Of Moths and Butterflies (59 page)

RCHER ENTERED THE
yard in search of Wyndham, but the man was not to be found. The glass paned doors of the library stood open, and to this Archer was drawn.

“Here’s the man now,” Wyndham said from his newly acquired spot beside the library fire.

Sir Edmund stood on the opposite side of the hearth. “Ah, Archer,” he said very calmly. Too calmly. “Close that door, will you?”

“We were just talking about you,” Wyndham added.

Seeing the insolence in his cousin’s countenance, Archer was reminded of his errand. “I want to know what right that man has to linger about the yard staring up into our rooms!” he demanded, his finger pointing menacingly at Wyndham, while his eyes remained fixed on his uncle.

“Now, now. Don’t flatter yourself,” Wyndham answered. “It wasn’t your room I was looking at, at all. Yours is not so convenient.”

Archer advanced upon Wyndham, but Sir Edmund stopped him.

“Now listen, Archer,” he said. “I know you’ve been in Town, and I know what you’ve been up to.”

“Do you? Do you really?”

“Did you think I would not hear that you had been to see my will? Or that there had been inquiries at the London registry? Or that the accounts had been looked into?”

“Why shouldn’t I? I’ve a right to them as much as you do.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Archer was halted by this. Considering the difficulties he’d encountered, the obstacles placed—and seemingly intentionally—before him, he could offer no reply.

Wyndham laughed.

“Is something funny?” Archer asked through clenched teeth.

“Not particularly,” he said, that insipid grin still on his face. “It seems your efforts have worked against you. As did your absence, in turn. I’m surprised you would leave her, you know. Unprotected and all. She’s a game little thing, I’ll say that much.”

Archer turned to face Wyndham squarely, offering him fair warning of the rage that he was only just managing to keep in check.

“Yes, we had a rather pleasant chat,” Wyndham went on unheeding. “And I expect we’ll be having another, by and bye.”

Archer was once more upon him, but Sir Edmund’s hand on Archer’s shoulder was the only thing that kept him from laying his fist into the centre of Wyndham’s face.

Still, Wyndham continued. “I don’t think it would take too much, really, to convince her to switch loyalties.”

Archer pushed his uncle out of the way and, grabbing Wyndham by the coat collar, hoisted him from his chair and threw him against the wall.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to explain your meaning?” Archer demanded of him.

“Would you stop!” Sir Edmund yelled. “You’re like a couple of blasted children!”

But Archer was past listening, and Wyndham was evidently deaf.

“If she married you for the money,” he said, “I doubt very much she’ll have any trouble following it.”

“What the devil are you on about now, Miles!” Sir Edmund grabbed Archer by the back of his shirt and hauled him away from Wyndham to place him, red faced and fuming, on the other side of the room.

“Explain yourself, Miles, and let’s have some sense out of you for once!”

Wyndham’s sneer was positively oozing with self-satisfaction. “I found your letter to the lawyer.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Telling him of your intentions to recognise your son. And it’s about time, too.”

Sir Edmund exhaled hard through his nose, flashed an amused smile and stifled it immediately.

“What do you mean?” Archer demanded of Wyndham once more. He turned then to Sir Edmund. “What is this about?”

“Why don’t we let Miles finish explaining things. He seems to have it all figured out.”

“That’s it really. Well…except for the small matter of fraud.”

“Fraud?” Archer echoed.

“By forging the necessary documents that would make Hamilton your legitimate heir to the title. All is well that ends well, as they say. And all
is
well so long as that’s all the bastard gets. Because that’s all he is and ever will be, whatever you can make it look like on paper.”

“Fraud?” Archer asked again, not quite comprehending what he was hearing, and struggling through the fog of his recent overindulgence. “He can’t be serious.”

Sir Edmund had once again donned that too calm manner. “So,” he asked of Wyndham, his gaze shifting from Archer’s face to that of the other gentleman. “You will allow me the privilege of passing on my title where and how I like, in exchange for recognising you as my son and bestowing on you the rest of my estate?”

“That about sums it up.”

“Blackmail?”

“Call it what you like, but I’ve sat by for long enough while Hamilton’s been given every opportunity, and while he’s rewarded for his loyalty, whether or not he adheres quite completely to your dictates.”

“He’s certainly come a far sight closer to doing so than you have ever done. But as his London escapade was taken with the purpose of dividing himself from his legacy, I suppose I have little choice.”

Wyndham looked for a moment gratified, then puzzled. “What?”

“He doesn’t want it. You’re right to say he’s been given everything. And this is how he repays me.”

“Now wait a minute, sir,” Archer said stepping forward. “What I’ve done I’ve done only with the purpose of gaining information. Information you might have given me yourself if you had only possessed the decency to—”

“That’s quite enough!”

Archer, feeling like the brow-beaten child he was, stopped. Though not for long.

“I’ve given you ample warning. You are angry. I suppose you have a right to be. But you have driven me to it. You have treated her as a burden and an inconvenience since I brought her home. As if she is nothing more than insignificant chattel. And then you make demands. Demands I cannot fulfil when at every turn you have made her regret the union. But I have obligations now besides those you’ve imposed. If you will not consider her, then I must. She may have been forced to this marriage, but I will not require her to endure one more day of your—”

“Wait just a minute!” Wyndham interjected. “Do you mean–? Do you mean to say his marriage was arranged?” He was shocked, clearly confused. “But why? She’s nothing but a—”

“I’ve warned you once, Miles Wyndham…” Archer said with fire in his look and in his blood.

Wyndham, sneering menacingly, closed his mouth and turned away.

“You have given neither of us the least degree of consideration,” Archer continued. “You have refused to treat her with any kind of dignity. If I am to protect her, then tell me, will you, what choice have I?”

“You choose her, do you? And turn your back on all the rest? On blood, on money, on duty?”

“If that is what it must come down to, sir. Then yes. You’ve left me no other choice.”

Sir Edmund’s gaze shifted slowly back to Wyndham. “If that is his decision, Miles, I suppose your way is quite clear.”

Archer felt his stomach turn. “He won’t have it! I won’t allow that.”

“You no longer have a choice, Hamilton!” Wyndham returned. “You’ve lost your claim to it, if you ever had it at all.”

“You listen to me, Wyndham. If I die in the attempt, you’ll not get one farthing of my wi—”

“Archer!” shouted, Sir Edmund. “Now’s not the time.”

“You chose the time, sir. This isn’t right. You can’t will away what isn’t yours to give.”

“Then, for all your endeavours, you still fail to understand the matter completely.”

If it was possible for Wyndham to look any more confused, he looked it now. For the moment, however, he remained silent.

“I know the money’s tied up. And I understand how. But that doesn’t make it right.”

“And what are you prepared to do about it?”

Archer could not answer this. Nothing. And they both knew it.

“A word is all it would take to release it. Your loyalty is what I ask in return. Your loyalty and an heir to secure it.”

“And if I fail to adhere to your terms?”

“A word will seal it up again—or transfer it upon my death. Miles, I think, can attest to this. He found the letter, after all, acknowledging my latest instructions. And waiting for my further directions.”

“Which are?”

Sir Edmund didn’t answer.

“You mean to recognise him as your son?”

“You’ve always known.”

“I’ve always suspected, yes.”

“And have you never wondered why you, as my nephew, reside with me, while my son lives in rather more humble circumstances?”

Archer’s throat was suddenly dry. He would not answer the question. “You won’t leave it to him. You can’t. That you have control of it at all is—”

“I asked you a question.”

Silence for half a minute. Then: “Yes. I’ve wondered.”

“And?”

For all the answers he desired, he did not want this one. He was not ready for it. Archer had prepared himself to abandon his uncle. If it turned out Sir Edmund was something more…

“You can’t,” he answered instead. “You can’t do this.”

“Again, that depends on you.”

“Has it nothing to do with me?” Wyndham said, at last breaking his silence. “I think I hold some little power of sway in this matter?”

“Not as much as you think,” Sir Edmund answered. His gaze, still questioning, nearly challenging, remained on Archer.

“What’s left?” Archer asked him. “I’ve asked before and you would not tell me. Will you do it now?”

“Does it matter?”

“I want to know. I have a right to know.”

Sir Edmund looked at Archer a long time before at last removing a pen and a scrap of paper.

“Wait just a minute!” Wyndham said, rising to his feet.

“Sit down, will you, you idiot!” bellowed Sir Edmund.

Wyndham reluctantly, resentfully, obeyed.

Sir Edmund scribbled something on the paper and pushed it toward Archer, but he gave him a confidential look as he did, warning him to be discreet in his reaction. It was hard to do.

Archer was astonished by the figure. No wonder his uncle had been so willing to allow him his choice. Whether or not Sir Edmund regretted the sacrifice to his peace and comfort—to his pride—the inconvenience of bringing Drake Everard’s niece home to live with them was certainly worth it to him. But what of Imogen? What of himself? Was the effort necessary to separate himself, to protect her from Sir Edmund’s cruelty, really worth passing her legacy on to someone like Wyndham? For himself he didn’t care so much. It would not be quite honest to say he didn’t care at all, but the sacrifice would only be an inconvenience if he had the consolation of her trust in him in consequence. To see Wyndham leering at the prospect of it for himself, though…

Wyndham arose again and made an attempt at seeing the paper. Sir Edmund snatched it and threw it into the fire.