A thug
had
attacked Blackmore, Bathsheba, and Robert five months ago, the night Meredith gave birth to her twins. But that situation bore no resemblance to what Lucas faced.
Bathsheba pointed that out a moment later. “O'Neill was a madman, not a smuggler. There's quite a difference.”
“Mrs. Blackmore, your tolerance amazes me. What difference does it make? They're all criminals in my book,” huffed the General.
“Uncle Arthur, these men are not criminals,” Phoebe said in a tight voice. “They are poor, struggling every day to feed their families. It is up to us as lord and lady of Mistletoe Manor to assist them, not resort to violence against them.” She turned pleading eyes on Lucas. “Isn't that right, Lucas?”
He practically had to pry his clenched teeth apart. “Phoebe, I told you, we are not having this discussion, here or anywhere else.”
She flushed, but her jaw set in a stubborn line.
“Quite right, Nephew,” Uncle Arthur chimed in. “This business is best left to men. Don't bother your pretty little head over it, Phoebe. Leave everything to Lucas.”
That resulted in the all too predictable and contentious response from the ladies until Phoebe's voice cut through the tumult. “I
will
be involved, because I refuse to allow Lucas or anyone else to turn those unfortunate men over to a harsh and unfeeling justice.”
Lucas thought his head might explode, and when Silverton decided to open his mouth it almost did. “I have to agree with Phoebe,” his cousin said. He relaxed in his chair, the very picture of a wealthy, self-satisfied lord. Lucas wanted to plant a facer on his aristocratic chin.
“Things have been very bad in Kent since the end of the war,” Silverton continued. “So, it's no wonder the smuggling has intensified. But with the return of prosperity to Mistletoe Manor, and with a judicious blind eye, I suspect you'll see the gangs die out by themselves. I believe that would be the wisest course of action, rather than an intemperate rush to justice.”
“When I want your damned opinion I'll ask for it,” Lucas grated out as his self-control finally snapped. “Until then, keep out of it. What the hell do you know about it, anyway? It's not as if you have any smuggling on abbey lands.”
Phoebe groaned and even Uncle Arthur looked affronted. Lucas didn't care. He only had eyes for his cousin.
And his cousin was currently rising to his feet, blue eyes shading dark with anger. “For the sake of the family, I will put up with much from you, Lucas. But I will not allow you to use insulting language in my house. Apologize to the ladies and to me, or I assure you that you'll come to regret it.”
Hell.
Lucas already regretted his outburst, but it was too late to back down now. He would not be intimidated by Silverton or anybody else. When he rose, Phoebe grabbed his sleeve, but he shook off her hand. “Is that so? And how do you intend to put your threat into action?”
Bathsheba and Blackmore exchanged exasperated glances and Annabel dropped her head into her hands. “Not again,” she moaned.
“Cheer up,” Robert said to his wife. “At least it won't be our furniture that's destroyed this time.”
It might come to that, since Silverton was still glaring at him with murderous fury, and Lucas imagined he looked much the same. But beneath the anger he felt a weariness tugging at his soul. How in God's name had they let this happen again?
“I forbid either of you to say another word.” Aunt Georgie's frigid voice sliced through the escalating tension. She came slowly to her feet, as angry as Lucas had ever seen her. “I am disgusted with both of you,” she snapped, “as is every other member of the family. You are grown men, blessed with good health, fortune, and wives who love you. And yet all you can do whenever you meet is fight like spoiled children. For what? Over the memory of a woman utterly unworthy of either of you? Lucas, will you not look at your wife and realize how lucky you are?”
Phoebe, who had risen, made a distressed noise in her throat. Startled, Lucas peered at her. Her face had paled, and tears glittered on the end of her lashes. The next instant, she blinked them away, regarding him with an expectant gaze, clearly waiting for him to make a decision.
The right decision. And gazing deeply into her beautiful eyes, he finally understood what that entailed.
But Aunt Georgie wasn't finished. She turned her guns on Silverton. “And you, Stephen. You are the head of this family. Shame on you for acting in so selfish a fashion. Time and again, you have wasted the opportunity to forgive the actions of youthful folly.”
Silverton winced, his shoulders edging up around his ears. Lucas understood. His aunt had reduced them to the level of disobedient schoolboys with a few choice words, and they richly deserved it.
She pointed a finger at each of them in turn. “You and you, come with me now.” She spun on her heel and headed out the door.
Lucas and his cousin glared at each other for a moment before Silverton shrugged and followed Aunt Georgie out of the room. Sighing, Lucas went, too, with Phoebe and Meredith trailing in his wake.
His aunt was waiting across the hall at the door to Silverton's library. She opened it and stepped aside. “The two of you will go in there right now and you will not come out until you have apologized to each other and put this dreadful business behind you. I will keep you in there until Twelfth Night if I must, but you
will
forgive each other.”
She scowled at them with hands fisted on her hips, a tiny, elderly woman who would put them over her knee if she could. Somewhere deep in Lucas's chest, a bubble of laughter began to form. When Phoebe and Meredith flanked Aunt Georgie, adopting identical postures, he had to swallow hard to keep the laughter from bursting forth.
“Listen to your aunt, Lucas,” Phoebe ordered, looking like an angry kitten.
He glanced at Silverton, recognizing the telltale twitch in his jaw. His cousin was also trying not to laugh as he took in Meredith's imperious glare.
Silverton then glanced at him, and with a slight jerk of the head gestured Lucas into the room. Shrugging, Lucas walked into the library, and Silverton followed. Aunt Georgie slammed the door shut. A moment later, he heard the key rotate in the keyhole, locking them in.
Chapter 31
Silverton strolled across the library to a tall cabinet and retrieved a bottle of what looked to be very old French brandy.
“I think I could use something special,” he said. “Join me?”
Lucas gave him a nod, wary of his cousin's casual demeanor. Long ago, he and Silverton had spent countless hours here, in study or in companionable conversation. But now the shared memories of those days, even the room itself, seemed to rebuke him for his role in the long deterioration of what had once been the closest of friendships.
Silverton handed him a generous glass, then headed to a set of leather armchairs in front of the fireplace. Lucas followed, glancing around him. He had never forgotten the quiet beauty of the spacious, elegant room. Its walls were lined floor to ceiling with an unparalleled collection of exquisitely tooled books, and the furniture and art spoke to wealth and taste passed down through several generations. It made Lucas's study at the manor shabby in comparison, but it surprised him to realize he preferred his study's modest yet solid comforts to the grandeur of Silverton's lair.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping the excellent brandy and contemplating the crackling flames in the large grate. Lucas sensed they both knew the time had come to confront their past, but that neither knew how to begin. While a fragile sense of companionship hovered between them, a single misspoken word could plunge them back into enmity and discord.
Finally, Silverton shifted in his seat and let out a weary sigh. “It
was
your fault, you know,” he said.
Dammit
. Not a good beginning. Even though Silverton's pronouncement held a great deal of truth, Lucas wasn't yet ready to wave the white flag. After all, he was a soldier, and surrender didn't come easy.
“Bugger you,” he replied, keeping his voice genial and light.
Silverton narrowed his eyes, but maintained his relaxed sprawl in the chair. He didn't fool Lucas, though. Tension hummed in the air between them.
“The women do have the right of this,” Silverton replied after several charged moments. “For the sake of the family, we must put the animosity behind us. It's idiotic and a waste of time and energy.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “I'm not going to ask you to apologize, if that's what you're worried about.”
That was probably the best opening Lucas could expect, and it was a fairly magnanimous one at that. Might as well get it over with, because Lord knew he was tired of the bloody awful mess it had become.
“You're right,” he admitted. “It was my fault, and we both know it. But you need to know something else if we truly intend to put this behind us. I did love Esme. Quite obsessively, in fact, and I was convinced you didn't. Not until it was too late. And by that point, I couldn't step back or even talk to you about it.”
Silverton tilted his head to study him. Lucas saw no anger in those extraordinary light blue eyes, only curiosity and something that might be akin to sympathy.
“Why ever not?”
Lucas forced the difficult words out of his mouth. “I was ashamed, dammit.”
“Ashamed of loving Esme?”
“God, no. That came much later.”
“Then of what?”
Lucas avoided Silverton's perceptive gaze by staring at the fire. He had repressed his shame for so long, allowing only anger to live within him. But the dreaded emotion now came flooding back, and he couldn't bear to look at the man whose trust and friendship he had betrayed.
But he had to face it. Not only did honor demand it, his wife expected this from him, too. The memory of Phoebe's heartfelt gaze in the drawing room rushed into his mind. She trusted him to do the right thing. God only knew why, but it gave him the courage to put his resentment aside and give Silverton what he deserved.
The truth.
Lucas turned to squarely face his cousin. “I envied you, and that made it impossible for me to beg forgiveness. You had everything I ever wanted, and it all came to you so easily. It always did. Everyone doted on you. And why not? You were Marquess of Silverton, the golden-haired lad who could do no wrong. Compared to you, I always came up short, as my father and Uncle Arthur made a point of reminding me on a regular basis.”
The bitter-tasting words made him cringe. Still, he'd been a fool all these years and he would finish this if it killed him. The fact that Silverton was now gaping at him, mouth open, made it a bit easier.
“It wasn't that I wanted everything you had,” Lucas explained. “God knows, I led a life of privilege and never had cause to complain. What I envied was the respect everyone handed you on a gold platter.”
Silverton was slowly shaking his head at him, like he was a damned fool.
Lucas spread his hands. “All right, it was stupid. But that was how I felt. And when Esme chose me, it restored the balance somehow. But then when she rejected me for you, it told me I could never measure up. No matter what I did, I would never be anything but a shadow of the Marquess of Silverton.”
Silverton slumped back in his chair, his expression pained. “My God, Lucas. You
were
an idiot to believe that, but so was I. If it wasn't so pathetic, I would be laughing at our stupidity.”
Lucas frowned. It was hardly the reaction he was expecting. “What are you talking about?”
A rueful smile touched his cousin's lips. “I'd always been jealous of
you
. You had the freedom I wanted. You could do whatever you wanted, be whomever you wanted. But from my earliest days I had nothing but duty and responsibility drummed into my head. The estates, the family, and all the people I had to watch overâI was never allowed to forget, even for a moment.”
He raised an arm in an encompassing gesture. “All this, for example. I can't tell you how often it has seemed a millstone around my neck.”
Now it was Lucas's turn to gape. “You're the Marquess of Silverton. Who the hell wouldn't want to be in your boots?”
“Believe me, I'm well aware of my good fortune. But it's a burden, too, at least if you're a man who takes his duties as seriously as I do. Now it's the same for you. After all these years, I suspect you finally understand.”
Lucas let that sink in. He did feel different, now that he had a wife, and the manor and its people to look after. The army had carried its own set of duties and concerns, but its success hadn't rested on his shoulders alone. In civilian life, he had people depending on him for everything, and to fail them would blight their lives. For his cousin, with his huge estates, the demands were even greater.
“You possessed the freedom I craved,” continued Silverton, “or at least I thought you did. And when Esme obviously preferred you, only wanting my name for the wealth and status it carried . . . well, it had the unfortunate result of confirming everything I believed. That
you
were the lucky one, someone who was judged on his own merit rather than on his title or the size of his purse.”
Lucas choked out a disbelieving laugh. “Good Christ, you're right. We
are
idiots.”
Silverton shrugged and rose to his feet. He grabbed the brandy bottle and replenished their glasses. “We were young. Worse mistakes came later, when we were old enough to know better. Truly, Lucas, the best thing to do is put all that foolishness behind us. It serves no purpose to lament what might have been. It's only the future that matters, and the people who love us.”
Lucas's throat tightened with emotion. He stood and offered his hand. “Thank you, Cousin,” he said gruffly.
They shook, and for an awful moment Lucas was afraid Silverton would hug him.
His cousin rolled his eyes. “Don't be more of an idiot than you already are.”
Lucas grinned and they tapped their glasses, offering a silent toast. After they drank, Silverton put down his glass and gave him an easy, charming smile. It was the first genuine smile Silverton had directed at him in years. God, it felt good.
“Are we ready to rejoin the ladies?” Silverton asked.
“Perhaps we should torture them a bit longer,” Lucas said in jest.
Silverton smiled. “We could break a few glasses, I suppose.”
“It's tempting, but I'm not that brave. I fear Phoebe and Meredith would come storming in to box our ears.”
They walked to the door together, and Silverton called out, “Meredith, we've kissed and made up. You can let us out.”
“I don't believe you,” she yelled through the door. “You haven't been in there long enough. And it's been too quiet. You obviously didn't even talk about it.”
The two men stared at each other in disbelief.
“Good Christ. How long do they expect us to talk about this rubbish?” Lucas asked.
Silverton let out a sigh. “You've been away from women for too long.” He glanced at the longcase clock by the door. “They obviously insist that we either start yelling at each other, or spend at least another half hour in here.”
“Perhaps we should just break down the door,” Lucas said dryly.
“No need, Cousin. We'll take the other way out of here.”
Lucas glanced over at the French doors out to the terrace and lifted an eyebrow.
Silverton smiled. “Exactly.”
They slipped out into the cold, wind-whipped night. The snowfall had ended, laying down little more than a dusting of white over the terrace stones. Crunching down the wide steps to the lawn, they skirted the east wing and came around to a small side entrance to the abbey. Silverton stopped and turned to look back over the broad expanse of lawn and the home woods, stretching into the distance under a sky rapidly clearing of clouds. A frigid half-moon rolled through the endless, inky vault, its beams painting a canvas of shadows and pale crystal on the snow-covered landscape.
Lucas stepped up beside him, gazing out over the grounds of Belfield Abbey. A fugitive peace stole over him, settling deep in his bones. He recognized that it came not only from the quiet of a winter's eve, but from an acceptance of the pastâmistakes and allâand from looking forward to what lay before him. A few times these last few weeks he had felt something similar, but only in Phoebe's company.
If he wasn't such a cynic, he might even call it hope.
Silverton spoke quietly. “It was worth it, Lucas.”
“What?”
“Esme. The fight between us.”
Startled, Lucas stared at him. “How do you figure that?”
His cousin kept his gaze fixed on the sky, as if the answers to all life's questions were writ large in the stars. “I would never have married Meredith, nor had the twins. I would never have understood the real worth of life or what was truly important to me. I'm sorry for what happened between us, but I can't regret any of it.” He clapped Lucas on the shoulder. “And neither should you, with the wife you've got. The woman obviously adores you.”
Lucas snorted. “When she's not reading me a lecture.”
“That's a wife's privilege. And I know you, Lucas. You're completely mad for her, and rightly so.”
Well, he was
something
for Phoebe. But before he could acknowledge what it was, there remained a few matters that needed resolutionâstarting with her owning up to her secrets.
Silverton gave him a sly grin. “What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
“Oh, sod off,” Lucas growled.
His cousin laughed and led the way into the house. Although happy to abandon their long-standing feud, Lucas had no intention of discussing Phoebe, or his marriage, with Silverton or with anyone else.
Not until he figured it out for himself.