Anne Barbour (7 page)

David glanced down at his father’s hand in his. God, it was like holding cobwebs. He closed his eyes, willing the dying man to take strength from his own handclasp, and held his breath as he felt the earl’s grip tighten slightly. The pale eyelids fluttered, but did not open, and the flaccid mouth worked, as though trying to form words. David bent his head to listen.

“Davey.” The sound of his own name came so faintly, that at first David thought he had imagined it. But, the whisper came once more.

“David. You’re—here. Glad—”

“Don’t force him to speak, David.” The voice was Regina’s, sharper than he’d ever heard it. “He’s ill enough already.”

David did not so much as look at her, but spoke softly to his father.

“Don’t try to talk, Father. Just rest now. We’ll speak later.”

A spasm crossed the sick man’s face.

“No. No time.” Again, his mouth worked in an effort to speak. “Davey—must tell you—I’ve made it all right. Did a terrible thing—but now ...”

“Hush, Father. You must not tire yourself.”

Suddenly, Thomas’s eyes flew open, and for an instant, David recognized in him the vigorous man who had bade him good-bye six years ago.

“David—take care of...”

The words were a mere murmur, and now his eyes closed for the last time. Thomas drew a long, shuddering breath, and was still.

It seemed to Kate that the next few days passed in a suspended blur. She had little to do with Thomas’s funeral arrangements, except to see that everything was made ready for the guests who would soon arrive for the obsequies. Regina managed the details of the service and interment with her usual efficiency.

Kate knew that Lady Falworth truly mourned her husband’s passing. For months she had sat by his side, uncomplaining, performing the most menial tasks for him with her own hands and setting aside her own pleasures to see to his comfort. She displayed, however, few outward signs of the depth to which she felt her loss. Only her reddened eyes and the sounds of distress that emanated from her room at night indicated the dimensions of her grief.

But, of all the family, Kate’s heart went out to David. To her utter disbelief, Thomas’s last words had scarcely died away when Regina uttered a harsh order, seconded by Lawrence, that David leave the room. Glancing about in a dazed fashion, David had departed, silent as a shadow, and Kate had run from the chamber after him.

“It doesn’t matter, my dear,” he replied gently in answer to her storm of indignation at his treatment. “There is nothing she can say anymore that matters one whit.”

The next day was a confused blur, and dinner the following evening was an unrelieved disaster. Regina sat silent, staring at the empty chair at the head of the table, and eating little. Lawrence, on the other hand, made a good meal, interspersed with comments on the correct attire to be displayed at the funeral by the males of the family. To these, Cilia and Crawford listened with a marked lack of attention. Aunt Fred, to Kate’s disappointment, had remained in her room with a tray. The only other persons at the table were David and Lucius, who conducted their own muted conversation.

“I shall have to have black tassels for my boots, of course,” Lawrence was saying, waving his fork in punctuation. “Silver won’t do at all. Don’t know if I can procure any in Bath, and it’s too late to order any on such short notice. Perhaps...”

“Curse it, Lawrence,” interrupted Crawford at last. “Can’t you think about anything except your wretched wardrobe? Is that all Father’s death means to you—a chance to rig out?”

“But,” replied Lawrence in affronted surprise, “merely showing Father the respect due him, don’cher know. I mean, how would it look to show up at his services dressed just anyhow? Like David,” he finished with a sniff.

David, hearing his name, turned to face Lawrence.

“Beg pardon?” he asked mildly.

“Lawrence was just expressing the hope that you won’t disgrace the family by showing up at Father’s funeral dressed— just anyhow,” responded Crawford dryly.

“Crawford, for heaven’s sake,” interjected Regina in a taut voice. She bent an icy stare on David. “Lawrence was talking of trivialities merely to take his mind off his sorrow, I’m sure. Be that as it may, perhaps we should discuss what you will wear, since you obviously brought nothing suitable with you.”

Kate watched in dismay as David’s anger spread visibly across his thin cheeks.

“Oddly enough, my lady,” he snapped, “my plans for this visit did not include attending my father’s last services.

“Nonetheless, I shall try to dredge up something suitable from my wretchedly inadequate wardrobe, so that I shan’t bring shame upon the noble Falworth name.”

At this, Lawrence set his wineglass on the table with such force that several drops spilt onto the tablecloth.

“By God,” he cried. “If that ain’t the outside of enough! Since you have nothing to do with the noble Falworth name, do you think we care what you wear?” He paused for a moment as a new and apparently pleasurable thought struck him. “For that matter, I think we would be much better off if you did not attend the funeral at all. In fact—” he shot a sidelong glance at his mother—”you may depart the premises first thing tomorrow morning,” he concluded regally. He settled back in his chair, sending a second, more belligerent stare at his half brother.

David sat motionless for a moment, his face white. Lucius placed a hand on his arm and murmured something inaudible. Kate, who had been dreading this moment, half rose as though to shield David from Lawrence’s childish malevolence.

David opened his mouth to reply, but Kate’s motion caught his attention. His eyes flicked to hers, and he relaxed suddenly. He turned to contemplate Lawrence’s glowering countenance.

“But, my dear brother,” he said calmly, “I fully intend to leave. Right after Father’s funeral.” He spoke the last sentence slowly, with a deliberate pause between each word.

“Look here,” Lawrence fairly squeaked in his rage, “I’m running things here now, and I say ...”

“Lawrence!”

Regina’s voice sliced through her son’s incipient tirade, but she continued in a mild tone.

“While I’m pleased to see you take the reins of Westerly into your own hands so promptly, I think we must make allowances for appearances.”

“Of course, my dear fellow,” interposed David lazily. “Do you intend to throw me out bodily? Think how it would look! But, never fear,” he continued, his eyes glittering behind shuttered lids, “directly after Father is laid to rest in the earth of Westerly, I shall depart.”

Regina put a handkerchief to her mouth and rose from the table. Lawrence, too, took his departure. Mother and son fled the room in mutual commiseration, leaving those remaining to pass the remainder of the meal in an awkward silence.

Thus it was, some three days later, as the last of the carriages of the guests who had come to partake of the funeral meats was wending its way down the long driveway, Lucius Pelham’s smart traveling coach could be seen approaching the house from the stable. Inside the manor, David descended the wide staircase into the entrance hall, where Kate awaited him.

After a sleepless night, agonizing over his departure, she had resolved not to plague him by pleading with him to stay. She knew that nothing she could say would stay him. Why did she feel such a sense of loss at his imminent departure? He was no longer, she told herself for the hundredth time, the David she had loved as a child.
But, no!
The silent cry came from deep within her. She felt that in the last few days she had begun to crack the shell of bitterness in which he was imprisoned. And now she was not to be given the time to try to free him completely.

Observing her wide, anguished gaze, David’s heart lurched within him. Lord, he hadn’t realized it would be so hard to leave Westerly again. No, that wasn’t it, of course. He was finding it difficult beyond his imaginings to leave Kate. How could she have become so important to him in just a few days? His affection for her had always been strong, as it had for Philip, and seeing her again, he told himself, had brought the happier days of his childhood back to him.

It was too bad he had to leave her in Regina’s scheming hands. The thought of her wed to Lawrence was—well, best not to dwell on that. Besides, Kate would surely not be forced against her will. She could handle her own problems. Couldn’t she?

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he stood for a moment, absorbing the sight of her. In her severe gown of black crepe, flaming curls catching the candlelight, she looked like a slender taper herself, set alight to relieve the dismal aspect of the house.

“Come to see me off, have you, Midget?” he asked, smiling. He chastened himself silently. It had been donkey’s years since he’d used that name for her. Why did he find it necessary to remind himself that Kate’s only importance to him was as a cherished symbol of the past?

At the sound of the name she hadn’t heard since she was a child, Kate stiffened. Then, she shrugged inwardly. Why should she be surprised that David still thought of her as the tiresome infant who used to plague him and Philip? He had made it abundantly plain that, to him, she was still the sister of his best friend, whom he had adopted for his own so long ago. And, after all, that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? A not-quite-brother—a confidant with whom she could share her joys and her troubles?

“You will write, won’t you, David?” she asked, with a shy smile. “I would so love to hear about all your doings in Vienna.” She fought to suppress the tears that thickened in her throat, and forced herself to a light, inconsequential tone. “How exciting it will all be! The ladies in all their finery—the balls. And, of course, all the important personages gathered together!” She listened to her own brittle laughter, and felt the tears rise higher.

“Of course, I shall write. And you will tell me of your own doings, I hope?” David found he was having trouble with his voice. “Tell me more of your diggings and scraping. Or perhaps I shall read about you in
The Gentleman’s Magazine.
They always feature the latest antiquarian news, you know. And when ...”

“Ah, David! All ready to be on our way, I see.”

Dressed impeccably, as always, in a dove gray traveling costume, Lucius Pelham ran lightly down the great staircase toward them.

“I just passed Curle in the hallway upstairs with your luggage, and Fellowes has already stowed my gear in the other vehicle, so we can be on our way at your convenience.”

He paused to take Kate’s hand in his and bestowed a warm smile on her.

“Most happy to have made your acquaintance, Miss Millbank. My only regret, if I may say so, in leaving this place is that we shall not have a chance to further our acquaintance.”

Kate smiled in return, but her reply was cut short by the entrance into the hall of the remainder of the family, moving toward the library for the reading of the will. They were led by Lady Falworth and Lawrence, followed by Crawford, Cilia, and Lady Frederica. Mr. Smollett, the attorney, drew up the rear, followed by those family retainers who expected to be remembered in his lordship’s last testament.

On catching sight of the little party in conversation at the foot of the stairs, Regina halted abruptly. Lawrence, too, paused, and raised his quizzing glass in a languid manner.

Taking his mother’s arm, he advanced toward the smaller group. The rest of the procession waited respectfully in position.

“Shaking the dust of Westerly from your boots are you, David?” he asked in a muted, but unpleasant tone of voice. “And high time, too. Don’t mind telling you, we’ll all be glad to see your back.”

Crawford snickered self-consciously, and Cilia raised her black silk handkerchief to her mouth. Aunt Fred, a small, plump wraith in her black silk draperies, said nothing, but her eyes flickered brightly between the two young men.

“Since you’ve been telling me that on a regular basis for the last three days,” replied David in a quiet voice, “your sentiments do not come as a surprise, brother.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Lawrence,” snapped Kate angrily, “can’t you mind your wretched tongue for once in your life?”

“That will do, Kate,” interjected Regina. Turning to David, she smiled and extended her hand. “You must forgive my son’s, er, impetuosity. We do, of course, wish you well on your endeavors. Our good wishes go with you to—Vienna, is it?”

Of course, growled Kate inwardly. Now that she is about to be rid of David forever, she can afford to be magnanimous. No “do come back to see us,” of course. No “our house is your house” will we hear from my lady.

David simply blinked at Regina’s words, uttered with what could almost be taken as warmth, but Lucius took the opportunity to bend low over the countess’s hand.

“So very happy to have met you, my lady,” he murmured smoothly. “You are everything David led me to expect.”

Before Regina could reply, Lucius grasped David’s arm, and with a nod to Kate, led him toward the door.

“And now,” he said, “if you will...”

He was interrupted by Mr. Smollett, who placed his short, plump form directly in David’s path.

“But you’re not leaving, Mr. Merritt! Were you not informed....? that is, there must have been some oversight. You must stay, sir. For the reading of the will, you know.”

Regina gestured impatiently.

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Thomas assured me last week that he settled what he felt was his financial obligation at the time he purchased David’s commission. There can be nothing ...”

“I’m afraid there has been a—a slight change, my lady,” replied Mr. Smollett, with an air of suppressed tension. “It will indeed be necessary for Mr. Merritt to attend the reading.”

David glanced questioningly at Lucius, who sighed and began to divest himself of his superbly tailored greatcoat.

Lawrence, who apparently had at last grasped the significance of the attorney’s words, hurried to his mother’s side.

“What? What? David in the will! Mother, I thought you told me ...”

Lady Falworth clicked her tongue impatiently.

“I’m sure it is nothing, my boy. David apparently once more importuned your father to grant him some favor. Let him stay.”