“Would flogging your father to death change anything?” I asked.
He gave a rueful shake of his head and sighed. “I feel I have won far more by not killing him.”
“I think your father is a thousand times the man mine is,” I said.
“We did not think my father would ever do as he has done,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps yours may one day surprise you.”
“If he does, it may be to no avail. You were willing to forgive your father because you felt you had sinned. I do not feel I have ever done anything to garner my damn sire’s hatred. Thus, I do not know if I can ever find it in my heart to forgive him.” I sighed at the implication of my words. “Of course, that makes me as poor a man as he is, but then I am his son.”
“Only in that you will stand by your beliefs to Hell and back,” Gaston said with a smile.
“That is true. I wonder if it is a thing of the blood,” I said sadly.
Gaston shook his head. “What do you wish to do?”
“Supply Pete with the means to avenge us should it become necessary and… retreat.” As I said it, I was gripped by clarity of purpose, much as I had been gripped by clarity of insight regarding Shane: I now saw what I must do quite clearly. “I must renounce. It is the only way to thwart them – the only possible way to remove us from harm’s way. The only other is to kill them, but in that they would win in another fashion: I would still never inherit and we would be forced to run from the authorities, a thing which will undoubtedly be quite difficult with a cart full of wives and babies. Unless we retreated to France and that…”
He shook his head. “I am sorry I have removed that option... for now.”
“Non, non, I meant no recrimination by it,” I said quickly.
He sighed. “I was thinking their deaths could appear accidental, a fire perhaps, but then I realized that would mean you would inherit and…”
I grinned and kissed his forehead. “We can no more live in England than in France. And I do not wish to be the Earl of Dorshire. Truly, no matter what good I might do with it, I feel I would have to… be chained in a seat in the cave again in order to accomplish it. I will not do that. I would rather stand in the light, with you.”
He gazed upon me with great regard. “That is what you have always said. I still find wonder in it. Thank you.”
“You are most welcome, but as I once noted, I am really quite self-serving in the matter.”
He chuckled. “So you will renounce.”
“Oui. I will surrender the field. Sadly, it will not end Sarah’s and Striker’s battle with him, but it may well save us, because…” I sighed, “as good as we are, we cannot protect against everything. We already lead perilous lives.”
“They will be far less perilous now that we will no longer rove,” he said.
“Thank the Gods for that.”
We gathered paper, ink, and quills. As we walked out of the office, my gaze fell upon the parlor door. With a sigh, I pointed, and handed Gaston my portion of our writing supplies. He nodded and went to join the others, and I slipped into Vivian’s cave.
She was standing at the end of her chain, as close to the shutters leading to the atrium as she could manage. She started at my entrance, and appeared quite guilty.
I smiled. “As you have heard, we have discovered much of my father’s feelings on… several matters.”
She nodded soberly. “They have been reading parts of the letters aloud.”
“I am going to renounce my title,” I said quietly. “You will no longer be Lady Marsdale.”
She took a deep breath and nodded. “Will I continue to be Mistress John Williams?”
“Aye,” I said.
“Then I am fine with that,” she said. “I feel it is for the best,” she added quietly, “for all of us.”
“I thought you might,” I said with a sigh of relief, “but I also thought I should tell you of my decision before announcing it to the world.”
“Thank you for that courtesy.”
I left her, and returned to the circle of light and family in the middle of the atrium. The Marquis sat at one table, with deep furrows upon his brow and his head in his hands as Dupree read a letter to him. Sarah was likewise quietly reading another to Striker and Pete: they all appeared quite angry. Christine and Agnes were huddled over another missive, both looking quite confounded. Rucker and Theodore were sharing more wine. I went to sit between them and Gaston, and snatched the bottle when it came near. At that, Theodore waved for Henrietta and requested another.
I selected a quill and sheet of paper and wrote the pertinent information – including a rough map – Pete would need to locate my father. I passed it to him when I finished. “My father is the Earl of Dorshire. That alone should allow for you to locate him, but he either resides at the address I have given in London, or at the family estate of Rolland Hall.”
Pete nodded thoughtfully, and began to slowly read the names with Sarah’s assistance.
“I would like a copy of that information as well,” the Marquis said. “I wish to write your father.”
“Please do,” I said, and proceeded to make another copy.
Once that was completed, I composed the following letter:
Dorshire,
I have learned that you have no need for me to inform you of the milestones of my life, or even to comment on the scenery I might pass. So I will not waste ink or paper in relating things that others will tell you, and I will use this space to relate things they cannot.
I have stolen and read the letters you sent my uncle: without his consent. I now believe you are a threat to my life and to all I hold dear – and all for a thing I do not wish to own. Please rest assured that I despise you and all you represent as much if not more than you despise me. I wish to have nothing further to do with you in this life or the hereafter. I would gladly consign you to the bowels of Hell if it were in my power to do so.
That being said, I hereby renounce all claim to the title of Viscount of Marsdale, and all claim to inherit the title of the Earl of Dorshire, and any monies, privileges, or other properties associated with said titles. Furthermore, I abandon all claim to any money I might have been due to inherit from the family estate separate the title, and any and all other property.
I doubt this letter will suffice to dispatch the matter legally, so I will pursue having a formal notice prepared and witnessed and sent to the House of Lords.
Please adopt Shane and name him your heir with my blessing. I cannot think of two people more deserving of one another.
The Get of Your Loins,
Will
Gaston chuckled quietly as he read it. When he finished, I passed it to Theodore, who remarked, “As your solicitor, it is my duty to inform you that you are drunk.”
“Is it poorly written?” I asked.
Theodore shook his head and laughed.
“Is it poorly done?” I asked.
He sobered and shook his head sadly. “Nay.”
“What?” Sarah asked.
I passed it to her and she began to read it quietly to Striker and Pete.
“Everyone might as well hear it,” I said.
And so she read loudly enough for all to hear, with Dupree translating for the Marquis. There were appreciative chuckles all about as she finished.
“If you send something to the House of Lords, he will hate you all the more,” Sarah said as she returned the letter. “But if I could, I would do the same. Unfortunately, I am his daughter, not his heir.”
I sighed. “Perhaps my making much ado of the matter will place him in a position from which he dare not strike at you. And, though he likely wishes to harm Striker, he does not wish you dead, merely his dutiful daughter again.”
“I would rather be dead,” she said.
I dusted the now-dry page and folded it carefully. “I must step aside, or they will kill me.”
“You actually believe that?” Christine asked. “Aye, he hates what he feels you have
become, but surely…”
I met her gaze levelly. “Did you not read what he wrote? I am a thorn in his side, an embarrassment, a mark of shame. This is a man who allowed his godson to beat and rape me repeatedly under his roof in the hopes that such abuse would put me off men. He said as much to my face, when I returned after running from him and my cousin for ten years.”
Christine regarded me daftly, as if my words were somehow beyond her comprehension. Agnes’ mouth fell open, and she quickly threw her hand over it. Dupree had gasped when I spoke, and the Marquis did the same when it was translated. The rest knew the truth of it already, and they regarded the table gravely, as if mourning someone who had passed. Gaston’s arm stole about my shoulder, and he kissed me lightly on the cheek.
I could look at them no more. I set about dripping wax to form the seal, which I supposed would be my thumb, as with this letter I should no longer use the Marsdale crest. The Marquis’ signet ring intruded into my watery vision. It was not on his hand. I looked up and found him regarding me with great compassion.
“I will write him, but this will give him a thing to think about,” he said.
“Thank you.” I took his ring and used it to seal the letter.
He held my hand when I returned the ring. “I will not forsake either of you,” he said gravely.
My heart ached and I smiled weakly. “That means more to me than I can express.”
Gaston did find a way to express it: he embraced his father and they held one another tightly for a time.
I handed Theodore the letter. “I believe the Marquis wishes to write him as well. They should go together.”
Theodore nodded thoughtfully, and considered the paper in his hand. “Do you wish to pursue the formal renouncement and send it at the same time?”
“Aye, can you draw one up and arrange for suitable witnesses?”
“Of course,” he said. “Perhaps the governor.”
“Aye, he would do nicely.” I stood. “Well then, we have much to do on the morrow.” I looked to Sarah. “Perhaps you should write him as well.”
“And what should I say?” she asked sadly.
“The truth,” I sighed. “What good will lies do us now?”
“TruthAn’LeadAn’Steel,” Pete said thoughtfully. His mien was one of contemplation and ancient wisdom.
My spirits were lifted: I doubted my father could defeat Pete at chess, either – once someone taught the Golden One the rules of this game.
“Do you feel I should do as I plan?” I asked him.
Pete regarded me with a furrowed brow. “DoYaNa’Want’EmDead?”
“Aye, I want them dead, but I wish to live a long and happy life with Gaston and any children he might choose to collect,” I said. “I feel murdering them would not lead to that.”
He nodded sagely. “Aye. YaBeRight. MustBePlannedCareful. Now. ThisBeAGoodFeint.” He pointed at the letter Theodore held. “Puts’EmInCheck. Makes’EmAngry. Keeps’EmOffTheirBalance. Gives’EmSomeGround. IfTheyRun, SoBeIt. IfTheyCharge.” His lips quirked in a grim smile. “WeMustBeReadyFor’Em. I’llThinkOnIt. Winnin’sGonna BeALongGame.”
“Thank the Gods you are on our side,” I told Pete, and then turned to Sarah. “You should consult him before you write.”
“I hear that,” she said with a proud smile.
“I concur,” the Marquis said with an appraising look at Pete.
Dupree was still whispering in his master’s ear with a perplexed grimace, and I knew Pete’s enunciation had confounded him once again; but apparently not so that the Marquis misunderstood the Golden One’s wisdom or intent.
Christine stood abruptly and left the table. Agnes glared after, and then in a move just as sudden, stood to reach for the bottle Rucker and Theodore were sharing and capture it for her own. She sat and took a long pull.
“You should be careful of that, young lady,” Rucker chided. “It will make you stupid.”
“I am already stupid,” Agnes muttered bitterly.
I walked to stand behind her and leaned over to whisper, “You are not stupid for loving anyone, even if they are too stupid to return it.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
As he was closest to her, and looked quite sad and lost in his own thoughts, I clapped Striker’s shoulder and whispered to him. “I am still proud to call you brother, but I am damn sorry you are embroiled in this.”
He smiled, and looked to Sarah and Pete, who were speaking quietly next to him. “It is worth it.” He looked up at me. “How are you?”
“Somewhat drunk,” I said, and gestured with the bottle I still held. “But, sadly, that will pass.” I looked to Gaston, who was standing at my side. “But we will endure and conquer.”
“But first we will sleep,” Gaston said, and led me to the stable.
He made me remove my coat and boots before allowing me to sink to the straw and cuddle puppies. I was not so drunk that I could not see his mien was somber and withdrawn, and very much the physician.
“I will be well,” I assured him, as he came to sit next to me after removing most of his clothing. “How are you?”
“The Horse wants them dead,” he said sadly.
“Mine wishes to run to the farthest reaches of the world,” I said, and felt melancholy grip me in echo of his sad tone.
“I must protect you,” he whispered, and kissed my temple.
Like a retreating tide, the wine that had fortified me pulled away and sucked my bravado with it: I cried in his arms like a babe.
Sometime later, he pushed all the puppies into a pile next to their mother and led me to bed. I fingered the blanket lying there, the one I had been covered by when Agnes roused me this morning.
“It has been a very long day,” I remarked. “Did Sir Christopher and the governor truly arrive this morning?”
He nodded, and urged me to shed my shirt and breeches, which I did.
“It feels as if days have passed,” I sighed as I lay down.
“Oui,” he sighed in echo, and joined me on the hammock.
He kissed me lightly on the lips, and then his mouth trailed down my neck and chest. I was quickly forced to put a stop to it with deep regret.
“I would not deny you anything, my love,” I whispered, “but I am quite tender and you have not shaved. Neither have I, but…”
He shook his head and pressed fingers to my lips. I kissed them; and with a rueful smile, he moved to lie beside me.
“I feel no need this night,” he said. “I merely wished to comfort you.”
“Hold me, then.”
He complied, and I curled against him and let exhaustion claim me.
I woke alone to rain beating on the roof, and an aching and dazed head and dry mouth. Thankfully, today there was no rapping at the door or urgent whispering of my name. I moved enough to find the pot and water, and then returned to the hammock to lie like I sometimes had as a boy, with the blanket wrapped about me and pulled up around my ears to thwart the chill of the world.
I dozed. I felt Gaston’s weight on the hammock before I had any other awareness of his entry. He was smiling at me with amusement, as if he had been calling my name and I had not answered. He had shaved. He wore a paint-splattered kerchief and tunic. His kiss warmed me in all the ways a blanket could not, yet my manhood did not stir so much as it sighed. We curled together, and he sighed with either relief or contentment.
With him beside me and not before me, I saw my sea chests stacked just inside the doorway. They still stank of smoke, and Bella was eying them with annoyance.
“What have I missed?” I asked.
“We will be staying here until we return to Negril,” Gaston said. “So Pete and I brought our things down.”
I nodded. “One of the wives will have our room, and the other will have the guest room? And we shall stay in the stable like good studs?” I chuckled.
He did not find amusement in it. “Oui: Christine will have what was our room. I would have put Vivian in i
t, but Striker…” He trailed off with a disgruntled snort.
“What?” I turned enough to see his face, and found him more troubled than angry.
“Striker suggested that we… I might be more comfortable to ensconce the one who would be fucked farther from my father’s room.”
“Well…” I said with a small smile.
“Oui, he is correct,” Gaston said. “But…”
“You have not married her yet,” I said kindly.
He sighed, and there was resolve in his eyes. “Her things arrived this morning. We put them in our room – her room. She slept there last night without them. Agnes and she have quarreled.” He shrugged.
“Have you seen to Vivian, or visited Jamaica?” I asked to distract him.
He gave a rueful smile. “Vivian is well. I have not dared go to see the baby: Theodore slept in Sarah’s office last night.”
“It is good he is at heart a sober man,” I said with a grin. “Because he drinks with relish.”
Gaston chuckled and kissed my nose. “As do you.”
“I am sorry…”
He kissed my lips. “Non.”
I caressed his smooth cheek.
He grinned and kissed my chest. “Better?”
“Oui,” I breathed.
He smiled, and then guilt suffused him. I laid my hands aside his face and held his eyes to mine.
He sighed. “I fear we will need that whore.”
I nodded. “Perhaps we can ask Theodore if he knows of some lady or widow who entertains gentlemen discreetly.”
“That would be better,” he said with relief and some thought. “I cannot see… The brothel whores disgust me.”
“I know. I have always thought it an irony that many men will tell you that a true man who favors women can crow at the sight of any woman, but I think rising for women of that ilk is not showing an appreciation for women, so much as it is simply affirming one is not dead: if such can give a man rise, he might as well fuck a sheep; they seem far cleaner.”
He nodded with a wry smile, and then frowned. “The thought of mingling my jism with another man’s is… disturbing. And that disquiet does not rise from jealousy.”
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