by Danice Allen
Taken unawares by this prediction, Alex could not collect himself immediately to hide his surprise and dismay. Now was not the time for Zachary to become inclined to devote himself to Beth! And Zach would have need of the comforting arms of his mistress in the coming days and weeks. “How do you come by this conclusion, Dudley?” Alex had asked with an assumed calm he did not feel.
“That female intuition I’m cursed with, I suppose,” Dudley answered briskly. “Call it what you will. It’s just a feeling I have. Now, my lord, shall we wear the Spanish bluejacket or the Manila brown?” he’d finished, managing to be both obsequious and uncompromising in the same breath. Alex knew that Dudley had done with speaking on the subject and had his reasons for keeping mum. Alex had not pressed him further. Besides, he was deuced uncomfortable in Dudley’s company, having a most unsettling impression that his manservant’s intuition had also divulged to him Alex’s midnight meeting with Beth. A stupid idea, perhaps, but still unsettling.
Now Alex was resolving to enter the breakfast parlor and empty his budget. Honor demanded that he tell Zach of his feelings and intentions toward Beth as soon as possible, but he dreaded the encounter. He was already mourning the death of the wondrously satisfying friendship he’d nurtured with his brother over the past few weeks. Zach would be surprised, hurt, angry—all of these things and more. The closeness between them would flounder and dissolve for a time; but Alex was determined that matters would not endure for long in such a state. They had overcome seventeen years of estrangement, so perhaps anything was possible after that. But Zach would probably suspect, too, just how strenuously Alex had resisted Beth’s attractions. With Alex’s rakish reputation, Zach would wonder how deep and honorable his intentions were.
Alex was surprised again and again whenever he realized just how pure and unpolluted his intentions toward Beth really were—as pure as the crystalline trumpets of the Madonna lily newly opened to the first dewy dusk of summer. He regarded these feelings with something akin to reverence. He was going to marry her. But Zach’s trust and love might be the sacrifice required for finding such a perfect mate with whom to wend his way through life’s fateful twists and turns.
Fate. Alex was prodded from his deep thoughts by a sharp pain that radiated from his left wrist to his shoulder. He looked down at the hand that gripped the newel post and observed the knuckles stretched white and taut, the veins blue and bulging from the pressure of his hold on the unyielding piece of wood. It was almost as though the post represented that illusory tyrant called fate, and Alex was trying to strangle the very breath out of it as punishment for playing so cruel a trick as to make him his beloved brother’s rival.
The breakfast parlor door opened, and a servant passed through with a covered tray. The smell of bacon, coffee, and kippers drifted into the hall, sending Alex’s stomach into churning revolt. He knew he had to go in straightaway and speak the truth—at least as much truth as he and Beth had decided upon. Anything was better than this wretched suspense. He released his stranglehold on the railing, tugged at the hem of his blue jacket, and trod purposefully toward the dreaded door.
Upon entering, Alex discovered that the French doors were partly open to a small enclosed courtyard with terra-cotta walls and a climbing herb garden. Through the uncurtained glass, he could see Zach’s blond head cocked thoughtfully to one side and both elbows propped on the low wall, beyond which there was a charming vista of lawn and moor. Alex walked past the servants standing sentinel at either end of the heavily laden sideboard, and past Zach’s untouched plate of food. The plate was piled high with eggs and thickly sliced bacon, as if Zach had had good intentions about eating a hearty breakfast, but had failed.
Alex turned to the servants and, with a flick of his wrist and a jerk of his head, dismissed them. Then he soundlessly slipped outside and stood gathering his courage amid the mingled fragrances of thyme, pungent Corsican mint, pennyroyal, and marjoram.
“Zach?”
Zach jerked and turned in a startled fashion, taken so by surprise that he had no time to erase the distraught expression he wore. Alex’s heart twisted at such a look on the face of his younger brother. It was too much like the look he’d worn that day when he was thrust into the carriage and driven away by their grandfather. Then a smile suddenly appeared, but it did not reach his eyes.
“Alex,” he said, stepping forward to clap him on the back, “you’re up early. After such a night as you had, I thought you’d sleep till noon.”
Alex registered the unintended irony of the comment, but only said, “I couldn’t sleep. I need to talk to you, Zach.”
Zach raised a knowing brow. “Indeed, brother, I can well imagine the things you wish to say to me this day—the day after, as it were. But I can assure you it’s quite unnecessary.” Zach pressed one boot-clad ankle neatly against the other and bowed at the waist. “I’m your most humble, most repentant servant. I have seen the folly of my ways and am determined to mend them.”
His address was playful, but Alex could see anguish in the depths of his brother’s golden eyes and the purple shadows of sleeplessness beneath. Alex frowned and watched as Zach straightened and walked to a chair, his hands loosely circling the bulbous carvings at the top. “You look skeptical, brother. But you shall see that I’m quite firm and resolved about this. I’ve arranged to meet with my steward directly after breakfast. Boarding up of the tin mines will commence today. I’ve decided to hire extra men from town to expedite the work, and I will not rest till the task is done. I will personally inspect each job, making sure that not even the smallest moor hare could creep between the boards!”
“I’m pleased, Zach,” Alex said. And he was pleased—genuinely. But it was hard for him to muster up the sort of heartfelt smile that ought to have accompanied this praise. Even the praise was much too mild, however, much too lukewarm for the pride Alex felt in Zach’s mature acceptance of responsibility. If only it did not have to be followed by the revelation Alex was about to impart.
“You don’t look pleased,” Zach said, a comment that did not take Alex by surprise. A complete dunderhead could have seen that he was suffering from acute agitation. He could feel the sweat beading on his upper lip even as he formed his next words.
“It’s nothing more than I expected from you,” Alex offered, stalling for time as he tried to construct a pleasing way to tell his brother that he was in love with his betrothed, and she with him.
“Ah, but it was something you expected from me much sooner than I delivered,” Zach replied with self-directed sarcasm. “It only took the near entombment of an innocent child to awaken my slumberous sense of responsibility. A child, by the by, whom I placed in danger by my own vain refusal to listen to reason.” Zach’s returning smile was bittersweet. “Reason packaged so prettily in the shape of my wise little Beth.”
The gentle way Zach breathed Beth’s name—like a prayer—the possessive way he referred to her as his Beth, tore at Alex’s heart like the fangs of a beast. Jealousy. Tearing, gouging jealousy. And guilt. Beth belonged to Zach first.
“You’ve had second thoughts, then, about your treatment of Beth lately?” he questioned in a tone as deceptively calm as Zach’s had been. “I gather you’re prepared to make amends?” Was Dudley’s prediction correct? Was Zach planning to leave his mistress?
Zach released his hold on the chair and walked slowly to the French doors, his hands clasped behind him. He gazed out a long moment, then said, “You think about a lot of things when you face death. And sometimes you’re surprised by the thoughts that are uppermost in your mind, the feelings that claim your heart most forcefully.”
Alex strove for composure. “In what you supposed were your final moments on earth, your thoughts were of Beth?” His had been, and those thoughts had been the impetus behind his surrender to desire last night.
Zach swiveled and faced Alex squarely. “No, they were not. And that’s the sting, brother.” His voice lowered and hardened. “That’s what ne
ttles me the most. God, Alex, I thought of Tessy! I thought of my mistress—my whore.”
Alex was astonished by the vehemence of Zach’s tone. “You’ve always spoken so tenderly of Tess. You said you had a strong affection for her.”
Zach paced up and down, clutching at his hair. “Damnation, don’t you understand? I can’t allow myself to feel that strongly about Tessy. She’s just a chit I keep for pleasuring, for bedding. I can’t … I don’t love her. I can’t marry her, for Christ’s sake!”
“Does she expect you to marry her?”
“No, of course not. She’s never spoken of it, though I know it hurts her to hear of Beth. But what does she expect? What can a girl like her hope for beyond what I’ve given her? And I’ve given her a lot, Alex! I took her away from that crusty old witch, Mrs. Turley, who worked Tessy’s fingers to the bone day after day. It was a wretched existence. She’s been happy with me. I’ve been good to her.”
“Brother, thou dost protest too much,” Alex chided him softly. “Whether she is grateful, or whether you are kind and generous, is not the issue. I think you are more concerned about the strength of feeling you have for a girl who is socially inferior to you. What are you afraid of, Zach? Are you afraid of hurting Tess or of hurting yourself?”
“Mostly myself, I suppose. Yes, isn’t that a lowering admission to make? But I don’t want to end up like my friend, Charlie.”
“The fellow who married his mistress?”
“Yes, and him a viscount, no less. He caused a great scandal. His family never forgave him. Though he was still socially acceptable, except to the high-sticklers, she was never welcome anywhere! Then, to cap it all, he fell out of love with her within a year’s time and regretted it so passionately he took to tipping brews and playing high and fast at every gaming hell in town. Lost his fortune as well as his respectability.”
“This is an alarming picture you paint, but it need not apply to you, or to every man and his mistress.”
“No, I realize that. But can’t you see why I’m so appalled by those feelings I had in the mine? Lord, Alex, Beth is such a darling girl. I’ve known her, I’ve loved her, since I was in short pants. I ought to have been thinking of her. You’ve told me yourself that I’ve been neglecting her, and I’ve decided to heed your advice and pay her the attention she deserves. By breaking off with Tess, I’ll be better able to do that. Sometimes I think the only reason I thought of Tessy instead of Beth is because I’ve been … you know … intimate with her and not with Beth.”
“You’re not contemplating bedding Beth before you’re married, are you?” A sharp edge had crept into Alex’s voice, but he could hardly help it. The beast inside, the jealousy that had been tearing at his organs for the past few minutes, was threatening to split him wide open.
An amused glint appeared in Zach’s eyes, crowding out the pain for a moment. “Taking some brotherly interest in her, are you? Feeling a tad protective? Do not fear. She won’t let me bed her till we’re shackled well and good. But your concern is touching, to be sure. I don’t suppose you made any resolutions whilst we were trying to escape that collapsing crypt? Are you going to give up your bits of muslin and find yourself a respectable girl? Or is that too much to ask of Wicked Wickham?”
Wicked Wickham. The sobriquet taunted him. The last thing Alex wished to be at the moment was wicked. But that was how he felt. That was what he imagined he personified, flesh and bone, heart and soul—wickedness. What had he done? How could he tell his brother—his brother—that last night he’d taken the innocence of the girl Zach had loved since he was in short pants? And she’d loved him, too.
Alex’s thoughts and feelings were in turmoil. If he had never come to Pencarrow, the wedding would have gone off without a hitch. Beth would still be a virgin, still eagerly awaiting her nuptials. Maybe if he left, everything could go back to the way it was. No one would be hurt—except Beth, and she only for a short time. She’d forget him. Zach would be happy, as he deserved to be.
“There’s something else, Alex.” The tone of Zach’s voice, gone abruptly from teasing to Sabbath-day sober, riveted Alex’s attention. Zach’s eyes, dark amber and glistening, were full of pain again.
“What is it?”
Zach leaned a hip against the edge of the table and toyed with the cutlery, fussily, nervously arranging the knives, forks, and spoons in precise juxtaposition. “It may seem silly to you. I don’t know if I should even mention it….”
Alex could hear the tightness in Zach’s throat. Whatever he wished to confide was very difficult for him. Alex’s brotherly instincts came rushing to the surface, crowding out all other personal feelings.
“Just tell me what’s bothering you, Zach.”
“Well, it’s about our mother.”
“Yes?”
“The mine accident has made me think of her, too. I … I feel responsible for Gabby running off and nearly getting killed. Even you and some of the men might have been killed because of my irresponsibility—”
“Zach, don’t—”
“—and it made me think of Mother. I killed her and made my father hate me. I never want to be responsible for anyone’s death again, Alex.”
“You weren’t responsible for Mother’s death!”
“Common sense tells me that’s true, but in my heart …” Zach’s voice broke as he viciously and repeatedly poked his chest with an accusing forefinger. “In my heart I’ve always felt so desperately guilty.”
Zach’s tortured words slammed against Alex’s heart like a battering ram. “Ah, Zach—”
“Goodness, what Friday-faces the two of you are. No more moping. Today’s a day of celebration and thanksgiving!”
Mrs. Tavistock’s voice broke into Alex’s tumble of tender sympathy, disjointed regrets, and grasping remedies for his sins against Zach. He turned and watched Beth’s mother glide into the room, her face wreathed in a smile that he suspected was a trifle false, like the forced gaiety he’d detected in her voice. She was followed by a pale, unnaturally subdued Gabby and … Beth. Beth, in the yellow dress she’d worn on the beach when she first touched him. Beth of the passionate kisses and rosy breasts. Beth, his Beth. Not Zach’s. No, not Zach’s anymore, no matter how much he wished to spare his brother further pain. They could never go back to the way things were before. The sight of Beth made that crystal clear.
Their eyes met and held, hers eager and questioning, while he was quite sure his own gaze spoke of guilt, doubt, and a mute apology. Instead of giving him a recriminatory response, Beth seemed to understand Alex’s dilemma and sympathize with him. He was grateful to her for accepting his failure to tell Zach about the two of them, even though she couldn’t have begun to know all the reasons behind his hesitation. He loved her all the more for understanding without knowing. All of this passed between them in the space of a moment.
“If Friday-faces are to be banished from Pencarrow, this must also apply to Gabby,” said Zach, assuming his former playful air. He walked to Gabby and hefted her onto his hip, smiling into her sober little face. “What’s wrong with your lip, sweeting?” he teased, tapping the pouty lower lip with his forefinger. “It’s sticking out much too far. You’re apt to trip on it if you don’t pull it in.”
“I’m just a stupid child,” Gabby muttered, her lip protruding even farther. “I made a muddle of everything yesterday and might have killed us all.” Her gaze dropped, and a tear trickled down her cheek.
“Stuff and nonsense,” scolded Mrs. Tavistock, still smiling determinedly. “You simply made a small error in judgment. We’re just happy to have you safe, dearest.”
“Don’t beat yourself, Gabby,” advised Zach, lifting her chin so that she was compelled to look at him. “I made a mistake, too.” He looked at Alex and then at Beth—tenderly at Beth. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. We must be thankful that our friends and family are willing to forgive us and to help us do better.”
Beth and Alex exchanged anguished looks. Zach
, in the form of a sincerely repentant, openly loving brother and fiancé, was a formidable discouragement to telling the truth.
“But what about the knackers, Zach?” Gabby blurted out, perhaps coming to the most painful source of her unhappiness—her disillusionment. “I believed Mr. Thatcher. Like a silly puddinghead, I believed there were knackers in the tin mines!” Now the tears streamed down her cheeks, her chin trembling with the effort to quell her childish grief. “Why does he tell those lies? Mama says it’s wrong to spin whiskers. Are only grown-up people allowed to tell lies, Zach?”
Zach crooned soft words and wiped away Gabby’s tears with the pad of his thumb. “There, there, Gabby. Don’t turn into a watering pot on your good friend’s best green coat! You’re not a puddinghead. And furthermore, I still believe there are knackers in the tin mines.”
Gabby raised wide, hopeful eyes to his. “You do?”
Zach nodded his head.
“Then why didn’t I see any? Have you seen knackers, Zach?”
Zach avoided answering Gabby’s questions directly. “Knackers are contrary creatures,” he said. “Like piskies and spriggans and other fairy folk, they appear only when they’re least expected. Perhaps you didn’t see the knackers because you’d gone into the mine expressly to find them.”
“Oh, do you think so?” Gabby seemed struck by the wisdom of Zach’s words.
“Yes, particularly since the mines are such a dangerous place for children. Fairy folk like children—they’re of much the same height and disposition, you know—and they’d never encourage them to do dangerous things. If word got about among your play chums that you’d seen knackers in the old tin mines, children would flock to them in herds, you see. And they’d probably get lost, just as you did.”
“Oh, yes. I do see. That wouldn’t be at all the thing, would it?”
“Now, do you promise to tell your mama exactly where you’re going from now on and promise to be careful?”
“I do, Zach,” said Gabby, nodding solemnly. “I do promise, with all my heart.”
