Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
SILAS
Silas’s pulse thrummed as he entered the confines of the enormous St. James’s Palace. After more than two years of ensuring no one knew of his presence in England, setting foot in the residence of the monarch under his true name seemed like an act of madness.
He was putting every ounce of his trust in William and the note he had received that morning, summoning him to the palace.
He had not seen Arabella since Vauxhall three nights ago, though Aunt Eugenia insisted she was doing well. He had not wanted to exert any pressure on her by coming to visit or asking questions. He wanted the decision to be hers, for she would have to live with it for the rest of her life.
But the uncertainty of what his future held was beginning to take its toll. He could only assume that uncertainty was about to be laid to rest. Just how desirable that rest would be was the question.
He was led by a liveried servant through a series of corridors, their steps echoing on the flagstone floors and giving an almost eerie feel to the grand but impersonal palace.
The eyes in the paintings that lined the walls seemed to follow him, executing judgment upon him in a way that made his stomach knot with nerves.
William would not have told him to come if there had been any real danger, surely. But what if William was mistaken? He was a duke, but Drayton’s influence was far more established.
The servant led him into an antechamber, a dimly lit room with two tall, thin windows draped with heavy velvet curtains. On the far side was another door of ornately carved wood, giving the impression it led somewhere equally as impressive.
“Wait here, if you please, sir,” the servant said, and without waiting for confirmation, he left Silas alone in the room.
He stood for a moment, then made his way to the window, eager for something to distract him from trying to anticipate what lay ahead. The rippled glass of the window pane gave the view outside an almost dreamlike quality, blurring the lines between the cobbled stones of the courtyard.
A door opened, and Silas turned. William emerged from the carved wooden door, his expression somber until he noted Silas.
“William,” Silas said, hurrying over to him. “What is happening?”
Arabella emerged from the same door, her expression similarly somber, and a little v carved into her otherwise smooth brow.
Silas’s heart came to a halt just as her feet did the same.
Her mouth stretched into a smile, and she let out a sigh of relief as she came over to him, her hands out to receive his.
He took them eagerly and brought them in turn to his lips. “What are you doing here?”
The joy in her expression wavered just as Lord Drayton emerged.
Silas went rigid, his wide eyes fixed on the man who had done his level best to destroy his life.
Drayton looked paler than usual, but his chin was high, his shoulders straight. His gaze moved to Silas, then to Arabella.
Silas shifted in front of her protectively, but she pressed his hand to reassure him as two servants appeared behind Drayton—escorts, it seemed.
“You have nothing to fear from him anymore,” William said in a low voice.
“You dare to shield my own daughter from me?” Drayton said. “Who do you think has protected her all these years?”
“You protected yourself,” Arabella said, stepping forward while keeping her grip on Silas’s hand. “You betrayed my sisters and me by manipulating us for your own purposes. You kept us away from the world and called it love to soothe your own conscience.”
The vein in his head pulsed. “I protected you from the realities of a vicious world.”
“A world made more vicious by you. If there is one thing I have learned, it is this: if you use love toward one person to justify hatred and evil toward another, in the end, you will find the hatred has expanded to consume everything in its path, down to your very soul.” She looked up at Silas, her eyes bright with emotion. “I choose love.”
The fire he had been feeling inside at her words swelled, and he pressed a kiss to her hair.
“Except toward me,” Drayton replied with a sneer.
She shook her head. “I do not hate you, Papa. I pity you. You were so intent on having everything that you lost it all.”
He stared at her for a moment, then turned his gaze to Silas. “You do not deserve her.”
“I do not. But I will spend my life cherishing and protecting her, Drayton.”
Arabella’s hold tightened on his hand.
“He is no longer Drayton, Silas,” William said. “He is simply Mr. Easton.”
“Come along, sir,” said one of the servants, urging Mr. Easton forward.
He gave Silas one last look of disgust, then followed the servants from the room.
Silas turned to Arabella, whose eyes were on the door as it shut. He regarded her with concern.
“I am sorry,” he said.
She shook her head and met his gaze. “It would be dishonest of me to say that I am unaffected, but he is unrepentant, and justice must be done.”
“What will become of him?” Silas asked.
Another liveried servant appeared at the door. “Please enter, Mr. Yorke.”
Silas nodded, then looked at William questioningly. Any hint of what he would hear when he stepped through that door would be welcome.
“I gave Prinny the evidence yesterday,” William said, understanding his desire, “but he wished to consider things before making any decisions. Evidently, he has made them. Mr. Easton has been removed from his position. They will begin the search for the nearest male heir to take his place. Meanwhile, he agreed to voluntary exile—in France. He has been made to understand that any repetition of his choices here will result in his being returned to stand trial here.”
Silas’s brows shot up. He had a thousand questions, but the servant cleared his throat significantly.
“You will both come?” Silas asked his brother and Arabella.
“Of course,” Arabella said. “If you wish us to.”
He did. Whatever the result was of this audience, he wanted to be surrounded by the people he loved.
The door behind them burst open, and his brother Anthony came striding through, breathless.
He was followed shortly by Frederick. “You cannot simply burst into the reigning monarch’s residence, Anthony.”
Aunt Eugenia, Clara, and Charlotte brought up the rear. Anthony and Charlotte must have ridden post-haste from the small estate they had been renting near Charlotte’s family.
“Are we too late?” Anthony asked, eyes wide and urgent as he regarded Silas and the others.
“No.” Silas smiled at the sight of his brother. Anthony had been the only one who had believed him from the beginning. He had sacrificed a great deal in pursuit of Silas’s freedom. He and Charlotte, in fact. Though their efforts had not been successful, he would never forget what they had done.
The servant cleared his throat even more loudly this time so that the sound reverberated throughout the antechamber.
Everyone turned toward him.
“I take it you all intend to come?” he asked with evidence of worn patience.
“Of course we do, you fool,” Aunt Eugenia said, making her way toward the door.
“Aunt!” Frederick cried, no doubt fearing his political aspirations were about to be obliterated by the behavior of his family.
The servant’s mouth twitched at the corner, then he put out a hand to indicate that they should all pass through.
With Arabella’s arm in his, Silas led the way, his heart swelling as the footsteps of his family shuffled behind him. Whatever happened here, he was a fortunate man indeed to have the support of so many.
Dark wood paneling and arched windows framed the room they passed into. A long table stretched from the front toward them. It was surrounded by tall chairs upholstered with rich damask and brass studs. At the head sat two unfamiliar men, one with a quill and parchment at the ready.
“Please have a seat, Mr. Yorke,” said the man at the head of the table, indicating the seat at the end of the table opposite him. “And, er”—his gaze shifted to the others, though his head did not move—“family.”
Silas helped Arabella into the chair nearest him, while William took the one on his other side.
“I am Lord Turlington and am representing His Royal Highness today. The Prince regrets that he could not be personally present. He was unavoidably detained by a pressing matter of State.”
Silas’s gaze flitted to Anthony, who cocked a skeptical eyebrow at this. Frederick shot Anthony a severe glance, as though it was blasphemy to doubt the importance of whatever had kept Prinny away.
“Something to do with the acquisition of a pair of Arabian stallions,” said Turlington, “which required his immediate attention, as you can understand.”
Silas cleared his throat, and a small spasm near the edge of Frederick’s mouth made it clear that even he was struggling to see this as a matter of greatest urgency.
“Rest assured,” Turlington continued, “that His Royal Highness has entrusted me with the full authority of the Crown as I conduct this meeting.” He turned to the scribe, who handed him a piece of official parchment.
He cleared his throat and read, “By the authority vested in His Royal Highness, George Augustus Frederick, Prince of Wales and Prince Regent of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, acting in place of His Majesty King George III, and in consultation with the Council of State, the following proclamations are hereby made known and declared.
“Firstly, it is decreed that Mr. Silas Yorke, of the family Yorke, is hereby cleared of all charges and accusations previously laid against him.
The evidence presented before the Crown has been deemed irrefutable, proving beyond doubt that the allegations were the result of falsehoods and malicious intent.
“As such, Mr. Yorke is to be restored in full to his rightful status and standing as a gentleman of unimpeachable character and honor. The stain upon his name is removed, and all rights and privileges due to him are hereby reinstated.”
Silas swallowed the emotion rising in his throat as Arabella’s hand found his under the table.