Dangerous to Love (49 page)

Lord Kirkland looked intently at the glass in his hand. “To the best of my r-recollection, I wrote, ‘If you want to know where two Jacobite fugitives are to be f-found, ask Lord Kirkland.’ I did not sign it, not did I p-put your father’s name to it. I swear it, Julian.”

In the same hushed tones, Julian said, “And Lord Hugo and Sir Robert were hiding in the house?”

“In the b-boathouse. But you s-see, I thought they had gone. They were not s-supposed to be there. It was the f-fog. They c-could not get away because of the f-fog.”

“I see. Then what happened?”

Lord Kirkland closed his eyes as the horrifying events of that night came back to him. Visibly shaking, he forced himself to go on. “It was 1-like something out of a
nightmare. There was a new garrison, and a new c-captain, a vicious m-man who hated Jacobites. Y-your parents were gone, thank God, before they arrived. Sir Robert g-got away, but the soldiers turned on my f-father and m-me, and H-Hugo came back to h-help us.” His voice cracked and he shook his head. “He should h-have left us to our fate. I, at least, d-deserved it. You know the rest.”

Julian looked down at his clasped hands. The thought that was going through his mind was that later, when his father knew Sir Robert was hounding him, knew about the letter, he must have guessed that the only person who could have written it was young Lord James. Yet, William Renney had kept that knowledge to himself. His father had been a far greater man than he had realized, a far greater man than he.

Clearing his throat, Lord Kirkland said, “Later, much later, I confessed my part in it to my g-guardian. He b-beat me to within an inch of my life.” And beat him, and beat him, and beat him until he was of an age to strike out on his own. By that time, the beatings had become necessary to him. It was the only way to purge him of his sins.

“I was afraid to 1-let it be known that I was the author of that 1-letter, afraid of Sir Robert and what he would do to me. And by the time I overcame my f-fear, it was too late. Can you ever f-forgive me?”

Julian, who was still staring in rapt attention at his clasped hands, jerked up his head. “I have nothing to forgive. You were not the one who hounded my father to his grave. I don’t hold you responsible for what happened to my family.”

“Still, if I h-had not written that 1-letter .  .  .”

“You were only a boy of twelve. What would you have me say? That you should be punished for it? I am not
God, but the God my mother preached to me would be more forgiving, I think, than you have been to that boy of twelve.”

Suddenly conscious of his fierce tone, Julian immediately moderated it. “I beg your pardon. Do I sound angry to you? I’m not, you know. I was thinking of Clive Ward, and Serena, thinking of the part I played in Sir Robert’s downfall. Unlike you, I am not a boy of twelve.”

“But, you can’t blame yourself for what h-happened.”

“No, and neither should you blame yourself. I wish, though .  .  .” He shook his head in frustration. “I wish I had not tried to play God.”

There was a long silence after this, as each gentleman became lost in his own thoughts. Finally, Lord Kirkland said, “This is not the time or place, but one day, I should l-like you to tell me about your parents.”

“I should like that,” said Julian, and even as he said the words, he knew that he could never tell Lord Kirkland about the workhouse, never tell him about his mother’s fate and the twins. The old boy had suffered enough. “And I should like to hear about the Egremonts,” he said.

After his lordship had taken his leave of him, with drink in hand, Julian wandered over to the window. He had much to reflect on. His thoughts roamed far and wide, and came full circle. He was thinking that it were better if he had not tried to play God. The thought weighed on him, possessed him, tormented him. He should not have tried to play God. He wondered if Serena would ever forgive him.

He was glad that Flynn and Clive were with her now. He supposed that they would be going over the night’s events, in much the same manner as they had done here. He’d told Flynn to make sure she had a few drops of laudanum to help her sleep. She would need all her strength for the morrow, when officers of the law arrived
at the house to break the “news” of her brother’s “accident.” Yes, he was glad that Flynn and Clive were there to comfort her. Especially Flynn.

He drained the glass in his hand and stared moodily at the lights reflected in it. Without volition, his arm jerked and he hurled the glass against the wall where it shattered into a thousand pieces.

   Once outside, Lord Kirkland breathed deeply of the cool night air. The fog had dissipated, blown to smithereens by a fresh westerly breeze. He had the doorman hail a hackney for him. It was Saturday night and he was, after all, a creature of habit.

The hackney let him down at a coffeehouse in St. James. His lordship did not linger in the coffeehouse, but after a suitable interval, he slipped out through a side door and made the short walk to the Temple of Venus in King’s Place.

He stared at that unprepossessing little house as if he could not remember what had brought him there. When the doorman spoke to him, coming to himself, the earl turned aside. Hailing a sedan, he gave the chairman the direction to his house in Hanover Square.

O
utside Ward House, servants were bustling around following Lord Charles’s instructions for stowing the baggage in his carriage. Clive was mounted on a bay, as was Mr. Hadley. Letty, with a nephew’s hand firmly clasped in each of her own, was waiting patiently for the servants to be done so that she could enter the coach. A week had passed since Jeremy’s funeral and the Wards were going to Lord Charles’s place near Henley to recuperate. Serena had chosen to remain at home.

Inside Ward House, Catherine and Serena were saying their farewells.

“Won’t you reconsider and join us at Stanworth?” said Catherine. “I don’t like the thought of leaving you in this house alone.”

“I won’t be alone,” said Serena. “Flynn will be with me. And if I change my mind, Henley isn’t so very far away. I can be there in a few hours.”

Catherine made no further argument, and Serena felt a small twinge of conscience, knowing that she had deliberately misled her sister-in-law into thinking that Mr. Hadley and Letty were the reason she was declining Lord Charles’s invitation. Though they hadn’t announced their betrothal, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind now which sister Mr. Hadley preferred. On hearing the news of Jeremy’s “accident,” he’d come straight round to Ward House, and it was Letty who had thrown herself into his arms.

Serena’s real reason for declining Lord Charles’s invitation
was something she preferred to keep to herself. She wanted peace and quiet away from them all. She couldn’t talk about Jeremy, couldn’t forget that she had been wrestling with him for possession of the pistol when it had gone off. She was consumed with guilt and remorse, and that guilt became unbearable every time she looked at Catherine and her two fatherless nephews.

As a footman edged past her with one of Catherine’s boxes, Serena moved aside. The front doors stood open, and the excited chatter of young Robert and Francis as they admired Lord Charles’s equipage was a welcome sound to her ears. In the week since Jeremy’s funeral, this was the first time the boys had raised their voices above a whisper.

Catherine’s eyes filled with tears. “They are so young,” she said. “They don’t understand about their father, not really. Perhaps I shouldn’t be going to Stanworth. But Charles thought that it would do the boys a world of good to get out of the city, and I could not bear to take them to Riverview.”

“It
will
do them a world of good,” said Serena, striving to hang on to her own composure. “And you too.” Linking arms with Catherine, she walked her to the front doors.

Catherine dabbed at her eyes. “Do you know, I still can’t believe it? At any moment, I think I am going to waken and discover that this has all been a bad dream, and that there never was an accident. How could it have happened? Jeremy was always so careful around guns.” Her voice broke, and she pressed her handkerchief to her lips.

There were some lies that simply had to be maintained. “We shall never know,” said Serena. “It’s best not to think about it.”

As they came out to the front steps, Lord Charles came
forward to meet them. Serena relinquished Catherine’s arm and watched as he helped her sister-in-law into the coach. He was very matter-of-fact, very much the old family friend, and his pose did not fool Serena for one moment.

When he made to follow Catherine into the coach, he hesitated, then turned back to speak with Serena.

“Is there nothing I can say to make you change your mind?” His voice was guarded, as was his expression.

“Nothing, thank you,” said Serena. She had already said her farewells to the rest of the family, but her throat clogged with tears as she waved to her nephews. She was thinking that Jeremy had never really got to know his children. In that respect, he was like their father, and now she knew why. They were always too busy drumming up support for the Stuart cause.

Lord Charles’s mouth flattened. “Surely, for Catherine’s sake, we can set aside our differences? I know you have never liked me, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that you have always mistrusted my motives. What can I say, what can I do to reassure you?”

She gazed at him with a mixture of remorse and reserve. “I never knew .  .  . never understood.” She paused, faltering a little. “May I speak frankly?”

“Please do.”

“I never knew how much my family owed you, never realized that you were always there to help us when my brother Jeremy got into .  .  . financial difficulties.”

He stiffened. “You were never meant to know. And as I have already explained to Clive, I regard all debts canceled with Jeremy’s death, so you need not fear I will set duns on you.”

“You misunderstand. I never thought that for a moment.”

His expression was still wary, and she could not blame
him. She had never tried to conceal her dislike of him when he came to the house, had never understood his devotion to Catherine. She’d summed him up as a rake, with nothing on his mind but making another conquest, and she had wanted to protect Catherine from him. How could she have been so blind? If anyone had Catherine’s best interests at heart, it was this man.

She put out her hand. His surprise was evident, but he accepted her hand just the same, squeezing her fingers gently before releasing them.

There was a catch in her voice. “I know it’s too soon to say this, but I want you to know that I am glad Catherine has you to lean on. I know you will take good care of her and the boys. You always have.” She smiled, blinking away the threatening tears. “And from now on, Charles, you may count me among your most devoted friends.”

His eyes searched her face, then he smiled. Saluting her, he turned on his heel and entered the carriage.

Catherine’s look was questioning.

“I was trying to persuade Serena to join us,” he said.

“Uncle Charles, are you really going to take us fishing at Stanworth?” piped up young Francis. “And .  .  . and teach us to ride, and everything?”

“Of course. I said I would, did I not?”

“Yes, but, I mean .  .  . will you come with us, sir, or will you be too busy?”

“You promised you would come with us,” said Robert.

“Robert! Francis!” said their mother, embarrassed, exasperated. “Lord Charles has more to do than look after two rambunctious boys.”

“What does he have to do?” asked Robert.

Catherine did not know where to look. She was thinking of the house in Chelsea and what Jeremy had told her about the lady Charles had installed there. Charles was devoted to his mistress, and though many women had
tried to displace her, his interest was fleeting. He always returned to Mrs. Danvers. It was mortifying to think that she had once believed she held a special place in his heart.

Lord Charles said, “You are quite wrong, Catherine. I have nothing better to do than look after two, um, lively boys.”

“Really, Uncle Charles?”

“Really,” he replied.

Catherine raised her eyes. “Charles,” she said, “I don’t wish you to .  .  . to put yourself out for us. I know that there are things in town .  .  .” Her glance slid to Letty. Having assured herself that Letty was deep in conversation with Mr. Hadley through the open window, she went on a little desperately, “You will want to keep up with your friends, and .  .  . and so on. We understand that. We won’t feel neglected if you leave us for a day or two .  .  . or .  .  . or whatever.”

“There is nothing to take me to London,” he said, then added softly, “Not now.”

For a moment, she saw something in his eyes that made her catch her breath, then the look was gone, and he put his head out the window, giving his coachmen the signal to get under way.

Serena remained on the front step until the carriage and riders had turned the corner of Buckingham Street into the Strand. In the hall, she came upon Flynn. In his black livery relieved with white lace and silver waistcoat, he looked very handsome, very distinguished. Her own unrelieved blacks made her feel like a crow.