Lovers Forever (39 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Lovers Forever
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Nicolas remained unfazed in the midst of Athena's rage. When she took another deep breath in preparation for the next volley, he said flatly, “That's quite enough. I've heard all of this little speech that I want to, and believe me, you've made your opinion of me quite,
quite
clear. I'm sorry you feel the way you do, but it changes nothing.” His eyes as hard and unyielding as steel, he said grimly, “Either I have your word for no more scenes such as this one or the one earlier or you remove yourself to the Dowager House . . . tonight, before dinner.”
Athena drew herself up proudly. “Don't worry, dear brother, you won't have to put up with my presence a moment longer. I assume that you will allow me time to pack and that you will allow an adequate staff to accompany me to the Dowager House?”
“Of course,” Nick replied tiredly, suddenly weary of the entire situation. “Whatever you want.” Why, he wondered, had he ever thought that Athena would prove reasonable? With a brooding gaze, he watched as she marched from the room, stopping at the door only long enough to say over her shoulder, “And of course you'll pay for any repairs or refurbishing of the Dowager House?” He nodded, and with a challenging gleam in her eyes, she added, “I'll also want my horses and carriages removed to the stables at the Dowager House, along with the appropriate staff.”
“Of course,” he answered dryly, his expression wry. “Whatever it takes to make you happy in your new home.”
She gave a harsh laugh. “There is only one thing that would make me happy—to see you lying in your grave!”
The door shut with a resounding bang behind her, and Nick didn't know whether to laugh or swear. One thing about Athena, he thought acidly, she didn't try to hide her feelings.
Nicolas sat behind his desk for some time, wondering if he had done the right thing or if there might have been some other way of handling his sister. He doubted it. The problem had begun even before he had entered the picture—if left to their own devices, Randal and Athena would have run gaily through the family fortune until there was nothing left—or damn little! They had been two of a kind, bent on their own pleasure at any cost. Nicolas had known that Athena resented his attempts to slow down her wild ride to folly, and if Randal had ever exerted the
least
authority over her, his task would have been much easier. The uneasy relationship with his sister looked to be irreparably damaged, but if any good could be said to have come from the confrontation, it would be the fact that at least they both knew where they stood.
The scene with Athena had left a nasty taste in his mouth. With some reluctance he retrieved the diary from the locked drawer in his desk and stared at it moodily. Even under the best of circumstances, he hadn't been looking forward to reading about his grandfather's obsessive, adulterous love for another woman. With the ugly exchange with Athena so fresh in his mind, Benedict's diary was the last thing he wanted to read. What he wanted was to find Tess and spirit her away so that he could spend the remainder of the day making love to her.
Just thinking of Tess lightened his mood somewhat, and with a bit more enthusiasm, he picked up the small black book. What dire truths would it hold for him? Would it explain how Benedict could turn his back on his young wife and his infant son to run away with another man's wife? Desert his title, lands, and great wealth? And what of the Sherbourne diamonds? Did he write of those?
Suppressing the urge to start at the end of the diary, where his grandfather had no doubt written of his plans to run away with Theresa, Nicolas idly thumbed through the beginning of the book. With a sinking heart he read of Benedict's joy the day his betrothal to Theresa Dalby had been announced. It was clear from every word that his grandfather had been deeply, profoundly in love with Theresa and that she had returned his love equally. Nick had never thought too much about Tess's great-grandmother, except as the woman who had stolen his grandfather away from Pallas. But as he read Benedict's glowing words, another picture of her emerged. She sounded, he thought with surprise, very much like Tess. She had the same spirit. The same slender beauty. And the same passionate nature....
Uneasy with his conclusions, he flipped through several pages, stopping to read of his grandfather's great rage and terrible anguish when the black perfidy of Gregory Mandeville had been discovered and Benedict had learned that his love had been abducted and would be forcibly married to another man—a man Benedict had once called “friend.” Equally tragic, Benedict had written several pages about his great despair upon learning that Theresa was to bear her new husband a child.
Nicolas had often wondered why Benedict had never challenged Gregory to a duel, and he found the answer in the diary. The king. The king had expressly forbidden it, wishing to avoid, no matter how serious the offense, a lethal squabble between two of his favorite nobles. Benedict's parents, too, had added their weight to the king's. They had been desperate not to have Benedict risk his life in a duel over a woman who was already pregnant with another man's get. He was their only child, the last of the Talmages. It was his duty to survive and sire the next generation. There was such despair in those words that Nick's sympathy for his grandfather increased.
Benedict had bowed to his duty, but his hatred of Gregory Mandeville fairly scorched the pages of his diary, and Nicolas read with growing understanding of his grandfather's rages against the other man, the plots he dreamed up to kill him. Plots that came to nothing, for Benedict Talmage was not a cold-blooded murderer, even if murder was in his heart.
Eventually Nicolas put the book aside long enough to pour himself a glass of hock. Drinking his wine, he settled more comfortably on his chair and picked up the diary. Soon he was once more engrossed in a tragic tale nearly seventy years old. But it wasn't all tragic, he found to his surprise as his gaze randomly fell upon the page dated October 17, 1744:
What a magically happy day! My sweet, glorious
little bride has presented me with a fine healthy
son. We have named him Francis, and like most
proud parents, believe him to be most handsome.
It is strange, but I never thought to be happy
again, and yet, today I am full of joy. I have a
loving wife and a strong, lusty heir. I was so
certain that my life had ended when Gregory
abducted Theresa, but I find that dear Pallas has
brought me great pleasure. Not only has she given
me a son, but with her gentleness and sweetness,
she has chased out most of the shadows from my
heart, and has replaced them with sunlight
. . . .
Nick closed the little book and stared off into space, unaware of the silly little smile that quirked at the corners of his mouth. His grandmother should read this passage, he thought fondly. It would please her enormously to know the depth of feeling that she had engendered in Benedict's breast. Then he frowned, thinking back over what his grandfather had written. They did not sound like the words of a man who would, not two months later, coolly abandon that same glorious little wife and newborn son and run away with another woman.
He was on the point of picking up the book and reading farther when there was a knock on the door. Nick stiffened. He seriously hoped that it wasn't Athena. Cautiously he bade the person to enter, and a smile curved his lips when Baron Rockwell came into the room.
After putting away the diary in the drawer and locking it, he looked quizzically at his friend. “I know I have not been the best host. Have you grown unbearably bored, Thomas?”
“Oh, no, it ain't that,” the baron was quick to assure him. “It's just that I don't care to view all those fusty portraits of your ancestors. Your grandmother offered to give the ladies a tour of the gallery, and you know women—they thought it was a treat of the first water!” He added proudly, “Nearly snaffled me into joining them, but said I had business with you. Here I am!”
After offering the baron some hock, which was accepted with alacrity, Nicolas indicated that they should sit on a pair of high-backed oxblood red leather chairs near a window that overlooked the formally laid-out gardens. It was by now late afternoon, and the garden was glowing softly golden in the slowly fading fall sunlight. Nick took a sip of his wine. Then, smiling, he asked, “And Alexander? Did you just callously leave him to the mercy of the ladies?”
The baron looked aggrieved. “Didn't desert him. Silly fool wanted to join 'em—would do anything that gave him a chance to moon over Hetty Mandeville. Why the devil he don't just marry that chit out of hand and be done with it is beyond me!”
Nick nearly choked on his wine. Marry the chit out of hand? It seemed his friend had reckless depths he'd never plumbed before.
Hiding his amusement, Nick said dryly, “I had noticed that your brother seemed inordinately fond of the lady.”
The baron snorted. “Been head over heels in love with her for years!”
Nick frowned. “Then why hasn't he offered for her? Surely there can be no impediment?”
“Well, you see, it's like this,” the baron began eagerly. “Hetty's two years older than m'brother, and when he first came up to London and spied her, she'd already been out for a year or two and there was some rich duke or other who was dangling after her. Her grandfather was dead set on the match and was forever going on about what a grand duchess his granddaughter would make. Everyone was positive she'd marry the fellow, so Alexander never made a push to fix her interest, figuring it was hopeless. Think that was why he joined the army with you.” Rockwell paused, taking a drink of his wine. Then he continued with relish, “But the match with the duke never came about. Heard it told that when she refused, her grandfather nearly went off in a fit of apoplexy. Threatened to lock her up in a nunnery for the rest of her life. Mean-hearted old devil. Alexander grew most encouraged after that—soon as he could, he sold his commission and came home, but you see, there was Tess.”
“Tess?”
Rockwell nodded portentously. “Orphaned, you know. Gregory swore he needed Hetty to help him with Tess. Made her feel she'd be abandoning her little niece if she even considered marrying. Of course, Meg was there, too, but the old bastard insisted, and Hetty believed him, that Tess needed someone younger around her, so he pressured Hetty into the job. Never let her go to London again—at least not until Tess was older.”
“You seem extremely well acquainted with the workings of the Mandeville family,” Nick commented lightly.
“Well, naturally!” Rockwell exclaimed, almost offended. “Tess is m'sister's only child. And if Alexander don't marry and provide some new Rockwells, my heir.” He looked thoughtful. “Alexander's too!”
Nick shrugged. “You could marry yourself and get your own heirs, you know.”
The baron's fine blue eyes nearly started from his handsome face. “Married?
Me?”
he gasped in horrified tones. “Oh, my dear boy! Ain't in the petticoat line!” He hesitated and added fairly, “Except, of course, for the occasional bit of muslin I keep. But marriage?” He shuddered. “No. Never. All those twittering respectable little females and their matchmaking mamas terrify me. It ain't for me. Made up m'mind to it.”
“But Alexander doesn't share your views, I take it?”
“No, he don't—at least not if we're speaking about him marrying Hetty. Talks of nothing else.”
“Then why doesn't he just offer for her and have done with it?” Nick asked again. “Hetty is long past her majority, and since Gregory and her brother are dead, she doesn't even have a real guardian to gainsay the match. I could understand, although not entirely, Alexander not wanting to take Hetty away from Tess when she was a young child, but surely he could have made his intentions clear any time in the past several years?”
“Did,” the baron replied gloomily.
“Are you telling me that Alexander offered for Hetty and she
refused
him?” Nick demanded incredulously.
The baron nodded. “Offered for her not two months after the old baron died. Did it again yesterday.”
“And she turned him down? For what earthly reason?”
“Gel has too much pride,” Rockwell answered moodily. “First time, didn't want to come to Alexander empty-handed. Had been hoping that when that old devil of a grandfather of hers died that he'd have provided for her—not a fortune, mind you, but a tidy little sum. Turns out, wasn't even enough money for Sidney to settle some on her—he was hanging out for an heiress to pull them all out of the River Tick when he had that duel with your brother. Very little ready at all—that's why she and Meg had to stay on when Avery inherited. Left penniless. No place else to go.”
Nick frowned. “But why didn't you or your brother discreetly make some arrangements for her? Couldn't Tess?”
Rockwell was shaking his blond head. “No, she couldn't,” he said exasperatedly. “Told you that Hetty had pride. She and Meg wouldn't let any of us lift a finger to help them. Tried. Said it wouldn't be right. Wouldn't budge. That's why Tess wouldn't leave when Avery stepped into her great-grandfather's shoes. Didn't want to desert the aunts. Fond of 'em!”

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