London's Wicked Affair

by Anabelle Bryant

  “Scarsdale.” The stranger repeated the title with calm determination. “I’m afraid you have wasted your time. Mr. Scotts no longer resides here.”

  “Rubbish. My brother, the late duke, provided for Scotts’s employ and housing until death. We discussed the matter yesterday in this very same place. You’re mistaken.” He paused and assessed the gentleman before him. “Who are you and why are you here? Are you the tenant?” His questions were laced with barely contained anger, although the authoritative tone rang through.

  “I don’t see how my identity is of your concern, most especially after you’ve arrived on my stoop and forced your way into my home.”

  Lunden eyed the man before him, middle-aged and in fine physical condition. His features provoked some thread of familiarity, vaguely prompting there was more to be discovered here. He growled his retort. “Make no mistake who pays the bills and where you place ownership. I want you out, whoever you are.”

  “Douglas wouldn’t approve of this decision. He guaranteed my security in his will. One would assume you’d honor his final wishes, most especially after causing his death, Your Grace.”

  The words were an unexpected blow and Lunden did everything in his power not to stagger back. He had caused his brother’s death. He knew well the fact, but to expose it aloud after all these years while he stood in the place his brother last breathed was almost too much to process. He walked to the sideboard and poured a brandy, throwing it back in one swallow.

  “It’s obvious you know much of my brother’s last evening, but that proves little. Perhaps it’s time we clear the air.” Anger sharpened his tone. He’d struggled for nearly a decade to keep this secret concealed and yet since returning in a mere handful of days, two people had made their awareness known. The stranger coughed once and Lunden turned in his direction.

  “Douglas was a good man and I won’t allow anyone to besmirch his memory. The conditions of his will provide for my residency here. Your sudden desire to sell this town house has reopened raw wounds, but I’ve only arrived yesterday. Last night was the first evening I’ve slept here since the week following your brother’s death ten years ago.”

  “I don’t understand.” Lunden left the sideboard and walked to the hearth, his eyes skimming over the articles that littered the mantel. A glass-cased clock stood at the center, a selection of leather-bound books held tight by marble bookends at either side. He stroked a finger over the gold embossed title stamped along the spine of a tome of poetry and felt an internal shiver.

  “As you know, your brother led a private life. Scotts was our butler here on Lamb Street and kept our secret as if his own. We trusted him implicitly. Neither one of us wished our personal preferences made public, as we’d be ostracized and forced to separate, no matter we shared a great affinity for each other. Your brother was a peer of pristine reputation, and I, an accomplished viscount. With the help of Scotts, we were able to achieve our goal, and keep a quiet, respectful relationship in this household. But soon after your brother’s death, while you dealt with insinuation and accusation, the butler schemed a plot for his own gain. Nefarious strategy, actually. He forced me out and threatened to expose my intimate relationship with your brother to the newspapers if I didn’t vacate London. Much akin to your fate, I exiled myself in fear Douglas’s memory and my future would be drenched in the deepest scandal. Neither one of us deserved shame and humiliation to replace the genuine affection we shared. Meanwhile Scotts lived here for ten years, virtually rent free, an act of extortion and cruelty, comfortable in the knowledge I’d never expose the unorthodox preference of my personal life or my actions upon your brother’s death.”

  Dumbstruck, Lunden returned to the brandy decanter only to discard the idea with equal alacrity.

  “Are you implying Scotts, that mealy little man, blackmailed you with regard to your relationship with Douglas so he could stronghold the fine address bequeathed to you?”

  “Yes.” The stranger flinched as he spoke, as if the admittance caused him physical pain. “A dishonest opportunist, I’m afraid.”

  “The very idea is devious and unscrupulous.” Lunden’s brow rose in consideration. “I wouldn’t have thought a servant to initiate such bold disloyalty.” He digested the information, aware he’d perpetuated yet another injustice. Had he returned to London to investigate his brother’s will, he’d have exposed the butler’s distasteful plot years ago. “I discovered my brother’s preferences that evening by accident. He saw me at the window as he embraced someone . . . you.” His hand rose in an inquiring gesture and the space of two breaths stalled his explanation. “I fled, but as always, Douglas bested me. Familiar with the area, he outmaneuvered me on the dark streets until it was I chasing him, in hope of explanation and reassurance his secret would remain safe. If he’d stopped and allowed me to speak, he would have known I held no judgment. Instead, the blind chase, instigated by my pettiness and intrusive curiosity, led to his death.” He took a step closer, his expression a mirror of the sorrow displayed on the stranger’s face. “When you met with Scotts’s extortion, why didn’t you appeal to me?”

  “At the time, my emotions were high and unstable. I blamed you for the death of the man I loved. Later, I believed you would not look kindly on the man who attempted to end your life.” A long pause stretched across the drawing room as the information settled. “I reacted rashly that evening. Confused and angered, I sought to protect Douglas or at the least prevent what he feared most: exposure. Without intention, I added another layer of dangerous scandal to an already complex situation.”

  “You followed me that evening? You shot at Matthew in the stable?”

  “I was overwrought, my reasoning shaken by emotion, and frightened that the one person I cared about more than life had been taken from me. After you recovered your brother’s body and returned to the stables, I observed your actions from afar. Douglas feared exposure, and the threat of disgrace brought to his family’s honor lived in him. I couldn’t allow him to die in vain as I had no notion of how you’d react. All I knew was two men obstructed my goal and so I fired a shot. I needed to keep our secret. It was all I could offer Douglas at this point.

  “When Lord Whittingham fell, I no longer possessed the bile or opportunity to continue. I’d left the town house in a distraught panic, forgotten the powder bag, and therefore the discharged gun was useless. The night, thick with emotion and confusion, led me to retreat, choosing self-preservation, as I could do little to solve the problem once you’d returned home with your brother’s body. It proved penance justly served for me to leave after my foolish choices. I loathed being cut off from these rooms where Douglas and I shared happiness.” Silence took hold as both men, lost in remembrance, scanned the room.

  “There’s no returning to the past.” Lunden’s words were soft-spoken. If only he could persuade himself of the same advice given.

  “True enough, although the decisions of that night have haunted me, and often caused me to deliberate the fiber of my being. I should have gone to you, defended Douglas’s honor against the rash of gossip, or at the least, eased your burden as you dealt with not just your brother’s death, but society’s harsh judgment and your newly acquired title. I owed that to Douglas and I failed him. Had I not reacted by retreating in silence, Scotts would have never hatched his malevolent plan.”

  Lunden shook his head in acknowledgment, searching for solace in the assorted facts of the stranger’s explanation, familiar with his lamentations. Regret, his constant companion for a decade, asserted itself full force until an unexpected thought intruded, nudging it aside.

  Amelia.

  She’d brought light into the darkness of his life; but soon that light would be extinguished with the same anguished finality as his brother’s death. Tonight he must make memories powerful enough to last the rest of his days.

  The stranger continued, forcing him from his maudlin considerations.

  “Your return here bodes well. I’ve had thi
s residence watched for years. After your inquiry, Scotts abandoned the property straightaway, likely in fear of the magistrate after the message you delivered.”

  Lunden nodded, the newly acquired information providing a balm of relief. His brows climbed as his thoughts resolved. There was only one question left unanswered, the inquiry on the tip of his tongue since he entered Douglas’s town house. “And you are?”

  Stark solemnity consumed the stranger’s features before he offered a brittle smile. “Lord Gavin. I believe you’re acquainted with my father, Lord Nilworth.”

  * * *

  Deep in thought, Amelia curled farther into the comfort of the drawing room hearth, her mind a mottled mess of emotion and distress, her body equally affected. “I love him.” New tears formed in her eyes as she addressed the cat cuddled in her lap. “I’ve lost my heart and I’ve lost my way, Pandora.”

  The cat twitched with the admittance, sensing the deep sorrow of her mistress.

  “Whatever will I do?” Amelia wiped the tears from her eyes and released a stilted breath.

  “There you are.”

  Caught unaware, she startled and the anger displayed on her brother’s face abolished all other emotion. The sudden movement jostled Pandora who leapt atop the coal scuttle and then to the mantel as Amelia stood and shook out her skirts.

  “Best flee or I’ll skin you alive.”

  Belatedly she realized her brother addressed Pandora, and reached for the animal in an act of protection, although with a slink, the cat pounced to the floor, wove through Matthew’s legs, and fled the room.

  “What are you about?” Her voice shook, but from her brother’s furious tone or her heartsickness she could not decipher.

  “That infernal beast made a shambles of my study. Haven’t I warned you to keep Pandora from my rooms? Yesterday she woke me from a nap when she used my leg as a scratching post. Now today my desk is disheveled, ink spilt, paperwork ruined, hours of diligent progress on my puzzle destroyed.”

  A bubble of relief volleyed for release against her ribs, but she dared not let it free. “I do my best to keep Pandora contained.” Much the way I struggle now with emotion.

  “Contained? She should be boiled in a pot. Another brilliant reason to see you matched, so I may be rid of that hellish animal.” He turned halfway, as if satisfied with his tyrannous exit line, but at the last minute reconsidered. “Let this serve as fair warning, dear sister. If I see Pandora in my study again, I’ll thrash her with my cane and use her hide to shine my boots.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. I should think you’d feel the least bit of compassion for my situation. Pandora is my companion, my only ally, once you barter me off to serve your own purpose.” Amelia straightened her shoulders, her chin thrust high.

  He surprised her then and collapsed into a nearby chair, his left hand propping his cane while the fingers of his right worked his temple. “Why must you be so vexatious?”

  She was taken aback at his sudden loss of bluster. Did pain in his leg cause the change in posture? Aware the weather affected his injury, her eyes flittered to the window and confirmed a threat of rain existed, the sky already cloud-covered. A twinge of compassion arose but she refused to linger on the feeling. Instead she took a breath to compose her thoughts, pushing aside the immediate concern and focusing on her goal. “Is it so uncommon for me to choose the course of my life? To want more than a mediocre future? To wish for love and happiness?” She hated the vulnerability in her voice.

  “Aah, so now you’ll put your claws away and aim for reasonable conversation after you’ve given me naught but the cold shoulder for the past two days.” He glanced in her direction, his expression hard as he groused. “You believe you have choices, and for that reason you’ll never be happy. Who has pumped you full of pipe dreams? Created belief you have a say in the matter? It’s not the way of things. Father and I need to see you settled.”

  His reply held a palpable lack of compassion and she swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Yes, settled. A most important word. I want more from life than a mediocre marriage. You speak as if it’s a simple transaction. Something you must get accomplished in your daily errands.” She gulped down the panic rising in her throat. “I can’t marry Lord Collins.”

  “Of course you can. And you will.” His pithy dismissal and conciliatory tone stung, yet unaffected, he straightened his sleeves and settled more fully into the chair. “Do you worry over your appeal? I assure you, there’s no need. Shake the dust from your feminine wiles. Too long you’ve played at independence while Father and I permitted you to do so. It was poorly done of me to allow you freedom here in London, but I’ll wait no longer to see you matched. Not when an opportunity as ripe as this one lies within reach. You need to try harder. When next you entertain Collins, offer him a charming smile and bat your eyelashes in coquettish appeal.”

  “I’d rather stick a needle in my eye.”

  “Therein lays the problem,” he cautioned, his face hard with ruthless determination. “And a foolish notion to boot. You worry over control, but control is an illusion. You can have all the control if you employ your resplendent virtues instead of your sharp tongue.”

  “This is my future. I should determine whom I marry.” She tossed him a peevish glare then ran a hand along the back of a nearby armchair to fortify her stance. In truth, his resolute indifference unnerved her.

  “Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound?” He sniffed as if stifling a sudden bout of laughter. “You should be grateful. Grateful. How convenient to have someone arrange and settle your future. How reassuring to know someone else bears responsibility to eliminate the uncomfortable wooing and awkward courting.”

  His words reflected his situation more than hers and that earlier feeling, one of compassion and empathy of his life’s situation, threatened to replace her determination. Like a bell left neglected, Matthew had grown tarnished and dimmed, where once, much like Lunden, his future seemed shiny and bright. The revelation caught her unaware and she answered with quiet reproach. “I don’t mean to be difficult, yet I know you’re up to something. You would trade your sister for personal ambition? What have you to gain by encouraging this union? Have a care, Matthew.”

  He continued as if her words meant little. “Don’t contradict me. I believe your anger is subterfuge for your fear. How else would you explain knocking a suitor unconscious or pushing another into the Thames?”

  “It wasn’t the gentleman as much as his viewpoint.”

  “Perhaps, but expectation most often leads to disappointment. In many ways, your concerns mirror my own. As a male I have opportunities and choices to distract my displeasure, but the same is not true for you, Amelia. Marriage is your future.” He looked at her a long moment as if measuring her reaction. “Do not doubt my attention to this decision.” He squared his shoulders to rise, snatching his cane from a nearby perch and her anger reignited.

  “You care more for your boot blacking than my happiness.”

  He gave a harsh laugh although a touch of amusement laced his reply. “Forever the mouthy chit, are you not? Spare me the histrionics. I’ll warn Collins of your harridan tendencies although I won’t dissolve this betrothal.”

  She blinked back the sting of tears, unwilling to expose her vulnerability. “How could you be so cruel?” Her spine stiff with staunch disapproval, she slashed him a look of outrage.

  “How can you not realize this serves your best interest? Your future is at stake as well as Father’s failing health. Don’t be fooled by appearances. While he seemed improved since your visit earlier this month, it’s common for one’s health to show quality before a sudden turn for the worst.”

  Her indrawn breath served as answer to his last statement, her voice quieter as she continued. “I haven’t forgotten Father. I only ask for more time.” She eyed him across the room, unwilling to step closer although her words begged him to relent.

  “Damnation, Amelia. There is no more time. Y
ou’ve wasted it all on whims and careless preoccupations. The time is now. And don’t entertain an appeal to Lunden. He’s here for business purposes of a personal matter. Leave him be.” He paused, his mouth tight with frustration as if considering his next words with great care. “There’s more in the balance than your marriage. Take note, I won’t be denied the opportunity to improve my prospects as I settle yours. Nothing will stand in my way, not your stubbornness, nor my shortcomings, when it all overlaps and offers easy resolution.”

  “I never doubted there existed more to this plan than an attempt to see me wed.”

  “Collins is a good man. This evening, all members of the society are honoring his departure and celebrating his upcoming relocation because he’s served as a fair leader. You should spend the night taking inventory of your upcoming future. Write letters, visit Charlotte, and ready yourself for your pending nuptials. Most importantly, adjust your attitude toward Collins. You could do far worse, no matter you’ve alienated every other prospect I’ve put in your path.”

  “I always believed I’d have a choice.”

  “Naive chit.” He shook his head with the comment. “Life offers us little opportunity for choice. It’s better you learn that lesson while you still have time to adjust your disposition. You wouldn’t wish to spend the remainder of your days regretful and saddened with disillusion.”

  Did he refer to Lunden with the blithe comment or was it that she saw herself aligned to his condition no matter the circumstance? And what of Matthew? She never considered her brother’s impairment as detrimental to his future. Until recent discussions, he’d seemed adjusted and otherwise content. Too many unanswered questions badgered.

  There seemed no adequate answer and unwilling to allow Matthew to witness her distress, she turned on her heel and left. The tears she fought to contain slid down her cheeks, hot and angry. She wiped at them with the back of her hand and safely tucked in her bedchamber, sagged against the back of the door.