DamonUndone

by JayneFresina

  "We have not had music here in a great many years," he said, eyes watering above the port glass. "Too many."

  Christmas came, and Damon surprised Pip with a leather-bound ledger, similar to his own, with columns for income and expenditures. Solemnly he explained about keeping her accounts in it, how to bring some organization to her life.

  "We agreed not to exchange gifts," she protested. "And I have nothing to—"

  "I know you like to be independent," he murmured, cutting across her sentence because he wouldn't have wanted her to give him anything. If she did, he would have been utterly undone and probably not gone back to London when he must. Plans to make. Lists to draw up. Expenses... "I know you like your independence," he repeated, "and this will help you in that endeavor. An independent woman should know where her every penny is at all times. Trust no one else to keep record of it."

  He felt that he had done as much as he could to protect her. As much as she would allow him to do.

  She looked up at him with those incredible eyes and he wanted to kiss her, but there were too many people looking on, too much, for now, to be sorted. So he said, "Merry Christmas, Miss Piper."

  "I think you ought to call me Pip. Since we're friends now. Very good friends."

  It was ridiculous, but he felt as if she'd just given him the greatest gift he'd ever received.

  "Damon," she said suddenly, "did you offer Bertie Boxall money to leave me alone?"

  He scowled. "How—? Why would you think—?"

  "You should not have done that. It wasn't necessary."

  With one hand he scratched his cheek. "It was to me."

  "You must have bankrupted yourself," she exclaimed, her eyes warm with concern. "I will repay you, of course."

  "You most certainly shall not."

  "Indeed I shall."

  And thus they were off on another argument, although it mostly proceeded in whispers and ended when she looked down at the ledger in her hands and, apparently, remembered that he'd bought it for her. Then all she could say was that he was "impossible".

  They didn't mention the money again, but he knew she hadn't forgotten it and that she would, at some point, attempt to make recompense. He wouldn't accept it, of course, but she was stubborn and proud enough to keep trying.

  * * * *

  A letter arrived at Darkest Fathoms, addressed to Damon.

  Your brother was so kind as to send me your current address. He seemed to think I might want to apologize to you, or some such nonsense. But I write now only to reiterate what I said to him, and what he was supposed to communicate to you on my behalf, last month in London.

  You have no further part to play in my life, and you will have no role in the life of this child. I must ask you to stay away, for the sake of all, especially the child. He will be raised a Stanbury, the heir to a vast estate. As I'm sure you can appreciate, he will want for nothing. Your presence could only cause him trouble.

  Before I left for Kent, I entrusted this message to your brother, expecting that he would know of some way to convey it with more gentleness than I. However, it seems he could not steel himself to find the necessary words when he last saw you, and, instead, sent you off to Yorkshire. Of all places.

  E.

  So Ransom had sent him north, knowing full well that Elizabeth was not there and never would be.

  But had he known who would be there instead? Of course. Ransom knew everything.

  At the end of her letter, she had scribbled an addendum.

  Please be assured that his lordship and I are reunited and happier than ever. He is resolved to raise the child as his own, since he has no other heir. I suggest you hold your peace, and spare further bloodshed, since his lordship believes that suitable retribution has already been served against the responsible party. Let the matter rest and we can all go on as we were meant to be.

  Now he fully understood Boxall's last rushed comment to him before he left. Stanbury had ordered the beating that Ransom received, because he had identified the wrong Deverell as his wife's former lover.

  And Ransom would not tell him that. He simply took the blows for his younger brother and then, even in that savage physical pain he must have suffered, still had the foresight to send him in the direction of the woman he truly loved.

  Well, Elizabeth might think him a coward who would let his brother answer for his sins, but that was not the case. Damon would stand face to face with Stanbury and let him know what a giant mistake he had made by harming his brother.

  When he returned to London he must go directly to Ransom and repay him somehow for all that he'd done. But how could such a thing be resolved? How could such a debt ever be paid.

  And all these years he'd thought his brother merely tolerated his existence.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  "I have business to tend in London," he said to her. "Perhaps you...and your sister, of course, will return soon?"

  Pip couldn't tell him about the letter she'd received from her father that day, calling them home. What would he do if she told him she was leaving? Something foolish, something impractical? Something mad. But he had much still to sort out regarding Lady Elizabeth's child, complications, his own family's troubles. She could not expect him to drop all of that and spend another moment worrying about her. He had protected her for long enough.

  All those things he'd done for them. For her. Sooner or later he had to set them aside, know that he'd done his job well, and let them go.

  So she told him they would return to London in the spring.

  "I shall find a house for you," he said at once. "Perhaps the house in Belgravia will still be vacant again. Or would you prefer something smaller for just yourself and your sister? I'll write to your father and see—"

  "Oh, we can discuss all that later."

  He looked at her somberly. "Yes, of course." He kissed her hand.

  "Until we meet again," she said softly, "as they say."

  "Indeed. Now, you will write and let me know when you are coming? I'll need time to plan."

  "Yes," she laughed lightly in a manner of which Serenity would be proud. "Of course. Now go. For pity's sake, stop worrying about us. We are not your only clients."

  She waved him off and then took Grumbles Junior back inside. Now it was time to break the news to Merrythought.

  * * * *

  "Pa wants us to go home. He seems to think his venture has been a little disappointing and he calls us home, Merry. He will arrange passage for us on the next ship from Southampton in April."

  Merry put down her pen. "So soon? I thought we had until September, at least."

  "I think pa has missed us and now, with Serenity eloping... and Aunt Du Bois gone, he doesn't want us here alone."

  "But we're not alone," the girl exclaimed. "We have friends here now. The Mortmains and Mr. Deverell."

  It surprised Pip to hear that her sister thought of the Mortmains as friends. But when she considered further she realized that Merrythought spent a great deal of time entertaining the old man, making him laugh. Even Edwyn had been seen to smile on occasion, when her sister told one of her stories— as fanciful as any their father liked to tell. But slightly more gory.

  "The Mortmains want us to stay," the girl blurted. "I know they do. So does the Boggart."

  "Well, we can't stay here. That's just...nonsensical. Now, we have a few months to prepare for the journey. We'll buy some new clothes in London on our way down to Southampton." She paused as Merry stirred her spoon violently through her hot chocolate making an unearthly clatter that went right through her head. "And stop making that noise. You're doing it deliberately."

  Merrythought gave her an arch look, spoon poised in mid air. "Now you sound just like Serenity."

  "I most certainly do not."

  "Yes, you do. She used to say that same thing to you, sister dear."

  Pip bristled with irritation, while Merry resumed her stirring and hummed under her breath. Another thing that she used to d
o to annoy their elder sister.

  "Any moment now you'll tell me I ought to listen to you, pay you all due respect because you're the eldest now," the cheeky girl added.

  Still feeling brittle from her goodbye with Damon, Pip got up and hurried out of the room. She had not cried in years, and she refused to do so now.

  * * * *

  The Boggart immediately began making its presence known like never before. Plates were thrown, Pip's ribbons went missing and her stockings were found draped over the front gates, limned with frost in the early morning light. Strange noises were heard in the chimneys and a great amount of soot blew down Pip's bedroom flue one afternoon, spattering everything she had laid out to pack with a fine layer of the Boggart's disdain.

  "I'm sure you are welcome to stay," Edwyn assured her anxiously, just stopping short of wringing his hands. "Indeed, we shall be lost when you are gone again. My father has grown accustomed to the company of Miss Merrythought. As—as have I."

  "That is kind of you, sir, but we really cannot stay. My father expects us home. The Boggart," and she looked at her sister, who smugly looked the other way, "will just have to go back in his hole with no young ladies here to tease anymore."

  "That's not how it works," Merry assured her primly. "It doesn't just go away because you say it will. It's like love. It doesn't go away just because you try to deny its existence." And with her head high, the wretched chit walked off with Grumbles Junior. "I'm taking the dog out. Don't wait up for me."

  Pip launched after her, tugging her back by the hood of her cloak. "Oh, no, you're not going off on the moor like Serenity, young lady. We'll have some discipline around here, thank you very much!"

  "What are you going to do, sister dear? Lock me in my room?"

  "If I must! You're working my—" She stopped, horrified, her hand loosening its grip on the hood.

  "Last nerve?" Merry finished for her.

  What else was there to say?

  * * * *

  He had expected to meet with George Stanbury, but his message was answered instead by Elizabeth who arrived in his office on a cool March morning, heavily wrapped in a thick cloak, her face paler than ever, her mouth set in a determined line of displeasure.

  "Did I not advise you to leave this matter alone?" she demanded, as soon as the door was closed and they were alone. "Yet you return to London and the first thing you do is try to arrange a meeting with his lordship."

  "I can't let him get away with what he did to Ransom. My brother might be willing to let it go, but I'm not. I bear grudges and I don't stand for anybody I love being hurt." Six months ago he would have struggled to confess that he loved his brother, even to himself. Ransom was damnably difficult, but yes, Damon loved him. Not that he'd ever say so to the man himself. Good god, no.

  "Grudges? His lordship is willing to raise your cuckoo as his own. Don't you think he's the one entitled to hold a grudge?"

  "I don't want him to raise my child. I would have raised him. Or her."

  "Out of the question. This is my child."

  The frustration built, but he kept his face calm. He would have offered her the chair to sit, but she quickly assured him that she wasn't staying. She had only gone there today because she intercepted his message— or so she claimed—and wanted to deal with it quickly. Damon felt sure Stanbury had received the message himself and sent his wife to meet with him because he was too afraid. A conversation in daylight in a law office? No, George Stanbury preferred to deal with his problems in dark alleys, with the help of hired thugs.

  So Damon sat at his desk in his own chair and looked at his neatly arranged pens. "Since you are here, Elizabeth, perhaps I might ask... if...there might be some chance in the future...for me to be known to the boy. Not as his true father, of course, but just to meet. I know you think now that there is nothing I can do for him, but in a few years it might be otherwise. And I should like to know him."

  "I don't think that would be a very good idea, do you?"

  "If I thought ill of the notion, I would not have suggested it, Elizabeth. I have the child's best interests at heart."

  "Then leave him and us alone. Do you think, in your wildest dreams, that he would want anything from a Deverell? To know you? What for? Why? What good can it possibly do? The farther you stay away from him the better." She walked up to his desk. "I know how you work, how you intimidate people into getting what you want, but you don't intimidate me. I want the best for my child and that is not you, whatever you think of yourself." She drew back and placed both hands briefly on her rounded belly. "So don't think to scaring me into letting you into any part of this child’s life. If I am upset, something could happen to the child. Now, or later."

  He shook his head. "I knew you could be a cold-hearted bitch, Elizabeth. I just never realized that was the real you. I thought there was something else that you hid from the world to protect it."

  "Something else?" she snapped. "Such as?"

  Slowly he raised his eyes to her hard, cold face. "A human being."

  "Well, now there is one inside of me. Isn't there?"

  He sniffed and began to rearrange his pens. "Let's hope it's human. You know what they say about my family. Will George still want to claim it as his own then?"

  Elizabeth stood for a moment more and then turned sharply, her coat sweeping the floor. "Don't come near me or the child, you bastard."

  "Thank you, Lady Stanbury. You'll see your own way out? I'm rather busy."

  Tom stepped aside just as she flung open the door. "Get out of my way," she stormed out, slamming the front door and making the glass in his window rattle.

  "Another lady dispatched, sir?" the clerk inquired, coming into the office with a package.

  "Yes. Not before time. Although—" He was sorry for the child. Whatever she and Stanbury threatened, he would find a way to see it, do what he could for the boy. Or girl. He'd find a way.

  "This came for you by messenger, sir." Tom handed him the package. "Oh, and Mr. Stempenham was supposed to take those steamer tickets over to the Clarendon Hotel in Bond Street, but he's been held up at home. Some young man gone to ask for one of those girls in marriage at last. He says can you take them over to the Clarendon and see to it that the young ladies have everything they need for their trip home."

  He was studying the package, barely listening. "Steamer tickets?"

  "Yes, sir, that American chap sent for his daughters to go home and asked us to make the arrangements."

  He leapt to his feet. "What?"

  Tom scratched his head. "Aye, those American sisters are going home."

  * * * *

  In a fury he took a Hansom cab to Bond Street.

  She'd promised to write and let him know when she was coming back to London. Now, she expected to slip away without seeing him again? She was bloody impossible and yet the woman had the audacity to call him that!

  Suddenly Damon realized he still had the package in his hands. As the Hansom bumped over cobbles, he tore at the paper impatiently, muttering under his breath about stubborn women and Americans and all the muffins he'd given her.

  As the paper and string fell to the floor of the cab, he found a square leather box inside. He opened it, just as the sun came out from behind a cloud and a bright yellow ray shone down, revealing a rich gleam of gold, nestled sensuously inside dark red velvet.

  It was a compass on a chain, like a pocket watch. Inside the lid were two words engraved.

  From Nonesuch.

  And on a small card beneath the compass, "For all the adventures you planned to have one day. It's never too late."

  * * * *

  She was pinning her hat in place, trying her best to act as if this was a day the same as any other.

  Of course, the wretched sun had to come out today, didn't it? Just as she was preparing to leave and go home. She'd wanted a miserable drizzle so that she could feel some relief at leaving. But no, even Mother Nature plotted against her. On a day like this, with bird
s singing and a blue sky overhead, she forgot all the things she hated about London.

  The maid tapped at the door of her suite. "Miss Piper, a messenger is here for you."

  Ah good. That would be Mr. Stempenham with the tickets.

  Pip checked the angle of her hat in the mirror and then the time on her watch. Ten minutes and she'd be off to catch the train to Southampton. Her trunks were already below. She was the only thing that remained in the suite.

  She walked to the door and opened it. "Good morning, Mr.—"

  Damon Deverell.

  Before she could speak another word, he walked her into the suite, closed her door, grabbed her around the waist and kissed her, completely knocking her carefully arranged hat asunder.

  And continued kissing her for a full five minutes, until she finally managed to untangle herself.

  "I left strict instructions that Mr. Stempenham himself was to deliver the tickets," she gasped out. "I was most clear about it."

  "Mr. Stempenham is indisposed, so you're stuck with me."

  She knew her face was pink and there was nothing she could do about it. He looked more handsome than ever. His face was less stern, less saddened, she realized. "How—how have you been?" Surely that was the polite thing to say.

  "Well, I was perfectly happy until I found out that you meant to sneak out of the country and never see me again. Approximately half an hour ago."

  "Yes. I know. I—"

  "You're not in love with me then."

  She stared, felt herself sinking slightly until she lost her balance completely and toppled onto the Grecian couch. "In love? Why would you ask that? We're friends. It's been decided."

  "I changed my mind." Damon sat beside her and showed her his compass. "You remember the items on my list," he said, grinning.

  Pip nodded. "There's not much I could do about the other things on it. Although I suppose I could have tried to find those sundry spare women for trading with natives."