The Beloved One (27 page)

"How close a friend are you?"

"Well, that's hard to say, really, because —"

"She's the only person in this bloody world who hasn't betrayed me!" Charles shouted hoarsely, his face still buried against his arm.  And then his raw, choking sobs reverberated throughout the hall.

Lucien stood there for a moment, his mouth tight, studying this wretched creature before him with a flat, expressionless gaze that revealed none of the heartache such a completely unexpected sight brought him.  This was definitely not the brother he knew.  The Beloved One was falling apart before his eyes, and any moment now the door behind them would open and everyone would see this shocking, pathetic sight that shook Lucien to his very soles.

That would not do.

"Come along, the both of you," he snapped, and roughly seizing Charles's sleeve, dragged him away from the wall.  His brother jerked angrily out of his grasp and tried to charge back into the dining room, but Lucien anticipated it and nodded to the footman, who moved to stand in front of the door.

"Let me through!  Damn you to hell, let me through so I can give that — that bastard what he deserves!"

"
Charles.
"

Lucien's voice was like ice.  His brother stopped short, his eyes bleak with anguish.

"I would prefer that you do not make a scene," Lucien said in a quiet, controlled voice.  "At least, not until after you hear me out.  Come, let us go to the library."

And with that, he extended his hand, indicating that Charles precede him, and Lucien's astute gaze did not miss how this Amy Leighton, who proclaimed herself a friend, discreetly closed the distance between herself and his brother, there if he needed her, but allowing him the dignity of his own private grief.

He made a mental note of that.  And he made a note of something else as Charles, his head bent, turned on his heel and started off down the hall.  His brother, who'd always been so capable, so confident, so easily able to handle problems no matter how large or small, had always walked with a quietly authoritative stride even before he'd bought his commission and entered the army.  But now the proud shoulders were slumped, the back no longer straight, and there was an air of defeat and despair about him.  Of insecurity.  Whatever had occurred in America must have been terrible indeed.  Lucien set his jaw.  He would learn exactly what had happened to turn Charles into this emotional wreckage — and then he would endeavor to find a way to glue the broken pieces that had been his self-assured and admirable brother back together again.

He ushered them both into the library, shut the door behind him, and after bidding Miss Leighton to take a seat, went straight to the decanter of brandy resting on a table before the fireplace.  He filled a glass and offered it to his brother, who was walking silently back and forth, his fingertips pressed against his bent forehead.

"Take it away," Charles said.

"Drink it, it'll do you good."

Charles merely paced the room once, then came to stand before the fire, his elbow propped on the carved mantlepiece, the heel of his hand shoved against his bent brow.  His back was toward them both.  "Gareth," he snarled.  "That bastard, he got her pregnant, didn't he?  I should have known such a thing would happen.  He's always been The Wild One, recklessly out of control, priding himself on leading that confounded Den of Debauchery and getting up to all sorts of mischief.  Now he's had his way with the woman I sent to you for safekeeping, the woman who deserved your protection, and it's
his
babe that's in her belly, isn't it?"  He twisted to glare at Lucien.  "Damn you to hell, Lucien, how could you allow such a thing to happen?"

"Sit down, Charles, and drink your brandy."

Charles turned from the fire and threw himself into a chair.  He picked up the glass of brandy and drained it.  He would not look at Lucien.

But Lucien was watching him, and most shrewdly indeed.  Not much got past his enigmatic, heavy-lidded stare.  Now, he poured two more drinks, one for himself, and one for the young woman whose dark, anxious eyes flashed briefly to his before returning once more to Charles.  Lucien saw the way she was looking at his brother, and the way his brother had taken the chair nearest hers, and suspected there was more between the two of them than just "friendship."  Two years ago he would not have approved of Charles being involved with a woman so far beneath him in rank, and a Yankee at that.  But Lucien had, after Juliet, learned a thing or two about American women, and he was not so ready to write off this young provincial as he might have once been.

Especially as she might be useful in his plans for Charles.

He offered her a glass of brandy, picked up the other, and turned his black stare on his brother.

"You are not the man I once knew," he said abruptly.  "You have changed since I last saw you, and you have changed in a way that brings me great sorrow and distress.  I will hear all about what happened to you in a moment.  But I think it best that I satisfy your curiosity about what has transpired on this side of the Atlantic, before I satisfy my own as regards what transpired on the other."

Charles merely sat there, staring mutely, angrily into space.

"I said but a moment ago that you have changed, Charles, but your brother Gareth has changed as well.  He is no longer the wild, irresponsible young man who gave me daily headaches, spent his time in drunken debauchery and always came out the worse in the inevitable comparisons with you.  He is no longer the black sheep of this family, the never-ending source of despair and embarrassment.  He now owns a very lucrative estate in Abingdon which he won back for this family through his own courage and sacrifice, is a much respected Member of Parliament, and is a father, a husband, and a man worthy of the de Montforte name.  I am very proud of him."

Still, Charles said nothing, merely staring at the bookcases with their ancient, leather-bound tomes without seeing them.

Lucien moved forward to refill his brother's brandy.  "When Juliet — at your bidding, I might add — came to us last April, I saw a woman who was the complete opposite of Gareth.  I saw a woman who was steadfast where he was impulsive, who was practical where he was reckless, who was grieving where he was full of fun and laughter.  I also saw that she was greatly in need of a father for her little baby."

Charles slowly turned his head, his expression going cold as he met Lucien's black stare.  "No.  Don't tell me that you're behind this, Lucien.  Don't tell me that you, with your infernal machinations and manipulations, engineered this damnable union."

"I'm afraid that is precisely what I did.  You were dead, or so we thought.  Your charming fiancée needed not only a husband who could give your daughter her proper name, but someone to pull her out of her grief.  In Gareth, I saw a man who was capable of doing both.  She needed to laugh again, and he needed someone to teach him the meaning of responsibility.  The two of them, as I was quick to discern, brought out the best in each other.  Of course I —" he tapped a finger, once, against his pursed lips — "
arranged
things so that the two of them ended up together.  How could I not?"

Very slowly, Charles put down his brandy.  "And just what was it you did?"

"It is not important."

"It is to me."

"Very well, then."  Lucien affected a weary sigh.  "I told the girl that I could not make baby Charlotte my ward.  Her pride was most grievously injured, and so she left, just as I suspected she might do.  Meanwhile I allowed Gareth, who had pushed me beyond the limits of my patience with a certain act of public vandalism the night before, to think that I had banished her.  He was already half in love with her, and determined to do right by both the young lady and the child of the older brother that he had so loved.  He went after her, and had what he thought was his revenge on me and my apparent cruelty by marrying her — just as I suspected
he
might do.  It was all very neat and simple, really, and I am most pleased with the consequences of my . . . manipulations.  There is nothing that will make a fellow grow up faster than a little responsibility, and with a wife and baby to look after, I daresay Gareth had more than enough."

Charles, who had gone very, very still, held up a hand.  "Do you mean to tell me that you sent a young woman with a tiny baby off, alone — and then sent
Gareth
of all people, to rescue her?"

"My dear Charles.  Do not be so upset.  I was in complete control of the situation —"

"I cannot believe you would take such an unpardonable risk!"  cried Charles, leaping to his feet.  "When I bade Juliet to come here should anything happen to me, I thought
you
, not Gareth would be responsible for her!  Gareth can't even be responsible for buckling his own shoes for God's sake, let alone a wife and baby!"

Lucien had been previously content to suffer Charles's anger, but now his expression hardened.  "You are judging your brother most unfairly, Charles, and I will not tolerate your abusing him in this manner.  He would be much wounded if he were to hear you speak of him so.  I know that Gareth was once irresponsible and dissolute, but he has made much of himself, Charles.  He is a loving husband and a playful, adoring father, and his days of debauchery are far behind him.  Go ahead and be angry, as you have every right to be, but do not be angry with him.  If you must assign blame to anyone, assign it where it is due.  That is, assign it to me."

"Yes, you and your infernal meddling!  I hope you're damned proud of yourself!"

"I was — until I got your letter saying you were not dead, after all.  But really, Charles.  Even you must admit that Gareth, with his light heart and carefree spirit, is much better suited to Juliet, who is as serious-minded as you are.  My only regret is that something has reduced you to this pathetic wreckage I see standing before me, and I was not there to help you.  But as sorry as I feel for you, Charles, I will tell you this.  If you do anything to sabotage your brother's and Juliet's newfound happiness, I assure you I will be most irate indeed."

"Don't be ridiculous," Charles muttered, crushed that Lucien would even think him capable of doing such a thing.  "I may be a
pathetic wreckage
, but I still have a heart."

Lucien gazed for a long moment into his brandy.  "Do you?" he asked quietly.  "I wonder, then, why you allowed the family that loves you so, to believe all this time that you were dead."

The words were softly spoken, without rancor, without accusation.

"I know it stings your pride that the brother you always pitied for his inadequacies is now happily married to your Juliet," Lucien continued.  "I know that you are shocked and angry and upset, and I will not judge you harshly for that."  He looked up then, turning that ruthless black stare on Charles, and this time, there was the faintest of tremors about his severe and unforgiving mouth.  "But do you think that these past eighteen months caused us any less anguish than what you must feel right now?"

"No," Charles admitted, walking slowly toward the window.  "I have made a mess of things.  I, the perfect, invincible, oh-so-beloved one, have bungled things, and bungled them badly.  I do not expect nor deserve your compassion —"

"Please, my dear Charles, dispense with the self-pity.  It does not become you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The brother I knew would never behave this way."

Charles set down his brandy, his eyes glittering with anger.  "The brother you knew is dead. 
Dead.
  And I am in no mood to discuss any of this.  Good evening."  With a short bow to Amy, he strode angrily from the room.  She rose to her feet, determined to follow him, but the duke raised his hand.

"Sit, sit, my dear child.  Your Beloved One needs time to sort out a few things, don't you think?"

Amy gazed into those fascinating, all-knowing eyes, and felt a sudden flutter of nervousness.  "There is nothing between your brother and I," she murmured, even though she knew her sudden flush of color betrayed her.

"No?"

Amy gulped.  "No.  Well . . . that is to say, there is no future between us.  There cannot be.  I . . . came here with him so that I could learn how to be a lady's maid."

The duke raised one brow.  Amy's insides began to shrink.  He looked at her for a long, contemplative moment, letting his hooded stare flicker down the length of her body; then he turned to gaze out the window into the night.  He was an incredibly handsome man, Amy decided.  And a rather intimidating one as well.  She sensed that there was much more going on behind those black, black eyes than anyone could guess.

"Do you think he loved Juliet?" he asked, almost conversationally.

Amy thought very carefully about her answer.  "I think, Your Grace, that he convinced himself that he did.  He got her with child.  He felt obliged to marry her.  He's angry now, I think, because his pride has suffered a terrible blow.  But for a man who professed to love someone, he didn't speak of her all that much . . . and, well . . ."

She was turning quite red, and she knew it.

"And, well, what?" prompted the duke, turning around.

"And, well . . . he — he kissed me, in those rare moments when he let down his guard.  He was good and kind and protective of me when everyone else, even my own family, would never have exerted such efforts.  And every so often, I used to hear him talking in his sleep," she said, hoping that this austere, omniscient man would not judge his brother too harshly.  "While he was convalescing, he slept on a pallet downstairs by the fire, you see . . . I used to watch over him at night, though he never knew it.  He used to talk in his sleep, Your Grace, and . . . it was not Juliet that he spoke of."

"It was you."

Amy bowed her head, reddening.  "Yes."

"And do you love him?"

She blushed wildly.  "Oh, yes, Your Grace, I love him more than he could ever love himself, and I would do anything to bring him back to the man I know he must once have been, anything to make him forgive himself for the mistakes that he has made, anything to make him accept that he's not the god of perfection that he tries so hard to be, but a human, just like the rest of us."