“I didn’t want anyone to see me. I preferred to pay my respects in private.”
“Why?”
The major picked up a handful of dirt and tossed it onto the coffin.
Max heard the clump hit the top, echoing the tattoo of his own handful of dirt less than an hour ago. Shafly sniffed then fished around in his pockets until he produced a handkerchief. He dabbed at his eyes then straightened again as he refolded the cloth, wiped his hand with it then put it back in his pocket.
He turned to Max. “I didn’t want to intrude, to impose on the family.”
“What will you do now?”
“I have requested reassignment,” he replied. “Somewhere outside of England.”
“I see.” Max considered leaving the major to his grief, but something stopped him. He didn’t want to dredge up the past, but he needed to know. “How did you meet him?”
A sad smile chased across Shafly’s face. “I came looking for you.” He glanced back down at the coffin. “I was injured at Waterloo as well. But it took me much longer to recover and cashiering out was never an option. By the time I made it to London, you were already in France.
“I knew he wasn’t you immediately, despite that he was using your name. A few nights later I ran into him again at Madame Celeste’s. Once we discovered we had common interests, we became friends.”
And lovers. Max wouldn’t say the words out loud, but they hovered between them. Learning David’s sexual proclivity from Dodson hadn’t been nearly as shocking as facing it in human form. Especially when that human had once been very close to him. Yet, it helped him to understand some of David’s actions. Hadn’t David told him that he killed Millie’s father to protect Geoff?
They stood in silence for a few minutes, each deep in his own thoughts, before Shafly broke it again.
“He was jealous of you, of the attention you received when you returned from the continent.”
Perhaps that explained David’s last actions. There had actually been a set of knives near where Andallen fell, but Max questioned whether the man could have retrieved and used them before he or Lakersby would have reached him. Had David tried to be a hero?
Max wondered what David would have been like had he been the one in the army. One thing was for certain, Millie would probably still be alive. And Max might not have met and married Sarah. For that alone he ought to be thankful for David’s checkered past.
He didn’t know why he was talking to Shafly. He’d originally returned because he wanted to know who the person was beneath the oak tree. Now that he was here, he couldn’t make himself leave. Shafly probably knew David better than he or his father. Perhaps he wanted to remember David in a better light. Or maybe just speaking to someone close to David brought him closer too.
He took a deep breath of the cool air. The damp smell of earth and grass filled his lungs and helped clear his head. “David chose to take Andallen head on when we could have easily split up and confused him. He said he’d wanted to keep Andallen away from the knives on the shelf beside the fireplace.” Max didn’t know what else to say. Telling the major that David had been protecting him would only make him feel worse. And it wouldn’t bring David back.
Shafly nodded. “Thank you for telling me.”
Max raised his eyes to the horizon. Staring sightlessly at the point where the blue of the sky met the dark gold and green of the fields, more memories of he and David marched through his head. This place had been their kingdom. They’d explored every inch of it as boys. They knew everyone within a ten-mile radius. And now David was gone.
By the time he left Shafly to his grief, Max felt he understood his brother a little better. Although nothing would bring him back, or change what he’d done and become, Max was willing to let it all go. Nothing would be gained by telling his father. It was enough that his father knew of their mother’s deception. Shafly had been certain David hadn’t seen the announcement in the Times, and Max had said nothing about the title debacle in his letter. As far as he knew, David had gone to his grave not knowing that he had never been Lord Royden.
Chapter Fifteen
“Do you love him?”
Sarah spun around from the view of the garden outside the window of the small parlor. She’d been lost in thought watching a groom walking Caesar, although it was not readily apparent who was really walking whom. Her father stood in the doorway, a snifter of brandy in one hand. She had retreated here for privacy after realizing that Max was nowhere to be found in the house. Why had he left her and his father to face the nosy gossipmongers who crowded the large front parlor and drawing room?
As she had for the past week, whenever she looked at her father a prayer of gratitude rose in her heart. After piecing their stories together, she realized that both had been told that the other one had died. For her father, it meant there was no reason to return to England, so he’d remained in France, leaving his affairs to be managed by his solicitor.
Viscount Lakersby came into the room and closed the door. With only two settees, a chair and a couple of tables, the parlor seemed more like an anteroom than a place to entertain visitors. Its coziness was the reason she loved it, however, and retreated here often to be alone. He seated himself in the lone overstuffed chair upholstered in cream and blue.
She joined him, sitting on the settee closest to him so she could reach out and take his hand. They were wrinkled and spotted, but a testament to the fact that he wasn’t a stranger to manual labor. Now that she had him back, she loved being close to him, yet she knew that if Max were in the room she would gravitate toward him regardless of her father’s presence.
“I do,” she answered. “But…” She sighed.
He remained silent, watching her out of eyes the mirror of hers.
“I don’t know how he feels.” She smiled at him. “I had to talk him into marrying me, but now I wonder if he doesn’t feel trapped.”
“I haven’t had the opportunity to speak to him yet regarding your dowry and settlements. Would you like me to ask?”
“Papa!” she squeaked, pressing her hands against her burning cheeks. “Don’t you dare.”
He grinned at her in response then released a dramatic sigh. “Very well. But have you asked?”
Did her father know how hard it was to risk asking when the answer could destroy you? “There’s never been a good time,” she prevaricated. “He’s been so busy since David died. I haven’t wanted to add to his burdens.”
Regaining his seriousness, he said, “Understandable, but if you want to talk to him, you have to start the conversation. I can tell you from experience, he won’t come to you.”
“Experience?”
He chuckled. “Your mother often had to run me to ground and ask me point blank what I was thinking. I’m afraid we poor males aren’t used to sharing our thoughts and feelings. We often just assume our women know.”
Sarah’s thoughts went back to the conversation she’d heard while standing outside the library windows. It would not have occurred to her to try to slip in the back door of the townhouse if Max hadn’t told her how he’d done it the first time they were in London. As she’d been carefully making her way past the library windows, she’d heard Max and her uncle talking and was unable to resist listening. Perhaps if she’d made herself known then instead of eavesdropping, David’s death might have been averted.
Thankfully, she wasn’t so naïve that she’d believed everything she heard. Especially since Max had allowed her uncle to believe he was David. Yet, she pondered all the same if some parts of what he’d said had been true. The statement that he’d been forced into marrying her came to mind. She did not doubt that he’d deny it to spare her feelings, but she did not want a marriage based on pity.
Her father seemed to recognize that he could do no more for her, so he sat back in his chair and changed the subject.
“I had Payne look into your uncle’s affairs. I just received an answer today. It seems he owed a number of tradesmen,
but he did own that small inn outright. I told Payne I would buy the inn from your uncle’s estate so the tradesmen could be paid off.”
“Will you give it to the innkeepers?” she asked. “I don’t want them to suffer because of his actions. And they did let me go and help me get to London.”
He nodded. “Payne is already in the process of drawing up the necessary papers.”
“Thank you.”
The viscount shook his head. “No need to thank me. You are worth far more than the price of a country inn.”
“I do wish I had made it to London a day earlier, though. Perhaps David would still be alive if I had.”
He nodded. “It’s possible, but Samuel had reached the desperate stage. I’m not certain your appearance would have done anything except infuriate him more. He might have attempted to shoot you instead.”
“Perhaps,” she said, remembering his initial plan of what to do with her should the funds he expected not come through. Would he have really shot her, or would he have turned the weapon on Max if she’d been there when he arrived? It was pointless speculation now. He was dead. Unfortunately, so was David. She did not doubt Max was hurting under the carefully cultivated facade he showed to everyone else. What would he do if she offered him comfort? Maybe it was time to find out.
“It’s a wonder you know which one you married.”
Sarah refrained from rolling her eyes at Lady Lyndmont’s comment. The Earl of Lyndmont was one of her father-in-law’s closest friends. Unfortunately, the lady herself was one of the ton’s biggest gossips. Sarah had no doubt she was watching her and Max with only one thought in mind—to out-scoop all the other tabbies.
“I am fully aware of who I married, my lady,” she said now. She knew trying to forestall the maliciousness was counterproductive, but Sarah couldn’t help herself. The gossip regarding her failed marriage two years ago to David had been transformed into a conspiracy in which she discovered she was about to marry the spare instead of the heir and plotted to get rid of him. If she wasn’t so appalled at the callousness of it all, she’d laugh in their faces.
The irony was that they would have no idea which one had died had they not been at the funeral and heard his name. For them, all that mattered was that the one who remained was unmistakably Viscount Royden, heir to the earldom of Calderbrooke, and she was already married to him. What they really wanted to know, and she and Max refused to supply the answer to, was which twin had been the one in London for the past few years? She wasn’t certain of Max’s thoughts on the subject, but she had not been willing to jump into the speculation. Pleading ignorance by explaining she’d been living with relatives up north allowed her to stay out of those particular conversations.
The men joined them moments later, preventing further interrogation. Most of the mourners had left after luncheon, but a few close friends of the earl stayed on. She hoped they would depart soon. Max and his father needed time to grieve.
Max came to her side. For the most part, while in public, he paid her careful attention. He was polite, courteous and protective, yet distant. His thoughtfulness was often noted, his smallest actions watched, dissected and occasionally commented upon. Because they’d had no time together in private, she hadn’t been able to ask him what he thought of it all.
It worried her that he might be regretting their hasty marriage. That with her uncle dead and her father returned, she no longer needed the protection of his name. The problem was that she might no longer need the security, but she very much wanted him.
After the tea tray arrived and everyone seemed content with their cups, she leaned toward Max. There was comfort in sitting next to him, knowing he still felt protective of her.
“Could we slip away to talk, my lord?” she said in a low voice.
A raised eyebrow was his only indication of surprise, but he inclined his head in agreement before turning to answer a question from Lady Lyndmont. After a short time he rose to his feet.
“It has been a difficult day and my wife is fatigued,” he commented to the group. “I hope you will excuse us.”
Wishing the assembled company good evening, she took the proffered arm. Her father winked at her as she turned and a fiery blush heated her cheeks as Max led her from the room. She didn’t expect him to lead her upstairs to the sitting room in their suite, although she was glad of the privacy.
The suite she and Max shared was richly decorated in burgundy, cream and gold. Her bedroom carried the color scheme with cream and burgundy and touches of blue. She had no idea what color Max’s bedroom was.
Despite that it had been warm earlier, there was a fire burning cheerfully in the grate and she moved toward it. Max watched her from across the room. Even with her back to him, she felt the warmth of his gaze. Holding her hands out to the fire to keep from looking at him, she didn’t realize he’d moved until he spoke.
“Have you been comfortable?”
“Yes.” She searched for a neutral topic. “How is your father doing?”
“I think we have solved his health problem.”
She spun around and looked up at him. “Truly?”
Max did not imagine the delight in her face and he realized just how little they had been alone together since that fateful day in London.
“Dr. Clayborne discovered someone had added monkshood to the salve. While it can be fatal if administered topically and has all the signs that a person is having an apoplexy, the amount of the salve my father actually used ensured that he would never receive a large enough dose.”
“Oh.”
He was glad she didn’t ask if they’d discovered the culprit. Standing so close, he breathed in the flowery fragrance he’d come to associate with her. Fresh, clean, innocent. Just like her. With her uncle gone, she was free of the cloud she’d been living under, but he had no idea how she felt.
He waited for her to tell him why she’d requested to speak to him. For the past few days, he’d been toying with the idea of telling her of his feelings, but there had never seemed to be a good time. She was either busy with the housekeeper and cook making sure their guests were taken care of, or with her father. He’d managed to write Marceau a letter of thanks for locating the viscount and apprising him of the situation, but beyond the pleasantries, he’d had no time to speak to his father-in-law, either.
“Did you want—?”
“I wanted to—”
An impish grin lit up her face as she stopped. “I’m sorry.”
He smiled in return. “No, please continue. You were the one who wanted to speak to me.”
A blush tinted her cheeks and she sat on the settee before the fire with a sigh.
“I-I wanted to thank you for sending your friend to find my father. We haven’t had much of a chance to speak since we left London.”
He joined her, unable to force himself to sit in the chair across from her. The warmth of the fire only added to what he was already feeling as he watched her settle into the cushions. Even the depressing color of her gown complemented her coloring. He knew few women who looked alluring in black, but Sarah did.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad Marceau was able to find him. I suppose it was fortuitous that he arrived when he did.”
“He told me he didn’t believe your friend at first. It wasn’t until he actually saw the letter that he realized—Marceau?—was telling the truth.”
Max nodded. “I have already written to Marceau thanking him for his assistance.”
“I should have added mine as well.”
“Perhaps one day you can do so in person.”
Her eyes lit up momentarily before she looked down at her lap. “That would be lovely.”
He grinned. That had to be the most unenthusiastic reply he’d ever heard.
“Have you decided that you no longer want to see France?”
Startled, she raised her eyes to his. “No, it’s not that. It’s just that I…”
He chuckled as he reached up and laid two fingers acr
oss her lips. “I was teasing, Sarah. I know you have no particular interest in France. And frankly, I don’t have any interest in revisiting it again in the near future.”
He removed his fingers, but not before feathering them across her cheek. It was as soft as he remembered, and suddenly the last thing he wanted to do was talk.
“I have been meaning to speak to your father, but the time has never seemed right.”
She nodded. “You have been busy. I do not think he has felt neglected.”
“True, but nevertheless, I feel I should speak to him regarding our hasty marriage.”
“I explained it to him.”
What had she told her father? How much had she told him about the events leading up to their marriage?
“I only told him about my uncle trying to force me to marry David,” she said now, “and how I met you.”
“Why didn’t he come looking for you before now?”
She sighed, the sparkle in her eyes dimming. “So many strange happenings. When the small boat he was on went down in the river, he decided to stay out of sight and make whoever was trying to kill him think he had succeeded. He said it hadn’t been the first time an accident happened, so he figured out that someone was trying to harm him. A few months later, someone else came looking for him. He said he met with him with other friends present and even sent a letter back with him for Mr. Payne the elder, giving instructions for the handling of his affairs and telling the solicitor not to contact him unless it was an emergency. That letter apparently never reached London, because the current Mr. Payne found no trace of it in the files. But, more importantly, the person who came to France told him I had died.”
“So neither of you thought to try to write to the other.”
She smiled sadly. “More than once while I was up north, I thought about it, but I was afraid that if he didn’t receive it, I would never know. I was suspicious enough and I was also afraid that if it didn’t reach him, it might get diverted to the solicitor.”
The Scarred Heir Page 21
