A Gentleman's Curse: Avenging Lords - Book 4

by Clee, Adele

  “I imagine Terence dropped on bended knee, grovelled to her parents and explained how they were foolish and in love. I imagine he offered for her on their return to London. He never told me, and I certainly didn’t ask.”

  Either Terence planned the whole thing out of jealousy, or he had sacrificed his happiness to save his brother. No wonder Mr Lockhart found it difficult to trust people.

  Claudia remained silent for a moment.

  Hearing the story of that fateful night had affected her in ways she could not comprehend. The overriding feeling was that she must save Hudson Lockhart. Save him from those wicked members of his family who took pleasure in persecuting an innocent man. Save him from the distrust that forged his character, that informed his thoughts and decisions.

  And so as they dressed in preparation for the meeting with his parents, one question remained at the forefront of Claudia’s mind. Was Terence the villain or the hero of Hudson Lockhart’s sad story?

  Chapter Eleven

  Nothing had changed during Lockhart’s five-year absence. The grey stone exterior of his parents’ townhouse reflected the austere reception one would undoubtedly find inside. And while the cold facade forewarned of the true character of both inhabitants, their love of fashionable furnishings spoke of the fickleness and inconstancy that informed his parents’ daily lives.

  “Are we waiting for something?” Claudia asked as they sat in the carriage, staring at the house. “The butler has opened and closed the door twice.”

  “Simmonds will be glad of the fresh air.” Living inside a prison was stifling. Everyone, bar the mistress, suffered from some form of inadequacy, and she took pleasure in reminding them daily.

  “We don’t have to go inside.” Compassion infused Claudia’s tone. “Equally, I am happy to wait here if you’d rather go alone.”

  Lockhart considered the lady whose presence settled the unease in his chest.

  If I loved you, I would tell you now.

  Her words drifted through his mind, bringing the memory of last night’s sweet kiss flooding back. It had affected him more than he cared to admit.

  “I need you with me,” he said, feeling the truth of it deep in his bones. Perhaps they might be friends when this was all over. Perhaps they might be lovers for a time. Both possibilities appealed to him. “And I need another stellar performance.”

  Her reply came in the form of a curt nod, and yet he wanted her to say she would do anything for him, that she would support him even if he wasn’t paying her a penny.

  “You should know a little about my mother before we enter.” Hester Lockhart knew how to lure the unsuspecting into her trap. “She will appear distraught, yet she will turn her pain and anger towards me. She has a vicious tongue when the mood takes her.”

  Claudia smiled. “I am used to dealing with those who seek to intimidate. But I appreciate the warning all the same.”

  Her reply roused his ire. He imagined many people sought to take advantage of the young mistress in charge of Falaura Glen. “Should you need any assistance at home, you only need ask.”

  She struggled to maintain her smile. He knew her well enough to know something troubled her. “That is most gracious.” She shuffled forward. “Come, let us tackle your parents and see if we can discover anything that might help make sense of the night you fled to India.”

  Lockhart knew a distraction technique when he heard one, but she was right. They could not linger in the carriage all day, and so he assisted his wife to the pavement and escorted her to the front door.

  “Welcome home, sir,” Simmonds said. The butler’s brown eyes flashed with warning, a signal to alert Lockhart of his mother’s precarious mood. He inclined his head to Claudia. “Madam.”

  “I trust Terence visited this morning.”

  “He did, sir.”

  Terence had always been the favourite. “Then my mother is expecting us.”

  A mournful cry exploded from the room on their left. The prolonged wailing sound expressed his mother’s crippling anguish.

  Simmonds glanced at the ceiling before saying, “I am sure you know the way, sir.”

  As Lockhart guided Claudia into the drawing room, it struck him that his mother’s latest obsession extended to purchasing anything pale blue. The curtains, the new coverings on the chairs and sofa, and the swirling blue and white pattern on the rug made a man feel as if he were floating above the clouds.

  His mother lay stretched on a pale blue chaise with gilt legs. A house cap, tied tightly under her chin with a blue silk bow, covered all but a few grey curls. Her white dress made her look pasty and drew one’s gaze to the puffy red rings around her eyes.

  She looked up although continued to twist and wring her handkerchief in her hands. “So it is true,” his mother blurted. “We received word you were dead. Dead, for pity’s sake, dead. And now look at you, standing there as if you haven’t a care in the world.” She flapped her handkerchief in his direction. “Do you mean to put your mother in her grave?”

  Feelings of emptiness returned. “As I have already explained to Terence, Lord Greystone acted prematurely in sending his correspondence.”

  “Greystone? That son of a whoremaster? Can the foolish boy not tell the difference between the living and the dead?” She broke into another ear-piercing sob just for effect.

  Lockhart gritted his teeth. A minute had passed, and he was ready to leave and never return. Had it not been for the dainty hand taking hold of his arm he might have acted on impulse. Miss Darling was there to remind him why he had come—purely for information. And yet a small part of him longed for his mother’s embrace, ached to hear words of love and comfort.

  “Lord Greystone is an intelligent man whose abilities in business led me to make my fortune.”

  His mother lowered her handkerchief and narrowed her gaze. “So you left England in pursuit of money. You abandoned those who supported you, turned your back on your family, your responsibilities.”

  It didn’t matter what he said, what excuses he gave, his mother would find every reason to express her disappointment. He could drop on bended knee and explain how he was framed for a murder he did not commit, how he’d been forced to flee, confused and alone. But ultimately she would lay the blame at his door.

  “How else was I to survive when Father cut off my funds and struck my name from his will?”

  His mother scrunched the handkerchief in her fist. “You forced that poor man to act as he did. Heaven knows why you chose to live with heathens. I’m only grateful our estate is not entailed. When the time comes, I daresay you would lease it out and use the money to buy goats.”

  Goats?

  The matron focused on everyone else’s failings rather than accept her own. But the conversation raised one crucial question.

  Whose name had his father marked next to the estate in Warwickshire?

  Terence Lockhart?

  Justin Perigrew? Surely not.

  There was only one way to find out.

  “Being named the heir, I thought Terence would have moved into Alveston Hall,” he said, making the obvious assumption. “Selina favours the countryside I seem to recall.”

  Hester Lockhart raised her chin. “Like any good son, the boy is not one for gallivanting and refuses to leave his father’s side.”

  “Unlike me.”

  “You do remember your father? The man abandoned by his eldest son? The man on his deathbed?” She flopped back on the chaise and raised a limp hand to her forehead. “None of us are in good health, Hudson. This is all too much.”

  Oddly, the welfare of Alfred and Hester Lockhart was not his first consideration. His only thought was for his fake wife, the woman carrying his imagined child. They were still standing because his mother hadn’t the decency to offer them a seat.

  “My wife is with child,” he said, anger rising in his chest at Claudia’s mistreatment. “She suffers from bouts of dizziness, and so I must insist she sits and rests for a moment.”
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  The matron lowered her hand and considered Claudia through half-closed lids. Based on her obsession for pale blue, his mother should have found Madame Armand’s elegant pelisse with ermine cuffs rather pleasing. But Hester Lockhart rarely expressed approval.

  “Poor Selina has had an awful time,” his mother said, ignoring the kind smile Claudia cast the matron’s way. “It’s the stress, you know. The stress of tending to ailing parents makes it impossible to conceive. And she is so attentive to our needs.”

  Despite surviving in a harsh climate, working in harsh conditions, nothing roused frustration like his mother’s insensitive comments. Resentment festered. Disappointment cut to the bone. Bitterness seeped from wounds that had never healed.

  “Forgive me, Mrs Lockhart,” Claudia suddenly said. “If I do not sit down soon, I’m afraid I must take my leave.” She turned to Lockhart and placed her hand on his forearm. “I shall wait for you in the carriage.”

  Clever minx.

  His mother craved attention, craved an audience.

  “Then I shall bid my mother good day—”

  “Oh, do sit down,” his mother snapped. “I’ve got a crick in my neck from staring up at you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Lockhart, you are most kind.”

  Lockhart waited for Claudia to sit before dropping into the chair next to her.

  “As I was saying,” his mother continued, “Selina is here most days. Your father adores her. Of course, she should have married you, Hudson. The two of you are far more suited. You broke her heart when you left.”

  Lockhart clenched his jaw. “Things worked out for the best. I never loved Selina, but I do love my wife.” He captured Miss Darling’s hand and held it tight. It was not a fake gesture to spite his mother, but he had an overwhelming urge to offer support, to take comfort from her touch, too.

  “And our child will be born to doting parents,” Claudia said in a sweet voice devoid of malice. “For there is no greater gift in this world than being raised in a loving home.”

  For a moment, his mother appeared dumbstruck. No doubt her devious mind scrambled to decide if the comment carried a veiled attack.

  To annoy his mother, Lockhart drew Claudia’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “And you will want for nothing as long as I am your protector.”

  A tense silence ensued though his mother’s penetrating stare was sharp enough to pierce skin, draw blood.

  “Words fall easily from the lips,” the matron sniped. “When one judges character it is best to consider a person’s history, my dear, for therein lies the truth. Once a deserter, always a deserter. Isn’t that what they say, Hudson?”

  A rage to rival the devil’s wrath burned in Lockhart’s chest. Pain for the boy who had done nothing to feed her hatred lingered there, too. What the hell did his mother want from him? His complete surrender would not be enough. He was wasting his time here.

  Indeed, Lockhart was about to jump to his feet when Claudia cleared her throat.

  “Once a cynic, always a cynic. Isn’t that what they say, Mrs Lockhart?” Claudia raised her chin, though her cheeks flushed pink. “Thankfully, I know enough about Hudson to know he has a good heart, to know he makes sacrifices for his family, to know nothing he has done in his life stems from selfish intentions.”

  Hester Lockhart snorted and opened her mouth to speak, but Miss Darling did not give her a chance to utter another word.

  “When Hudson Lockhart says he will protect me, I believe him. When Hudson Lockhart promises to be a good husband and father, I know he will love his wife and children unconditionally.”

  Miss Darling turned to face him. He might have wondered if her powerful monologue was part of the script, but the water welling in her eyes implied the words came from an honest place.

  “I cannot control what people say, Hudson, but I can choose not to listen.” Claudia rose to her feet and cradled her stomach. The gesture stirred something within him, another unnamed emotion. “And I refuse to sit here and watch such a vicious, unprovoked attack.”

  Lockhart stood, his heart bursting with pride and respect for the woman whose loyalty to her husband flowed like blood in her veins. “Then I shall accompany you. The welfare of you and our child is what matters now.”

  He caught himself.

  The lines between fantasy and reality were becoming blurred. It occurred to Lockhart that he might grieve for the loss of his wife and child once the week was out.

  “What?” His mother gasped. “You’ve been away for five years, and you intend to leave before seeing your father? The man is on his deathbed.” She shook her head and muttered, “Oh, why am I surprised?”

  Lockhart had every intention of rushing upstairs to pay his respects to the man who’d sired him. “A wise man once told me that acceptance brings peace. Perhaps you might consider that when Terence and Selina return to stir the hornet’s nest. Good day, Mother.”

  “Peace?” the matron mocked.

  Pressing his hand to Miss Darling’s back, Lockhart guided her to the drawing room door. He did not take a backwards glance or acknowledge his mother further.

  “How can a mother have peace when her son insists …” His mother’s words faded to a garbled mumble as he closed his ears to her constant complaining.

  * * *

  Gesturing for Miss Darling to climb the stairs in search of his father, Lockhart followed behind, his gaze fixed on the gentle sway of her hips in the hope of calming his volatile mood.

  He opened the door to the master bedchamber to find the room unoccupied. Hearing the squeak of the floorboards across the landing, he decided to investigate.

  As soon as he opened the door, the sour stench of sickness attacked his nostrils. With Miss Darling two steps behind, they entered the dark, dingy room lit by a single candle positioned on the bedside table. The flame flickered in protest at the sudden interruption.

  Lockhart’s gaze searched through the gloom to locate the figure lying motionless in bed, his head lolling to one side. He stepped closer, shocked that his father’s once ruddy complexion was now sallow, that his chubby cheeks were sunken and sagged from protruding bones.

  “Father?” Guilt stabbed Lockhart’s conscience. Despite his father’s illness, he could not rouse the love and respect a son should feel for the man who had raised him. How he wished things were different.

  “He cannot hear you for he is heavily sedated.” Justin Perigrew’s jarring voice pierced the morbid atmosphere. Every word conveyed the man’s arrogance, the right of entitlement that informed every aspect of his character.

  Lockhart noted the rainbow of glass bottles littering the bedside table. The assortment explained the sickly sweet smell that wafted through the air on occasion.

  “Sedated with laudanum?” Lockhart turned to face his pompous cousin whose upturned nose saved him from having to thrust his chin in the air when affronted.

  “Yes, with laudanum.” The fop slunk from the shadows. He dried his hands on a towel and rolled down the sleeves of his shirt. “I administer a dose every four to six hours depending on the pain.”

  He administered the dose?

  “You sleep here?”

  Justin Perigrew would slice off an ear to inherit a healthy portion of his uncle’s wealth. How else would he afford his Parisian rouge and gentlemen’s corsets?

  Justin gathered his green brocade coat from the chair and shrugged into it as if it were chainmail and he was preparing for battle. “Someone had to take care of things in your absence.” He brushed his hand through his mop of blonde hair. “Someone had to take responsibility while you were away at your leisure.”

  “Terence is capable of dealing with all family matters.” Lockhart felt Claudia’s light touch on his back. The simple gesture banished the sense of isolation he experienced when in the presence of family.

  Justin’s snort of contempt mocked Lockhart’s opinion. “Terence objects to me being here, but his after-dark pursuits keep him busy. W
e should be grateful he finds the time to collect the medicine.” His arrogant gaze swept over Claudia as if she were a street hawker selling inferior wares. “Selina, on the other hand, knows what it means to support one’s family during trying times.”

  Anger rose from the fiery pit of Lockhart’s stomach.

  He’d spent years dreaming of putting this dandy on his arse. Respect for his fake wife prevented him from acting like a bare-knuckle brawler now. One derogatory word said to Miss Darling, and he would not have the strength to control himself.

  “Let us step closer to the bed,” Claudia said in a hushed voice, “so we may examine your father’s symptoms.”

  “He’s dying,” Justin snapped. “What is there to examine?”

  Claudia arched a brow. “We will be the judge of that, Mr Perigrew.”

  Justin sucked in his cheeks as he tugged at the black velvet cuffs on his coat. “Then I would hurry. Selina will be here shortly. It might prove awkward having the woman you love in the same room as your wife.”

  Lockhart ground his teeth. He was about to curse his cousin to the devil when Miss Darling spoke.

  “The woman he once courted, Mr Perigrew,” Claudia corrected. “A man cannot presume to know another man’s thoughts or feelings. Only an arrogant fool might claim otherwise.”

  Miss Darling turned on her heel and moved to examine the bottles on the bedside table.

  Lockhart glared at his snout-nosed cousin. “Do not dare try to undermine my relationship with my wife,” he said in a tone dark enough to frighten the devil. “She has the intelligence to see through your pathetic games. I’ll not warn you again.” Lockhart sneered. “You should wear padded breeches, cousin. I hear they’re all the rage in France and will cushion the blow when I drive my fist down your throat and send you flying.”

  Justin sucked in a breath. It took him a moment to form a reply. “You won’t change his mind,” he whispered. “Alfred is a man of principle. A man who rewards those who prove themselves worthy, not those who disregard the laws of the land.”