CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
James tiptoed up the secret stairwell to Rose’s bedchamber.
He and Lucas had ridden hard all day, and it was very late, the house abed, which he considered a blessing.
He wasn’t about to strut into the front parlor with the servants watching and Rose glaring. He had a ton of explaining to do, and he planned to do it quietly and in private. He wasn’t the most eloquent man and wasn’t sure he could obtain her forgiveness.
If she gave him a tongue-lashing and sent him on his way, he didn’t want any witnesses. But if he was successful, and she was glad he’d returned, he wanted no witnesses for that moment, either. He simply wanted to pack her things and slip out the back with her. They’d be gone before anyone knew he’d arrived.
Yet as he reached the landing outside her hidden door, he stumbled to a halt, his mind not able to process what was occurring.
Stanley was there, his eye pressed to the wall, clearly looking into Rose’s suite through a peephole.
The perverted ass!
How long had he spied on her? What had he seen? Had he observed her dalliances with James? The notion didn’t bear contemplating.
A wave of rage swept over James, the likes of which he’d never previously experienced.
“What the bloody hell…?” he seethed.
Stanley was confused by James’s voice. He frowned and began to turn, but before he could, James grabbed him by his coat and tossed him toward the stairs. He stumbled down them, cursing as he descended, but James wasn’t sorry for the rough treatment.
Stanley was much shorter than James, so James had to lean down to stare through the peephole. Rose was pacing in her bedchamber. Attired in just her robe, the belt was loose, the front flopping open to give him glimpses of her cleavage and private parts.
She must have heard his scuffle with Stanley, because she froze, obviously wondering what had happened.
James was sick with disgust.
He lurched away and raced down to grab Stanley again. He lifted the smaller man by his coat, seams popping, as they exited into the hall on the lower floor, then James marched them down to Stanley’s own bedchamber. James dragged Stanley inside, flung him away, then slammed the door behind them.
Stanley pulled himself up, deviously scrambling to formulate the lies and evasions that would cool James’s temper, that would paint a better picture of Stanley so he wouldn’t look like such a lecher.
“James”—his smile was fake, cajoling—“I wasn’t expecting you. When did you get home?”
“You have one minute to explain yourself.”
Stanley scowled as if he couldn’t remember where they’d just been, then he laughed as if it had been a harmless prank. “Oh, you mean up in the stairwell?”
“Rose and I are leaving, Stanley, and I swear to God, this is the very last time you and I will ever speak. So tell me what you wish me to know, for I am never—never!—coming back.”
“James, James, calm yourself. Let’s have a brandy, hmm?”
“One minute, Stanley, starting now.”
Apparently, Stanley thought he could bluff James as he constantly had in the past. He went over to the sideboard and poured them both a drink. He held out the glass to James like a peace offering, and James batted it away, liquor splashing everywhere.
“Spying on her, Stanley,” James fumed, “when she’s alone and undressed?”
“It’s not what you think,” Stanley claimed.
“It’s exactly what I think!” James bellowed. “You ghastly wretch! Is this the sort of person you are? Spying on an innocent woman who is a guest in your home? All these years, I’ve wondered what drove you, and I guess I have my answer.”
James yanked the door open, ready to storm out, when Stanley murmured, “Don’t go.”
But James ignored him. He was too incensed for conversation. His mind whirred with images of how he’d respected Stanley, feared Stanley, loathed Stanley, been grateful to Stanley. The odd cord binding them had been severed, and James was floating free, untethered to Stanley or to Summerfield.
“James!” Stanley beseeched.
James whipped around, desperately eager to beat Stanley to a pulp, but Stanley appeared elderly, contrite, and diminished in a way he never had before.
“What?” James barked.
Stanley gestured to his room. “Talk to me. Humor an old man.”
“Screw you.”
“I’m embarrassed, James. I’m ashamed. Please talk to me.”
James knew he should have kept on, but Stanley had never previously admitted to having emotional flaws. Not ever, so James was exasperated to find himself insisting again, “You have one minute. That’s it. Then I’m done with you.”
Calling himself an idiot and a fool, he swept into the bedchamber. He poured himself the drink Stanley had initially offered, then seated himself in a chair. Stanley closed the door and eased himself into the chair opposite. He stared at the floor, unable to begin.
“How long has it been going on?” James demanded.
“Since she first arrived.”
“For pity’s sake, Stanley. You’re reprehensible.”
Stanley’s gaze was furious. “You don’t understand what it’s like to be me, to have my physical…problem.”
“Don’t try to justify your behavior. You can’t.”
“All right, I won’t.”
“When did you drill your peephole? Has it always been there? Or was it created just for her?”
“I’ve had it there for years.” He studied his hands. “I like to watch women, especially now.”
“You are never to tell her,” James warned. “Do you hear me?”
“I won’t, and don’t you tell her, either. I really like her. She’s a fine girl.”
“Shut up, Stanley.” James downed his drink and stood. “Will that be all? I’m sick to death of you. I have to get out of here.”
“But…I don’t want you to leave. I want you to stay with me at Summerfield. I couldn’t bear for you to go away.”
“Are you mad? You presume I would stay after this…infamy? You’re worried about losing Rose’s good opinion. Well, what about mine? Oh, that’s right. It never mattered to you.”
“It always mattered!” Stanley hotly asserted.
“You couldn’t prove it by me.”
James had the fake bank draft in his coat pocket. He pulled it out and tossed it at Stanley. It drifted to the floor.
“I’m returning your bank draft,” James spat. “You remember it, don’t you?”
“Yes, I remember it.”
“Have you any idea how stupid I felt when I was informed that it wouldn’t be honored? Have you even the slightest clue of how I detest you?”
“Don’t say that.” Stanley was rubbing his forehead, seeming bewildered and befuddled, his age showing more and more with each passing second.
“And thank you for the directions to the orphanage. Of course I’m sure you knew that it burned down a decade ago.”
“Yes, I knew. I wish I’d torched the place myself.”
“Why didn’t you? Why not hurt a few street urchins? Who cares? You’re rich and powerful. You can act however you please.”
“I deserved that I suppose,” Stanley quietly said.
“Yes, you did,” James scoffed.
“Sit down.” Stanley sounded as if he was begging. “Sit—and I’ll tell you all of it.”
“All of what?”
“Your past. Your history.”
“After all this, you think I’d believe you?”
“It’ll be the truth. I swear.”
James laughed miserably. “That will make it true? Because you swear? You’re the biggest liar who ever lived.”
“I’m your grandfather,” Stanley suddenly announced.
At the words being so casually hurled, James was glad his chair was behind him. His knees buckled and he slid into it.
“You’re my grandfather? You admit it now, after all these years?”
“Yes.”
“Not my father. My grandfather.”
“Yes.”
“You let the rumors percolate, let people gossip and titter over me like dogs at a bone. You couldn’t have confided in me? You couldn’t have given me peace of mind? Would that have been so hard?”
“I thought it was for the best.” Stanley rubbed his forehead again, his bewilderment increasing.
James threw up his hands. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“I had a son. Charles. You’re aware of that.”
“He was killed in an accident.”
“No, not in an accident. He was…ah…killed in a duel. In London.”
“A duel over what?”
“Over his mistress. Her husband shot him dead. My son, Charles. My one and only son. Shot dead over a woman.”
“The woman…was my mother?”
“Yes. Her husband killed her too, after the duel, then killed himself. It was a revolting scandal, but we managed to cover it up without too much difficulty.” There was a charged silence, then Stanley choked out, “She wasn’t fit to shine Charles’s shoes, and he was murdered because of her.”
“That’s why you always hated me? Because of my mother?”
“Yes. I told Charles and told Charles he had to give her up. I arranged a marriage for him—to a good girl, a proper girl—but he wouldn’t even consider it. He claimed there could never be anyone for him but your mother.”
“Yet she was married.”
“Yes, and he was a blind fool. His name was never spoken in this house again.”
James was reeling, a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t voice any of them. He was an educated, traveled man who’d spent a decade in the army, and he’d learned that the world wasn’t black and white.
He wouldn’t listen to Stanley denigrating his parents, wouldn’t allow Stanley to paint a bad picture of them. James would form his own opinion and come to his own conclusions, without Stanley insisting his parents were immoral and horrid.
“What was my mother’s name?” he asked.
“Mrs. Susan Talbot. She was an actress of some renown and viewed herself as being quite remarkable, but she was simply a money-grubbing doxy.”
“Have you a portrait of her?”
Stanley snorted with disgust. “As if I’d have permitted a portrait of that mercenary trollop in my home.”
“And my father? How about him?”
“We burned them when he died.”
“I see.”
James could just imagine how those dark days would have unfolded. Stanley had been defied by his only child, and he would never have forgiven his son, would never have set aside his pointless fury. These many years later, he was still raging.
“What about me?” James said. “Was I really in an orphanage?”
“Yes. I had warned Charles that we wouldn’t clear up any mess he made with that woman, and you were the biggest mess of all.”
“Well, that certainly explains a lot.”
“You have to know how it was back then, James.”
“Oh, I know how it was, Stanley. You were proud and angry, and you took it out on a little boy.” James shoved himself to his feet. He went over to the liquor decanter and drank straight from the bottle. “How did I end up here?”
“Once Edwina realized she was dying, she had a change of heart.”
“But not you.”
“No, but I’m glad that she forced me into it. I was surprised by you! You’re better than both your parents put together.”
“High praise indeed.”
They endured another fraught silence. James was so overwhelmed that he felt numb and besieged, weighted down by a burden that seemed too heavy to bear.
He could have railed at Stanley, but Stanley looked small and defeated. Why berate him?
“I can’t let you go to India,” Stanley said. “It’s why I cancelled the bank draft. If you were so far away, I might not ever see you again”
“You seriously expect me to believe you were worried about that?”
“I want you with me. I want you home. You’ve learned the truth, and now, we can have the relationship we never had before. I don’t care about your tainted bloodlines. Summerfield can be yours—I’ll change my will and make you my heir. I should have done it years ago, but pride was stopping me.”
“Pride! You blame this on your blasted pride?”
“I’ll meet with my attorney tomorrow. I’ll rewrite the terms so it will all be yours eventually. Just promise me you’ll stay.”
“After what I witnessed upstairs with Rose, you assume I’d remain?”
“We’ve quarreled often in the past, and we’ve always moved beyond it.”
“I don’t think we will this time, Stanley. I don’t think so.”
“I need you with me. Please. Don’t leave me here—old and alone.”
“You’ve pushed everyone away your entire life. Maybe you deserve to be alone. Maybe this is the exact fate you’ve engineered for yourself.”
“But I was wrong! I shouldn’t have carried on like this. Things can be better now. They can be different.”
James stared and stared, struggling to muster some affection for the pompous, obstinate ass, but he couldn’t. He attempted to discern some resemblance in their features, some proof that they were kin and that Stanley wasn’t simply manipulating James with another deceit. Yet there was no resemblance and never had been.
“I don’t know if I can forgive you, Stanley. Perhaps it will happen someday in the future, but it won’t be today.”
He started out, and Stanley moaned and dropped to his knees.
“James, I’m not well!”
“Goodbye. We’ll talk later—if I decide I can stomach it.”
James whirled away, and when Stanley called to him again, James kept going.
* * * *
Rose emerged from her dressing room, having put her clothes back on. She’d gotten ready for bed, but had been too incensed to climb under the blankets.
She’d been pacing for hours, trying to figure out what to do.
When Mr. Oswald had caught up with her in the village, he’d threatened her with legal action over her stealing his stupid money. He’d frightened her, so she’d reluctantly agreed to return to Summerfield with him.
She’d been in her room, taking a nap, and she’d awakened to discover that the deranged ass had locked her in! She’d knocked and fumed and bellowed, but no one had come to her aid.
Stanley Oswald was insane. The servants abetting him in her confinement were insane. Every single person she’d met since her arrival was insane.
She’d retrieved the poker from the fireplace, and it was on the floor by the door. The moment a key was inserted in the lock, she would grab the poker and brace for battle. She hoped it would be Mr. Oswald, for she’d be delighted to beat him to a pulp. She was that angry.
She marched to the dressing room again and lifted the tapestry that concealed the secret door. She pressed her ear to the wood, listening, listening. A bit earlier, she was certain she’d heard someone fall down the stairs, as if there’d been a scuffle in the stairwell, but all was silent.
No matter what, she had to escape the madhouse before she was infected by whatever illness had sickened everyone else to the point of lunacy.
Suddenly, booted strides pounded down the hall outside her suite. She raced to the sitting room and picked up the poker.
The knob was spun, then rattled. Then a fist hammered on the wood, and a male voice—that definitely seemed to belong to James Talbot—called to her.
“Rose? It’s James. Let me in.”
For the briefest second, she seriously considered ignoring him, but better sense quickly prevailed.
“I can’t open it!” she fiercely replied. “He’s locked me in!”
“Who? Stanley?”
“Yes, and he won’t let me out.”
“Oh, that is the very limit!” There was some huffing and puffing, then he said, “I’ll have to kick it in. Stand back.”
She stepped away, watching as the doorknob flew off, the latch smashed to pieces. James stormed through the wreckage, proceeding directly toward her as if he would sweep her into his arms and all would be instantly forgiven and forgotten. But he couldn’t miss her visible fury, the iron poker in her hand.
He stumbled to a halt.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes, just fit to be tied. The man is deranged.”
“I agree.”
“And I’ve had enough. Of him. Of you. Of Veronica Oswald. Of Vicar Oswald. Of Lucas Drake. Of Miss Peabody and her meddling in my life and my future. I’m leaving this asylum and don’t you dare try to stop me.”
She tossed the poker at his feet, and it landed with a clang, as she spun away and went into the bedchamber to retrieve her portmanteau. She stomped back to the sitting room and was headed for the hall when she noticed he was stomping along with her.
She whipped around.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I’m coming with you. We’re leaving together.”
“We are not leaving together. In case you weren’t paying attention, I just named the people who have tormented me and abused my good nature. You were at the top of the list.”
She kept on, when from behind her, he absurdly said, “Would you wait a minute? I need to ask you something.”
She whipped around again. “What is it?”
“Will you marry me?”
The question was so absurd that it rammed into her like a hard blow. She had to rest her palm on the wall to steady herself.
He wanted to marry her? He had the gall to propose?
Rose was the thickest woman ever. She’d gleefully participated as he’d flirted, seduced, then deflowered her. Though he’d vociferously claimed to have reneged on his devil’s bargain with Mr. Oswald, he’d deftly performed his role and had been remunerated for his efforts.
The moment he’d accomplished Mr. Oswald’s goal, he’d left for London. He hadn’t even told her goodbye.
Rose was na?ve and foolish, was lonely and alone. She’d dawdled in her bed with him, had listened while he’d spewed lie after lie about how they’d live happily ever after, and the whole time he’d been catching his breath from his dalliance with Veronica a few hours earlier.
Had any man in all of history ever behaved more egregiously? Had any man ever been more cruel and callous? Had any man ever broken a heart as painfully and completely as he’d broken hers?
She shook her head, banged her palm on her ear as if it was plugged. “I must be hearing things. I could have sworn you just asked me to marry you.”
“I did ask, and I’m asking again. Will you have me?”
“Not if you were the last man on Earth.”
She raced down the stairs and stormed out into the cold, dark night.
* * * *
Lucas was exiting the stables when he saw Rose approaching.
She looked mad as a hornet. Shoulders hunched, portmanteau in hand, she hadn’t noticed him yet.
He and James had arrived so late that Lucas had taken care of the horses so they wouldn’t have to awaken any of the stable boys. James had been too impatient to speak with Rose, so he hadn’t stayed to help. He’d hurried inside, supposedly to smooth over their difficulties, but evidently, he’d failed miserably.
“Rose,” Lucas murmured, not wanting to scare her. Then he remembered himself and said, “Miss Ralston, it’s Lucas Drake.”
He emerged from the shadows as she halted and glared.
“Hello, Mr. Drake.”
“Call me Lucas.”
“No.”
He sighed. “Where are you going? Are you leaving? That can’t be your plan.”
“It is.”
“Well, I feel I must counsel against it.”
“Well, I feel you have no right to lecture me about anything.”
He wouldn’t bother to argue with an irate female, and he dipped his head. “I stand corrected.”
“I begged your assistance once before, but you refused to give it. My condition is now more dire, so I ask again: Might I prevail on you?”
“Ah…”
“When last I saw you, you convinced me to remain at Summerfield, where you insisted I would be safe. I took your ridiculous advice, and since then, I have been locked in and held captive by Mr. Oswald.”
“Locked in!” Lucas couldn’t believe it. Stanley had always possessed the potential to be a brute, but even for him, the conduct seemed a tad excessive.
“Yes, Mr. Drake, locked in like a slave, and I am fleeing this madhouse. I will not tarry another second. Will you escort me so I am not forced to ride off in the dark by myself?”
“Have you spoken to James? He went in to talk to you.”
“I have spoken to Mr. Talbot, and he has spoken to me. Now then, will you escort me or not?”
“Let’s slow down a bit. James wanted to—”
“Do not mention Mr. Talbot to me!”
“But…but…”
“Oh, never mind. If there is a human being on this planet more worthless than you, I can’t imagine who it might be.”
She pushed by him and huffed into the stable, as he dithered and debated.
Should he aid her as she was demanding? Should he fetch James and let James deal with her? Should he ignore her and go inside to bed? That probably wasn’t a very honorable choice.
Behind him, she lit a lantern, and he turned to find her struggling with a saddle, lugging it to one of the stalls.
“You’re leaving now, Miss Ralston?”
“Yes, Mr. Drake. I’m leaving now.”
“To go where?”
“Back to Miss Peabody’s school where I lived all my life, where I had friends who cared about me, where I was safe until I came to this asylum of lunatics.”
Lucas had always been just as worthless as she’d accused him of being, but he felt awful about his previous refusal to assist her. If she trotted off and suffered a mishap, he’d never forgive himself.
He was useless, but he liked to think he had occasional tendencies toward chivalry. It wouldn’t kill him to be kind.
He wrenched the saddle away from her and dropped it on the ground.
“I’ll help you,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”
“Don’t break a sweat over it.”
“I’ll rouse the stable hands and have them saddle our horses. You wait here.”
“Why?”
“I need to run to the house to tell James what’s happening.”
“I’ll give you fifteen minutes. If you’re not back by then, I’m departing without you.”
“I’ll hurry. I promise.”
“Do you travel with a pistol, Mr. Drake?” she asked as he started out.
“Not usually, but I can bring one if you like. Why?”
“Bring it then, but don’t bring James Talbot. Don’t let him come out here, for if I ever see him again, I will shoot him right between the eyes.”