by Merry Farmer
“If Lady Stanhope needs to stay in bed for a while, we should accommodate her,” Cece said with a compassionate smile.
“I’ve heard Lady Stanhope has been very accommodating herself over the years, if you know what I mean,” Gerry said, following his comment with a long, snorting laugh.
Silence fell over the rest of the table, and five sets of eyes—including Malcolm’s—stared daggers at the buffoon.
As soon as Gerry noticed the scrutiny, his laughter stopped and his mouth dropped open. “What?” he said with an oblivious blink. “Everyone knows her reputation. She’s a notorious—”
At the last moment, he seemed to realize who he was addressing. His face mottled red and pink and he quickly lowered his eyes and sawed at the ham on his plate.
The silence continued for several more seconds before Rupert cleared his throat and turned his attention back to his sisters. “Mama is recovering from the effects of the fire. She needs calm and quiet for her lungs to heal. So you are not to pester her. Don’t you agree, Lord Malcolm?”
Rupert sent Malcolm a look that was clearly intended to include him in the circle of people who were forbidden to disturb Katya.
“Quite,” Malcolm grumbled, standing at his place to reach for the silver teapot to refill his cup.
“Where is Mama anyhow?” Natalia asked as things began to settle again. “She should have come down to breakfast by now. There are so many things to do in Scotland. I found out yesterday from one of the tenants that there’s a spring dance next week.”
“For the tenants,” Gerry said, studying Natalia incredulously. “Our kind want nothing to do with that.”
“Is the dance fun?” Natalia asked, mimicking Gerry’s superior tone.
“If you call reels and jigs fun,” Gerry sneered.
“Well, I do.” Natalia nodded, then turned to Malcolm. “Can we go to the dance, Lord Malcolm?”
“I have no idea,” Malcolm sighed, contemplating something stronger than tea. Then again, after his overindulgence a few days before, he was inclined to swear off liquor for a while. “You’ll have to ask your mother.”
“I would if she were down here,” Natalia said. There was a pause as they continued eating, then Natalia huffed and said, “Where is Mama? She really should be down by now.”
“If she wants to stay in her room, she wants to stay in her room,” Rupert said, sounding as though his patience was wearing thin.
“Perhaps Lord Malcolm should take a tray up to her,” Bianca suggested, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
“I think that’s a brilliant idea,” Cece agreed, exchanging a not-so-secret grin with Bianca. “What do you think, Papa?”
Malcolm turned a flat look on his daughter. “I think people should look to their own concerns before meddling in others’.”
“Some people need reminding of thing things that are their concern,” Cece shot back.
Malcolm stared at her, proud of her spirit but irritated that it was directed against him. “And some people need reminding that curtsying in front of a fat old lady doesn’t make them an authority on all things.”
“It doesn’t?” Cece blinked, humor sparkling in her eyes in spite of her expertly innocent mask.
“We could prepare a tray for her,” Bianca offered, standing and circling around the table to the sideboard, where platters of breakfast were still laid out.
“Yes, and you could take it up to her with the teapot,” Natalia added. “I’m sure none of us need more tea.”
“I might,” Gerry said, looking wounded at the thought of missing out on any part of the meal.
Natalia ignored him as she jumped up to join her sister. “Make sure you put a whopping amount of butter on her muffin. Mama loves butter.”
“I’m sure she does,” Gerry murmured. He must not have realized how loud his comment was until he glanced up to catch Malcolm glaring at him. At once, he turned bright red and cleared his throat.
“Mama will be so pleased that you stopped to think of her health and wellbeing,” Bianca prattled on as she filled a plate. “That’s all she really wants, you know. Someone to care for her wellbeing.”
Malcolm only barely managed to suppress a laugh. Katya no more wanted someone fussing over her than he did. And even if she were inclined to accept pampering, her daughters would surely beat him to it.
“It’s useless to take a tray up to her,” he said. “She’s likely to turn me away at the door.”
“Nonsense,” Natalia said. “She’d never turn you away. She loves you.”
Malcolm’s brow shot up, not so much over the comment, but because Katya herself appeared in the doorway of the breakfast room just as Natalia said it. A pink flush painted her otherwise pale face, and her dark eyes seemed particularly luminous as she stared at her daughters, then past them to Malcolm.
“Mama, there you are,” Bianca greeted Katya, setting the plate she’d been loading on the sideboard. “We were getting worried.”
Katya dragged her eyes away from Malcolm as Bianca skipped over to kiss her on the cheek. “I had a bit of a lie in is all,” she said, her voice still hoarse from the smoke. “Nothing to worry about.”
“We were just preparing breakfast for you,” Natalia said, picking up the plate Bianca had set down and carrying it to the empty seat on Malcolm’s left. “And we saved you a seat.”
Katya glanced to Malcolm, but the surprise and emotion in her eyes were veiled by suspicion.
“I had nothing to do with it,” Malcolm was quick to inform her. “Any plotting at this table is strictly the realm of the young.”
Katya hummed instead of answering as she moved to take her seat. Malcolm couldn’t tell if it was because that was all she had to say or because her throat was sore. She remained silent after she sat. True to Malcolm’s earlier speculation, Bianca and Natalia hovered around her, pouring her tea—and nearly knocking Malcolm’s cup over in the process—cutting her ham, and generally treating her like an invalid. The tight expression of tested patience on Katya’s face was a dead giveaway of just how much she loathed the fuss.
“We were just talking about how you should come on a walk with us today, Mama,” Bianca said as she returned to her seat.
“And about how the tenants will be having a dance next week,” Natalia rushed to add. “Can we go?”
Katya took a long drink of tea before answering, proving to Malcolm that her throat—and probably lungs—were still bothering her. “I would slow you down,” she said. “Walk on your own.”
“Oh, but Mama—” Natalia started.
“Perhaps that would be best,” Cece interrupted her. “We could all go for a ramble together. Papa can stay behind to keep Lady Stanhope company.”
“But—Oh!” Natalia’s face brightened. She exchanged an impish grin with Bianca.
Malcolm rolled his eyes. Subtlety was evidently a skill that came with age. He stole a sideways peek at Katya to see what she thought. Katya’s face was a mask of indifference, but the lines around her eyes and mouth betrayed that she was just as annoyed with the young people’s machinations as he was.
“I have business to attend to away from the house,” he said, taking a last bite of buttered bread and pushing his chair back to stand. “Especially if my tenants are planning an event.”
“Oh, but Papa.” Cece reached for him.
As it turned out, she didn’t have to. Mackay entered the room with a folded piece of paper in his hand.
“A telegram has arrived for you, my lord,” he said, bringing the paper to Malcolm.
Malcolm took it with a frown and resumed his seat to read the contents. The message was from Craig, and it left his heart beating faster.
“What does it say?” Katya asked in a near whisper. She knew him well enough to read his expressions and to tell something was afoot.
“It’s from Craig,” Malcolm told the entire table. “Shayles has already been convicted by a Grand Jury. The date for his trial before the House of Lords has
been set. It’s to be in a month.”
“So soon?” Rupert asked.
“Isn’t he going to be tried at the Old Bailey?” Natalia asked with a confused frown.
“No, dear,” Katya answered with a slight croak. “Shayles is a peer, and as such, he has the right to a trial in the House of Lords.”
Malcolm folded the paper and stood once more. “I’m certain there’s some sort of underhandedness involved.”
“I thought it took months for trials like that to be organized,” Bianca said.
“Usually it does,” Rupert answered. “But seeing as Parliament is already in session, which means a sufficient number of lords are already on hand to make at least a twelve-person majority, I suppose they’re attempting to fit it in before recessing for the summer.”
“I’m sorry, trial?” Gerry asked, looking to everyone for answers.
“Lord Theodore Shayles was finally arrested a few days ago,” Natalia informed him, back straight and chin held high as she divulged the information. “Mama and Lord Malcolm have been after him for ages.”
“Good Lord.” Gerry fumbled his cutlery in his haste to stand. “I must send a telegram at once.” He tripped over the carpet and nearly knocked his chair over in his haste to flee the room.
Malcolm squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hoped Gerry was only in a hurry to spread gossip and not to cover up indiscretions related to The Black Strap Club. Either was possible.
“If you will excuse me,” he said, nodding to the table in general before taking the telegram and heading out of the room.
Katya continued eating her breakfast as though nothing were out of the ordinary—which stung Malcolm’s heart, whether he wanted it to or not—but Natalia leapt up from her chair to follow him.
“Are you just going to leave Mama alone like that?” she asked once they were out of earshot of everyone else in the hall.
Malcolm paused in the front hall and turned to her. “Your mother is her own woman and can do as she pleases.”
“But you love her, don’t you?” The innocence in Natalia’s eyes was almost painful.
“Whether I do or not is of no consequence to you,” he told her with a frown, then cut off whatever she was in a rush to say by holding up his hand and saying, “I appreciate your concern, but there are forces at work which are well beyond your comprehension. You don’t understand the full story, and your meddling is only making things worse. So please, I beg of you, stop.”
Natalia had tried to interrupt his speech several times, but as he concluded, she snapped her mouth shut and lowered her head. “We only want the two of you to be happy.”
Guilt lashed Malcolm and he sighed. “I know. But please, let us handle this our own way.”
He stopped any further protest by leaning toward Natalia and kissing her forehead. It felt good and natural. She was his daughter, after all, whether Katya had intended it to be a secret or not. But even that sliver of happiness had a sharp edge to it. Katya should have told him.
That thought brought the rest of his anger piling back on him. He stepped away from Natalia with a frown, turning toward the front door. He needed a walk to clear his head and remind him of what was really important, and he had yet to be convinced that a lying, faithless woman—no matter how much he loved her—should have any place in his heart or his life anymore.
* * *
Katya detested idleness, and convalescence was nothing but idleness. She wanted to move and be active, to run, even, if only to settle her jangled nerves. But anything more vigorous than a moderately-paced walk set off a coughing fit that left her even weaker than when she’d started. The situation was so depressing that by early afternoon, she’d retreated to her room, traded her day dress for her nightgown, thrown open all the windows, and climbed back into bed.
Sleep eluded her, though. Her body may have been useless, but her mind was racing as if it were after the blue ribbon. Shayles must have pulled strings to have his trial so soon, which meant he still had friends on the inside. Inspector Craig was new to his position and might not have the time he needed to put together a case. His telegram didn’t say who would be prosecuting the case, which meant there was no way to know if Shayles would face a competent barrister or some bumbling peer with skeletons in his closet. In spite of everything, Shayles could still walk free.
Beyond that, Malcolm was clearly still upset. Katya didn’t know if she wanted to sit him down and demand he tell her what was behind his sullen attitude—other than the obvious myths he persisted in clinging to about her attachment to Sir Christopher and other men—or wash her hands of the whole thing and move on at last.
The idea of walking out of Malcolm’s life left her feeling as though she had a lead weight in her gut, though. It was just a pity that the thought of sticking by him until he came to his senses made her burn with frustration. No matter what she did, she would be miserable.
Her thoughts were running in circles for what felt like the hundredth time when there was a knock at her door. She let out an impatient breath and rolled under her covers to face the door. Assuming it was one of her children, she snapped, “What do you want?” Her throat tightened, but for a change, she didn’t cough.
At least, she didn’t cough until the door opened, revealing Malcolm. The shock of seeing him sent her into a brief coughing fit. He shut the door behind him, but didn’t move any farther into the room.
“Are you certain you’re all right?” he asked in his gruffest, most impatient voice.
Katya willed herself to stop coughing—with only moderate success—and dragged herself to sit. “Why aren’t you coughing like your lungs are scorched?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I was that first day. I still cough occasionally. I wasn’t fool enough to run as deeply into the house as you were.”
“I wasn’t going to let those girls burn,” she told him, frustrated that she had to speak softly when she wanted to shout at him.
“You very well could have burned yourself,” he snapped.
“Don’t start with me, Malcolm,” Katya sighed, sagging back against the pillows and hugging the coverlet to her chest. “Is that what you came here to do? Yell at me for risking my life to save others?”
“No.” He approached the bed but stopped a few feet away. “I came here to—” He pressed his lips together and looked away. “Why are these windows open?” he demanded, lurching into motion and crossing around the bed as though he would shut them.
“Leave them alone. Armand told me to get fresh air,” Katya said, her annoyance growing by the second. “What do you want, Malcolm?”
“I want—” He marched close to the bed once more, only to hold back a second time. Katya could see the agony of his thoughts in the lines on his face and the tension in his body. “I don’t know who you are anymore, Katya,” he snapped at last.
Katya sighed, clenching her jaw and closing her eyes. “I’m the same person I always was.”
“And I have no idea who that is,” he said, moving closer. “I thought I did, but the woman I knew wouldn’t keep secrets like you have.”
Without opening her eyes, Katya said, “I didn’t tell you about Natalia because I knew you’d overreact, and I didn’t want her to be labeled a bastard.”
“I had a right to know,” Malcolm insisted.
“Malcolm, I don’t have the strength for this argument right now.”
“And am I supposed to continue to wait for my due?” he asked, sitting on the side of the bed. There was more hurt than fury in his expression, which made Katya ache all over. “Fat lot of good that’s done me.”
“Malcolm.” Katya shook her head.
“Am I going to have to wait for you the way I had to wait to bring Shayles to justice? Is someone else going to sweep in at the last minute and steal you away from me as well, or has someone already done that?”
She glared at him. “Will you please drop this ridiculous obsession with Sir Christopher? He’s n
ot my lover. I don’t have any lovers.”
“Not even me?” Malcolm’s eyes went wide in offense.
“You’re not acting like much of a lover right now,” she growled.
“Oh no?”
He surged toward her, grabbing her arms and pulling her close. His mouth slanted over hers in a demanding kiss. In an instant, heat rushed through her, and the familiar pull of desire threatened to break her resistance. Malcolm was amazing when he was angry. Some of her most exciting memories of him were of times when he’d been so furious with her that he’d left marks. Part of her was ready to submit to him in every way, but that was the problem.
Her self-respect was saved by a violent coughing fit that split the two of them apart. As an added measure, she used what little strength she had to slap his face.
“Now is not the time,” she managed through wracking coughs.
He pulled back and stood, straightening his clothes. His expression showed regret, but all the same, he hissed, “When is the time? When do I finally get my rest, my peace?”
“As soon as you stop holding on to the wrong things,” she wheezed.
“Is it so wrong to want what’s mine?” he shouted.
“I am not yours,” Katya managed to raise her voice in reply. “I am my own. And until you realize that, you will never understand why I didn’t tell you about Natalia, why I’ve refused to marry you all these years. You will never understand.”
“Oh, I understand, all right,” he said, marching around the bed and heading for the door. “I understand that you are a selfish, heartless bitch who has strung me along like a child’s toy for almost twenty years.”
“Malcolm,” Katya tried to shout, but her strength was draining as though someone had smashed the bowl that held her together.
“I’m through with being your toy,” he said, grabbing the doorknob and wrenching the door open. “I’m through with loving you until I have nothing left in my heart. It was all a waste anyhow. I should have learned my lesson with Tessa and given up on love entirely.”
“Malcolm.”
Her plea was useless. Malcolm shot out into the hall, slamming the door behind him. In his wake, a sob rose up from Katya’s damaged lungs. It shocked her. She hadn’t wept for years. She was too strong for that, too proud. But once the floodgates were open, the tide poured through, and she was helpless to stop it.
