“Thank God that’s over,” Will said.
“I only wish it were. Will, what is to become of us now?”
With a crooked smile, Will said, “I suppose I shall have to call you ‘my lord.’ And it’s funny, but I don’t believe I shall mind at all.”
He held out his hand, and David seized it like a lifeline. “God, Will—” Both doors were locked, the curtains drawn; he pulled Will close and took the chance of a kiss, letting the comfort of that contact block out all else. He let it draw out as long as he could; no telling when they’d have another opportunity. Then he buried his face in his lover’s shoulder and held on for dear life, until he felt his panicked heartbeat slow back to normal.
And then he did his duty. He unlocked the door, admitted the servants, saw to the disposition of his brother’s body and the restoration of order in his family’s home.
Chapter Sixteen
The next few hours went by in a blur. Dr. Fiske arrived and attended the Earl, giving his opinion that his patient had suffered a heart attack but seemed to be recovering, and in no immediate danger. The Earl, conscious but very weak, told Fiske that Ronald had admitted to pushing his sister-in-law down the stair, and had been given the choice of arrest or suicide. The doctor made a brief inspection of the body—in fact, he lifted the blanket, nodded, and put it back—and agreed that Ronald had died as the result of a gunshot wound to the head, no doubt the result of the accidental discharge of his pistol. He agreed to have a word with the coroner so the family would not have to endure the disgrace of suicide heaped on their other sorrows.
Still wrapped in a mental fog, David found himself outside the door of his mother’s room. He’d thought he dreaded confronting Ronald, but this...was there any gentle way he could break such news?
Kirby admitted him with a nod. “She’s awake, my lord.”
“Thank you.”
“My lord,” she said.
To me. Good God, it’s real, isn’t it?
He took a deep breath and passed through the pleasant sitting room, into the warmth of the bedroom where his mother sat propped up against a mountain of pillows. Her color was good, at any rate. He bent and kissed her cheek. “Mama.”
“Oh, my dear son.” There was more strength in her hand than he had expected. “I had expected your father. Where is he?”
“He is doing well.” There, whatever else, he would not have her fearing the worst. “Mama, he had a very disturbing conversation with Ronald earlier this afternoon, and ...it appears that Ronald shot himself, either during that time, or immediately after it.” He could see dread on her face, so he said quickly, “Dr. Fiske thinks Papa has had a heart attack—not a severe one, thank God. He is resting now, and the doctor believes he will recover.”
“I must go to him,” she said, throwing back the bedclothes. “Call Kirby.”
“But, Mama—”
He had expected frailty and shock. He got, “Son, do as I tell you. I have loved your father for over forty years and if he is ill, my place is beside him. He has enough on his shoulders, I must let him know that he needn’t worry about me.”
He put out a hand, but as far as he could tell, she was in no more distress than he was himself. Possibly less. “Are you...are you strong enough?”
“Now that I will not have to accuse one of my sons of murdering his brother? Oh, yes, dear, I will do perfectly well. She raised her voice. “Kirby! My dressing gown, please.”
He froze, transfixed by her words. “You knew?”
Kirby popped in at the doorway. “Yes, my lady?”
“I must go see my husband, and do not waste time telling me I cannot. My dressing gown and slippers, if you please!” When the maid disappeared, she said, “Yes, dear. When we were seeing to Mark’s...final arrangements, I saw that he had been shot from behind. And I thought of poor Lenore, how we never did learn what precisely had become of her, and how evasive Ronald was when I asked him about her death. I knew, then, but I could not bring myself to tell your father.”
A sharp laugh forced itself out. “You might have told me!”
“Oh, dear, I could not do that, either. Your father might have thought that you were attempting to accuse your brother for your own benefit. I know that you could not do such a thing, but he has never seen you in your true light.”
He could hardly argue with her. He’d said as much to Will, more than once. “What did you mean to do, ma’am? I know you could not have let it pass!”
She shook her head, the ribbons on her cap fluttering. “I—at first, I was horrified. I could not think! If Virginia’s child had been a boy, I should have had to tell my darling everything, so he might keep the baby safe. I believe I was hoping that Ronald might …” She faltered, but dabbed at her eyes and went on, “might show some sign of remorse, and confess what he had done. When he only grew more complacent, I knew I would have to speak, but—oh, Davy, I hope you never see a child of your own body sink so far into evil, and be faced with the choice of exposing him or—”
She began to cry, then, and he was almost relieved to see it. Having carried that same burden himself, he marveled that she had only taken to her bed. Her own son, who had once been a baby as small and helpless as that newborn child in the nursery...He took a step closer and put his arms around her, worried by how small she was, how seemingly fragile. “It will be all right now, Mama. I promise.”
Kirby appeared at the door, the dressing gown in her arms. She met his eye and made a discreet withdrawal, returning in a few minutes when the Countess had got herself back under control. “Here you are, my lady. Dr. Fiske says his lordship’s not to be fussed over, so you must put on a brave face for his sake. If you please, I have a cold compress here, with a few drops of lavender-water, and if you will let me just put it on your eyelids for a moment…”
“I can see you are in better hands than mine,” David said, and withdrew.
* * * * *
He sat at the desk that had been his brother’s, wondering how he was ever going to grow into the job. At least he need not take on the whole sprawling mass of it immediately, that was a small mercy, but he had to start shouldering some of the burden straightaway. He must learn what to do as fast as he was able. He didn’t know how much time he had to do that, either. The tragedies of the past month had pared years off his father’s life, and probably his mother’s, as well.
It hasn
’
t done much for mine, either, come to that.
How was he to carry on? He could keep Will here for a little while—tell his mother that Commander Marshall had no kith nor kin to go to, and that would be all she needed to know. His father might grumble—to him, of course, and no one else—but David could say that Will’s pride had led him to offer to pay his board, and that would serve to goad the Earl’s own pride into a declaration that no guest at
his
home would be expected to pay as though Grenbrook were some sort of lodging-house. No, he could keep Will close for awhile...until war resumed, or he grew restless, or Sir Percy came up with some other clandestine assignment.
And after that—what then? Become the Lord of the Manor, and wait for an occasional letter from his old friend and former shipmate, and pray that he would see him once more, if duty ever brought him into Plymouth?
No more shore leave together. No little house in Portsmouth. No Will in his arms or bed, or even in a carriage. Never again.
He buried his face in his hands, wishing there were some way he might pass this burden on to someone else. But there was no one. Only himself, the least promising twig on the Archer tree, left to sustain and protect the family.
A gentle tap at the door interrupted his somber reflections. Hoping it was Will, he called, “Come in.”
Amelia peeked tentatively around the door. “Am I disturbing you?”
“Oh, not at all. Come in. I appreciate the interruption.” As she quietly closed the door behind her, he gestured at the pile of agricultural books and notes arranged neatly on the desk. “I was just wishing that little Michaela had been little Mark. I’d have made a better guardian than a Viscount. Lia, how am I going to manage all this?”
She dropped a quick kiss on his cheek before choosing the chair nearest his own. “I know you can do it, my dear. I only wish you did not
have
to do it, that you could be free to go back to sea with Captain Marshall. I know you would much rather be with him.”
“Oh, don’t distress yourself over that.” He hesitated, wondering how much he could tell her. “I might not have stayed at sea even if Mark were still alive. Will and I have grown close, over the years, and when I was wounded, he—” No, best not to follow that path any further. “That is, before I knew whether I would even recover enough to go back to sea, I began to consider whether that was how I wanted to spend my life—and probably end my life. I’m not a cat, with nine of them to risk, and a naval career was never my ambition. You remember why I ran off to sea in the first place.”
“I do.” She smiled. “And I always thought it a great pity that you could not have stayed behind to hear Father boast about your gumption. He was proud that you had the character to want to do right by the girl, even if you hadn’t the sense to realize such an alliance was impossible, and that you weren’t going to settle for being anyone’s baby brother, not even if it meant you had to start as an over-aged midshipman.”
“I wish he’d found it in him to say that to me,” David said. “Though Uncle Jack did pass on the money he sent for my kit. That rather surprised me.”
“Father always was harder on you boys than he wanted to be, I think. He felt he had to be stern to make you strong. And the longer he went on that way, it seemed the more difficult it was for him to give you any encouragement.”
“It worked, I suppose,” he said. “It worked very well, in Mark’s case.”
“He does care about our happiness, Davy. Look at how he gave Mark the Four-Acre to experiment with, and gave Anne his blessing even though he had reservations about Clive. Or the way he’s given his word that I will be able to be a spinster if I choose.” She glanced over. “You will honor that, too, I hope?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Lia, of course I will, though I think you are perfectly silly in believing you must settle for that. Still, if there’s no man who takes your fancy, I would never press you to marry just to get you off my hands. If you like, you can have the house in London that Grandmother left me. I shall probably beg you to stay here and act as hostess someday, after Mother is gone. The most unnerving aspect of this whole change in my status is that I must now consider what I shall do about providing an heir, when the very last thing I want is—”
“A wife,” she finished. “Because there is someone you love more.”
He felt the tingle of danger, staring at his sister as he tried to imagine why in the world she had said such a thing. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully.
“Oh, Davy, my dear, please don’t look so stony-faced!” She sprang up, and went to the door, leaning out to peer down the hall in either direction. “Yes, we are perfectly alone.” She closed the door and returned, pulling her chair very close, taking his hand. “I may be mistaken, and if so, I do beg your pardon. But it is clear to me that you love Captain Marshall a great deal, and unless I am much mistaken, his feelings for you are the same.”
She did not say that in an accusing way. She said it as though she approved, as though it were perfectly acceptable. Had the tragedies of the past weeks unhinged her reason?
“What can I say to that, Lia?” he asked helplessly. “‘Yes’ would condemn me before God and man, and put his life at risk as well. ‘No’ would…” He shook his head. “I’ll not lie to you. I cannot answer at all.”
“You need not. And please, do not think I accuse you!” She folded her hands in her lap, and studied her fingers. “I am doing this all wrong, Davy. I had hoped to suggest an answer for us both.”
“What do you mean?”
She kept her eyes down. “I speak of such feelings—and yes, I know they are forbidden, but that does not stop them, and not all the Bibles in the world will convince me they are evil—because that is the reason I do not wish to marry. I wish to live quietly with Jane because I love her and she loves me. Once we are well into our thirties we shall be just another pair of old maids—”
“You
what?”
he demanded. “Amelia, how could—what—how—?”
She blushed bright pink but met his eyes squarely. “I wish you would not ask such questions unless you are
certain
you are willing to hear the answers!”
“No, no!” he said hastily. “I assure you, I do not, but…” He shook his head, not only taken flat aback but dismasted as well. “And I thought this situation was already too complicated for me to handle!”
“Well, you needn’t do anything if you would rather not,” she said. “But it did occur to me that when you are head of the family—and I hope that day is many years in the future—we might all live together very comfortably and discreetly. No one would think ill if Captain Marshall were to visit us when he was not at sea. He does seem to love the Navy, but you really cannot leave us for such a perilous career.”
He was so far past nonplussed that he hardly knew what to say. “And what does Jane think of this proposal?” he asked finally.
“She thought it would be lovely if I were to marry Captain Marshall and she could marry you,” Amelia said. “For appearance, mainly, but also to make us one family. I did point out that we might have mistaken your friendship with him, and even if we had not, either of you might have plans to marry someone else altogether. And she was afraid that you might think her ambitious.”