Our residence was the finest in which we’d ever lived. One night Rose went out and the next morning, she described to me a gaming hell. I was at once shocked and intrigued that she would visit such a place. But she did not seem herself as she sought to create a vivid portrait of all that she had seen. I had the sense that there was a good deal about her adventure that she was not sharing, a part of it that even frightened her. I tried not to worry, as I knew there was nothing I could do, yet it seemed I worried all the same.
“Thatcher said you wished to see me.”
Pulling himself from the story, Avendale stood as Rose crossed his library to stand in front of his desk. It had been a few days since their foray to the theater. He was growing bored. He imagined Harry was doing the same. Mechanical toys could hold his interest for only so long. “I’d like to take Harry to the Twin Dragons Tuesday next, and before you object—”
“I trust you.”
The words slammed into him with such force that they nearly sent him reeling. He hadn’t realized how desperately he wanted her trust, how desperately he wanted so much he wasn’t certain he could acquire. She was here with him now because of her brother. She would stay with him for as long as he wished because of all the things he did to ensure her brother’s last days were memorable. He would not resent her reasons, but he found himself wishing for more between them. Even if he considered overlooking her past to make her his duchess, the responsibilities there were far more than she could fathom. How could he ask her to accept the duties that came with being his wife when he knew that she craved freedom?
His entire adult life he’d been a selfish bastard, caring for his own wants and needs. It was an uncomfortable fit to consider changing for her, to think of letting her go when he so desperately still wanted her. He didn’t know how she’d done it all these years, caring for her brother at the expense of her own desires.
“Excellent,” he said cheerfully, not wanting to reveal the doubts creeping through his conscience. “Let’s keep it a secret from Harry for now, shall we?”
“You like secrets.”
“I like surprises.” But secrets did little more than lead a man to ruin.
Avendale stood in the modest parlor of his mother’s residence and waited while the butler informed her of his arrival. Above the fireplace was a portrait of her with her husband and their children. She had asked him to be part of the gathering but he’d been too busy at the time, with scotch in need of drinking and a woman in need of pleasuring. He regretted it now because she asked so little of him. And he was about to ask of her an immense favor.
“Whit!”
Hearing the joy in her voice, he turned from the portrait. “Mother.”
Crossing over to him, she gave him a quick hug, then held him at arm’s length to study him as though she possessed the power to read his thoughts. He wondered why he had failed to notice during their last visit how her hair had faded to silver and the lines at her eyes and mouth had deepened into wrinkles. Before Rose, he noticed so few things.
“You’re looking well,” his mother said now. “Yet you’re troubled. What’s amiss?”
“Nothing really. I just— May we sit?”
“Oh yes, of course. Forgive my lack of manners. Shall I ring for tea?”
“No, I—” He almost told her that he wouldn’t be there that long, but what he wanted couldn’t be explained easily. “Scotch if you have it.”
Her mouth formed a moue of displeasure. Still, she rang for the butler. When tea, biscuits, and scotch had been delivered, Avendale savored the fine amber liquid while his mother sipped her tea. Leaning forward, his elbows on his thighs, holding the glass between two hands, he said, “I have a favor to ask. While I believe I could get assistance from my acquaintances—” Rose was correct. His only friend was Lovingdon. The others were merely acquaintances. “I believe I would have more success if the request came from you.”
“What do you require?”
Just like that. No hesitation, no doubt, as though he’d been a good son, as though he deserved her loyalty, as though he weren’t taking advantage of her influence, the goodwill others had toward her. Her face was wreathed with hope that she could assist, that she could help him acquire what he sought.
During the past decade, how often had she—with the same hopefulness—waited for him to arrive for a special dinner, waited for him to visit? How many invitations had he ignored? Once he’d been old enough to move out, he’d rarely crossed her threshold. Setting aside his glass, he stood. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake in coming here today.”
With swift movements, he headed for the door.
“Whit, my darling son, whatever you need, whatever trouble you might be facing, we are here for you.”
Stopping in his tracks, he knew if he walked through the door, he would never, ever be back. He could no longer live without the truth. He just wasn’t certain he wanted it. He thought of the truth with which Rose dealt. She was going to lose her brother. Yet she courageously faced each day. Compared with her he was a blistering coward.
Turning, he faced his mother, watched as the hope returned to her eyes. He was going to dash it, bluntly and cruelly. It was the best way. No mincing of words, no more dancing around something that should have been faced years ago—when it had happened. “I saw you kill my father.”
She staggered back as though he’d thrown the mass of his body at her. Probably felt as though he had. Tears welling in her eyes, she cupped a shaking hand over her mouth, shook her head, and sank onto the settee.
Where was her anger, her offense, her repudiation? It infuriated him that the tiny seed of doubt he’d nurtured all these years was crushed beneath the weight of horror marching over her features. “You’re not going to deny it?”
Her mouth moved, but no words sprung forth, as though she couldn’t decipher where to begin. Finally, in a barely audible tone, she asked, “How is it . . . that you think you saw . . . something so horrible?”
“You’d taken me to Lovingdon’s but after we were put to bed, I slipped out and raced home, because I missed you. I came in through the gardens, but sensed something wasn’t right and became frightened. The door into the library was opened. As I approached, I saw you bash him with a poker.”
She shook her head more briskly, held up a hand as though she had the power to stay his words. “I didn’t mean to kill him, only to stop him.”
“But why would—”
“She was protecting me,” a deep voice cut in quietly but forcefully.
Avendale jerked around to find himself facing the wrath of Sir William. He’d always thought the man gentle, almost too kind, but at that moment, Avendale saw a man who would kill to protect what was his. And the duchess was his.
“She was protecting me,” Sir William repeated.
“Because you and my mother were lovers?” he spat. “You were found out, so you sought to rid yourself of my father?”
“No!” his mother cried out. “Is that what you thought all these years?”
“What else was I think to when Sir William was always about?”
“That you and she were in need of protection. Your father was a beast. We tried to rid your mother of his presence once; it didn’t work.”
“We?” He looked back to his mother.
“She had nothing to do with it the first time.”
He returned his attention to Sir William. “Who did?”
Sir William’s face went blank. “It’s not important.”
“Was this when he supposedly died in a fire?”
“I would invite you to sit, but I suspect you’d prefer to hear all this standing,” Sir William said. “There was a fire, which he started, but he was rescued from it. Would have been better for all if he’d been left where he’d fallen, but he wasn’t. Arrangements were made for him to travel as a convict
on a prison hulk to the far side of the world. Smart man, your father. He managed to escape and made his way back here.”
“Once I realized he was alive and back in London, I knew he would come for me,” his mother said softly, sadness in her eyes. “I sent you and the servants away. I’d changed while he was gone. I was happy. I wanted him to understand that I would not allow him to take that away from me; I would not allow him to take you. But he had trussed William up like a Christmas goose. He was going to kill him, send me to Bedlam. Who would protect you from him then?”
Avendale shook his head. “I don’t remember Sir William being there, not trussed up. I recall him later, telling you the man was dead.”
“Trauma can affect one’s memory,” Sir William said. “And it’s been a little over twenty years.”
He nodded. So much of his early years was a blur, so many things he hadn’t wanted to remember sharpened into clarity with his mother’s confession. He recalled his father beating her.
“Is that why you’ve kept your distance all these years?” his mother asked. “Because you knew what I’d done and can’t forgive me.”
He thought of all the things Rose had done to protect her brother. How she had once told him that she knew she would pay a price for them. His mother had done the same, paid a price to protect him. They both had. He knelt before her. “He came to me one night, told me you were trying to rid yourself of him, that you also wished me harm.”
She gasped. “No.”
“When I saw you kill him, I feared I was next.”
“Oh my dear God, Whit.” Tears brimmed in her eyes, overflowed onto her cheeks. She cradled his face between her hands. “I would never hurt you. You are my precious boy.”
How was it that he had so badly misjudged? He wrapped his arms around her waist, rested his head in her lap. “I’m sorry, so sorry that I distanced myself. I was angry, didn’t understand what had happened but was too cowardly to ask.”
“It’s not your fault. Damn your father for putting such notions in your head. I swear if he were alive I’d kill him again.”
Straightening, he looked into eyes that were not those of a murderer, but a lioness who would protect her cub. He could hardly countenance what he’d believed at the age of seven, the fears he had allowed to guide his life. “As I got older, it made no sense, but the damage was done.”
She cupped his cheek. “I am not completely without fault. I felt such guilt. I was always afraid that somehow you would discover the truth. Now you have. If only I’d taken you aside and told you everything years ago. But I feared what you would think of me.”
“I suspect I would have thought what I think now: that you are a remarkable woman.”
Once more tears filled her eyes. “Not so remarkable. Defending my life and those I loved was thrust upon me. My actions were not what I would have chosen, but sometimes we don’t have a choice.”
How did one know, he wondered, when one had a choice—when one should have a choice?
“If he had told you that you could leave, would you have gone?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “He had beaten my love for him out of me. William came into my life and refilled my heart. I will always choose love above all else. It is the only thing that matters. My dearest wish is that none of my children will go through life without it.”
“I’m sorry I’ve not been a good son.”
“Oh, Whit, I could not have asked for a better son.”
He knew it for the lie it was, but he let her have it.
Leaning back, she brushed his hair from his brow in the same manner that she had when he was a small boy. “Now, you came to ask a favor of us. What is it?”
The years of separation melted away as though they’d never been. His heart swelled with all the love he held for his mother. Then he told her what he needed done.
Chapter 20
This time when Rose descended the stairs to see Harry dressed in evening attire she didn’t stop partway, but carried on and forced her trepidation into submission. She trusted Avendale, absolutely, unconditionally.
“Are you ready for a night engaging in wicked things?” she asked her brother as she neared him.
Nodding, he grinned. She suspected he had no fear of being delivered to hell for any sins committed tonight since he’d spent most of his life in it. Surely that had to count for something, and the pearly gates would be thrown open to welcome him when the time came.
“Let’s be away then,” Avendale said, and she thought he’d never looked more handsome, more at ease, more confident. Something had changed in the past few days but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
He sat beside her in the coach. Relishing his nearness, she was determined to enjoy the night, to welcome the deceptive belief that their time together would never come to an end. He certainly gave no indication of tiring of her, but surely the novelty of her would wear off. She pushed back those troubling thoughts.
The coach came to a stop. The curtains were drawn, and yet it seemed she heard far more sounds than she’d heard in the alleyway the last time they were here: the whinny of horses, the whir of carriage wheels, rapid footfalls, leisurely ones, voices. The door opened. Avendale stepped out and extended his hand to her. As she emerged, her gaze fell on the front façade of the Twin Dragons, and she had to fight back the panic, the wrongness of it.
Trust him. Trust him.
“I assumed we would go in through the back where we would have more privacy,” she said.
“Not tonight,” he said, leveling a pointed stare on her. Did she trust him? Swallowing hard, she nodded. He signaled the footman, who reached in to the coach.
“Master Harry.” He then proceeded to assist Harry. Once her brother was standing on the pavement, his eyes widened. “Beautiful architecture.”
“I always found it rather gothic-looking,” Avendale said.
“Fits the name,” Harry said.
“I never considered that as I abhor the name. To me, it shall always be Dodger’s Drawing Room. Are you ready to explore it?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Gentlemen,” Avendale said, before offering Rose his arm, and she realized there were two additional footmen.
As one helped Harry up the steps, the others flanked them. They were large, bulky men providing a shield. No one was going to approach Harry. She doubted anyone was going to get a good look at him. As they topped the stairs and neared the door, a footman bowed slightly. “Your Grace.”
He then pulled the door open. Only she, Avendale, and Harry walked in. Her brother’s face was wreathed in wonder, while Rose was surprised by the absence of a crowd, even more surprised that no one seemed to take note of their arrival.
“They’re not very busy,” Rose said. She did hope the business wasn’t failing.
“Invitation-only tonight,” Avendale said.
She looked up at him. “At your request?”
Before he could answer, Harry proclaimed, “Merrick!”
Roe turned to see Merrick, Sally, and Joseph greeting Harry. The gentlemen were dressed in evening attire as finely tailored as Harry’s. Sally wore a blue silk evening gown that had not come cheaply. She smiled at Avendale. “Thank you, Your Grace, for the invitation.”
“A night with friends is much more enjoyable than one without.”
She gave a quick bob of a curtsy. “Also, thank you for the lovely gown. I’ve never had anything so fine before.”
“My pleasure. And let me say that the color suits you.”
Her eyes twinkling, she looked at Rose. “He sent a seamstress to the residence. And a tailor for the gents. Merrick has never looked more handsome.”
“I daresay I’ve learned that the duke is quite generous and enjoys surprising people,” Rose admitted.
Merrick walked over, stuck out his hand. “Duke.
”
Avendale took it, gave it a shake. “Merrick.”
“Quite the place here.”
“I can take no credit for that.”
Joseph approached, gave him a hard look. “This is a place of improper behavior.”
“It is indeed.”
The man smiled. “I like that.”
Avendale laughed. “As do I. To ensure you all enjoy it to its fullest, you’ll find a generous amount of tokens has been set aside for your use. Anything you earn over that is yours to keep.”
“Well, then,” Merrick said, rubbing his hands together in glee, “we need to tempt Lady Luck to smile on us. Are you coming with us, Harry?”
“In a moment.”
As the others walked off, Rose squeezed Harry’s hand. “You should go off and enjoy the night with them.”
“I will, I just . . .” He looked around. “No one is staring at me. No one is taking much notice at all. It’s like being in a play.” Shrewdly he studied Avendale. “They are your friends.”
“Which makes them yours as well.”
Harry’s gaze darted to Rose before it settled back on the duke. He didn’t look quite convinced. “But they don’t know me.”
“They will before the night is done.”
Stepping forward, Rose laid her palm against brother’s misshapen cheek. “What a wonderful thing it is that they will have the opportunity to meet you, to see you as a person and not something on display. I’ve no doubt they’ll adore you as much as I do.”
“How long will we be here?”
“Until you grow weary of the entertainment,” Avendale said. “The club never closes, so we’ll leave whenever you’re of a mind to go. Right this moment if you want.”
“No, I want to stay.”
Miss Minerva Dodger, resplendent in a lilac gown, approached. “Your Grace,” she said with a slight tilting of her head.
“Minerva,” Avendale said. “Allow me the honor of introducing Miss Longmore and her brother, Harry.”
The Duke and the Lady in Red Page 26
