The Beloved One

by Danelle Harmon

  Lucien had been previously content to suffer Charles's anger, but now his expression hardened. "You are judging your brother most unfairly, Charles, and I will not tolerate your abusing him in this manner. He would be much wounded if he were to hear you speak of him so. I know that Gareth was once irresponsible and dissolute, but he has made much of himself, Charles. He is a loving husband and a playful, adoring father, and his days of debauchery are far behind him. Go ahead and be angry, as you have every right to be, but do not be angry with him. If you must assign blame to anyone, assign it where it is due. That is, assign it to me."

  "Yes, you and your infernal meddling! I hope you're damned proud of yourself!"

  "I was — until I got your letter saying you were not dead, after all. But really, Charles. Even you must admit that Gareth, with his light heart and carefree spirit, is much better suited to Juliet, who is as serious-minded as you are. My only regret is that something has reduced you to this pathetic wreckage I see standing before me, and I was not there to help you. But as sorry as I feel for you, Charles, I will tell you this. If you do anything to sabotage your brother's and Juliet's newfound happiness, I assure you I will be most irate indeed."

  "Don't be ridiculous," Charles muttered, crushed that Lucien would even think him capable of doing such a thing. "I may be a pathetic wreckage, but I still have a heart."

  Lucien gazed for a long moment into his brandy. "Do you?" he asked quietly. "I wonder, then, why you allowed the family that loves you so, to believe all this time that you were dead."

  The words were softly spoken, without rancor, without accusation.

  "I know it stings your pride that the brother you always pitied for his inadequacies is now happily married to your Juliet," Lucien continued. "I know that you are shocked and angry and upset, and I will not judge you harshly for that." He looked up then, turning that ruthless black stare on Charles, and this time, there was the faintest of tremors about his severe and unforgiving mouth. "But do you think that these past eighteen months caused us any less anguish than what you must feel right now?"

  "No," Charles admitted, walking slowly toward the window. "I have made a mess of things. I, the perfect, invincible, oh-so-beloved one, have bungled things, and bungled them badly. I do not expect nor deserve your compassion —"

  "Please, my dear Charles, dispense with the self-pity. It does not become you."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "The brother I knew would never behave this way."

  Charles set down his brandy, his eyes glittering with anger. "The brother you knew is dead. Dead. And I am in no mood to discuss any of this. Good evening." With a short bow to Amy, he strode angrily from the room. She rose to her feet, determined to follow him, but the duke raised his hand.

  "Sit, sit, my dear child. Your Beloved One needs time to sort out a few things, don't you think?"

  Amy gazed into those fascinating, all-knowing eyes, and felt a sudden flutter of nervousness. "There is nothing between your brother and I," she murmured, even though she knew her sudden flush of color betrayed her.

  "No?"

  Amy gulped. "No. Well . . . that is to say, there is no future between us. There cannot be. I . . . came here with him so that I could learn how to be a lady's maid."

  The duke raised one brow. Amy's insides began to shrink. He looked at her for a long, contemplative moment, letting his hooded stare flicker down the length of her body; then he turned to gaze out the window into the night. He was an incredibly handsome man, Amy decided. And a rather intimidating one as well. She sensed that there was much more going on behind those black, black eyes than anyone could guess.

  "Do you think he loved Juliet?" he asked, almost conversationally.

  Amy thought very carefully about her answer. "I think, Your Grace, that he convinced himself that he did. He got her with child. He felt obliged to marry her. He's angry now, I think, because his pride has suffered a terrible blow. But for a man who professed to love someone, he didn't speak of her all that much . . . and, well . . ."

  She was turning quite red, and she knew it.

  "And, well, what?" prompted the duke, turning around.

  "And, well . . . he — he kissed me, in those rare moments when he let down his guard. He was good and kind and protective of me when everyone else, even my own family, would never have exerted such efforts. And every so often, I used to hear him talking in his sleep," she said, hoping that this austere, omniscient man would not judge his brother too harshly. "While he was convalescing, he slept on a pallet downstairs by the fire, you see . . . I used to watch over him at night, though he never knew it. He used to talk in his sleep, Your Grace, and . . . it was not Juliet that he spoke of."

  "It was you."

  Amy bowed her head, reddening. "Yes."

  "And do you love him?"

  She blushed wildly. "Oh, yes, Your Grace, I love him more than he could ever love himself, and I would do anything to bring him back to the man I know he must once have been, anything to make him forgive himself for the mistakes that he has made, anything to make him accept that he's not the god of perfection that he tries so hard to be, but a human, just like the rest of us."

  "God of perfection. My, my, you know him well, don't you? If he is still that, my dear, then perhaps he has not sustained as much damage as I had feared." The duke smiled, but behind the gesture was a discerning sharpness that made Amy feel as though he could look right through her and know every thought that went through her head. "Are you in any hurry to get to bed tonight, Miss Leighton?"

  "Not if I can help you find a way to help Charles."

  "My sentiments exactly, and help me, you will. But first some supper for you," he said, tugging on a bellpull, "and then we shall talk. Something very terrible must have happened to my brother to turn him into what I saw tonight, and you, being the perceptive young woman I think you to be, are surely the best person to fill me in on just what has brought him to such a deplorable state."

  "Starting with the events of April, 1775?"

  "Starting before that, if need be."

  "Then I'm afraid it's going to be a very long evening, Your Grace."

  Again, that benign little smile. "Ah. But my brother is worth it, don't you think?"

  Chapter 20

  The dining room had gone as quiet as a tomb after Lucien had, thankfully, dragged Charles out.

  "My God," Andrew said, speaking for them all. His face, in contrast to the dark auburn hair that framed it, was still a bit pale. "I wonder what the devil happened to him?"

  "He looked terrible," Gareth agreed.

  "And it is totally unlike him to carry on so," said Nerissa, putting down her napkin. She rose to her feet. "I must go to him."

  "No. Let Lucien handle it," Gareth said, waving her back down into her chair. "After all, it was his meddling that brought on such a complicated mess."

  None of them voiced what was also uppermost in their minds: just who was the woman with the dark eyes and high, striking cheekbones?

  And then Nerissa, noting that Juliet had gone silent, reached out and touched her sister-in-law's arm. "Are you all right, Juliet?"

  Juliet, who had lost all appetite, nodded. Tears burned beneath her eyelids, but she would not, could not, let them fall. The husband that she so loved had suffered enough heartache over the years by being constantly compared to his perfect, saintly older brother. If she cried now, he might think that she was crying because she wanted Charles — when nothing was further from the truth.

  She had not seen Charles for nearly two years. She had loved him, once, and she had loved him deeply, but when he'd charged into the room she had felt nothing. No. That was not true. She had felt something, and it was the complete opposite from the almost worshipful admiration that she had once harbored for him.

  Pity.

  The tears grew closer. Oh, don't let them fall. For Gareth's sake, don't let them fall. If she sobbed, it was because pregnant women often did, she told herself. If she
sobbed, it was because the anguish she had seen in her former lover's face had totally annihilated what had remained of her self-control. And if she cried, it would be for Charles himself, for all she could think of was the steely-eyed, confident British officer he had once been, so godlike and untarnished up there on his horse as he'd drilled his troops, so above the cares of the everyday world. Such a man might as well have died and been buried at Concord, for the one who had pushed his way into the dining room tonight was a shadow of that proud English officer who'd been so full of confidence and elegant aplomb. Oh Charles, Charles . . . what has happened to you?

  "Juliet?"

  Gareth must've seen the telltale glassiness in her eyes. He reached down and gently, drew her to her feet. "Shhh, my love. None of us could have been prepared for what we saw tonight, least of all you. I know Lucien warned us that he might not be all that he had been, but you have every right to cry for him . . . We all do."

  She turned her face against his chest. "But I don't want you to think my tears are because I want him back, or that I have regrets about which brother I actually married."

  He cradled her to him, tenderly. "I don't."

  "It's just that seeing him the way he is now . . . it has upset me. I was not prepared . . . Oh, Gareth. Please know that what I once felt for your brother is dead. It is you, you, that I love."

  "I know that, dearest." He tipped her head up and wiped away her tears with the pad of his thumb. "Come. You are upset, and I think it is best we go on up to bed." Reaching down, he picked Charlotte up and held her to his chest. Juliet looked at him and felt a raw ache at the back of her throat. And what would become of their fourteen-month-old baby? Would Gareth have to give the daughter that he'd loved as his own back to the brother that had made, but never even seen her? Would Lucien come down on their side or Charles's? Would Charles's return threaten all that they both held most dear?

  No, Juliet vowed. Charlotte, no matter who had sired her, was Gareth's daughter. Gareth's! Gareth had nearly lost his life for the two of them, and there was no question in Juliet's mind about who her little girl belonged to.

  She moved close to her husband and, drying her tears, allowed him to lead her from the room.

  ~~~~

  Gareth, sending away Juliet's maid, undressed his wife, helped her into bed, and stayed with her, gently stroking her hair, until she finally fell asleep.

  And then he rose and, determined to tell Charles just what the lay of the land was, went looking for him.

  Gareth's heart was in turmoil. He had always respected and admired his brother, had always thought him pretty much infallible. And who wouldn't? There had been nothing that Charles could not do. No problem he could not solve, no challenge that was too daunting for either his mental, physical, or emotional capabilities.

  But now . . .

  Charles was not in his old apartments. He was not in the Gold Parlour, the dining room where Andrew and Nerissa still sat talking quietly, or in the library. But Lucien was, and as Gareth entered the domain of his brother the duke, he saw that Lucien was standing quietly at the window, gazing out over the night-enshrouded downs toward the twinkling lights of Ravenscombe in the valley below.

  "Hello, Gareth," he said, knowing, without even turning, that it was Gareth who had entered. "I have been expecting you."

  Six months ago, Gareth would've taken offense at such words and bristled. But now . . . Well, he'd changed a lot since meeting and marrying Juliet. Now that he had an estate to oversee, business headaches, and responsibilities toward not only his wife and daughter, but his home, his tenants, and his parish, crops to put in, livestock to purchase, a community image to maintain and of course, his challenging and varied duties as an elected Member of Parliament, he had more respect than resentment for Lucien, who had always managed to handle those sort of concerns, and then some, without so much as a second thought. But Gareth had not always respected his brother so. There had been a time not so long ago that he had hated him. Of course, he didn't want Lucien meddling in his business any more, but over the past six months he had come to understand his brother, to comprehend the reasons why he was the way he was, and to see him as the infallible being that most people who knew him, perceived him to be.

  Lucien would straighten Charles out.

  Gareth was sure of it.

  He went to the decanter and poured himself a drink. "So," he said, leaning against the mantle. "What are you going to do about him, Luce?"

  Lucien remained unmoving, a tall, slender figure in black. "Me?"

  "Yes, you. You 'fixed' me, surely you can fix Charles as well."

  "Hmm. Yes. I am not sure, Gareth, if I shall do anything."

  "You have to! He's a wreck!"

  Lucien turned around. "Do you think I don't know that? But if I had not manipulated events so that you felt obligated to marry Juliet, he might not be such an emotional mess. I am not sure it is wise of me to interfere this time."

  Gareth shook his head and gave a disbelieving little laugh. "Really, Luce. Can you honestly stand there and tell me this and expect me to believe that you won't interfere? You are very good at arranging circumstances and events so that things come out exactly as you would wish. You are very good at finding the strengths and weaknesses in people and then using them to bring about desired results. You are very good at playing games with people's heads, and doing it in such a way that they never even know what you're up to. If anyone can help Charles, you can."

  "I am not so sure of that, Gareth. Despite the warning in his letter, I must confess that I did not expect him to be so damaged. Miss Leighton told me everything, you know. He was seriously injured at Concord, then left for dead. Her brother brought him home. They trepanned him — ghastly thought, that, especially as the surgery was performed by a colonial doctor. And when he came to his senses, it was only to find himself completely blind, dependent upon people he thought were his enemy, and sadly, almost completely lacking in that spirit of self-confidence with which we have always associated him."

  Lucien gazed thoughtfully down into his brandy, swirling it a little in his glass. "He had Miss Leighton write letters to Juliet, to his commander, and to us, but they were intercepted and destroyed by her two sisters before they could be posted. Apparently they had designs upon Charles, and sought to keep him neatly trapped with them in the hopes of winning him for themselves. They fabricated responses from all of us that were guaranteed to hurt him, to turn him away from everyone he loved, never to trust anyone again."

  "And he believed such rot?! Why didn't he try to pursue things and see for himself how we all felt?"

  "He believed it because he could not see to read the false letters; they were read to him either by Miss Leighton, or the sisters who had fabricated them." Lucien was silent for a moment. "And as far as his failure to pursue these matters, I suspect that that is what he cannot live with."

  "You don't think it's the fact that I've married Juliet? That she's my wife, not his?"

  "No, Gareth. I don't believe that's the problem at all. Your brother, who never put a foot wrong in his life, has not only put a foot wrong, he's walked straight off the damned path. He is in uncharted territory, and his only companion is guilt at having made such a botch of things. He is a perfectionist. He is not accustomed to, and cannot accept, the fact that he is as flawed as everyone else. That he makes mistakes just like the rest of us." Lucien took a sip of his brandy. "Of course he's angry, but it is not because Juliet is married to you. No, I suspect that he is genuinely angry with himself. Or with me. But not with you. Never with you." He smiled. "After all, are you not the brother he always loved best?"

  "And now I'm the brother who has betrayed him."

  "No, Gareth. You picked up the pieces of the mess he made. And I suspect that he just can't tolerate the idea that you, the brother he last knew as irresponsible and dissolute, the one he tried to teach by example and take under his wing, have been the one to fix his mistakes. Though Charles loves you,
I do believe that he always pitied you in some small way, especially as it seemed destined that you were never to make anything of yourself whereas he was destined from the start to go far. You know as well as I how much he hated the comparisons between the two of you, his guilt that he always came out on top. And now look. Now you are the one who's a Member of Parliament, who has an estate, who has a wife and daughter and more admiration than you know what to do with. You're the one who has everything that he once had . . . whereas now, he's the one at the bottom looking up. Now he's the one who is pitied and despaired of. For someone like himself, can you not see how such treatment would completely demoralize him?"

  Gareth nodded, slowly.

  "And to complicate matters even further, there's Miss Leighton. She cared for him when he was ill, gave him some sense of independence and worth, and captured his heart, though I daresay he may not realize that, and certainly won't admit it."

  "Guilt over supposedly betraying Juliet?"

  "Of course."

  "And what does she think of him?"

  "My dear Gareth. Charles may be broken, but he is still handsome, gallant, and kind — enough to make any young lady sigh with wanting. As she strove to give him dignity and independence when he had neither, so he strove to give her confidence in herself, and to defend her from a family that, from all accounts, quite despised her. What do you think she thinks of him?"

  "Given that she followed him across the Atlantic, I should think she's quite in love with him," Gareth said, wryly. "I should also think that, because she's a commoner, and because Charles has been engaged since birth to Lady Katharine, you will crush any hopes of a romantic union between them."

  "On the contrary," Lucien said smoothly. "For one thing, Lady Katherine has recently accepted an offer from Viscount Bisley, so her engagement to our brother is off. Furthermore, I have learned a thing or two about American woman since Juliet came into all our lives. Amy Leighton is exactly what Charles needs, and I will do all in my power to get them together."