Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (46 page)

I tossed Sarah her letter. “He had a packet of mail from our father hidden under a floorboard.”

She quickly tore into the missive. I sat opposite her, and watched anger tighten her features. All eyes in the atrium shifted back and forth between us – save the gazes of those who had read what I had: they watched Sarah alone.

“He is disappointed in my behavior, both toward Shane and my hasty marriage,” she said as she threw the pages down. “He deems it regrettable and unfortunate, and asks that I abandon it. Then he goes on to say that if whatever madness gripped me in England has passed, I should be pleased to hear that, though I have permanently scarred my cousin, he yet lives and should recover. And though he feels we can never be allowed about one another again – a thing he expresses great disappointment in, as it serves to complicate matters concerning his households – he wishes for me to return home.”

Her gaze met mine. “Will, it was dated in April. What the Devil was our uncle doing holding it?”

“There was one for me as well,” I said. “I believe our dear Uncle Cedric wished to protect us. Father’s letters to him are not so diplomatic as these sent to us.”

“You have read them?” she asked.

Theodore dropped the pile of pages on the table before her. “Much of it is not fit for a lady’s eyes.”

At that, the three ladies present reached for the letters.

I looked to the gentlemen. “You are in danger,” I told Striker, and then turned to the Marquis, “and your arrival and claiming of Gaston as your son has probably saved his life.”

All appeared stricken by this news. I looked about, and saw Henrietta and Sam waiting near the cookhouse, attentive to any need their masters might have. I saw the shutters to the parlor, and thought Vivian undoubtedly listened from within. I was gripped with the fancy that every shadow held someone lurking, listening, watching. And I had thought our lives complicated enough by our ever seeming to hold the attention of the Gods.

Sixty-Seven

I went in search of paper and ink. Gaston followed me to Sarah’s office.

“I must give Pete the information he requested,” I said as I explored the desk.

Gaston wrapped his arms about me as I fumbled at selecting a quill.

I knew he sought to comfort me, and though I knew his love to be a balm for all things, it could not remove the sting of this, because I felt nothing I could name so that it might be cured.

“It does not hurt,” I murmured, and stroked his arm. “Or perhaps it is more accurate to say it does not hurt at this moment. It is actually something of a relief to have the suspicions I have long held confirmed.

And now I feel we are besieged. We have been living in a halcyon world of blissful ignorance and yet we are in mortal danger. I wonder if he thinks killing you will put me off men.”

I pulled away from him to sit heavily in the desk chair. He knelt before me, with his elbows upon my knees. His gaze was earnest and his expression thoughtful and concerned. He was my touchstone, my anchor, all I held sacred and holy.

“I must protect you,” I said.

He shook his head.

“Non, non,” I said quickly. “This battle is not worth your life, or Striker’s, or Vivian’s, or anyone’s. It is for a thing I do not want. Non, worse yet, it has been fought for a thing I might never have. For all I might wish for them to suffer an epiphany such that they are moved to apologize or make amends, or perhaps simply feel in the deepest recesses of their souls that they were wrong, they will not: that day will never come. I doubt even the fires of eternal Hell could burn away their righteousness and ambition. I cannot win. Even if I put both of them in the ground, I cannot win.”

Gaston smiled sadly. “Would it not be enough to send them to their graves to spend eternity knowing they had lost?”

“Would flogging your father to death change anything?” I asked.

He gave a rueful shake of his head and sighed. “I feel I have won far more by not killing him.”

“I think your father is a thousand times the man mine is,” I said.

“We did not think my father would ever do as he has done,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps yours may one day surprise you.”

“If he does, it may be to no avail. You were willing to forgive your father because you felt you had sinned. I do not feel I have ever done anything to garner my damn sire’s hatred. Thus, I do not know if I can ever find it in my heart to forgive him.” I sighed at the implication of my words. “Of course, that makes me as poor a man as he is, but then I am his son.”

“Only in that you will stand by your beliefs to Hell and back,”

Gaston said with a smile.

“That is true. I wonder if it is a thing of the blood,” I said sadly.

Gaston shook his head. “What do you wish to do?”

“Supply Pete with the means to avenge us should it become necessary and… retreat.” As I said it, I was gripped by clarity of purpose, much as I had been gripped by clarity of insight regarding Shane: I now saw what I must do quite clearly. “I must renounce. It is the only way to thwart them – the only possible way to remove us from harm’s way. The only other is to kill them, but in that they would win in another fashion: I would still never inherit and we would be forced to run from the authorities, a thing which will undoubtedly be quite difficult with a cart full of wives and babies. Unless we retreated to France and that…”

He shook his head. “I am sorry I have removed that option... for now.”

“Non, non, I meant no recrimination by it,” I said quickly.

He sighed. “I was thinking their deaths could appear accidental, a fire perhaps, but then I realized that would mean you would inherit and…”

I grinned and kissed his forehead. “We can no more live in England than in France. And I do not wish to be the Earl of Dorshire. Truly, no matter what good I might do with it, I feel I would have to… be chained in a seat in the cave again in order to accomplish it. I will not do that. I would rather stand in the light, with you.”

He gazed upon me with great regard. “That is what you have always said. I still find wonder in it. Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, but as I once noted, I am really quite self-serving in the matter.”

He chuckled. “So you will renounce.”

“Oui. I will surrender the field. Sadly, it will not end Sarah’s and Striker’s battle with him, but it may well save us, because…” I sighed,

“as good as we are, we cannot protect against everything. We already lead perilous lives.”

“They will be far less perilous now that we will no longer rove,” he said.“Thank the Gods for that.”

We gathered paper, ink, and quills. As we walked out of the office, my gaze fell upon the parlor door. With a sigh, I pointed, and handed Gaston my portion of our writing supplies. He nodded and went to join the others, and I slipped into Vivian’s cave.

She was standing at the end of her chain, as close to the shutters leading to the atrium as she could manage. She started at my entrance, and appeared quite guilty.

I smiled. “As you have heard, we have discovered much of my father’s feelings on… several matters.”

She nodded soberly. “They have been reading parts of the letters aloud.”

“I am going to renounce my title,” I said quietly. “You will no longer be Lady Marsdale.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Will I continue to be Mistress John Williams?”

“Aye,” I said.

“Then I am fine with that,” she said. “I feel it is for the best,” she added quietly, “for all of us.”

“I thought you might,” I said with a sigh of relief, “but I also thought I should tell you of my decision before announcing it to the world.”

“Thank you for that courtesy.”

I left her, and returned to the circle of light and family in the middle of the atrium. The Marquis sat at one table, with deep furrows upon his brow and his head in his hands as Dupree read a letter to him. Sarah was likewise quietly reading another to Striker and Pete: they all appeared quite angry. Christine and Agnes were huddled over another missive, both looking quite confounded. Rucker and Theodore were sharing more wine. I went to sit between them and Gaston, and snatched the bottle when it came near. At that, Theodore waved for Henrietta and requested another.

I selected a quill and sheet of paper and wrote the pertinent information – including a rough map – Pete would need to locate my father. I passed it to him when I finished. “My father is the Earl of Dorshire. That alone should allow for you to locate him, but he either resides at the address I have given in London, or at the family estate of Rolland Hall.”

Pete nodded thoughtfully, and began to slowly read the names with Sarah’s assistance.

“I would like a copy of that information as well,” the Marquis said. “I wish to write your father.”

“Please do,” I said, and proceeded to make another copy.

Once that was completed, I composed the following letter: Dorshire,

I have learned that you have no need for me to inform you of the milestones of my life, or even to comment on the scenery I might pass. So I will not waste ink or paper in relating things that others will tell you, and I will use this space to relate things they cannot.

I have stolen and read the letters you sent my uncle: without his consent. I now believe you are a threat to my life and to all I hold dear – and all for a thing I do not wish to own. Please rest assured that I despise you and all you represent as much if not more than you despise me. I wish to have nothing further to do with you in this life or the hereafter. I would gladly consign you to the bowels of Hell if it were in my power to do so.

That being said, I hereby renounce all claim to the title of Viscount of Marsdale, and all claim to inherit the title of the Earl of Dorshire, and any monies, privileges, or other properties associated with said titles. Furthermore, I abandon all claim to any money I might have been due to inherit from the family estate separate the title, and any and all other property.

I doubt this letter will suffice to dispatch the matter legally, so I will pursue having a formal notice prepared and witnessed and sent to the House of Lords.

Please adopt Shane and name him your heir with my blessing. I cannot think of two people more deserving of one another.

The Get of Your Loins,

Will

Gaston chuckled quietly as he read it. When he finished, I passed it to Theodore, who remarked, “As your barrister, it is my duty to inform you that you are drunk.”

“Is it poorly written?” I asked.

Theodore shook his head and laughed.

“Is it poorly done?” I asked.

He sobered and shook his head sadly. “Nay.”

“What?” Sarah asked.

I passed it to her and she began to read it quietly to Striker and Pete.“Everyone might as well hear it,” I said.

And so she read loudly enough for all to hear, with Dupree translating for the Marquis. There were appreciative chuckles all about as she finished.

“If you send something to the House of Lords, he will hate you all the more,” Sarah said as she returned the letter. “But if I could, I would do the same. Unfortunately, I am his daughter, not his heir.”

I sighed. “Perhaps my making much ado of the matter will place him in a position from which he dare not strike at you. And, though he likely wishes to harm Striker, he does not wish you dead, merely his dutiful daughter again.”

“I would rather be dead,” she said.

I dusted the now-dry page and folded it carefully. “I must step aside, or they will kill me.”

“You actually believe that?” Christine asked. “Aye, he hates what he feels you have become, but surely…”

I met her gaze levelly. “Did you not read what he wrote? I am a thorn in his side, an embarrassment, a mark of shame. This is a man who allowed his godson to beat and rape me repeatedly under his roof in the hopes that such abuse would put me off men. He said as much to my face, when I returned after running from him and my cousin for ten years.”

Christine regarded me daftly, as if my words were somehow beyond her comprehension. Agnes’ mouth fell open, and she quickly threw her hand over it. Dupree had gasped when I spoke, and the Marquis did the same when it was translated. The rest knew the truth of it already, and they regarded the table gravely, as if mourning someone who had passed. Gaston’s arm stole about my shoulder, and he kissed me lightly on the cheek.

I could look at them no more. I set about dripping wax to form the seal, which I supposed would be my thumb, as with this letter I should no longer use the Marsdale crest. The Marquis’ signet ring intruded into my watery vision. It was not on his hand. I looked up and found him regarding me with great compassion.

“I will write him, but this will give him a thing to think about,” he said.

“Thank you.” I took his ring and used it to seal the letter.

He held my hand when I returned the ring. “I will not forsake either of you,” he said gravely.

My heart ached and I smiled weakly. “That means more to me than I can express.”

Gaston did find a way to express it: he embraced his father and they held one another tightly for a time.

I handed Theodore the letter. “I believe the Marquis wishes to write him as well. They should go together.”

Theodore nodded thoughtfully, and considered the paper in his hand. “Do you wish to pursue the formal renouncement and send it at the same time?”

“Aye, can you draw one up and arrange for suitable witnesses?”

“Of course,” he said. “Perhaps the governor.”

“Aye, he would do nicely.” I stood. “Well then, we have much to do on the morrow.” I looked to Sarah. “Perhaps you should write him as well.”

“And what should I say?” she asked sadly.

“The truth,” I sighed. “What good will lies do us now?”

“Truth An’ Lead An’ Steel,” Pete said thoughtfully. His mien was one of contemplation and ancient wisdom.

My spirits were lifted: I doubted my father could defeat Pete at chess, either – once someone taught the Golden One the rules of this game.

“Do you feel I should do as I plan?” I asked him.