He could still feel everything—the cold stone of the floor against his face, the throbbing pain in his hand, and most disturbingly, the moist warmth of an unwelcome voice in his ear.
“I’m flattered by the attention, really I am. And though I’d love to stay and get better acquainted, I’m afraid you’ve broken rule number one. I’m sure you meant well, or at least as well as a man is able, but you simply cannot expect a relationship to go anywhere if you can’t abide by the rules. While I might possibly find it in my heart to forgive you, seeing as how you almost certainly couldn’t help yourself, I feel it only fair to warn you—I never give second chances on rule number one. So, in case you find yourself inclined to renew our acquaintance, here’s a little reminder: Don’t touch me again…ever.”
Unable to respond, Jonas heard her footsteps move back into the Theology wing. A few minutes later, the footsteps returned, and he had the distinct impression of being stepped over. Shortly thereafter, he sensed the inkwell’s golden light winking out, leaving behind only the subtle flicker of what must surely have been lantern light. Finally, as the footsteps receded, that, too, dimmed, leaving him helpless in the darkness, with only Reston’s silence and the relentless ticking of the clock for company.
Chapter Twenty
Indecent Proposals
For the first time she could remember, Verone actually enjoyed her stroll up the drive to her father’s villa. The elms were showing signs of turning, painting the canopy with golden highlights that shimmered in the breeze. The subtle warmth of the crisp autumn sun was a perfect complement to the early morning chill. To be fair, though, she would have savored this moment even had it been cold and blustery. Morale, it seemed, was the natural hostage of immediate expectation.
As she approached the veranda, the comforting smell of Mum’s signature breakfast biscuits enveloped her. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, envisioning delectable nuggets of crusty goodness. But the spell was broken when she realized that Mum rarely bothered with biscuits anymore without good reason—and for Mum, good reason usually meant company.
Verone’s mind raced. Guests would be an unwelcome complication to plans that were already complex enough. She considered leaving and coming back another time, but only briefly. Too many other aspects of the plan had fortuitously aligned—she simply couldn’t afford to wait any longer. If she was lucky, the guest might be someone innocuous, like Aunt Olivia.
Nathalie emerged from the villa. “Veronique, is that you? What a delightful surprise.”
“Hi, Mum.”
Nathalie took Verone’s arm and ushered her inside. “You’re just in time for breakfast. We were ready to sit down with Mrs. Merinne and her brother when Eloise told us that someone was lurking out on the veranda. Happily, there’s plenty left, and it’s still warm.”
“Mrs. Merinne?”
“Why yes. She looked so despondent after we got back from misplacing her daughter again, I couldn’t help myself. I invited them up to stay with us—at least until we can find out if the girl is all right. At first, I was a little worried about how they’d get on with Alistair, but if anything, your father seems more amused than annoyed by Mrs. Merinne’s brother’s…peculiarities.”
“So, Dad is home then?”
Nathalie paused as the question registered. When she spoke again, her delight at seeing her daughter was tainted by a note of trepidation.
“Why do you ask?”
“I have something important to discuss with him.”
“As I said, we have guests. You weren’t planning to antagonize him, were you?”
“I’ll take him aside, then.”
The glass panels to the courtyard had been thrown wide to the crisp morning air. Beyond, Verone caught a glimpse of her father and his guests seated at a table. One of the guests stood as Verone and her mother approached.
“Miss Nevinander,” Dona’s mother said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“How nice to see you again.”
Dona’s uncle stood as well. “Once again fate smiles upon me. This day all my wishes are fulfilled.”
“Always a pleasure, Mr. ah…Magnificent?”
“Please, call me Rayen.”
Nathalie pulled back a chair for Verone. “Here, take my seat, dear.”
“That’s all right, Mum, I can get another.”
“Sit. I’ll only be a moment.”
Verone settled between Amanda and Rayen.
Alistair finally spoke. “What a pleasant surprise, indeed. To what do we owe this rare pleasure?”
“Why to fate of course,” Rayen said. “The air is thick with it. Can’t you feel—”
Amanda glared. “Rayen, not now.”
“Oh, it’s quite all right,” Alistair said. “I generally find Rayen’s pronouncements to be fascinating.”
Nathalie emerged from the villa. “Eloise is bringing a chair. Did I miss anything?”
“Rayen was just filling us in on Verone’s fate,” Alistair said. “Tell us, will she fare any better than her brothers have?”
“Now, that’s unfair,” Nathalie said. “You don’t know that’s why she’s here.”
“You mean she doesn’t visit for years, and then, the minute she thinks the estate is up for grabs, she mysteriously reappears just to enjoy a rasher of bacon and our stimulating conversation? What an amazing coincidence.”
Rayen shoveled a forkful of omelette into his mouth. “Unless, of course, she’s here because of me.”
“I knew it,” Nathalie said. “I could sense there was something special between you two right from the start.”
Verone reddened. “Mum, please.”
A little smile played at the corner of Alistair’s mouth. “How inconsiderate of me to jump to conclusions like that. Rayen, perhaps I should ask your intentions concerning my daughter. I’d hate to fall prey to any more misunderstandings.”
“Of course,” Rayen said. “Although she may not be quite ready to accept it, we are fated to be together. When the time comes, I intend to say ‘I do.’”
“Enough,” Amanda snapped.
Rayen started, and then looked down, focusing on a piece of cantaloupe.
“I apologize for my brother’s inappropriate behavior. He’s really not well, you know.”
Alistair’s eyebrow raised. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He has seizures. Sometimes they make him delusional.”
Rayen’s eyes flashed. “They’re not delusions.” But, under the pressure of Amanda’s gaze, his indignation gave way, and his attention returned to the cantaloupe.
A sturdy middle-aged woman wrestled a chair out from the villa and placed it next to Alistair.
“Thank you, Eloise,” Nathalie said. “Could I also trouble you to bring another plate for Verone?”
“Really, Mum,” Verone said, “don’t bother. I just have a few questions for Dad, and then I’m off.”
“These questions,” Alistair said. “They wouldn’t happen to involve the disposition of the estate, would they?”
“As a matter of fact, they do. Shall we retire to the study?”
Alistair dropped his napkin on his plate. “By all means. I can’t wait to hear your take on why you’re entitled to inherit over your brothers. I certainly hope you manage something less stultifying than Damien’s spiel about the virtues of life-long loyalty, as though that somehow qualifies him to run a thriving business.”
“Whenever possible, I do my best to avoid operating on a par with Damien. I don’t promise you’ll like everything I have to say, but I guarantee it won’t be boring.”
As Verone and Alistair disappeared into the villa, Amanda placed a hand over Nathalie’s. “Are you feeling well? You’re looking rather pale.”
Nathalie dragged her gaze away from the villa and back to her guests. “Yes, of course. Can I get anyone some tea?”
. . . . .
Alistair’s study was a testament to his interest in nautical gadgets. The walls that lacked bo
okcases bore navigational maps, while open spaces on shelves and tables displayed various sextants, astrolabes, and armillary spheres. Near the balcony, a telescope was perched atop a tripod almost as tall as Verone. As a girl, she had thought it resembled a huge spider, but that hadn’t stopped her from sneaking into the study and using it to spy on her brothers.
Alistair offered Verone a seat and then sat at his desk, leaned back, and knit his fingers together behind his head. “I knew if I waited long enough, you’d come back to me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. This is not a personal visit.”
Alistair leaned forward. “All visits are personal. That’s why they’re done in person. In a way, I’m disappointed, though. While I fully expected a chance to inherit the estate would be tempting, a part of me hoped you’d have too much integrity to beg.”
“When you’re finished inflating your ego, let me know, and we’ll get down to business.”
Alistair waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, by all means, let the begging begin.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but when you sign over your holdings to me, it will be because you have no other reasonable alternative and because I am gracious enough to agree. Begging will not be necessary, but if you feel inclined, have at it. I’ll try my best not to think less of you than I already do.”
Alistair burst out laughing. “Well I must say that is a considerably different approach than your brothers took. So, tell me, since now I’m dying to know—what makes you think you have any chance whatsoever of inducing my agreement to terms like that?”
“Well for one, once the estate is safely in my possession, the Church won’t be able to confiscate it anymore.”
“You’re implying, I take it, that this is a possibility I should be concerned about?”
“Well, it’s up to you, of course. For all I know, you might donate it to the Church anyway and save them the trouble. But if that isn’t your plan, you might be interested to know they have already attempted to arrest Aunt Marguerite on suspicion of heresy. Just how long do you think it will take for them to realize she has a long-lost twin brother?”
Alistair’s smile faded. “What do you mean attempted?”
“Exactly what I said. They sent Inquisitors to take her into custody. They failed.”
“The Crown intervened?”
“Not as far as I heard.”
“Then how did she avoid arrest?”
“How do you suppose?”
Alistair stiffened. “She’s not that reckless.”
Verone shrugged. “She was probably desperate. As you may recall, she told you the Inquisition was getting out of hand. Maybe if you’d offered to help her instead of kicking her off your property, things would have gone differently. But you didn’t, and here we are.”
“When did all this happen?”
Verone removed a sheaf of papers from her leather case and placed them on his desk. “Sometime Saturday, I think, which means the Inquisition has had more than a day to plan their next move. Since time is clearly of the essence, I took the liberty of having the paperwork prepared. If you could just sign and date each page at the bottom…”
“You’ve known about this long enough to generate paperwork, and you’re only telling me now?”
Verone smiled brightly. “Never go to a meeting unprepared—you taught me that.”
“I know you have your issues with me, but did it not occur to you how this could affect your mother?”
Verone handed him the quill from his desk. “Of course it did. Once I control the estate, I’ll be in a much better position to look after her.”
Alistair snatched the quill out of her hand and placed it back on its stand. “Even if what you say is true, why should I sign over the estate to you? Why would you be in any better position to protect it from the Church than, say, Damien or the twins? You don’t even have any children to use for a sympathy bid.”
She produced another paper from her case and placed it before him. “Because I have something they don’t. It’s called an Inquisitorial Indulgence. It gives me immunity from prosecution by the Church for any heresies I may have committed. All you have to do is sign the papers and your precious legacy is safe.”
“In return for what? What did you promise them to get this?”
“My cooperation in their investigation of Aunt Marguerite. And since I barely know the woman, how much help can they really expect?”
“So, what’s to stop me from offering them my cooperation in return for one of these? Since I know her better, surely they would view my help as more valuable than yours.”
“By all means, feel free to try. It might even work. Of course, you run the risk they’ll view you as just another hapless heretic with a fat estate ripe for confiscation. And even if it does work, the estate will only be protected until you pass it on to someone who isn’t. It seems to me you’d be better off just signing now and saving yourself the hassle.”
“You overestimate how much I value this so-called legacy. If I’m just giving it away anyway, why should I care whether the Church ends up with it?”
Verone nodded slowly. “I see your point. Knowing your estate is in good hands is small consolation if you’re entertaining that thought at the wrong end of an Inquisitor’s branding iron. Very well, since I have an in with the Inquisitor, I’m prepared to throw in another Indulgence with your name on it.”
“What about your mother?”
“Her’s too.”
Alistair regarded Verone thoughtfully. “It seems my little girl is all grown up. You make an impressive case, at least compared to your brothers. Of course, I’ll need to check your facts before I can sign anything.”
Verone gathered up the papers and slid them into her case. “What a pity.”
“What are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t I make it clear? This is a one-time offer. By the time you check the facts, it will be too late to save either you or the estate. Don’t worry, though. I’ve been saving up my allowance. I’ll be able to live modestly but comfortably for a good long while, even without your estate.”
“You honestly expect me to believe you don’t care whether you inherit?”
“I am long past caring what you do or don’t believe.”
“You know, you were always my favorite—even after you left. Look at your allowance. None of the boys ever got an allowance like that.”
“That’s because you didn’t need to pay them off to keep them from telling Mum just what kind of monster you really are.”
“I did it because I cared.”
Verone snorted. “You don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself.”
“You want proof? I’ll give you proof. Give me the papers.”
“You aren’t begging, are you?”
Alistair threw up his hands. “What do you want from me?”
“What do you think?”
“An apology? Is that it? All right then, I’m sorry.”
“It’s way too late for that.”
“Then what? Why did you come here at all?”
“To see you beg.”
Alistair’s mouth dropped open for several full seconds. Then he took a deep breath and set his jaw. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured.
“Give me the papers.”
“To sign?”
“Yes, I’ll sign them—under one condition.”
“And what’s that?”
“If I’m doing this to protect my so-called legacy, there’s just one crucial thing missing.”
“And that is?”
“Your heir. It’s not much of a legacy if it ends with you, is it?”
“Well, I hardly think I have time to produce one under the circumstances.”
“True enough. Therefore, I’d be willing to settle for a substantial step in that direction.”
“What do you mean?”
Alistair snatched the quill from its stand. “I’m willing to sign—but only if the transfer is contin
gent on your being married first. All you have to do is say ‘I do,’ and you can take possession. Do we have a deal?”
“That’s ridiculous. That could take months, or even years. It helps neither of us if the Church confiscates the estate before I take possession.”
“Excellent point. Not only that, but you aren’t getting any younger. If you’re going to be producing heirs, the sooner you get started, the better. We’d best build in some incentive. Let’s give it say, one week. If you aren’t married by then, the whole deal is off.”
“A week? How could I possibly get married in a week?”
“I’m sure your mother would be delighted to help with the planning.” He held the quill poised above the first document. “We could just add one little clause right here and start signing.”
“I think I could manage that. But I do have one condition of my own. I’d like Aunt Marguerite to attend the ceremony.”
“Noble of you.”
“And I’d like you to invite her—personally.”
“She’d never agree to come if I invited her. You know that.”
“Nevertheless, those are my terms. If you don’t personally invite her or she doesn’t attend, I can call off the wedding and still take possession of the estate. Deal?”
“I don’t see how—”
“Take it or leave it.”
“Would that include the Indulgences for your mother and me?”
“Of course.”
“All right then, it’s a deal. Maybe once you have children of your own, you’ll be a little more forgiving of parental flaws.”
“Don’t hold your breath. You were warned at the time. I don’t give second chances on rule number one.”
. . . . .
While Cartier was relieved to have managed both the Hathaway fire and the Inquisition’s evacuation in under two days, he was assailed by feelings of doubt as he and the last few Inquisitors passed beneath the arch that once had held Exidgeon’s great gates. Until that moment, he hadn’t appreciated the sense of security the fortress provided. But if Count Laslo had any intentions of reneging on his agreements, he gave no sign. He approached Cartier well in advance of his honor guard with a broad smile, his blond hair blinding in the sunshine.
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