Chapter 16
The Lady and the Tiger
Gideon eyed his brother nervously. It was only right that he be a little on edge, it was his wedding day after all. Yet he’d been acting strangely the past week or two, and not the usual sort of strange. Damian could be erratic and unpredictable, but this was different.
Gideon had thought a good deal about Damian in the past weeks, ever since he’d discovered he was only his half-brother, actually.
He realised something of late, something he did not dare voice aloud to Damian for fear of having his head bitten off.
But it occurred to him now that the behaviour that had always worried him, that had made Damian appear to bear the same characteristics as his mother, all stemmed from fear and memories of the past. He slept badly because of the nightmares, lack of sleep made him irascible and gave him headaches, and so he drank to avoid the nightmares, which only made things worse.
Gideon had tried to remember a single moment when Damian had seemed less than rational and not just rash or ill-judged, where his behaviour had echoed their mother’s.
Granted, Gideon only had descriptions of her behaviour as he’d been too young to remember now, but there was nothing, no similarity.
Since meeting Cecilia, Damian had stopped drinking, and he’d clearly been sleeping better.
He’d been reliable, sensible and even thoughtful.
Though Gideon wondered if the strain of such behaviour had taken its toll, for his brother looked pale and resigned, sitting at the front of the church, waiting for his bride to arrive.
He’d insisted on arriving far too early, and Gideon stood up, needing to move about in the chilly gloom of the interior to warm himself up.
“Here,” he said, offering Damian his silver flask, a wedding present from Hetty. She’d said he’d need a nip now and then if he was going to survive being married to her. Damian glanced at the flask and shook his head.
Gideon stared at him. Damian never turned down a drink when he was edgy.
Taking a sip himself, he replaced the cap and tucked the flask away, frowning at his brother.
“Are you all right?”
Damian looked up, his brows tugging together. “Of course I’m all right. Why shouldn’t I be?”
Gideon shrugged and sat down again. “Well, it’s a big thing, getting married, making promises before God. I didn’t think it would affect me so profoundly, but I felt the weight of it, standing up there, with Hetty placing herself and her future in my hands.”
Damian sent him a look of frigid impatience. “Is that supposed to help? To make me feel better? Don’t you think I know I’m not bloody worthy of her already?” He surged to his feet, raking a hand through his immaculate hair and sending it into disarray. “I can’t do this.”
There was a panicky note to the words that made Gideon feel equally alarmed.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I can’t do this,” Damian snarled, looking as though he’d break Gideon’s nose at the slightest provocation.
Gideon, too used to his brother’s temper, held out his hands in a calming gesture, keeping his voice mild. “Of course you can.”
“How?” A desperate note clung to the word, revealing more fear and honesty than Gideon could ever remember him showing before. “How can I condemn her to the life she must live with me? Celia is bright and funny and so… so full of love and affection and I—”
His voice broke and he snapped his mouth shut.
“Will you leave her at the altar, then, to face the scandal and the gossips and everything else that follows alone? She’ll be forced to marry that disgusting earl her father wants for her if you do. There will be no choice.”
Damian’s fists clenched. He glared furiously at Gideon.
“I thought not,” Gideon said with a smile.
“Then you’ll just have to find a way forward together.
Because that’s what marriage is, Damian, and your marriage might not look like mine and Hetty’s, or like anyone else’s, but it will be yours and Celia’s.
If you care for her, which you clearly do, you’ll find a way. ”
“Just like that,” Damian said, a sneer curling his lip.
“By no means. I don’t imagine it will always be easy, but Cecilia is no ordinary woman.
She, like her sister, has a spine of steel and a will to match.
Don’t underestimate her and think she needs protecting from the truth, you’ll only force her to use methods that will appal you to understand whatever you are hiding. Believe me, brother, I know.”
Damian snorted and sat down again. “I have already surmised that much,” he said darkly. “Give me that bloody flask.”
Gideon laughed and handed it over, watching as Damian upended it and took a large swallow before handing it back.
“Deon, will you promise me something?”
Gideon nodded, hearing the plea behind the words. “Of course, if you wish me to.”
“Swear to me that if you ever have the slightest doubt as to my sanity, if there is even a flicker of doubt in your mind, that you’ll take Celia out of harm’s way. Lock me up, do what you will with me, but for the love of God, don’t let me—”
“Damian!” Gideon reached out and grasped his hand, shocked to find it cold and unsteady. “Of course. Of course I will do what you ask, but you are not like Mama. There was a time when I worried about it, I admit, but I just do not see that in you. I don’t believe you have anything to fear.”
Damian let out a harsh breath and shook his head.
“If only I could believe you. I don’t want to let her down, Deon. I don’t— I don’t want to hurt her.”
Gideon’s heart ached at the admission, for Damian had never cared for anyone before, except for him.
Yet he realised now that it was in Damian’s nature to protect those he loved, for he had tried so hard to protect Gideon, had been the perfect big brother, until they had grown apart.
Their shared ordeal had not bound them together, but thrust them away from each other, as they sought different ways to deal with the bleak future they saw before them.
Yet, despite all that, Gideon had never doubted Damian would come running if he’d needed him.
“Then you won’t,” Gideon said simply.
Damian turned to stare at him, incredulous.
“I mean it, Damian. You won’t. Just talk to her, be honest, don’t hide your motivations, your fears.
If she understands you, she will not be so hurt or feel so rejected if you need a bit of space, or find…
things difficult,” Gideon said diplomatically, wondering how in the hell Damian would deal with the wedding night when he was so terrified of creating a child.
Damian narrowed his eyes, apparently deciding whether to take offence before letting out a deep breath. “Honesty,” he repeated ominously. “Well, doesn’t that sound fun.”
Cilly turned away from the looking glass and smoothed a hand over her gown, the pale silver-grey silk glinting in the light. “Well?”
Hetty pressed her fingers to her mouth, her eyes shining so brightly Cilly gave a choked laugh herself.
“Don’t you dare cry. I’ve never been such a watering pot as I have been these past days and I need no encouragement. If I walk up the aisle with red eyes, a runny nose, and splotchy cheeks, I shall never forgive you, Henrietta.”
Hetty snorted inelegantly. “Sorry,” she said a little thickly. “But you look so beautiful. He doesn’t deserve you.”
Cilly smiled. “Ah, but he does, love, and he needs me more than that.”
Hetty nodded and walked towards her, taking hold of her hands. “You know I’m always here if you need me, and Hart will pummel him if he puts a foot out of line.”
“I know, but he won’t. Not in the way you might think, at least.”
Cilly turned back to the mirror. She touched the brooch Damian had given her, which was pinned at her decolletage.
His admission to her yesterday had explained a good deal she had not understood before, but she knew tonight would be complicated.
Whatever happened—or didn’t—she must make sure he did not leave.
If she woke with him beside her tomorrow morning, she would know there was a chance for them, but if he ran, she feared he would keep running, despite his promises.
A knock at the door had Cilly’s heart leaping, her brother’s deep voice confirming her future was about to begin.
“Are you ready, Cilly? It’s time to go.”
Cilly looked back at her reflection. The woman that returned her gaze looked determined and strong-willed. “I’m ready,” she called, and turned to leave.
Hawkney settled his grandmother upon the pew and was about to sit down as he saw Marcus enter the church. It was early yet, so he excused himself and went to meet him.
“Good morning. I didn’t expect to see you here,” Hawkney said, shaking the man’s hand.
Marcus returned a wry smile. “Your grandmother invited me. I believe she feels sorry for me and worries I spend all my time in brooding silence.”
Hawkney laughed. “I doubt that very much, but she was always fond of you. Come and sit with us if you like, there’s room to spare.”
Marcus nodded and paid his respects to Gee-Gee before sitting down.
“Did you decide on the portrait yet?” Hawkney asked, watching as a resigned expression settled over his friend’s face.
“I have little choice, do I? But I’m here and she’s here, so I may as well. Saves me carting my sorry carcass back to town.”
“By she, I take it you mean you have given Miss Foxworthy the commission?” Hawkney said pointedly.
Marcus glowered, waving a disinterested hand. “Yes, her. The artist.”
“Miss Foxworthy.”
“Miss Foxworthy,” Marcus agreed, sounding remarkably tetchy. Hawkney regarded him with interest. “I’ve not informed her yet, but I shall call upon her tomorrow.”
“You don’t like her?”
Marcus’ face darkened further. “Like? What the devil does that have to do with anything? I’m sitting for a portrait, not taking tea with the woman, but I never said I disliked her.”
Hawkney shrugged, a little amused. “No, but you act as though you do. She seems to unsettle you somewhat.”