Loving Lady Marcia (35 page)

Outside the shed, she couldn’t help allowing her gaze to drift to the rhododendron bushes and the lamp post. Duncan had kissed her there. He hadn’t taken no for an answer, had he? She remembered that part with a smile. Afterward, he’d asked her who was taking care of
her
.

She closed her eyes at the poignant memory.

Thinking back on all the times they’d shared, both good and bad, she could no longer keep to the story that she only wanted to be with him because he was a good friend and a good man who happened to be devastatingly handsome and an excellent kisser.

She gave a little laugh of recognition. She
loved
him. She loved him with all her heart and soul. The knowledge made fresh tears come to her eyes, but she quickly slashed them away.

There was nothing she could do about it. And now wasn’t the time to make herself even more miserable.

“What should we tell Mama?” she asked Daddy a moment later, when he came out of the shed and shut the door behind him.

“Your mother and I have no secrets. And I think it’s best she know, don’t you? So she can give you her special brand of motherly comfort.”

Mama did know how to comfort people well. Marcia was so fortunate. She had the kindest parents in the world. Daddy hadn’t chastised her, and she didn’t think Mama would, either. Not when so many years had passed. Not when she was now older and wiser.

“We won’t tell Janice, of course,” said Daddy. “She has no need to know.”

“Thank you.” She hugged him again. “I’m so sorry about the roses.”

He chuckled. “Oh, it’s not all bad. It’ll come back stronger than ever. That’s what pruning does for roses. And that, my girl”—he held her at arm’s length—“is what pruning does for us, too. You’re stronger than ever because of the wounds you’ve suffered. I don’t think the Marcia I knew before this happened would have been able to run an entire school. She was a lovely, sweet girl with not a care in the world. She’d have been overwhelmed quickly, I think.”

“I think you’re right, Daddy.”

He cleared his throat, and his expression grew somber. “Now I am your father, so I have things I must do in accordance with what you’ve told me.”

She felt a jab of alarm. “You mean, other than not entertaining Finn’s suit?”

“Yes. There must be consequences beyond that.” His face took on a dark, brooding quality.

How had she never noticed how fierce and frightening Daddy could be? “But Daddy—”

“No buts.”

“I hoped you wouldn’t be angry at me. I thought we could move on. Together. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Yes, I did.” He squeezed her hand. “And I’m not angry with you. You were a young girl who was taken advantage of by an older boy. Whatever happens won’t be brought about to punish you, but you must prepare yourself.”

“Prepare myself?”

“This matter isn’t over. You brought it to light, yes. But justice has
not
been done.”

“I don’t want justice,” she insisted. “I want to go back to Oak Hall.”

“That may be.” Daddy’s expression was implacable. “But I won’t allow a daughter of mine to be hurt and there not be a price paid.”

“No, Daddy—”

He put his arm around her shoulder and walked her briskly back to the door leading to the sitting room. “Now, go,” he said. “I want you in your bedchamber this morning. I’ll let you know when you can come out.”

“You’re
punishing
me?”

He shook his head. “But this is a delicate situation which only I will handle. I want as few distractions as possible. When your mother comes back, I’ll be sending all the children out for a few hours. Find yourself a lovely book or some sewing, and have Kerry bring you up more tea and toast.”

Her chin trembled. “Please, don’t—”

He put a finger to her lips. “You must trust me,” he said. “Now go.” He opened the door for her and waited for her to walk by him.

She hesitated and then strode past him—what other option did she have?—but she wouldn’t look at him. Anger spread through her like scalding, spilled tea.

What was Daddy planning to do? Why couldn’t he have simply used the information she’d given him to protect Janice?

“Marcia?” Peter was in the entrance hall, fixing his cravat in the looking glass above the console.

But she barely heard him. Anger propelled her up the stairs and into her room. She didn’t need anyone’s protection anymore. She’d grown past that. Like the climbing rose in the back garden, she had thorns now, and she could take care of herself.

Chapter Thirty-two

Duncan was in the stables with Rupert, discussing a problem with Samson’s rear hoof. Much as he loved his horse, he could barely follow the conversation. Ever since Marcia had run out of the little house on Curzon Street, he’d been unable to focus. The only thing he’d done properly was physically eject Finn from Albany, toss him a small bag of coins, and tell him that he was no longer welcome in Duncan’s home and would receive no further moneys from him.

While Finn had been moaning on the ground, Duncan had also stuffed his solicitors’ card in his brother’s coat pocket and told him to feel free to inquire about any remaining moneys coming to him from the Chadwick estate. He’d concluded the brief, brutal speech by telling Finn he hoped he’d become a wiser, kinder man before he died and spent eternity rotting in hell, as he was sure to do if he kept seducing virtuous women and not doing right by them.

And then he’d gone home, slunk to his room, and sat shaking on the side of his bed.

It was finally over, the relationship between him and his brother.

But life went on. Horses grew lame. Servants and tenants needed their employer for their wages. A little boy needed his father.

Warren came striding through the kitchen door into the courtyard, holding a sealed note aloft. “An urgent missive from Lord Brady, my lord. His messenger says he’ll wait for your answer, which he hopes will be immediate.”

Urgent?

What could be urgent from Lord Brady?

Only one thing came to mind.

A raw, cold anxiety gripped Duncan. This was it, the moment he’d dreaded his entire life. Someone had discovered that he was as bad as his father and Finn—and was taking him to task for it.

“From Lord Brady?” he managed to say, and held out his hand for the note. If the communication was indeed about Marcia and their increasingly scandalous relationship,
he
should be going to the marquess. Not the other way around.

He should have claimed her hand without her permission.

But she’d have hated you,
a quiet but stubborn inner voice told him. It was the part of him that came from his mother, whose cheerful spirit had been snuffed out by her overbearing husband.
She’s got to be willing
.

That was one thing Lady Marcia wasn’t.

He ripped open the note. Lord Brady required his counsel right away and begged him to come to the house. It was finished with a
B
scrawled with an impatient flourish.

Obviously, the marquess needed some sort of advice, and the word
counsel
implied that Duncan still had Lord Brady’s respect. It took any potential sting out of the otherwise terse message.

He felt he’d dodged a bullet. But he was back to wondering when the next one would get him.

“Saddle up Fortune, please,” he told Rupert, his blood rising.

“Right away, my lord. I’ll bring him round the front.”

“Thank you.” Duncan strode quickly with Warren back inside the house. “I’ll need a change of cravat, which I’ll handle myself. Please tell the messenger that I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Warren went to do as he was bid, and Duncan bounded up the stairs. He’d change coats as well. On his way back downstairs, he peeked into Joe’s room and caught him napping. Seeing that cherubic face always gave him strength.

Joe opened his eyes. “Papa?”

“Oops. Sorry.”

Joe rubbed his eyes. “Don’t be sorry. I’m glad I woke up. I wouldn’t like to be asleep when you visit me.” He gave a sleepy giggle. “Are you going to say, ‘Joe, Joe. Let’s have tea’?”

“No.” Duncan laughed, remembering the day in the carriage when they’d talked about Lady Marcia doing just that in the middle of the night. “Not today.”

“I miss Lady Marcia,” Joe whispered.

“I do, too,” said Duncan.

And then he realized that the greatest shame of all was not to be found out a scoundrel like his father and brother, nor to fail at righting wrongs.

It was to be blind to love.

When he arrived at the Brady mansion twenty minutes later, he was ready to burst with the need to see Marcia. He’d tell her the truth, that while he’d been trying to fix her problems, she’d been fixing
him,
with kindness to his son, with acceptance of who Duncan and Joe both were, and with a willingness to open her heart to him, knowing that she could be hurt—again.

He must have fallen in love with her long before today. Perhaps it was that night in the garden shed, when they’d been in the dark and he’d reached for her and found her warmth and felt as if he’d stumbled upon the greatest treasure on earth.

He might have even fallen a bit in love with her when she’d railed at him from the prow of a sailing packet and he’d been a young man burdened with fears, immune to the beauty of a sunset. He’d carried that image with him ever after, had compared every woman he’d met to her without even realizing it.

She was what he’d been searching for without even knowing it.

She was his
love
.

They were perfect together. The same
perfect
that she’d spoken of on the Irish Sea. He only hoped that she’d realize the same thing.

But first, her father.

Burbank greeted him soberly at the door. The house seemed eerily still when they strode together down the corridor to the library, their footsteps resounding in the silence. The butler announced him and left.

“Come in, Chadwick,” Lord Brady said warmly.

Duncan’s heart surged with hope. “Good afternoon, Lord Brady.”

“It’s good to see you, son.” The marquess indicated a seat.

Duncan sat.

The marquess sat on the edge of his desk. “You’ve done a fine job of being earl these past four years.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re still very young. It must have been a difficult transition for you.”

“It was, but I seem to have made it to a more comfortable place.” He folded his hands in his lap and felt like a man of the world for the first time.

“That’s good,” said Lord Brady. He paused a moment and frowned. “I hate to introduce an uncomfortable topic. But I must.”

Duncan’s heart beat at a faster pace. “What is it, my lord?”

“I read in the paper that you and your brother are estranged. Is this correct?”

Duncan sat up a little straighter. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Again, the marquess hesitated. “May I ask why?”

“Certainly.” Duncan paused as well. It was a difficult subject. “Finn has shown a deplorable pattern of seducing innocent women. My son, Joseph, is a product of one of those sad unions.”

The marquess raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea.”

“Nor does anyone,” Duncan said. “I didn’t feel the need to share that information with the world. It was a private family matter and still is.”

“Yet you’re willing to endure the stares, the malicious gossip, on Mr. Lattimore’s behalf.”

“Yes. That was the price I had to pay to keep our privacy intact.”

“I see. I assume your brother’s been cut off financially, as well. That would explain his sudden wooing of Lady Janice.”

“She’s a lovely young lady, but yes, I assume Finn’s motives are entirely selfish.”

Lord Brady stood and went to a small table holding a decanter of brandy and something else golden in color. He poured out a finger. “Care for an Irish whiskey? Or brandy?”

“The whiskey, of course,” Duncan said.

“A man after my own heart.” Lord Brady chuckled, and handed him a tumbler of the stuff. “Drink up, young sir.” He went back to fix himself one, as well.

This time he didn’t return to his perch on the desk. He sat in a leather club chair next to Duncan’s own.

“Cheers,” said Duncan.

They raised their glasses and clinked them.

“To happiness,” said Lord Brady.

“Yes, to happiness,” Duncan replied.

They sipped the fiery liquid in silence for a seemingly peaceful moment.

“I like you, Chadwick,” Lord Brady eventually said, his eyes on the fire in the hearth.

Duncan took another swig of whiskey. “And I, you, my lord.”

But when the marquess turned to look at him, Duncan read tension in the deepening lines around his mouth and eyes. “What I have to say may pain you as much as it pains me,” Lord Brady said. “But I trust that you and I together will find a solution.”

“I’m ready to hear it, whatever it may be.”

Lord Brady took another sip of his whiskey. “Your brother, Finn, took my daughter Marcia’s virginity on the night of her sixteenth birthday,” he said, his voice steady but somber. “And while it was long ago, and there were no visible aftereffects, my daughter was scarred. She withdrew from us, didn’t take her rightful place in society, and seems to have sworn off marriage entirely.”

“I know, sir,” Duncan forced himself to admit. “And I’m sorry. I wish I had the power to go back and undo what was done.”

“You
knew
?” Lord Brady’s tone was sharp, his eyes narrowed.

“I only found out weeks ago, when Finn returned. He let it slip. My immediate thought was that there was a debt of honor to be paid. Yet I wouldn’t foist my brother on any young lady of virtue. I decided I would marry Lady Marcia myself.”

“So why didn’t you come to me immediately?”

Duncan raked a hand through his hair. “Because I wanted to woo her first. To win her approval before I sought your permission. My own parents’ marriage was arranged, and they were miserable. Lady Marcia isn’t the type of woman easily led.”

“No, she’s not.” The marquess sighed. “She’s just like her mother. All the girls in this household know their own minds, and I’ve encouraged that in them. I’m proud of them—indeed, very proud of all Marcia has accomplished at Oak Hall. But those accomplishments, while worthy, don’t begin to encompass all that we want for her. Her mother and I want to see her in a loving marriage that includes children.”