Then, with obvious, malicious delight, Madame Philotes laughed again. "But the child died as soon as he was born. A son. Would have been the heir Berkshire longed for, even if he was another man's bastard." When she laughed, it was a twisted evil sound. "The bastard son of The Bloody Duke most likely. Not so powerful now that your secrets are exposed, are you, your grace?"
There was a look of defiant triumph in Stephen's eyes and Nicholas knew the man was relishing his humiliation. But what the man did not realize was that he was humiliating Lord and Lady Framingham as well. Did the man truly hate his parents so much that he did not care that he was destroying them socially? Or for his long-lost brother Francis who truly had no part in this and had been raised as another man's son. Or for what he was doing to Eliza, the sister that he had once adored so much? For no man would have her after this disgraceful scene. No, if any of the family was ever to be able to hold their heads up in public again, Nicholas knew he must end this before the foolish, stupid man spilled any more of the family's secrets. Or his.
"Enough!" Nicholas' roar was enough to shake the candles in the chandeliers high above the ballroom floor. Then he turned to both Stephen and Madame Philotes, his eyes so dark and angry that Eliza could swear she saw the very depths of Hell within them.
And that was another new side to Nicholas, one that Eliza had also never seen. This part of him was far worse than the anger he had shown at The Stuck Pig. This man was ruthless, a part of Hades itself. There was nothing of Nicholas Rosemont in him at all.
Eliza wanted to say something, to bring Nicholas back to himself. But what could she say that would not make this entire, ugly situation even worse? For there was no doubt that any chance she would have of securing a match when Nicholas left her was long gone and had been from the moment Stephen had appeared at the top of the stairs. If she would even be welcomed anywhere in society at all.
And there was nothing she could do to stop the disaster that was unfurling before her very eyes.
Thus far, she had stood quietly by while the nightmare unfolded before her. She did not know what to say. What could she say? Nicholas had most likely sired a son with Lady Berkshire. That was Eliza's worst nightmare come true. And was the child truly dead? Or was he still alive, now likely sixteen or more years old? Eliza was not about to accept the word of either Madame Philotes or Stephen on this matter. The two of them - particularly Madame Philotes - was a known liar. And from the fury that was written all over Nicholas' face, it was evident that he did not believe them either.
Still, Eliza's heart ached at the idea that once more, Ellie had been so devious. So angry. So hurtful. And that she had knowingly stolen something from Nicholas that he would never be able to get back again. Right then, if the woman had not already been dead, Eliza would have killed the lady herself. And most likely with great relish. She was that furious.
When the voices of the assembled guests began to rise again, Nicholas' commanding presence quieted them once more. "I said enough!" This time, the glassware on the footmen's serving trays shook, sloshing champagne over the side of the glasses. A vein throbbed in his neck and his jaw worked back and forth, as if he was trying to at least keep some measure of control on his temper.
Then Nicholas snorted at Stephen with haughty derision, fully convinced of this man's true identity. "This is why I paid for your commission! So that you might learn something of responsibility! Perhaps it was not my place to do so, but it was the only thing I could think of to prevent you from destroying both yourself and your family! You claimed that you wanted to serve your country and make something of yourself. More fool me, then, for believing you, I suppose. Though that is also why I purchased the commission myself and did not simply hand over the necessary coin. I was afraid that you would waste it!"
Dimly, Eliza remembered the months before Stephen had left for Spain. The drunken whoring and the arguing. The arrogance. Her mother's tears. For so long, she had remembered her brother as a saint when in truth, he was more sinner than anything else. And for the first time, she realized why her parents had been so eager to accept the man who had turned up on their doorstep a scant few weeks ago.
To them, he was still Stephen, but a better version than the one who had departed for Spain six years before. The man who had come back to them was cheerful and responsible. Not dark and sullen as Stephen had been before he left. It was the son they had always wanted, magically appearing out of the darkness. And for the first time in her life, Eliza saw the entire, complicated picture that was her family. She understood. She forgave. And she was finally ready to move on as well.
Then, Nicholas moved and began advancing on Stephen, his face so dark and thunderous that Eliza thought he would be lucky if he did not keel over dead where he stood. "It is not enough that you come into this home uninvited with your little side show of freaks, determined to shock everyone here and shame your family. It is not enough that you attempt to disgrace me with new, filthy lies when I have admitted to my many crimes long ago. Nor is it enough that you drag this whoremonger into the home of a respected member of Parliament, embarrassing him and his family in front of the whole of society. No, that is not enough for you, is it?"
If in that moment Nicholas had begun breathing fire, Eliza would not have been surprised. So complete was his rage that he appeared to see no one but the man before him and in that moment, Eliza feared for her brother. For she had no doubt that he was Stephen, no matter how he had changed. And despite everything, she did not wish to see him dead.
"Do you hate me and your parents so much that you would drag your sister into the deepest of muck with you?" Nicholas was now nose to nose with Stephen and Eliza let out a short gasp when he reached out and grasped the other man by the lapels, shaking him. "She who has never been anything more than your loving, devoted sister! The woman who has been the very fabric that has held this family together! The woman who deserves far better than what you have just done to her!" Violently, Nicholas pushed Stephen away from him, sending him sprawling backwards into the vases of flowers that had been artfully arranged at the bottom of the stairs.
"You should be worshiping at her feet, you miserable excuse for a human being!" Nicholas was nearly screaming now, his rage blinding him so that he saw nothing but Stephen. "Do not ever so much as speak a word against her again or I will slice you into so many pieces that you will suffer more pain than you ever dreamed possible. More than being dashed against the rocks of the bloody Spanish Coast could ever possibly inflict!"
Then, in the space of a single second, Nicholas seemed to come back to himself, the rage subsiding to be replaced by a frigidly, deadly calm. And somehow, that was more terrifying than the unbridled anger. "And no one will ever find a single trace of you again." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Not. One. Ever. I have killed for much less than this. Best remembered that, old friend."
For the first time, Stephen seemed to truly grasp the magnitude of what he had just done in his misguided quest for revenge and acceptance. He grasped the edge of the table where Nicholas had flung him, his arms shaking and his breath coming in great gasps. There was also terror in his eyes, as if he was seeing his old friend for the first time and realizing that The Bloody Duke was all too real.
"I...I am sorry," Stephen finally managed, his voice quaking as the deafening silence of the room closed in around him. "I never..."
"Save your apologies for her." Nicholas nodded at Eliza and she reached back blindly in fear, only to feel the calm, reassuring hand of Francis reach for her. "And for your family as well. They deserve them, after all. I do not. And I never have."
Then, with nearly military crisp precision, Nicholas turned to Eliza and bowed deeply, turning so much leg that she nearly gaped at the spectacle. "My dear, I am afraid that I cannot continue to ask you to tie your future to mine. For you see, men like me do not truly change. And there is much yet I have to answer for." He rose and in his eyes, Eliza could see a depth of pain that she could not even
begin to imagine. "For as despicable as he is, your brother is correct on one count. I did lay with Lady Berkshire after she was wed, even if I did not get her with child. And that is my cross to bear. Not yours. I could not ask you to forgive such an egregious sin on my part. Nor would I."
Slowly, Nicholas reached out and took Eliza's free hand - the one that was not already tucked securely in Francis' grasp. "I am so, so very sorry, Izzy. I never meant to hurt you. You must believe that." His words were for her ears alone. "You deserve better than me and you always have." Lightly, Nicholas kissed the back of her gloved hand, the feeling of his lips burning through the thin fabric. So hot that she was certain that if she removed her gloves, an imprint of his lips would be left behind on her flesh. "I pray that one day you will find a man worthy of you. I only wish that it could be me."
Regret in his eyes, Nicholas released her hand just as Eliza felt her heart break inside of her chest. He turned to go, and, with a snap of his fingers, summoned a small army of men to his side. They were dressed mostly as footmen, but a few were clad in houseman's garb. They crossed the room, abandoning their fans where they had been positioned around the room. She was not surprised when both Lord Chillton and Lord Raynecourt joined him as well.
Then, with a single look back, Nicholas nodded at her. And then he was gone, taking the men, the Bow Street Runners, Madame Philotes, and Stephen with him.
"Nicholas," Eliza whispered as she moved to follow him. But Francis' hand held her back.
She turned to face him, knowing that tears shimmered in her eyes. "Let him go, Izzy." Francis' words were gentle and she saw the look of true tenderness in his eyes. He cared for her. He might not have grown up by her side, but that did not mean he didn't feel the tug of familial bonds between them, just as she did. "For now, anyway. There will be time enough on the 'morrow. Trust me."
"What if I have truly lost him?" Overwhelming despair threatened to engulf Eliza and she wanted nothing more than to throw herself into her brother's arms and weep.
"You haven't," Francis reassured her, pulling her into his tight embrace, as if reading her mind. "That man loves you. He will return to you. I promise."
Eliza wished that she could believe him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Town Tattler
The scene last night at the Framingham Gala Ball to welcome the long-lost heir back into the bosom of society was not quite what this observer expected. Far from it, in fact! The evening was fraught with scandal from almost the very start, including the interest Stephen Deaver, Lord Underhill - or should I now say Francis Deaver? - was taking in Lord Waverly's daughter. It only became more interesting from there!
Child abduction! Madams in the respectable houses of peers of the realm! Heirs switched at birth! Bow Street Runners! A secret army of men commanded by Lord Candlewood! Long lost identical twin brothers! Betrayal! Bastard children! The night had it all and more!
Yet it also had heartbreak. And for that, I cannot find much good or cheerful to say. For if there was one young lady of Society who deserved a happy ending to what is likely to be her last season, it is Lady Eliza. And this observer believed she had found her Prince Charming in The Bloody Duke. But, alas, it does not look to be. When fairy tales such as theirs go wrong, it is left to the rest of us to wonder why. Was it his singular night with Lady Berkshire so very long ago? Was it his rumored part in the purchase of Lord Underhill's commission six years past? A man who was not the true Lord Underhill at all, but rather the spare. Or was it something more, something that only the two of them know and the rest of us never will? I am afraid that I no longer have the answers. And for once, I shall stop looking and leave the young lady in peace. She deserves nothing less. And she deserves to be left alone.
-Madame C
The gossip rags were delivered to the Framingham house long before dawn. Not that any member of the household had likely slept a wink. Eliza certainly hadn't. It had taken what seemed like an eternity for the assembled guests to depart after the shocking scene in the ballroom. Everyone had been waiting for something more to occur, such as Stephen making a grand re-entrance to the home he now claimed as his.
But he did not reappear. And both Eliza and Francis had been watching for him.
As had Lord and Lady Framingham. Though not out of elation but rather out of fear. This angry man was not the Stephen they had raised. And, as it came to be revealed in halting, stumbling words spoken through the course of the night, most likely not the true Framingham heir, either.
That title, it seemed, truly did belong to Francis. Clara Deaver had known she was carrying twins when she began increasing far more than any of her friends ever had. Or she had at least suspected. That was why she had sought out Mrs. Poppy Green, the most esteemed midwife in all of London to assist with the delivery. There had been rumblings that a high number of infants died while being delivered by her, but then, birthing was a messy and often harrowing experience. Deaths were not uncommon - either for the babe or the mother.
On the morning she had given birth, Clara had been certain that she had given life to two healthy baby boys. Francis, named for Lord Framingham's father, was to be the heir. Stephen, named for Clara's father, the spare.
She had heard their lusty cries and felt them depart her body, both very much alive. They had been whisked away - over her objections, she had to add - to be cleaned and prepared for presentation to their father. But only one son had returned. Stephen. The younger. Francis, the heir, had passed after only a few minutes of life.
The death of the heir had all but destroyed Lady Framingham, and even now with the knowledge that both children were alive, Eliza could see the pain in her mother's eyes. There was a hollowness there that went beyond mere emptiness and into sheer despair. It was little wonder the woman had always seemed to be only half alive. She had been. The other part of her had died the day her son had died.
So the Framinghams had raised Stephen as the true heir. The only son Clara had borne that day, telling no one of Francis' supposed death. After all, no one needed to know the truth.
Less than three months after the passing of Francis, Lady Framingham had found herself with child again and she was hopeful that it would be another boy. The much needed spare. Instead, it had been a girl. Eliza. And her hopes had been dashed, for despite how desperately they tried, Clara Deaver was never able to conceive another child again.
The words her mother had spoken - ones about despair and anguish over the birth of a daughter and not a son - had cut Eliza deeply. She knew she had not been particularly wanted, but she had no idea until that moment how much of a disappointment her birth had truly been. Once more, her parents seemed oblivious, but Francis once again proved the family member that Eliza could rely upon. His firm hand upon hers gave her a comfort she had not known before. And that she greatly appreciated.
Now, in the early morning hours, Eliza wondered if it would have been better if her parents had spoken of the tragedy. If they had spoken of Francis. It certainly would have made her life after Stephen's passing much easier. More to the point, had they explained the tragedy, perhaps the real Stephen might not have felt so much pressure to one day assume the role of Framingham. He might not have rebelled. He might not have gone to war and come back a changed man.
But then, had those things not occurred, the unknown man in Brighton never would have served with Stephen. He never would have mistaken Francis for his brother after the bar brawl had destroyed Francis' memory. And had none of those things occurred, Francis might never have found his way back to them.
And Eliza had to admit that she very much liked having a brother. One who actually cared about her, especially. Even if Francis was not the brother who had pushed her to achieve as a child, he was the brother she needed now. Whoever had raised him - most likely Lord and Lady Moxham - had done a fine job. For he was an upright and moral man, far more so than most men Eliza knew. He was also strong and steady, a calming influence in the face of madnes
s.
More than that, she liked him. She liked the man that he was and liked the idea that he was her brother. Without the paths they had taken, she might never have known him and that would be a true pity. For as much as she had resisted at first, she now could no longer imagine a life that Francis was not a part of.
If not for the past, there also would have been no Nicholas in her life. At least not in her present. And her time with him was something she could not regret in the least either.
"I thought I might find you here." Eliza was not surprised that Francis had come looking for her. Or that he knew to look for her first in the garden. After only a few short weeks, he seemed to know her better than anyone else in her family did or ever would. "I take it you did not sleep last night either."
"Not a wink," Eliza admitted as she moved over to make room for her brother on the bench. "I am not certain how any of us could."
Using his cane to help lower himself - a true sign that his leg was distressing him - Francis sat down with a sigh. "Well, for what it is worth, Mama is finally asleep. I have asked Tibbs to make certain no one disturbs her. Calling hours are, as you might imagine, cancelled for today." He grimaced. "I, for one, wish last night would not have happened. At least not as it did, anyway."
"But then we would not know the truth." Eliza could not bring herself to be sorry about that part. "And I would not have both of my brothers back." She scrunched up her nose. "Even if one of them is something of a disappointment."
The Secret Seduction of Lady Eliza Page 30
