If He's Tempted

by Hannah Howell

  Brant watched the man cross the street and climb into his carriage. Inside were Olympia’s street boys and he returned their waves. Brant wondered if Orion was nursing a few I-could-haves concerning how Giles had been treated. Then he realized the man probably was, but had the sense to shed them as useless.

  “Clean my heart,” he muttered as he told his driver to take him home and climbed into his carriage. He had a faint idea of what needed to be done now but was not sure how successful he would be. If it was the only way to make Olympia legally his, however, he would work until he got it right. And then he would go and get her and she had better have meant it when she said she would marry him without hesitation for he would allow her none.

  “Are you certain that was the right thing to do?” asked Enid as the carriage left the city and headed toward Myrtledowns.

  Olympia sighed and rested her head back against the squabs. “Yes. It is. I thought it over and over and over. I know he loves me and that, by the way, is the most marvelous of feelings.” She smiled when Enid nodded. “But he is allowing guilt over so much to eat at him, day after day, and that will be a slow poison to whatever we might be able to share. He has to shed it.”

  “I suppose you are right. In a way, it would be like having the ghost of some other woman in your bed. He is still tied to his Faith because of guilt.”

  “Exactly. She will always be in his heart. I know that. I can accept that. But, because he will not accept that he did no wrong there, that he could not know that a vicar, her father and a highly respected man, would lie to him, he holds himself responsible for her death. That keeps her chained in his heart and makes it hard for me, for Ilar, for any children he and I could be blessed with, to find our place.

  “And because the guilt appears to come from his inability to protect everyone close to him all the time and from everything,” she nodded in agreement with Enid’s scornful noise, “he could act in ways that slowly strangled the love I feel for him.”

  “Ah, of course.” Enid nodded. “For you to tie yourself to a man who will hunch over you, watching your every move, and perhaps restricting you in any way, would be pure poison to what you feel for him. He would slowly squeeze the love, and life, right out of you.”

  “Better a little pain now than a lot later, and pain that could extend to whatever children we share. I can but pray that he knows what needs to be done, does it, and comes after me.”

  “How long will you give him to come after you?”

  “Are you insinuating that I will do something if he does not?”

  “No, I know you will do something. So—how long does he have?”

  “Two months and then I will hunt him down.”

  Brant looked around his home at Fieldgate and suddenly had a bad feeling. He had thought about it before but forgotten the hard work he had done in the past three weeks consuming all his energy and thought. It had not been easy to bring to justice the ones who had shared and profited from his mother’s crimes but he had done it. Now he carefully studied his house and knew that every place in it would carry some memory of his debauched ways. He had not done anything to anyone in the master suite or the mistress’s bedchamber but there was hardly any other place Olympia could touch that would not give her some vision of the past he really did not want her to see. It was bad enough that she knew what he had been up to for the last few years.

  He marched off to his library and quickly penned a note to Argus. The man knew what Brant had been doing for the last few years as well so would not be surprised by the request. Brant just prayed that, amongst all those gifted Wherlockes and Vaughns, there was someone who knew how to dim or vanquish all those little memories staining the beds, walls, and elsewhere. When he brought Olympia here, and he would, he wanted the house to be so clean she could touch everything. Any memories that would linger in the air or on the furniture would be ones that he and she made.

  Once he sent off the message, he went to work on hiring new staff. He and Agatha could be served just fine with the ones that had been left after he had cleared out all his mother’s spies and allies but he would be adding more to the household soon. His determination to ready his house for the bride he meant to have consumed his attention well into the evening. It was not until he was alone, sitting in his neglected garden sipping some cool cider, that he finally turned his mind to the other thing he had to accomplish, cleaning his heart.

  It hurt, almost more than he cared to endure, but he did as Orion suggested. He relived it all from the moment he had found poor Faith’s body to Olympia being shot. Every painful, gut-wrenching moment. He let all the what-ifs parade through his mind and did his best to look at them with only logic, no emotion. It was not until he felt a small hand on his shoulder and was handed a delicate, lace-trimmed handkerchief that he realized he was weeping.

  “Sorry,” he muttered as he wiped the tears from his cheeks.

  Agatha sat down next to him. “Does Olympia not love you?”

  “Oh, yes, she does. She said so many times.”

  “Then what is breaking your heart?”

  “I did as that rogue Orion told me to do. I have just relived all that went wrong, all the things that hurt people I cared for such as you. It was not easy.”

  She slid her arm through his and rested her head against his shoulder. “I can but imagine. Did it work?”

  Brant took a long moment to look inside of himself. His heart ached but also felt lighter. He could even think of Faith and feel no more than a slight twinge of regret, not the gut-clenching grief and guilt that had always had him reaching for a bottle or a woman before. He accepted, he realized. He accepted it all. There was no sudden torrent of possibilities where he might have changed fate raining through his mind anymore. The only thing he still felt guilt over, and it was a very slight one, was when Olympia had been shot. He suspected that was still too fresh in his mind to be properly accepted.

  “Yes, it did. I shall have to thank the man. Perhaps next time we need a carriage, I will try to make certain we do not steal his.” He smiled when she giggled.

  “I am glad it worked. I suspect you feel a great deal better as well.”

  “That I do. Much lighter of heart. I did not understand at first but now I do. I had to let it go.”

  Agatha kissed his cheek. “Yes, you did. And Faith?”

  He rested his cheek against her hair and sighed. “And Faith. I need to say good-bye to her. I thought I had but I had not. Not completely. I clung to her as the symbol of all the failings I felt I had.”

  “You are not perfect, dearest brother, but you are no failure. You just tripped a little.”

  He sat up and grinned at her. “A very delicate and pleasant way to say what I did. We can just ignore the part where, in tripping just a little, I fell flat on my face.” He laughed along with her and then stood, helping her to her feet. “I am to bed and you should be making your way to bed as well. I need to go somewhere in the morning. I may be gone for a while.”

  “To Olympia’s?”

  “Not yet. I need my house cleansed and I need to say that good-bye to Faith. I suspect she has been waiting for it for a long time.”

  The graveyard beside the church was beautiful. The vicar’s son took excellent care of it. Brant was pleased and knew that, very soon, one of the sons would replace the father and the last of the ones who had wronged Faith would be gone. Perhaps, he mused as he walked up to Faith’s grave, Peter, who cared so well for the graveyard, would like to become his gardener.

  He knelt on the grass and placed the bouquet of flowers he had brought up against the headstone. Poor Faith. She had been so young, so innocent. He could see her so easily at times, but those times grew less and less. She had been his first taste of love but he had realized on the ride here that she had not really been the love that touched his soul; not like Olympia did.

  Brant had no doubt that he and Faith could have been happy together, raised a family and gone along quite smoothly, with him
never realizing that something was missing. Simply being without Olympia for almost a month was as if someone had ripped out a piece of his heart. She would never be a sweet, obedient bride as Faith would have been, nor one who would always hide behind her man. Olympia was a woman a man had at his side, and his back if he needed it.

  “Ah, Faith, you should have had many more years than were granted you. You did not deserve the betrayal your father dealt you, or the death you suffered. I also wronged you in the way I believed you would betray me with another man and for that I ask your forgiveness. It was like burr under my saddle for years but I have removed it. Yes, perhaps I should have asked a question or two. Yes, perhaps I should have tried to hunt you down and demand the reasons for why you left me as I would have soon seen that something was wrong. But your father was a vicar and I believed him as I now see most everyone else would have. So, I ask your forgiveness for my lapse in trust.

  “I will also ask your forgiveness for not letting you go. I thought I had and Penelope said you had left, but I still clung to you. I fed my guilt with your memory. I do not know if that troubled your rest at all, but now I do set you free. Utterly. Completely. Find that rest you deserve, love.”

  With his finger, he lightly traced her name etched in the headstone. “I will say that, if we had wed, we would have been happy. I know it. I did love you. I would have been a faithful husband and we would have had beautiful children. Yet, I have discovered that there are many depths to love. I have a new love now and her name is Olympia. She is in my heart so deeply that I feel as if a part is missing when she is not by my side. I think, although you and she are very different, that you would approve. I would like to think of you smiling down on us, pleased that we have found each other.”

  “I suspect she is, m’lord.”

  Brant stood up and brushed off his pants before shaking Peter’s hand. Faith’s brother had grown and fully become the man he had seen when he had brought Faith’s body home that day. The young man had kept a very watchful eye on his father to be certain the man did no more harm to his own children. It would not be long before the old man died for he had drunk himself nearly to death. It would not take many more drinks to finish the job. Brant would have removed him as vicar but he had not wanted Faith’s name tainted by anything that might have emerged during such a removal.

  “Do you really?” he asked as they both looked down at the grave.

  “Yes, that was our Faith. Kind and generous. This was a waste. It is something none of the rest of us have ever forgiven him for no matter how the good book speaks of forgiving. It is not possible.”

  Brant patted the man on the shoulder. “I was recently told to cleanse my heart. I carried a lot of guilt.”

  “For this? This was not your fault.”

  “No, it was not. As were a lot of other things not my fault. It is also not yours. I think perhaps you may suffer a bit of what I did.”

  “And just how did you clean your heart, m’lord?”

  “I relived it all, all that caused me to feel guilty, and it was hell to do so, but it works. It is much akin to working a splinter out only you work it out of your heart and not your foot.”

  “I shall give that a try then, m’lord, for it would be good to have a clean heart again. My father will die soon, within the week, I believe.”

  “Do you want to take over his place as vicar?”

  “No, but my brother does. He may be too young, being barely twenty, but if there was a way to hold the place open for him . . .”

  “See how the people in your congregation feel, Peter. They will let you know if they think your brother needs a bit more aging. Depending upon what they say, we will decide what to do. But you do not wish the post.”

  “I am willing to hold it for him until he is old enough but, no, I do not want to be a vicar. I do not deal as well with people as one must to be a good one.” He looked around the graveyard. “This is what I like. The open. Working with the earth to bring out the beauty of it.”

  Brant grinned. “Enough to become the head gardener at Fieldgate? I know it is not the best position to offer a vicar’s son.”

  “As soon as we know whether I must stay here a while longer or not, I will be at your door. I mean, yes, thank you, m’lord. If naught else, I can use your gardens to train myself for, perhaps something a little grander. But, yes, I would love to be your gardener.”

  “Head gardener.”

  Peter nodded and then excused himself. Brant could tell by the way the young man was racing toward the vicarage that he had the need to tell someone the good news. It was not the best position for the son of a vicar but Brant was pleased that Peter would take it, at least for a while. He had the touch, he thought as he looked around. Perhaps he would also see that the young man made the acquaintance of some of the ones now famous for the design of gardens at many a country house.

  He bent and kissed the top of the headstone. “Rest in peace, my love. You deserve it.”

  By the time Brant got back to Fieldgate the next day, he found his home a little crowded with what appeared to be nearly a dozen women. Agatha quickly dragged the eldest of the group over to him. It took but one look for Brant to know he had a large crowd of Wherlockes in his house. He prayed they were the answer to his letter to Argus.

  “This is Lady Honey Vaughn,” said Agatha, who rapidly introduced the others so quickly, Brant hoped he was never pressed to recall their names. “They say Argus sent them to clean the house. I am not sure what that means except to know it does not include any use of mops or brooms.”

  Lady Vaughn looked up at him from her diminutive height and blinked her big brown eyes. “We have been given some very nice rooms, fed well, and will begin work soon. This is a very dirty place, m’lord,” she added with a scowl that would have done any scolding mother proud.

  “I know, m’lady, which is why I am in such great need of your skills as well as those of your companions.”

  “It is also why Argus said I should bring as many of my like as I could find. I scoffed at his insistence that I would need a small army, but I see now that he was right. And, you are right. Our Olympia could never have been happy in this place. The very fact that you asked for us to come here before she did almost excuses the way you have so sullied the energy in this place.”

  Brant murmured his apology and then watched as Lady Honey Vaughn led her small army up the stairs, announcing loudly that they would start in the attic. When a petite blonde said she did not see what a man could get up to up there, Lady Honey informed her that this particular man seemed to have gotten up to something everywhere else so why not up there. Brant could feel himself blushing but fought his embarrassment, even when he glanced at Agatha to find her trying vainly to smother her giggles.

  “Well, at least that shall be done soon,” he said and started toward his library.

  Agatha followed. “It is probably best that you were not here when they first arrived. Lady Vaughn was quite, er, vocal. It took awhile for her to accept the, um, immensity of the work before her.”

  When Agatha flopped down in a chair near the fireplace and began to peel with laughter, his embarrassment began to ease. That did not mean he would not stop wanting to hit Argus over the head with something hard and heavy for his remarks about how an army would be needed. He had sent what Brant had asked him to and for that he would be eternally grateful.

  “She is such a powerful little lady,” said Agatha as she finally stopped laughing.

  “She did seem to be. I do not suppose they told you how they would do it.”

  “They did but I am not sure I really understood. There will be some smells although she assured me they will not be unpleasant ones. Something about needing a little smoke and incense and herbs.” Agatha shrugged. “She was talking so fast as she marched through the house with all the other ladies trailing after her, that I did not really think I could ask her questions.”

  “She did seem to be a woman who would not like to
be interrupted.”

  Brant sat down at his desk and looked around. He was anxious for them to clean this room for he could still see Olympia’s face when she had leaned against the wall by the fireplace. He would like to think that was the only memory that needed clearing away. Then again, with the amount of drink he had consumed at times, he could not claim to be certain about much of anything he had done and where he had done it.

  “No. She did think that they would need two, mayhap three days to do it properly.”

  “Then I shall make my plans accordingly.”

  “And what might those plans be?” she asked but was grinning at him.

  “To go and collect my bride of course. First I shall need a special license for she said, once my heart was clean, she would marry me without hesitation and I mean to make certain she does.”

  Chapter 20

  Olympia sighed as she stared out the window of her bedchamber. It overlooked the drive up to the house, a drive she had spent far too many hours staring at over the last month. She had thought waiting two months for him to come to her would be easy but she was now struggling to hold to it. It was taking more and more of an effort to stay put and wait with each day, each hour, that passed. She missed him.

  “Do you wish to go for a walk in the gardens, Mama?”

  She turned and smiled at her son. “That would be lovely. Thank you.” She walked up next to him and allowed him to hook his arm through hers. “I was just thinking that it was a lovely day.” She frowned at him when he made a noise that was heavy with disbelief and mockery. “That was rude.”

  “Aye, but a lie deserves a little rudeness.”

  She sighed. At times she forgot what her son’s gifts were. He could undoubtedly sense her unhappiness, probably even her disappointment when yet another day passed and there was no sign of Brant. It was difficult to keep any secrets from him. There was one, however, that she doubted he could sense, and it was the one that might well push her to go after Brant before that two months was over. Ilar did not have the gift that could tell him whether or not she was with child.