Chapter 15
T he stars overhead were an eternal reminder of Leander’s insignificance. He stared up at the heavens, grateful that he could see the firmament here at Heron House. If they lived in London, it would be much harder. The dome of coal smoke made it very difficult to see the stars. But Heron House was just far enough out that he could see the bright pinpricks beaming down upon him.
He wondered at the ancients, those who had made up stories about the stars—Cassiopeia, Gemini, and his favorite, Orion. Of course, they had known the importance of the stars and the earth turning in the sky. But now Leander felt himself grateful to know that when he died and his body returned to the earth, the stars would long shine on, and the earth would continue to turn.
Because for someone like him, born to the title of duke, it was easy to forget how insignificant one was, how unimportant in the grand scheme of things. He was no better than the lowest peasant or a king. He was but a part of this universe, but a part of this spinning ball turning about the sun. It humbled him. And given his natural state of affairs, a bit of humbling was a good thing.
Leander drew in the air, rich with the scent of flowers wafting towards him from his mother’s garden, a garden which had always been well taken care of. For the Briarwoods knew the importance of nature. It was why they chose to continue to live outside the city when so many of the great families had gone to Cavendish Square, Hyde Park, and the like.
No, he still wished to be in a bit of the wild, even if he was not of the wild any longer.
“Have you told her?”
He jolted at the sound of his little sister’s voice.
The soft wings of a crow caressed his cheek, and the bird landed upon his shoulder.
He grinned.
Perdita’s crow had come, a harbinger of his sister.
“Tell her what?” he asked without looking back at the young lady he admired so much. He loved his sister. Oh, he loved all his family, but somehow he felt that he and Perdita were twin souls, that perhaps once upon a time they had been one and were split in two. They were a brother and sister so alike, so attuned, that the universe fairly hummed with it.
Her cat darted about his boots and sat down before them.
Perdita glided silently over the grass, finally coming to stand beside him. She was at one with the universe and the wild. He admired it and found himself in awe of the fact that she was simply at peace. The wild things adored her, and she did her very best to adore them in turn, rescuing them from terrible situations.
She had taken care of her wounded bird and her wounded cat, and now the two animals, who should have been natural enemies, had become friends and were ever at Perdita’s side. The house was a veritable menagerie. At any given point, one might find a cat, a hedgehog, a snake, or a ferret.
He enjoyed this about her, and she was ever returning the animals to the wilderness. For Perdita did not believe in keeping living creatures imprisoned.
Now, the crow and the cat had chosen her and would not leave her.
The crow launched from his shoulder and bolted into the night. No doubt in search of sustenance. The cat roved through the grass, looking to hunt.
“Leander,” she prompted gently.
“The truth,” he echoed.
Like him, Perdita stared up at the stars. “Someone should tell her.”
He swung his gaze down to her. “Tell her what?” he asked, even as an emotion he could only label as fear slid through his veins. His mouth dried. He did not like to think about the truth. In fact, he spent most of his life hiding from his secret.
“The darkness of your heart, the way you hide it but succumb to it sometimes,” Perdita said easily. “Mother will not tell. None of the family will tell. They all pretend it doesn’t exist, except me. Except for when you’re fully in those episodes.”
“Perdita, you don’t pretend about anything,” he pointed out, even as his gut twisted. Dukes could not have episodes. Just like kings could not.
He was not mad. God in heaven. He was not. There were just times when… Well, when he could not control himself. When his impulses drove him half crazed. When he was not himself.
“Exactly,” she agreed. “Which is why I want to know. Have you told her?”
“No,” he stated through gritted teeth.
“Why?” she queried gently. “It’ll be quite a shock to her when she discovers—”
“Don’t you dare,” he rasped.
Perdita looked up at him and pressed her mouth into a thin line. “Don’t I dare tell her all of the facets of the brother that I love so well?”
Panic laced through him, and he turned to her. “I’ve always been able to control it, and I’ve always been able to live my life without it affecting everything else.”
“You tell that to yourself, dearest brother, if you must. But you do not control it. That is why you hide away when it happens. Why we all help you hide.”
“I’m a duke,” he stated as if that somehow explained everything, solved everything. In truth, he knew full well that it did not. But if people knew…
He could scarcely bear it, standing beside his youngest sister who seemed to understand humanity in a way that was a mystery. He tried to defend himself. Tried to assure her all would be well.
But he could tell she did not believe it to be true.
“She will think it normal for me to go on trips,” he rushed. “And if I need to disappear to the countryside until one of my…episodes passes, I shall.”
Perdita nodded sadly but without judgement. She tucked her delicate hand into the crook of his arm, tilted her head back, and gazed upon him with acceptance. “I see. So you really aren’t going to tell her?”
He tensed. “There’s no point. We all have our difficulties. Mine are few.”
Perdita lowered her hand and wound it around his as she had done when she was very small. “You are right. Of course. Most people who get married know very little about each other.”
He looked down at that small hand twining around his. He bit his lip. How did she do it? How could she sway him so powerfully with such gentle words?
“Right. Of course. You’re correct. I can’t lie to my bride and start out thus. But, Perdita, you really do know how to throw a wrench into things.”
She smiled up at him. “Ah, but imagine if you had to face her, knowing you had lied. Imagine seeing the betrayal on her face. Now that would indeed be a wrench in things.”
He winced. “You are far too wise for your years.”
She laughed at that and shook her head. “I am not wise. I simply don’t see the point in lying and pretending. All the ton pretends, and they’re all bloody miserable. Except us. So don’t start acting like them.”
He let out a laugh. “Oh God, if you’re accusing me of acting like the ton, then I absolutely must tell her.”
Perdita squeezed his hand.
“Good,” she said. “I’m sure she’s stronger than you think. All of us are. And you are too marvelous for words to worry about those times that creep in. They may be powerful, but so are we. And it is time. We are so bold in every other way. You must be bold in this too.”
He gave a tight nod. She was right, of course. The Briarwoods were bold. They did what the rest of the ton feared. But in this? This they had held back.
The dark times had happened since he was a small boy. But it had gotten significantly worse after Peter and then his father had died. It was as if they had been triggers.
But he had always managed to keep the trust of Parliament, of the people he took care of, and that was all that mattered, wasn’t it?
Surely, he could be forgiven this one secret, this one failing, when he did so much so well. But deep in his heart, he was truly terrified that it would be too much. Deep in his heart, he knew that was exactly why he had chosen Mercy. She was practical, pragmatic, not like one of the members of the ton.
When they married, she would have her own full life. He would make certain that she could set herself up as a publisher, they would have children, but she would not be hung up in simply being a duchess, in simply wishing for his approval.
She would allow him his distance when he needed it. When it was necessary. To protect them all.
It was truly one of the selfish reasons that he had picked her, and not because he thought he could manipulate her, but because he admired that independent part of her. The part that told him when they needed to be apart, they could be.
“She has her own problems, you know,” Perdita said quietly.
“You’ve barely spoken to her,” he said, surprised by this sudden comment.
“I’ve been watching.”
It was something that Perdita did. She was like a princess in a tower. Only she wasn’t locked in. She whispered her way through the halls, watching everyone, assessing things. It would be no surprise to find her up on the roof with the gargoyles.
Perdita would have fit in quite well in another time as a hermit. But if she had been born a few hundred years ago, she would’ve easily been burned as a witch for her odd ways.
He pulled her closer to his side and hugged her shoulders. “We all have struggles, Perdita, including you. I could not find someone who didn’t have difficulties.”
“Perhaps that’s true,” Perdita agreed, leaning her head against his arm. “But I think you fail to see that she’s wounded inside. Your greatest desire is to make everyone happy, and I’m warning you… You cannot make everyone happy.”
He longed to rail at her. To tell her she was mistaken. But he couldn’t do that to her. So, instead, he swung his gaze back up to the stars.
He? Fail? Never.
Surely, such a thing was impossible for the Duke of Westleigh.
Hubris. He knew where hubris led men. The Greek writers had taught that well. Leander’d had it driven into him by Homer and Aristotle. If he grew too arrogant, he would be crushed underneath God’s wrath.
That was life. That was the truth. If you soared too close to the sun, you would fall to the earth. But he was a master at making people happy. So the idea that he would not be able to make Mercy happy was absurd.
He would continue to do what he had always done. His own weakness would not stop him.