“You have been repeatedly hurt by people you trusted,” she said. “It is not remarkable that you react so. You have stopped allowing yourself to trust your heart and will allow only a calculating brain to rule you. It is perhaps the safest way to live, but certainly not the most rewarding. In my case and in Oliver’s too, you reacted impulsively, refusing to listen to what your heart was telling you. You said once that you could not bring yourself to hate me as you had hated Arabella. That was because in your heart you knew I truly loved you, as you know Oliver does.”
He came across the room to her and took both her hands in his, raising them to his lips. “My clever wife. What did I ever do to deserve you?”
He took her into his arms then and held her close and she knew he had finally overcome his bitterness. She hoped he would see Oliver now and perhaps hear his explanation. If he could bring himself to do that much, she was convinced that the love they bore for each other would do the rest.
* * * *
Two days later Rudley drove to London. He was gone three days, and when he arrived home again, he found that Katherine and Pamela had gone riding. He had Navigator saddled and rode out toward the footbridge in the woods. He had not been there since the day he had left Katherine, but now as he rode down to the stream, he found there were no memories of Arabella to haunt him. He splashed through the water without stopping and cantered up the far bank through a carpet of bluebells, then on through the woods to the west, to Weiring.
Rudley pulled his horse up at the edge of the trees as Oliver had done not so many weeks before. He had not been in the house for many years. It looked much the same as it always had from the outside, except that the lawns and garden had been permitted to grow wild. Shrubberies had gone untrimmed, and the ivy that clung to the stone walls had crept over the windows.
He drew a deep, resolute breath. What he was about to do would not be easy for him. He prayed for a portion of Katherine’s capacity for understanding as he trotted Navigator up to the house. He dismounted and tied his horse to the gatepost of the low stone fence. The door was opened by Charity.
“My lord Rudley! How good it is to see you.”
He smiled at her, realizing that despite all that had happened, her greeting was sincere. “Please, Charity, we must not be so formal. We are brother and sister now.”
“Yes, of course. Please, come in.”
They walked together to a salon on the ground floor before he asked, “Is Oliver here? If he is, I would like to speak with him.”
“Yes, he is here. If you will wait here, I will go and find him.”
He started to say she should not trouble herself and he would find Oliver, but she was already gone. So he waited, gazing about the familiar room. He walked to the handsome fireplace, crafted, like the house itself, from local stone. He could remember as a child sitting near the heat of a roaring fire while his grandmother read him fairy tales of dragons, brave princes, and damsels in distress. He had always thought the fireplace enormous; it did not seem so now. He picked up a curiously wrought gold-enameled snuffbox from the mantel, recognizing it as one his father had given Oliver years before. He still had it in his hand when the door opened behind him and Oliver entered.
Rudley turned and they stood facing each other, the entire width of the room between them. For several moments neither spoke, nor did either look away. Finally Rudley shifted his gaze to the snuffbox in his hand and he was the first to speak. “I have not seen this for years. It belonged to Grandfather, did it not?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“I am pleased that you should be established here, Oliver.”
“I had convinced myself that you would be most displeased.”
“Oliver, there is something I must say to you. I would like you to listen and when I have finished, I would like to hear your story concerning Arabella—the simple truth, all the truth, with no effort to spare my feelings. And when you have finished, regardless of what you tell me, I wish to bury the memory of Arabella and her influence over us forever. Do you agree?”
Oliver nodded his assent but did not speak. He went to pour brandy and brought his brother a glass.
Taking the brandy, Rudley moved to stand by the windows, allowing his gaze to roam over the park. His thoughts, however, were far from the prospect that presented itself. “All our lives, as you know, there has been a unique bond between us. We are brothers, yes, and I will admit the tie of blood is a strong one; but there was always something more, an inexplicable hold we had upon each other, a sensitivity only we shared. At each time of crisis in our lives, we were there for each other. When we were boys and you nearly drowned in the lake, I was there to pull you to safety; and in Spain you searched acres of dead and dying men to find me and keep me from bleeding to death. These things, and dozens of others, are all part of the trust and faith we have shared.”
Rudley turned to face his brother as he continued. “These past ten years I have had an unwavering regard for you and nothing but contempt for the man who fathered Pamela. When I learned you were that man, I could not reconcile the two feelings. In my eyes you were not worthy, had never been worthy, of the trust I had placed in you. So I struck back in the way I hoped would hurt you most—by breaking all ties between us. But in my heart I have always known, and Katherine has forced me to admit, that bonds so strong and binding are not so easily severed. I was wrong to strike you that day, and I apologize. I was even more wrong in thinking I could cut you from my life—for I cannot, nor do I wish to. Can you forgive me for treating you as I did?” He held out his hand to his brother and Oliver stepped forward willingly to take it in a firm clasp.
“I forgive you freely, as I hope you will forgive me when you have heard my part in all this.” Oliver crossed to an armchair by the fire, folded his long body into it, and propped his booted feet upon the footstool before him. He gently swirled the brandy in his glass. “I met Arabella almost four months before you did. I was just turned twenty, as you know, and my head was full of romantic folly. You remember what she was like: men ten deep around her, a face like an angel. I thought her incomparable, utterly adorable. We were in love, or so I thought at the time, and within a few weeks I had asked her to marry me and she had accepted.”
Rudley frowned at this, for of all the things he had suspected, this had not been one of them.
Oliver continued. “Now you are thinking: If there was an engagement, why was it not announced? You may recall that Arabella’s father was out of the country at the time. We were both under age, and we had to wait until the duke returned in order to make proper application for his permission.
“We were spending a few days as guests of Lord and Lady Grafton when Arabella came to my bedchamber in the middle of the night. I should have sent her away immediately, but I was not so wise in those days, and I let her stay. We found a few similar opportunities during the next several weeks to be together.
“Then enter my brother, the dashing Earl of Rudley. I barely had time to be jealous of the way you looked at her when she told me she would have to end her engagement to me, for she planned to marry you instead. I don’t know whether you had already asked for her hand, but in any case she must have been very certain of you. I was, of course, stunned, and I asked how she could marry you if she loved me. She said she had misunderstood her feelings for me and although she was fond of me, it was you she loved. That was the only time in my life, Ned, that I was truly jealous of you. You, and your damned title, and your damned wealth. For even though she said it was not so, I knew those things had influenced her.”
“Why did you not tell me?” Rudley broke in. “If I had known the two of you had an understanding, I would
never
have interfered.’’
“By the time I realized what was happening it was already too late. When I had overcome my anger for you, and for her as well, you had already announced your engagement. Her vacillating feelings filled me with foreboding, but I knew if I spoke against her I would only sound like a bitter, rejected suitor. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I thought that if you truly loved her and could bring out the best in her, the two of you would be happy together. Of course, at that time I had no idea how spoiled she was, how selfish and deceitful she could be. I thought her only young and fickle. I knew you so well, Ned. I could see you loved her beyond anything, and I thought that if she loved you as she said she did there would be no point in my standing in your way. So, I said nothing, a decision I tried to make in your best interest, and that I have regretted ever since.”
Oliver dropped his feet from the stool and leaned forward, setting his brandy aside.
“When you told me shortly after your marriage that Arabella was increasing, I knew I had failed you, but I did not see what purpose would be served by telling you that she and I had been intimate. For the first time it occurred to me that I may not have been the only man she had been with. So I decided to await developments.
“When I saw Pamela shortly after her birth, I could tell nothing. The next time I saw her she was nearly three. Lydia and I had been married more than a year. When I saw Pamela, I was shocked by her appearance. She looked so much like Father. I could not believe you did not see the resemblance. I wanted to tell you then, because there was no longer the slightest doubt in my mind that she was mine, but Arabella was a bit too clever for me. She guessed my intention and practiced a little blackmail—only one of her many talents. For some reason she preferred to keep you in the dark about Pamela’s paternity.”
“She knew I was determined to know the man’s identity,” Rudley said, “and she did everything possible in those days to thwart me.”
“That would certainly be consistent with her other behavior. She warned me that if I made any move to tell you about Pamela, she would go straight to Lydia and fill her ears with stories of how I had conducted myself as her lover. I could not doubt she would do it, Ned, and I could not take the chance. Lydia’s happiness was more important to me than making a confession to you that could, after all, change nothing. I must admit, however, to wondering why Arabella never told you herself. Certainly if she wanted to wound you, causing a rift between us would have served her purpose admirably.”
“She probably guessed we would unite against her eventually,” Rudley answered. “She undoubtedly felt she had more to gain by telling me nothing and using her secret as a lever against you whenever the opportunity arose.”
“She certainly did that—and the best is yet to come! When Lydia died, Arabella told me that I need not even consider going to you with my story or she would tell
Pamela
that you were not her father and I was.’
“My God!” Rudley exclaimed. “Was nothing sacred to her?”
“It seems not. So you and I went to Spain and Arabella was left at home with Pamela. Still I could say nothing. During those next two years we learned a great deal—particularly how fragile life could be. We both changed a lot, I think, but me most of all.
“By the time Arabella died, I found I had changed my own mind about telling you. We had come home from the war in one piece, even though it had almost killed you. The wife I had loved and the wife you had despised were both gone. I’d had enough of death and pain and desolation. I knew if I told you I was Pamela’s father there would be new wounds and new pain and more remembrances of a time best forgotten. I also felt that if you had not seen the resemblance in six years, you would probably never see it. So the secret was mine alone, and I chose to keep it.
“For myself, I wanted to tell the world that Pamela was mine, but I knew there was no way I could acknowledge her without ruining her life. I thought if I could keep the peace with you, even if it meant keeping such a painful secret, then I could stay close to her, if not as a father, then as a loving uncle. Until you knocked me down that day, I had not realized the wound was still so fresh for you. I should have told you sooner; I regret now that I did not. But you are right about the influence Arabella still holds over us, Ned. She has been dead more than five years and still she manipulates our lives—yours, mine, Pamela’s, even Katherine’s.”
“No! No longer,” Rudley replied. “Katherine and I have removed Arabella from our lives, and you and I are doing the same today. We are placing the last shovel of dirt upon the grave, and she and her wickedness will be gone forever. Pamela will always be welcome and loved in my home, and when we feel she is old enough to understand, we will tell her who her true father is. Now, enough of these maudlin thoughts. Let us speak of more pleasant things, shall we?”
“Then you are declaring a truce between us, Ned?”
“Yes, indeed. A truce that will, we hope, last a lifetime. I have, however, one more apology to make. I am more sorry than I can say that I missed your wedding. As some slight reparation, I have brought you a gift.’’ He drew a small packet of papers from the pocket of his coat and handed it to his brother.
“What is this?” Oliver asked, puzzled.
“The one on top you should certainly recognize. It is the note you gave Finley against his loan of five thousand pounds, which was in truth a loan from Katherine, disguised to make you accept it. The second is, I believe, the bill of sale for your curricle team. When I recall how painstakingly we searched to find four horses so closely matched, I do not know how you even considered selling them. The third is for your black. That one was by far the hardest to come by, for the new owner was more than happy with his purchase. He could not hold out against me, however, when I told him that I had bred the horse myself, that he had been a present from me to you, and that only dire necessity had made you part with him.”
Oliver, too startled by his brother’s words to say anything, stared at him incredulously as Rudley continued, “The last is a draft on my bankers for an additional ten thousand, to be used at your discretion to put this house to rights and improve the estate. It can be a profitable property if handled wisely.”