Elizabeth Powell (16 page)

“Why did you not tell me?”

“You might have thought to ask, rather than simply assume the worst,” the earl rejoined. “And you did not have to inquire of me directly; any of the servants or staff would have revealed the truth.”

The two of them stared at each other like duelists, until at last Sebastian dropped his gaze. He balled his hand into a fist and thumped it against the arm of his chair. All these years spent hating his father… over a misunderstanding. Between his stubbornness and his father’s pride, the world had never seen a greater pair of fools. He lifted his head, his eyes narrowed at the earl. If he had been mistaken about his father’s role in Alexander’s death, what else had he misconstrued?

“So why are you telling me this now?”

Lord Stanhope shifted in his chair. “We are overdue for a talk, boy.”

“Indeed? We have barely spoken two civil words to each other our entire lives.”

“True. I am here to rectify that and end the enmity between us.”

The viscount arched one mocking brow. “In one afternoon? Rather optimistic, wouldn’t you say, my lord?”

“I may not have been a perfect father—”

The viscount let loose an explosive snort of derision.

“I may not have been a perfect father,” the earl repeated patiently, “but I wanted what was best for both you and Alex.”

“You had a strange way of showing it,” Sebastian drawled, and slumped back into his chair.

Lord Stanhope tightened his grip on the top of his cane, his knuckles standing out in pale relief against the age-speckled skin of his hand. “You were too young to remember how your mother died. We lost her shortly after she gave birth to your sister.”

Sebastian frowned. “I had a sister?”

“The babe came too early, and your mother began to bleed. There was—there was so much blood. The physician could not staunch it. I lost them both the same night.”

“I never knew,” Sebastian whispered.

“As she lay dying, your mother made me promise to raise you and your brother as best I could, not to relegate you to governesses and tutors but to do it myself and be involved in your lives. I fear I took her words to heart.”

The viscount swallowed around his dry tongue. All he could do was nod.

“Alex was a model child. Too much so, perhaps. But where he was serious and studious, you were boisterous —forever getting into one scrape or another, falling out of trees, playing pranks.

“I had no idea how to deal with you,” Lord Stanhope confessed. “My own father had barely noticed my existence, so I had no experience on which to draw. All I knew was that my life as your parent would have been easier if you had been more like Alex, so I encouraged you to follow his example.”

If only you were more like your brother
…

“You doted on Alex,” the viscount stated coldly. “I always thought you loved him more than you loved me.”

Lord Stanhope nodded. “I realize that now, but it was never true. I loved you, even though you were ever a contrary child. I would tell you one thing, only to have you do the exact opposite. I thought that by holding up Alex as an example you would strive to emulate him. Instead, you did everything you could to differentiate yourself.”

“And it drove the two of us apart,” the viscount said, scowling.

“I regret that more than you will ever know.”

“Is that an apology?”

“It is, if you would accept it.”

Sebastian leaned forward in his chair and propped his elbows on his knees. “And may I ask what prompted this admission?”

His father’s lips compressed in a thin line, and a look of distinct discomfort crossed his face. “Before I answer that, I would ask a question of my own.”

“Very well.”

“When I received the note from your wife, I was quite surprised. I had heard that you would soon be engaged to her sister.”

Sebastian smiled grimly. Not even his father’s network of spies could have predicted what happened that night at Vauxhall. “And?” he prompted.

“I realized from the beginning what you were doing—
you sought to marry an heiress, so that you might be free of me.”

What… ? How had he … ?

The viscount gaped, at a complete loss for words. He had been so sure his father would not understand what he had planned, yet the canny old devil knew everything. Damnation!

“Ask your question, my lord, and be done with it,” he demanded through clenched teeth.

“In a moment—let me finish. At times you have been careless, even reckless, but I have never known you to be deliberately cruel. After what happened at Vauxhall, I could not help but think you had some feelings for the girl—otherwise you would not have done what you did and compromised her in public.”

A slow, heated flush swept Sebastian’s face from his chin to the top of his brow. He hated to think that his father had read him so easily, but it disturbed him even more that the earl might be right.

Why
had
he kissed Jane?

True, she had always been such fun to tease, but what happened that night went far beyond teasing. And when she had revealed that she was engaged, he could not explain the surge of anger that swept over him like a giant wave. He had found himself gripped by the overwhelming desire to protect her—to possess her. To kiss her. And clearly he had gotten carried away.

The earl broke the silence. “This is my question: do you love her?”

“You are not entitled to know my feelings, my lord,” Sebastian replied. He sat up. “My marriage is none of your business.”

His father held up a frail hand. “This is not about
grandchildren. I have no intention of placing any further requirements on your life.”

“How generous of you. I am still struggling to deal with the ramifications of your last directive.”

“When I demanded that you marry, I thought I could force you to take responsibility for your life—that I could force you to grow up. After all these years, you would think I’d have learned that I cannot force you to do anything.”

“What does that mean?”

“Punish me if you must, Sebastian, but do not punish your wife. Now that you are married, you are responsible for her happiness as well as your own.” The earl levered himself slowly to his feet, bracing himself against his heavy cane. “I loved your mother. You may not believe that, but I did, very much. I miss her. It’s as though I lost part of myself. I came here because I do not want to see you end up as I have. Loneliness is a terrible thing, and no matter how hard you try to distract yourself, nothing seems to assuage the emptiness. But perhaps I need to let you discover this for yourself. Good-bye, my boy. I shall trouble you no further.”

Sebastian rose from his seat and watched in silence as his father shuffled from the drawing room, his gait stiff and awkward. In the vestibule, the earl murmured something to Cobb. Then the front door opened and shut again.

Sebastian fell back into the chair, not trusting his knees to support him. Good God—what had just happened? He was drowning in a tumult of emotions, battered by images from both the near and distant past—his father, Alex as a boy, Alex as a man … and Jane, her elfin face transformed into a stony mask of hurt and distrust.

He pressed his fingers to his temples. Everything he
had ever thought about his father, every villainy Sebastian had attributed to him, flashed through his mind like a bolt of lightning. One could not undo twenty years of antipathy in a single afternoon, but the earl’s words had been a revelation.

What was he supposed to do now? The man he had hated and reviled for most of his life had just apologized and confessed that he had not been a good parent. And he had revealed the circumstances that surrounded Alex’s death.

He recalled so little about the day of Alex’s funeral. He had been half disguised, as he had been ever since he received word of his brother’s fatal accident; a haze of alcohol fogged those memories. He remembered the grief, the despair, and the sheer fury that his father had not even shown up for the funeral service. He had never thought to ask why, so wrapped up was he in his own misery. And now, to find out that his father had suffered an attack of apoplexy that left him immobilized … Despite his ill will toward his father, Sebastian did not wish him dead. He wished …

Sebastian slumped heavily against the back of his chair. He wished his father had loved him as much as he had loved Alex.

He had spent so much of his life flagrantly defying his father’s wishes and flouting his authority. Making increasingly reckless wagers and flinging his roguish behavior in his father’s face. And to what purpose?

The viscount threw back his head and uttered a sharp bark of laughter. His whole life had been a lie. So firmly convinced was he that his father despised him that he had made a point of provoking the earl at every turn. At the time he had thought it a fitting vengeance. Now he realized he had behaved like a sulky, recalcitrant child.

And yet, his father
had
loved him all these years, despite everything he had done. The admission rocked him to his very core. If only he had known. But the earl had been too stubborn to admit it, and Sebastian too wrapped up in his own rebellion to recognize it. What a pair of fools they had been.

Suddenly restless, Sebastian got up and paced to the sideboard. He hesitated, his hand on the stopper of the brandy decanter; then he thought the better of it. Liquor would not dull the pain, only heighten it until he collapsed in a puddle of maudlin sentiment. He needed to get out, needed to think.

He ordered his carriage brought around. He considered taking out his phaeton, but did not trust himself to handle the ribbons; he was too distracted. He ordered his baffled coachman to drive and keep driving until he told the man otherwise. Then he settled back into the shadowed interior of the carriage, one booted foot propped on the opposite bench.

The rhythmic sway of the coach calmed him, allowed him to start making sense of his jumbled thoughts.

I do not want to see you end up as I have
.

He thought about his father, living day after day at cavernous Stanhope Abbey with only servants for company. He had buried one son, and the other was virtually a stranger. More than likely he had spent the past five years in that drafty mausoleum all by himself. Did he not have friends? Acquaintances? Sebastian had never considered it before.

Loneliness is a terrible thing, and no matter how hard you try to distract yourself, nothing seems to assuage the emptiness
.

The viscount settled further into the plush squabs. No doubt the earl had learned about his own desperate quest
for diversion; his father always seemed to know the latest gossip. In the past he had paid little attention to the earl’s advice, but for some reason these words struck a chord within him. Nothing he had done in the past month satisfied him as it had before. And with Jace and Nigel absent … They were the only family he really had.

No, that was not true. He had Jane—his wife.

He thought about his father’s query: did he love her? If by that he meant did Sebastian hold a grand passion for her, then the answer was no. She was sweet, steadfast, and possessed more intelligence and scathing wit than any other female of his acquaintance. He liked the imp. He even had a grudging respect for her. And he desired her; even now the memory of their kiss sent the blood pounding hotly through his veins.

But he did not love her. After all the rejection he had suffered in his life, both real and imagined, Sebastian did not know if he was capable of loving anyone any more. He sighed.

The rest of that conversation puzzled him. What had the earl meant when he said “do not punish her”? Was that what he was doing? She had made little secret of the fact that she despised him for what he’d done and could not wait to return to Wellbourne. And he had been just as happy to see her go, for her presence was a constant reminder of his failings.

He shifted on the padded carriage bench. Yes, she had returned home, but the gossip about her hasty marriage had likely followed her there. Her reputation might have suffered, and through it the farm as well. And the longer he remained separated from her, the worse it would become. Was he punishing her? Yes, he supposed he was.

God, he was a selfish bastard.

At least being home would provide her some consolation.
What was she doing now? He stared out the window, his brows drawn in a brooding frown. Probably the same things she had always done to manage the estate. No small task, that, especially for a woman. He tried to picture his tiny wife giving orders to burly grooms and laborers; one corner of his mouth quirked at the thought.

She had never described her home to him. What was it like? He pictured a quaint brick manor house situated on a small rise and below it toward the back a large barn ringed by paddocks and pastures. Very rustic, but she had gone to great lengths to keep it. She spoke of it so fondly, like it was all she had—

Actually, it
was
all she had.

Her sister had eloped, and, if he gave any credence to Lady Portia’s dire utterances, her mother had practically disowned her. All Jane had was Wellbourne.

And him.

He snorted. And a fat lot of good he had done her.

They should be content; they had each gotten what they wanted. She managed Wellbourne Grange unencumbered by an unwanted husband, while he lived the life of a wastrel here in London.

Was she as lonely as he was?

He stared out the window with hooded eyes, watching as the carriage passed a series of colorful shop fronts. With the exception of his short stay in Bath last summer, London had been his home for the past five years. He was a Corinthian, a connoisseur of London delights; he despised country life. Pride dictated he remain. But thus far pride had served him about as well as it had his father. He thought again about Jane, about her long, straight cascade of nut-brown hair, her stormy eyes … and her kiss.

Even when in his cups, he had not been able to shake
the memory of that kiss. She haunted him, this fey, elfin girl, the way no other woman had.

He pounded on the roof of the carriage with the head of his cane; when the coachman’s concerned face appeared through the trap door, Sebastian ordered him to return home, then prepare the horses for a journey; he would leave for Leicestershire in the morning.