Scandalous Scions Two

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “If you were any other man, perhaps not,” Jasper said. His tone was just as inoffensive as Tor’s. “I have not speculated on the extent of your attachment, brother. Bronwen is…” Jasper smiled. “Bronwen knows her own mind. Beyond ensuring her health and safety, I do not intercede, as I know her parents wish it that way. I ask for no details now.”

  “Thank you.”

  “However, I am also my father’s son. The illegitimate son,” Jasper added. “There is a family history there that troubles me, now you have opened the subject and confessed the attachment.”

  Tor understood. “You think I seek a way to make her my mistress. On a more permanent basis.”

  “The possibility is there. It is not an uncommon practice, for those of rank.”

  “You misunderstand,” Tor said. “I want a way to make her acceptable to the Council as my wife.”

  Jasper shifted on his feet, as if he had been surprised. He stared at Tor. Then he turned and plucked the last of the deep purple blooms from the vines, gathering them in one hand. “Do you love her, Tor?”

  Tor blinked. “What on earth…?”

  Jasper kept working. “It is a simple question. Do you love her?”

  Tor cleared his throat. “Love is not a part of the equation,” he said stiffly. “It is not a factor the Council can use to weigh her suitability.”

  “Oh. The Council.” Jasper’s tone was flat. He did not meet Tor’s eyes. Instead, he busied himself arranging the flowers in his hand.

  “It is irrelevant,” Tor added.

  “Is it?” Jasper leaned against the fence once more, his hands and the blooms hanging over the top of it. He held them up. “Lilly likes sweet peas.” Then he let them hang once more. “You seek a way to marry Bronwen because you consider yourself obligated?”

  Jasper made it sound pathetic and weak. “I consider myself an honorable man,” Tor countered.

  “Then you do feel obliged,” Jasper replied. He sighed. “Bronwen is the daughter of a bastard and a princess. Annalies’ title also dies with her. Her father’s principality no longer exists. She is cousin to the Queen, although the relationship is barely acknowledged. I estimate your Council will reel in horror if you were to put Bronwen’s name before them.”

  Tor nodded, because Jasper’s judgment was accurate. “It is as I suspected.” His chest was tight, making it hard to breathe. “I do not know if there is a way forward, after this.”

  Jasper considered the flowers. “If you believe there is no way forward, then you will not see it when it presents itself.”

  Tor considered him, startled. “You don’t understand. The laws of inheritance and security of the title are ancient practices that have ensured the title’s existence for more than seven hundred years. To gainsay that wisdom…” He shook his head. “My will be damned,” he added, his voice hoarse.

  “As you say,” Jasper replied. He turned as carriage wheels and horse hooves clattered on the flagstones in the yard. A muddy brougham pulled up next to the dressed horses. “Why that’s Appleton, from the telegraph office,” Jasper said.

  A young boy sitting next to the driver jumped to the ground and dug in the bag hanging on his hip. The boy waved a folded sheet of paper toward Jasper. “A wire, sir!”

  As Jasper headed toward the boy, the driver descended slowly. He opened the door to the brougham and stood back and tugged the brim of his hat.

  The man who stepped to the ground was silver-haired, his goatee pointed and his forehead high and smooth despite his age.

  Tor stared at him, a sick blackness blooming in his chest.

  It was Baumgärtner.

  The Swiss man saw Tor and raised his brow, astonishment crossing his features. Then Baumgärtner remembered his place and bowed low. “Your Highness,” he murmured, making the coach driver snap his head around to look at Tor and his mouth to drop open.

  “Dear God…” Jasper breathed.

  Tor turned. Jasper’s face was pale, his gaze on the telegraph in his hand. “What is it?” he demanded. Everything was happening at once. The world circled him in tighter and tighter movements, snaring him and holding him in place, for daring to try to step off it.

  “It’s Bronwen’s father,” Jasper said, holding out the sheet.

  Tor took it.

  RHYS VERY ILL. BRONWEN TO COME AT ONCE. LETTER FOLLOWS. A.

  Chapter Ten

  When Rhys stirred, Annalies put the book she was not reading to one side and pocketed her spectacles. Her heart gave another of the funny creaks and squeezes it had been doing ever since Rhys’ attack. She ignored it and bent over her husband’s sickbed.

  Rhys’ skin had always been pale. Now it seemed transparent, tinged with a bruised gray about his eyes.

  His eyes opened. “Anna…my love.”

  She picked up his heavy hand. “Rhys…” The tears threatened. Anna breathed through them. It would distress Rhys to see her cry. It always did. “You’re awake again. Do you remember waking yesterday?”

  He swallowed. “I’m alive.”

  “Yes, you’re alive.” She couldn’t help but touch him. She pressed her hand to his face. “Rhys, my darling…Doctor Mortenson is most anxious to know something. Can I ask you a question?”

  He licked his lips. “Yes.”

  “Did you have rheumatic fever when you were a child, Rhys? Do you remember being ill?” She held her breath, waiting for the answer. The heavy book she had put aside had told her why Mortenson was eager to know. Rheumatic fever weakened a person’s heart, to the point where bad shocks like Rhys had suffered could kill them. It explained to Anna why Sharla’s mother-in-law had dropped dead, last year, when presented with the facts of her son’s marriage.

  Rhys frowned. “No…” he breathed. “Never ill.” His voice wavered.

  Anna’s relief was so great, she sank onto the bed next to him, her knees buckling. “You are quite sure?” she whispered.

  “Yes. Mother proud of me. Robust, she said.” Rhys lifted his hand, moving it as if it weighed heavily. He pressed his fingers to her cheek. “Don’t.”

  She realized she was crying after all.

  The bedroom door opened and Mortenson sailed in, his big bag in his hand. “What’s this? What’s this?” he demanded. “You shouldn’t be here, your Highness. You’ll put too much stress on his heart and upset him. Out you go! Out! Out!”

  Anna rose to her feet. “I was just…”

  Mortenson dropped his bag, his expression grave. “Do you not understand, your Highness, how emotional upsets can impede your husband’s recovery?”

  “I wasn’t upsetting him!”

  Mortenson squeezed her shoulder, his expression kinder. “You’re distraught yourself, your Highness. A man of any empathy, and that includes your husband, will naturally feel a corresponding worry. For now, your duty must be to withhold from him all worry, all concerns, any hint of responsibilities and duties. Hysterical relatives, children, even concerned friends…their greatest kindness would be to leave him alone. Do you understand?”

  Anna wiped her cheeks with her knuckles. “I’ve sent for our sons and daughters…” Although, with Sadie in America, it might be weeks before she saw them once more. Even Bronwen was in Yorkshire, at least two days away.

  “You must be firm with them, when they come,” Mortenson said. “Rhys must not be excited in any way. Not for a good long while yet. Now…out you go, your Highness. I would tend my patient, if you please.”

  Anna moved out of the room, her mind turning, working hard, for the first time since Rhys had fallen.

  * * * * *

  Tor stayed by the window, out of the way of the family, as they tripped over each other and argued.

  Baumgärtner sat in the big wing chair that was usually Jasper’s seat, his cane between his knees and his hands resting on the silver knob. He did not move. Instead, his eyes followed the members of the family about the room. Often, they settled on Tor himself.

  Tor knew the man was assessing his ap
pearance and surmising a great deal from it. He did not care. Not now.

  Bronwen was part of the little scene in front of the fireplace. She clung to the high mantelshelf, holding herself up, as she argued with Lilly and Jasper and the oldest child, Seth, clung to Lilly’s skirt, his eyes big.

  “The next train to London isn’t until tomorrow,” Bronwen pointed out. “I could rent a hack to get to York and catch the night train.”

  “A carriage to York would cost a small fortune!” Lilly replied, aghast at such waste.

  “I don’t care!” Bronwen shot back. “I want to see my father!”

  Jasper held up his hand, in a calming motion. “Not even if you left this instant, would you make York in time for the night train. That leaves tomorrow’s train as the soonest, which you can catch if you leave here tomorrow at dawn.”

  The despair in Bronwen’s eyes made Tor want to pull her into his arms and hold her, yet he could not.

  He curled his fist and squeezed it, instead. He willed himself to look away from her.

  The window he stood at looked upon the back yard. He watched as the same hack as this morning rolled into the yard and the same young boy jumped from the driver’s bench and dug in his pouch.

  “I believe there is another telegraph arriving,” he said.

  He didn’t speak loudly, although he might as well have shouted, for the effect was the same. Everyone gasped and looked at him, with varying degrees of horror building in their faces.

  Even Baumgärtner swiveled on his chair to glance around the high sides at him.

  Jasper strode to the window and looked down just as the boy stepped into the service entrance of the house. “He’s right,” he said.

  Lilly picked up Bronwen’s hand and squeezed it.

  Bronwen was a statue, motionless and white.

  Jasper gave a soft curse, under his breath. “I can’t wait for Warrick to get here,” he muttered and strode to the door and opened it.

  They listened as Jasper stepped across the slate in the front hall. Then nothing, for a long moment, while the room was still. No one spoke.

  Jasper’s boots grinding on the slate once more heralded his return. He stepped into the room, holding the wire. He held it out to Bronwen.

  Her hand shook as she read it aloud.

  “Rhys out of danger. Doctor says do not come. Stay in Yorkshire. Letter to follow. A.”

  “Oh, thank God!” Lilly breathed. “He’ll live!”

  Bronwen dropped onto the ottoman and put her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook.

  Tor realized he had taken a step toward her when Baumgärtner looked at him sharply, his eyes narrowed. He made himself stay still, again. It took more discipline than he thought to stand and watch Bronwen’s distress.

  Jasper, though, was free to move. He lifted Bronwen to her feet and held her, patting her back and soothing her. “When the doctor says you can, I’ll drive you to London myself to see him,” he promised her.

  “We both will,” Lilly said, putting her arms around Bronwen too.

  Even little Seth picked up her hem and held it.

  Tor could not stand by a moment longer. He seethed with an aching need to do something.

  He stalked from the room and from Baumgärtner’s inspection…and away from Bronwen.

  Chapter Eleven

  The sun was setting on the long, exhausting day, when Bronwen next saw Tor. She had not noticed him leave the drawing room after the arrival of the second telegram. The little silver-haired man that Jasper had introduced to her as Baumgärtner had also disappeared when she next looked around her with any interest.

  Warrick had served a late afternoon tea in the drawing room for no one showed any interest in moving into the dining room. They took their tea and scones on their laps and speculated about what might have happened to Rhys, for the promised letters would take days to reach Bronwen.

  It was a useless, exhausting exercise, for nothing would be known for sure until the letters arrived. Bronwen curled up on the corner of the big sofa, her knees to her chest and her arms about her knees. She felt chilled. She clung to the hope imparted by the second telegram. Her father was out of danger.

  When Baumgärtner returned to the drawing room, the polite little smile was missing. He nodded at Jasper. “Can word be sent to the hotel in town? The carriage should come at once.”

  “Now?” Jasper asked, startled.

  “His Highness prefers to not linger while the family are dealing with personal upsets, as you are.”

  “I’ll have Warrick see to it,” Jasper murmured, moving over to the bellpull and tugging on it.

  Bronwen put her feet on the floor, as a tight band of pressure built in her chest. Tor was leaving. Tonight.

  He could not leave! There was so much they had yet to say. To do.

  Baumgärtner, though, settled on the front edge of the wing chair once more and put his hands on top of the cane, waiting. The posture, the readiness, told her that Tor really was leaving.

  It took another hour for Tor to appear. He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

  Bronwen sat up, her heart pattering hard, for Tor was a stranger to her.

  He wore the suit she had first seen him in, now cleaned and pressed. The elegant lines of the black suit were a far cry from the rough woolen tweed he had been wearing only yesterday. His hair was brushed back neatly, his collar and cuffs white and stiff and finished with gold pins. His silk cravat, with the dull green fleck in it that matched his waistcoat, glowed in the mild red sunset light coming through the windows. His chin was shaved clean, removing the blond stubble he had delighted in rubbing against her flesh to make her writhe. His shoes gleamed.

  Jasper got to his feet, putting aside the general medical text Bronwen had recommended to him. Lilly rose, too. Baumgärtner stayed where he was.

  Tor looked at each of them in turn, except for Bronwen.

  Her heart picked up speed.

  “With your permission, Jasper, I would have a last word with Miss Bronwen,” Tor said.

  Jasper nodded. “Why don’t you use the library?”

  Finally, Tor looked at her. “Bronwen?”

  She nodded.

  Tor turned and left.

  Bronwen hurried after him, her stomach cramping and her heart slamming against her chest. She thought she would have to chase him all the way to the library, yet he stood just beyond the door to the drawing room, waiting for her.

  Then she understood. The distance, the coolness, had been for Baumgärtner’s sake.

  She reached for his hand.

  Tor pulled it out of her reach and shook his head.

  Fear bloomed, large and dark. Bronwen swallowed.

  “The library at least has a door we can close,” Tor said. He moved across the hall, then turned and waited for her to walk by his side.

  Bronwen followed him through the wide corridor to the big library door and stepped inside. Warrick always kept the fire burning until the late evening, in case she chose to use the library at night. It was crackling and popping now, for someone had just laid fresh logs on the embers.

  It was the only sound in the room, except for the closing of the door.

  Bronwen couldn’t make herself move beyond the door. Her legs would not cooperate.

  Tor, though, moved over to the leather tucked armchair and perched on the arm, as he had done on his first day at Northallerton.

  The return of that stiff, upright man explained to Bronwen more thoroughly than any book could that Tor—the Tor she knew—had in all ways but physical left her already.

  Only, her heart would not let her accept that.

  “Bronwen…”

  “Is there nothing for us?” she asked. “No hope at all?”

  “I must return to my duties. Silkeborg needs me.”

  “I need you.”

  Tor swallowed. Where his hands gripped his arms, his knuckles showed white. Only, his expression was distant. Regal. “There is no hope
for us,” he said, his voice soft. “There never was. You must have known. You did know. You know everything.”

  I know I love you. The words hovered on her lips. Pride made her force them back.

  There was one last chance for her. She had wrestled with it for the last hour, while waiting for Tor to return to the drawing room. “Jasper’s mother and your father—”

  “No.” He snapped the word.

  Bronwen recoiled, astonished at the anger in his voice.

  Tor got to his feet. “I know what is in your mind. I will not have that life—that ignoble, ignored life—I would not wish that upon you, not even if it gives me what I want.”

  Her eyes pricked, heralding tears. She hated crying and she would die if her tears fell where Tor could see them. Bronwen blinked hard. “Then you do not care enough to keep me even as your mistress?”

  Tor swore, making her step back another inch or two. He could only have learned that word from the local farmers. She had never heard him curse before.

  He came toward her, moving slowly, as if he fought for every step. “What I feel, however I might care, has nothing to do with this,” he said, his voice low. “It cannot influence my decision. Do you understand? There are greater forces at work here, that drive me back to Denmark. Tell me you understand that.”

  “Of course I do.” Bronwen hesitated. “Do you care, then? Even a little?”

  His chest rose and fell. “Don’t ask me that.”

  “Then you will give me nothing to keep from this,” she said bitterly.

  “God help me,” Tor breathed. “You don’t understand. You, who knows everything and sees all…now you do not understand.”

  Bronwen shook her head. “No, I don’t!” she cried. “Tell me the truth, Tor! Tell me this was something more than a…a distraction!”

  “No!” He clenched his fists, breathing hard. “To say anything at all…don’t you see? It would not be a kindness.”

  Bronwen let out a shuddering breath. “Your father loved Jasper’s mother. He told her so, over and over again, until she died.”

  “And that is all of him she had,” Tor shot back. “Empty words.” He shook his head. “Look at us, Bronwen. Really look, I mean. See the distance that is already between us.”