by Olivia Drake
Juliet, if it meant...
What had Kent been about to say the afternoon of the fateful tea? That he would do anything, even shake hands with Emmett Carleton, if it meant repairing the damage to their marriage? Or had he been about to say that she asked the impossible?
He hadn’t broached the topic again, and neither had she. To herself, she admitted to mistrusting either answer. It was less painful to remain in the dark.
Fastening the strand of pearls around her neck, she dragged in a steadying breath. The moment alone had fortified her, and she felt strong enough to face her husband again.
He waited by the outer door. His midnight eyes surveyed her with disconcerting directness before he turned to open the door. A quiver stirred inside her. A quiver that took great effort to subdue.
He fell into step beside her. To fill the oppressive silence, she said, “I wonder if Chantal knows what’s happened to Dreamspinner.”
“I pray to God she does. I could kick myself for failing to watch everyone more closely that day.”
Juliet shared his frustration. “We were all distracted by Punjab. Anyone could have slipped over to the desk and stolen the jewels.”
“Yes, anyone. That’s the damnable crux of the matter.”
“Maybe we’re wrong to look for one person. Maybe it’s two people working together.”
Kent arched an eyebrow. “Anything’s possible.”
As they passed a casement window, she glanced at the overcast sky and mentally reviewed the facts she and Kent had gone over many times. Gordon seemed the most likely culprit since he’d sat by the desk. Yet the others couldn’t be discounted. Chantal had paced the drawing room. Rose had distanced herself from the group. Even Augusta might have moved away for the moment necessary to pocket the jewel pouch. And neither she nor Kent had kept a close eye on the Fleetwoods or Ravi.
Maud and Henry had been unable to cast any light on the enigma, either. The pair spent every waking hour with their heads together, but Juliet suspected they were too distracted by their own budding romance.
In the uncertain hope of gleaning a reaction from someone, Kent kept the disappearance of Dreamspinner a secret. One by one, each suspect had asked when Ravi would be leaving for London; Kent had been deliberately vague. Otherwise, Gordon hadn’t ventured from the library. Rose ensconced herself somewhere to work on her play. Chantal kept to her tower apartment. Devastated by the loss of her beloved dog, poor Augusta took to her bed.
The castle seemed quieter than ever. The waiting rubbed on Juliet’s nerves and left her feeling so chilled, she couldn’t contain a shiver.
“Would you care to go back for your shawl?” Kent asked.
“No, thank you. I want only to find out what Chantal knows.”
He nodded, then politely supported her arm as they mounted the winding steps of the north tower. Reaching the small landing, he rapped on the door. The knob rattled and the oak panel swung open.
Her heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t Chantal who stood there, framed by dreary gray daylight.
It was her father.
Behind her, Kent uttered an exclamation, then fell silent.
Emmett held himself as proud and erect as a lion, his impeccable garb befitting his status as a prosperous businessman. Yet he’d aged in the long weeks since he’d locked her in her bedroom and out of his heart. An overabundance of silver streaked his groomed hair. Lines of tension dragged at his mouth, sweeping his mustache downward.
Wary and oddly hesitant, he regarded her. “Princess, you’re... looking well.”
An unbidden throb of affection paralyzed her. His gaze dipped to her belly; he must have heard about the baby. The Deverell baby he would never acknowledge. The acid memory of his hatred burned away the brief tenderness.
“So the note was a ruse,” she said coldly.
“I was afraid you might refuse to see me.” Knuckles white, he clenched the door. “I wanted you to know your dowry is settled. But that’s not the real reason I came. Chantal wrote to me about your finding the diary. I’d like to explain why I never told you—”
“There’s nothing you can say that can make me forgive all your lies.”
In a whirl of topaz skirts, she stalked toward the stairs. Kent caught her wrist and drew her back.
“He’s come a long way,” he murmured. “At least give the man a chance to speak.”
Juliet strained to read the emotion in the striking planes of his face. His eyes reflected only a dark dispassion. Suddenly she saw the choice looming before her. Would she perpetuate the feud, or take the first step toward healing a sundered family? Confused, she let him lead her into the apartment.
Emmett seated himself in a cane chair. Despite his stiff boiled collar and sedate frock coat, he looked oddly at home against the exotic decor.
She walked to the window and turned, bracing herself on the casement. “Where is Chantal?”
“She and Rose went to visit the cemetery,” Emmett said. “Today is...” His voice faltered and his gaze fell to his clasped hands.
August 11th. Juliet swung her eyes toward Kent, who stood with his shoulder propped against the chimney piece. The bleakness in his expression told her he hadn’t forgotten the date. Anguish flooded her, an anguish made more acute because she didn’t know whether it arose from grief over her sister or the ugly, niggling thought that he cherished his memories of Emily over the wife he’d chosen as his instrument of vengeance. She would live forever with the gnawing pain of his deception.
And her father’s deception. Both men had woven a conspiracy of silence.
She pressed trembling fingers against the cold stone behind her. “Today is the third anniversary of Emily’s death. The sister I never knew.”
Emmett’s head jerked up. “I wanted to tell you about her. So many times. I used to imagine the two of you playing together, sharing girlish confidences. But how could I admit the truth? If word had slipped out that I had a bastard daughter, the scandal would have caused you and Dorothea needless suffering.”
“You mean you would have been hurt,” she retorted. “You care only about your own reputation. You couldn’t bear to lose the chance at your cherished knighthood.”
His brawny shoulders squared. “There’s no wrong in a man wanting to better himself—”
“Even at my expense? You denied me the love and companionship of an older sister. You subjected Emily to years of miserable longing for your love.”
“Princess, you were only fifteen when Emily died. Too young to understand why I’d had an affair before I married your mother.”
“Emily knew about me. In her diary she wrote that she’d waited in front of our house until she saw us together.”
He passed a hand over his face. “I didn’t know. She never breathed a word about that to me.”
Juliet swallowed hard against an upsurge of tenderness. “I’m not surprised. She wouldn’t have jeopardized what precious little time you gave her. More than anything, she wanted your love.”
“She had my love, my support,” he said roughly. “I’ve always carried her image close to my heart. See here?”
Reaching into his breast pocket, he drew forth a locket and fumbled with the clasp. Juliet found herself walking on numb legs toward him. Over his shoulder she saw that one side of the locket held a portrait of herself; the other bore a photograph of Emily, a miniature of the sad-eyed angel once displayed in Kent’s bedroom.
She turned her gaze to her husband; he stared back, his arms folded. His expression remained oblique, offering no clue to his thoughts. He was leaving the choice to her.
Pacing away, she spun toward her father. “You were looking at that locket on the night of my debut.”
“Yes, I was wishing Emily could have been there to meet you. I regretted that she’d never had the opportunities you had. She never had a come out ball, or the chance to wear a grandmother’s pearls.”
His sorrow shook the firm ground of her anger. Recalling her naive happi
ness on that long ago night, Juliet touched the glossy strand circling her throat. “Jewels can’t replace a father’s company. All Emily ever wanted was for you to declare her your own.”
“Can’t you see—? If I’d acknowledged her before society, the stigma of her bastardy would have touched you as well, Princess.”
Was it true? Had he meant to protect her?
“I could have borne the shame. It’s a small price to pay for having a sister to love.”
“I’m sorry, Princess. I don’t see the situation that way.” As he clicked the locket shut and tucked it away, he cast a guarded glance at Kent, then back at her. “You’re a married woman now, with a child of your own on the way. I’d hoped you could understand the delicacy of my position. Whether you believe it or not, I wanted to do my best for both my daughters.”
She reflected on the girl she’d been, blithe and trusting, with a blind belief in eternal love and perfect faith. The death of her dreams ached like a raw wound. Perhaps Papa was right in that; perhaps she had once been too innocent to comprehend that people could love, yet still hurt each other.
No more. Still, too many painful questions roiled inside her to allow room for forgiveness.
“Your best obviously wasn’t enough for Emily,” she said. “If you loved her so much, why did you demand Dreamspinner from her?”
Leaning heavily on the chair arm, Emmett kneaded his brow. “I resented the fact that she grew up here in the Deverell stronghold. I resented His Grace for marrying her. When I learned she was to bear him an heir, I could think only of punishing him by getting the necklace back.”
His expression darkening, Kent pushed away from the mantelpiece. “Back? Dreamspinner never belonged to you in the first place.”
Emmett surged up to confront him. “When William learned I meant to buy the necklace as a wedding gift for Dorothea, he sent his agent to the maharaja and beggared himself to make a higher bid. A peer of the realm ought to have had more respect for a gentleman’s agreement.”
“What he did was no more underhanded than you selling a tea garden at an inflated price.”
Her father’s chest swelled. “That sale was perfectly legal. It isn’t my fault that William couldn’t spare the time to examine the property or consider that the market was due for a crash.”
“He most certainly would have made the effort had he known the supposed owner was acting as your agent.”
“I wasn’t the only plantation owner looking for a buyer. William never had a lick of business sense. Nor any scruples. Look at the way he stole that opium.”
Kent clenched his fists. “You hid the drug. Isn’t it long past time you admitted that?”
“How dare you accuse me of dishonesty!” Emmett paced forward. “You, the man who stole my daughters!”
“Stop it, both of you!” Disappointed and angry, Juliet stepped between the two men. “I won’t stand by while you drag out old quarrels. Kent, this was William’s feud, not yours. Can’t you ever let it go?”
“I have to honor my father s memory—”
“With more spite? When is this worthless cycle going to end? It’s already caused Emily’s death. And damaged our chance at happiness.”
He stared at her. Gradually the rigid line of his mouth eased. The black fury in his eyes gave way to shameful regret. “Old habits die hard,” he murmured.
“I’ve no sympathy for nasty habits. You’ve let hatred become too much a part of yourself.” She rounded on her father. “And you are no better. You let your precious place in society overrule everything. Why couldn’t you have been pleased at the prospect of Emily bearing your grandchild? Why did you have to view it as another battle lost?”
He crumpled into a chair. “William took everything that mattered from my past. With the baby, the Deverells would have owned the future, too.”
“So you’d strike out at Emily. My God, Papa, she was innocent of the feud! And so was her baby.”
“You’re right,” he said, burying his face in his hands, his voice ringing hollow. “I’ve been so obsessed with besting the Deverells that I sacrificed my most priceless assets, my own daughters. I’ve had to live with the knowledge that Emily died without...”
“Without what?”
“Without me telling her that I was an old fool for objecting to her marriage. And for refusing to accept a Deverell grandchild.”
Juliet held a painful breath, then slowly expelled it.
Could she believe him? “What about my baby?” she said softly. “Will you be a true grandfather to it?”
He looked up, his proud features edged by unhappy grooves, his eyes beseeching. “Oh, Princess, yes. If you’ll allow me.”
The wall around her emotions broke. She suddenly saw her father as a man, a man with flaws and feelings, a man who had struggled and sometimes made the wrong choices. How difficult it must be for him to humble himself, to discard the enmity of a lifetime. To ask, instead of demand. To treat her as an adult, capable of making her own decisions.
Tears blurred his image. Crossing the room, she knelt before him, shaping her fingers around his broad hands. “Oh, Papa. I do want you to be a part of my baby’s life... and my life, too.”
A husky sob broke from him. Somehow she found her cheek pressed to his chest, his familiar scent of cigars embracing her as warmly as his arms. He wept like the vulnerable man he’d hidden inside himself all these years.
“Princess,” he muttered. “How I’ve missed you. My daughter.” His sigh gusted against her temple. “Emily was my precious secret, but I’m glad you know at last. Will you forgive me for keeping silent for so long?”
“I have, Papa. I have.”
Watching them, Kent felt the shadows inside him shifting, lifting, like mist rising from a deep flowing river. Juliet nestled against Emmett, her cinnamon hair afire against his graying head, her fine features aglow with joy. Father and daughter. The similarities were striking in the eyes, in the stubborn set of the chin. Emmett Carleton had sired two fine women, each unique and noble, one inspiring an abiding affection, the other a vivid passion and consuming love.
His throat ached. Emmett loved her, too. No man could feign those tears, that quiver of emotion in his hands.
You’ve let hatred become too much a part of yourself.
Kent searched himself for the animosity that had ruled him for so many years. He found only a fathomless longing for light. The light Juliet had brought into his life.
Gloom settled over him. Shoving his fists into his pockets, he stared at her. She had pardoned her father, but his own sin had been the far greater one. With ruthless arrogance, he had abused her trust, duped her into marriage, and transformed a guileless girl into a disillusioned woman. He’d intentionally set out to destroy her father. She’d never forgive him. Never.
She sat back on her heels. “I’ve no wish to reawaken sad memories, Papa. But I must know. On the day Emily died, did you see her again? After that one encounter, I mean.”
He shook his head. “I went straight back to London. Dear God, I should never have demanded Dreamspinner. Through my own selfishness, I drove her to suicide.”
The grief on his face reached inside Kent. “No, you didn’t,” he said, striding forward. “I was wrong to blame you for her death. Emily didn’t take her own life.”
“How can you say that?” Emmett burst out. “God forgive me, I tried to condemn you for the deed, to ease my own guilt. But I should never have badgered her so, not when I knew about her spells of melancholia.”
She clutched his hands. “Papa, don’t torture yourself. Emily was murdered. The same person who killed her wants to kill me.”
The color drained from his face. “What?” he choked out. Leaping up, fists clenched, he swung on Kent. “Tell me this isn’t true, Your Grace.”
“It is.” In a brief, stark statement, he related the incidents of the greenhouse and the poisoning.
Agitated, Emmett prowled the room. “But who would want to harm my da
ughters? Unless it’s someone who hates me.”
“We’ve found precious little evidence,” Kent said. “The culprit could be anyone in the castle.”
Emmett shot an accusing look at Kent. “How could you have let Juliet stay here? Haven’t you any care at all for your own wife?”
The accusation cut deeply into Kent. He arched a sardonic brow. “Oh, yes, I care a great deal. If you can convince her to leave Radcliffe, you have my blessing.”
Stalking to her, Emmett seized her hands. “Princess, you heard him. We must leave at once for the train station. You can have your things sent on later—”
“No. I’m staying until I can bring my sister’s killer to justice.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll not let you risk your own life.”
“It isn’t your decision to make, Papa. I’m a woman now, and neither you nor Kent will change my mind.”
He opened his mouth, then clamped it shut. As if seeing her for the first time, he studied her resolute expression before swinging toward her husband. “Then I intend to remain, too. If you’ve no objection, Your Grace.”
Kent gazed at the man he had despised for too long. Emmett stared back with the frank expression of a man looking at his equal. Cautious sincerity eased the lines on his face, the green eyes rimmed with gold. Juliet’s eyes.
In breaking the chains of hatred, he and Emmett could forge a deeper bond... the bond of love for her and the bond of protection for the coming child.
He stepped forward and held out his hand. “Only if you’ll call me Kent.”
Emmett gazed at the extended hand, then slowly reached out to join the salutation. The firmness of his clasp echoed the candor in his gaze. “As you wish... Kent. I want you to know I never planted that opium... although when I got wind of the incident, I did call out those crusaders. I did a lot of things I shouldn’t have done. This feud has gone on long enough.”
Thoughtfully Kent nodded. “Perhaps it isn’t too late to start anew. We’ve both harbored mistaken opinions.”
Standing to the side, Juliet marveled at the sight of her husband shaking hands with her father. Dare she believe that Kent had renounced the feud forever? Dare she hope he’d done it out of love for her? Or if he and Papa should disagree someday, would his ingrained feelings explode again?
