Brothers In Arms 05: Retreat From Love

by Samantha Kane

  Anne didn’t want to look away until he’d gone back in the house and was out of sight. She knew it might be the last time she saw him for a long while. Almost surely the last time they parted as lovers. Her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears.

  “Anne?” Brett asked, his concern evident. “Are you all right?”

  Anne shook her head and tried to smile while she bit her lip. “I’m a little upset, I suppose.”

  Brett ushered her to the carriage and helped her inside. “I’m not surprised after that scene.”

  Anne didn’t try to correct him. Once inside the carriage Brett took her in his arms and rubbed her back soothingly. “Freddy will take care of it, Anne. You shan’t have to see the duchess at all, if you don’t like. I don’t think Freddy will let her remain anyway. He does not wish her to be here while he is reacquainting himself with Ashton Park and the village. She has had too much control here for too long.”

  Anne agreed completely, but she couldn’t muster much interest in what Brett was saying. She was desolate. Because to walk away from Freddy meant to walk away from Brett. Whether or not they were lovers, they loved one another, and she didn’t think either of them would be happy without the other. No, she could not break them apart, so she must give them both up. The thought terrified her. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to keep Brett for herself. If she must give up Freddy, then she wanted to keep Brett. She deserved happiness. She’d been so alone, and she’d lost so much. But she couldn’t do that to Freddy. He needed Brett too, even perhaps more than Anne did.

  Her thoughts made Anne turn her face into Brett’s shoulder so he wouldn’t see what she was feeling. She hugged him tightly, holding on for as long as she could, memorizing his smell, his touch, the sound of his voice as he murmured soothingly to her. These memories were all she would have, but they were better than the fantasies of Brett she’d lived with for so long.

  * * * * *

  Freddy slowly made his way to the library. He’d picked that room for the coming confrontation with his mother quite deliberately. It was the most uncomfortable room at Ashton Park, and this was sure to be the most uncomfortable meeting of his life, that didn’t end in gunfire, that is.

  He waved aside the footman there and paused at the entrance to take several deep breaths. When he was sufficiently in control he stepped forward and pushed open both doors, throwing them aside as he entered. His mother was impressed by grand gestures that befitted a duke.

  “Really, Frederick,” she drawled coolly, “there is no need for theatrics.”

  She sat on the stiff settee in front of the central window. She leaned forward to set her teacup on the table in front of her, and Freddy had to smile, albeit grimly. She’d calmly ordered tea, as if this were simply a private greeting between mother and son. She had the gall to tilt her head and present her cheek for his perfunctory kiss. When none was forthcoming as he stood there and stared at her with a face forced into blankness he could see the calculation stirring in her dark eyes.

  “Hmm,” she said with amusement. “I see you are unhappy with me. But really, Your Grace, it is time that you should marry. I merely took the responsibility of finding a wife out of your hands. What do you know of this year’s crop of debutantes, after all? I thought you’d be grateful not to have one more matter to deal with.”

  He continued to stare at her, studying her with detachment. She was still attractive, her blonde hair subtly turning gray at the temples. The skin of her neck was growing a tad loose, but not terribly noticeable if you weren’t familiar with her. She was thin, but her figure was womanly in her dark blue gown made in the latest fashion. Her eyes were dark brown, large and pretty, surrounded by dark lashes, lines just barely visible at their corners. Jerome had had their mother’s eyes. Those melting, puppy dog eyes had been the bane of Jerome’s existence. With a start Freddy realized that he looked nothing like her. He had red hair and blue eyes. Both of his parents had been blond with dark eyes. Bertie had had brown hair and hazel eyes. None of the brothers were similar in coloring.

  His silence emboldened his mother. She smiled smugly. “There, you see? I knew if you had a moment to think about it you’d see the logic of my handling this entire venture for you.” She picked up her teacup. “You needn’t worry about a thing, my dear. I shall deal with the Goode girl as well. She won’t cause any more problems.”

  Freddy almost laughed aloud. His mother had miscalculated horribly. She couldn’t have chosen a worse thing to say if she’d been hoping to placate him. Instead, she’d reminded him of how she’d “handled” Anne in the past.

  “Your houseguests may stay the night,” Freddy said as he walked over to the spindly-legged chair he was actually growing rather fond of, although not to sit in it. He lifted his coat tails out of the way and sat gingerly. “But they must be on their way tomorrow. I have no desire to entertain social-climbing guests at Ashton Park right now.”

  “Social-climbing…” his mother trailed off, for once speechless. She set her teacup down with more force than necessary. “The Carlton-Smythe bloodline is nearly as old as our own, Frederick. Lady Vanessa is a match for you in every way. She is wealthy and comes from a distinguished family. You are lucky she is also pretty and intelligent and sophisticated. I did not choose her for you lightly.”

  “And I did not choose her at all,” Freddy drawled, affecting a bored visage. “I’m afraid this is one area of my life you shall have to be content to leave to me, Mother.” Freddy smiled coldly at her. “As a matter of fact, you might have noticed I am taking control of all aspects of my life, including my title and estates.” He brushed off a nonexistent piece of lint from his buckskins. “I can only assume that is what prompted this motherly concern for my future happiness.”

  The duchess sputtered, clearly shocked by his behavior. And he had to admit she had every reason to be shocked. Freddy had never spoken to her like this before. But he’d never had something to fight for before. Only Brett. But when she’d made clear her displeasure over he and Brett’s growing fondness for one another, Freddy had simply started staying away from her. Over the last few years he could count the number of times they’d spent an extended period of time together on one hand. She’d learned not to say anything about Brett if she wanted Freddy’s company. But they’d never had words. It wasn’t her way, and it hadn’t been Freddy’s inclination. Today he was inclined.

  “As for Anne,” Freddy said slowly, his gaze capturing his mother’s, “she is not to be handled by you in any way. Your little unofficial moratorium on credit for the Goodes has been rescinded in the village, and I have made it clear that if anyone dares to treat them in such a fashion again they will have me to answer to.”

  His mother stood, her back straight, her eyes blazing. “Those women deserve whatever censure I have given them. That family ruined your father and then Bertrand.” Her voice was breathless with hatred and rage, enough to shock Freddy.

  “Why? What on earth have the Goodes ever done to you?” he asked in genuine confusion. “The Goode Vicar was always well thought of in the county, even in London. He was Father’s best friend. And Mrs. Goode always treated Bertie and me, and even Jerome when he was home, with affection. Bertie loved Anne. You know that. She’s a pretty, intelligent woman, the daughter of your husband’s best friend. Why did you oppose the match so strongly? Why do you hate them so?”

  The duchess walked over to the fireplace in agitation. She ran a hand along the top of the dark display case along side it. Finally she turned to Freddy, her face resolute and filled with bitterness.

  “Emma Goode was your father’s mistress. For years. That spineless husband of hers did nothing to stop it. He was thrilled, I’m sure, to have such a hold over the duke.”

  Freddy pictured Mrs. Goode and it was hard to believe she had lived such an elaborate lie for so long. “How do you know?”

  The duchess walked over to the window with a disgusted snort. “How could I not? He spent every spare minu
te of his time at the parsonage. He slept there, ate there, he practically lived there. Everyone knew he preferred their mean little existence in that house to what he could have had here,” she waved her hand around to indicate Ashton Park, “with me.” She turned to look at Freddy and he shivered at the hatred on her face. “He spared a few moments to get me with child and then ran back to her as fast as he could. He abandoned us, Frederick. For her. And for their brat.”

  Freddy’s heart stopped. He could feel it cease beating in his chest. She didn’t mean what he thought. Surely she didn’t mean it.

  The duchess smiled with malicious satisfaction. “Oh yes. Anne Goode is your half-sister, Frederick. That is why I opposed a match between her and Bertie. And why you must stay away from her.”

  Freddy stood on shaky legs and spun around to pace to the edge of the room. It wasn’t true. Mrs. Goode would never have condoned a match between Anne and Bertie, or encouraged the growing affection between Anne and Freddy, if it were true. Would she? But if Anne were his half-sister…the thought made Freddy tremble and he closed his eyes in horror. She could be pregnant even now. He’d fucked her at the pond. But not since. Thank God last night he’d taken her from behind. He almost laughed hysterically at the thought. Caution had not been uppermost in his mind when he’d made that decision last night.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. He had to gather his thoughts. Behind him he heard the duchess moving in for the kill.

  “She must be sent away, Frederick.” She spoke from directly behind him and the gooseflesh crawled down his spine. “Perhaps she doesn’t know, but I find that hard to believe. But she clearly has her sights set on being duchess. You must tell her you know the truth and send them both away. If your honor demands it, then settle a stipend on them. But do not see her again.”

  Her words calmed Freddy. No, he wouldn’t do that. But he would take care of her. Brett must marry her now, and soon. And then the two of them would have to leave. Because Freddy knew without a doubt that he could not live with them, could not see them every day, and not be with them. And he could never be with them again.

  He sat in the nearest chair with a sigh of utter resignation. When he looked at his mother he could see she thought she’d won. And he realized he couldn’t see her again either. Not for a very long time.

  “Go, Mother. You may stay the night as well, but tomorrow you shall leave Ashton Park with the Carlton-Smythes. And I do not wish to see you again until I summon you. Do you understand?” His voice was tired. He suddenly felt tired, clear down to his bones.

  The duchess gasped. “Frederick! You do not know what you are saying. It is not my fault your father was an adulterous scoundrel who chose his illegitimate daughter over his legitimate sons. I tried to protect you from the truth, but you would have it no other way but that I tell you.” She came forward, awkwardly stretching out her hand as if to offer comfort, something he could not recall receiving from her before. Freddy stood and sidestepped, avoiding her touch.

  “I understand what I am saying, Mother. You must understand that I mean it. I cannot see you.”

  “What about the Carlton-Smythes?” she asked shrilly. “What about the betrothal agreement?”

  Freddy shook his head as he walked to the library door. “You had no authority to sign the agreement in my name. It is void. Unenforceable in a court of law. And as I’ve never seen Lady Vanessa Carlton-Smythe before in my life, I certainly cannot be held accountable in a breach of promise suit against me. I owe them nothing. Which is precisely what I will tell them.”

  “You forget, Frederick, that I have the right to sign legal documents for you. You gave it to me several years ago, when you were so busy caring for that lame friend of Bertrand’s that you couldn’t be bothered to see to your own estates.” The duchess’s voice was once again the cold, emotionless tone he remembered from his childhood.

  “On the contrary, Madame,” he informed her, “I had my lawyer file new papers with the court several months ago which rescinded that power, at about the same time I ordered my estate managers and agents to report to me directly.”

  She gazed at him in sudden realization. “You truly would humiliate me thus, in front of all of society?”

  Freddy could only shake his head again. “Your humiliation in front of your damned society means less than nothing to me, Madame. You have made this bed, and now you must lie in it, for I shall not.”

  With that he turned and exited the library, quietly shutting the door on his mother’s furious expression.

  Brett found Freddy in the Long Gallery about two hours after he’d left to take Anne home. He had offered to stay with Anne until Freddy arrived, but she’d sent him home. She was so tired, and he felt guilty. They’d kept her up half the night talking and making love, and then that emotional scene with the duchess this morning. The darling was exhausted.

  When he’d left Anne had clung to him. She was more upset than she’d let Freddy know when they left Ashton Park. Brett had soothed her as best he could. Her goodbye kiss was hungry and desperate, almost alarmingly so. But when she’d finally pulled away and Brett had asked her what was wrong, she had merely laughed weakly and given him some excuse about the duchess. Yes, Brett was sure that was part of it, but there was more. For once he understood how Freddy and Anne felt when Brett retreated into himself, as Anne called it. He’d finally left after Anne had assured him she’d get some sleep.

  And now here he was approaching a brooding Freddy after more than an hour of searching. Reeves had informed him that the duchess and the Carlton-Smythes would be leaving tomorrow. Brett breathed a sigh of relief. At least that situation was well in hand. But if all was well, why did Freddy look as if someone had died? Christ, had something else happened? Had he received bad news from London?

  “Freddy?” he asked anxiously. “What’s wrong? Have you received news?”

  Freddy was startled by his approach. He was sitting in one of the chairs that normally sat between the windows, but he’d moved it and was staring out the window at the gardens. He’d clearly been lost in thought. He stared at Brett for a moment, puzzled. “News? About what?”

  Brett stopped, lost in confusion. “I…I don’t know. You just looked as if someone had died.”

  Freddy laughed bitterly. “Yes, died. It does seem as if everyone has done that, doesn’t it? And they’ve left me to clean up the mess.” He turned and stared broodingly out the window again.

  Brett was more confused than ever. What mess? “Do you mean the Carlton-Smythes?”

  Freddy shook his head with another bitter laugh. “No, they were more than accommodating. Or at least, she was. When I explained that the duchess had acted without my knowledge or approval and that the contract was unenforceable, Lord Carlton-Smythe blustered a bit and tried some mild threats, but the young lady was unflappable. She simply said she understood and thanked me for being so frank. She wished me well and left. Her father had no choice but to follow.”

  Freddy rolled out of the chair without his usually grace. “Although now that I think about it, I should have married the chit. I’ve no other options now, after all.” He stumbled a bit and leaned on the chair arm. Brett realized he was bending over to pick something up, and he came up with a decanter and a glass. He was drunk. Brett was flabbergasted. Freddy never drank to excess. It simply wasn’t his way.

  “Freddy, what are you talking about?” Brett couldn’t keep the concern out of his voice. “I thought you wanted to marry Anne.”

  Freddy’s face blanched and he poured a healthy amount of spirits into his glass. His hand was unsteady and some sloshed to the floor. Brett took two quick steps and rescued the decanter before he dropped it.

  “Freddy, tell me what’s happened?” Brett pleaded. He grabbed Freddy’s arm to steady him, and Freddy leaned on him.

  Freddy ran a shaking hand over his face, and then left it there, covering his eyes. A sob shook his frame, and Brett’s concern became panic. “Damn it, Freddy! W
hat is going on?”

  Freddy took his hand away and the pain radiating out of his blue eyes hit Brett like a punch. “You must marry her, Brett,” Freddy told him in a shaking voice. “Right away. You must marry her and take her far away from me.”

  Brett couldn’t speak for a moment. What the hell was Freddy talking about? What had the duchess told him?

  Brett set the decanter down on the floor and pulled the glass from Freddy’s hand. He set it down beside the decanter and then he rose and took both of Freddy’s hands in his. He squeezed them tightly. “Freddy, whatever it is, you can tell me. What’s happened? What did the duchess tell you?”

  Freddy looked so bleak Brett’s stomach clenched.

  “She’s my sister, Brett. Anne is my sister.”

  The bottom dropped out of Brett’s world for the second time.

  Chapter Fourteen

  July 27, 1812

  Anne,

  I’ve started this five times. Ten, maybe? God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I

  He’s dead. He’s dead, Anne. I can’t

  It’s my fault. I’m sorry. You’ll never know

  I’m sorry.

  * * * * *

  It had been almost two full god-awful days since Freddy told him. It seemed as if Brett had been counting each minute. Anne wouldn’t see him. Brett didn’t understand what was going through her mind right now. She didn’t even know what the duchess had told Freddy. So why was she hiding from them? Mrs. Goode adamantly refused to let him in the house. She relented enough to tell him she didn’t know why Anne was so upset, only that she was. Brett could tell from the look in her eye that she blamed him and Freddy. Anne spent the night at Ashton Park with the two of them, and the next day retreats to her room and refuses to see them. It seemed logical to blame them. Brett blamed them and he wasn’t even sure for what.