by Anne Gracie
“You can’t live like that,” she hurried on, frightened she’d lose the courage to speak her piece. “People die. People you love and depend on and need, die.” Her voice cracked. “And those left behind must grieve—and then move on. From all I’ve heard, George was a wonderful, much beloved son, clever and talented and noble and affectionate.”
“He was perfect,” said George’s mother.
“Yes. But, tragically, he died. And in your grief, your sixteen years of grief, you’ve forgotten—both of you—that you have another son who did not die. And he’s also wonderful, just as wonderful as George—”
“Pfft!” Lord Breckenridge made a puff of disbelief.
“—but in a different way. He’s clever and talented and loyal and responsible and kind, but you’re blind to it—willfully blind. He’s even blind to it himself. He doesn’t believe he deserves to be loved.”
“He caused his brother’s death,” said his mother.
“No, he didn’t! That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“How would you know?”
“All he did was hit a cricket ball. George ran to catch it and fell into the water and drowned. It was a tragic accident, that’s all. Nobody is at fault.”
His father shrugged. “If Freddy had been the one running to catch, it wouldn’t have mattered so much. George would be alive.”
The casual cruelty of it stunned her. “How dare you say such a wicked thing!” She smacked the table with her palm, making them all jump. “You don’t deserve such a wonderful son.”
“Wonderful?” Lord Breckenridge made a rude noise. “He’s an idle, feckless—”
“You have no idea of the man Freddy has become,” she flared. “You dismiss him as feckless and idle but I ask you—how has Freddy lived all these years?” She glanced at Freddy, but he made no move to explain himself.
“I make him an allowance, of course,” his father said.
Damaris shook her head. “I don’t know anything about that, but—”
“Haven’t touched it since I was eighteen,” Freddy said mildly. “Don’t you ever check the accounts, Father?”
The old man’s brows gnashed together.
Freddy leaned back, as if there was no more to be said on the matter. Damaris wanted to shake him. Why would he not defend himself? Why not explain the way he’d built a fortune?
She leaned forward. “Ask yourself how he has supported himself all these years in the elegant style for which he’s so well known.”
Lord Breckenridge shrugged. “No doubt his women give him—”
“Don’t be insulting!” Damaris flashed. She glanced at Freddy again, wishing he would bite back for once. He gave her a cool, unreadable glance.
“Aunt Adelaide’s legacy,” Lady Breckenridge said triumphantly.
Only to have her husband snort. “The merest pittance. Wouldn’t have kept him much more than a year.”
“It did, actually,” Freddy said but offered no further explanation. He sat back in his chair, his legs crossed, as if he were watching a play. Pretending it didn’t matter what his parents thought of him.
Well, it mattered to her!
“You don’t know him at all, do you? My brother-in-law, Lord Davenham, told me Freddy built up a fortune from a tiny nest egg. His friend Mr. Flynn, the founder of a worldwide company—in which your son is a partner—says Freddy has real business acumen.”
“Eh?” His father grunted in surprise. “Acumen?”
“Yes, acumen. But you have no idea of your son’s talents, or what he’s been doing in the last sixteen years, do you? Because you don’t care to know. You’re mired in the past, stuck, like flies in amber—”
“Flies?” Lady Breckenridge echoed angrily. “Flies?”
“Yes, like flies in amber, whining like little children about the unfairness of life.”
“I do not whine!” Lord Breckenridge snapped.
She ignored him. “Life is unfair. Death is unfair. But while you’re brooding on the unfairness of it all, think on this—sixteen years ago, when George fell through the ice and died, you only lost a son—”
“Only? How dare you say such a thing?” Lady Breckenridge glared daggers.
“We know what we lost,” her husband stated.
Damaris smacked the table again. The sound echoed. “Think, for once in your selfish lives, about Freddy. He lost his beloved older brother, the person he loved most in all the world, his best friend and boyhood hero. But he didn’t just lose George—he lost his whole family.”
There was a short silence. Damaris let that sink in a moment.
“What do you mean?” his mother asked stiffly. “We’re here.”
Damaris couldn’t believe it. Had they never reflected on what they’d done? “You two treated him like an assassin, when he was just a little boy who liked to play cricket with his brother. Twelve years old, and you pushed him out of the family—”
“Rubbish!” Lord Breckenridge growled. “We did nothing of the sort.”
She turned on him. “You sent him away to school immediately after the funeral and didn’t even allow him to come home for Christmas, not two weeks later. A grief-stricken, innocent little boy of twelve. It was heartless and wicked and cruel.
“And then you had him painted out of the family portrait.” She shook her head. “The entire time I’ve been here all you’ve done is make cutting remarks about him to me—and I’m his betrothed. I’ve heard nothing but criticism, disparagement and negativity. I cannot credit it. You are his mother and you, his father. He is your son—your only son.” Her eyes prickled with angry, frustrated tears. “What kind of parents are you? You lost one son, but you threw the other away.”
There was a long silence. Nobody was looking at anyone else.
The silence stretched so long Damaris started to shake. She’d gone too far, said the unforgivable. Never in her life had she been so outspoken, so rude. And to her elders and her hosts.
But she was glad of it. It needed to be said. They needed to know what they had done. For sixteen years.
She’d well and truly burned her bridges now. When she put an end to this sham betrothal, Freddy would get no blame. They’d probably be delighted that he was free of the harpy.
She rose and turned to Freddy, who was regarding her with an expression she could not read. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think it’s best if I leave.”
He frowned and stood abruptly. “Leave? Leave for where?”
“Davenham Hall? You said it was only a few hours’ drive from here.”
“Four, possibly five hours, depending on the state of the roads.”
She nodded. “If you will lend me your coach and a driver, Lord Breckenr—”
“I’ll drive you,” Freddy said.
“There is no need—”
“I said I’ll drive you,” he said in a voice that brooked no argument. He glanced at his parents, who hadn’t moved or spoken since her outburst. “How soon can you be ready?”
“It will take but a few minutes to pack.”
He gave a brusque nod. “Then I’ll meet you at the front steps in half an hour.” His voice was almost harsh, quite unlike his usual manner. He sat back down at the table.
She could see his resemblance to his father now. And his mother. Neither of them had looked at her; neither now said a word. They sat like rigid statues, in frozen, aristocratic disapproval, waiting for her to leave.
She left the room and hurried upstairs.
• • •
Freddy poured himself another cup of coffee and waited. He was curious to see how they’d taken it, whether anything had sunk in.
He couldn’t remember when anyone had last defended him. Not that he needed it, but, God, she was magnificent, the way she’d ripped into his father, his mother—all of them, himself included.
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His parents were showing definite signs of shock. Neither of them had looked at him yet. Or said a word. His mother was tidying the table in front of her with fussy little movements, her mouth tight and pinched with displeasure. His father was staring at nothing, his brow knotted, whether in anger or thought, Freddy couldn’t tell.
He glanced at the portrait over the mantel, the catalyst of it all. Was that how she saw him? Quite handsome, but with a vulnerability about the eyes and mouth that he was sure wasn’t there. It was a little unsettling to see himself through her eyes.
It was damned good, though. He’d had no idea she was so talented. He’d imagined her work in the pottery to be just a matter of painting patterns—he hadn’t given it any thought.
Finally his father broke the silence. “Well, I hope you’re happy, upsetting your mother like that. Fine sort of bride you choose to bring home to Breckenridge.”
Freddy sipped his coffee. “Extraordinary, isn’t she?”
“Extraordinary? More like outrageous. How dare she speak to us—how dare you allow her to speak to us like that.”
“I’ve never met such an ill-mannered, disrespectful, impertinent creature in my life,” his mother joined in. “Such insults—I’ve never heard the like.”
“Tell me, Mother, which did you find most insulting, her accusation that you were a heartless and cruel parent or her likening you to an insect?”
There was enough truth in the accusation to bring a flush to her thin cheeks. “How dare you!”
Freddy smiled. “Not much fun when you’re on the receiving end, is it, Mother?”
His father slammed a fist on the table. “Don’t speak to your mother like that! It’s a damned good thing that little bitch is leaving; otherwise I’d have to throw her out on her ear.”
“That’s enough!” Freddy spoke coldly, but it was like a whiplash. Both his parents stared at him. “I will tolerate no insult of my betrothed, do you hear me? You will speak of Miss Chance with respect.”
“Respect?” his father said when he’d recovered from the surprise. “When the chit abused me at my own breakfast table?”
“And did you not deserve it?” Freddy said in a hard voice. “Did we not all deserve it?”
“What she said was utterly offensive,” his mother declared.
“But true, nevertheless,” Freddy said silkily. They didn’t like that. “We are stuck in the past. This is the first time in sixteen years we’ve talked about George’s death. And what happened after it. Sixteen years.”
“We have the memorial service,” his mother said defensively.
“Yes, but we don’t talk. Yesterday when we went for a walk, Damaris saw the grave. She asked me about it, about George, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.” He swallowed. “It was the first time I’ve ever talked about him. To anyone. And he was my brother.” He clenched his fist, willing away the threat of unmanly tears.
“What is there to talk about?” his mother muttered.
“George,” he said simply. “We were the ones who loved him best.”
“It’s none of that blasted vixen’s business what we talk about,” his father said. “Damned impertinence, that’s what it is. I won’t have her in the family! You will sever this betrothal at once.”
“Will I?”
His father thrust his head forward. “What’s got into you, boy?”
“I’ve just had an epiphany,” Freddy told him.
“Epiphany? What nonsense!”
“For years I told myself if I could ignore your insults and your indifference, and pretend I didn’t care, it wouldn’t affect me. But it’s wrong, that old rhyme. Sticks and stones can break my bones, but names, repeated often enough from a young age, can indeed hurt me.”
There was a short silence.
“Deep down I was still hoping it might one day happen.”
“What? Speak up, boy. What might happen?”
“That you’d see me. Accept me. Forgive me.” God, he sounded pathetic. But he had to say it. “But Damaris just shattered that illusion. You’re never going to change. And there was nothing to forgive.”
He stood. “I’m not a boy, Father, I’m a man, and I will no longer tolerate any rudeness to me or any member of my family.”
“Your family?” His mother’s eyes widened. “Frederick, you can’t mean that dreadful girl! You cannot marry her! Not after the way she insulted us.”
“Girl’s a raging harridan,” his father agreed.
“She’s a young lioness,” said Freddy unable to keep the pride from his voice. “And she’s going to make a magnificent mother.”
“Mother?” his mother echoed, startled.
Freddy grinned. “Can’t you see her defending her cubs?” His cubs. He wasn’t sure how he was going to do it—she was as marriage-shy as he had been. But somewhere during that magnificent tirade she’d delivered, the realization had burst upon him that he was going to marry her, had to marry her, that she was the woman he’d been waiting for all his life.
“Damn it, boy, if you dare to marry her against our express wishes, I’ll—”
“You’ll do what, Father? Cut off the allowance I haven’t touched in years? Forbid me from entering the house I only step into one day a year? Disinherit me from an estate that’s fully entailed?”
His father muttered a curse.
“Face it, Father, I don’t actually need you or Mother for anything. You taught me that from a young age, or weren’t you listening to my fiancée?” He turned and gestured to the painting. “About that painting. If you don’t want it, give it to Nanny McBride.”
His mother blinked. “Don’t you care whether we want to keep it or not?”
He gave her a weary smile. “I’m long past caring about what you do, Mother.”
“But we’re your parents.”
“Are you? Excuse me, I need to pack. I don’t want to keep my bride waiting.” He strode toward the door.
“Freddy?” His mother’s voice stopped him in his tracks. She hadn’t called him Freddy for sixteen years. Dammit, some part of that pathetic needy boy was still inside him.
He turned, feigning indifference. “Yes?”
“You will be here for the memorial service . . . won’t you?”
He hardened his heart. “I’m not sure.”
Chapter Eighteen
“They parted at last with mutual civility, and possibly a mutual desire of never meeting again.”
—JANE AUSTEN, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
Damaris took her leave of Lord and Lady Breckenridge, thanking them politely for their hospitality in the most hypocritical fashion. But good manners must prevail.
In turn they stiffly wished her good-bye and a safe journey. They’d probably prefer her to break her neck, so no doubt things were even.
She stepped out onto the steps at the front of Breckenridge House, where Freddy was waiting with the carriage, and halted in surprise. “The curricle?”
“Best thing for a quick journey,” he said. “Besides, you get sick in closed carriages, remember?”
“But what about my maid, Polly?”
“She can ride with my groom and tiger. I’ve sent my man to hire a vehicle. He’ll be back soon.” Clearly he didn’t want to borrow any vehicle from his father. He glanced at the bags her maid and a footman were bringing out. “Leave all that here—bring only what you think you’ll need on the trip. The others will follow with the baggage as soon as they can—they won’t be more than an hour or two behind us.”
She hesitated. “But don’t I need a chaperone?” It was absurd for her to be worrying about propriety after what had happened to her on leaving China, but she had to keep up appearances.
Freddy shook his head. “Betrothed woman traveling with her affianced husband in an open carriage for a few hours in plain sig
ht of everyone—nothing for the tabbies to worry about there.”
He sounded very confident, and, given the awkwardness of her sudden departure, she didn’t feel inclined to argue. “Very well.”
They loaded her bag into the small boot of the curricle and, with only a few servants to wave them off, were soon tooling down the drive away from Breckenridge House.
“Quite the little firebrand, aren’t you?” he said when they were out on the open road.
“I’m so sorry. I’m afraid I lost my temper with your parents.”
He laughed. “You don’t say!”
She darted him a cautious glance. “You’re not angry with me?”
He turned his head and gave her a very Freddy look and the tension instantly drained out of her. “I didn’t mean to be so rude. And I didn’t hang your portrait or remove your brother’s—I meant it just to sit on the mantelpiece. But Horwood misunderstood, and then I couldn’t let him be blamed.”
“Never mind. I doubt anything else would have made my parents sit up and take notice half so well.”
“I’m not usually such a virago.”
He laughed. “You were hardly that.”
“Oh, but I was. Once I started—and your father was so angry, and so dismissive of you—and your mother so righteous! And so wrong! My temper got the better of me.”
It had shocked her, to tell the truth. She’d never lost her temper in such a way before. It was as though she’d tapped into a well of deep anger that had surged upward, flowing out of her in a scalding flood. Strangely, she felt remarkably calm now.
“They really didn’t seem to understand how unjust they’d been to you.”
He chuckled. “They know now.”
“I hope so. Do you think it will make any difference?”
“To them? Probably not. To me?” He turned his head and gave her a lazy smile that sent a delicious shiver through her, all the way to her toes. “I’m hoping it will make all the difference in the world to me. There’s just one small problem I need to sort out first.”
She wanted to ask him what the problem was, to see if there was anything she could do to help, but she’d already poked her nose into his business far too much already. She ought to sever the betrothal soon. The thought made her feel oddly heavy. Not that she wanted to marry him, of course, but it had been fun. And surprisingly companionable. She would miss him when he was gone.
