Anne Barbour (4 page)

“It’s beautiful, Aunt Fred,” whispered Kate, her throat still tight with unshed tears.

Lady Frederica Merritt, spinster sister of the second Earl of Falworth, and aunt to Thomas, the third earl, grinned.

“It’s going to hang in Ely Cathedral, you know,” said the old woman, examining several bobbins of thread that lay on the table before her. “The dean was quite taken with the two pieces I made for Lord Dolphinton’s new place in Bedfordshire, and said he had to have one. So, what about the cyan?”

“The ... ? Oh, yes, for the sky. Just fine, I should think.”

Aunt Fred clapped her hands.

“Absolutely! Cerulean would have been too bright, and a nice, threatening sky sort of adds to the—the menace. I’m so glad it was you who came to visit. Regina would simply glance at the piece and shudder and call it lurid. You know,” she chuckled, “I believe it pierces her to the very soul that I have met with such success with my tapestry work. Why, some are calling them works of art!”

She turned to Kate, and for the first time looked at the girl closely.

“Why, what is this? Kate, you look as though you’d spent the morning in a midden—and, good heavens, my dear, are you crying?”

“No, of course not, Aunt. I—I just returned from my digs, and I thought I’d bring some news for you. David is home.”

“So I heard,” replied her aunt, her eyes returning to the tapestry.

“But how did you know? He arrived not two hours ago!”

Aunt Fred peered over her spectacles.

“I have my own sources,” she replied in a bland tone.

“You’ve been bribing the footmen with toffee again, haven’t you?”

“Nonsense. The servants know I like to know what’s going on. Can I help it if they pop in now and then for a little conversation?”

“Aunt Fred, if Aunt Regina knew that you encourage the servants in ‘a little conversation,’ she’d by very displeased.”

“Never mind about that,” her aunt retorted. “Tell me about David. How has his wound affected him? Is he healed, or is he bedridden? Has he seen Regina yet?”

Kate flung up a hand.

“No, he is not bedridden, and he has not seen Aunt Regina. Oh, Aunt Fred, you would not believe the change in him! He is so harsh and bitter. At first, he seemed glad to see me, but then he said such cruel things.”

“War does terrible things to people, Kate. I wonder what he will have to say to Regina,” the old lady mused. “After all, it was largely due to her efforts that David was sent away.”

“Yes, and it was so unfair. David loved Westerly more than anybody else in the family. Even Lawrence.”

“Lawrence!” Her aunt grunted again. “His father’s heir, and such a puppy.

“I remember the day David came to Westerly,” she continued, a faraway look in her eyes. Thomas had been shunted to the Falworth spice plantation in the West Indies by the family to ‘make something of himself.’ ” Well, when he returned to assume the title, there in his luggage, so to speak, was David, Thomas’s son by a half-breed West Indian woman. He wasn’t much more than a year old, and solemn as a little owl when he stared up at one with those great, black eyes. They were a heritage from his mother, along with his straight, dark hair.

“It wasn’t long, though,” ruminated the old lady, “before he was cock of the walk. I can still see him, crowing with laughter as Thomas tossed him nearly to the ceiling. He was without fear, and he ruled us all—at least until Regina came.”

“Aunt Fred,” asked Kate on an impulse, “why did Uncle Thomas bring David here? No one ever told us—Philip and me—the circumstances of David’s arrival. I don’t think David was told much, either. It all seems so odd. I mean, it’s not common for a man to bring his—his ...”

“Bastard?” finished Lady Frederica dryly.

“Yes,” replied Kate, with a small grin. “I’ve always wondered, and no one in the household has ever been willing to discuss David’s, er, background. He told me once that his mother died giving birth to him, but that’s all I know.”

“Mm, yes,” the old lady began slowly. “That’s about all we were told, as well. It does seem like an odd thing for Thomas to have done, settling David in here at Westerly. Particularly for someone like Thomas, who is hardly what you’d call revolutionary in his thinking. He’s a good man, but, as you have no doubt perceived, somewhat weak in nature. Like many such men, however, he can occasionally turn stubborn.

“The household was in an uproar. Amaryllis, the silly widgeon, took to her bed saying that Thomas was an undutiful son and would be the death of her. My brother, Seth, spent hours in fruitless remonstrance with him, and all the other uncles and cousins and aunts buzzed at him like so many angry hornets, but all to no avail. Thomas had got the bit between his teeth. He said flatly that he had made his decision and that he was, after all, head of the family and by God that was to be the end of it. Well, it wasn’t, of course, but eventually they all simply gave up. The word put out to the world was that David was the son of a friend who had died on Barbados, naming Thomas as the boy’s guardian. David was supremely happy here until Thomas married Regina, and the boy was relegated to the position of an unwanted relative.”

Kate sat for a moment, absorbing her aunt’s words.

“Uncle Thomas must have loved her very much,” she said at last. “David’s mother, I mean.”

“Mmm. In any event, he was left with a motherless infant and, I suppose, a load of guilt.”

“Oh, Aunt Fred, I’m sure Uncle Thomas was motivated by more than guilt. He is so kindhearted. Look at how he treated Philip and me. We were very young, too, when Papa and Mama died, but he brought us right to Westerly. And, he’s not even really my uncle. My mother was only his cousin, so the relationship is fairly distant, after all.”

Lady Frederica’s lips curled in an ironic smile.

“Yes, I’m sure the fact that your papa had become a nabob during his years in India, and that you and Philip were his sole heirs had nothing to do with your uncle’s decision—instigated, as I recall, by Regina—to tuck you safely away at Westerly.”

“Aunt Fred!” This time Kate’s gasp was audible. “What an awful thing to say! Uncle Thomas has not indicated the slightest interest in our money.”

“Not so far, at least. We’ll see what happens when you actually come into possession of your funds. For you are a very wealthy young woman, Kate, since Philip’s death.”

Kate rose from where she had flung herself at her aunt’s feet.

“That is unfair, Aunt. I have never known Uncle Thomas to be any other than an honest man.”

“To be sure, my dear, but even honest men will take advantage of what might be considered a windfall. Westerly is in desperate need of funds, and what could be more natural than an alliance between you, Thomas’s wealthy young relative, and Lawrence, Thomas and Regina’s oldest son.”

Kate spoke in a shaking voice.

“Even if what you said were true, I have no interest in marrying Lawrence, and Lawrence certainly does not want me for a bride. And—and Uncle Thomas has made only the merest mention that someday we might—that is ...”

Lady Frederica now rose also and extended a hand to her great-niece.

“There, child, forgive my wretched tongue. Please excuse my words as the maundering of an old lady.”

Kate shook her head, a smile lighting her clear hazel eyes.

“You need no excuse or forgiveness, Aunt. I would never want you to be less than your honest, if sometimes misguided, self, and I know you always speak from love. But,” she added as she prepared to leave the room, “please, for heaven’s sake, let us drop this particular subject. I must go and get cleaned up for dinner now.”

She brushed the top of Lady Frederica’s head with a light kiss and slipped through the door. Reaching her room once more, she rang for Phoebe, her maid, and as she removed her filthy muslin, her expression remained thoughtful. For, as much as she might decry her great-aunt’s sentiments, she had begun to realize some time ago that Uncle Thomas’s plans for her future leaned heavily toward a union between herself and his oldest son. His oldest legitimate son, that is. She sighed, then brightened a little at the thought that this, at least, was a problem she would not have to face in the near future.

David, however, was something else.

Chapter Three

David paused for an instant at the doorway of his father’s chamber before quietly approaching the great bed. For another long moment, he stared at the figure sleeping there. Lord, he thought, the change in the older man was appalling. Though his brown hair lay thick above eyes of the same color, and was scarcely touched by gray, his illness had taken its toll. Lord Falworth looked twenty years older than his forty-five years. His features were touched by a deathly pallor and as he opened his eyes, the hand he stretched forward was thin and trembling.

“David!”

The earl made a spasmodic attempt to lift himself on his bed. “Ah, Davey, my boy, you have come!”

For the first time, David realized the seriousness of the earl’s condition, and he moved to cover the older man’s hand with his own.

“Of course, I have come,” he smiled. “How could I refuse your invitation. I—I have missed you, Father.”

Thomas writhed in agitation, his mouth working and his hands clinging to those of his son.

“David, I have something to tell you,” he whispered with an effort. “I did a terrible thing ...” He broke off in a paroxysm of coughing.

“Did a terrible thing,” he began again breathlessly.

“Father, you are tired,” said David, smiling to conceal his anguish. “You must rest now.”

“No!” The old man’s voice sounded as though it were coming from a great distance. “Must tell you ...”

“Later, Father.” Gently, David touched his father’s shoulder. “We will talk later when you are stronger.”

The old man lifted a trembling hand in protest, but could not speak. He sank back among the pillows, tears of exhaustion making their way down the seams in his cheeks. His eyes closed, and David fled the room so that his gathering tears would not be seen by the man who lay fighting for his life.

Some minutes later, with Lucius in his wake, David entered the gold saloon, the customary pre-dinner gathering spot, and was relieved to see that only two other members of the family had preceded him. He knew a moment of gratitude that his friend stood at his side as reinforcement.

He became conscious of the faded splendor of the room. The silk hangings, already gone to a dim yellow at the time of his departure, were now even more pale, and noticeably threadbare. The gilt on some of the armchairs had begun to peel, and the chandeliers, though clean and sparkling, were missing several lustres.

A young man crossed the room with outstretched hand.

“David! Welcome home!”

David grasped the hand in some surprise.

“Crawford! It’s good to see you.” He looked beyond the young man to where a slender girl stood near an old-fashioned pianoforte. “And Cissy! I see your brother has far outstripped you in height.”

He turned and gestured to his friend.

“Lucius, these two very handsome young people are Mr. Crawford and Lady Cilia—Cecilia—Merritt, my half brother and sister. They are twins, and I must say they have improved vastly over the grubby brats I remember. They were twelve when I left.”

Crawford chuckled, but Cilia’s smile was faint. She still had not moved, but remained standing stiffly by the pianoforte, a determinedly cool expression on her face.

“We are eighteen, now,” said Crawford, a trifle importantly. “I shall be coming down from Oxford next year, and Cilia made her come out last Season.”

He was a tall young man, loose limbed and angular. Brown hair fell over a rather meager forehead and appraising brown eyes. His smile, however, was open and unaffected.

Cilia, as might be expected, bore a strong resemblance to her brother, except that she was slight in stature, and small of feature. Her hair, a lighter brown than that of Crawford, tumbled artlessly about her shoulders, confined only by a slim thread of pink ribbon that matched her sarcenet gown.

Lucius shook Crawford’s hand, then bent low over Cilia’s. There was speculation in her young ladyship’s brown gaze as she accepted his polished courtesies.

“Ah, so you have arrived, brother mine,” a voice drawled near the door, and the four turned to face the newcomer.

He was younger than David by a few years, and though of nearly the same height, was narrow of face and form. His looks were not displeasing, despite a faint touch of petulance about his mouth. Pale blond hair curled modishly about his thin cheeks, and the high points of his collar and the elaborate arrangement of his neck cloth announced a tendency toward dandyism.

David paused a moment before moving toward him.

“How are you, Lawrence?” he asked quietly, clasping the hand offered him.

“Oh, tol-lol.” Lawrence, Viscount Standing, was Thomas’s heir, and the oldest of David’s half siblings. He raised his quizzing glass. “Better, at least, than you, my boy. You look decidedly down pin.”

David made no response to this, but introduced Lucius, who shook Lawrence’s hand with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

“I’m surprised to find you at home, Lawrence,” said David. “I expected you would be savoring the delights of the metropolis.”

“Ah, well,” yawned Lawrence, “London’s pretty thin of company just now, y’ know. Besides, dibs not in tune, and thought I’d be better for a spot of rustication. I’m no less surprised to see you here. Hardly the return of the conquering hero, but, welcome home, none the less.”

An insulting sneer accompanied these words, and Lucius started forward. David put forth a restraining hand, turning a bland smile on Lawrence.

“You’ve become quite the sophisticate since I left, but I see your charm of manner remains as it was.”

Lawrence blinked uncertainly, then made his way to a settee in a far corner of the room.

David turned to converse once more with the others, but his attention was arrested almost immediately as another person entered the room.

Regina, Lady Falworth, stood in the doorway for a moment, one hand raised to the rigid sculpture that was her coiffure, her rather flinty blue eyes surveying those already in the chamber. She had been an accredited Beauty in the fast-receding days of her youth, and she still comported herself in such a manner as to keep the aura alive. It was her habit to sweep into a room, pausing on the threshold for a few moments to allow those gathered to become aware of the diamond in their midst. The length of the pause was in direct proportion to the number and importance of the persons present to witness the spectacle.