Authors: J. Jay Kamp
David’s had been gray.
James took a step toward him aggressively. “I warned you to stay away from this house.”
“James, it’s OK. He’s fine,” Ravenna said, and she hoped Christian was. His resemblance to David was staggering. Not only were his eyes the same color, his hair the same shade of dusky blond, but he was an inch or two taller than Ravenna, exactly the way David had been. When he spoke, even the timbre of his voice matched precisely—low-pitched, self-conscious, and ever so faintly nasal. For a brief instant she was made to think of her earliest suspicion, that they’d been kidnapped by David. The likeness was that convincing.
After perhaps several seconds in which Ravenna stood staring, Paul’s voice broke the stillness. “This is your marquess? The Christian one?”
“I beg to know what you suppose by that remark, Killiney?” Christian eyed Paul carefully. “You’re aware of the degree of my nobility, which I’ll remind you is the
Earl
of Launceston and closer to God than a Paddy like you.”
Paul bristled visibly. “I fancy myself quite close to God, actually, but if you’ve a problem with the fact that I’m Irish—”
“All commoners disgust me, regardless of their race or color.”
“Desist!” James growled. “I’ll ask you just once. Who let you in?”
“Who let me in?” Christian shrugged innocently. “Is it my fault no one answered the door? I found no notice in my sight reading ‘Christian is unwelcome today.’”
James took another menacing step, but Ravenna jumped up and took Christian’s arm. “Of course you’re welcome here,” she said. “Why don’t you sit down?”
But rather than be grateful for her invitation, Christian leered at her. “And why this amiable performance? At least Lord Broughton—or must I now own defeat and say
Wolvesfield?
—at least he’s consistent in both his malevolence and his honesty. Pray tell me, what motivates you to receive me, my lady?”
“I sent you away, didn’t I?” She remembered the diary and Elizabeth’s last mention of Christian. “You came to see me and I wouldn’t let you in.”
“You traded my friendship for the calculated attentions of a man who’ll only give you despair in the end. Look at him! Would he give you love such as I have these last twenty-six years?”
He pointed at Paul. Paul glared back.
If Killiney had been seated behind the piano, he might have been right, but how to explain that Paul meant no harm? How to tell Christian this without giving away their true identities? She couldn’t throw him out the way Elizabeth had, for somewhere inside him was the beginnings of David; Ravenna felt a responsibility toward him, toward her friend, to work things out.
She took a deep breath, realizing the extent of the job before her. “Christian, we need to talk.”
“Here in this company, or alone?” he asked.
James shot Christian a vicious glance. “You
will not
take her from this house,” he said.
“Your room, then,” Christian muttered, and as he folded his arm tightly around hers, Ravenna had no choice but to follow.
Sealed off in her chambers upstairs, she realized just what it meant to be alone with Christian.
She watched him pace back and forth before the fireplace, only it was nothing like any pacing she’d ever seen. He walked with the surety of a lion. Padding in fashionably silk-laced shoes, he held one slender hand to his hip, the other in distress at his delicate brow. When suddenly he fell to his knees before her, she jumped about a foot.
“Tell me there’s been no proposal,” he said, putting his hands in hers. “Tell me, and all will be forgiven.”
She carefully withdrew from his grip. “I can’t tell you that. And I haven’t done anything to need your forgiveness.”
“The abuse of our friendship, your attention for that swine—must I remind you?
Tell me it’s a rumor!”
“
I can’t!”
she shouted back. This got his attention. His ardor faded, replaced by a lost sort of quality that made her feel as if she’d abandoned him. She got the distinct impression that this was the desired effect, for at the sight of such despondency, Ravenna could think of nothing to say.
Of course, Christian had no such problem. “How can you love him? You know Killiney is a man used to the dispossession of women for his own advancement. He and your brother are inseparable, is this fact completely lost on you?”
“He’s not the same man.”
“Because he wishes to marry you, you believe this?”
“I mean he’s not the same man.” She considered telling him the truth then, about the transition, about the future. If she told him, she wouldn’t have to lie, something she wasn’t good at anyway. Telling him would be so much easier than pretending she was Elizabeth. She knew, though, that the real story would bring even more questions, the answers to which were not nearly as pleasant as those she’d had for James.
As she weighed the decision in her mind, a knock came on the door. Christian arose from his position on the floor, and she took the opportunity to escape him.
Paul was outside. Knowing of Christian’s keen interest in their affairs, Ravenna shut the door on his prying ears and joined Paul in the passageway.
His eyes were thick with concern as he scanned her for signs of distress. “You all right?”
“He’s harmless yet, don’t worry.”
“I’m not so sure.” Paul glanced at the door nervously. “You’re not going to tell him, are you? Because he might mess things up a bit, and I don’t think we should be trusting our lives to the cut of this guy.”
“If we don’t tell him, you’ll have to be my fiancé every time he’s in the room.”
“And he’s going on the voyage, yeah?”
Ravenna nodded. Paul’s face seemed to fall in response. “I can see right now he’s not gonna buy it. Not unless you and I are
gettin’ along
, and every minute of the day, as well.”
“Do you mind?” she asked.
He bit his lip and looked at the door. “No, I don’t really.”
Taking her arm, he directed her grasp toward the polished handle. “Better attend to the business at hand. If he misbehaves, scream at the top of yer lungs. He’ll be up to his bleedin’ oxters in trouble before he knows what hit him, I promise.”
When Paul had gone, she turned back to find Christian seated before the fire. “Look,” she said, taking the chair across from his, “I know I haven’t been myself since Killiney arrived, but things are different now. He and I are going to get married. I didn’t do it to hurt you, Christian—”
“Wound,” he said. “You’ve
wounded
me. You’ve surpassed the limitations of mere hurt.”
“Then I’m sorry. I never meant for that to happen. I’ve handled the situation poorly, I know, but…”
He showed no sign of bestowing his forgiveness as he’d earlier proposed. He settled back more comfortably and smiled deliberately. “Go on,” he said.
She took a deep breath. Only seconds before she’d assured Paul that this man was harmless. But now, behind his manipulative smile, she glimpsed the truth about Christian Hallett: All smuggery and sweetness, lord only knew what he’d do with the future if given the chance.
So she decided to forge ahead with the apologetic approach. “I know it’s selfish of me to ask, but…could we still be friends? With Killiney around, I know it won’t be easy on you, but I promise I won’t send you away like before. I won’t even talk about Killiney in front of you. If you want, I won’t even mention his name—”
“When do you wed this lowly viscount?”
“Christian—”
“Well, is he not lowly? A viscountcy is below an earldom, or am I not allowed to dwell on such facts?”
“Christian, I’m trying to make amends with you.”
“You’re trying to make me a consenting party to your pathetic domestication! And by a Celtic
viscount
, no less! Do you really wish me to so pleasantly witness your social demise? Do you really wish me to give you up without a fight?”
“Yes!” The word flew out of her mouth, and for an instant Christian hesitated, as if what he’d been planning to say had been nullified by the readiness of her answer.
It occurred to her then that her quick response might not have been the most kind, but Christian merely narrowed his gaze and went on with his demands. “When is this accursed wedding?”
“It’s not cursed.”
“Very well, mismatched. When should I expect to spout lies of well-wishing to the undeserving?”
“I don’t know. Sometime after the voyage.”
“And should he die of some sailor’s pestilence, scurvy perhaps, what then would you say? Would you still refuse me?”
“Then I’d die of scurvy, too,” she said carefully. “I’m joining the voyage, Christian. Vancouver’s asked me to go to America.”
By the look she saw on his face, Ravenna felt as if she’d told him she
was
dying. His boyish features paled. Without thinking, he closed the distance between them and put his hands around hers again, and as she waited through his obvious efforts to regain control of himself, his eyes wandered desperately around the room.
Almost a full minute passed.
Finally, when he managed to speak, the sincerity of his words seemed surprisingly genuine. “Even when we were children, not a year could divide us.” He toyed with Paul’s ring, turned it in circles around her finger in thoughtless frustration. “Did I not always find some excuse to come visiting, to seek Uncle’s advice, to borrow his influence or his money only to be at Wolvesfield with you? Must you now divide us with oceans and years as well as marriage, after all I have done to be near you? Must you
leave
me?”
“I have to follow my heart,” she answered, trying not to be moved by his plea. “I have to do what I have to do, whether it hurts you or not.” And thinking to dispel that tremble to his grasp, she tightened her hand around his. She knew she’d upset him.
Still, she wasn’t prepared for his reaction. He lifted his gray eyes to hers, and with all the vulnerability of a pit bull, he scowled. “Then so do I.” Pulling his hands away, letting her know the depth of her crime, Christian’s eyes lingered on hers until the door had closed between them.
Only after he’d gone did Ravenna notice her commode had been opened, its contents obviously rifled through.
* * *
Two hours later Lord Oliver came calling.
Asking for James, the man claimed he’d come straight from Brooks’s and he’d better see Lord Wolvesfield; James had to be told, preferably by a friend and not a stranger.
“He’s gone out,” Paul said, greeting the Irishman at the drawing room door. “Em, I think to meet a fellah for coffee, some naval lieutenant; I could find out which one—”
“Please, would ye mind?”
While Paul went off to ask the maid, Lord Oliver coughed and fidgeted, hummed and hawed, until finally Ravenna couldn’t stand it anymore. “James has to be told about what?” she asked.
“Ah, m’lady,” Lord Oliver growled, “you’ll pardon me sayin’ it, but that Launceston’s a menace, a genuine hellion. As your brother’s a decent man, it’ll kill him to learn what your cousin’s done.”
Cousin, indeed. Hadn’t James warned her to tell Christian nothing, to give him nothing to use against the family or, what had James said?
The seams of the world might come undone
.
Now all of London knew about James’s feelings for Sarah. As Lord Oliver explained, Christian had taken the old marquess’s letter from Ravenna’s commode, and he hadn’t hesitated to march right over to Brooks’s and pass it around amongst the gamblers and beaus.
* * *
For hours Ravenna sat up listening, waiting for James in the silence of her room. Sarah hadn’t heard about the letter. The maid was still completely unaware of James’s love, but Ravenna knew; what’s more, James could talk to her about it, for after Christian’s broadcast of the news, he certainly had nothing to gain by refusing to discuss his feelings for Sarah.
When finally he arrived home, Ravenna met him in the darkened passageway. Even with the dim light, she could see it in James’s face—shame, humiliation. He slipped his arm around her shoulder. Drawing her close, his voice was gentle, nothing like she’d expected to hear. “You know, don’t you? About Sarah?”
She wondered what to say as he led her into the bedroom, set her down before the fire while he kicked off his boots. She waited for him to take a seat, but instead he flopped down on her bed, covered his face with heavy arms.
“It’s not as bad as it seems,” she told him.
“You don’t know Christian.”
Ravenna sighed. “You’re right, I didn’t know he’d get that letter. If I’d known, believe me, I wouldn’t have brought it from Wolvesfield like I did. It just never occurred to me when I took him upstairs that he’d—”
James let his arms slide from his face, onto the bed where they lay lifelessly thrown back. She went to him then, and although he looked up, he didn’t move but to drudgingly breathe. “That is the least of it,” he said to her softly.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
James didn’t answer.
Sitting on the bed, she tried to console him. “So everyone knows you’re in love with your housemaid. So what? Don’t they understand that love knows no rules?”
James closed his eyes, and at once Ravenna knew she’d wounded him in some way, however unintentionally.
“Have you not always known me to treat the servants with respect?” he whispered.
“What does that have to do with it?”
“Hear me out.” He rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand, then asked, “Have I not always argued for the equality of every man, regardless of his station? Have I not dined with common men, drank their beer, even played with their dogs?”
“I suppose,” she answered.
“Then why can’t I admit I love Sarah?” He paused, and Ravenna sensed his internal struggle. “It shouldn’t matter what anyone thinks or wants, peer or otherwise. I should be prepared to defend her. I should marry her despite all objections. I should find it impossible to keep from arguing her worthiness in rivaling the beauty of the Duchess of Devonshire.”