Jacquie D'Alessandro (3 page)

“Not coming?” the duke thundered. “Balderdash. Of course she’s coming. She’s getting married. Here. To you. Today.” He yanked his watch fob from his waistcoat pocket and snapped it opened. “Five minutes ago.”

“I’m afraid not.” Philip handed the single sheet of vellum to the duke, who snatched the paper from his fingers. Seconds after scanning the words, the duke’s fierce scowl darkened further.

“What the devil is this ‘curse’ she refers to?” he asked, passing the paper to Philip’s father. Philip noted that a wide-eyed Miss Chilton-Grizedale, whose complexion had taken on a faintly greenish hue, had sidled closer to his father to peer at the letter.

Before Philip could reply, his father looked up from the note and their eyes met. The icy anger and disappointment in his father’s gaze hit Philip hard. Harder than it should have. Certainly harder than he wanted to admit. Damn it, he was no longer a green lad who sought his father’s approval.

Father, instead of directing his ire where he clearly wanted to, turned the full force of his frigidly calm fury upon Lord Hedington. “This is an outrage. What sort of addlepated, beef-witted chit is your daughter, Hedington? How dare she write that she will not marry my son. And
you
.” He swung his attention toward Miss Chilton-Grizedale, pointing at her in an accusatory fashion. “I engaged you to find my son a suitable wife, not some daft flibbertigibbet who babbles about curses and would cry off on her wedding day.”

Anger flashed in Miss Chilton-Grizedale’s eyes, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Lord Hedington’s outraged voice cut off whatever she was about to say.

“Addlepated? Beef-witted?” the duke fumed. “Daft? How dare you refer to my daughter in such terms, especially when it is clear from this note”—he snatched it from Philip’s father’s hand and waved it about like flag—“that something
your
nincompoop son said to her set her on this disastrous course.” He swung his attention to Miss Chilton-Grizedale. “And how dare
you
have arranged a union for my daughter with such an unsuitable man. You assured me that the scandal three years ago was merely a misunderstanding, that Greybourne was respectable in every way. Yet he’s clearly frightened my Sarah with this idiotic chatter,
and
his cravat is an utter disgrace. One should
never
trust a man sporting untidy neckware.”

Crimson rushed into Miss Chilton-Grizedale’s pale, greenish cheeks, and she lifted her chin. “Before you
gentlemen
say anything
else
you might regret, or toss about any further accusations or aspersions upon my character, I believe we should hear what Lord Greybourne has to say about the matter.”

Hmmm. Quite the imperious piece, although he couldn’t help but applaud the woman’s level-headed nerve. He’d be hard-pressed to name many
men
who
would show such spirit and common sense in the face of two such angry fathers.

Clearing his throat, then adjusting his spectacles, Philip drew a deep breath in preparation of telling the very undone Lord Hedington and the greenish-skinned Miss Chilton-Grizedale the same story he’d related to his father two days ago upon his return to England.

“Something happened while I was in Egypt, something which prevents me from marrying Lady Sarah. Or anyone else.”

After several seconds of deafening silence, understanding, edged with steel, dawned in Lord Hedington’s eyes. “I see. You fancy yourself in love with some woman you met abroad. That is unfortunate, because your duty demands—”

“This has nothing to do with another woman, your grace. The problem is that I am…cursed.”

No one spoke for several long seconds. Finally Lord Hedington cleared his throat and, after casting a surreptitious glance at Miss Chilton-Grizedale, said in a low voice, “It is, I believe, quite common for men to occasionally suffer from such an…affliction. My daughter’s abundant beauty will surely rekindle your…urges.”

A choking sound erupted from Miss Chilton-Grizedale, and Philip’s father paled. Philip actually felt a blush creeping up his neck. Bloody hell, he could not
possibly
be having this conversation. He dragged his hands down his face. “Your grace, I am
not
impotent.”

There was no mistaking the duke’s, or Philip’s father’s, relief. Before anyone could speak, Philip continued, “I am speaking of a
curse,
one written on a broken stone tablet I discovered just before sailing from Alexandria.”

Philip’s mind drifted back to Alexandria, to the day, months earlier, when he’d found the stone. Squinting against the bright sun, breathing in the hot, dry air that felt
and smelled like no other…air redolent with the scent of history and ancient civilizations. Air that he would miss with an ache he couldn’t describe when he departed the following day for the country of his birth. To honor an agreement he’d made a decade earlier. An agreement he could postpone no longer, now that his father was dying.

He’d been nearly ready to quit for the day—his last day—but his reluctance to put away his tools—for the last time—to wipe the dust and dirt and sand from his hands—for the last time—propelled him to continue. And minutes later…

“The day before I was to depart Alexandria for my voyage back to England, I made a discovery—an alabaster box. Inside the box was an intriguing stone with writing upon it in an ancient language. As ancient languages are of special interest to me, I was especially excited about the find. I took the box and retired to my cabin on board the
Dream Keeper
in preparation for our departure at dawn. When I deciphered the stone, I realized it was a curse.”

Lord Hedington’s countenance resembled a thundercloud. “What sort of person places any credence in such nonsense—”

“It is not nonsense, your grace. Such things were very common in ancient times, and indeed still exist today in many cultures.” Philip drew a deep breath, then continued. “Based on the translation and my estimation of the age of the stone, which is called the Stone of Tears, I judged that the curse was most likely cast during the first or second century
B.C
. I’ve deduced that it was composed by a man who, just prior to his marriage, discovered that his betrothed had betrayed him with another. The curse was cast upon the man’s betrothed, and it called for three events to occur—two during the days just prior to the wedding, and the third two days after the wedding. Before
the wedding, the curse decreed, the bride-to-be would suffer a non-life-threatening fall, then a severe headache. I believe these were meant to symbolize her ‘fall’ from grace and the ‘pain’ the man’s bride-to-be inflicted upon him. Then, two days after the wedding, the bride would…die.”

Silence followed his words. Then the duke lifted his quizzing glass and peered at Philip. “So you believe, based on some scribblings on an old piece of rock, that if you were to marry my daughter, she would die two days after the wedding. Does that sum it up?”

“Yes, actually, that sums it up perfectly. The curse specified that the bride of anyone who read the stone would suffer the curse—or his wife, if he were already married. And
I
have read the stone. At first I held out some hope that perhaps the curse had been broken over the centuries, but unfortunately recent events dash that hope. You will recall that two days ago, Lady Sarah suffered a non-life-threatening fall, and then a severe headache. Just as the curse portends.”

“Coincidence—”

“It is
not,
your grace. It is proof which cannot be ignored, especially when coupled with the missive I received several hours after my return to England.”

“Meaning precisely what?”

“During the first week of our voyage home, I pored over the stone, looking for any small clue I might have missed. When not in my cabin, I kept the stone hidden so as not to risk anyone else finding and translating it. However, several days into our journey, while studying the stone, I heard a loud booming noise. Concerned, I ran from my cabin.” He dragged his hands down his face. “I thought I’d hidden the stone, but apparently in my haste I failed to do so. When I returned, I discovered one of my colleagues, Edward Binsmore, in my cabin. He’d come to
check on me due to the noise. When he entered my cabin, he saw the stone on my desk and, being as knowledgeable with the ancient languages as I am, he translated it. We both instantly realized the ramifications of him doing so, as Edward had a wife awaiting his arrival in England.”

Philip looked at his audience and struggled to keep his voice steady. “We prayed the entire journey, and the moment we docked in London, Edward departed for his home just outside the city. Several hours later, a message arrived from him.” His throat tight, he withdrew Edward’s note from his waistcoat and handed it to the duke. “Mary was dead. She’d passed away without warning. The date of her death was exactly two days after Edward had translated the Stone of Tears.”

While the duke scanned the missive, Philip went on, “As you see from the note, Edward reports that during the two days prior to her death, Mary had suffered a fall in the garden, followed by the onset of a severe headache. The letter convinced me, and him as well, that the curse remains unbroken.” He plunged his fingers through his hair. “I quite understand that it is difficult to believe in such things. That which cannot be seen or touched, things that indeed stretch the bounds of credulity, are hard to accept. Or are dismissed as coincidence. However, based on my years of study and research,
I
no longer believe in coincidence. And my belief in the power of this curse is supported—most tragically—by Edward, who is considered an expert on such matters. And will also be supported by my American colleague, Andrew Stanton, who sits amongst the wedding guests.”

The duke’s face turned crimson. “I don’t believe in this tomfoolery you are spouting.”

“That is certainly your choice, but that does not make these curses any less real. My friend Edward Binsmore’s wife is dead as a result of this one.”

The duke waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, but a flicker of uncertainty flashed in his eyes. “Sarah informed me about her fall at the dressmaker’s shop. Clearly the chit must have struck her head during the incident if she even listened to this cock-and-bull tale. I cannot believe you passed along such a nonsensical tale.”

Philip looked steadily at Lord Hedington, hoping the man would see the depth of his sincerity. “I could not be responsible for your daughter’s death. And I very much believe that if we had married she would have died. You may not believe in the curse,” he said quietly, “but given the facts I presented, can you honestly tell me that you would be willing to risk your daughter’s
life
on the possibility that I am wrong?”

Lord Hedington pressed his lips tightly together, then finally shook his head.

“Given the circumstances,” Philip continued, “I told Lady Sarah I quite understood if she chose to cry off. Indeed, I strongly encouraged her to do so.”

Lord Hedington’s face paled a bit. “And if she hadn’t?”

Philip’s gaze did not waver. “I would not have married her. Not today. I cannot consider doing so until I determine if there is a way to break the curse.”

“Then why the bloody hell did you come here today?” the duke demanded.

“I did not know of Lady Sarah’s decision. I tried to see her yesterday, but she remained indisposed. If she’d chosen to come to the church today, I wanted to talk to her, explain again why we could not marry, at least at this time. Encourage her to consider a postponement. I couldn’t just abandon my bride at the altar.”

“As you did three years ago,” Philip’s father said in a frigid voice. Philip turned toward his father and they exchanged a long look. He and Father had already engaged in this argument the day Philip arrived back in London,
but the icy expression in the earl’s eyes clearly indicated they were about to have it again, regardless of the fact that they had an audience.

“I am gravely disappointed in you, Philip,” his father said quietly. “When I agreed to finance your antiquarian studies and expeditions abroad, clearly it was a very grave error on my part not to have stipulated a date by which you were to return and marry, but it foolishly had not occurred to me that you would still be trotting about the globe on the eve of your thirtieth birthday. I honored my part of the bargain. It is to your great dishonor that you refuse to do the same.”

“It is not dishonorable to save a woman’s
life,
Father.”

He made a dismissive sound. “Your reasons are based on superstition, coincidence, and nonsense, and quite frankly sound like nothing more than a pitiful excuse to renege on your duty. Sadly, I cannot say that I am unduly surprised by this turn of events. You brought embarrassment and scandal to the family when you did not return to honor the marriage I arranged for you three years ago.”

“An arrangement you made without my prior knowledge or consent.” He yanked on the damn cravat that strangled him like a noose. “The reason I returned to England now was to honor our agreement and marry.”

“Because I’m dying.”

“Because I always intended to do so. Someday. Your health made me realize that someday is now.”

“Yet the first thing you tell me is that you will not honor our agreement. Because of some silly stone.”

Frustration clenched Philip’s hands. From the corner of his eye he noted that Lord Hedington and Miss Chilton-Grizedale were listening to this exchange with wide-eyed, rapt attention. Well, the hell with them. They certainly weren’t the first people to disapprove of him. “My honor and integrity mean everything to me. If I were
not
honorable, I would have remained silent. Married Lady Sarah,
and after her untimely demise two days later, I would have simply gone on with my life in the way I wished, returning to Egypt or Greece or Rome, having honored my agreement to marry.”

His words hung in the air between them, the ticking of the mantel clock the only sound breaking the prolonged silence.

Finally Miss Chilton-Grizedale cleared her throat. “You mentioned trying to determine if there is a way to break the curse, my lord. Do you think there is a way to do so?”