Chapter 13 #2
“I gather he’s not going to die.” Lips unsteady, Elf touched the coat, seeing buttons she remembered from Midsummer Night on his boat. “Oh, God. I’ve created a disaster!”
“Not at all.” Sappho put an arm around her. “It is my philosophy to put all such disasters firmly to the credit of men, and to leave men to sort them out.”
Rothgar watched his sister leave the room and studied the closed door for a moment before turning to look at Fort. “Don’t brace yourself. I have no intention of touching you.”
Fort rested his head back, eyes closed. “I gather I am just to be bludgeoned with words then. Don’t you think, with a father such as mine, I have developed calluses against that?”
“I would be astonished to hear that he restricted himself to words. In fact, Walgrave, I need to offer you an apology.”
Fort’s eyes opened to rest on the older man. “Now you do surprise me.”
“I thought I might. My feelings about my sister’s involvement with you will depend largely on future events. That has little connection to my sin, which is that of misjudging you.”
“I am bewildered but entranced. Go on.”
Rothgar moved to sit in a chair a good ten feet from the sofa.
“Before Cyn’s involvement with Chastity, you were no more than a name to me, only of interest as the heir to a man who had become my enemy.
I had assessed you to be the common sort of young buck, interested only in weapons, women, and wine. ”
“Ah, those were the days . . .”
Rothgar continued. “Having come into my inheritance too early, I lack experience of the tedium of living under the shadow of a father who will give his son no part to play. Our encounters over Chastity’s affairs merely confirmed that you were uninteresting.
Except, perhaps, after the fencing match. ”
“You were impressed because I didn’t sulk when beaten?”
“Precisely.”
Fort studied the marquess for a moment. “I don’t recall a warming of your attitude.”
“Few people ever do. Nor did I warm. I merely noted it, and subsequently forgot to take it into account. You are correct in thinking I did my best to make you the instrument of your father’s death.”
Fort sucked in a breath. “And now you think an apology will make all right?”
“Not at all. Apologies rarely change anything. I am apologizing to ease my own conscience, and in the faint hope that it might help you come to terms with your situation. And I am not apologizing for using you. It was a completely logical strategy.”
“Oh, please. Tell me why.”
“I intend to. I had no fixed plan that night other than to show your father the proof of his treason and thus compel him to agree to Chastity’s marriage.
Knowing your father’s temperament, I did hope to drive him to kill himself, for he was a dangerous poison to leave loose.
I did not expect, however, that he would try to kill someone else.
I should have. Suicide is perhaps the greatest act of self-blame.
Your father never blamed himself for anything. ”
“Another miscalculation. You must have been in an agony of self-blame. What a pity—”
“—I did not kill myself?” Rothgar smiled.
“I have learned to handle guilt. I have, however, blamed myself for misjudging you. As your father raged in the hall, waving his pistol, you, Bryght, and myself were nearby with weapons of our own. I instantly decided that your father should die, but it really would have been inconvenient to have a Malloren do it. I and your father were known to be at odds, and in his ravings he was spewing lies about me and treason. I merely left it till the last moment, hoping you would prove to be the rather shallow man of action I thought you to be.”
Fort shrugged slightly. “As I am. I killed him.”
“You could have wounded him. You could probably have shot the pistol from his hand. You’re a good shot and you were close.”
Fort’s jaw clenched. “I thought this was an apology, not an inquisition.”
“Milles pardons.” Rothgar inclined his head.
“Of course you had to kill him to save your family from ruin. The apology is because I misjudged you and gave no thought to you afterward. I assumed you to be the sort of clod who could kill a father—even a hated father—without a scar. I have come to see that is not so. As far as I can tell, your actions since becoming earl have been responsible and mature, except insofar as they concern my family. I have to suggest to you that as your father turned his own self-blame against me and Princess Augusta, so you are turning it against all Mallorens.”
“So, you think I’m mad. Now that’s a pot calling a kettle black.”
“It really is quite pointless to jab at me, Walgrave. I am armored beyond any weapon you possess. Yes, the blood of a mad mother runs in my veins. Your father was not mad, except at the end. He was a man who loved power too much, and considered the effect of his actions too little. He was also handicapped by pride, an uncontrolled temper, and an inability to accept being crossed. I suggest you contemplate those flaws.”
The marquess stood and straightened a snowy lace ruffle. “My apology is for misjudging you, and for putting you in a position that has caused you pain, then leaving you without aid.”
“You think I would have accepted succor from you?”
Rothgar merely continued. “Your pain shows, however, that you have a soul. I would not reject you as a suitor for Elf’s hand.”
Fort laughed. “Are we, perhaps, finished? I’m damned uncomfortable.”
“Yes. We are finished.” Rothgar walked out of the room.
In a moment, Sappho came in and cut the ropes that bound Fort to the sofa. He moved his arms to the front, wincing, and stood with a groan.
“Would you like a hot bath before you dress, my lord?” she asked.
“Oh, call me Fort.” He rubbed his battered hands over his face. “After tonight, any attempt to stand on dignity seems absurd, don’t you think? But I must reject your kind offer. I have things I have to do.”
Elf paced the hall, listening intently, but heard no shouting or sounds of mayhem. When Rothgar emerged, he looked unruffled. But then, he generally did.
Her mouth dried. She supposed now she would face the real consequences of her folly. He merely said, “I assume you wish to return home.”
“Yes, please.”
It had never occurred to her to question that she would return to Malloren House, but she realized many families would bar the door against a fallen woman. What was Rothgar going to do?
He merely took her hand to lead her out to the coach, which had returned for them. Once inside, however, he said, “I do have words for you.”
“Yes?” Pain tightened within her and it was fear—not of punishment, but of his disappointment.
“I warned you once about Walgrave.”
“I meant no harm,” she said again.
“Those, my dear, are the most damning words in the language. You should have realized the rawness of his feelings and given him time to heal. Instead, you picked at him, demanding a response he was not capable of.”
“Did I do that? He called me Vespa.”
“At least he didn’t call you Torquemada.”
“Who?”
“An infamous torturer.”
“I am beginning to feel very poorly educated!”
“You cannot blame me for that. You were educated with Cyn, but were always of a flighty disposition. I should have suspected the apparent change.”
“Oh, Bey . . .” At the hint of humor in his voice, Elf brushed at tears in her eyes. She wasn’t sure she deserved his understanding, and desperately wanted to soften his feelings toward Fort.
“He’s a different person when not dealing with Mallorens, you know. That’s what caused my ruin. Now, though, I’m not sure that person can ever exist for me.”
“This time, you will have to give him a chance to heal.”
“I’ve discovered that I am not of a patient disposition.” Elf looked at the small scabs still remaining from the first step of this adventure. “I’m afraid of what he might do.” She was equally afraid to tell her brother of Fort’s threats to make the whole story public.
Rothgar took her hand and studied the marks, but he made no comment. “I don’t say you must leave him be. I’m no oracle on these matters. Just be careful, and don’t push for more than he is ready to give.”
“Bey, what if I’m with child?”
“You must have thought of that.”
“I did. I know these things happen. I can travel . . . But it will be his child, too.”
“Then I think you must tell him. But I will not force a marriage. That would surely set the stage for tragedy.”
“Would it? I think I was hoping that you would.”
“Tush, tush. And you so independent. If you want him, my dear, you’ll have to woo him for yourself. Just step carefully. Now, enough of that. We are home, and you must explain your part in this.”
In an abrupt change of rhythm, he swept her into Malloren House in a whirlwind of questions and commands to hovering servants.
Roberts, angrily grieving the slain Sally, was ordered to lead a party to the old tavern to see if the stone was still there and to scoop up any lingering Scots.
A note to Grenville assured that a troop of soldiers would go there too, and that all ships sailing down the river would be stopped and searched.
In the middle of this, Bryght walked in. “I smell mayhem in the air. And since I received an urgent summons . . .”
He was tall, dark, and astonishingly handsome, and his eyes sparkled with interest.
“You’re late for the action,” said Rothgar, and gave a brief account which made Bryght’s eyes widen, especially when Rothgar made no secret of Elf’s activities.
“ ’Struth, Elf! And we’re not supposed to kill the villain?”
“Not until she gives us permission. Which is unlikely to be provided, I fear.”