Beloved (30 page)

“I can’t tell you.”

Ella slumped against the back of the chair. “Why prolong this? We’ve been to Saber’s.”

She smiled! Great-Grandmama smiled as if she was vastly pleased about something.

“I’ve told you the truth. My going there may have been a mistake. It was certainly folly and unforgivably presumptuous. I
suppose you’ll want to tell Mama and Papa before they leave.”

“Do you realize what time it is?”

Ella frowned at Max, who shrugged. Sometimes Grand-mama’s conversations were anything but linear.

“Look at the window. It’s almost dawn.”

A suggestion of gray light peeped through the draperies. “I didn’t realize it was quite that late,” Ella said, contrite. “You
remained up because of us, didn’t you? I’m so sorry.”

“I
arose
to see your Mama and Papa off on their journey. They decided to leave early, before you and Max were up.”

Ella felt disoriented. “That silly Justine … Your mama was afraid she would be upset by the good-byes. Actually, I’m being
too kind. Struan is a sensible man. He knew she might make another ridiculous fuss about leaving you, so he did the wisest
thing by bearing her away too early in the day for her to rouse you.”

“Oh.” Ella rubbed at the space between her brows. Mama and Papa gone already, before they could learn that their daughter
was to be married—to a man who’d chosen to sacrifice himself even though he did not want her.

“So,” the dowager said. “What progress has been made?” Utter misery weighted Ella. Exhaustion made her ache. “Answer me,”
Great-Grandmama demanded. “What have you accomplished?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Ella responded, more sharply than she’d intended. “Forgive me. I’m tired. I don’t understand
what question you are asking.”

“Your progress? With Saber?”

Ella stared at the dowager. Max made an odd sound, but Ella wouldn’t look at him.

“I assume you went to see him to try to push the corkbrain into taking action.”

“Action?” Ella said cautiously. “Action.
Action.
On the issue you went to see him about in the middle of the night.”

“She knows,” Max said, heavy awe in his young voice. “How d’you suppose—?”

“Hush, Max!”

“Kindly allow me to decide who shall or shall not speak in my presence,” Great-Grandmama said. She pulled a red and gold silk
blanket over her knees and tucked it about her waist. “It grows cold.”

“You should be in bed.” Ella’s response was automatic. “I cannot imagine Papa and Mama leaving so early.”

“I assure you that I do not tell lies.”

“Quite,” Max said, sounding too old. “Quite,” Ella agreed. “And now we should—”

“Now you should answer me. What—”

“He asked her to marry him,” Max said in a rush. “He said he wanted to take care of her every need from now on and he asked
her to marry him.”

“Wonderful!” Great-Grandmama did the unthinkable. She clapped her hands together and she laughed. “Ah, I knew I could rely
upon that silly boy to eventually realize what’s best for him. Oh, I am delighted. You will make an excellent couple. Good,
fresh blood for the family. Saber’s mother was my only daughter, you know. But you’ll be the one to bring the new vitality
into the line, Ella. Handsome children you’ll—”

“I should have refused him.”

“Don’t interrupt me. I said—”

“I should have told Saber I would not marry him.” Great-Grandmama leaned slowly forward. She’d set her cane aside, but now
the tip met the carpet between her feet once more. “What?”

“He did not ask me willingly.”

“Oh, yes he did,” Max blurted out. “He asked and asked, and she behaved like a perfect ninny. Women. I can’t imagine how we
men put up with them. After—”

“Shut up!” Ella ordered. “Stop interrupting everyone,” Great-Grandmama said, banging the cane against the carpet. “Let’s be
calm.”

“Everyone tells me to be calm,” Ella said through her teeth. “I am calm. He is impossible. Cold, bitter, vain,
deluded.
And he is also …” She thought better of mentioning Countess Perruche.

“He is still being difficult, then?” The dowager’s lips formed a grim, thin line.

“What do you mean, difficult?”

“Refusing to admit he loves you.”

Ella’s mouth fell open and she sucked in sharp breaths. Once more the dowager showed a rare smile. “He does love you, y’know.
I could tell as much when I saw you together that day.”

This was beyond all. “But you asked him to find me a husband.”

“Only as a means of making certain the two of you spent a great deal of time together. But he loves you. And you love him.
And I approve.”

“Well, I’m not sure I do,” Ella said. “I wanted to be certain there was an opportunity for Saber to realize that he wants
to marry you.”

“But he doesn’t.”

“I’ll send for him in the morning.”

“I should probably tell him I don’t want to marry him after all.”

“Probably,” Great-Grandmama said. “Please do not make fun of me.”

“You’re right, Great-Grandmama,” Max said, and Ella saw him try to hide a grin. “They love each other.”

“Which is exactly what I set out to accomplish.”

“And you did,” Max said, sounding incredibly happy. “You’re an out-and-outer, Great-Grandmama, a brick.”

“Y
ou look dreadful, Saber.”

“Thank you, Grandmama.”

“Do not”—his grandparent said, anchoring his hand to her breakfast table with a bony forefinger—“do not use your unpleasant
wit upon me, young man.”

He knew better than to provoke her further. “You sent for me and I came—despite the horrendous hour of the morning.”

She peered at him and motioned an under-butler forward. “Kindly bring Lord Avenall some kidneys. He’s in need of having his
blood strengthened. A glass of claret might also … No, after breakfast.”

Saber said nothing as his plate was filled.

“You were not asleep when my man arrived at your house,” Great-Grandmama said. “I questioned him, and he said he heard you
in your study when that—that
person
you employ took my message to you.”

Saber pushed a piece of kidney around his plate. “I fail to see the importance of whether or not I was asleep when your man
came for me.”

“If you weren’t asleep, it hardly matters that he came early, does it?”

“I merely referred to civil behavior, Grandmama. Nothing more.”

“Posh! I shall be the judge of what you were referring to.”

He hadn’t slept at all. Margot’s comforting visit had been short, but his thoughts had remained with Ella. He’d watched the
morning arrive and thought of her—couldn’t cease thinking of her.

Ella needed him—his name, his protection. Once that was accomplished, he’d find a way to provide for her future. He could
not trust another man to do what must be done.

Unless he could move quickly to establish security for Ella, it might be too late. Too late because her persecutor might have
found a way to intimidate her into hiding, or too late because he, Saber, had succumbed to the madness completely and been…

“Are you listening to me, Saber?”

Incarcerated.

“Saber?”

“I’m listening.” In the years since the attack, the years of his descent, deeper and deeper, into his dark other world, he
had never as much as allowed himself to form the word that spelled his worst fear.
Incarcerated.
He had not even thought the word before.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing!” His eyes followed hers to his right hand. Curled into a fist, it shook steadily. He opened his fingers. “There
is nothing wrong. Why should you think there is?”

She withdrew her forefinger from his left hand, then hesitated and patted him instead. “I understand these things, my dear.
Forgive an old lady for seeming heartless. My advanced years make me impatient sometimes.”

Saber stared at her. Never, ever, had she retreated into the wiles of the aged. He did not believe she was doing so now. She
sensed something… Yes, she sensed there was something wrong with him and it frightened her, just as it would frighten anyone
exposed to the horror of his … madness.

Last night Ella had become the victim of his condition. And she had made excuses for him.

“Eat,” the dowager said sharply. “At once.”

“I find I am not hungry,” Saber said, eyeing the congealing lumps of meat with distaste. “Why did you wish to see me?”

The door opened and a rumpled Max came in. At the sight of Saber he brightened. “Morning,” he said, and yawned hugely. “Finch
said you wanted me, Great-Grandmama.”

“Sit there.” She indicated the chair beside Saber, who sat at her right. “Be quiet and eat.”

“But—”

“You heard me,” Grandmama thundered, if in a somewhat thin voice.

“Hardly been in my bed,” Max grumbled, slipping into his appointed chair and casting Saber a conspiratorial sidelong glance.

The dowager harrumphed and raised her thin shoulders. “Seems to me that none of us has been abed, my boy. We will not go into
the disgraceful events of last night. Not yet.”

She knew of Ella and Max’s visit to Burlington Gardens. His aged grandparent was up to something. “I’d intended to call this
morning anyway,” he told her. “I need to speak with Struan.”

“You will speak with me.”

“I shall certainly be most happy to have you present,” he told her, deliberately soothing. “But I should appreciate having
Struan awakened.”

“Not here,” Max said. “They left for Scotland. Decided to go without waking us—not that we were asleep.”

Saber frowned. “You told me you’d make sure they did not leave before I spoke with them.”

“Did he indeed,” Grandmama said. “They’d already left London when this young rogue and his willful sister returned. Regardless,
this will be a lesson to you, Saber. There are certain conventions to be adhered to in these matters. Entrusting a task of
such importance to a child could never fall within those conventions.”

“I say—”

“That will do, Max. I sent for you because you are Ella’s brother and the two of you are very close. I admire that and wish
to honor your friendship.”

“Yes, but—”

“You will thank me for my consideration, eat what is put before you, and keep your mouth closed.”

Max rolled in his lips.

Saber hid a smile and waited for the inevitable.

“How can I keep my mouth closed and eat?”

Saber laughed.

Grandmama reached past Saber with a spoon and rapped Max’s knuckles.

The door, opening again, drowned the boy’s pained exclamation.

At the sight of Ella, Saber stood.

She met his eyes and appeared confused.

“Stop gaping, child,” Grandmama ordered. “Sit beside me at once and have your breakfast. You’re looking as dreadful as Saber.”

“Grandmama,” he said under his breath.

“Don’t reprimand me, young man! I say you and Ella look dreadful and you do look dreadful. Exhausted eyes, pallid skin, no
life in either of you, I—”

“Ella looks beautiful,” he said without the caution he knew he should employ. “Sit down, my dear. Eat. You haven’t had enough
sleep.”

“I have it on good authority that you haven’t had
any
sleep,” Grandmama told him. “You sit down and eat.”

Ella’s black hair had been loosely braided and wound about her crown. Her dark eyes glittered almost feverishly in a face
that was, indeed, unnaturally pale. Ella was beautiful. Ethereal, vulnerable, touching places within Saber that he’d thought
dead.

She began to turn away.

“Ella,” Grandmama barked out. “Come here at once.”

A violet morning dress with a demure white chemisette fitted Ella perfectly. Her breasts were a tender fullness, her waist
small beneath a satin ribbon tie. The pleated skirt reached, but did not hide, narrow ankles.

So lovely, such an enigma—so impossible to banish from his mind ever again.

Slowly, she turned back to the table and walked to take a place beside her adoptive great-grandmother—across the table from
Saber.

“That’s better,” Grandmama said, waving the flunky forward again. “More kidneys. See if cook has a little liver.”

Max made a barely disguised choking sound, which Grand-mama chose not to notice.

“Fading away,” the old lady said. “And at a time when a young woman should be building herself up. Childbearing requires all
the strength a female can have, my girl.”

Saber looked into Ella’s eyes.

She stared back, a grim tightness about her lips.

“Gad,” Max exclaimed. “You never told me you were… Well, you know, Ellie.”

“Got to build up your blood, or you won’t have enough to give the offspring.”

“I’ve always wanted to ask some questions about certain aspects, you know,” Max said, blissfully unaware of the tension in
the breakfast parlor. “Naturally, I’m a man of the world and there’s little I don’t know. But the business of infants? I asked
Mama if I could read her book, but she said I’d be bored until I was ‘of an age,’ whatever that means.”

“It means,” Saber said quietly, “that your mother, quite correctly, considers such information unnecessary at this point.”