled. For that was who Cecily had been for so very long. A young, sad mother marred by life. Unhappy almost as many years as she’d been happy. It had been just one more resentment he’d heaped at Rutland’s feet. But that blame was more his and their evil grandfather’s than the marquess’. That realization struck him, belated and true.
“Uncle Dominick?” Felicity tugged at his lapel.
“How can I be sad when I’m here with you?” he countered, forcing another grin. He gave Felicity a light squeeze and set her down. Nick glanced about for a glaringly absent mama and governess. “Shouldn’t you be in a lesson?” he quizzed.
He may as well have committed treason against the king for the outrage in her wide eyes. “Shh,” she hissed, slapping a finger against her lips. His niece stole another furtive glance about. In her bid to escape nursemaids and governesses, how very much she was like Cecily.
“Mama is not home?” he surmised.
“She’s not.” He fought his disappointment. As much as he loved his niece, it had been Cecily’s company he sought. “Will you play chess with me until she returns?” Without awaiting an answer, she grabbed his hand, and began tugging him along. When they’d reached the modest library, Nick and Felicity claimed their usual seats behind the ivory chessboard and proceeded to play in their customary quiet.
Following the tumult of Rutland’s return yesterday afternoon and Justina’s rightful hurt and accusations that had robbed him of sleep, there was something calming in the silence. The calm after the storm where a person could think through all that had come to pass.
He studied Felicity’s bent head as she puzzled over the board. How innocent she was. She saw a chessboard and saw a game. Whereas, he had allowed even that simple pleasure to be perverted by his warped need for revenge. His niece tapped her fingertips distractedly on the edge of the table. After a long stretch, she emitted a sigh.
To Enchant a Wicked Duke Page 28