Margaret Moore (31 page)

“By all means, spare my tender feelings and do not reveal your true opinion of me,” Richard said sarcastically.

“If there is a plot afoot that involves your stepson, surely you are the more likely suspect. You are the one who always wanted the estate, and you come from a despicable family. A man like you would do anything necessary to get what he wants.”

“I am a man of honor, as Mr. Harding already knows, or I would have tried to get back my estate by base means before this.”

“Elissa knows the kind of rogue you are!”

“I would prefer you refer to my wife as Lady Dovercourt,” Richard answered. “And she certainly knows me better than you do.”

“I will call her whatever I want, and when
you are dead, I shall call her my wife.”

Richard’s lips twisted into a menacing grin. “Even if you managed to kill me, do you honestly believe she would ever marry you?”

“After Longbourne, I should have been her husband. I waited long enough. Curse the king—and God curse you!”

“I am not the cursed one here, for I could never do such a despicable thing as kill a child for some acres of land. Come, Sedgemore, surrender, for your game is over.”

“I won’t go to a filthy, stinky, diseased prison!” Sedgemore cried, desperation growing in his eyes as he recognized Richard’s resolve. “And I won’t be hung! Let me go, Blythe!” he pleaded as he sank to his knees, spittle appearing at the corners of his mouth. “I will pay, and gladly.”

“Yield, Sedgemore. It is finished,” Richard said, keeping his eyes on Sedgemore’s hands, so that he saw the dagger as Sedgemore pulled it from his belt.

He turned away in time to avoid the blow, then just as quickly twisted back and slashed his opponent’s arm.

Sedgemore dropped his dagger and clutched the bleeding gash. “I shall say you tried to kill me so I wouldn’t tell what I know about you!”

“What nonsense is this? What can you tell that you have not already spoken of to everyone you know?” Richard demanded as he
waited tensely for the man’s next move.

Sedgemore lunged for the dagger. His fear made him fast, and he grabbed it, then jumped up and ran at Richard.

Who was prepared. He neatly deflected the dagger with his sword, sending the man sprawling in the stinking muck.

Sedgemore got to his feet, his dagger still in his hand. “I will not die in a prison—that is where you should be. It is where our father should have been!”

Richard stared at him, dumbfounded.

“You know what he was like—the liaisons he had. Like you, he would bed any woman that he could, including his brother’s wife. Nobody knew what happened to her, did they? Well, I know—because I am her son, and your father’s bastard.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have—”

“What? Made my shame as well known as yours? At least I made something respectable of myself. J never stooped to writing for a bunch of wealthy fools. I deserved Blythe Hall more than anyone! More than you, more than Longbourne, more than Longbourne’s brat.”

“Oh, God,” Richard groaned.

He could see the resemblance now, the angles of the man’s face a slightly altered, less attractive version of his father’s features. He recognized the bitterness in his voice, and the pain beneath.

God help him, he had felt the same himself.

Taking advantage of Richard’s momentary distraction, Sedgemore struck. Instinctively, without thought, Richard defended himself, lunging forward to stab his bastard brother in the chest.

With a low moan, the man crumpled to the ground. Richard kicked away the fallen dagger, then knelt beside him.

“I could have had her, and the land,” Sedgemore snarled weakly. He took painful breath. “Well, I would rather die here than in Newgate.”

Richard stifled a moan of anguish, for now he could hear an echo of his own sardonic tone.

“Let me take you to a doctor,” he pleaded. He thought it futile, but he had to do something.

Sedgemore grimaced with pain. “No!” His breathing grew more strained. “She died in labor, my mother. Your uncle’s steward changed his name to Sedgemore and raised me as his son. I always knew I was different… special … noble. He told me the truth before he died, and I found out what I deserved—and what you, a base, lascivious rogue who could lower himself to write plays, did not.”

“Don’t talk anymore. Let me help you.”

But there was no more time, and no more help to give. The man’s last breath rattled in his chest as he closed his eyes, and died.

With a weary sigh, Richard slowly sheathed
his sword and retrieved Sedgemore’s dagger, then stared down at the body in the dirt.

One more sin to lay at his father’s feet. “Pray God this be the end of it,” he murmured.

Then he lifted his half-brother’s body over his shoulders and made his way to the back of Mr. Harding’s office. Nobody questioned him or tried to stop him. One look at Richard’s grim, pale face, and they left him alone.

Once there, he laid his burden down and covered Sedgemore’s face with his jacket before going into the office.

The moment he entered, an anxious Elissa immediately noticed the blood on his white shirt and hurried toward him. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Did you have a duel?” Will demanded eagerly, and the young clerk’s expression was as keenly excited.

With a slightly puzzled frown, Mr. Harding came to stand in his office door.

“No, not a duel. Come, Elissa, I must speak with Mr. Harding, and you shall know all, too. Will, please wait here. We shall not be long.”

Somewhat to Elissa’s surprise, Will obeyed without a hint of protest—but then, she would have instinctively obeyed Richard’s softly spoken command, too.

Once in the office, Richard threw himself into a chair. Elissa stood beside him, taking firm hold of his hand, while Mr. Harding sat behind his large desk.

As Richard related what had happened, Mr. Harding listened with inscrutable patience, and Elissa with exclamations of surprise and dismay.

“And so I could think of nothing else to do but bring his body here,” he finished wearily. “It was self-defense, pure and simple, but I daresay I shall have to answer for it.”

Elissa’s grip on his hand tightened. “He won’t have to go to prison, will he?” she asked anxiously.

“I very much doubt it,” Mr. Harding replied. “I shall bring the matter before the proper authorities, but I am sure it will be easily resolved. Sedgemore was indeed the person who paid Mollipont for the information. I think I can make a strong case that no charges need be brought against you, and should any judge think otherwise, I believe His Majesty will want to intervene.”

“Once again, I must be grateful that I can amuse our sovereign,” Richard muttered.

“Yes, you should be,” Elissa seconded firmly.

Richard ran his hand over his sweat-streaked face. “I should have guessed my father’s sins would outlive him. I should have supposed he would have left a bastard or two or ten.”

“His sins were his, my love,” Elissa said softly. “Let the guilt be his, not yours.”

“If only I could be sure this was the end of
it,” Richard replied with a weary sigh. “I cannot help thinking there may be other painful discoveries yet to come.”

Elissa squeezed his hand. “But there will be no more secrets between us, at least.”

Her husband managed a wry smile. “Yes, no more secrets between us, at least. Thank God.”

Mr. Harding cleared his throat. “My lord, please leave this matter with me and set your mind at rest. I have been investigating not just Mr. Sedgemore’s past, and as far as I can ascertain, you and he were the only children who could be identified as your father’s offspring without question. Now, if it is at all possible, please leave this in my hands and enjoy the opening of your new play.”

“Zounds, my play!” Richard groaned. “I forgot. What hour is it?”

“Only two, by the church bells,” Elissa said, her confidence in Mr. Harding’s knowledge reassuring her.

“Then I have not much time,” he said with a sigh as he got to his feet. Still holding Elissa’s hand, he went to the door, then glanced back at Mr. Harding. “Will we see you at the play?”

The lawyer shook his head. “There is the small matter of the body in my garden,” he reminded Richard with a ruefulness that would have done credit to the playwright himself.

*   *   *

“Will, sit still or you are going to fall into the pit!” Elissa admonished as her son leaned precariously over the railing of their box in the gallery. “The play is about to begin.”

Will reluctantly did as he was told. “It’s smoky,” he complained as the candles on the large chandelier were lit, along with the candles in pots lining the edge of the stage. He covered his hands with his ears. “And it’s so noisy!”

The building was indeed crowded, noisy, and filled with smoke as well as the scent of many bodies pressed together, and not a little perfume. In addition to the throng in the pit below, there were several boxes along the upper gallery, each filled to capacity with well-dressed, constantly talking patrons.

“I think the smoke will clear in a little while and surely the audience will be quiet once the play begins.”

“I wish there was going to be an explosion!”

“Richard explained that to you, dear.”

“Weren’t those ladies nice?”

“They certainly made a fuss over you,” Elissa replied truthfully. And also in truth, the actresses were not at all the brazen hussies she had imagined. They had treated her with respect, and Will like a young lord.

She rather suspected Richard’s sharp-eyed gaze explained their deference, just as his watchful eye prevented her from staring at the women and trying to decide which of them
had found favor with her husband before he was her husband.

As he had escorted them to the box, she had gravely informed him that she was studying their hairstyles for future reference. He didn’t believe it, and she didn’t expect him to, and his expression had been priceless.

“How many people are here?” Will demanded.

“A great many. Richard is a very famous playwright.”

“I would rather see him fight.”

“He explained to you why he had to do that, and how unpleasant it was.”

With downcast eyes, Will nodded.

Elissa looked about for something else to talk about, then nearly fell out of the box herself at the sight of Sir John and his family.

It was not so surprising they were there; it was Antonia whose appearance surprised her, for she was practically draped over a man who was young, but also unfortunately and unequivocally ugly, with a rather large wart on the end of his nose. On the other hand, Elissa realized, he was very well and richly dressed, which perhaps explained Antonia’s attraction to him.

Suddenly there was a buzz of excitement in the crowded theater. “What is it?” Will demanded, his previous ill humor instantly forgotten.

“It is the king,” Elissa answered as she, too,
rose and curtsied toward the center box in the gallery. “He has come to see Richard’s play. Oh, Richard will be so pleased!”

“Which one is the king?”

“The man with the long dark wig and the mustache.”

“Him?” Will cried, obviously disappointed.

“Is he not well dressed? And see how he greets the people.”

“I thought he would be taller.”

“A man’s stature is no measure of the man himself,” Elissa reminded her son.

Despite his initial disappointment, Will paid no heed at all to the play when it began, but kept his eyes firmly fastened on his sovereign. At the end of the performance, after the thunderous applause had died down, he watched the king wave again to the audience, then regally leave the box.

“I won’t ask what you thought of the play, Will,” Richard said with a wry grin as he joined them. “You never looked at the stage once.”

Despite his jovial tone and smile, Elissa saw the shadow of sadness in his eyes. She wished there could have been another finish to his confrontation with Sedgemore.

She would do her best to make him forget that, and all the other painful memories that haunted him, as he helped her forget.

“How do you know I wasn’t?” Will asked, flushing.

“I was watching from the wings. However, I fear I was just as bad, for I could not keep my eyes from this box,” Richard said, running his hand slowly and seductively down Elissa’s arm to take hold of her hand.

She lifted his to her lips and kissed him softly. Her reward was to see the veil of sadness lift a little, replaced by a smile.

“If you had looked at the audience, you might have seen some friends from Owston,” she said. “Sir John and his family came.”

“What, Antonia the Amazon was here?” he cried with mock horror, and she was pleased to see more of his usual wry manner. “I am happy I didn’t know, or I might have been forced to flee in self-defense.”

“An Amazon was here?” Will inquired with wide-eyed wonder.

Richard gave Elissa a contrite glance. “A woman of warriorlike spirit, I meant.”

“They were with a well-dressed fellow,” Elissa continued. “He, um, has a wart—”

“Ah, she has discovered Croesus Belmaris, the richest aristocrat in London. I wish her luck.”

“Everyone seemed to enjoy your play,” Elissa said, deciding it was time to change the subject, given Will’s avid interest in anything Richard had to say, and probably not appreciating the sarcasm with which he said it. “The king laughed several times.”

“Yes, he did,” Will confirmed. “The lady beside
him didn’t, though. I expect that was because she lost something down her dress. The king was helping her find it.”

“I think I should have paid more attention to the king myself,” she whispered to Richard. “I had no idea—”

“That he doesn’t keep his attention on the performance? Sadly, I fear this is often the case,” Richard replied with feigned mournfulness. “It would seem he finds his paramour’s bosom more entertaining than my writing.”

The deep, familiar, regal chuckle sounded behind them.

“Odd’s fish, say not so, Blythe!”

Blushing, they turned swiftly. Richard bowed to his sovereign and Elissa curtsied.

King Charles’s eyes twinkled merrily as he entered the box. Outside in the corridor, they could see Lady Castlemaine and several courtiers waiting.