Chapter 33
33
The gentle rocking pulled Modesty from unconsciousness. Her head throbbed, and there was a bitter, medicinal taste in her mouth. She tried to move, but her limbs felt heavy, uncoordinated.
Gradually, her vision cleared. She was in a small cabin, lying on a narrow berth. Through a round porthole, she could see the gray waters of the Thames, and beyond them the familiar silhouette of London growing smaller with each passing moment.
Terror shot through her. Augustus. Where was Augustus?
“He’s here,” George’s voice came from behind her. “Safe and sound.”
She turned her head too quickly, making everything spin. George sat in the corner, on the opposite bunk bed, Augustus cradled in his arms. The baby was sleeping peacefully, unaware that his world had been torn apart yet again.
She sat up, still groggy. “What have you done?”
George’s face, so familiar and dear for years, now seemed like a stranger’s. “Saved you from him. From his lies. From that gilded cage he put you in.”
“It was the tea, wasn’t it?” she demanded. His betrayal tasted as bitter as whatever he’d given her. “Cleopatra’s tea?”
His face showed real regret. “I am sorry about that lie. It’s no more Cleopatra’s than whisky. Laudanum is what you tasted.”
Modesty shook her head in bewilderment. “You kidnapped me—and an infant!”
“I merely freed you. Everything is arranged for you, darling. The wet nurse, the napkins, clothes for the both of you. The captain was quite amenable once I offered him part of the money your husband so readily paid to protect his precious reputation. Though the notes in the final payment were false, there was still enough for our purposes.”
“George, listen to yourself! What is this going to do to Grace?”
“Grace will be taken care of. I left her some money.”
“Think of what will happen to her! People will come to question her. She’ll be in trouble. Don’t you care about your sister?”
“I left her money,” he repeated. “She’ll have funds to hire help if she needs to defend herself in court. Which she won’t. She did nothing wrong.”
“Give him to me.” She held out her arms, trying to keep her voice steady despite her racing pulse. “Now.”
“You’re still unsteady. I wouldn’t want you to drop him.”
“Do I even know you, George?”
As she said his name, his face went pale and slack with a quick flash of joy. “I like that. Calling me George, like in good old times.”
She stood up, her legs shaky as she walked to him to take Augustus, but he turned and walked out of the cabin.
“Do not fash about the babe, Modesty. He’s perfectly safe with me.”
Modesty stumbled after George, gripping the narrow companionway’s wooden rails as she climbed. Her skirts brushed over the steps, smoothed by countless feet before hers. The passageway reeked of hemp rope, bilge water, and the sharp scent of salted fish that must be in the hold below.
Sailors in rough woolen jackets and worn linen shirts hurried past, their heavy boots thumping against the planks. A few merchant passengers huddled near their sea chests, watching her with a mixture of curiosity and discomfort. No one moved to help. Had George told them some tale to explain her disheveled state? That she was his mad wife, perhaps, or a fallen woman he’d charitably taken aboard?
They emerged onto the deck where canvas snapped overhead, the massive sails drawing taut in the wind. Coils of rope thick as her arm lay in precise patterns on the deck, while barefoot crew members scrambled up the ratlines into the rigging. At the helm, the captain stood conferring with his first mate, both pointedly ignoring the drama unfolding on their ship. The Thames stretched gray and endless around them, London now just a smudge on the horizon. Cold air whipped at her hair, her pelisse offering little protection against the chill.
“You must see reason, George,” she said as she followed him across the deck, her heart pounding.
George stopped near the port side rail, his gaze fixed on the horizon as he adjusted Augustus in his arms. The railing, solid and weathered from years at sea, came up to his chest. Modesty’s heart clenched as she saw him standing there, the baby’s tiny hand peeking out from the swaddle.
Constantine… God, he’d been right this whole time. She’d thought he was the villain, but he was right to hunt the blackmailer, to protect them. Was right about George.
She was still mad at him. His actions still felt like a betrayal, but she knew he’d never do something like this. He was a proud man, but he had a good heart.
“Please, you can still put me and Augustus into a dinghy and send us back to London. It is dangerous for a newborn to be on board a ship! Even more dangerous in a country with a harsh, hot climate. An excavation in Egypt is not the place for an infant!”
“He’ll be fine,” George said as he pinched the baby’s cheek slightly. “Won’t you, little adventurer? He will have everything necessary.”
“Necessary?” She caught up to him near the rail. “What is necessary? Was it necessary to blackmail my husband? To use my friend’s death for your schemes?”
George’s eyes hardened. “Ophelia told me everything that night, you know. When she was at her lowest, abandoned by her own brother?—”
“Half-brother,” Modesty corrected automatically. She knew this part—Constantine had told her himself. “The duke’s illegitimate daughter.” The Regent had implied that Constantine was not even the duke’s son. But she knew that couldn’t be true.
“Ah, but that’s not quite the whole story, is it?” George’s smile was cold. “Did your perfect duke tell you about the letter? About how he tried to buy Ophelia’s silence?”
Modesty frowned. “What letter?”
“The one proving he’s no more a Duke of Pryde than I am.” George shifted Augustus in his arms as the baby stirred. “His mother wrote a very indiscreet letter to her lover. Which Ophelia’s mother stole as insurance to keep herself and Ophelia safe. But all these years, there has been this proof of Constantine’s adulterine bastardy out there. His biggest secret. That’s why he demanded the letter as his price for helping her.”
Modesty’s mind raced. She didn’t know about the letter proving his mother’s affair… But it couldn’t mean Constantine was illegitimate. When she had washed his hair, she had seen a birthmark identical to Augustus’s. They had to be related.
“Ophelia was so alone, so afraid. All she wanted was Pryde’s help—the only person left in the world that might take her in. Instead, he demanded she give him the letter before he’d lift a finger to save her.”
“No…”
But even as she denied it, her mind was still trying to put together the pieces—Constantine’s original belief that Modesty was blackmailing him, his insistence on taking Augustus after receiving that second letter, his reluctant proposal when she refused to let the child go with him.
“His Royal Highness knows now,” George continued. “Everyone does. My exposé in the papers told the whole truth. Admittedly, I never had the letter. That was a farce. But I had all the facts from Ophelia. The great Duke of Pryde—nothing but a parson’s bastard who let his own sister die to protect his lie.”
Modesty’s legs trembled. She gripped the ship’s rail, the rough wood anchoring her. His mother must have believed Constantine wasn’t her husband’s son for some reason. And therefore, everyone who read the letter did, too.
But she must have been mistaken.
Poor Constantine.
“You used this information to blackmail him,” she said.
“I did what was necessary,” George said stubbornly, his gaze growing cold. “I also sent the invitations to the members of the ton for Augustus’s christening. I’d make the same choice again—anything to free you from him. From the life of lies he trapped you in.”
“This is not the way, George,” she said, her voice rising. “Give Augustus to me. Now.”
But when she reached for the baby, George stepped back. “Think, Modesty. What kind of life would you have with him now? His reputation in tatters, his title forfeit—because it will be, once the Regent enforces the old duke’s will. Augustus is the true heir now.”
“That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?” Understanding dawned, sharp and bitter. “You’re not trying to save me. You want to control Augustus’s inheritance yourself.”
“I want to give you everything you deserve!” For the first time, George’s composure fractured. “The freedom to pursue your dreams, to make your own discoveries. No more playing the perfect duchess, no more hiding your light to protect his pride.”
“At what cost?” She advanced on him, anger lending her strength. “My ward’s future? My marriage?”
“Marriage?” George laughed harshly. “To a man who’s lived a lie his entire life? Who abandoned his own sister? Who cares more about his reputation than the people who love him?”
“You don’t know him.”
“I know he doesn’t deserve you.” George’s voice softened. “I know I could give you so much more. You’re angry now, but you’ll see reason. We’ll make incredible discoveries together. Raise Augustus away from all this corruption and pretense.”
For one dizzying moment, she let herself imagine having the freedom to pursue her passion, to unlock history’s mysteries without constraint. The life she’d dreamed of before duty and obligation had bound her to another path.
But then Augustus whimpered, his tiny face scrunching in distress, and reality crashed back over her. This wasn’t about her dreams anymore. It was about a baby who’d already lost too much, about a man who’d spent his life believing himself unworthy of love.
“You’re right about one thing,” she said finally. “Constantine has lived a lie. But so have you. Pretending to be my friend while plotting all this? Using Ophelia’s death, Augustus’s future, my trust to satisfy your own ambitions?” She stepped closer. “At least Constantine’s lies came from fear. Yours come from something far uglier.”
George’s face darkened. “You don’t mean that. You’re confused, still affected by the laudanum?—”
“Give me my ward.” She held out her arms. “Or I’ll scream so loud every sailor on this ship will hear. Your excavation party must be gentlemen. No one will allow you to kidnap a woman against her will!”
“What do you think they’re going to see?” His smile was frightening now. “A duchess trying to kidnap a duke’s heir? A hysterical woman, unfit to care for him? Who do you think they’ll believe—especially after I show them the letter from the Regent himself, granting me authority as Augustus’s guardian?”
Horror washed through her.
“His Royal Highness would never give you guardianship,” she cried. “Wait… Did you forge a letter from the Regent?”
She couldn’t let George take Augustus to Egypt, couldn’t let him use little Augustus as a pawn in his schemes. But how could she stop him? They were already miles from shore, surrounded by sailors who believed his lies…
And Constantine… God help her, she still loved him. Despite his lies, despite his pride, despite everything. She thought of his face when he held Augustus, so tender and uncertain. Thought of the vulnerability he had shown her when he’d talked about his childhood.
“The captain certainly believed it was authentic. Amazing what people will accept when you wave enough money under their nose.” He bounced Augustus gently as the baby began to fuss. “Now, I suggest you go back to your cabin and rest. The laudanum should wear off soon, and then we can discuss our future more rationally.”
“I will do no such thing!” she roared, stepping closer.
“Sail!” screamed the sailor in the crow’s nest. “Sail on port side!”
She leaned over the rail to see a sailboat drawing nearer with every heartbeat.
Even though it was still a hundred feet away, she saw a figure on board that she’d recognize even if he was only a speck on the horizon.
Constantine.