17. Chapter 17
On the walk back to Worthington House, Aaron’s mind was filled with the story Cabot had told him.
I can’t give her what she needs.
He could only offer a title and destitute lands, attached to horrendous notoriety. She would honestly be better off with ordinary old Hastings than the publicly demonized Lord Aaron Arbogast. The marriage of a middling-high family member to someone of the lower classes might cause a whirl of gossip, but it would be short-lived. The new Mrs. Hastings, no matter who she’d once been, would fall from Society’s sight like a stone into a pond. Ripples, yes, but ripples fade with time.
As Lady Arbogast, or even as the Duchess of Arbodean, she would live the rest of her life under the magnifying glass of Society’s scrutiny. Everywhere she went, everywhere any of the Worthingtons went, people would turn their backs and whisper of poor Amelia Masterson, destroyed by Black Aaron, named after the tarnish on his vicious, depraved heart.
Aaron knew he’d never been forgotten. Even now, walking down a public London street, he kept his hat brim low and his eyes, quite properly as it happened, lowered. He dared not meet the gazes of any passersby on this fashionable walk.
No, he could not do it to Elektra. He’d not realized it until this moment, but to ask it of any woman would be far too much. Not only would she be ostracized for the rest of her life, but so would her children.
His children.
God, he’d been so busy trying to turn himself about, to become the man he always should have been, to win back some semblance of approval in his grandfather’s eyes that it had never once occurred to him that he would never truly succeed.
To Society in general, he would always be Black Aaron, the monster.
And he could never, ever reveal the facts of what had truly happened to Miss Amelia Masterson.
However, he could, and would, take his tarnished self as far as he possibly could from the woman at his side.
Just as soon as he knew she was safe.
Aaron began with pinning down each brother individually.
“What is your sister about?” he asked Orion. “Why is she so mad to land a duke?”
Orion lifted his gaze from the pages of the weighty tome on his desk. From where Aaron was standing, he could see detailed drawings of parts better left beneath the skin.
“I have no idea. I assume she knows what she’s doing. She’s more intelligent than people think.”
That was all that was to be had from that source. Castor was next.
The green-eyed man shrugged. “She’s always been mad. I suppose she’s a beauty, so she’ll get by on that for a while. If she lands a title, she can stay as mad as she likes and no one will dare say boo to her.” Cas fidgeted, eager to check on his lovely wife. “If you ask me, she’d do better to act a bit more like a lady, like Miranda.”
Aaron regarded Cas’s back sourly as he walked off. From what he already knew of Elektra, she could convincingly play a queen if it suited her. Who did her brothers see when they looked at her?
He didn’t expect much response from Lysander, but asked anyway, being systematic. Zander surprised him greatly.
“She’s in battle.” Those three words seemed to come from some deep, strangled place within. Zander swallowed hard. “A … champion.” Then he twitched slightly, shook himself, and walked away. Aaron stared after him with a frown.
Of course, it would be the maddest brother who understood her best of all.
I understand her. What does that say about me?
Then Aaron turned his gaze upon the eldest, Dade. If there was anyone who ought to be looking after Elektra, it was he. Aaron wasn’t going to leave her until he knew that someone — someone other than Zander the Undead! — knew what was truly happening inside that golden head of hers.
Someone who could help her, save her.
From herself.
He found Dade brooding in his study. The eldest Worthington looked up when Aaron entered, then frowned. “Yes, Hastings?”
It occurred to Aaron that Dade always spoke to him as if he were a servant. Elektra called him “Mr. Hastings” as if he were a guest.
He found himself irked by Dade’s dismissive address, even though he himself called Hastings exactly that! For the first time, he wondered if that bothered Hastings — Mr. Hastings! — at all.
“It’s the miss, sir. Miss Elektra, I mean. She’s too thin.” It would do for a start.
Dade blinked in surprise. “That’s a tad on the personal side, don’t you think, Hastings? Not really your place, I’d say.”
Fortunately for Aaron, he was several rungs higher than Dade on the social ladder and therefore not in the slightest intimidated by such blather.
“Blather,” he informed Dade. “Sir.”
Dade’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. “I beg your pardon?”
“I take it back,” Aaron went on. “You’re right, it ain’t my place, sir, because it’s your place. You’re the head of this madhouse. You don’t look after her properly, I’d say.”
Dade blinked, and surged to his feet in anger. Then he hesitated, doubt rising in his eyes, a look of regret crossing his face. He sank back into his seat and rubbed his eyes wearily. “I do try, you know. They are … unmanageable.”
“Oy, I’ll give you that, sir. A bigger bunch of maniacs was never born.”
Dade drew back. “I didn’t say that —”
“But that don’t excuse Miss Elektra not eatin’ proper.”
Dade frowned. “I cannot help it if my sister is vain.”
“Vain?” Aaron sputtered. Idiot! “You’re an idiot, sir! Your sister gives her meat to Miss Attie and her pudding to the expectant Mrs. Worthington because she fears they don’t eat well enough!”
Dade stared at Aaron, his expression dumbstruck. “That can’t be!”
Aaron folded his arms. “Then why did Miss Elektra tuck in like a farmhand on the road, then? And now she passes the roast meat right over her own plate and nibbles on bread and cheese? She’s afraid there isn’t enough to go around! All the while you louts eat like you’re preparin’ for your last battle.”
Dade paled, not in fury at Aaron’s tone, but in sudden realization. “That little idiot!” He rubbed his face with his hands. “It’s my fault.” He gazed at Aaron with guilty regret. “When she came to me for a dress allowance for her Season, I told her we barely had enough in the accounts to feed us all, much less throw away on fripperies that would be worn once and tossed aside.”
“But it ain’t true, is it?” Aaron scowled. “What’d you tell her that for?”
Dade blinked. “Because … well, she wanted dresses.” He spread his hands, as if that explained everything.
Aaron shook his head sadly. “You’re even more stupid than I thought, sir.” He folded his arms. “Dresses ain’t dresses! Dresses, for Miss Elektra, are weapons.”
Even as he said it, he realized that it was true in so many ways. It was just as Lysander had said. Everything Elektra wore, or said, or did, was all part of her battle for the greater glory of the Worthington family’s future — for Attie’s future, specifically!
Dade only looked confused. Aaron let out a breath. “I’ll be sittin’ down now, sir, because this is goin’ to take a while.”
“Cabot!”
The gown refurbishment for Miss Elektra had taken the greater part of Cabot’s day. He was already approaching punctuality. Any more delay and he would be late. He was never late.
Even so, Cabot stopped his fast pace and turned reluctantly. He knew that voice, though he’d not seen his friend Garrett in more than a year.
Slender, stylish, and supercilious, that was Garrett.
Garrett had been valet, er, lady’s maid to Lady Alicia Lawrence before she had become the Duchess of Wyndham. Now Garrett served as chief gossipmonger and easily dismissed busybody, er, spy for that Liar’s Club lot that Button had once been part of.
Garrett approached Cabot with a smile and a toss of his perfectly coiffed blond hair. “Cabot, you’re looking very dapper today.”
Cabot refused to allow himself to be charmed. It was only sunlight. It was only hair. He did not smile back. “I always look dapper. It is my job. Dapper is what I do. What do you want, Garrett?”
Garrett smiled, not put out in the slightest by Cabot’s chilly greeting. That, in itself, was annoying. Everyone was put off by his aloofness. That was the point of aloofness, after all.
However, Garrett was a special case. He and Cabot had known each other long ago, when they’d both been street rats lurking on the edges of Bond Street, attracted by the fine togs and the possibilities available for a couple of handy pickpockets and petty thieves. Cabot had never been as deft as Garrett, but he’d been faster, so they’d both managed to stay ahead of the Watch. At least, until Cabot had been caught by Button all those years ago.
Now, Cabot was the assistant to the great Lementeur, gown designer to the rich and powerful and Garrett was little more than a snoop and a liar.
Well, a Liar, anyway. One of the that mingled pack of lords and louts that Button had once costumed for their forays into deception.
“How’s the club, then, Garrett?” He might as well find out, for Button would want to hear the latest. Garrett was an acute observer and remarkably detailed tattletale. Cabot looked forward to repeating all the tastiest bits of news to Button. It might make his master smile.
In his own mind, Cabot was not afraid to admit that he lived for that smile.
But Garrett had other things on his mind. An offer.
“I need to talk to you about something. It’s important. Come out with me, Cab. A wild night on the town, like the old days. There’s a rout at Weatherly’s, where there will not be single respectable soul in attendance. Or we can drink and dine at Mrs. Blythe’s. You know she adores us. We are so very decorative.”
Cabot remembered Mrs. Blythe very well. She ran a better-than-most establishment for naughty-minded toffs, but she treated her ladies well and her boys even better, so Cabot had no quarrel with the woman. In fact, she’d helped him out in the past, when he’d nearly run afoul of the law … but that was before Button.
Now, he was an upright and proper citizen. He hadn’t even … well, it had been years, to be truthful. And the gleam in Garrett’s eye promised more than simply rambunctious companionship. Garrett was a generous and entertaining companion who was not inclined to get sentimental. If Cabot wanted to take the night off, Garrett would be the ideal playmate.
But how did one take the night off from love?
“I’ve duties to attend to,” Cabot said stiffly. Garrett looked a little hurt, but Cabot wasn’t too worried about his old friend. Garrett didn’t lack for companionship, and he wouldn’t stay hurt for longer than it took a squirrel to focus upon another nut.
Lucky Garrett.
It was the other offer, the stunning, outrageous, astounding offer, that he made next.
Cabot refused that one as well. With profuse gratitude, for him. He simply didn’t think “not interested” would be an acceptable answer, not to the man who made the offer.
“Your loss, mate,” Garrett informed him cheerfully. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”
Garrett ambled off, replacing his hat on his head with, of course, a jaunty tilt. For a moment, just an instant, Cabot envied him fiercely. To be free, to walk away from the constant ache in his chest, to turn love from pain back into play.
However, he had a place in the world. He had work, and responsibilities. He had Button’s respect, and Button was obviously fond of him, in poor-orphan-boy sort of way.
Not precisely what Cabot had in mind.
Nevertheless, it was better than no Button at all.
Wasn’t it?
At Worthington House, Cabot found Hastings first. “Ah … sir. My master has a message for you.”
Then it was the violet silk for Miss Elektra.
Hours later, in her bedchamber, Elektra gave herself one final glance in the mirror. Cabot stood behind her, hair ribbons still trailing from one hand, a vial of scent held in the other.
“I think this is the best I can do,” Elektra tilted her head this way and that. “Do you think it is enough to win the Duke of Camberton’s attention?”
“If he isn’t looking at you, then he must be looking at me,” Cabot said flatly. “You make me wish I admired girls.”
Elektra turned to flash her dearest friend a delighted grin. “Cabot! That’s the nicest thing any man has ever said to me!”
Cabot lifted a brow. “Wouldn’t that send the eyebrows to the ceiling? You and I, stepping out together?”
Elektra’s grin faded. “What’s wrong? Something’s wrong.” She narrowed her eyes. “Tell me.”
Cabot turned away and let the ribbons drift from his lax fingers to the top of the dressing table. “I think I may be going to the palace. The Prince Regent needs another dresser. It seems he broke the last one.”
“Oh!” Elektra raised her hands to her cheeks in delight. Then, she let them fall. “Oh. Oh, dear.”
“I do believe those were my exact words upon receiving the offer. Well, nearly, for I might have added a few harmless expletives.”
Elektra bit her bottom lip. “Will you go? Will you truly leave him?”
Cabot turned back, but his gaze remained on his empty hand. “I believe the question is, will he let me refuse it? ‘For your own good’ and all that rubbish.”
“But he … needs you,” Elektra said delicately. “You know he does!”
“Does he?” Cabot looked up at last, and his lovely gray-mist eyes were the eyes of a man walking to the gallows. “Does he indeed?”
Elektra crossed her arms. We shall see about this!
Mr. Button was as dear to her as her own parents — but enough was enough! Her toe began to tap, rather in the fashion of her bossy older sister, Callie. When she realized it, she stilled the wayward foot, but forgot to erase the determined scowl from her features.
Cabot blinked and drew back slightly. “No.”
“No what?” Elektra was still thinking furiously. When she got through with Button and his ridiculous notions of right and wrong and —
“No. No Worthington shenanigans! No outrageous plots involving mechanical geese or the twins clad as harlequins or some clockwork flaming phoenix!”
Elektra beamed her most innocent look at Cabot. “Why, how could I dress the twins as harlequins with Poll gone off to the Alps? Or has he reached Turkey yet?”
Cabot passed one hand over his eyes. “Just … just wait, please? I need to do a bit of serious thinking and I won’t be able to if I’m worrying over a sudden delivery of a flock of monkeys!”
“It isn’t called a flock, it’s called a troop, or … well, I’ll have to ask Orion. And anyway, it was only a single monkey and I only kept it for a day. Not at all nice, as I recall.”
“Elektra? Promise me that you’ll give me time.”
“Well, there is this ball I must attend tonight. And, in the morning, I expect I’ll be receiving at least one important proposal. Then there will be my artfully-but-innocently worded acceptance to compose.” She let out a breath. “Very well. You have forty-eight hours. Then, I will unleash the combined might of the entire clan upon his foolish head!”
“God.” Cabot shuddered. “If I hadn’t gone through a decade of defenseless longing, I would almost feel sorry for him.”
Elektra nodded shortly. “Confusion to the enemy, that’s what Lysander … used to say.”
She turned to gather up her fan and her shawl, already thinking about how to gain the stubbornly blind Button’s undivided attention.
“Ellie.”
She turned, startled. Even as close as they were, Cabot rarely used her family nickname. He stood there, with that slight crook in his lips that was the closest he ever really came to smiling, and then he bowed most formally. “You are brilliant and beautiful and your heart is more golden than you realize. You are more duchess than any duke deserves!”
Blinking back sudden moisture in her eyes, Elektra snapped her fan open flirtatiously before her face as she curtsied just as deeply. “Why, thank you for noticing, kind sir!” Then she stood and crisply shut her fan. “Now, a-hunting we will go.”