Lucien Tregellas

by Margaret McPhee

  A knock sounded against the door and Guy walked into the library. ‘Thought I might find you here, old chap.’

  Lucien peered round, his head suffering from the speed of his movement. ‘What the hell are you doing up so early?’

  ‘Good afternoon to you, too. From the state that you’re in, I would hazard a guess that you drank the rest of the brandy and spent a cold and miserable night in that chair.’

  No reply was forthcoming from Lucien.

  ‘I’m sorry to have been the bearer of bad tidings, but I thought it best that you knew.’ He looked at his brother’s redlined eyes and the haggard expression upon his face, knowing that the news had affected Lucien far worse than even he had expected. He tried to salve the hurt as best he could. ‘Perhaps there’s some other explanation lying beneath all of this. Perhaps Madeline didn’t send the letter to Farquharson at all. Have you enquired of your staff yet?’

  Lucien turned a jaundiced eye in his direction. ‘I’ve spoken to them all right, and it seems that my wife has been writing to him.’

  ‘Oh.’ Guy shut the door firmly behind him. ‘Then the matter is proven.’

  ‘No, Guy, it is not.’ Lucien ran a hand through the dishevelment of his hair. ‘She came here last night. Had the chair turned out to face the window, she couldn’t see me, didn’t know that I was here. Heard her searching around on the desk.’

  ‘Good God! It’s worse than I thought.’

  ‘Said she’d finished her book and came down in search of another.’

  ‘In the middle of the night?’ Guy raised a cynical eyebrow.

  ‘Couldn’t sleep, apparently.’

  ‘A likely story.’

  ‘I believe she was telling the truth.’ Lucien raised bloodshot eyes towards his brother.

  A silence stretched between them.

  Guy shook his head.

  ‘Look.’ Lucien gestured towards the well-thumbed book and the candleholder resting not so far from where his hands leant against the mahogany desk top. ‘Madeline isn’t stupid. Had she come here with the intent of searching my papers, she would have had a decent candle, one that could at least stay alight long enough for her to see what she was doing. She said that the candle had expired and she was looking for a tinderbox on the desk.’

  ‘It’s a lame excuse and you know it. The book could have been a cover in the eventuality that she was discovered rifling through your desk in the middle of the night.’

  ‘If you could have seen the expression on her face…shock, horror, disbelief all rolled into one.’

  ‘Farquharson himself told me that she’s an actress. She’s playing you, Lucien.’

  Lucien looked at his brother. ‘But we know Farquharson to be a liar.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean that Madeline is innocent.’

  ‘I didn’t even give her a chance to defend herself against the accusations. Just judged her as guilty.’ The hand raked his hair again. ‘I shouldn’t have been so harsh, but the brandy clouded my judgement. Hell, I haven’t felt so angry since I discovered what Farquharson did to Sarah.’ He levelled his brother a direct look. ‘I was a brute, Guy. Madeline didn’t deserve that.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Lucien. Farquharson is brandishing a particularly loathsome letter, written by her own hand, around all of London. You have proof that she dispatched a letter to him from this very house, and to cap it all you catch her rifling through your desk in the middle of the night! What do you think you should have done? Clapped her on the back? Congratulated her? The evidence is stacked against her.’

  ‘I still cannot believe it.’

  ‘You mean you don’t want to believe it.’

  ‘I know her, Guy. It’s not in her character to be devious or dishonest.’

  Guy gave an incredulous snort. ‘She has you fooled, big brother, and no mistake.’

  ‘That’s just it. She’s done nothing to try to fool me. The first time we met in the Theatre Royal she said not one thing against Farquharson, and at Lady Gilmour’s ball she was desperately afraid. Such fear and loathing couldn’t be faked.’

  ‘You only have her word for it, Lucien. You don’t even know if Farquharson was up in that bedchamber.’

  ‘The terror and panic on her face were real enough. Never once has she used tears or pleading or dramatics. Do you not think she would have resorted to such ploys had she been acting?’

  ‘She’s too good an actress for that.’

  ‘I cannot help but feel that we have this all wrong, Guy. In these past months I’ve come to know Madeline. She’s not the woman you would paint her. She’s more trusting than you could imagine. The evidence might condemn her as guilty, but instinct tells me otherwise.’

  ‘She has bewitched you. Don’t let your attraction for the woman blind you to the truth.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be absurd, Guy! That has nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Then you admit that you are attracted to her?’ Guy waited for the answer.

  ‘Damn it, yes! I want her, all of her, in my arms, in my bed, and more. Is that what you want to hear? I may desire her, Guy, but I haven’t touched her. I’m not that much of a fool.’ He thought fleetingly of the tenderness of their shared kisses. Even last night, what had started as a kiss of punishment had ended as something else.

  There was a pause as something of the situation communicated itself to Guy. ‘It’s not just desire that you feel, is it, Lucien?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘No,’ said Lucien, touching his fingers against the misshapen lump of wax at the base of Madeline’s candleholder. ‘I’m afraid that matters are a little more complicated than that,’ and realised, perhaps for the first time, exactly what it was that he was saying.

  Guy gave a sigh and twitched a smile. ‘Well, in that case, you had best pour some strong coffee down your throat, eat some breakfast, and set about discovering the truth.’

  ‘I owe her an apology for my behaviour last night…and I would hear what she has to say regarding the letter.’ A shameful look washed over Lucien’s face. ‘I told her that I was sending her back to London with you at the end of the week.’

  ‘Ah. Many a lady might relish the prospect of a few days travelling in my company. Somehow, I don’t think Madeline is one of them. I’d best ring for that coffee right away.’

  It was some little time later when a clean-shaven and rather fresher-looking Lucien, finally sought out the company of his wife.

  ‘She’s gone where?’

  Mrs Babcock sniffed. ‘Tintagel Castle. Tried to put her off, but she weren’t havin’ any of it. Assured me that your opinion on her travellin’ without you had changed. I came to tell you anyhow, but you seemed to be in the sleep of the dead. Couldn’t wake you.’ The housekeeper folded her arms. ‘She left this morning. Asked after Lord Varington. Said she would be back this afternoon. Reckon she had somethin’ she wanted to be speakin’ to him about.’

  Lucien opened his mouth to speak.

  ‘And before you ask, she took Betsy and John Hayley with her. Mr Boyle’s back is painin’ him today, but he’s still drivin’ the coach.’

  ‘Thank you, Babbie.’ A spur of unease pricked at Lucien. Madeline had gone to Tintagel, little knowing it was there that Sarah Wyatt met her death.

  The morning had been particularly fine, all clear pale sunshine and dry cold, apart from the mist that had hovered around their route past Bodmin Moor. Nothing of that remained in Tintagel. She breathed in the fresh sea air, smelling the salt and the seaweed and revelling in the dramatic sight before her eyes. Tintagel Castle was a sprawling medieval ruin balanced precariously close to a cliff whose edge dropped dramatically through a sheer pathway of jagged rocks into the sea. The water was a wash of pale greens and blues, and hissing heads of white froth where it battered against the riot of rocks. She had spent some time exploring throughout the ruins, knowing that the castle was reputed to be the site of the birthplace of King Arthur.

  A story of intrigue and deception surrounded the place. King Uthe
r Pendragon had fallen in love with Ygraine, the beautiful wife of his nobleman, Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall. Uther could think of nothing else save that he must have Ygraine and when Gorlois would not yield his lady, declared war upon Cornwall and its Duke. Gorlois hid Ygraine in the impregnable fort at Tintagel while he came under siege at another of his castles. Knowing that the fate of all Britain rested upon it, the druid wizard Merlin cast a spell over Uther so that, for a single night alone, Uther would take on the appearance of Gorlois. Thus, out of the darkness the castle guard saw their lord approach, drew up the gate and welcomed him home. Ygraine, too, went gladly to her husband. Before dawn of the next morning, the man she had lain with all the night through had gone. An hour later a messenger arrived to tell them that Ygraine was a widow, for Gorlois had been slain in battle the previous night. Ygraine knew then what had happened. Nine months later she bore a son. His name was Arthur and he was to clear the invading darkness from Britain’s shores and become the best and greatest of kings.

  From the seeds of such treachery, goodness and salvation had grown. Madeline mulled over Merlin’s part in the plot. She sat alone on the simple wooden bench and looked out across the white flecked roll of water, amazed at the ragged chasms in the cliff face and the scatter of sharp stone below. It was a scene she could have looked at for ever, drinking in the rugged beauty, the wildness of sea and wind and the dark dangerous rocks. The rush of the wind filled her ears, chasing the sadness from her soul and the fatigue from her bones. She was glad that she had asked Mr Boyle to stay by the coach. The poor man’s back ached more than he was willing to admit. Madeline had not missed the grimaces of pain when he thought that no one was looking. She was glad, too, that she had sent Betsy and John Hayley off to wander the ruins by themselves. If Madeline was right, she suspected that romance was brewing, and even if she had been staying in Cornwall she might soon be in need of a new personal maid. She turned her head and watched the young couple wander hand in hand through the remains. She swallowed down her own sadness and was glad for them. Her gaze fixed upon where the distant roll of waves met clear blue sky and she wondered what it was that Guy had brought with him to Trethevyn, besides an end to all of Madeline’s dreams.

  As if from nowhere, the wind whipped up one strong gust that pulled the bonnet from her head, tumbling it along the grassy pathway. Madeline leapt up, trying to catch the bonnet before it dropped over the cliff edge, but to no avail. She peered over, watching it swoop down the sheer rock face to meet the white swirl of waves below, tossed on the violent ebb and flow of water. Her feet stood close to the edge of the precipice. Too close, with the wind gusting as it was. She made to retreat. Someone grabbed at her arm. Madeline gave a small yelp of surprise, her feet stumbled and the firm grasp tightened, lifting her up, hauling her back.

  ‘Madeline!’ Lucien’s voice strained against her ear. ‘What the…?’ He clasped her against him and dragged her further inland.

  Madeline’s heart hammered hard against her breast, first from the fright she had just sustained in almost pitching down to join her bonnet, and now from the man whose arms were wrapped around her. Slowly the thudding subsided enough for her to hear the words he was saying.

  ‘Madeline,’ he whispered against the top of her head, then moved her back to drop kisses against her cheek, the tip of her nose, her chin. One hand cradled the nape of her neck, the other pressed against her back. ‘I thought I’d lost you,’ he murmured against her eyebrow. ‘Thank God…’ And then he found her lips and kissed her with a passion beyond anything that Madeline had ever known. Gentle, possessive, loving. As if he would never let her go. As if her nightmare of last night had never been. And in the meeting of their lips were all the words that they had not spoken. ‘Madeline,’ he said again and moved back to look into her eyes.

  Even through the dazzlement of surprise Madeline noticed the pallor of his face. ‘Lucien?’ Her fingers fluttered against his cheek in mounting concern, unsure of the response that they would meet.

  ‘I didn’t think…I wouldn’t have you lose your life over my foolish words, Madeline.’

  Madeline blinked up at him in confusion.

  ‘Forgive my shoddy treatment. I fear that I’d made too freely with the brandy.’ He reached and captured her fingers from his face, imprisoning them with great tenderness within his own, his voice suddenly gruff. ‘It’s not worth killing yourself over, Madeline.’

  Madeline suddenly realised what he thought. Her eyes widened and a rather embarrassed expression crossed her face. ‘It was just that the wind…my bonnet…I was only looking to see where the wind had taken it.’ She waited for his response.

  The bold pale eyes held hers. ‘Then you weren’t planning to leap from the cliff top?’

  She shook her head, inadvertently loosening more of the hairpins. The wind instantly took advantage and pulled what had started as a plain and tidy style into a mass of long blowing locks.

  ‘My pins!’ Madeline cried and bent to retrieve what she could.

  Lucien pulled her back up to face him. ‘Leave them.’ He ran his fingers through her hair, mussing it worse than ever. ‘I prefer it this way.’

  Madeline felt two spots of warmth grow on her cheeks.

  ‘I should place you across my knee and give you a thorough thrashing for giving me such a fright.’

  Madeline saw the twitch of his smile before it was lost.

  ‘But I’ve been too much of a brute of late. I shouldn’t have treated you as I did last night.’

  ‘What happened? Why were you so angry? You thought that I was searching for papers on your desk…for Farquharson.’ Her brow crinkled. ‘Why? What did Guy tell you?’

  ‘The news is not good, Madeline.’ The pale gaze held hers, watching, measuring. ‘Farquharson has a letter from you, pleading that he save you from your madman of a husband. It claims that our marriage was the result of forced abduction and rape.’

  ‘No!’ The word slipped loudly from Madeline’s tongue. ‘No,’ she said again, a little more quietly. ‘It’s a lie. I wrote no such letter.’

  ‘I’ve seen it with my own eyes. It’s written in your own hand, on paper printed with my crest and sealed with the Tregellas seal.’

  The accusation hung between them.

  ‘How can that be? It’s impossible!’

  ‘So you deny sending a letter to Farquharson?’ His eyes did not waver from hers.

  She paused. ‘No. I don’t deny that,’ she said slowly.

  Lucien felt the tension wrap around his heart and start to squeeze.

  ‘He wrote to me, you see, some weeks ago.’ Colour flooded her cheeks. ‘You were so worried about him, I thought it would only make matters worse to tell you.’

  Lucien said nothing, just waited, and all the while the ache in his chest continued to grow.

  ‘The letter is within the drawer of my bureau, if you wish to see it. Farquharson asked my forgiveness and said that he loved me.’ She saw something flit across Lucien’s eyes. Pain, hurt, anger? Madeline did not know. ‘And then he warned me of you. Told me the story of Sarah Wyatt, much as you did. Except that in his version, he accuses you of killing her. He offered to help me escape you, said I need only ask and he would help.’

  Lucien’s eyes were as pale a blue as ever she’d seen, the black outline of the iris and the darkness of the pupil lending them an unnaturally brilliant appearance. The thump of her heart sounded slow and steady in her chest. ‘So I wrote to him and told him that I knew his words for the lies they were and that the man I knew to be a murderer was not my husband. I asked him to leave us in peace.’ She did not mention what else she had said in those carefully penned words: that she loved Lucien, that she would never be sorry that she had agreed to marry him, that they were very happy together. ‘I gave the letter to John Hayley to take to the post office in the village.’

  ‘And you have never written anything else to him?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  They looked at
one another for a moment longer.

  ‘I believe you. I don’t know how he did it, but Farquharson wrote that letter, not you.’

  He saw relief colour her eyes, felt the tension slacken from her body.

  She slumped forward, resting her forehead against his chest and he knew that no actress could have feigned what he had seen in her face.

  ‘Let’s go home, Madeline,’ he said, and, placing his arm around her, led her towards the coach in the distance.

  Chapter Fourteen

  All was quiet at Trethevyn.

  Mrs Babcock saw the entwined hands of the Earl and his Countess as they entered the hallway and drew her own conclusion.

  Madeline blushed and tried to disengage her hand at the sight of the housekeeper, but Lucien was having none of it. He cast Madeline an intensely intimate look and retained her fingers firmly within his own.

  ‘Lord Varington has gone out for a ride,’ said Mrs Babcock, ‘I’ll be in the kitchen if I’m needed,’ and promptly left.

  ‘Then we’re all alone with the remainder of an afternoon to fill before my brother returns.’ His gaze dropped to her lips before returning to meet her eyes. ‘There are unfinished matters between us, Madeline, matters that should be resolved.’

  Madeline knew from the hunger of his gaze that it was not letters, or Farquharson, or even Guy of which her husband spoke. She felt the heat intensify as Lucien bent closer and touched his lips gently against hers. ‘Lucien,’ she murmured as he pulled back enough to look into her eyes.