A Duchess to Remember (29 page)

Moving as quickly and quietly as possible, Rand snatched up breeches and a dressing gown and put them on.

With another quick glance at Cecily’s sleeping form, he motioned to Jonathon to follow him into his dressing room.

“We have to be quick,” he said softly. “My valet will come in at any moment.”

He took stock of Cecily’s brother, a man who was supposed to have died some years ago in a laboratory fire. He was gaunt and pale, but with the same dark hair and large brown eyes that Cecily possessed.

“You don’t look too bad for a corpse,” said Rand.

“Much obliged,” replied Jonathon, his face relaxing a little.

The subtle gleam of humor left his eyes, and his mouth turned grim. “I had word someone was looking for me, Ashburn. No one has looked for me for a very long time.”

“Do you know who?”

Jonathon shrugged. “No names. You know how that goes.”

“Whom do you suspect?” said Rand. “Who knows about you besides me?”

“If you’ve told no one, that leaves Cousin Bertram,” said Jonathon. “And he has every reason to want me to stay in hiding.”

And every reason to want Jonathon truly dead,
Rand thought.

“You haven’t told anyone, have you, Ashburn?” murmured Jonathon with a hint of menace. “I heard you married my sister. I suppose you felt you had to tell her, did you?”

When Rand didn’t answer, Jonathon hissed between his teeth. “Ah, hell, Ashburn! No woman could keep a secret like that.”

His body rigid with fury, Rand said, “When I think of the hell I’m going to get when she finds out, I resent that remark, Davenport.”

A shaken voice spoke from behind him. “J-Jonathon? Jon?”

Rand was just in time to catch Cecily as she collapsed in the dressing room doorway.

*   *   *

Revived and fortified with brandy and a cup of strong, sugary tea, Cecily sat huddled under a blanket, watching her brother with a disorienting feeling, as if it were all part dream, part déjà vu.

She had laughed and cried and hugged Jon until he laughingly begged her to let him catch his breath. She could not stop touching him, framing his beloved face with her hands. She could not stop looking at him and trying to imagine what it must have been like for him all these years.

Her anger and resentment she reserved for Rand.

They’d explained it all to her: the need for Jonathon’s disappearance, the lie about his death. She’d barely listened or been able to grasp the details. He was
alive
. Flesh-and-blood Jonathon. He was
here
with her. She wanted to keep hugging him, to keep at least one hand on him at all times to make sure he was real.

It seemed that Jonathon had invented a volatile explosive that could have revolutionized military warfare if only some practical way could be found to stabilize it.

Horrified that a purely academic exercise had handed him the power to destroy so many lives at once, Jonathon had found himself caught in a tug-of-war between the government and darker forces who wanted that formula. Both sides wanted to use the explosive to kill on a massive scale. Jonathon couldn’t live with the idea that he might have invented such a deadly weapon.

Then he’d had the idea of disappearing and taking the knowledge with him. But he needed some contact with the world he’d left behind. He needed one person to know and to help him destroy all evidence of his work. That person had been Rand.

Rand had known. All this time, Rand had
known
that Jonathon was alive and he hadn’t told her. The deep, immense anger Cecily felt toward her husband could not find expression now. Not when there were vitally important things to attend to.

Such as bringing her brother back from the dead.

“But if you resurface now, how will that help us?” said Rand. “Even after all these years, won’t they be after you again?”

“Ah. Well, you see, that is where our friends at the Promethean Club come in,” said Jonathon. “In fact, it was your idea, Ashburn. You tried to persuade me to do this years ago.”

Rand ran his hand through his hair. “It will be career suicide.”

Jonathon gave a bitter laugh. “What career do I have now?”

“What are you going to do?” asked Cecily.

“The plan I proposed was to discredit Jonathon’s research,” said Rand. “It was only ever a rumor that got out of hand in the first place. We will have experts say that the research is faulty, that the formula simply doesn’t work.”

Jonathon looked at the ceiling, stony-faced. Cecily knew how difficult it must be for him to have his work dissected and torn to pieces like that, but if it would bring him home …

She said, “When can we start this process?”

Ashburn nodded. “I’ll take care of it today.”

He eyed Jonathon, carefully avoided Cecily’s regard. “The two of you should take some time to talk, but don’t let anyone see you, Jonathon. We are not out of the woods yet.”

*   *   *

Cecily thought she must have terrified her brother with her incoherence and her need to touch him, as if he would disappear again if she didn’t keep him physically anchored to the spot in some way.

She was not at all herself, and he had changed in ways she could only guess at during his long exile. “But I kept your letter by me, always,” he said. “You know the one about Sir Ninian Finian?”

Misty-eyed, Cecily nodded. So that was why she could not find it among all those letters. If only she’d known.

If only they’d trusted her.

Oh, she supposed she could understand why Jonathon had not wanted to burden an eleven-year-old with his secret. But later …
Why
hadn’t Rand told her?

Jonathon said, “I can scarce believe it.
You
married to Ashburn!”

“Yes.” She tried to smile. “Yes, it does seem rather difficult to believe, doesn’t it?”

He looked a little grim. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

She was no longer at all certain herself, but she said lightly, “Well, I couldn’t very well ask your permission, could I?”

“What happened to old Norland, then?” said Jonathon.

“He is not old,” she said, from habit, then put her fingertips to her temples. “Norland fell in love with my governess, Miss Tibbs. You don’t know her,” she assured Jonathon as his brow puckered. “But truly, dear brother, it all turned out for the best.”

Had it? Had it really? Her heart ached at Rand’s betrayal.

When Jonathon took his leave, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pressed his lips to her forehead the way he’d done so many years ago.

“Courage, little one. With luck and Ashburn’s good management, we’ll push through.”

She could not bear to let him go, but the servants were stirring, getting ready for the day. They couldn’t hide him in the house indefinitely.

Cecily flung her arms around her brother’s gaunt frame, surreptitiously dashing hot tears away before he could see them. “Yes, you must go. I cannot tell you how much I long for your return to us. I hope we will not have too long to wait.”

She hugged him hard and kissed both his cheeks, then hugged him again.

He patted her shoulder. “All will be well, little one. You’ll see.”

Rand stood in the doorway, waiting to escort her brother out. Cecily knew he watched her, waiting for a sign that he was forgiven. She couldn’t give it. She simply couldn’t bring herself to forgive him for his lie.

Rand left on his mission without a private word to her. He hadn’t even attempted to justify his actions. She didn’t know whether that was to his credit or not. She couldn’t think of any excuse he might give that would satisfy her in any case.

He’d lied to her. He’d allowed her to go on believing Jonathon was dead. If he truly loved her, how could he have let her go on like that? A bewildering sense of loss weighed on her chest, pressed on her heart, despite her joy at having her brother back.

Rand still had not returned hours later, when Winters announced a caller.

This ought to be interesting.

Cecily checked her reflection and went down to see Lavinia.

“I suppose you’ve heard,” said Lavinia without preamble. “The news of it will get out soon enough.”

“The news of what, pray?” said Cecily. Good God, she’d borne quite enough startling revelations for one day.

“Your brother! Back from the dead,” said Lavinia. “He had the effrontery to let himself into our house last night and warn Bertram of his imminent return.”

Effrontery? Foolhardiness, more like it. Why on earth would Jonathon do such a thing? No one was supposed to know about this yet. But she knew why. His sense of honor dictated that he must do the right thing by his cousin, regardless of the possible danger to himself.

Lavinia glanced about her. “Might I possibly sit down? Or do you mean to keep me standing about?”

“I mean to keep you standing about,” said Cecily. “You will not be here long enough to sit down,
dear
Cousin.”

“Well! I thought you would have something kind to say to me, now that you know we shall be tossed from our home, dispossessed of everything but the clothes on our backs.”

Cecily snorted. “I should feel sorry for you if I thought that would actually happen. Jonathon will give you a house and a pension, too, and you know it. Besides, I’ve no doubt you managed to feather your nest very nicely—” She broke off at a subtle wariness in Lavinia’s expression.

She narrowed her eyes at Lavinia. “You knew, didn’t you? All along, you sold everything you could, made every penny possible out of your tenure because you knew it wouldn’t last. I hear Bertram won substantial sums from young greenhorns at the gaming tables, too.”

Lavinia gave her a stony look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My pearls, for one thing,” said Cecily. “That was a desperate gambit, wasn’t it? Difficult to get a fair price for such a well-known piece.”

Reddening, the former countess said, “You’re insulting!”

“That was my intention, Lavinia,” Cecily agreed. And believe me, I could go on all day. That is why I did not ask you to sit down, you see. I am sure you would not wish to remain here another minute!”

Cecily smiled sweetly. “Will you leave now or shall I have my butler escort you from the premises?”

With Lavinia gone amid a storm of furious indignation, Cecily sagged. The shock of seeing Jonathon again, the sheer joy of realizing he was alive after all these years, the pain of Rand’s betrayal—all of this turbulent emotion left her spent.

Yet, she must decide how to deal with the situation in which she now found herself.

She couldn’t do that here. She didn’t think she could face Rand again, not without pouring out a load of recriminations, not without poisoning any hope they might have to put this awful betrayal behind them.

*   *   *

Rand returned to a quiet house. That was not such an unusual thing, but there was a quality to the quiet that he found disturbing. Or was that just his guilty conscience at play?

“Is the duchess at home, Winters?” Rand, handed the butler his hat and coat.

“Her Grace left you this, Your Grace.” Winters handed him a letter affixed with a seal.

With a terrible clench in his stomach, Rand read. He scanned the missive quickly, noting only that she’d left and it was his fault and she didn’t say where she had gone.

A violent sense of injustice ripped through him. He crushed the letter in his hand. Why had Jon come back now? If only he’d had the leisure to break the news gently, to then work toward Jon’s safe return, Cecily might not have taken it this way.

Ah, but who was he fooling? Rand opened his fingers one by one and slowly smoothed out the single page again.

That one paragraph shouted at him as if it were printed in capitals and underlined three times:

Jonathon said he chose you to clean up after him because he knew you were a man who trusted no one. He chose well, Rand, didn’t he? You did not even trust me.

Especially not me.

That wasn’t true. He did trust her to keep Jonathon’s secret. He simply hadn’t had faith that she’d forgive him if he told her what he’d done. And he’d longed to fix things so that he could present her brother to her all redeemed and safe and reestablished in the world. He’d wanted everything tied up with a neat bow.

As it was, his plan was a gamble. If it didn’t succeed, there would be no second chances. Rand would not convince anyone of Jonathon’s death a second time. Unless he produced Jonathon’s lifeless body, that was.

His first impulse was to chase after Cecily, to justify himself to her and beg her forgiveness. He was fairly certain he knew where she’d gone.

But she had suffered through much in the last week. She needed time to mull over all that had happened. And he needed to put his faith in her love for him. That was all he could do, he realized. There was no way he could persuade or maneuver or manipulate her into forgiving him, into loving him. She needed to arrive at that destination on her own.

In the meantime, he would do all in his power to make her brother a laughingstock as a scientist so he could take up his proper place in the world once more.

Sometimes in life, there were no good choices. Only the lesser of two evils.

Chapter Twenty-one

The first whiff of summer in the air at Harcourt made Cecily more than usually nostalgic for cricket on the lawn, lemonade and tea cakes, picnics and exploratory rambles, practical jokes. And above all, her cousins who had filled this place with their childish pranks and laughter.

She’d been here for weeks now, aimlessly wandering. She’d told herself she wanted to check on her collection of creative protégées in the village.

In truth, she’d come down here to brood over the wrongs of one Duke of Ashburn. And yet, her mind kept shying away from the subject. She didn’t want to relive the awful hurt of discovering he’d kept such an enormous secret from her.