Loving Lady Marcia (33 page)

Duncan wouldn’t look at Margaret when he asked the next question. “Did he take advantage of her?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “But she wanted to be with him. She gave him her heart, which is why she had to leave. She couldn’t bear to see him again. He told her they couldn’t continue. He said it was too risky.”

“Good God,” Duncan whispered.

Margaret wiped at some tears. “Poor Aislinn. He was done with her before she knew it. She told me she wished she’d never met him. She felt like a fool. She said she can’t hold her head high, ever again.”

Duncan closed his eyes. His brother had done it once more: wreaked havoc and left behind another woman bereft.

Damn
Finn.

He opened his eyes again and tried to be the brisk, confident leader of the household his staff expected him to be. “I’m very glad you came to me. But there must be a reason you’re telling me now.”

“I can’t do my job properly anymore,” she said glumly. “I can’t forget what happened to Aislinn. And then, sitting here with you—and you being so understanding—I decided it just wouldn’t be right for you not to know the truth. Aislinn struggled with this, too. But she was also frightened you’d be angry at her. Blood ties can be strong, my lord.”

“Blood ties?” He gave a short laugh. “To hell with them. I want Aislinn back.”

Margaret shook her head. “It’s too late, my lord. She wants to start over. Completely over.”

But what if she were with child? “I need to see her, Margaret. There are conditions we must prepare for.”

But exactly how many of Finn’s children could he adopt? How many times must he continue rescuing his brother?

I know you like to fix things, Duncan, but some things can’t be fixed
, Marcia had said.

And it was then that he realized—

He’d never be able to fix Finn.

Ever.

And it wasn’t even his place to.

Finn was a grown man, and
yes,
they’d had a bad father, and
yes,
Finn might have inherited his impulsive tendencies, but …

Finn had to be the captain of his own ship. Even if it was heading toward the rocks.

Duncan gulped back a knot in his throat. It was better to mourn the truth and move on than to endlessly wander toward a mirage, wasn’t it? He just didn’t know if he
could
move on. Finn was his brother—

His
brother
.

He closed his eyes against the grief already swelling in him, making his heart ache with pain so deep that he had to bow his head.

Margaret touched his arm. “My lord?”

He had to take a moment before he could answer with equanimity. “Yes, Margaret.”

Something felt different in the sound of his voice. Perhaps only he would notice. He’d spent so many years trying to sound endlessly cheerful, to be the ringleader exhorting the masses.…

But his voice now—it was quieter. He felt lighter, his head more clear.

“I believe you can rest easy about those conditions we might have to prepare for,” the maid said. “I won’t go into details, but Aislinn told me she’s sure she’s not—”

She stopped there and blushed.

He understood.

Even so, Aislinn was a woman suffering. A woman who’d been under his care, as Marcia had been. How was she going to recover? And how long would it take her?

“I must see her anyway,” he said. “I’ll write her immediately and plan a trip. Meanwhile, let me assure you that as of right now and forevermore, my brother is forbidden to enter this house. I’ll ensure that Jenkins strictly complies with that order.”

Margaret brushed away a tear. “I can’t ask you to do that. He’s your brother. I’m nobody.”

“You’re
not
nobody,” he told her.

“But Aislinn’s safe now. And I won’t be as naïve, my lord.”

“It has to be this way, and it’s not your fault. Nor Aislinn’s, nor mine. Finn brought this on himself.” Duncan stood from the pianoforte.

“I’m so sorry, my lord.”

“Don’t be. And don’t regret for an instant telling me the truth.”

Margaret stood, too, her eyes glistening with tears. “Who ever knew,” she said as if it took great effort to speak her thoughts aloud, “that such a handsome man—with such a beautiful smile—could be thoughtless—and cruel—to a girl who doesn’t have his advantages in life?”

“Yes,” Duncan said softly. “Who ever knew?”

Margaret sent him a grateful if troubled smile, bobbed a curtsy, and left him.

You
knew,
a voice in his head reminded him.

He’d not done enough. He’d been blinded by a refusal to believe his own brother could value other people so little. Guilt that Duncan was the lucky one—to be whole, to have survived their childhood intact—had lured him into the trap of giving Finn too many chances.

And so he’d allowed a scoundrel loose in his own house to prey upon the innocent and the vulnerable.

No more.

His spirit threatened to sag, but he wouldn’t let it. Instead, he went around to the stable, saddled his own horse, and headed to Albany to confront Finn.

This time, he’d show no mercy.

Chapter Thirty

The truth, according to Marcia, was that she was good for bedding. But not for marriage—not a genuine marriage, anyway, the kind that involved true love, like Mama and Daddy’s.

She knew this deep inside, had known it ever since Finn had slept with her and left for America. She’d been running from the knowledge all this time, thinking she could stop caring. That her work, fulfilling as it was, would make the truth less painful.

Less stark.

But when the earl had offered her marriage for two very good reasons, neither of which had to do with love, that ugly truth had reared its head again. And the pain of it—the shame of it—had nearly bent her in two.

Which was why she had to stop thinking of the Earl of Chadwick altogether and focus once more on Oak Hall. She’d go back. It was a good life. But it would be different this time, and not in a good way.

You’ll know more than ever what you’re missing
.

A tortured week after her fateful last meeting with the earl, Marcia returned from a short excursion with Peter, Robert, and Cynthia to a circulating library only to find Finnian Lattimore in her parents’ drawing room, long after their other callers had left.

“Mr. Lattimore?” She felt a rush of pure fury. However much she knew she must forget Lord Chadwick, she truly wished she never had to see Finn again. “What are
you
doing here?”

Mama put a hand to her heart. “Marcia, whatever is the matter with you?”

Janice’s mouth fell open.

Her two younger brothers and Cynthia gaped at her as if she were the Fireproof Lady at the Bartholomew Fair.

Finn showed no reaction whatsoever. He merely stood, his charming smile in place as always. “It’s good to see you, Lady Marcia.” His voice was as warm and earnest as ever. “You as well, Lord Peter.”

Peter, who held everyone’s books under his arm, nodded beneath his wild hair. “Lattimore. Nicely tied cravat.”

“Thank you.” Finn looked at Robert. “All going well, Lord Robert?”

Robert grinned. “Very well, thanks.”

“And Lady Cynthia, you look lovely today,” Finn said, the epitome of amiable gentleman.

“Thank you.” She gave him a delightful curtsy.

The snake.

Marcia wanted to kick him out of their drawing room and onto the street.

He must have read her mind. “I was just leaving,” he said brightly, and turned to Lady Brady. “Thank you for your hospitality. As always, you’re the perfect hostess.”

“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Lattimore,” said Mama, beaming.

He turned to Janice, raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it. “I look forward to escorting you to Vauxhall tonight.” Fortunately for him, he kept his tone light. Any warmer, and Marcia would have grabbed a book from Peter and flung it at him.

Janice smiled. “I’m looking forward to it, as well.”

He turned back to Mama. “Lord and Lady Green will accompany me tonight when I come to fetch her.”

“A lovely couple,” Mama said. “Lady Green and I have known each other some twenty years.”

“The rest of the party will meet us at Vauxhall.” He turned to look first at Marcia, then at Peter. “Do feel free to join us,” he said with convivial spirit. “I’m sure we can make room.”

“I’d enjoy that very much,” Peter said, his eyes shining.

“No, thank you,” Marcia said coolly.

A beat of awkward silence went by, and then Mama took charge. “Are you sure there’s room for Peter, Mr. Lattimore? It seems you’re always adjusting your plans for us.”

“Quite sure,” he said firmly. “And it’s no trouble at all, Lady Brady.”

Mama and Janice gazed at him as if he were a saint.

“I can never see enough fireworks,” Peter said. “Thank you, Lattimore.”

Robert and Cynthia wore long faces.

“It will be soon enough that you two will be crossing the Thames to take in the sights at Vauxhall,” Mama said. “Be patient.”

“If they follow me outside, I’ve something in my saddlebag to assuage their disappointment,” Finn said. “Sugarplums from Gunter’s.”

“Yay!” Robert and Cynthia cried together, and ran to the door, quite as if they were small children, still, and not a blossoming young lady and a growing boy on the verge of manhood.

Finn laughed and met them at the door.

Marcia made eye contact with him.
I know you for what you are,
she tried to convey.

He maintained his cordial smile, but he looked right through her, as if she didn’t exist, which chilled her to the bone.

How dare he attempt to get to her sister?

Burbank opened the door, and she watched him go, Robert and Cynthia trailing close behind.

But then she rushed out to the steps. “Wait, Mr. Lattimore,” she called to him. “Is there a sugarplum for me?”

He turned back from his horse. “
You
want one?”

Cynthia and Robert exchanged bemused glances and ran back inside the house.

“Of course.” Marcia smiled and walked gracefully down the steps, meeting him at his saddlebag.

“All right,” he said, sounding awkward and stiff. “Here you are.”

He reached into a bag and handed her the treat.

“Thank you.” She clutched her fingers around it. “Oh, by the way, I just want you to know you’ll never have Janice. That’s a promise I assure you I’ll keep with every last breath in my body.”

“Is that so?”

She nodded. “In fact, this sugarplum is
you
if you ever try to win her.” She dropped it on the pavement and squashed it with her heel, then felt instantly stupid.

Finnian laughed, and swung himself up onto his mount. “That’s the most amusing threat I’ve ever received.” He actually had the nerve to look down at her fondly. “I’ve always liked you, Marcia.”

“
Lady
Marcia, to you,” she called up to him, her fists clenched in fury.

“You’re too impulsive by half. Like me.” He shook his head and looked down at the squashed confection on the pavement. “Now look what you’ve done. You lost your sugarplum—the second one you’ve lost to me, eh?” He raised a knowing brow.

She blanched. How
dare
he?

And then he laughed again and steered his horse into traffic.

She thought that she’d feel tainted and used. His comment had been sickening, after all. But instead, she felt free of him, once and for all. He simply wasn’t worth the emotional turmoil she’d already expended on him.

Still, she was reluctant to climb the steps and enter the Brady mansion again.

Mama was at the door to the drawing room. Marcia knew full well what was coming, but she wasn’t willing to face it. Not yet anyway. She would later, after she’d cooled off.

“I’m going upstairs,” she said.

“Not yet, young lady.” Mama beckoned her with her chin to the drawing room.

Peter cast Marcia a sympathetic glance. It was so rare that Mama spoke sternly. “I’m off,” he said.

Mama nodded, and he clattered up the stairs, his hair bouncing.

Marcia felt as chastised as a naughty child when she walked into the drawing room and perched on a hard-backed chair that sat beneath an escritoire. With Janice glaring at her, and Mama sending her a long, searching look, she suffered through another few minutes in which she could hear Cynthia and Robert conversing in the corridor.

They walked past the drawing room door, their cheeks stuffed with sugarplums.

“Upstairs,” Mama said.

Still chewing, they immediately looked at Marcia.

She had to refrain from rolling her eyes. They knew she was in trouble, too. And seemed rather excited by the possibility, which galled her no end.

She remembered those days. It was always better that someone else was in trouble.

“Mama—” she began, after Robert and Cynthia had sprinted up the stairs.

“Do not speak,” Mama said carefully, “until I have had my say.”

Marcia swallowed. Janice looked at her with a fiercely hurt expression, her fists clenched in her lap.

Mama cleared her throat. “There’s no excuse for how rude you were to Mr. Lattimore. None at all. I’m ashamed of you, Marcia.”

A tense quiet settled over the room.

“May I speak?” Marcia asked.

“Wait,” cried Janice. “
I
want to speak first.”

Mama sighed. “Janice first, as Mr. Lattimore was her guest.”

From her seat, Janice swung her entire body to face Marcia. “How could you?” Her eyes filled with tears. “That was so humiliating, not only for him but for me. I thought you’d become indifferent to him. I felt sorry for him. And still do.”

Marcia’s heart twisted. “I’m sorry I was so rude. But I can’t tolerate Mr. Lattimore in our house. I don’t want to see you hurt, Janice.”

“Hurt?” Janice wiped away a tear. “Why should he hurt me? He’s the most lovely person in the world. He accommodates the family on our outings. He has a cheerful demeanor and wonderful manners. How could you find fault with him?”

“Yes, Marcia.” Mama’s limpid blue eyes showed concern. “I have to wonder that myself. What do you know of him that we don’t?”