The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) (37 page)

“We have to meet with him, Perry. Or have you forgotten that you are required to break his contract with Larrabee?”

Perry appeared stunned. “Must you remind me? I was having such a nice afternoon.” He rubbed his hand back and forth across his jaw. “Rox, there is something else.” He paused, considering the timing, but then he shrugged. “I have something you should see.”

“Does it have something to do with your current dishevelment?”

Perry scowled as he stood, motioning for Gideon to follow. They walked into the first floor passageway, which was still well lit.

Gideon looked at the walls. “What the devil? I never—” He glanced at Perry.

“I don’t think any of us did. It is quite beautiful.” He ran his fingertips over the smooth patterns in the wood as he walked. They reached the open panel and Gideon stopped his brother with one hand on his shoulder.

“Wait—please.”

Perry nodded. “Of course.”

Gideon stepped over the threshold into the room, drawing his breath in sharply. The smell of the dust barely masked a scent which pulled memories from his head like the icy water that crashes over rapids. His mind spun through the recollections at a devil’s pace. His mother’s embrace, her soft secure arms, the clear green of her eyes, the way she always rescued him— He suddenly remembered all of it. Including when she hadn’t been able to rescue him anymore.

“I thought it was a dream,” he said quietly. He reached up to the panels, walking through the maze as the dust drifted like snow around him. Going to the bathtub, he sat at the edge and turned it on. The pipes shook, and a loud groan tore through the manor walls like the wheels of a freight train sliding on a rusty track.

Perry rushed toward him. “Rox, Shaw said we—”

Gideon waved his hand, cutting him off. Water poured from the pipe, brown and muddy at first, then clean and clear. He put his hand under it and looked up to his brother.

“I have been here before.” He turned and shut the water off. “This was our mother’s room.”

Perry stared around the room in awe. “Tell me,” he replied, sitting at the edge of the tub next to him. Gideon opened his mouth to start as Mrs. Weston rushed into the room.

“Oh, Your Grace, my lord, we heard a terrible noise belowstairs.”

Gideon looked at her apprehensively. “You knew of this room.”

“Aye, Your Grace, at one time. But it has been naught but a memory for many years. Your father, may he rest in peace, ordered it left. He built it for
her
, of course. And when she was taken... Well.” She looked down as she twisted her hands in her skirts. “He could not bear to remember,” she whispered in a faltering tone.

Gideon turned his gaze away. “Why was she taken?”

“Oh, Your Grace, you know the ans—”

“No, Weston, why exactly was she taken? She survived in the manor just fine, then one day she was gone. I want to know why my father didn’t want to put her up anymore.”

“No, Your Grace. It wasn’t like that.” Mrs. Weston paused, her eyes reddened from falling dust and threatening tears. “It was spring when she—left. She was so lovely in the spring. Ribbons in her hair, with fresh flowers from the gardens.” Mrs. Weston smiled, reminiscing. “I loved her, you know. She was like kin to me, as are the two of you.”

Gideon looked around and grabbed a cushioned chair, pulling it in front of the bathtub so Mrs. Weston could sit.

“Oh, no, Your Grace, I’m al—” He pointed at the chair with a lifted brow and she sat down. She sighed. “The window, the broken one. She used to open it and stand in the wind. She loved the breeze as it came up off the meadow. I would come to find her here, standing next to that window. Then that day, she crawled up into the window and was leaning...out.”

The brothers looked at each other, their faces mirrored images of tension. Mrs. Weston wept. “I do not know what happened, Your Grace. I was watching the breeze coming in, and the next thing I knew your father ran in and pulled her down,” she said as she cried. “She was distraught. She didn’t understand why he was upset. She wailed all night, for he blocked the panel so she couldn’t come in here. She wasn’t ever the same.”

Perry leaned forward. “Did she— Was she trying to kill herself?” he asked, the sound scarcely more than a breath.

“I don’t know, my lord. I wouldn’t think it. But your father, he believed it. And after that day, after he kept her out of here, she did try. So she was taken to Bedlam, Your Grace. He said it was to protect her from herself,” she whispered, looking directly at Gideon. Then she looked down, the wet lines of tears dividing her dust-covered face. They heard a sound behind her and Gideon stood, spying a figure through the silk fabrics.

“Francine,” he said as she pulled aside a panel.

Her mouth dropped open to form words, but no sound came out as they all waited. Tears streaked her dusty cheeks as the particles in the air irritated her eyes, making the color glow with a chimerical blue fire.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered.

He strolled toward her, and her face lifted to meet his when he stood in front of her. He took her face in his palms, smearing the lines of tears and pulling her to him. She put her hands around his waist, splayed across his lower back, and she leaned her head into his chest, tucking under his chin, breathing quietly as his hands held her tightly to him. “I’m so sorry,” she said again, unable to find better words.

“Shh.” He gently massaged her back with his wide hand. He took her face in his hands again and placed a kiss on her forehead, then turned to Perry and Mrs. Weston.

“You should go,” Perry said. “We shall be out in a moment.”

Gideon nodded, leading Francine from the room.

“Westy. This wasn’t your fault,” Perry said.

“Oh, my lord, I believe I know that. But I think, if I had been there—if I had protected her. I do not know, my lord. I just wish—” Perry put his hands on her shoulders and she peered up at him. “I am so sorry, my lord.”

“There is nothing to be sorry for.” He could see that she was entirely overtaxed. He stood and pulled her close for an embrace as he tried to think of a way to push the mood back toward the light and airy, away from the dark and dismal.

They quit the chamber, but Perry stopped her as she was headed downstairs. “Westy, I can’t bear to see you so worked up. Roxleigh has you running around here on pins and needles after his lady.”

She glanced back at him. “Tis true, my lord. He has given me charge of her. To see to her needs, and to make sure she is safe.”

“I do not want you to be responsible for her anymore.”

“Oh, my lord, have I—”

“No, Westy, nothing like that. I believe you have done a wonderful job attending her. I don’t like that you are over worried. I have watched Lady Francine, and I believe she is perfectly able to do as she pleases. Carole can attend her when necessary.”

Mrs. Weston turned away from him, wringing her hands. “My lord, I do like to attend her.”

He nodded. “Let me be clear then. You may tend her, for so long as you wish, but you answer to
me
now.
Not
to him. In all of her concerns, I am her guardian. That’s how it will be done. Is that understood?”

“Yes, my lord. What will I tell His Grace?”

“You won’t tell him anything. I will deal with him.”

“Yes, my lord.” Mrs. Weston curtseyed and moved to go belowstairs.

Perry returned to the chamber and looked around. He’d no memories of the soft, billowy panels. No memory of the tiled bathtub, the large cushioned bed covered with brightly colored pillows and inches of dust. The muted vibrancy of the dyes begged a beautiful memory that would not come. Had she ever brought him here? Or was it only Gideon who was part of her world?

Gideon escorted Francine into the private parlor and motioned for her to sit. He rang for Carole to chaperone; his brother’s newfound sense of responsibility and honor wasn’t something he meant to test anytime soon. Not that he believed he and Perry would find themselves at opposing ends of a rapier, but that his brother’s pride wasn’t something he wished to damage. When Carole arrived, Francine was on the settee and Gideon across from her in one of the chairs. He read to her from
Wuthering Heights.

“Your Grace?” Carole said when he paused. “Grover and Gentry have returned from Kelso with the new governess. They only just arrived. I believe Davis is seeing to the carriage as you had requested.”

“Thank you, Carole. Please see to Lady Francine.” She nodded with a curtsey and he stood, turning back to Francine. “I must beg my leave. I need to interview the governess. I hope to see you for supper.”

Francine frowned. He reached for her hand and bowed as he kissed her wrist. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

Gideon walked out of the parlor and straight into his brother, who was just leaving the passageway.

“Francine?” Perry asked.

“She is in the parlor with Carole. She’s fine, just a bit surprised.”

“You never told her of our mother?”

“No. When would I have had the time?” Gideon changed the subject. “The carriage is here, but it’s a bit late to return to Kelso. We should interview the governess. Stapleton has her in the green parlor.”

“You mean the spring parlor, do you not?” Perry corrected, trying to lighten the mood.

Gideon glanced at him as they descended the stairs. “What?”

“Look at it. Everything about it says spring.”

“Bedding a designer?”

Perry laughed. “I would equate it more like courting disaster, which would be why the whole thing is over. Though I did get quite a nice sitting room out of it.”

Gideon smiled. Perry felt his brother’s disquiet and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Spring parlor, then?” Gideon asked with another half smile.

“By all means.”

Miss Emily Faversham waited in a soft green chair. She thought the parlor was wonderfully appointed in various hues of green: deep emerald, flower petal, grass, and moss, all surrounded by hues of cream and ivory. It reminded her of spring, with the thinly striped damask fabrics in cream and mint, bordered by emerald trims and pearl beading. The curtains were also quite lovely—the heavy emerald velvet drapes were pulled back, leaving light and airy cream alternating with flower-petal green panels of silk georgette to filter the sunlight into the room. She stood and paced in front of the windows, and then she sat, only to rise and pace again.

Her last appointment with the Tanvers had ended quite abruptly. She had expected at least to attend the youngest of the girls through her first Season, but they’d sent her home to Kelso. And just as unexpectedly, she was retrieved by the Duke of Roxleigh for a position. She had no idea for what position he would need her. The notorious recluse had no children or bride to bear them, unless his wife was even more reclusive, which was entirely doubtful.
Someone
would know of his marriage. Emily sat on the damask striped settee, holding an emerald green brocade pillow to her chest.

She didn’t want to be a nursemaid, or lady’s maid, or anything other than a governess. She loved to teach. She’d considered that her love of knowledge was what had ended her tenure with the Tanvers, but the girls had always sworn allegiance to her. They promised never to tell of their extensive lessons that most young women weren’t allowed, history and government among the most inappropriate of them. Sadly, a knowledgeable woman wasn’t a marriageable woman. And an unmarriageable woman was of no use to a blue blood, who only needed daughters to make good matches with other peers, thereby increasing the father’s rank and pull.

The butler opened the door and she jumped off the settee and curtseyed deeply. “Your Grace, my lord, I am Miss Emily Faversham. You requested me?” she asked, her voice faltering slightly at the end.

“Miss Faversham, thank you for agreeing to come on such short notice. Please.” Roxleigh motioned to the settee. She sat back down as the brothers moved to the chairs across from her. She was quite stunned by their presence and demeanor. In point of fact, she would have been stunned if it had been only one of them, but the force of them twofold had her perfectly speechless. They exuded power, grace, and propriety. There was a long silence as they made no effort to hide the fact that they were looking her over quite thoroughly. She blushed at the inspection, then her wits quite abruptly returned and she spoke.

“Would you like me to stand and turn so you can have a better look?” she asked a bit indignantly.

Roxleigh and Trumbull exchanged a swift glance and Roxleigh nodded to him.

“I see,” she said. “So have I passed your test, then?”

Trumbull smiled. “Well, Miss Faversham, we are not interested in employing someone who is weak of mind.” He looked directly in her eyes and added, “Or spirit. Generally people of lower station are unable to stand their ground with us, particularly when we both are involved. I refuse to hire a governess who would cower to either of us. Because of my—somewhat legendary pursuits. a less than stalwart governess might call my new wards’ respectability into question. It is something I wish to avoid entirely.”