“Thurgood. Thurgood recognized your coach. He knows I visited you last year, and he says you’re Will’s father. He says he knows you’re Will’s father, and, Darius, he’ll use that knowledge to take this baby from me.”
* * *
Childbirth was painful, but that pain was productive, bringing forth a precious new life. The suffering that engulfed Vivian in that comfortable traveling coach had no purpose and no end.
She cried while Darius held her, and then cried because he was holding her, the child tucked between them. Her tears were for William, for Darius, and for herself—most of them were for herself.
Darius passed her a handkerchief, one with his soothing, exotic scent. She let him take the child—perhaps the last time he’d hold his own son—and tried to sit up.
“I can hold you both, Vivvie.”
Vivvie. Nobody called her that, in just that caressing tone, except Darius.
“I’m sorry. I’m not typically lachrymose.” She would be apologizing for a lot before she got out of the coach.
“You are exhausted, William is dying, and your reptile of a former stepfather has overset you. Talk to me.”
How fierce he sounded. That fierceness had drawn her to him; it would let him hate her eventually. “I understand something now.”
He waited. He was ever patient with her.
“I understand how hard it was for you to turn away from me, to show me indifference and disdain because it was the only way you could protect me.” She glanced at the baby sleeping in the crook of Darius’s arm. “To protect the child.”
“Our child.” He spoke softly but not casually.
Vivian closed her eyes and inhaled Darius’s scent. The moment called for ruthlessness, not sentiment, and certainly not honest sentiments like Darius had just uttered.
“Thurgood has acquired literary aspirations. He is penning a tale about an aging lord’s young wife being taken advantage of by her husband and a dashing rake. He will share this tale with any number of publishers and scandal sheets. He is considering drafting a second version, about a young wife rescued by a noble old peer from a dire fate, only to play her husband false. When the truth of her selfish folly is revealed, all of Society condemns her, as well they should.”
She expected Darius to withdraw his arm. If anything, his hold became more secure. This suggested he had yet to grasp her point.
“Darius, William told me last night that his will is written such that whomever I marry in the first three months following William’s death will become Wilhelm’s guardian. If I fail to marry in that time, Able becomes the guardian by default. William is confident Able will not take the child from me, but I think—” She stopped. This was Darius. “I fear William underestimates the mischief Portia could wreak. She became quite close with Thurgood during her stay in London.”
A beat of quiet went by while the horses clip-clopped along. Vivian noticed they’d slowed to a sedate walk, indicating Darius had signaled the coachy at some point in her fit of the weeps.
“So you will permit Ainsworthy to choose your next husband, Vivian, is that it?”
Now his tone conveyed the detached consideration of a man who’d endured many beatings—all without flinching—while Vivian’s throat ached with more tears. The consequences Ainsworthy would bring down on them all if she married Darius were unthinkable, and yet Darius was the only man she could envision sharing her life with.
“Thurgood says it will be a decent match, and unless my husband sets me aside, I’m likely to share a household with my son. If it means I see the child for fifteen minutes before tea each day, Darius, if it means I get letters from him when he’s at school… I will not abandon my son. I cannot.”
“Our son.” He imbued the words with a touch more steel. “It seems you have become a lioness, Vivian.”
“I have become a mother.” Darius had given her that, and now she must refuse him even the crumbs of the paternal banquet due a child’s father.
More silence. The coach made yet another turn, confirming Vivian’s suspicion they were walking in a circle.
“I have been a whore, Vivian”—the chill in Darius’s voice was arctic—“and I have learned things plying my trade, so please heed me: your husband will be Thurgood’s creature entirely. Thurgood will hold the man’s vowels, his secrets, something, and through this husband of yours, all of your wealth and all of your happiness will rest in Thurgood’s hands.”
Darius paused and surveyed her with what looked like pity. “Your husband will resent that, and he will be the man to sire your other children. Count on that. He will couple with you because it is his right, and the only way he can compete with Thurgood’s influence under his own roof. This is how sexual commerce works in the hands of those who trade in such things.”
“You must not—”
He went on speaking with a precision and gravity that might have been gentle, except for the meaning of his words. “These men will control your fate, which may be your choice to make, but they will also control the welfare of an innocent child—his wealth, his happiness. We brought that child into the world, and his welfare is our responsibility.”
Ah, God. She had bargained for this. She had chosen Darius Lindsey because he would protect his loved ones, and now she would destroy him as none of his harpies ever could.
“Darius, listen to me. Thurgood already has that control. He saw me getting out of this coach when I left Surrey. He knows this coach, he can describe the brass fittings on the lamps, and now he knows the coach is yours. If I thwart him, he will ruin you, me, William, and the child’s entire life. I cannot allow that.”
“So what you want is for me to slink away, a dog whipped by Thurgood’s threats? A man who abandons the people entrusted to his care?”
She could not make her mouth form the word “yes,” not when it struck her like a thunderclap that Darius had prostituted himself to provide for John and the collection of castoffs that formed the staff at Averett Hill. There was nothing, nothing Darius would not do to protect his loved ones.
“This is how it will be, Vivian: Someday, years hence, you will manage to get word to me that I might see the boy playing in the park with his governess. After lurking like a smuggler awaiting the wrecker’s signal, I will have a few minutes to observe the child from a distance, and your husband will learn of it. You will not be punished directly—the child will be. Why do you think my father beat me so enthusiastically every time my mother danced with the wrong man?”
She turned her face into his shoulder, wishing she could bolt from the coach. The magnitude of the suffering he’d endured, the magnitude of the suffering he forecast, was unfathomable. “Then you must not lurk, and I must not signal you.”
He heaved up a sigh. She knew, from their first month together, the exact contours and rhythm of his sighs. She both hoped and feared that his sigh had held the beginning of capitulation, maybe not total—the looming loss must be grieved—though it was the start of a consideration of surrender.
Why did she feel only despair where relief ought to be? “You can tell the coachy to take us home, Darius. I think we’ve said all there is to say on the matter.” All they could bear to say.
He made no sign he’d heard her. He was instead regarding the baby, who’d whimpered with some baby-dream-induced distress.
“Hush, child.” Darius cradled the child closer and ran his nose over Will’s little cheek—when had she surrendered the baby into Darius’s embrace? “You’re safe. I’m here.”
A heart could break over and over. Vivian had known that, watching William miss his beloved spouse, day after day, night after night. She’d gained a deeper understanding of it since meeting Darius, and today heartbreak pressed in on her from all sides.
“You trusted me, Vivian, as the man who could hold confidences that would affect the life of an innocent child.” He glanced down at her, then back at the baby, his expression pensive. “You trusted me as your paramour. I think you trus
ted me as your friend—I hope you did.”
What was he about? “I did—I do.”
Another silence, while Vivian wished and wished and told herself to give up wishing once and for all.
“Do you recall a certain night?” He swallowed and glanced away, out the window to where the lovely streets of Mayfair were showing to good advantage on a mild fall day.
She knew immediately where his thoughts had gone. “I gave you pleasure. You barely allowed it.”
He nodded once. “That night, I could not allow it, because I was not worthy of such a gift. My shame was without limit, eating at me like a disease. As a sop to my pride—and isn’t it curious how shame and pride can get along so well?—you pretended you were taking liberties. I knew better.”
This had something to do with calling himself a prostitute and with a lurking accusation that Thurgood was going to back Vivian into the same role—the same fate.
“Go on.”
“You were not on a casual erotic adventure, Vivian. You were making love to me. You were stating, in unequivocal terms, that no matter what I thought of myself, you would hold me in higher regard. I wanted, I want, that regard. Your generosity, your stubbornness, your goodness have prompted all manner of changes in my life—hard changes, but changes for the good. I am determined to be worthy of your regard, and for this reason—”
He closed his eyes. His throat worked. Vivian wanted to stop his words, and yet he spoke his truth to her, a truth she rejoiced to hear.
“For this reason, I can abandon neither the child nor you to Thurgood’s avarice and perversity. You trusted me before Vivian, in many regards, but can’t you trust me as the father of your child?”
* * *
Vivian was watching his mouth, probably marveling at the fancies a grown man could spew when he was desperate and holding his only child for what could be the last time.
“What are you asking me, Darius? I would trust you with my life, and with Will’s. I think William has done exactly that, but Thurgood is depraved. My mother couldn’t see it, but he forged her signature on a power of attorney as casually as you’d scrawl your regrets to a Venetian breakfast.”
And that was the man Vivian would entrust herself to for the sake of the child?
“I have consulted the finest legal minds in the City, Vivian. There is nothing Thurgood can do to affect Will’s claim on the title. William posted a birth notice in every newspaper in the capital, signed birth announcements with his own hand, sent personal correspondence to his friends and familiars rejoicing at the birth of his son.”
“How do you know this?”
“He wrote to me too, couching the letter as a request to serve as the boy’s godfather, based on the friendship and respect earned in all our varied dealings.” Those were William’s words: your honorable comportment in all our varied dealings. Darius carried the letter with him everywhere and read it frequently.
“William said I was not to worry. I wish he’d told me.”
Would she have agreed to such a letter? It argued loudly for allowing Darius to at least visit his godson, if nothing else.
“William does not want this child raised by a stranger of Thurgood’s choosing.” He had no right to add his own protestation, though it killed him to keep the words behind his teeth.
“We are going in circles, Darius. Angela and Jared will wonder if you’ve abducted me.”
The thought had fleeting appeal. Darius thumped on the roof twice, and the horses shifted into a trot. He resettled his arm around Vivian’s shoulders. “You’ll allow me to deal with Thurgood?”
She was quiet for so long he wondered if she’d answer. Her gaze was on the child, who—bless the boy—had slept for the entire journey. “You love that child, Darius Lindsey. You just met him today, and you love him.”
He loved the child and the child’s mother. The two loves were tangled up, reinforcing each other and lighting dim places in a soul that had dwelt too long in shadows. To say such a thing to her in those words would be unfair, also unwise.
“I tried not to, Vivvie. You were a new roof. Will was fresh marl for all my pastures, and security for John. I find I am not as resolute in these matters as I ought to be.”
A hint, the barest dawn-streak of a smile graced her features then faded. She spoke slowly, her gaze returning to the baby. “We have some time. William yet lives. Thurgood will do nothing while my husband is alive, and Dr. Garner assured me it’s quite possible William will make a full recovery.”
No, it was not. The handwriting and content of last month’s letter from William had conveyed waning strength of will as much as waning health.
“We can but hope.” That from a man who regarded hope as the last monster to escape from Pandora’s box, at least until recently.
“No pistols or swords, Darius. Thurgood will not observe any rules of fair conduct. He’ll have you stabbed in the back in some dark alley, and then be all sympathy and smiles at your bad fortune.”
“He has no honor. I’ve learned to recognize the type.” And he’d learned how to deal with them. “Promise me you won’t be alone with him, Vivian. Not in your own front parlor, not on the steps of the church, nowhere. If he comes to call, then the baby is fussy and you cannot spare a moment from the nursery. Promise me.”
The expression on her features reminded him of the day he’d stood behind her when she’d faced the mirror, forcing herself to truly see the hideous, calf-scours dress. “I will be from home, I will not let him accost me, and I will give you some time, Darius, to deal with him. I will give you whatever time William can spare us.”
The coach bumped around the turn into the alley that led to the Longstreet mews, while Darius tried to content himself with a partial victory. Vivian did not want to put herself in Thurgood’s hands, clearly. She wanted Darius to send the bounder packing, but she had to be a lioness in her decisions. Darius had only as long as William lived to find a way to rescue the lady and the child from the grasp of unrelenting evil.
As it happened, this meant he had no time at all.
* * *
Muriel’s death had been different, or maybe each death was different. When Muriel had died, Vivian’s grief had been absorbed in concern for William and his sons. Vivian had been the one fretting over the surviving spouse, the one trying to tend to logistics so Muriel’s family could manage their bereavement.
Now Vivian was stumbling through the day, seeing all the places William wasn’t, hearing the silences that should have been filled with his voice or the sound of his shuffling gait. Letters of condolence poured in, and Vivian would have sat staring at them except that Darius’s sister had shown up and taken Vivian in hand.
Leah, Countess of Bellefonte, embraced Vivian with the sturdy snugness Vivian had associated exclusively with Darius, whom she’d seen only fleetingly in the week since the christening. They’d arrived at Longstreet house to find Dilquin quietly distrait, William having slipped away during the christening itself.
Darius had managed the immediate, unthinkable logistics, instructed the servants to find the black armbands and air the crepe, ordered the death notice delayed by a day so as not to overshadow the christening, and arranged for Angela to come to Vivian’s side.
And then he had disappeared, though Leah assured her he would attend the final services out in Oxfordshire.
This was some comfort, but not enough. Not when twice Vivian had remained above stairs while Dilquin had turned Thurgood away. The strictures applicable to early mourning meant she wouldn’t be venturing onto the street such that he could waylay her in public, but even those strictures expected a woman to attend services.
Thurgood had already accosted her in a house of worship once, putting Vivian in mind of all the times the women Darius so loathed had come upon him without warning.
How had he borne it? How had he borne it without doing them bodily harm?
Vivian missed Darius terribly with a low, ferocious ache that included fear
for his welfare and abject terror regarding the future. She missed William, too, even as she admitted relief that his suffering was at an end, and greater relief that Darius had sent Lady Leah and her exceptionally robust husband to stand watch over Vivian—and over the baby. From a woman, there was a different kind of comfort, and Vivian treasured the generosity of it.
Lady Leah made lists: There were notes to write, flowers to order, notices to send out, and crepe to arrange about the house on mirrors, portraits, and windows. Leah also oversaw the transformation of Vivian’s wardrobe, and prevented the entire lot from being dyed an ugly, flat black.
She gave the servants orders Vivian could only guess at, and had Vivian’s trunks packed for the journey to Longchamps, where William would be buried with his wife and sons.
* * *
“This is perfect.”
Thurgood Ainsworthy looked over the letter supposedly sent by Mr. Able Springer, though the hand was Portia’s.
“Did you say something, Good?” His wife rolled over and blinked innocent blue eyes at him, but at thirty-three, Ariadne was showing some wear. Fine lines radiated out from her eyes when the morning sun hit her face, and a softness would soon creep in under her chin.
Ah, well, another year or two and Thurgood could be looking for a bride elsewhere, his pockets full of the settlements Vivian would bring him when he sold her to her next spouse. A cit this time, or a nabob. Some grasping fellow who needed the cachet of a pretty, fertile, titled wife.
Thurgood set the letter aside and settled back among the pillows of a truly enormous bed. On more than one occasion—Ariadne occasionally visited her sister in Hampshire—Thurgood had been joined in that bed by no less than three other women at the same time. A man needed ingenuity to keep them all occupied, and Thurgood prided himself on an abundance of ingenuity.
He ran a hand over Ariadne’s plump breast. “Would you mind if Vivian came to stay with us for a bit once William’s will has been read? She’s a new widow, and all the Longstreet properties hold sad memories for her. The boy will likely be in Able Springer’s keeping, and Vivian will be at loose ends.”
Darius: Lord of Pleasures ll-1 Page 27
