After putting Cypress in a stall, he hurried toward the house. Carriage wheels turning on the long drive alerted him to someone’s approach. He stopped, half-expecting his father, but it was his brother’s carriage. Dread propelled him down the drive. The driver pulled to a halt beside Grey. His brother descended the stairs and looked at him with sunken eyes and a face haunted by a nightmare. The air rushed from Grey’s lungs.
“What’s happened?” His heart thudded.
Edward shook his head and drew him into a hug. Grey flinched at the unusual show of affection and pulled out of his brother’s grip. “Is it Mother or Father?”
Edward ran a hand through his hair. “Come with me inside. I’ll tell you in there.” His voice was toneless.
Grey had to swallow repeatedly before he could speak. “You can give me bad news outside just as well as inside. Get on with it.”
Edward’s face went dead white. “Father and Mother are dead. Killed four days ago in a horrific carriage accident. I called you home to see them buried—” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat.
Grey’s own throat closed up at the tears in Edward’s eyes. His mind shrank from his brother’s words, but he forced himself to speak. “Go on.” His voice cracked.
Edward nodded. “The bodies couldn’t wait any longer. I’d hoped perhaps Elizabeth could travel with you, but your letter reached me of her illness, before I sent my summons to you.” He gestured over his shoulder. “They’re buried in the orchard.”
Grey swallowed the bile rising in his throat. His chance to make amends was gone. He wanted to crumble to his knees but he stood. Like the dutiful second son. “They can’t be dead.”
Edward closed his eyes and inhaled a long breath. “They are.”
Grey shook his head, his mind refusing to accept what his brother said. “No.”
Edward’s eyes snapped open and he swiped at them with his coat sleeve. “Damn it, Grey.” His trembling tone was like a gut punch. “You’re going to have to snap out of it. I’m sorry to be cold and rush you, but this is just the way it is.” Edward turned on his heel and started walking toward the house. “I’ve not slept more than two hours in four days. Four days.” He spun around, his eyes wild. “That’s a long time to go without proper sleep. I’m seeing things and hearing things everywhere I go. I know their death was an accident, but—” He stopped abruptly and looked at the driver standing by the carriage. “Leave us,” he commanded harshly.
Once the coachman was out of sight, Edward took a deep breath, his chest rising in a puff. He darted his gaze around them then finally settled back on Grey. “I’m hearing things. Seeing things. I need sleep. I’ve a mound of papers to go through, I need to speak with you about your assignment to find De La Touche, and I need to track down Pearson who failed to send me details of your training as he was supposed to do.”
“He was at the castle,” Grey mumbled, his mind heavy with a thick fog, pierced only by his sharp regret. “I intended to apologize. To tell Father how sorry I was. To tell Mother I’d come to see her more.” Grey heard the way his voice shook, but he was helpless to stop it. “I didn’t know what he was. Or what you were. If only I’d known I would have understood so much more.”
Edward clasped Grey’s shoulder. “I know. And I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be harsh. It’s the grief.”
“I understand.” The words were for Edward’s benefit. He didn’t understand. Why had he had to spend so many years feeling unloved? Unwanted. The second son Father could’ve easily done without. Self-pity and yearning had cost him years. He’d meant to change it all. He clenched his hands into fist. He’d get no second chance now.
“Grey.” Edward’s word was a wary sigh. “Father and you were so much alike. He didn’t want to tell you about us until he was certain you were suited for the life of a spy. It seemed obvious to me years ago, but Father wouldn’t hear of telling you until you’d had a proper chance to meet a woman, get married and settle down. Once you proved you’d never do that, he sent you to the king to be told what we were. Not the way I would have done it, but I had no say in the matter.”
No one had ever had any say but Father, and he’d not said enough. Anger coursed through him. “Why the hell would it matter if I were married?” Grey asked, thinking suddenly of Madelaine.
“Because Father knew, as we all do, that a wife makes you vulnerable. A wife is something that can be used to bring you down, and it’s wiser not to give the enemy one more weapon to use against you.” Edward watched Grey with a steady gaze. “Is there something I should know?”
Grey shook his head. He couldn’t think about all of this right now.
After a moment, his brother turned away, shoulders slumping, and walked toward the house once more.
The butler scrambled out of the way as Grey followed Edward through the front door to Father’s study. Grey paused just inside the door. He would never come home to see his mother and father sitting in here again. Impossible. He walked over to his mother’s favorite chair, picked up the shawl draped over the back of the dark leather, and inhaled deeply of the lingering flowery scent.
She’d rocked him as a toddler wearing this shawl, nursed him when he was sick, unlike many ladies of the ton who let the nannies do all the caretaking. Hell, she’d probably prayed he’d return her love by taking care of her, doting on her. His heart lurched. He was a bastard. He’d failed his mother and his father. His pathetic, wrong reasons didn’t change the facts. When Edward thrust a full glass of whiskey toward him, he set the shawl down and took the drink.
The dark amber liquid sloshed as he swirled it under his nose, savoring the calming musk before tipping the glass and taking a long drink. Along with the whisky, mild warmth settled in the pit of his belly to partially fill the hollow space Edward’s news had left.
Edward downed his drink then set the glass on the side table. “I’m going to bed. Don’t wake me unless the house is burning down round my ears. We’ll talk tomorrow about how to tell Liz.”
Grey nodded his agreement. Left alone in the study with nothing but his guilt and thoughts, he stared outside at the falling snow. He felt like he was falling. How could it be that he’d been so sure of things a few hours ago? He replayed the last angry conversation he’d had with his father, until the guilt sent him to his feet to pace the room.
He stalked to the sideboard to pour another drink, but his hands shook and the whiskey kept sloshing over the rim of the glass. Giving up, he set the glass down and strode out of the study, down the corridors and out the front door into the dark, cold night.
He didn’t know where he intended to go until he was halfway up the hill to the orchard where Edward had buried their parents. He stopped in front of the fresh graves, the dark dirt dusted with white snow. His lungs burned with each ragged inhalation of breath. He dropped to his knees in front of the graves, the snow instantly seeping through the wool of his trousers. After a moment, the lower half of his body was numb.
He wanted to be numb and forget his parents were dead. He’d not been close to Mother in years. His father never. The weight of his fault sunk him all the way to the ground. A violent trembling shook his body, and his teeth chattered, until he clamped his jaw shut. He’d missed the chance to tell his parents he was sorry for the pain and worry he’d caused them. He’d missed the chance to show his father that his trust had not been misplaced.
What could he do now? He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a white ring against the dark night. The thoughts he’d pushed away earlier when speaking with Edward came to the surface. He winced, reality setting in. He had to give up the one thing he had come to want more than anything in his life. Madelaine. He didn’t want to endanger her, and he could never turn his back on what his father had expected him to do. It seemed what he wanted and what life gave him would forever be at cross purposes. Leaning over, he lay his hand first on his mother’s cold headstone and then on his father’s. “I’ll make you proud.”
/> Once Grey returned to the house, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and headed up the stairs to his old room. He tugged off his coat and cravat then sank into a deep chair. In one day he’d lost his mother, his father, and the woman he was coming to love. He tilted the bottle and drank deeply, searching for the same numbness for his mind that the snow had offered his body.
For the next couple of weeks, Grey worked by Edward’s side to set their parent’s affairs in order and to make sure their death was indeed an accident. Once the accident site had been combed and surveyed and every piece of broken carriage had been sifted through and studied, the misfortune of their parent’s tragic deaths couldn’t be denied. Once they found the shattered wheel, which Edward belatedly remembered Father had put off repairing, and they studied the snow-slick road which still showed signs of the tracks that had sent the carriage over the embankment, they both agreed it wasn’t murder.
After working so closely with Edward, Grey now felt more a part of the household than he ever had before. How bloody ironic. Bitterness filled him. The bitterness ebbed after a few days, and thoughts of Madelaine replaced it. The last thing he wanted to do was think about Madelaine and having to face her, or his parents’ death, or having to go back to Court and break the news to Liz. He fought back reality by doggedly filling his hours with a thousand tasks followed by hours of training in weapons with Edward at the end of each day.
His barrier against reality would have been perfect if it wasn’t for the thoughts that slipped into his dreams. Waking night after night drenched in sweat, recalling some way or another he had purposely hurt his father or remembering his promise to Madelaine to return for her was going to be the death of him.
He took to drinking several glasses of whiskey a night in an effort to have a dreamless sleep, but when he realized how much whiskey he’d consumed after only two weeks, he ceased drinking all together. The dreams returned in violent force, so when he woke now, he’d stalk to the ballroom and spend the silent hours between dark to dawn practicing with weapons, until he felt sure he was just as good as his father would have expected.
Some nights, he saw Edward prowling the halls, or walking aimlessly outside in the gardens in the snow. They didn’t acknowledge each other. To do so would have been to acknowledge their demons. Edward’s glazed-eyed look told Grey his brother welcomed avoiding reality just as much as he did. It was easy to keep putting off the inevitable confrontation with Madelaine and Liz, because the thought of it made him ache deep inside where he’d not known he was capable of hurting.
In the third week, Gravenhurst sent a letter informing them the king was still in Kew recovering from a sudden bout with madness, but that His Majesty was on the mend. The news reinforced, in Grey’s mind, his decision to stay at his brother’s home until the king was fully recovered. Only the king could give word for Grey and Gravenhurst to leave for France, and the last thing Grey wanted to do was go back to Court and have to stay and wait for the king to give the order.
Once at Court he’d want to deliver the news to Liz, speak with Madelaine, and then need to leave immediately for France. Seeing Madelaine day after day, while knowing she would one day soon lie in another man’s arms, become another man’s wife would be like a knife in the gut. Reality waited like an obedient dog. On the morning of the fourth week, Gravenhurst arrived before dawn waking Grey from a troubled sleep.
Grey dressed hastily and met Edward and Gravenhurst in the library.
Gravenhurst was never one for niceties, but this morning he didn’t even offer a greeting before he thrust a letter at Grey and one at Edward. Both men read in silence for a moment. Grey’s heart roared in his ears. After a moment, he met Gravenhurst’s steady gaze. “Do you know what this letter says?”
“Of course. I’m to go with you to Lancashire.”
“Lancashire?” Edward glanced at both men. “Why does the king send you there?”
“His letter to you doesn’t explain?” Grey asked.
“He expressed his sincere sorrow for our parents’ deaths and bade me to find Pearson immediately. What does your letter say?”
Grey handed the letter to Edward. His brother’s face soon mirrored the skepticism Grey felt. “I don’t believe Stratmore is a traitor to the king.”
Grey let out the breath he’d been holding. “Neither do I,” he agreed, glad his brother had voiced the same opinion about Madelaine’s father. Grey glanced at Gravenhurst, the most cynical man he knew. “What about you?”
“When my uncle murdered my father, I learned no man is above treachery if the circumstances are right.”
Edward waved the king’s letter in front of Grey and Gravenhurst. “What paper is the king talking about that has gone missing?”
Grey raised a questioning eyebrow at Gravenhurst. “Did he tell you?”
“He did. But you may do the honors, since you were there.”
Grey quickly explained about the new code Stratmore had created and about the meeting where the duke had shown the king and Grey the code. Then haltingly, he told Edward of the king’s spell that day and the madness he’d written about with the angels telling him things and needing to execute his administrators.
By the time Grey was finished, Edward’s complexion was pasty. He walked over to the study door, shut it, and turned back to Grey. “That was damned foolhardy of the king to write down some of the missions he planned to assign us. Even if he was simply practicing the code.”
Grey nodded. The rest of what the king wrote hung between them like a deadly snake. Was Edward going to ignore the king’s other words? Grey couldn’t do that. “We have to find that paper and destroy it. It could be used to prove the king is mad.”
Edward’s eyes narrowed. “Was temporarily confused. Under a spell.”
“Alright. Temporary madness. That could do grave harm if not monitored.”
“We’ve been monitoring him, Grey. That’s part of your job as one of us.”
Grey’s jaw went slack. “I had no idea.”
A sardonic smile tugged on Edward’s lips. “It’s not something I think the king wished to tell you, unless the need arose. He’d hoped his spells were over.”
“Yet they’re not. So where do we go from here?” He wasn’t sure what Edward wanted from him, but he wanted to do what his brother expected. His father would have wanted no less.
Edward let out a long sigh. “We keep watch as we’ve done. Guard him closer. And when he’s fully recovered we gently approach him about the possibility of putting further measures into place if the time should ever come that the spell occur too often and pose too much of a danger.”
That sounded reasonable. “The king claims to have put the paper in his nightstand that night. Perhaps Stratmore took it and burned it because he knew it could harm the king? We all agree it should be destroyed.”
Edward hit his open hand with his fist. “Yes, we all agree, but none of us would take the paper and destroy it without the king’s permission. It is his paper. He gives the orders. If Stratmore stole the paper then he committed an act of theft and deliberately disobeyed the king we all vowed to protect always and serve forever. Let us hope the king destroyed the paper and forgot when he was overcome by the next dark spell. He fell ill right after Stratmore’s visit, did he not?”
“He did.”
“Did you notice any tension between them when you were with them?”
“Only the tension brought on by what the king wrote.” Grey shrugged. “They argued, but if it was over the paper, I couldn’t say.” The dire implications for Madelaine’s future if her father was named a traitor to the king made Grey’s gut twist. “If Stratmore did take the paper, do you think the king would forgive him if the duke assured him he was simply trying to protect His Majesty from himself?”
“It’s hard to say. They’ve been lifelong friends. Yet I don’t know any man, let alone a king, who’d be happy to think he needs to be protected from himself. And as I’ve already said, it’s our sworn duty t
o obey the king’s orders.” Edward made a guttural sound in his throat. “What a mess. The king could forgive Stratmore or he could just as soon hang him for treason. Let’s pray the king remembers he burned the paper or finds it before a choice of the duke’s life or death must be made. Is there anything else you remember about that meeting? Anything unusual?”
Grey thought for a moment and almost felt foolish to mention Constance, but surely Edward would want to know every detail. “There was a chambermaid in the room. Constance. She bribed one of the guards to let her in to finish her work.”
Edward waved a hand. “That’s normal. I’m forever running into maids here in places they shouldn’t be. They sleep too late or work too slow and then have to find a way to sneak and catch up because they’re afraid they’ll get in trouble. Forget her. She’s trivial.”
Grey’s face burned with embarrassment. He’d have to do better. “She’s forgotten. But I must say I had no idea you understood the minds of the staff so well.”
Edward scowled. “There’s a great deal you don’t know about me, Grey.”
Grey clenched his jaw on harsh retort. Fighting would do no good. “So we proceed as if he’s committed treason, even though we don’t think it so?”
“Yes. We may not think it’s so, but until we’re certain it’s not, he’s an enemy of the Crown. Proceed as if he’s a thief or worse.”
Grey frowned. “What do you mean, “‘or worse?’”
Edward held himself stiff as he answered. “I mean we must consider all possibilities. Even the worst ones such as Stratmore is not only a thief, but perhaps a traitor who is working to overthrow the king.”
Grey grimaced. “That’s absurd.”
The corner of Edward’s mouth jerked with a tick. “You’re wrong. It’s not absurd. It’s being cautious. And caution will keep you alive. Don’t forget that.”
Lords of the Kingdom Page 58
