The Greatest of Sins

by Christine Merrill

  ‘That was a different thing entirely,’ her father said, with a resolute nod, as though the past was settled. ‘It took considerable effort on my part to get him away from you.’

  She could not have heard it right. Sam had said nothing of her father, in any of this. If he was not at fault, then why had he not said so? ‘You were the reason for his departure,’ she said, hoping that he would correct himself.

  Her father looked embarrassed. ‘It was well past time that you were separated. He had been too long in your company and had grown overfond of you.’

  ‘He loved me,’ she said, half-believing it.

  ‘But not as he should have,’ her father corrected. ‘Not as I intended.’

  ‘You intended that we love each other?’ she said, still confused.

  ‘As brother and sister. But certainly nothing more than that.’ And now her father looked incensed. ‘The foolish boy actually came to me, ready to offer for you before you were out. He seemed to hope that, by making his intentions clear, you could be encouraged to wait for him. I told him it was impossible, of course.’

  It had not been impossible. Not at all. She had waited as long as she could, even without his offer. ‘You refused him and then he left,’ she said. Sam had mentioned nothing of the offer, probably unwilling to admit to his early weakness at taking whatever bribe her father had offered.

  ‘Not at first. He was just as stubborn as he is now. It might be an admirable quality, when one is without family and must make one’s own way in the world. But not when it set his sights on something that he could never have.’ Her father gave a little shake of the head and a rueful smile. ‘Imagine, my dear, being married to someone with no name to call his own and in trade.’

  ‘He is a physician,’ she corrected. ‘It is not so very poor a choice, if a gentleman must take employment. And it certainly would not matter, had there been love between us.’

  ‘Of course it would have mattered,’ her father said with exasperation. ‘There would be no rank, less money and a house not so fine as the one you live in now. And certainly no bevy of servants bowing and scraping and calling you “your Grace.”’

  ‘I never asked for any of those things,’ she said quietly, wondering if that was what Sam had thought when he’d first gone.

  ‘But you deserve them, all the same,’ he said. ‘You are my only daughter, my one dear child. And I will have nothing less for you than a titled husband and a life free from worry. Sam Hastings could not offer that. Thus it was necessary for him to leave.’

  ‘So Sam thought me too far above him?’

  ‘On the contrary. He insisted that it would spur him to even greater success, to keep you in luxury. He would find a way to provide for you, no matter the risk.’

  ‘And yet he went away.’ And proved that it was all nothing but talk.

  ‘Not easily,’ her father replied. ‘No matter my arguments, he would not be dissuaded. I threatened to cut him off without a cent. He did not care. I offered him money to leave. He would not hear of it.’

  Eve’s heart grew full at the thought of the young Sam arguing ardently for her hand. He’d claimed to love her. And it must have been true. What reason could her father have to lie about such things, when it was clear that he held Sam in contempt? ‘And what happened then?’

  ‘He threatened to put the idea to you. If I did not agree, the two of you would run off and be married in Scotland. Would it not be more respectable to bind you to him in betrothal? Then the pair of you would wait until he had established himself in business before seeking marriage.’ Her father gave a huff of disgust. ‘It was blackmail, pure and simple. He was toying with your reputation. I could not let it stand.’

  But Sam’s argument sounded quite reasonable to her. It had been what she wanted. Even if her father had denied it, Sam should have put the suggestion to her. ‘Why did he not run off with me, as he promised?’

  ‘He would have, had I not offered an argument he could not refute.’ Her father took a breath, then froze up, as if realising that he had spoken too much. ‘And the rest is nothing for delicate ears to hear, my dear.’

  Even after six years, Sam must have felt the same, for he would not speak, even if she thought ill of him. Whatever had been said clearly involved her, yet no one would do her the courtesy of sharing the secret that had altered the course of her whole life. She dropped her argument and smiled knowingly. ‘You needn’t bother to protect me, Father. He told me everything before he left.’

  ‘He told you!’ Her father’s voice was thunderous and he rose and slammed his fist down on the desk for emphasis. ‘That was between him and me and should have passed no further. He is a bounder and a cad. A viper in the bosom of this family. And if he would tell you such a thing, it proves everything I suspected about him. Blood will tell, Evelyn.

  Blood will tell.’

  ‘His father was a duke,’ she said softly.

  ‘And his mother was a … seamstress,’ he finished, as though narrowly avoiding yet another word that was not suitable for her ears. ‘His revelation was nothing more than an attempt to turn you against me.’

  ‘And that is why you must tell me your side of it,’ she said, coaxing a little bit more of the truth. ‘So that I might understand the whole.’

  ‘I had promised to protect him,’ her father said, ‘and raise him as my own. But there are limits to what a man will do for a friend, even when that friend is a duke. I had never promised that he should marry my daughter. I am sure old St Aldric would not have expected that from me.’

  Now old St Aldric’s opinion counted above hers. Were dead men allowed to make up her mind for her as well? ‘He could not have known what would happen,’ she said, leaving the door open for more information.

  ‘I could not tell him his father’s name.’ Her father could hardly meet her eyes. ‘But that did not mean that I could not tell him that there was a good reason I had raised him. And that his parentage would require that the two of you never marry.’

  ‘What difference could his true father have made in that?’ But he had not known about the duke until just recently. Before that, he must have assumed he knew his origins and that they prevented him from marrying. It was only when he learned the truth that he was free to come to her.

  A horrible thought occurred to her. Oh, please, let it not be so. ‘What did you tell him, Father?’ She took him by the arm and shook it, as if she could rattle the information from him, praying all the while that it was not as she suspected. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told him that he had mistaken the natural affinity of a brother and sister for something different. That the bond between you was an affection arising from blood and kinship. His confusion was unfortunate, but that he must see a marriage between the two of you would be against the laws of God and man.’

  ‘You told him …’ The truth surged in her stomach, so suddenly that she felt unwell.

  ‘I told him that I had raised him like a son because that was what he was.’ Her father looked embarrassed. ‘And really, he was as much a son as I would ever have. It was not a complete lie. Merely an exaggeration.’

  ‘And he left because he thought …’ She gave a shudder of distaste and remembered his reactions in his rooms, and in the garden. His frenzied kisses, revulsion at his own weakness and his vow that there could never be anything between them.

  The night of her engagement, the impediment had been lifted. And he had come to her immediately, a changed man.

  Her father was still speaking. ‘It was the only way I could think of to part the two of you. You had been as thick as thieves, for years. He had all but worshipped you, since the moment of your birth. But you must see that it could not have been …’ The words were rushing out of him, as though a complete explanation would make them sound less heartless.

  My poor dear Sam … It all made sense, now. His obvious attraction to her. His sudden disappearance. And his insistence that he felt nothing honourable. And now that he
was free, she had chosen another and forced him away.

  She rose from the chair and took a staggering step away from her father. It was like backing away from the life she had always thought was hers. She had never doubted his love. But she saw her own life, clearly, for the first time. He had kept her, like a plant in a sunless room, not noticing as her dreams had withered. He had thought he was protecting her, but instead he had been protecting his plans for her.

  ‘I had to do it.’ Her father held out a hand to her, as though trying to draw her back to his side. ‘Do you not understand?’

  ‘It is over now, Father.’

  ‘Because he is gone.’

  She shook her head. ‘Because you cannot lie to us, ever again. If you love me as you say, then it must be the truth between us, always and for ever. Or you will lose me, just as you have lost Sam.’

  But this time, she had been the one to lose Sam. She had sent him away. He had left without a word and she had no idea where to seek him. She turned, looking wildly around her, but knowing that there would be no clue. She looked to her father, who could no longer be trusted, even if help was offered. Then she thought of the one person who she could trust, though no sane person would dare to ask him for help in such a matter.

  ‘Evelyn, wait!’

  But the voice was already behind her and becoming fainter as she ran down the hall. She had not a moment to lose. She had waited too long already. She ran to the stairs and up the next two flights, chest tight from the mix of exertion and anxiety. She took only a moment to compose herself, before bursting into the sick room.

  St Aldric looked up at her entrance with a benign smile. He was sitting up in bed and the morning papers were spread about him on the bedclothes.

  The thought flitted through her mind that she should scold him for overexerting himself, then she remembered that she had no right to do so, especially not after the discussion they’d had only moments ago. If she was no longer welcome in the room, her advice would be even less so. Unsure how to begin, her knees bent, her head bowed and she whispered a breathless, ‘Your Grace …’

  ‘Don’t talk rot, Evelyn.’ He pushed the paper aside and gestured to the chair at his bedside.

  She took it. ‘I was afraid, that you would not wish to see me, after …’

  ‘Your perfectly reasonable request that we dissolve our engagement?’ If the parting bothered him, there was very little evidence of it. The slightly strained look at the corners of his eyes, perhaps. Or the faint crease in his brow. Vanity would demand her to be hurt by his indifference. But Eve could not manage to be other than relieved.

  ‘I need your help,’ she blurted. ‘I have made a mistake.’

  ‘Only one?’ He was still smiling. ‘Of course I shall help you. Unless you mean to come back to me, Evelyn. I am afraid I will not take you.’

  That was almost insulting, yet she still did not care. She smiled back at him. ‘I need to find Sam.’

  Now the duke beamed at her. ‘I was hoping you would say such. His plan is to return to the sea.’

  ‘He promised me he would not.’ She had been praying it would be Scotland. Or some other landlocked place that he might easily be retrieved from. But suppose he had gone with the morning tide?

  ‘He promised you?’ The duke gave a short laugh. ‘He would break that promise, then, as quickly as he was able.’

  ‘Why …?’

  ‘When a man loses all he values, Evelyn, he is likely to do the most foolish and self-destructive thing he can imagine. You were the reason he went to sea before. And you are the reason he will return to it.’

  It was so clear now. So simple. Why had she not understood? ‘But how will I find him?’ Three-quarters of the globe was water. And he sought to be lost.

  The duke plucked a page off the bed sheets and thrust it at her. It was the shipping news, with a neat schedule of tides, arrivals and departures. He pointed. ‘That one.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘It is bound for Jamaica. Distant, dangerous and deficient in English women. That is the one he will choose. Africa would be better, of course. But it is damnable weather to go ‘round the horn at this time of year. Most ships’ captains are not nearly so suicidal as our Samuel is likely to be.’

  ‘Suicidal?’ She had imagined him to be adventurous, not fatalistic.

  ‘It is why you must waste no time in retrieving him.’ He handed her a note, pencilled in a shaky but legible hand on the flyleaf of the book she had been reading him. ‘Give this to my groom and say that you must borrow my carriage. The crest on the door is very handy for moving crowds and loosening tongues.’ Then he turned from her again, gathering up the papers to read.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sam sat at breakfast in the public room of his inn, trying not to think about the past, though everything seemed to remind him of it. The chops and ale in front of him were a solid replacement for the shirred eggs, toast and kippers that he had eaten yesterday. The food at the Thorne town house had been as good as he remembered.

  He did not want to remember.

  He stared fixedly at the food in front of him.

  Beer for breakfast had an unapologetically masculine feel to it. It was fortifying, as was the chop. It settled the liquor, which still sloshed in his stomach, after a drunken evening. If he meant to walk the docks searching for an outbound ship, he would need energy. He finished the last of the meat on his plate and paid the innkeeper for the meal and another day’s lodging. And then he went to seek his fortune.

  The Port of London was full of merchantmen. Stevedores hauled bales and barrels up and down the gangplanks and up the dock towards warehouses. Nearby, he could smell tobacco and salted fish. There would be cotton as well, and wool woven and ready for export.

  The bustle of commerce was interesting. But life on such a ship would not be. And what need would any of these captains have for a doctor? While he could not say he wished for Napoleon to escape again, a lasting peace would render him unnecessary.

  Unwanted. Extraneous. Unloved. There were so many words to describe him now. It had been a point of pride that, if nothing else, he was useful member of society. But the previous two weeks had left him feeling spent. He had nothing left to give. At least, he had nothing that anyone wanted.

  The docks of the East India Trading Company were more compelling. They still stank of fish and sailors, but the undercurrent of spice and tea stirred his lethargic spirit. Perhaps he would not bother with doctoring. He could be an adventurer. If he liked Asia, he could settle there. There would be no shortage of disease in a tropical climate.

  But perhaps the Dutch merchantman moored ahead would be better. Sugar cane and rum in the Caribbean. It might be less expensive to stay drunk when the supply was so near. And treating lepers was so selfless that he might compete with dear Michael for his sainthood.

  One thought of his brother brought all the memories of Evie rushing back. He had told her he would not go to sea. It frightened her. Surely the events that had followed would exempt him from any promises made. And if he went to Edinburgh, he might see something about St Aldric and his duchess in the papers from time to time. He would lack the strength to ignore it and would tear the old wounds open again thinking of her.

  ‘Sam!’

  He was thinking of her now, when he had promised himself he would not. The memories were so vivid that he could almost hear her voice. But these waking dreams were tame compared to what he saw whenever he closed his eyes. Perhaps he could find a way to do without sleep. Or else he would lie down some night to dream of her and never wake up again.

  ‘Sam Hastings!’

  That was not a dream. That was a real voice. But what would Evelyn Thorne be doing on the docks? He turned to look in the direction of the sound and saw the St Aldric carriage parked, in all its gleaming glory, and a liveried footman reaching to open the door.

  Sam stumbled backwards into a passing navvy who swore and pushed him aside, but he hardl
y noticed. He could not see her. Not now. Not when he was so close to escape. And certainly not when she was rigged out as the damned Duchess of blasted St Aldric.

  He had an insane desire to laugh. It seemed that, the closer he got to sea, the more his manners deteriorated. And it also seemed that he might have to jump from the dock and swim for India if he meant to get away from Evelyn Thorne. She was on the ground and running towards him, blocking his escape. It hardly mattered. The sight of her had frozen him to the spot like a statue.

  ‘Ev-hhhh.’ Her body hit his with no small force, knocking the air from his lungs. He tried desperately to catch his breath, but the mouth that covered his made it all the more difficult. His gasp brought her tongue into his mouth, and the need to trap it there and keep it for ever superseded anything so common and mortal as respiration.

  He was breathless and lightheaded. If he could not manage to fill his lungs, he would black out and fall into the river. But he was being kissed by Evie and nothing else mattered. Her hands were around his waist, stroking his back to ease the tightness in his chest. And with each breath she took, she gave life back to him. She was air, and water, and sunshine. She was food and drink. She was everything he needed to survive.

  He held her to him, so tightly that heaven and earth could not part them. She fit so perfectly in his arms, as if she was designed to complement him. No other woman had ever felt like this. No one ever would. No one but his Evie.

  She leaned away for a moment and stared up at him, blue eyes wide and full of mischief. He ought to tell her that it was disquieting to have her kiss with her eyes open. But there was no changing Evelyn Thorne, once she had an idea in her head. He had best get used to it.

  ‘I have found you,’ she said proudly.

  ‘You have,’ he agreed. But why had she found him? Was this just another attempt to argue with him? Would it lead to another goodbye? He doubted his heart could stand that.