Completely idiotic. He was tired. That was all.
Matters had come to a head, and he could defer discussing the topic no longer. The letter that had haunted him for years, the one that had proved the final straw and sent him abroad.
He pushed back his chair. “If you will excuse me, Mama, Papa. I would appreciate a private word with you when you have the time.”
His mother spread her hands and looked up at him, smiling. “What’s wrong with here?”
To spoil their appetite too? No, he would not do that. “Perhaps, when you are done, you can come upstairs to the drawing room.” He forced a smile. “You have not seen the rest of the house.”
“No, indeed. Although now we are here you may prefer to come to our own house.”
Once he’d opened his heart to them, they would probably prefer not to be under the same roof with him.
He left the room, his pulse drumming in his ears. He had never been so apprehensive, never so much in need of a stiff brandy. He didn’t have one, but went upstairs and collected the folder that was his constant companion. Even touching it made his throat tighten. He rested both hands against the dresser and leaned forward, forcing a series of deep breaths. He’d found himself in terrible situations before. He could get through this. After all, wasn’t it better to know for sure than to live with more years of speculation?
He didn’t know, but he feared he was about to find out. Unless, of course, his parents refused to tell him, but he had his own sources now. He would use them if he had to.
When he went downstairs to the drawing room, feeling more like a child going to accept punishment than an adult man of thirty-one, he approached the problem as he approached everything—head-on, without equivocation. Once he’d made up his mind, he would not go back. He never did.
His parents sat together on the sofa. His mother wore that faint smile that always gave her the air of interest in whatever the person confronting her was saying. Her patient endurance had infuriated her son more than once, but he refused to let it steer him from his purpose now.
She raised a brow at the sight of the folder. “That has been in the wars, has it not?”
She would probably expect him to find something elegant to put it in but the contents deserved only what he’d bestowed on them. Not even that, although the collection of them had cost him a lot.
He took the chair opposite to them and flipped the folder open, revealing its secrets. He was close enough to hand them the documents, but first he would tell them what he’d discovered.
“When I was seventeen, just before I left home to join the army, I discovered something by accident,” he began. “Father was teaching me the management of the estate, so I was in the muniments room.” He’d never set foot in it since, although he supposed he must one day. “If you recall, Papa, you told me to make free of the place. I don’t know if you knew this was in it.”
He picked up a nondescript sheet of notepaper, with a faded address on the back. He knew it by heart. “It comes from the Palazzo Muti, and it is addressed to my father. Shall I read it?”
His father’s face had turned white and he was gripping the sofa’s armrest so tightly his knuckles were bone-pale. His mother’s pallor owed nothing to the powder on her face.
“Please remind me of the contents,” his father said. At least he didn’t pretend he knew nothing of the document.
Dominic began to read, though in truth he could have recited it from memory.
“My dear Brampton,” he began in a low, steady tone. As he had so often in the past, he cut his emotions away and refused to allow them to take hold of him any more than they had already.
“I have become aware of a favor you are considering bestowing on a young subject of mine. The lady is of good family and she has reason to wish for the item to be cared for in the most tender way. You will not regret your actions, and I will ensure you are rewarded as soon as we return to our rightful place in St. James’s Palace, London.
“Until then, I remain, yours etcetera.”
He looked up. “He only uses his initials, but it is enough. He placed his seal on the letter, too. James Edward Francis Stuart. He has the audacity to use a royal seal.”
Dominic handed the paper over. He would prefer it destroyed, but when he’d discovered it, he already believed that whatever secrets it contained would change his life forever.
“You did the Old Pretender a favor. You never even told me you had visited Rome. How many times have you gone back?”
“Never,” his father said in a thready voice.
“Did you know of this, Mother?” He refrained from using the more familiar “Mama.” The word stuck in his throat.
“Of course I did,” she replied. “What else do you have in that thing?” Disdainfully she indicated the file.
“Only a little slim evidence. When I found that, I determined to discover more.”
“Why did you not ask us outright?” his mother demanded wrathfully. Her pale eyes sparkled. Lady Brampton did not lose her temper often, but when she did, the world knew.
“I did. I asked Father, but he refused to answer. Said it was nonsense, and it was merely a note from an old friend thanking me for transporting a large portrait home to his parents.”
He stared at his father, who met his gaze steadily at first. Then he looked away.
Dominic returned his attention to the file. “You constantly taught me the value of love and honor, but you refused to honor me or my request. It was a lie. The Palazzo Muti was in the newspapers, and that seal? It’s a royal seal. You should have said the Old Pretender sent this to you, and then I might have believed you. As far as you were concerned, the subject was closed.”
He picked up another sheet. “I was lost, wondering what other secrets you’d hidden from me. I had long had the ambition to serve in the army, and despite your protests and mother’s tears, I went. If I had not discovered this letter, I might have relented and stayed at home. I needed to get away.”
He handed over the second document as if it meant nothing. “You know I was sometimes engaged in less-than-straightforward business. I came upon other evidence that you had helped the Pretender in some way. I kept the letters. You may burn them if you wish. I have no further use for them.” The evidence was scarce, but he’d collected what he could find. A handful of mentions of his father, and then nothing more.
Abruptly he got to his feet, strode to the sideboard, and then changed his mind and walked to the window.
Life went on outside. At times the normality of existence soothed him, but today he resented it. How many people walking in the street outside suffered such disillusionment?
“You taught me honor and truth. You said that a man should always tell the truth and shame the devil. He should stand by his words and never act the traitor to his heart or his King.”
Remembering the lessons he still tried to live by, Dominic wondered yet again why he had continued to stick by them. After all, a liar and a traitor had taught them to him.
“What do you mean to do?” his father asked quietly.
The sound of rustling paper showed him that they were going through the contents of the file. Ridding himself of it gave him some relief. He could breathe more freely now.
It was done and the secret was out. One thing remained. “What have you done?” he asked quietly.
“Who knows about this?” his father demanded.
“Only me, and of course, you. However, if you continue to act the spy and traitor, I will take steps to ensure you do it no more.”
He had planned what he meant to do. Declaring his father a traitor in public would mean utter disgrace, probably the loss of the land and title. Not that he cared for those, but the people who worked on the estate deserved better. They depended on his father for a living. Society would totally destroy Lord Brampton, and for all this lapse of judgment his father had achieved some things in his life. “Are you still working for the Pretender?”
H
e leaned his forehead against the cool glass. A chair mender made his raucous way down the street. Occasionally, the sound of his voice raised up even here, and the chairs, the knives, and old chair-legs proclaimed his profession. Did he have an easier life? A man with a trade would never starve, or so his father had told him. A fallacy. A lie, like so much his father had told him. How could he trust anything his father said?
That was why he had left. To find his own truth. He had contacted his parents, visited them when he came home, but until now had never the courage to face them with what he knew. This state of affairs could go on no longer.
With a rustle of silk, his mother got to her feet. “This folder is missing one or two documents,” she said, and when her husband protested, she continued, “I will fetch them. Like you, I carry some things with me always. I have a folder of my own.”
In the five minutes she was gone, Dominic stayed by the window, his heart pounding again. Another folder? He’d expected them to deny it, perhaps lose their tempers and pretend not to know what he was talking about. They wouldn’t have realized he’d become an adept at interrogation as part of his work. Since he’d been planning for a longer campaign, his mother’s capitulation took him aback.
His mother returned, a pretty embroidered folder in her hand. “Unlike you, I adorned my portfolio. It’s the most important possession I have, but I will trust you with it.” She unfastened the red ribbons holding the folder closed. “You may do what you wish with the contents.”
From precious to waste. Wondering at her attitude, he could yet read nothing in her face. His mother could have defied him for hours, had she wished. He could hardly employ some of the methods he had used in the past with his parents.
However, one decision remained firm. If they continued to lie to him and to refuse to tell him the truth, he’d walk away. They would be nothing but his parents, and he would no longer owe them his love. Only duty.
The folder only held two papers. One was another letter, one he’d never seen before. He knew the handwriting and the signature; the royal seal, although this one was small and cracked.
My dear sir,
I am pleased to hear that you are finally back in England. I would I were with you, but I fear that will not happen for some time to come. While I understand your decision, it grieves me to know that you will not help me in my quest. However, I will trust you with the enclosed document, on the understanding that you show it to nobody else. Then all will be at an end between us. My dear Maria sends her best wishes, but she understands the necessity of the action we take and she will not tell anyone of our bargain.
“About as clear as the one I have.” Relief flooded through him. If his father had betrayed his King and country at one time, he had thought better of it later and refused to help further. That spoke for something, after all. He glanced at his father. Lord Brampton’s left hand still clutched the armrest as if his life depended on it.
Dominic picked up the second paper, and everything he’d known before in his life changed. Nothing was the same, nor would it ever be so again.
Chapter 8
Claudia had not expected to see Dominic that morning. He’d quite clearly told her he intended to spend the day at his club, collecting gossip. She had teased him, telling him the club members sounded like a lot of old women and he’d be much better off at her mother’s literary salon.
Just before they’d parted, he’d taken advantage of a nearby darkened doorway to pull her in and snatch a brief breathless kiss. He teased her with the possibility of more but never allowed it. “That is for your insults about my club,” he murmured as he took her back to her coach. “You can wait for another, and I shall probably make you ask for it.”
Today, she was emerging from a toy-shop in the Royal Exchange when he swept up to her. He grabbed her arm in a grip she could only describe as vise-like, since she didn’t have time to think of anything more original. He dragged her to the end of the row, where narrow stairs led down to the ground level.
In the scant shelter offered, he dragged her close and kissed her in a way she had never known. His recklessness thrilled her to her marrow. He took her brutally, forcing her mouth open with his tongue, possessing rather than tasting and exploring. Desperation transmitted itself to her in the tense muscles under his unusually plain coat and his arousing kiss.
The dandy had turned into a savage. He heated her fast, her senses rising to respond to his demands.
Groaning, he finished the kiss but before he could do so again, she spoke. “My mother and sister will be more than shocked by your behavior. While I am flattered, didn’t you say you’d be at White’s today?”
He shook his head. “I needed to see you. You said you were shopping. I walked the length and breadth of Bond Street, and then I recalled this place.”
While the Exchange was mainly for commerce, it also had a number of charming shops. A stroll around the upper floors, open to the fresh air, made the most of the pleasant weather.
“Bond Street is always crowded. Besides, I wanted to find a new fan, and the best maker in London trades from here.” She spoke by rote, calmly.
He was agitated, his voice holding his distress.
“I’m sorry.” He sighed and then turned, holding out his arm. “I just wanted to see you, that was all. One last time.”
“What do you mean? Where are you going?” Now it was her turn to feel alarmed.
“Nowhere.” He grimaced. “I have to talk to you. I will not—never mind, I cannot speak to you rationally here. I barely know what rational is any more. I fear what I have to say may involve your father and brothers. I must ask to see them.” He paused. “They are at least men of honor.”
“You are a man of honor.”
He took her face between her hands. “I have cheated and lied for my country. I have caused people suffering when I wanted to learn the truth or reveal a secret.”
He’d hurt them? He could mean nothing else. While she’d vaguely imagined his clandestine work had not been completely above board, she’d assured herself that he’d done it for his country. That made whatever he did expedient. She could not believe that he had prolonged suffering.
“You wouldn’t have hurt them unnecessarily.” She spoke firmly. A breeze swept past them, ruffling the folds of her light shawl and disturbing the curls brushing her neck.
With a slight wistful smile, he brushed a curl back and lingered to caress her neck softly. “You are utterly charming,” he said, “I suspect your pragmatism outdoes mine. I cannot say I did cause anyone to suffer unnecessarily, but what is necessity?”
“Philosophy, here?” She glanced around. “I told you that you’d be better at my mother’s salon. She’s holding it in an hour. Will you come?”
He shook his head. “After what I have to tell you, you will not wish to be in my company. I will call on you as soon as I may and explain myself. I owe you that, at least. I will request that at least some of your family be present at that time. I cannot tell you more, my sweet, because I can’t bear to say it more than once. Have no hopes in me. Whatever we thought was growing between us is at an end. We cannot continue with anything. I have plans to rejoin the army abroad, although my…parents…are against it.”
“But you’re the only heir!” How could he walk away from that? He would make his parents unhappy and deny everything they had worked for.
He only pressed another hard, feverish kiss to her lips, and then he was gone. He clattered down the stairs as her mother and sister rounded the corner and caught up to her.
Lady Strenshall gazed down the stairs. “That young man has a bee in his bonnet, and that’s for sure. I’m not sure he’d be entirely comfortable as a husband.”
To her mild surprise, Claudia found she could still smile at the vision of Dominic wearing a bonnet.
“Have you not seen your favorite admirer recently?”
Claudia glanced sharply at her sister, who was placidly seated at the dressing-table mirror
hooking in a pair of amethyst earrings. “Which one would that be?”
“You know fine well. St. Just.” She finished and sat back to admire the result, shrugged, and got up to make way for her sister.
“Why do you do that?” Claudia demanded, eager to get the conversation away from her erstwhile courtier.
“What?” Livia twitched at her gown. Their maid had just left, dismissed by Livia before she’d quite finished. Livia picked up her spectacles and popped them on her nose before examining her appearance in the mirror and turning away.
“You are quite lovely, you know.”
“Considering we are identical, that’s rather vain of you.”
Claudia smiled. “Some people can tell us apart, even when you’re not wearing those horrible things.”
Livia took off the glasses. “These horrible things save me from headaches when I’m studying. Twenty years ago, I would not be able to see so well close-up. Did you know that the expert in optics who developed these lenses lives in London?”
It was Claudia’s turn to shrug. She took her place before the mirror and picked up the haresfoot. “I’m glad he’s proved of use to you.”
Prepared to continue the discussion, even accept one of her sister’s lectures, she attended to her cheeks. She added some of the blush that had unaccountably disappeared over the last few days. She’d appeared almost lackluster when she looked at herself in the mirror in the mornings.
“Come on, Claudia, you’ve been tossing and turning all night. You can’t hide it from me. Everyone else may think you’re the same as always, but you’ve fallen out with him, haven’t you?”
It wasn’t like Livia to recall the original topic of discussion, especially when given permission to impart a nugget of knowledge. She must have really made her mind up to confront Claudia. That meant she wouldn’t let up until Claudia said something.
Claudia racked her brains. “We do not suit, that’s all. Our…association was exciting and interesting, but we tired of each other. Ran out of conversation.”
“No you did not.” Livia spoke so calmly, as if she’d been there. “It was after that day at the Exchange when he rushed you off and then ran away.”
Reckless in Pink Page 9
