In the Brief Eternal Silence
Page 64
Andrew went forward and his hand fell upon St. James' shoulder and his voice was not as in control as his brother's so that it came out sounding choked. “I am, myself, feeling very blessed to find that I have a brother. If you yourself think that there may come a day when you in fact would wish to call me—”
But he didn't continue for St. James turned and of mutual accord they embraced each other and they were both a little relieved that there was no one in the room to see the two remaining Larrimers clapping each other on the back and surreptitiously wiping at damp eyes.
They pulled apart after a brief minute and retreated selfconsciously from each other. Andrew began pacing again and St. James returned to his chair, his damaged leg stretched before him, giving him an indolent demeanor even when he did not intend it.
“Damn, St. James,” Andrew said when he felt as though his voice were normal again. “I wish I had told you that before, for I feel as though I have just awakened from some manner of nightmare.”
“You told me when it was the proper time, Andrew,” St. James told him. “For there were too many questions in your mind and I dare say part of you realized that we would never truly be brothers unless we ourselves acknowledged it and you were cautious of that state of affairs.”
“You are right of course. And indeed, the last few days I have had some fear that you should balk at acknowledging it yourself.”
“Never,” St. James said with sureness. “For you have been a lot less misguided than I have been.”
Andrew let out a bitter laugh and paused in his pacing to throw his brother a fierce look. “I have been misguided my entire life it turns out, St. James. I never knew who my father was for twenty-three years—”
But again he stopped for St. James' face became pained and the frown between his eyes appeared as startling as a storm cloud out of blue skies. He glanced up at Andrew's abrupt halt in speech. “Neither, apparently, have I known who my father was for twenty-three years, either, Andrew. But that will have to wait.” And he smiled again as he focused on his brother across from him. “You can not leave now, you know, Andrew, for I am getting married this evening and I would not have my own brother miss it.”
Andrew, taken a bit off stride by this announcement, said faintly, “To Miss Murdock of course.” And then, feeling very slow indeed, he accused, “You had put it off because of my being here.”
“Yes. I did, Andrew. We both agreed that we would not rub our happiness in your face when you needed us. And quite frankly, I feared it would take something from our happiness when we would surely feel that you were perfectly miserable while we were saying our 'I do's'.”
“Devil take you, St. James,” Andrew growled. “I know that you may have your doubts, but I really do not begrudge your marrying her at all. I have come to realize that she would have beaten me into submission within a week if she had accepted my proposal.”
St. James gave a rude laugh. “And I assure you, it was not with any thought that you would be jealous that we held off on the ceremony. I was merely indicating that we realized that you have been in a great deal of grief and that happy weddings are not necessarily a welcome sight when one is feeling that low.”
“Well you have been feeling as low yourself,” Andrew pointed out. “Oh, you have done an admirable job of being strong so that I could fall apart like some ninny, but I assure you, I have not been unaware of the effort it has cost you, and indeed I can not properly convey how much in your debt I am.”
“Do not speak of debt, Andrew,” St. James warned, “for we will open up that whole discussion again, as to who should pay and why. Let us just say that I did it with no hardship and would do it again even if I had never learned you were my brother. And I admit that I bent the rules slightly and availed myself of some sustenance for I foresaw that none of this would be easy. But that is a private matter and I shall not go into it. Just let it rest that I have not been as entirely miserable as I should have rightfully been or as you have been.”
Andrew gave him an odd look, but St. James only added, “Stay for the wedding, Andrew, if you feel up to it, for I should like very much for you to be there.”
“How did you know I was leaving today?” Andrew asked, a little suspicious. “For I did not even realize it myself until I rose from my bed this morning.”
And St. James colored in what Andrew almost would have termed as a blush, but of course that was quite impossible, St. James being St. James. “I confess, I have had a minister on hand for days now. Ever since the waiting period was fulfilled.”
For some reason, which he could not explain, Andrew found this very funny. It felt good to laugh and at the end of his laughter, he wiped his eyes on his sleeve and said, “Then of course I shall stay, and you shall get married for I can not see that poor minister having to cool his heels awaiting your whim any longer.”
St. James sat for a long time after his brother left the room. And if he felt a good deal of quiet amazement as though he were a child again and was discovering many things that adults took for granted, he still had knowledge that there were one or two things that must be seen to. There was Steven and his family. He had kept tabs through a messenger sent to Morningside and knew that they were still residing there in Tyler's cottage. He had not had much time to consider further from there, and he knew himself well enough to know that he would not be spending the remainder of the day, his wedding day, or tonight considering it either. So he settled with reminding himself that he would need to think about that at first light tomorrow, and indeed, he doubted that Miss Murdock would throw a fit if they forwent their honeymoon and traveled straight to Morningside at any rate.
But the other detail, although he could not take care of it entirely, could at least be partially seen to even then, and so thinking that, he got up from the chair, moved with his cane to a desk in the corner of the Squire's room and found the necessary items to write a letter. This he composed with no joy but with enough detail to allow Queen Victoria to understand that although her fears had not been unfounded and there had been a leak in her security, that it had been in fact his own father, who was obviously no longer discussing the crown's policies with anyone.
It was not a pleasant letter to write but he was at least able to inform her that he would be forwarding some materials to her that she may find interesting and that may lead to the breaking up of a significant opium ring. He closed it by reiterating that he would still gladly be at her service if she still deemed it desirable that he should be and that he was now available to take up these said duties at her convenience.
He had no more than finished this missive and sealed it when Effington came in and informed him that the minister would be there in an hour and that perhaps milord would care to begin dressing?
“And what abominable outfit do you have in mind for me tonight?” St. James asked.
“Well, milord,” Effington began and he rubbed his hands together as he spoke, “as I have had some knowledge, of course, of your coming nuptials, being as it was I that made all the arrangements, I have of course had time to collect and put together a rather stunning attire for you tonight.”
“Your glee is not reassuring me in the least, Effington.”
“Of course you have my deepest sympathies for making you apprehensive, milord,” Effington told him. “But be that as it may,” and he walked to the wardrobe and opened it in his precise way and with a flourish removed the costume that he had spent a deal of time considering before settling upon as the proper attire for milord Duke of St. James' wedding ceremony.
And St. James blinked once in an unusual display of dumbfoundedness. “That?” he asked. “Effington, you selected that?”
“Why, yes, milord. Do you not care for it?”
But St. James only laughed for in Effington's hands was a new shirt, plainly white with the only adornment being lace at cuffs and cravat and a pair of tanned breeches.
“Of course, milord,” Effington explained as though he could
not believe the perfect sense of it had escaped his employer, “for one can not know when one may be faced with a predicament which will necessitate the removal of your clothing, and it would be so much waste if perhaps in haste a very fine outfit should become torn. Of course, I am hoping that you shall not somehow become injured and bleed upon them as well as ripping them—”
But St. James waved his hand as he tried to control his laughter, and he choked out, “Very well, Effington. I quite see your point. And as usual, your choice of clothing is beyond reproach. I only ask that if Miss Murdock should question your choice that you do not place before her the reasons you are currently placing in front of me!”
“Indeed, I would not, milord,” Effington replied, affronted. “For I am much too discreet.”
“Indeed, Effington, that you have proven to be. You may go now, and see that my betrothed has all that she needs.”
“Milord. You do not wish me to help with your attire?”
“I believe I can manage adequately, Effington, as I have all these years before.”
Effington restrained his urge to argue, only nodded. But before he turned to leave, he added, “Congratulations, milord.”
St. James turned to him at his words. “Thank you, Effington. You shall be there as a witness, of course.”
“Thank you, milord. I would be honored.”
With that he left the room, and St. James stood for a brief moment in the silence. Then he busied himself with readying, for Lizzie was waiting.
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In the Brief Eternal Silence