Reckless in Pink (11 page)

“Lady Claudia has not agreed to marry me, sir.”

“Have you asked?”

“I have.” He should probably have sent them a letter at that point. Definitely, because although his pursuit of Claudia was not for the reasons everyone supposed, it appeared that way. “She has refused me once, but gave me indications that I should persevere. However, she says it is a matter of wanting to know me better.”

His father grunted. “In my opinion, young people should have no interest in an arranged marriage, other than liking each other well enough.”

Lady Brampton smiled. “You would have thought he had not fallen head over heels for me the moment he saw me and proposed two days later. Without telling his parents. What, my dear, are you telling me that you regret your rash action?”

Her husband’s mouth twitched. “Not for a minute. Not a second, my love.”

Such displays of emotion might embarrass a family less close, but Dominic was used to it. His father’s actions often belied his words. Usually Dominic took little notice of the edicts that issued from time to time. Instead he paid more attention to the excellent example his father set.

This was no different. “I was not sure. I wanted to write to you with different news.” No, it would not do. He couldn’t keep his parents at arms’ length. He never had, and he wouldn’t start now. Right on cue, his appetite disappeared as his stomach tightened with nerves. He’d felt better before going into battle leading a hundred men or more to possible death.

Dominic pushed his plate away. “No, it’s not that. It’s something else.”

Starting at the beginning, he related finding Claudia in that house. “You know I was not always engaged in straightforward military actions.” His father nodded. “This is an example. The Young Pretender is in London again, and this time the government seems determined to make an example of him. I’m not so sure, but I will do my duty. He appeared at the Kirkburton ball last night.”

His mother gasped. “Why on earth would he do that?”

“To throw himself at the country’s mercy. Kirkburton’s son got rid of him discreetly.”

“I would have done the same. Who wants a scandal of that nature in their house?” His mother had an acute sense of social rightness. She rarely came to town these days, but once she’d been an accredited beauty and wealthy heiress. She knew societal requirements better than anyone. “Is he in custody?”

“No.” He had heard nothing. If it had happened, by this time town would be abuzz. “For all I know, Kirkburton has returned him from whence he came. In which case our problems are over and Lady Claudia and I do not have to meet so often.”

He wasn’t aware he’d spoken with any melancholy, but his mother covered his hand with her own and squeezed before getting on with her breakfast.

“That doesn’t mean you have to stop seeing her, dear. You’re attracted to her, are you not?”

He could never hide anything from his mother and he’d given up trying years ago. “Yes, I am. I don’t know if it is any more than that.”

“Give yourself a chance to find out,” his mother said. “We don’t want to see you married if the result is unhappiness. If the business with the Pretender is concluded, it means you have more time to get to know her.”

That made sense, so why did it sound hollow to him? A flash of totally inappropriate heat to his groin told him why. Because of that unexplainable attraction, the desperate need to get her into bed. Lust was only part of it. He had no idea how to explain the rest of it. A need to protect, but that was natural. But that feeling that he wanted her to look after him? He couldn’t explain that. Bliss would be relaxing into her arms, and letting her take his head on her breasts.

Completely idiotic. He was tired. That was all.

Matters had come to a head, and he could defer discussing the topic no longer. The letter that had haunted him for years, the one that had proved the final straw and sent him abroad.

He pushed back his chair. “If you will excuse me, Mama, Papa. I would appreciate a private word with you when you have the time.”

His mother spread her hands and looked up at him, smiling. “What’s wrong with here?”

To spoil their appetite too? No, he would not do that. “Perhaps, when you are done, you can come upstairs to the drawing room.” He forced a smile. “You have not seen the rest of the house.”

“No, indeed. Although now we are here you may prefer to come to our own house.”

Once he’d opened his heart to them, they would probably prefer not to be under the same roof with him.

He left the room, his pulse drumming in his ears. He had never been so apprehensive, never so much in need of a stiff brandy. He didn’t have one, but went upstairs and collected the folder that was his constant companion. Even touching it made his throat tighten. He rested both hands against the dresser and leaned forward, forcing a series of deep breaths. He’d found himself in terrible situations before. He could get through this. After all, wasn’t it better to know for sure than to live with more years of speculation?

He didn’t know, but he feared he was about to find out. Unless, of course, his parents refused to tell him, but he had his own sources now. He would use them if he had to.

When he went downstairs to the drawing room, feeling more like a child going to accept punishment than an adult man of thirty-one, he approached the problem as he approached everything—head-on, without equivocation. Once he’d made up his mind, he would not go back. He never did.

His parents sat together on the sofa. His mother wore that faint smile that always gave her the air of interest in whatever the person confronting her was saying. Her patient endurance had infuriated her son more than once, but he refused to let it steer him from his purpose now.

She raised a brow at the sight of the folder. “That has been in the wars, has it not?”

She would probably expect him to find something elegant to put it in but the contents deserved only what he’d bestowed on them. Not even that, although the collection of them had cost him a lot.

He took the chair opposite to them and flipped the folder open, revealing its secrets. He was close enough to hand them the documents, but first he would tell them what he’d discovered.

“When I was seventeen, just before I left home to join the army, I discovered something by accident,” he began. “Father was teaching me the management of the estate, so I was in the muniments room.” He’d never set foot in it since, although he supposed he must one day. “If you recall, Papa, you told me to make free of the place. I don’t know if you knew this was in it.”

He picked up a nondescript sheet of notepaper, with a faded address on the back. He knew it by heart. “It comes from the Palazzo Muti, and it is addressed to my father. Shall I read it?”

His father’s face had turned white and he was gripping the sofa’s armrest so tightly his knuckles were bone-pale. His mother’s pallor owed nothing to the powder on her face.

“Please remind me of the contents,” his father said. At least he didn’t pretend he knew nothing of the document.

Dominic began to read, though in truth he could have recited it from memory.

“My dear Brampton,” he began in a low, steady tone. As he had so often in the past, he cut his emotions away and refused to allow them to take hold of him any more than they had already.

“I have become aware of a favor you are considering bestowing on a young subject of mine. The lady is of good family and she has reason to wish for the item to be cared for in the most tender way. You will not regret your actions, and I will ensure you are rewarded as soon as we return to our rightful place in St. James’s Palace, London.

“Until then, I remain, yours etcetera.”

He looked up. “He only uses his initials, but it is enough. He placed his seal on the letter, too. James Edward Francis Stuart. He has the audacity to use a royal seal.”

Dominic handed the paper over. He would prefer it destroyed, but when he’d discovered it, he already believed that whatever secrets it contained would change his life forever.

“You did the Old Pretender a favor. You never even told me you had visited Rome. How many times have you gone back?”

“Never,” his father said in a thready voice.

“Did you know of this, Mother?” He refrained from using the more familiar “Mama.” The word stuck in his throat.

“Of course I did,” she replied. “What else do you have in that thing?” Disdainfully she indicated the file.

“Only a little slim evidence. When I found that, I determined to discover more.”

“Why did you not ask us outright?” his mother demanded wrathfully. Her pale eyes sparkled. Lady Brampton did not lose her temper often, but when she did, the world knew.

“I did. I asked Father, but he refused to answer. Said it was nonsense, and it was merely a note from an old friend thanking me for transporting a large portrait home to his parents.”

He stared at his father, who met his gaze steadily at first. Then he looked away.

Dominic returned his attention to the file. “You constantly taught me the value of love and honor, but you refused to honor me or my request. It was a lie. The Palazzo Muti was in the newspapers, and that seal? It’s a royal seal. You should have said the Old Pretender sent this to you, and then I might have believed you. As far as you were concerned, the subject was closed.”

He picked up another sheet. “I was lost, wondering what other secrets you’d hidden from me. I had long had the ambition to serve in the army, and despite your protests and mother’s tears, I went. If I had not discovered this letter, I might have relented and stayed at home. I needed to get away.”

He handed over the second document as if it meant nothing. “You know I was sometimes engaged in less-than-straightforward business. I came upon other evidence that you had helped the Pretender in some way. I kept the letters. You may burn them if you wish. I have no further use for them.” The evidence was scarce, but he’d collected what he could find. A handful of mentions of his father, and then nothing more.

Abruptly he got to his feet, strode to the sideboard, and then changed his mind and walked to the window.

Life went on outside. At times the normality of existence soothed him, but today he resented it. How many people walking in the street outside suffered such disillusionment?

“You taught me honor and truth. You said that a man should always tell the truth and shame the devil. He should stand by his words and never act the traitor to his heart or his King.”

Remembering the lessons he still tried to live by, Dominic wondered yet again why he had continued to stick by them. After all, a liar and a traitor had taught them to him.

“What do you mean to do?” his father asked quietly.

The sound of rustling paper showed him that they were going through the contents of the file. Ridding himself of it gave him some relief. He could breathe more freely now.

It was done and the secret was out. One thing remained. “What have you done?” he asked quietly.

“Who knows about this?” his father demanded.

“Only me, and of course, you. However, if you continue to act the spy and traitor, I will take steps to ensure you do it no more.”

He had planned what he meant to do. Declaring his father a traitor in public would mean utter disgrace, probably the loss of the land and title. Not that he cared for those, but the people who worked on the estate deserved better. They depended on his father for a living. Society would totally destroy Lord Brampton, and for all this lapse of judgment his father had achieved some things in his life. “Are you still working for the Pretender?”

He leaned his forehead against the cool glass. A chair mender made his raucous way down the street. Occasionally, the sound of his voice raised up even here, and the chairs, the knives, and old chair-legs proclaimed his profession. Did he have an easier life? A man with a trade would never starve, or so his father had told him. A fallacy. A lie, like so much his father had told him. How could he trust anything his father said?

That was why he had left. To find his own truth. He had contacted his parents, visited them when he came home, but until now had never the courage to face them with what he knew. This state of affairs could go on no longer.

With a rustle of silk, his mother got to her feet. “This folder is missing one or two documents,” she said, and when her husband protested, she continued, “I will fetch them. Like you, I carry some things with me always. I have a folder of my own.”

In the five minutes she was gone, Dominic stayed by the window, his heart pounding again. Another folder? He’d expected them to deny it, perhaps lose their tempers and pretend not to know what he was talking about. They wouldn’t have realized he’d become an adept at interrogation as part of his work. Since he’d been planning for a longer campaign, his mother’s capitulation took him aback.

His mother returned, a pretty embroidered folder in her hand. “Unlike you, I adorned my portfolio. It’s the most important possession I have, but I will trust you with it.” She unfastened the red ribbons holding the folder closed. “You may do what you wish with the contents.”

From precious to waste. Wondering at her attitude, he could yet read nothing in her face. His mother could have defied him for hours, had she wished. He could hardly employ some of the methods he had used in the past with his parents.

However, one decision remained firm. If they continued to lie to him and to refuse to tell him the truth, he’d walk away. They would be nothing but his parents, and he would no longer owe them his love. Only duty.

The folder only held two papers. One was another letter, one he’d never seen before. He knew the handwriting and the signature; the royal seal, although this one was small and cracked.

My dear sir,

I am pleased to hear that you are finally back in England. I would I were with you, but I fear that will not happen for some time to come. While I understand your decision, it grieves me to know that you will not help me in my quest. However, I will trust you with the enclosed document, on the understanding that you show it to nobody else. Then all will be at an end between us. My dear Maria sends her best wishes, but she understands the necessity of the action we take and she will not tell anyone of our bargain.