A Most Unsuitable Man

by Mara

  Libella Fitzroger ran forward then, but to Fitz, not Hugh.

  That might be a blessing.

  Strength failing her, Damaris turned and sat on the ground. She feared her world had just become much darker.

  The crowd had to have heard Leyden’s bellowed treason. In moments the story would be flying around London from mouth to mouth. Within hours there might even be broadsheets about it, even though this was Sunday.

  Fitz’s brother could die for those words, and a traitor’s family was ruined along with him. Fitz wouldn’t be able to attend court today, or perhaps ever. And it had happened because of the story she’d impulsively spread that the king might knight his hated brother.

  Then Fitz ran to her, looking frantic. “Are you hurt?”

  She’d have to confess to him what she’d done. But not now.

  When she said, “No,” he helped her to her feet. She gladly leaned against him, but she also offered comfort. She knew what it must have cost him to hurt his brother again, and then there was the treason.

  “Oh, my love, I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m not. ”

  The sharp voice belonged to Libella Fitzroger, small and tight-lipped. “Hugh’s been a monster all his life.”

  Fitz began to protest, but she overrode him. “Mother claimed his cruelty was all your fault, but it wasn’t. Oh, the headaches, perhaps, but not the violence. Orinda seduced you because Hugh was so foul to her. Stupid, of course, but she was stupid. Even at ten I knew that.”

  “Hush,” Fritz said, trying to soothe her. “Come back inside, Libby.”

  He put an arm around both of them and hurried them into the house. Damaris remembered the threat to herself. She’d been out in the courtyard when her enemy had that crossbow.

  She relaxed only when they were inside.

  Libella immediately tore free and faced her brother. “You are not to blame for Hugh, Tavvy.”

  So, another family name for him. Damaris still preferred Fitz.

  “Do you know why Sally is as she is?” Libella demanded. “It didn’t happen at birth. Hugh threw her against a wall when she was a toddler because she pestered him. He was only six years older, but he was a foul bully even then!”

  Damaris heard Fitz inhale. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “When? I didn’t know about Sal until a few years ago, and you never came back to England.”

  “You could have written.”

  Libella’s lips worked and she bit them. “If I had, you’d have come back to try to help, and I didn’t want you to. Hugh would hunt you down, and you’d let him kill you. I knew that. Until today.” She flashed a glance at Damaris, suspicious and unfriendly.

  “You should have told me,” Fitz insisted.

  “To what purpose?” Libella snapped. “You were always such an idealist, but this isn’t some story of King Arthur and his knights! No one would believe the story about Sal, and you know Mother would deny it. I think she denies it to herself. There was nothing you could do.”

  “You should have had more faith.”

  Libella laughed bitterly. “In what? I saw you today.” She flung out her arm, pointing into the courtyard. “You couldn’t bring yourself to harm him, even when he was roaring treason. It was only when he threatened someone else...” She put her gloved hand over her mouth. “And what’s to become of us all now, I don’t know.”

  Fitz put his arm around her and drew her close. “It’ll be all right, Libby. We’ll have him declared mad and cite his treason as part of the proof.”

  She frowned up at him. “Is that possible?”

  “I believe so. I have, as you see, powerful allies.”

  Libella looked around as if seeing the inside of Malloren House for the first time. The marquess entered then, supervising his men, who struggled with the burden of a trussed-up but still fighting Lord Leyden. He was puce and his eyes bulged. Damaris feared he’d die on the spot. But then, perhaps that would be good.

  “Lord Leyden will be accommodated in a bedchamber,” Rothgar said, “until decisions are made, Fitzroger.”

  The implications were clear. He must be confined.

  “I suspect the others are wondering at the noises. Please”—he gestured elegantly toward the right-hand reception room—“speak in private with your sister.”

  It was a gentle command to remove their business from the hall and the hearing of servants. They obeyed. Fitz escorted his sister to the sofa. Damaris stayed standing, not sure what her role was here but determined to be a part of it. To show that she was part of this family—heaven save her.

  This was not the family she’d hoped to gain through marriage, but it was Fitz’s family, so already it was hers.

  Libella drooped, as if cold air had been the only thing holding her up. “Mother will fight his being confined. She always has. It’s as if she’s blanked her mind of all her children but one. She’ll hear nothing against him, deny him nothing. She lives for his visits to Cleeve Court, and between them she prepares for the next.”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry about your money, Tavvy. I was so giddy about it I let something slip to Sal, and she told Mother. Mother demanded it and gave it all to Hugh, like an offering to a god.”

  Damaris thought her question was silent, but Fitz glanced at her. “I sent Libby the money I received from the sale of my commission.” He sat beside his sister and took her hand. “I should have realized how bad things were. I should have done something.”

  Libella shook her head. “Galahad,” she said, but fondly.

  Damaris must have started, for Libella looked up at her. “We used to play King Arthur. Or rather, Tavvy and his friends, Jack Marchant and Harry Fowles, did. They let me be Guinevere sometimes. Tavvy would never be Arthur or Lancelot. He always wanted to be Galahad.”

  That glimpse into childhood was enough to break Damaris’s heart. Unlike her, and despite his family’s problems, Fitz had once had a normal childhood with friends and games. She could imagine him running wild in the countryside, riding a pony probably as he and his friends staged jousts and dragon slayings.

  So when his life had shattered, he’d had so much more to lose.

  Libella suddenly spoke again. “I’ve been waiting for Hugh to die,” she said. “That’s why I didn’t ask you for help, Tavv. The doctor says he soon must. He’s ruined his heart and his liver and who knows what else with excesses, and he’s diseased from his whores as well. But he keeps on living—and I wish him in hell. ”

  She broke into tears, and Fitz took her into his arms.

  Damaris heard voices and slipped into the hall. Genova, Ashart, and Lady Thalia were there, astonished. They’d each been woken by the gunshot and had to dress.

  Rothgar appeared and directed everyone into the reception room.

  As soon as the door was shut, he said to Fitz, “I’ve sent for Dr. Erasmus. He runs a private asylum on the most advanced principles. Leyden can be kept there until you decide on permanent arrangements.”

  Fitz had risen. “Can we save him from the gallows? For my mother’s sake, at least. I keep thinking of Damiens.”

  “Oh, no,” Damaris said and went to his side.

  She heard sounds from the others as well. Six years before, a man called Damiens had tried to assassinate the king of France and been horribly punished.

  “We are not France,” Rothgar said. “We do not torture madmen and tear them apart in a public square, not even for an attempt on the king’s life. And mercifully, Leyden never came close to action. It was unfortunate that so many heard, but even there, Damaris’s excellent vocal cords helped.”

  “It was all I could think to do,” she said.

  “I hope it didn’t damage your voice. You still have to sing at court.”

  “Still? After this?”

  “The king expects you. There are hours yet. Time enough to prepare. Time enough,” Rothgar added, “for the king to hear of Leyden’s words.”

  “You want to delay my presentation?�
� Fitz asked. “I have no objection. My family needs me.”

  Damaris kicked his ankle.

  After a moment and a glance at her, he said, “But I would prefer to proceed, if possible.”

  “So be it. I will make some adjustments.”

  With that cryptic statement, Rothgar left. Ashart, Genova, and Lady Thalia started asking questions, but Fitz turned to Damaris. “I still must take Libby back and attempt to explain this to our mother. If she’ll even acknowledge my existence. Ash, you’ll take care of Damaris?”

  “Of course. I regret the complications, Fitz, but I’m glad you’ve been forced to deal with your brother.”

  After hasty thought, Damaris decided to share some of what Libella had said, even though Fitz probably wouldn’t like it.

  “And Fitz isn’t responsible for Lord Leyden’s wild nature. Apparently he’s been like that all his life.”

  Fitz cast her a sharp look. “I’m sure finding me in bed with his wife didn’t help.”

  “But you no longer need to leave the country,” Ash said. “In fact, you’ll have to stay to look after your family’s affairs. I can’t dislike that.”

  “There are estate managers and trustees,” Fitz said curtly. “And my actions may depend on other matters.”

  On Rothgar’s reaction to their fornication. Damaris saw the look between Ashart and Fitz, and realized that Ashart had just spoken out of friendship.

  “I’ll do nothing to drive you away,” Ashart said directly.

  Damaris almost swayed with relief, though she knew she’d still have to battle for her happiness. Unless she was with child, Fitz wouldn’t marry her as long as his reputation remained tainted, and having a traitorous brother could hardly improve it.

  But at least one threat was removed.

  Fitz turned to her and kissed her hand, but used that to murmur a command. “Don’t spill any more of my family’s secrets.”

  “I’m sorry. I won’t.”

  “Unless you decide it’s best.”

  She had no reply for that.

  His lips twitched. “I’ll return as soon as possible. Behave and be safe.”

  He left with his sister. Damaris couldn’t bear chatter and questions, so she retreated to her bedchamber. Her beautiful court gown was spread on the bed, and soon she’d have to put it on and play a part. And sing.

  She tried a scale and found to her relief that her scream didn’t seem to have damaged her voice. The soreness she’d felt before must simply have been tension. It had gone.

  Even the prospect of singing before the king couldn’t outweigh the real challenge. What happened to Fitz today at court could change her life. Frustratingly, she couldn’t see anything to do to shape events.

  So she prayed.

  She wasn’t a person accustomed to prayer beyond the routine of Sunday service, but now she directly addressed God. She didn’t ask anything for herself; only that things become right for Fitz, that he find the honor and joy he deserved.

  A knock at the door disturbed her. A footman carried a request from Rothgar that she visit his study.

  As soon as she entered, Rothgar said, “We’ve found your brother.” He was dressed for riding and holding leather gauntlets. “He’s staying at the Swan in Church Lane.”

  “Openly? Doesn’t that prove his innocence?”

  “Who else has reason to kill you? But I go to find out.”

  “I want to come.” When he stared at her, she said, “He’s my brother. I made Fitzroger promise not to harm him, short of dire necessity. Will you pledge the same?”

  He tapped the leather gloves against his palm, then said, “No. Do you think to be able to stop me?”

  She met his eyes. “I would do my best.”

  He smiled. “Very well, I travel with force to this and can keep you safe. You will do exactly as I say.”

  She didn’t argue that point, but hurried off to dress warmly, pausing for a moment in thought as she put on her cloak. Fitz wouldn’t like this, and he’d know sooner or later.

  She left him a note. How to end it? Smiling, she wrote, With all my heart, Damaris.

  He’d be exasperated again to hear she’d left the house, but if she wasn’t safe with Rothgar and his force, where would she be?

  When she went down to the hall, she found that Rothgar was taking her safety seriously. A sedan chair had been brought into the house so she could enter it there. As soon as the door was closed a phalanx of armed footmen surrounded it. Thus guarded, she was carried out into the courtyard, where Rothgar mounted, joining three other armed horsemen.

  Such a small army attracted a great deal of attention on the way to the Swan Inn.

  Chapter 22

  The Swan was a cozy-looking establishment with two bow windows, sitting in a row of shops on a narrow road that ran between two busier ones. A coach could pass down Church Lane, but only just, which was probably why none seemed to. The only traffic other than pedestrians was sedan chairs and the occasional handcart. There weren’t even any riders until Rothgar’s party rode in, hooves noisy on the cobblestones.

  Damaris detected no hint of danger or dark deeds here. In fact, most of the people seemed to be making their way to the church whose spire could be seen ahead. Damaris felt certain there must be some mistake, but she was carried into the inn and allowed out only when the door shut on the outside and her guards were in position around her. She emerged feeling ridiculous.

  She heard Rothgar asking for Mr. Myddleton and pushed her way through her wall of protection to go to his side. He was talking to a comely lady of middle years who was clearly mistress of her domain. She looked both alarmed and cross at this invasion, but wasn’t about to offend a man like Rothgar.

  “If you’ll come this way, my lord.”

  They followed her down a short corridor until she stopped in front of a door. “I’ve just served Mr. Myddleton’s dinner, my lord. I hope there’ll be no trouble.”

  Damaris had to fight laughter at that non sequitur, but it was hardly surprising if the woman was nervous. Her establishment had been invaded by men primed for violence. The very air hummed with tension.

  When the innkeeper raised her hand, Rothgar put her aside and knocked himself. Damaris’s heart was thundering now. She was about to meet her one and only brother—and maybe lose him to violence.

  The door opened without caution and she saw a stocky young man in a fashionable suit of dark red cloth, a table napkin in his hand. He did look very much like her father, especially about the square jaw, the bright eyes, and the brows that grew too close in the middle. His look of polite inquiry turned to wariness, but there was no hint of guilt. If he was her would-be murderer, he was a brilliant actor.

  “Mr. Butler-Myddleton? I am Lord Rothgar, and this is your sister, Miss Damaris Myddleton. We would like to speak to you.”

  Mark Myddleton gaped slightly, but fell back and bowed them into a decent parlor, kept warm by a generous fire. It had to be the best parlor, for it had one of the bow windows that looked out into the lane. A table stood there and held his meal. It looked as if he’d been halfway through his soup.

  He waved a vague, bewildered offer of seating. Rothgar assisted Damaris off with her cloak and guided her to a chair, but remained standing himself. She noticed that two footmen had entered with them to station themselves by the door.

  She looked from her brother to Rothgar with no idea what to say.

  “Are you aware, Myddleton, that someone has twice tried to kill your half sister?”

  Mark looked at her, shocked. “Gads, no. I’m pleased you’re safe, sister. I had thought sometime soon to seek your acquaintance.”

  Damaris almost said something warm and friendly, but stopped herself. If this was not her assassin, who was?

  “Have you ever been to Pickmanwell?” Rothgar asked.

  Mark looked honestly confused. “I don’t think so. Where is it, my lord?” Then he became defensive and stood tall. “What’s the meaning of all this? You
can’t suspect me?”

  “You were, until recently, your sister’s heir.”

  “And that is cause enough to invade an honest man’s lodging?”

  “How did you know?” Rothgar asked.

  “Know what?”

  “That you were your sister’s heir.”

  Mark’s features set as if he wouldn’t answer, but then he said, “My father told me. He probably hoped I’d throw a jealous fit. Mama obliged instead.”

  “Oh, you, too,” Damaris exclaimed. “What an awful man he was! But surely, sir, you must feel some resentment over my receiving most of his money.”

  She tried to read his expression but could see no evasion, no hint of dishonesty.

  “I do, of course. Especially as I’m his legitimate son, and he treated my mother foully.” Then he colored. “You do know about that?”

  “Yes, but not the full story. Perhaps you can explain more....”

  But then the door opened and Fitz walked in, fending off one footman with a thrust that staggered the man. “Of all the foolish starts!”

  Rothgar produced a quizzing glass and looked at him through it. “Are you accusing me of folly, Fitzroger?”

  Damaris suspected that Fitz wanted to snap, “Yes!” but instead he turned a deadly look on Mark. “So this is the brother.”

  “And probably innocent,” Damaris said, leaping to her feet and putting herself between them.

  Fitz grabbed her arm and dragged her to his side. “For pity’s sake. Who else?”

  Rothgar fingered the long stem of his glass. “An excellent question, Myddleton. There seems no reason to attack your sister other than to acquire her money, so who else could that attacker be?”

  Mark Myddleton did suddenly look shifty, glancing away as if in search of an answer. Damaris’s heart fell. Fitz had been right.

  But then Mark sighed. “I fear it might be my brother, my lord.”

  “ ‘Struth!” Fitz exploded. “Do you take us for fools?”

  “Join me in folly, Fitzroger,” Rothgar murmured. The tone was almost amused, but Damaris felt the presence of the Dark Marquess and all his faculties.

  Her brother paced the room for a moment, then faced them.