Lord of the Rakes (33 page)

Lady Caroline:

It is with a certain amount of regret and chagrin that I write to inform you that your brother is being held in close confinement at the address below. If you wish to obtain his release, I ask you to present yourself there without delay.

Yr. Servant,

Philip Montcalm

P
hilip was in the foyer, his frame trembling with the strength it took to hold himself still as Levett led Caroline up the stairs. She turned her pale, worn face to look at him, and Philip’s heart crumbled. Her whole body spoke of exhaustion and sorrow. Her magnificent, tawny eyes were blank, but not cool, as she took in his presence. Cool indifference he could have brushed aside, as well as anger. But Caroline’s eyes looked almost dead. He began to move forward. He could not help himself. He must take her hand, he must speak.

But Aunt Judith stepped swiftly out of her drawing room, directly into his path.

“Lady Caroline,” she said, every inch the gracious hostess. “I do apologize for this most inconvenient summons. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Judith Montcalm.”

“How do you do, madam?” said Caroline softly, almost timidly.
No!
Philip wanted to cry out.
No, Caroline, be strong, just a moment longer!
“I understand my brother is here?”

“Yes. He is. If you’ll just make yourself comfortable in my drawing room, I’ll fetch him in to you.”

Caroline peered uncertainly at the old woman. Philip watched her brow crease as she tried to make some sort of sense of the absurd situation. He clenched both fists, digging his nails into his palm. He must not speak. If he died from the effort, he must remain mute and still, even as Caroline’s tired eyes looked him up and down. If he moved, he would sink to the ground in front of her. He would beg her forgiveness, and she would run from him.

She would run away and never be free.

“Very well. Thank you,” said Caroline to Judith. She took herself into the now empty drawing room. Judith had dismissed her salon early, something, she informed Philip, she had never done before. She also made it plain with each word that his debt to her was mounting precipitously.

Aunt Judith said nothing to him now; she simply walked up to the study door, rallied her hostess’s bearing and placid smile, and turned the key in the lock.

Keenesford, who had been pacing in front of the fireplace, whirled around, a fierce snarl on his pallid lips. When he saw the grande dame in front of him, he froze.

“Philip.” Judith spoke his name as a command, and Philip stepped up beside her. “You will introduce us, please.”

Philip bowed. “Lord Jarrett Delamarre, Earl Keenesford, may I present to you Miss Judith Montcalm.”

“How do you do, Lord Keenesford?” Judith held out her hand.

Keenesford stared, first at Judith’s hand, and then at Philip. Under other circumstances, the confusion on the man’s face would have been truly comical. But in the end, the earl did what both Philip and Judith had counted on—he fell back on his manners. He took Judith’s hand and bowed over it. “I apologize for intruding . . . madam.”

“Please, don’t apologize, my lord.” Judith made her curtsy. “Clearly it was not your fault. Will you please join me in the drawing room so I may offer you an explanation? Or would you rather leave?”

Keenesford eyed Philip, hard.

“Your nephew, madam, seems to have involved himself in my sister’s personal affairs,” Keenesford said. “And somewhere he has suffered a misapprehension about our family, and our history.”

“That sounds like Philip.” Aunt Judith sighed. “I have no wish to be rude, of course, but it might be better for all of us if we sorted through this very unfortunate matter before any unnecessary and unwelcome gossip has an opportunity to accumulate. Won’t you please come with me, Lord Keenesford?” She smiled her most winning smile and gestured toward the foyer, and the drawing room beyond.

There was no force that worked so strongly on the aristocracy as an appeal to manners, and Judith could wield her manners like a sword. She also happened to be standing directly between Keenesford and the door, so he would have to push past her to make his escape. Keenesford looked over Aunt Judith’s shoulder and narrowed his eyes at Philip. Then he nodded.

“Thank you, sir.” She swept around and led the way. Keenesford followed, pretending not to notice how closely Philip followed behind, or how he kept himself between the earl and the stairway.

But when Aunt Judith opened the drawing room doors to reveal Caroline sitting on the window seat, Keenesford drew himself up short. He wheeled on Aunt Judith, but Judith was paying him no attention. She had turned to Philip.

“You. Sit there.” She pointed at the chair in the recesses of the chimney corner. “And for heaven’s sake, keep your mouth shut.” She walked past him and rang the bell for the footman. “Send up some tea, Emmett. And the whiskey. And have cook put together a fresh collation. His lordship is understandably fatigued.”

While his aunt attended to these practical matters, Keenesford was making it very clear that if looks could kill, Philip would be underground in a matter of moments. Philip, fortunately, had been on the receiving end of similar glowers from men he had much less chance of knocking down. Besides, the majority of his attention was taken up by Caroline. She had her hands knotted together, and her eyes lowered, as she did when she was most perplexed. As they entered, she had peered up at Philip, but only for the flicker of an instant. That instant, though, gave him the strangest flash of hope he’d ever felt. For her eyes were no longer dull. There was anger there, and determination. Caroline’s blood was up. That meant her presence of mind would soon return.

“Now.” Judith settled herself on the sofa and smoothed out her indigo skirts, which were of an older cut and considerable breadth. “You were probably not aware, Lord Keenesford, Lady Caroline, but I was acquainted with your mother, back when she was a girl.”

Keenesford’s jaw worked back and forth for a long moment before he was able to answer in a calm, hard voice. “No, I was not aware.” Aunt Judith looked toward Caroline. Caroline lifted her head, and her eyes were wide with surprise. She swallowed, but she did not speak. She only shook her head.

“I was the older of us, of course, but she and I had several friends in common,” Judith went on. “Including a Mr. Frederick McClaren.”

Keenesford’s nose went up, like he’d just heard a gunshot, but Caroline’s frown of confusion only deepened. Philip knotted his fist where it rested on his knee and struggled to keep silent. Every part of him wanted to cross to Caroline, to catch her up and hold her and lend her his strength to hear what must come. But he did not let himself move.

“Mr. McClaren was a handsome young man,” Aunt Judith told them both. “Very much in the Byronic style, rather before Lord Byron, I will confess. But that’s neither here nor there. The point is, we girls were all mad about him. While we were, of course, much more strictly reared than these madcap misses of today, some still acquired all sorts of silly notions about love and romance in marriage.”

“Madam,” said Keenesford. “You do not need to elaborate. I am aware my mother did not harbor . . . many tender feelings for my father.”

“No, I’m afraid she did not,” said Aunt Judith. Philip watched for Caroline’s reaction. She had turned her face away again, as if she meant to watch the traffic out the window, but whatever she saw before her, it was nothing so mundane as the passing vans and carriages. “That is so hard on the children. Being raised by the servants is expected, of course, but having to endure the company of parents who can’t endure each other? Extremely difficult. Ah.” Aunt Judith stood as Levett and a girl from the kitchen entered, each carrying a loaded tray. “Now here is our luncheon.” She directed her servants where to place the food. “What can I help you to, Lord Keenesford?”

“Nothing, thank you.” Keenesford was obviously noticing that Judith had left the path to the door clear, and was considering making his break. Philip tensed. The man would stay and he would listen. If Philip had to use force again to make it happen, he’d probably enjoy that more than was good for either of them.

Fortunately, Judith had turned up the full force of her position as hostess to this admittedly strange gathering. “Oh, surely not.” She waved Keenesford’s words away and set about fixing two plates. “Here. Do try this ham, Lady Caroline. We had a dozen sent down only last week. And the bread. We recently found a new French baker, and I’ll be interested in your opinion.” She handed Caroline the plate and did not pause for thanks. “And I’m sure, Lord Keenesford, you’ll agree my cook makes the most marvelous mushroom pie, once you taste it. Of course a gentleman must have his whiskey. There.”

She handed him the plate she’d piled full, along with a dainty lace napkin, and smiled. This, of course, left Keenesford with no option but to take the plate, and the napkin, and begin to eat. Which held him in place, and stopped his mouth. Caroline was staring at her plate, and then picked up a bit of bread and began to nibble, a bit of her normal, vibrant color returning to her cheeks.

Philip watched Aunt Judith resume her place with a feeling very close to awe.

“Helene, your mother, I’m afraid, was a temperamental girl,” she went on. “Her head was easily turned. Of course, she was so lovely, everyone was inclined to be indulgent. Her father had managed the family affairs wonderfully. Rather than plunging into stock schemes, he bought land around London. This ensured that Helene was going to be a substantial heiress as well. Wealth and beauty combined will naturally make one sought after.”

Keenesford glared at his sister. This time, Caroline met his gaze, her jaw set. The faint hope inside Philip swelled.

“Being a romantic, Helene was determined to marry for love. Being headstrong, she was determined to defy her parents. She fixed her affections on Mr. McClaren, and they fell in love. Lady Caroline, you must have something more than that bite. Let me help you to a piece of onion tart. There. And it’s marvelous with the Cheshire cheese. You must try them together. My lord, your whiskey’s empty. Philip, pour his lordship another whiskey. There.” As soon as Philip obeyed, Aunt Judith took the glass from him and placed it at Keenesford’s elbow. The earl looked bleakly at his refilled plate, wondering, Philip was sure, if surrender had really been the best available option.

“Your father, Lord Keenesford, was an entirely different sort of man. Very direct, very determined, and very, very practical. In his own way, he cared deeply for Helene. Being the sort of man he was, he naturally went to her father to ask for her hand. I believe he went into great detail regarding the advantage of his rank and estate. What parent would not see him as the more desirable match? There did remain the problem of Helene’s commitment to Mr. McClaren. But she was so changeable, it was thought that with time she could be brought round to the proper view.”

Caroline had set her plate aside. She was leaning forward, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted as she hung on Judith’s every word. The mix of triumph and despair inside Philip threatened to smother him. She would not run away now, at least not until she’d heard the whole story.

“Unfortunately, Helene’s attachment endured,” Aunt Judith continued. For the first time, Philip heard a genuine hint of regret in her voice. Thus far, she had related the facts with a detachment bordering on triviality. He had almost forgotten Judith was speaking of a friend she had lost. “If anything, it grew stronger. So, my lord, my lady, your father decided to take action. He went to McClaren with an offer, and with certain letters that would, shall we say, add weight to that offer.”

Philip felt himself go quite still. Keenesford set his whiskey down, carefully, deliberately.

“Madam.” Anger set the word trembling. “You cannot be suggesting my father
blackmailed
my mother’s lover.”

Aunt Judith drew herself up as straight as humanly possible. “I do not know that Mr. McClaren was
anything
more than Helene’s betrothed. I am
shocked,
sir, that you would suggest otherwise.”

Keenesford’s mouth clapped shut. Philip bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Hard. He saw Caroline’s lips twitch and thought he’d expire on the spot from the pure bright pain that was love, and desperate hope.

“What Mr. McClaren did prove was that he was entirely without character. He took the offer, and left behind nothing except a letter for poor Helene, telling her his affections had changed. This, of course, caused the vulgar world to see her as a jilt. So, when your father came forward to renew his offer of marriage, she had to accept.”

A heartbroken woman, pressured by her parents and the unforgiving opinion of society at large, would be left with few options beyond grasping at the first offer of marriage that came to her. None of them said this, of course, but they all knew it. Helene would have let her wedding veil hide the tears and defiance paper over the heartbreak. It might have even worked for a time. But if the son was anything to judge by, the father would not have tolerated any show of grief or regret. He would have had many words to say about duty and appearances, and probably very few about love.

Philip bowed his head again, thinking of the sorrow Caroline had grown up with. Had her mother ever spoken of her grief? Probably not. If Caroline had known this story, she surely would have told him.