Chapter 33
Henry moved his head at the last moment, but it was not enough to avoid the stinging graze of knuckles against his cheek.
“This is nothing to do with my father,” James spat, smearing the blood from his nose on his sleeve.
“My father was his brother’s foot-licker, always comparing me to you, always finding me wanting, always telling me I would never be good enough, making me look up to you.
You! A pathetic little man who could not even fend off his own brother’s taunts without me stepping in. ”
He lunged again, but Henry was more than ready this time, blocking his cousin’s arm.
“My children will never grow up as I did, forced to look up to unworthy counterparts,” James snarled. “They will gain what they deserve. I do not mind being patient. I have patience in abundance.”
Henry grabbed his cousin by the cravat, twisting. “My wife did not deserve to be harmed! If you had a quarrel with me, you should have come to me and dealt with it like a man, not a coward!”
“It is your fault,” James croaked. “All you had to do was stay away from her, and she would be fine. I do not care if I am ever the Duke of Holdridge, but I want it for my son. I will have it for my son!”
“You will have nothing when I am done with you.” Henry gripped the cravat tighter. “You will not even have Weverton. I will take care of your boy, and that shall be your punishment, watching him look up to me instead of his wicked father, who shall never see freedom again.”
He pushed James, the man staggering back, his hand to his throat, gasping for breath. And in James’ eyes, fear and fury waged war.
“I will make Walter legitimate if I have to,” Henry added, rubbing salt in the wound.
Walter blinked, pulling a disapproving face.
James stood to his full height, pinching his bleeding nose. “So, you know about that?”
“I do,” Henry replied.
James sniffed. “You should be thanking me, really. I was going to kill you. I’d overheard my father speaking of Walter’s illegitimacy for years, but it was not until after my father died that I found the evidence.
After all, I could not act without proof.
” He grabbed a handkerchief and put it to his nose.
“I bided my time. All was well as long as you remained a bachelor. But then you had to go and propose marriage.”
Across the room, Frances seemed to be trying to sneak away, edging toward the terrace doors. Walter, noticing at the same moment, got up with a casual air and stood in front of the doors, blocking her path.
“I could not risk you having an heir,” James continued. “There was not much time to execute a plan, but I managed. I found out Thalia’s name and family, discovered all of their dirty secrets, and created the perfect idea for an accident. I was there that night—did you know that?”
Henry squinted. “Where?”
“At Gibbs Carter’s dreary little dinner party,” James replied.
“I had meant to kidnap her and send her off toward the ‘highwaymen’ in a carriage, but she did the hard part for me.
I only discovered afterward that she had run off to try and talk you out of it: a mistake on my part. I should have let her.
“Anyway, I asked those idiots to hurt your wife just enough that she would not attend the wedding, but they disobeyed. And Gibbs did not care at all that his daughter was hurt; he marched her to the church himself, still bruised and scratched.” James barked an unhappy laugh. “So many despicable fathers, eh?”
Henry glared, his fists curled. “I hope you count yourself among those?”
“Everything I have done since then is for my son,” James replied sourly. “At first, yes, I did want the dukedom for myself. But then I thought of my legacy, and I concentrated on finding a wife and having an heir before I made my next move. That is why I had a child so soon after your wedding.”
Henry laughed coldly. “Is that supposed to make this better? Am I supposed to hand over my dukedom because you think you have done something righteous by not killing me for the inheritance?”
“You do not deserve it!” James roared. “You have no sense of duty or legacy or any of it! You abandoned your wife. I cherish mine. All you needed Thalia for was to quieten the rumors going around about you being the owner of a club instead of the perfect duke everything thought. Pathetic!”
Henry shook his head. “I have loved my wife from the moment I set eyes on her. But I gave her a choice, and I abided by her wishes.”
“Well, she should have stayed away from you,” James said, tossing the handkerchief. “She should have been grateful to have what she wanted, instead of being greedy.”
“Greedy?” Henry very much wanted to hit him again. “She is the most selfless person I know.”
“Hardly. Frances told me about the letter, about Thalia’s despair about wanting to be a mother. The endless hours whining about it,” James replied, rolling his eyes. “I had no choice; I had to act before she could make you agree.”
Henry’s body went rigid, his heart knocking hard against his ribcage, stealing some of his breath. He knew what happened next, he just did not know how it had happened.
“You poisoned her,” he said. “Rather, Frances did. I know that already.”
“I did no such thing!” Frances cried, trembling a little. “I just drank tea with her, so that James could sneak in. It was him who slipped a note under her door, telling her to go to the tower! It was him who pulled her down the stairs!”
It was all so clear now. Henry should have known that there were two other people who knew the secret ways in and out of the manor, for they had spent countless summers there.
Indeed, Henry remembered being the one to show them those secret passages and doorways, particularly the narrow slit about halfway down the North Tower’s staircase.
It led to an old tunnel that spat a person out onto the roof of the ballroom, not far from woodland where a person could easily hide in the chaos.
Or sneak all the way to the road, where Frances’ carriage would collect him…
He had not considered that old tunnel, for the narrow entrance to it had a board across it. One he had not bothered to check, to see if it was loose. He had just assumed it was too thin for anyone to exit or enter, but a man could force his way through it, sideways.
“You did poison her tea in the end, though,” James countered.
“I did not know it would hurt her! I did not know it was poison,” Frances protested.
“You said it was just a tonic. You said it would just stop her from having children, that I should put it in her tea every week. You said she would be fine, and then we could continue with our lives—no more of these… incidents. And I do cherish her as a friend, Henry. Truly, I do. I… wanted it to be over, so I could just… be her friend again.”
James’ face twisted. “I should never have agreed to let you send for a physician. I should have told you to pour the whole bottle in. I should have—”
Henry punched him again, so hard he felt the pain ricochet back through his knuckles. Grimacing, he shook out the jarring sensation, his blood roaring in his ears.
“I should do far worse than that for what you have done, daring to touch my wife, laying your hands on her,” he hissed. “I should kill you!”
Frances screamed. “Henry, no! He has a wife and son!”
“Which is exactly why he should have known better,” Henry retorted, as he raised his fist to strike again.
Before it could land, the butler came running in. “There are men here! They appear to be—”
The constables, five of them, pushed past him, their surprised eyes surveying the scene before them: Henry with his fist raised, James with his nose pouring blood, Walter blocking the garden doors, Frances howling.
“I sent for you,” Walter said, waving. “The one with the bleeding nose is the would-be killer. The other one is the man whose wife was almost killed. Thrice. So, do not mind the violence; it is justified.”
The constables lurched into action again, one firmly pulling Henry aside, while the other four descended on James. The wretched man writhed and flailed and fought, but it was an embarrassingly short time before James was restrained, the constables wrangling him out of the drawing room.
“Remember, James, I will take care of your son,” Henry called, as his cousin passed across the threshold.
Out in the entrance hall, a raging roar echoed back.
As satisfying a sound as any Henry had heard, a punishment far greater than any the magistrates could deliver.
From hereon in, James would have to live with the knowledge that his son would never be heir to Holdridge, and likely would not be heir to Weverton either.
The estate and title had been gifted by Henry’s father, passing his secondary title into his brother’s hands. It could just as easily be restored to Henry, with a few letters to friends in important places.
But why punish the boy? Henry would have to think about it some more but, for now, he had something else to contend with.
“Frances, I suggest you leave the country at the earliest convenience,” he said, his mood dark.
“I do not care where you go, but if I find you are still upon our shores by the end of the week, I will have no choice but to hand you over to the magistrates too. This is your one opportunity to take my generosity. It will not be repeated.”
His cousin nodded effusively, as she hurried along the gap between the wall and the settee, skirting around Henry. “I will go,” she promised. “For what I have done, I will go. I promise.”
She darted out, presumably before Henry could change his mind.
“What did you do that for?” Walter asked, once she was gone. “Did you not hear her confess that she put poison in Thalia’s tea?”
Henry nodded. “I did, but… I believe her. I do not think she knew what the poison would do. This is not her revenge, after all.” He shrugged. “A magistrate would be lenient to a woman like her anyway. It is better this way.”
“So, you do not think she killed her husband with poison?” Walter asked with a pointed look.
Henry laughed stiffly. “No, though I think she probably wanted to, when she found out where he had died and how.” He walked to his brother and, probably for the first time in his life, pulled Walter in for a hug. “Thank you, Walt. Thank you.”
Walter hugged him tighter. “That is what brothers are for.” He pulled back, flashing a grin. “Now, if I am not mistaken, you have a wife to return to. A wife who needs you. So, you had better hurry along before she wakes up and realizes you have left her again.”
“What of you?” Henry asked. “Will you stay?”
A sadness fell across Walter’s face as he shook his head. “Not for long. I will stay a few more weeks, and then I must return to where I belong.” He clapped his brother on the arm. “But I promise you this; I will visit more often.”
“I shall hold you to that.” Henry smiled, his knuckles still throbbing.
Chuckling, Walter turned him around. “Go on, away with you.”
Henry did not need to be told thrice, even if he was afraid of what he might find when he reached home.