Flowers From The Storm (25 page)

Cousin Edward went to the chair and set it upright. “There now,” he said calmly. “You won’t force us to resort to the gauntlets, will you, Master Christian? Not in front of Her Grace and Miss Timms.”

Jervaulx hit him.

Cousin Edward went down in a mill of arms, falling back against the chair as the barristers lunged for Jervaulx before he made it past them. For a moment confusion reigned, shouts and the scrape of wood, then Larkin was there, back-handing the duke with a fist that sent him sprawling against the table, the two lawyers still clinging to his arms. Papers flew, sliding in massive sheafs and bundles to the floor. Larkin flung himself on top of the duke, his blunt hands at Jervaulx’s throat.

The struggle ceased. Jervaulx dropped his head back against the table, panting. He closed his eyes and turned his face from the rest of them.

Larkin slowly pushed himself away, flipping a big India rubber ring against his palm before he shoved it in his pocket. The barristers had both lost their wigs. They looked flushed and awkward, chagrined when Larkin said, “Stand him up and let him go, sirs. He’ll not fight any longer.”

They pulled him upright. Jervaulx hardly seemed aware of the grip on his arms; he stood braced against the table, his head down, making no attempt to move when they released him. His fine coat had ripped at the shoulder seam, showing white linen beneath.

Cousin Edward moved forward with the leather gauntlets, slipping them on and securing the laces with the efficiency of long practice. His lip was bleeding, but Jervaulx, who’d taken a far harder blow from Larkin, had no mark on him.

“What is this?” Lady de Marly’s voice cut ice through the air.

The Lord Chancellor looked up from examining his cracked spectacles. “M’lady.”

Behind her, the dowager duchess and the rest crowded about the door, nudging themselves into Lady de Marly’s wake. Maddy found herself edged into a corner as one of the husbands pushed his way past her, begging her pardon without much conviction.

Jervaulx stood with his arms bound, staring at the floor. The rip at his shoulder gaped with the awkward angle forced on his arms by the gauntlets.

The Lord Chancellor glanced around at the family crowding in. “Well,” he said, quite dry and little annoyed. “As it falls out that you’re all here—let me tell you my decision in the matter of the petition for a writ
de idiota inquirendo
in the case of His Grace Christian Langland, the Duke of Jervaulx.”

Lady de Marly thumped her stick in an ominous way. “Lyndhurst—” she began imperiously.

“M’lady,” the Lord Chancellor’s voice had a warning note within it. “Allow me.” He seated himself in a large chair next to the fire, waving Lady de Marly into the one that had been replaced across from him.

He held out his hand in expectation.

The clerk hurried to retrieve a scatter of papers from near his feet. The Lord Chancellor took them, rearranged them, holding his damaged spectacles to his nose without putting them on.

“I have examined the duke with a view to his ability to mind his business. I find that he cannot give his name, nor write it. He cannot count from one to twenty. He does not appear to recognize his mother. He had no sensible response upon being given a candle to light. When asked to tell a sum of money, he threw it into the fire. These are—” His voice rose as Lady de Marly attempted to interrupt. “These are the customary criteria we apply to determine
compos mentis
, m’lady.”

Lady de Marly had been leaning forward, She met the Lord Chancellor’s look and sank back in her chair, her chin lifted. “Your Lordship, he is the Duke of Jervaulx.” She gave the Lord Chancellor a glare that would have shriveled stone. “The Duke… of Jervaulx.”

They were like two elders locked in silent conflict, two massive wills. Everyone and everything else was eerily still, but for the fire rumbling quietly between Lady de Marly and the Lord Chancellor. Such a commonplace sound, while Jervaulx never moved nor lifted his head.

The Lord Chancellor rustled his papers. He cleared his throat. “On behalf of Her Grace the Dowager Duchess of Jervaulx, we have Lord Tilgate, Lord Stoneham, Mr. Manning, Mr. Perceval, jointly and severally, et cetera, et cetera— petition the court—et cetera—writ
de idiota inquirendo
— yes, I thought I was not mistaken.” He glanced toward their councillor. “Mr. Temple—there has been an error in the documents. This should not have been submitted as
de idiota
, but as
de lunatico
—as I have satisfied myself from my examination of the duke.” He swept his audience with a dispassionate look. “It is perfectly clear to me that this is a case of mental derangement rather than idiocy. If your party should wish to correct the petition and resubmit, Mr. Temple, I will of course take up the question again at a later date.”

Maddy could not understand why Lady de Marly was so jubilant. She appeared to view the postponement as an entire victory—and indeed, the vehement low-voiced complaints of the brothers-in-law revealed their dissatisfaction. As Lady de Marly made her slow and thumping way down the hall and outside to the waiting carriages, Maddy overheard one of the husbands mutter, “Good God, man, another half-year?” His voice rose a little as he caught the barrister’s arm. “The estate’ll be a shambles!”

The others hushed him. Maddy walked past them in the hall. His sisters and brothers-in-law looked behind her, edged aside, putting their backs to the wall. Maddy paused at the head of the stairs.

Between Cousin Edward and Larkin, Jervaulx walked down the row of spectators, bound, as if he were a criminal led to execution. He gave no sign that he even knew anyone else was nearby; he only seemed to watch the hems of his sisters’ dresses as he passed. Not until he reached Maddy did he raise his eyes—and she saw then that he had gone away.

Nothing was there, no sorrow, no anger, no recognition. He’d said that he would die if they sent him back. Maddy thought that he had already. She almost reached out to touch him, but… no.

No. It was better this way. Better not to bring him back, not to make him feel this moment. The family closed ranks in the hall behind him, murmuring among themselves. Maddy lifted her skirt, turning away from him, leading the way down the stairs.

In a chair drawn close to the fire as always, Lady de Marly seated herself in her private boudoir, surrounded by furniture in black Oriental lacquer. Every possible inch of space was covered with blue and white porcelain bottles, tiny and large, some simple, some painted with grotesque dragons and mythical beasts. She took a long draught of smelling salts from one of the bottles, then opened her eyes and curled the phial in her hand. “Miss Timms.” She fixed her look on Maddy. “It is imperative that he comprehend what I have to say. That is why you are here.”

“I understand.”

“Ill-bred chit. You answer me ”m’lady‘ when I speak to you.“

“It is not our principle,” Maddy said calmly.

Lady de Marly lifted her brows. “I daresay.”

She appeared content with this caustic remark and turned her attention to the duke. He stood bound in the gauntlets, watching them both like a dark outlaw enchained. Lady de Marly took another deep breath of her salts, then waved the phial.

“Remove those… bonds,” she said, as if the very word offended her.

Maddy was happy to do so. Jervaulx held still as she unlaced them. Released, he moved his fists apart, spread his fingers, looking down at his hands one by one. Then he lifted his head and nodded once to Maddy, terse thanks.

Lady de Marly thumped her stick for attention. “You, boy—do you know what’s happened today?”

“Slowly,” Maddy advised.

The old lady made an annoyed grimace. “Jervaulx!”

He looked at her.

“Hear me,” she said. “You failed today. Failed.”

His jaw worked. He began to breathe faster, making the effort to speak. To Maddy’s relief, Lady de Marly waited without interrupting him.

“Vesta!” he burst out fiercely. “Don’t…
back
. God! If… love. If—” He reached and grabbed Maddy’s arm, pushing her toward his aunt. He held her in front of him. “
Say
.”

Maddy felt his fingers drive into her arms. He gave her a little shake, made a growl in his throat.

“
Say
,” he insisted.

“He doesn’t wish to return to Blythedale, Lady de Marly,” she said. “I believe that is what he wants me to tell thee.”

“Indeed.” She didn’t even look at Maddy, only at the duke behind her.

Jervaulx expelled a groan, pushing Maddy from him. He strode to the end of the room. “Kill… now.”

He turned on them, gripping the fretted rails of an ebony Chinese chair. “Not…
back
.”

Lady de Marly regarded him, nodding faintly. “Back you go, however. Your mother wills it,” she said, with a calm cruelty that forced Maddy into speech.

“Perhaps thou might consider—”

“Miss Timms!” Lady de Marly snapped.

Maddy fell silent.

“Miss Timms, you did not mention that he was capable of intelligent speech.”

Lady de Marly had a way of making one feel guilty even for improvement. “He’s sometimes spoken,”

Maddy said, “but not often.”

“How often? In what circumstances?”

“I think—when he’s angry. When he wants something very much. When it is—” She hesitated. “When it is important to him.”

“I see.”

Lady de Marly wrapped both her hands around the knob of her walking stick. She leaned her head against the chair and closed her eyes.

“Jervaulx,” the old lady said. “You
will
go back. Do you understand?”

He held the chair. “
Back
? ” Just that word, one agonized word.

“Yes.” Lady de Marly opened her eyes. She thumped her stick. “Unless you do as I say.”

She set the stick and pushed herself to her feet. The duke didn’t move as she walked toward him, each half-step a stiff rustle of silk. She stopped, leaning hard on her support. They looked at one another with the ebony chair between them.

“Not back, Jervaulx. Not… back…
if—
” She glared up into the duke’s eyes. “
If
you consent.”

His face was dark with emotion and wariness. “Con… sent?”

“Consent to marry.”

He turned his head slightly. Maddy could see the hesitation.

“Marry,” Lady de Marly repeated, clear and plain. “Marry… secure the title… and you do not go back.

I’ll see to it.”

Comprehension washed into his face. Comprehension and affront—an instant of aristocratic arrogance, pure duke, amazed offense at this interference—and then the further realization, full grasp of what she offered. He let go of the chair.

“
Yes
,” he ejaculated.

Anything, that one syllable said. Anything not to go back.

“”I will,“” Maddy read again.

The duke’s fingers tightened around the handgrip of a heavy seal. It formed another stamp in the desk blotter as he pressed down in his effort to speak. All day she’d been locked with him in the library, reciting from the marriage ceremony in the Book of Common Prayer. He never looked at the endless phoenix crests he was making in the paper. He never took his eyes from her. “Wmmm…
mill
,” he managed.

“I… will,” she corrected.

He stared at her across the desk. Concentration froze all humanity from his face: he was ice and darkness, his eyes the depth of blue winter. No sound came.

Maddy looked down at the book again. She referred once more to Lady de Marly’s note of the proper names to insert, though she had them memorized long since. “I, Christian Richard Nicholas Francis Langland—”

“Christian Richard,” he said. “Christian Richard… nn… klas.” He swallowed, clenching his teeth.

“Fra… Lang.”

“Take thee—”

“Thnnnh,” he said, half a groan.

She went on as if he’d succeeded, though it had begun to appear that he never would. Lady de Marly had set them to this task just after breakfast, and now, after dinner and tea time, Maddy was near despairing of it.

She moistened her lips, exhaling softly, and read again. A tired singsong crept into her voice. “Take
thee
Anne
Rose
—”

“Take
thee
Anne
Rose
.”

He managed that quite clearly. The sudden fluency made Maddy glance up. Surprise caught them both; the duke looked as startled at his success as she.

Maddy broke into a smile. “There!”

He grinned, flushing with achievement. “Take
thee
— Anne
Rose
,” he repeated, nodding on each stress.

“Take thee, Anne Rose Bernice Trotman—”