“And you saw no reason to inform me?”
“I did not. You were no longer interested in me.”
“That is not true.”
“Percy!” now sobbed Rhawn, “he is the father of my son. Florilyn, he only wants to marry you for your money.”
“That’s a lie!” shouted Colville.
The volatile exchange momentarily silenced the room. “He was always talking about how rich you would be one day,” said Rhawn.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” said Florilyn.
“Yes, where is your proof?” said Colville, recovering himself with cool aplomb. “It’s all lies. Come, Florilyn. They are all mad together. Let’s get out of here.”
“Gladly!”
They moved toward the door.
“A moment, Florilyn,” said Percy, moving to block their way. “Would you indulge me with a brief word in private?”
“I will not! I am leaving with Colville.”
“I would rather not insist, Florilyn. Please.” Percy turned to Colville. “As you are a guest in this home, Colville, I believe I can safely speak on behalf of Lady Katherine in requesting you to take your leave.”
“I will not take a step without Florilyn.”
“Do you want me to summon the manservants to escort you forcibly from the premises?”
“What—two or three men twice my age?” laughed Colville.
“You are right,” rejoined Percy. “They will hardly be necessary. Steven and I are well up to the task. Now, Florilyn,” he said, taking his cousin’s arm and leading her through the door and into the corridor, “come with me.”
Unrepentant but powerless to argue, Florilyn squirmed to get free. Instead she found herself closeted a moment later with Percy in the adjacent sitting room. Steven, meanwhile, not relishing a further hostile encounter, reopened the curtains and slipped through the french doors and outside. Gwyneth led Rhawn after him. Colville found himself standing in an empty room.
Closing the door of the sitting room behind them, Percy turned to Florilyn. “You are much changed, Florilyn,” he said. “I am sorry to say it does not become you. What happened?”
Florilyn looked away. She had not completely forgotten the feelings she had had for Percy and how much she had once desired to please him. Even in her present state, his words stung.
“You asked what Gwyneth and I are doing here,” he went on. “What I am about to tell you, I implore you to breathe no word of until I make a full disclosure.”
Florilyn’s vanity flared up again. “You would place a muzzle on me?” she said.
“I think you will hold your tongue. The only person who will be hurt is your mother. I cannot believe, even now, that you would intentionally hurt her. So I have no choice but to hope you will comply with my request.”
“What is it, then?” said Florilyn peevishly.
“Knowing something of what kind of man Colville Burrenchobay is, I cannot but imagine that his motives for wanting to marry you are mixed. What do you think he will say when he learns that you will inherit nothing from your father’s estate and that you will no longer be known as the Honorable Florilyn Westbrooke?”
“What are you talking about? Courtenay inherits the title, not me.”
“As sister of the viscount, you would still be deserving of the address of a viscount’s daughter until he is married. That would obviously make a husband look good, especially one who might have political aspirations. What do you think he would say to know that you will not inherit one pound from your father’s estate and to know that Courtenay will never be viscount?”
“That’s absurd!” said Florilyn. “He is right—you are mad!”
“Listen to me, cousin,” said Percy sternly. “Then make your choice—whether to send Colville away yourself or find him breaking your engagement when he learns that you have no claim to rights, privileges, title, or money and are not the prize in society’s eyes he thought you. You may hate me for saying such a thing. All I ask is whether you know Colville Burrenchobay well enough to be absolutely sure of him.”
The question jolted Florilyn. A glimmer of the “new Florilyn” flickered like a nearly extinguished candle coming back to life. It was a powerful and disturbing question. In her heart of hearts, she knew that she was not sure of Colville. One thing she did know, however, was that Percy Drummond would never lie. As she continued to listen, Florilyn’s expression turned from anger to stunned disbelief. Slowly her pride began to wilt.
When Percy led her back into the sunroom a few minutes later, Colville had left the house through the front door. Through the window, Steven saw Percy and Florilyn come back into the room. He saw from Florilyn’s countenance that her self-will had been defeated at last. The demon of division had been exorcised by the light of loving truth. The two disclosures concerning Rhawn and Gwyneth, coming one after the other, had finally penetrated the hard shell of Colville’s deception, shattering the last vestige of pride she had allowed to reassert itself.
Percy led her to Steven. He took her gently and led her to a couch, then sat down beside her. Percy walked outside where he found Gwyneth and Rhawn talking quietly together. Rhawn was softly weeping in emotional exhaustion.
SIXTY-SEVEN
Disclosure
Courtenay Westbrooke sat at the desk in his apartment on the third floor of Westbrooke Manor deep in thought. Before him was the most recent statement of his account in the Porthmadog Union Bank, which reflected the deposit of the check from Lord Litchfield’s assistant of £1,000 he had received a week and a half earlier. The balance would be forthcoming within days.
Courtenay’s brain was alive with the staggering possibilities presented by a cash balance of over £8,000. He had been perusing several flyers and brochures with the current offerings in the midlands horse market, thinking to himself that perhaps now he could afford to go after a major prize from one of the most distinguished stables. His was the mentality of one who assumed that money had been invented for one thing alone—to spend, and that as quickly as possible. He was still not fully appreciative of the fact that bank balances required regular supplementation to maintain themselves, nor that his forthcoming viscountcy came with a cash income that would be considered dubious by London’s leading financiers. Saving for the proverbial rainy day was not an intrinsic element of his economic creed.
He had been hearing voices for some time. But as the feminine figured most prominently, his subconscious had ignored them. As things heated up two floors below him, however, the sounds intruded into his waking brain. He set down the flyer in his hand and listened. As by some primal instinct of the fighting male animal, men young and old, or it might be said, boys of all ages, are drawn even to the potential of conflict with a wide-eyed lust for violence. After a few more shouts, Courtenay rose to his feet and listened. Now it grew deathly quiet. He strained to hear more. A minute later he was out of his room and on his way for the stairs to investigate.
He flew down the stairs two at a time. The front door stood open. Outside Courtenay saw Colville with a look of angry consternation on his face. Perceiving no opportunity to get Florilyn alone, and having his own reasons for desiring to avoid Rhawn Lorimer in the company of so many allies, he was debating with himself whether he ought to simply get on his horse and beat a hasty retreat. “Colville,” said Courtenay, running outside, “what’s all the ruckus I hear?”
“That fool Stevie Muir hauled Rhawn Lorimer up here with her accusations. He’s trying to discredit me in front of Florilyn.”
“Why didn’t you throw him out, or come find me and I would have?”
“The blackguard took me by surprise. They cornered Florilyn with their lies. Then that devil of a cousin of yours showed up and stuck his nose in.”
“Percy … he’s here?” exclaimed Courtenay. An expletive exploded from his mouth. “We’ll see about this! Where are they?”
“I left Florilyn with him in the sunroom.”
Courtenay turned and spr
inted back inside and along the corridor. Colville followed, his eyes aflame. His fists were itching to redress the recent grievances against his pride, and these were odds he liked much better.
The two burst into the sunroom, ready to take out their anger on anyone who crossed them. They were, however, completely unprepared for the scene that met their eyes.
Percy had gone to find Katherine. After a brief and affectionate greeting, he had led his aunt and the boy back to join the others.
Katherine, Rhawn, Percy, and Gwyneth were speaking in low tones, with Rhawn’s son in their midst. Gwyneth was telling Katherine where they had gone after leaving Llanfryniog and about Grannie and her father, though without divulging the reason for their sudden departure to Ireland.
On the couch across the room, Florilyn sat quietly weeping beside Steven Muir. One of her hands rested between his. A pulse of rage surged through Colville’s frame.
At the sight of the two young men rushing into their midst, faces flushed and hands eager for a fight, Percy stepped away from the women and moved to intercept them.
Nothing could have been more to Courtenay’s liking. An involuntary smirk passed over his lips.
Steven, too, rose and stepped protectively in front of Florilyn. Courtenay saw the movement and hesitated briefly. After the incident several days earlier, he was a little afraid of Steven. Not so, Colville Burrenchobay. Determined to be neither surprised nor foiled a second time, he charged like an angry bear.
“Defend yourself, Steven!” shouted Percy. “Don’t stand on ceremony—he’s dangerous!”
Florilyn and Rhawn screamed in a single voice. Percy shot a quick glance toward Gwyneth. She understood and hurried Rhawn, her son, and Katherine from the room.
Emboldened by Colville’s aggression, Courtenay rushed Percy with a fierce series of blows. He had been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. He was not about to let it pass without giving full vent to his frustrated resentment against his goody-goody cousin.
Meanwhile, Colville landed several severe blows alongside Steven’s head, one of which drew blood behind the ear. Steven was doing his best to evade or stop them, but with difficulty. Florilyn was yelling at them all to stop. Neither her brother nor Colville was inclined to back off from what they misperceived as a delicious advantage.
“Steven!” cried Percy again, not fearing Courtenay so much as he feared for Steven. “It’s the whip the moneychangers need, not the gentle word. Defend yourself, man!”
Willing enough under the circumstances to bow to Percy’s wisdom, ten seconds later Colville Burrenchobay was measuring the six-foot-two-inch length of his frame along the floor. Florilyn’s shrieks stopped abruptly to see with what lightning speed Steven had rendered the threat to himself unconscious in front of her.
“Courtenay … Courtenay, please!” implored Percy. “I need to speak with you.”
“Say it with your fists!’ shouted Courtenay. “Take your own advice and defend yourself! Are you a coward?”
“I have no desire to fight you, Courtenay.”
“It is too late for that!”
“Courtenay … stop!” It was now his sister’s voice he heard.
“I will stop when this bounder has learned that we need no more of his interference.”
“Courtenay!” cried Florilyn. “You’ve got to hear what Percy has to say.”
For answer, several more wicked blows came battering toward Percy’s head and body. But they did not continue much longer. Suddenly from behind, two huge arms clasped him round the chest. Finding himself caught in a straightjacket and held firmly against Steven Muir’s massive chest, he writhed to free himself, but to no avail.
“You big lout!” he cried. “Unhand me, Muir! You will pay for this, I tell you! Release me, and I may not bring charges against you.”
“Courtenay,” said Florilyn, her voice softer now. “You must listen.”
His audience at last a captive one, and by now his own righteous anger aroused, Percy walked close to Courtenay until he stood a foot in front of his face. “Courtenay,” he said in a passionate and indignant voice, “you will be twenty-five in a matter of days. It is time you grew up and stopped behaving like a spoiled child who thinks he can do and have anything he wants. While I am loathe to call anyone a fool for fear of the fires of hell, you have acted the part of the fool of Proverbs. You are a foolish and self-centered young man. It is time to be a man. A man, Courtenay, not a boy. I have done the best I could to be a friend and faithful cousin to you. Before he died, I promised your father that I would do all that was in my power to help take care of your sister. With that vow came an equal commitment to you. I would have striven to do my best for you and Florilyn even without that promise. But you have foiled all my efforts to be your friend. You despised me since my first visit here. You have not loved or followed the truth. You have been selfish and conceited toward me and toward others. You have made no effort to follow the right. You have been rude toward the young woman I love. All her life you treated her pure heart and forgiving spirit with shameful disdain.”
He paused, sensing Florilyn’s unspoken question at his words. He turned toward her. “Yes, Florilyn,” he said, nodding with a smile of acknowledgment, “I found Gwyneth in my own fir wood, as I think you knew I would. I have asked her to marry me.”
“Oh, Percy,” said Florilyn, rising and walking to him. “I am so happy for you.”
He turned to meet her.
She embraced him as Courtenay, still powerless in Steven’s grasp, looked on. Florilyn stepped back and now stood to face her brother. “Courtenay,” she said, “Percy is our friend, not our enemy.” Her voice was soft. The spell of lies at last was broken. “He has always been our friend. I don’t know how I could have forgotten. Now you need to listen to him.”
Slowly Steven relaxed his hold and stepped back.
“All right, then,” spat Courtenay belligerently, “what is it?”
“You may prefer to sit down,” said Percy.
“I will stand. I will submit to this childish show of power because you have me at a disadvantage,” spat Courtenay. “But know this, cousin, in five days I will take great pleasure in throwing you out of this house—you and all your accomplices in whatever game you are playing.”
“I do not think you will, Courtenay. I will not leave except by the word of the viscountess.”
“In five days the manor will be mine. If you refuse my order, I will have you removed by force.”
“Again, I think not, Courtenay. In five days the manor will not be yours.”
“Don’t talk bloody nonsense!”
“I speak the truth. You are not your father’s rightful heir.”
A stunned silence filled the room. Courtenay stared back speechless then broke into a laugh. “You are mad as a March hare! Who else would be his heir?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Percy saw Steven staring at him with an equally dumbfounded expression. “She whom your father commissioned me on his deathbed to find,” he replied to Courtenay’s question. “She who was his rightful heir by his first marriage, before he knew your mother.”
“An outrageous claim!” cried Courtenay. “If my father had been married twice, I would know of it. Who is this mystery heir?” For the first time a hint of nervousness was evident in his tone.
“The very one whom you so long despised as too far beneath you even to deserve your contempt—she whom you know as Gwyneth Barrie.”
Again a blank stare of incredulity met Percy’s words. Steven’s expression of disbelief drifted toward his own cousin. “She is but a peasant and guttersnipe!” he said. As he spoke, he laughed scornfully.
“Careful, Courtenay—she is the young woman who is to be my wife. I will let it pass this once. But do not insult her again, or I will give you cause to regret it. She is also your father’s granddaughter.”
The evident seriousness on his sister’s face and the confidence with which Percy spoke at last succeeded in sob
ering Courtenay to the reality that there might be more to the claim than could so easily be laughed off. He believed not a word of it. But the mirth slowly died from his lips.
“I presume you have some sort of proof you intend to put forward in support of this preposterous notion,” he said coolly.
As he spoke, on the floor Colville was returning to consciousness. His confused brain struggled to make sense of where he was. The only word that registered from out of the fog he now repeated in defense of the charge that had been brought against him.
“Proof …” he repeated in a slurred tongue, climbing groggily to his feet. “Proof … all lies … where’s the proof?”
“I believe all the proof needed for the truth of Rhawn’s words, Colville,” said Florilyn, “may be seen clearly enough in the face of that little boy who just left with his mother. Steven,” she said to Steven, “would you please escort Mr. Burrenchobay from the house. Our afternoon tea is over.”
With one hand on his arm, Steven gently ushered Colville through the french doors. A pronounced stinging in the region of his right cheekbone was all the persuasion Colville needed to go quietly. Steven saw him safely to the front of the house, helped him mount his horse, and returned inside through the main front door. By the time he reached home, Colville’s head was splitting, and he called for cold compresses.
Meanwhile, the three cousins were left alone in the sunroom.
“You spoke of proof,” said Percy. “All the proof you may require shall be provided in due course.”
“No doubt,” rejoined Courtenay sullenly. “But my solicitor shall make inquiries.”
“Florilyn,” said Percy, “would you mind going to your mother? Tell her I need to speak with her in private. I will join her momentarily. You may return and tell me where to meet her.”
Florilyn turned to go then hesitated. She gazed at Percy full in the face. “Percy … I am sorry,” she said. “Can you ever forgive me for the dreadful things I said?”
Percy smiled. “You were forgiven without needing to ask.”
Treasure of the Celtic Triangle Page 31
