"Inniskip's polishers have been in here also," Charles exclaimed. "Sir Thomas is not of a bookish nature, and the room was little used during their tenancy."
"I am glad to hear it," Rupert murmured crossing the room, "though it sounds small minded. Ah, my telescope," he seized the long instrument from a corner table. "So many times have I wished for it these ten years."
Delia crossed to his side. "A celestial globe, and a terrestrial," she exclaimed, then added in surprise, "Your orrery!"
"I had Inniskip bring it. And this is a lunar globe, a Selenographia." He indicated the model on yet another table.
"I remember when Grandfather brought you that," Charles offered, strolling the room. He exuded contentment. "I could not imagine your excitement."
"Father of my lady mother." Rupert explained to Delia. "He died three months after that visit." He strode to the open door, and said to a footman in the hall, "We require the fire to be built up. Advise Prym we will take tea in the library."
Charles smiled beatifically at Delia and relaxed into a chair near the fireplace. "It is wonderful to be at home."
***
Despite his joy at his brother's return to Manningford, Charles had his own home, and responsibilities. Delia and Rupert were soon left in company in the great house.
At breakfast the next morning, Torgreave outlined his plans. "I think we must examine the house, room by room for any clue that my father traveled to Scotland. If we are fortunate we will discover something to confirm our suppositions. If we are not -- if we discover nothing -- it will have been cathartic, for me at least, to explore every room. As we do this survey, I wish to plan for the renovations so badly needed. If you will, I would like your help. You have a fine eye for design, decoration and colour. Will you apply it to Manningford?"
Delia was silent in the face of his eager request, flattered by his compliment, drawn to the task, and unable to comply. "I think I must not. I would delight in it, I cannot deny, but were I to invest my energies and emotions in such a project I would be loath to leave it. And I must leave it eventually."
"I hope not, most devoutly. I hope you may stay to enjoy it, even make your home here."
"That will not happen. You must not say so." She strove to bring a lighter note to the exchange. "Besides you might dislike what I would do, and be left with unpleasant reminders of me."
"That I will risk, for it is not possible." There were unspoken depths to that remark, and Delia chose to deny they existed. She could not deny her liking of the project.
"Please," he persuaded gently. "Money will be no obstacle. For all I have been a drunkard and a wastrel, there are funds enough."
She chuckled as he intended. "Very well," she said, at last.
They found nothing in the chambers of Manningford Tower to answer their questions. As Torgreave planned, they visited every room in the great house. They turned over each apartment's contents, examined its appointments and looked for evidence of travel or indications of misconduct. But there were no hints and there was no proof.
They overcame their disappointment in time. In each chamber, they decided upon repairs, refurbishments and renovations. Charles and Bowland both helped and hindered the work. Morag Lochmaddy had been seconded by Mrs. Inniskip to aid in turning out airing cupboards and china dressers, and Delia was much relieved to have her companion's disapproval removed from her presence.
Weeks later, toward the end of March, Delia was prepared to admit it all had been an exercise in futility. She would acknowledge that the house had needed the attention that they had lavished upon it. She might admit that Rupert had become essential to her happiness. The improvement in Rupert's health and nature in the days they spent together had been little short of wonderful. But she could not concede that, as Rupert still insisted, there was a place for her in the future of Manningford Tower.
She must soon leave.
Delia could not but contrast this day with the bitterly cold, slate-grey occasion on which she had first seen Manningford. Now, in the countryside, the trees showed fat, sticky buds, and daffodils were blooming under a sun gleaming in an opalescent sky. Ironically as the weather had improved, her spirits had become depressed.
With a deep sigh, she took her notes regarding decorations in hand and withdrew to the morning room. She had arrived at the point of planning colours and choosing fabrics for draperies and upholstery for the Tower. She would be aided by the silks from her workbag and samples of textiles that Dougherty fetched for her from Leicester.
Rupert was abroad with Charles, as he often was these days, meeting tenants, planning estate work, discussing projects and schemes with his steward. Delia was not to be left alone with her thoughts however. Morag Lochmaddy joined her in the drawing room and took up her ever-present knitting. She seemed disposed to talk.
"Half the servants regard ye as the new mistress."
Delia ignored the statement, as she weighed the merits of brocade as opposed to damask.
Mrs. Lochmaddy continued, "Mrs. Inniskip marvels at your grasp of the needs of the kitchen and airing cupboards. Prym will undertake nothing without your approval and they say they have never known the earl so happy."
Delia said nothing, apparently engrossed in her lists.
"The builders are to arrive tomorrow, and the rector, according to servants' hall gossip, has announced to the gentry that his brother is returned for good and all. The neighbourhood is reserving judgment, and wondering about the cousin said to have such a strong family resemblance."
"Our situation prompts extended comment from you once more." Delia half-turned in her chair to survey her companion, abandoning all pretense of concentration on her task.
"Shall we be staying on then?" queried Mrs. Lochmaddy.
Delia breathed a deep sigh, but she had quite determined her course, and the time had come to make it public. "No. There is no reason for us to delay our return to Edinburgh. I have already sent a letter to Lady Barbara."
"'Tis not before time," her companion stated.
Delia turned back to her employment abruptly, unwilling to witness the satisfaction on Morag's face.
She announced the news of her departure to Rupert and Charles at supper that same evening.
The earl said nothing, but put down his wineglass very carefully, and stared into its ruby depths.
Charles burst into speech. "Oh I say you must not. I had settled it that you would return to London with us...help Miss Slimbridge and I win Sir Thomas around. Please say you will, cousin." He addressed her more and more easily as cousin, it apparently suiting his mind and morals to regard her so.
She shook her dark head at him now, her smile a little forced. "You will do very well without me. Sir Thomas is bound to be impressed by Rupert's industry, and I have been long enough from my home. We will, I believe, now find nothing to satisfy our curiosity, and so I will go."
"Before even we have spoken to Augustus?" Rupert spoke quietly, his deep voice calm.
"Yes," she responded simply, not venturing to meet his unwavering gaze. "If Mr. Manningford has any information, which I doubt he will, you may write of it to me."
"We do still need your assistance, both my brother and I." He was persuasive.
"You must manage without me. Do not," she choked out, "Do not, I beg of you, cajole me." She surveyed both men through stricken eyes, unable to halt the tears that coursed relentlessly down her cheeks.
Rupert made a convulsive gesture with his left hand, his right knuckles white on the fragile stem of his goblet.
Charles stared gloomily at his plate.
"Please, you must excuse me." Delia disregarded her unfinished meal and thrust back her chair. She rose and precipitately withdrew from the dining room.
***
In the moonlit depths of that same night, Delia took her candle, and quietly trod the corridors and the staircases to the library. She could not sleep and when pacing her bedchamber became unbearable, she thought to find a book to occ
upy her mind and divert her emotions.
An hour later, she was perched on a set of steps, contemplating the moonlit park clearly visible through the wide windows. Her candle guttered near the orrery on a distant table. She heard a small sound, and then a second, and without turning her head, she knew Torgreave had joined her.
"Look," she whispered. With a small gesture, she indicated the roe deer confidently grazing beyond the ha-ha.
He was at the foot of the steps, robed in his banyan, the moonlight silvering his dark head.
"I know. I was used as a child, to rise with nightmares. I would watch them then...free...wild...content..." He turned and held his hand out to her, to aid her in dismounting the steps.
She rose and obediently descended, then halted at the sound of his harshly in- drawn breath. She was uncomfortably aware of her loosed hair, streaming darkly to her waist, her slender form clothed in a soft cerulean robe. Her face was level with his when his hands touched her shoulders, and then stroked back clinging tendrils of silken hair from her forehead.
"I could not sleep," she said, breaking the taut silence. He dropped his hands, stepped back from her.
"Nor I." He swung away to stare at the moonlight. "You cannot leave me...cannot leave Manningford."
"I can and I must."
He appeared to struggle in the grip of powerful emotion, and at last, said in a strangled voice,
"You cannot be my sister. You must not. I love you; your wit, your kindness, your care for my brother, my staff, everyone in your sphere. Your mind, your heart are mine, I know it."
She struggled into speech, torn between delight and horror. "Rupert, you must not. What if...what if you are my brother?" Her candle flickered out. "This is the greatest sin we can commit short of murder." The moonlight bathed them in intimacy.
His anguish was as evident as hers was as he strove to regain control of his emotions. "Can you say you do not love me?"
"Surely my love for you is that for a brother, the same as I feel for Charles."
"Do you hunger for Charles' embrace, for his presence at your side for the rest of your life, for his children?"
"Stop! I will not think of that, any of it, unless I know our relationship is innocent, beyond the shadow of incest. I would never risk such a sin."
"I cannot think we are brother and sister," he whispered brokenly. "Surely there would be some apprehension of the senses, some revulsion of the blood in contemplating kisses and caresses with a sibling. I feel nothing of that. I want you."
Delia shuddered, tears threatening to drown her restraint.
"Would you marry me if you knew with certainty that we were but cousins?" he queried, reaching to smooth again her tumbled hair.
Delia found herself incapable of moving, thrilling at his touch, fearing to meet his anguished gaze. "I would," she said on a sob.
"Do not cry," he begged. "Dear God, do not weep. I will find out. If it takes forever, I will prove that we are naught but cousins and that we are free to express our love."
"I pray you will. But I dare not stay." Whether she meant she must not stay in the room with him, in the house, or in England, she did not know. On a sob, she fled in tears out the door, and up the worn stairs, in darkness, to her chamber.
Torgreave dropped into a chair with a groan, and surveyed his shaking hands ruefully before covering his face with them, in anguish.
Delia could not bear to remain above stairs the next morning. Morag was packing their trunks, with a degree of pleasure she did not care to observe. But neither did she wish to descend the stairs, for below were Charles and Rupert, and explanations and confrontations.
When she reached the breakfast room however, she found it empty but for Prym. Her relief was destroyed by his words; they brought her a new worry.
"Major Rhyle is come," he informed her, dismissing the maid and serving her breakfast himself. The old man seemed to wish to be of service, or at least he wished to discuss his anxieties. "He confided that he stayed the night in Leicester. He has been closeted with his lordship this half hour. Voices have been raised."
Delia understood then. He feared their newfound content was to be disturbed.
"Major Rhyle is a good friend. I am convinced their disagreement will be of short duration." She could see the old butler gained peace from her words, but cold fear clutched her own heart. What if Major Rhyle had come to denounce Rupert as a spy? The revelations of the previous night were as nothing compared to the thought of Rupert in desperate trouble.
She ate toasted bread, and eggs, and even a slice of gammon without notice. She drank coffee rather than chocolate, though she detested it. When Prym showed Charles into the room, she greeted him with relief. The butler had already informed him of the new arrival.
"Rhyle is here?" he demanded, revealing that the same fears gripped him.
She nodded. "They have argued," she added. A frown creased her smooth brow.
His open face darkened.
Before he could speak, Prym returned. "His lordship wishes you both will attend him in the library," he announced, and led the way.
Within the library, the two tall men did not appear to be at odds. They sat comfortably at the table which bore Torgreave's orrery. A stack of papers loosely bound with dark ribbon lay before Rhyle. Both men rose on Delia's entrance, and in turn bowed over her hand. It was the earl however who retained it, as Charles hurried in.
Rhyle said, "I am delighted to encounter you again, Miss Tyninghame." He shot an astute look at Rupert. "I did not expect it."
Delia withdrew her trembling fingers from Rupert's and would not meet his eyes. "I am even now preparing to return to Edinburgh."
"Gideon has brought news," Rupert spoke for the first time. "I am to go to London -- tomorrow -- at Prinny's behest."
Delia and Charles looked to Major Rhyle for clarification, for the earl had turned to the window.
"Torgreave provided a great service to the Prince, and our country during the recent war. He carried false information to the French on numerous occasions. He endangered his personal safety, by being available in French society, when the English were hated. These reports detail his activities." The big man gestured at the stack of paper.
"He was a spy," Charles whispered.
Rhyle nodded. "But not as society thought, not a spy for the French, but for England. He allowed his reputation to be tarnished by suspicion, and his character to be reviled. The Prince Regent wishes to thank him publicly for his work. I am having the devil's own time convincing him to allow it."
Delia crossed to Torgreave and faced him squarely. "Why did you not tell us? We did not believe the gossip, the tales, but you might have relieved us."
A twisted smile pulled his lips. "My behaviour was distinctly unheroic. My reputation was already badly tarnished, that was why the French let me run tame in their salons. They thought I was a worthless rake, a drunken scientific sophiste babbling useful secrets. Well, I was on the go, but not so much that I could not distinguish which information I would reveal and which I would not."
"And why do you not wish to attend the Prince in London?" It might have been only the two of them in the room.
"Because the ton will choose to lionize me, and I have no wish for it. They will ignore my excesses, for which they have despised me, and decide to fawn on me. My dissipations, my debauchery of the past ten years was real. I only put my worst habits to work a little in the last two years."
"You were of immense service," Rhyle reasserted.
Torgreave thanked him with a tense, unsmiling bow. "I have agreed to accept gratitude. But I will not go to London alone. Charles, I shall want your company, and Delia I would be grateful for yours."
"I will gladly come," Charles said immediately.
Rhyle and Charles poured themselves wine from a decanter on the table, and Charles plied the Major with questions.
"I am going home," Delia stated in an undertone to Rupert.
"Please! I will beg, caj
ole, you...stay! You could finish the work you have begun on Manningford. You might assist Charles with his romance. You would support me."
Her hand went out to him and he seized it eagerly.
"It is madness to remain in close proximity," she murmured.
"I will be the image of rectitude," Torgreave assured her. "And I will find Augustus and see what he knows of the past."
Still she hesitated. Looking away from his magnetic blue eyes, she encountered the gazes of the other men, both hopeful of her aid as well. "Very well," she spoke to them all. "I will come but I can imagine what Morag Lochmaddy will say."
In fact Morag had little to say. Her mouth tightened as she briefly considered her mistress, but she did not pause in her packing. "We should return to Edinburgh," she muttered.
"We should," Delia agreed. "But I cannot. I cannot leave. They have need of me." She pleaded for understanding, though she scarcely understood her own weakness.
"And what have you need of?" the Scotswoman queried, folding the last gown into the broad trunk.
Delia had wished not to think of that. Her anguished gaze dropped to her hands. She wandered the chamber, restlessly plaiting the fringe of her shawl. She need not have answered her maid, but she did. "What I cannot have," she admitted sadly. "Only what I cannot have."
* * *
"Dear Aunt, I write in haste. We travel on the morrow to London. Our direction will be Grillon's Hotel. You must not think me Mad. There are many reasons for the journey, and I have been Convinced of their Importance. I will write again from Town."
CHAPTER SEVEN
"That was a mad scramble," Charles pronounced, as they departed Manningford the next morning. They all three were installed in the coach by ten of the clock. "I sent a message to my curate. I hope to heaven it reaches him," he added. "And I hope Jane packed my razor."
The Rake's Reflection Page 14
