Sharon Sobel (31 page)

Thus it was the soft touch of a butterfly, rather than a fist to the jaw, that finally did Mandeville in. He collapsed back into his seat and covered his brow with his hand.

“I would have enjoyed that above all else,” he said, barely audibly. “But it was a pleasure I did not deserve, for I have corrupted everything and everyone I touch.”

Camille reached for his hand again, but hers was left aloft, hovering over his bent frame.

Chapter 11

“We shall have to announce that we are betrothed as soon as your sister is settled,” Claire whispered into the darkness. Max’s arm lay heavily across her breast and he breathed softly against her neck. She was accustomed to his habits by now, and doubted he was truly asleep.

“I will announce it today, if you prefer. Do you sense some urgency because I am spending the night with you?” he asked.

“I doubt anyone cares about that. But there were far too many people who saw you run away from me in the park. I daresay a rumor has already started that I have leprosy,” Claire said. “Now, no one else will have me.”

Max pulled her closer. “Then my strategy has finally worked, for I no longer have to fight other suitors away.”

Claire turned towards him, tangling herself in the bedsheets. “After yesterday’s demonstration, you have probably frightened them all off, in any case. I do not want to hear the details about how you managed to deliver Doyle to Middlebrook House, but I am sure he did not come willingly.”

“Let us call him by his proper name, though he does it no credit.”

“Mandeville, then. Were you about to choke him when Camille and I came through the door?”

Max ran his fingers through her hair. “I abjured all manners of rough persuasion, from the moment I told Armadale I am out of the business of obtaining information for him from most reluctant sources. I tried to glean the truth from Mandeville by more subtle means and think I might have been successful, in time. But then you and Camille walked in and ruined everything.”

“Ruined?!” Camille would have kicked him if her legs were not knotted into the sheets. “I thought everything went very well.”

“Ah, that is just the point. I bully the fellow, and barrage him with questions, and then Camille need only show herself and call him by a childish nickname and he collapses like a straw shed in a windstorm. Perhaps Armadale should recruit her to do his dirty work, for she certainly bested me with scarcely any effort.”

Claire caught his hand and kissed it. His fingers were scented with pomade, which is likely to happen when they are occupied with a lady’s curls. “Do not think ill of your abilities, my love, for I can assure you your powers of persuasion are rather keen.”

He pulled his hand away and started to tug at the sheets. “Would you enjoy a demonstration? I doubt either of us will get any sleep this night.”

“I would like both a demonstration and some sleep, but will have neither until you tell me the whole story,” Claire said.

“There is not very much to tell. For all the pain and doubt over all these years, it comes down to a story of lust and greed, blackmail and fear.”

“We will not make love any sooner because you are prepared to dismiss such a story, Max. It does not sound simple at all.” She stopped his roving hand. “You will tell me all.”

He sighed and turned onto his back. “Mandeville was my father’s cousin; this you already know. And as you once pointed out to me, when two men of similar sensibilities and talents compete for the same woman, no one is surprised when she chooses the man with a title and large estate.”

“Your sister will prove to be an individual in that regard.”

“Yes, but my mother was not. She chose my father over his cousin, and Mandeville never really forgave either of them. I suppose living in close proximity and dining frequently at their table did not help matters much.” Max stifled a yawn, as if he already told this tale too many times over. “Mandeville decided to exact some small revenge.”

“Burning down their house is not small revenge,” Claire said.

“That was to come later, and quite by accident. He set about pilfering items from the walls and shelves, claiming to send out porcelain for repair and paintings for cleaning, when in truth he sold them to other collectors and brokers. He admits his gains were small but nevertheless satisfying.”

“Like stealing a silver teaspoon while dining in someone’s home,” Claire said. “There is an elderly lady in town, infamous for the deed. She would not have been discovered but for the fact she once asked several people to dine and served them with mismatched pieces that were highly identifiable to her guests.”

“Mandeville must have bargained on the fact my parents rarely left Brook Hall.”

“That was fortunate for him,” Claire said.

“But soon his good fortune abandoned him. The cook’s sister worked in a household where a Greek amphora was on display and when Mrs. Kent visited her, she remembered it. Upon return to Yorkshire, she confronted Mandeville, and threatened blackmail. Mandeville’s vanity might have overruled his reason on this matter, but he believes she wanted him more than she wanted financial gain. She wanted marriage.”

Claire thought about the defeated man in the small chair, and guessed that when standing straight and proper and with dignity, the family resemblance between him and Max would be evident; so might Max look in twenty years’ time. “If she married him, she would have both.”

“Indeed she would. She would get quite a bargain,” Max said. “And he would get a lady ten years his senior, not of his class, with a penchant for extortion.”

“Really, Max. She was getting a common thief. And at least he was getting a wife who could cook.”

“Yes, he said as much. But you also once said you knew your way about the kitchen, did you not? It is one of the reasons I want to marry you.”

“My talents there are only slightly better than my ability to blackmail, to which I will resort if you do not finish telling me this story.”

“Very well. As you recall, the son of the master of the house was being blackmailed as well, though for much less provocation. In a perfect confluence of events, he happened to stumble into the kitchen late one night, and witness some frivolity between the steward and the cook. He did not realize it at the time, but they had a wrapped painting between them, and were celebrating its imminent purchase by an interested buyer. With that money, they planned to leave Brook Hall forever. In fact, it happened they did, but not quite the way they anticipated.”

“They started the fire, in the kitchen. I told you it started there.” Claire’s fingers moved on their own accord across his chest, to the patch of puckered skin. She stopped when she realized what she was doing.

“They were drunk, and knocked over a candle, which in turn ignited the linens which were used to wrap the painting. They escaped with as much as they could quickly gather, but without a thought to the other people in the great house.”

“I think it is fair to say they deserve each other, Max,” Claire said.

“Perhaps there is some justice on earth, after all. And for those in heaven as well. You know about the people who perished that night, were severely injured, or were missing and presumed burned. Mr. Mandeville and Mrs. Kent were in the latter group. They fled to a relative’s home, near Middlebury, and remained in hiding, sufficiently sobered to now know what they did. When the embers died, and they heard Maxwell Brooks survived, they had it set about that he caused the blaze that killed his parents and blinded his sister. It was an easy deceit.”

Claire considered the great wealth of guilt that one falsehood created. “Because you were a boy who could not defend himself.”

“And because I was a man who did not care to. I was as blind as Camille when it came to accepting the story without argument or proof. And I was a fool to never return to the great home that was mine, not a mile from Brookside Cottage.”

Under usual circumstances, Claire was perfectly happy to accept the gratitude she deserved in this regard, but she wanted an end to the story.

“But Mandeville returned,” she said. “Perhaps guilt can be assuaged when money is involved.”

“I daresay that is true. They brought Mrs. Kent’s relatives into the scheme, who not only stoked gossip but also plundered the site for treasures, knowing it was abandoned.” Max paused, and Claire wondered if he fell asleep. “As I recall, it was James Cosgrove who first came to me with a suspicion about this. At that meeting, he was introduced to Camille. I decided not to pursue his allegations, but apparently he decided to pursue my sister.”

“So some good has come of this, after all,” Claire said.

“Much good has come of it, and largely due to your interference.”

“But why was Mandeville, as Doyle, at the Assembly?”

“The Doyles, by now long and unhappily married, returned to deal with some family matters. They knew I never attended local events and doubted anyone else would recognize them. In fact, I did not. But Camille guessed the truth of it.” Max laughed, a little ruefully. “And then, because their stock of saleable artifacts was much diminished, Mandeville decided to pick amongst the bricks and stones in the old ruins. More bad luck for him, for we were there at the same time.”

“That was rather bad luck for us, I should think. We lay in an open field, in the bright sunlight, without a stitch on our bodies,” Claire said. Max signaled his appreciation of that fact but Claire, anxious to hear the end of the story, quickly asked, “And what now?”

“I managed to obtain his signed confession, which is now in the hands of the courts of law. I shall have to give evidence, of course, but I will admit that after all this, revenge is not nearly so sweet as generally believed. I just want an end to it. And a beginning of all that is to come in my life. We will rebuild Brook Hall and I shall endeavor to locate the treasures that furnished it once, so I might furnish it again. We shall be happy there.”

“I suggest we move on those plans as quickly as possible,” Claire said softly.

“Are you so anxious to marry me, then? I am glad to hear it.”

“I think you will be even more glad to hear the cause of my anxiety. I am not altogether sure, you understand, but I much prefer that there be no speculation when your heir is born less than nine months after our marriage. My reputation has been ravaged quite enough as it is.”

Max said nothing as they lay in the darkness. He had been drifting to sleep, she realized, and now regretted not telling him her news at the very beginning of their night together.

“Max? Surely you are not surprised?” she asked.

“Surprised? That is the smallest part of what I am feeling right now. I am elated, happy beyond measure.” He pulled her close. “I dared not hope for such blessings, for I did not think them likely. I know you were married to Glastonbury for several years and yet are childless. We never discussed it, but I was content to leave the title and properties to a cousin, if I could only have you.”

Claire gave a passing thought to the fact he once thought no one else would have him, but dismissed it as ungenerous on her part. She knew he loved her and could not doubt it now.

“Dearest Max. Do you not recall my telling you that my husband was indifferent to me? He almost never came to my bed, which made the likelihood of conceiving a child very scarce.” She laughed, delighting in the prospect of a future she had also dared not imagine. “You, on the other hand, have given us ample opportunities for success. It was bound to happen, and I believe it has.”

“Frequency is necessary for success,” Max said, as if reasoning out a problem. “What if you are mistaken now? I suggest we take no chances.”

And, with the story already told, and her questions answered, Claire saw no reason to deny him or herself.

***

“You are looking remarkably healthy,” Marissa said to Claire as they stood in the large foyer of Middlebrook House. For all her plans to wear her new emerald gown this evening, Claire thought it a bit snug, and chose a cream silk instead. “The color suits you. And that is a very fine cameo, of the sort one finds in Naples.”

Claire fingered her elegant necklace, of which the cameo was the centerpiece to a strand of fine pearls. “It was purchased much closer to home. Lord Wentworth has established an excellent relationship with Mr. Dailey, who brought it to his attention.”

“I see. And I suppose Wentworth bought it for you in gratitude for assisting his family in Lady Camille’s coming-out? Surely, there is nothing that can be faulted here,” Marissa said, looking around. “Still, he is quite generous.”

“He is,” Claire said simply. “When I recall all the things that were whispered about him all those months ago, I can scarcely countenance it. The rumors were cruelly spread, and only refuted by his aunt and uncle. We heard he was a murderer and hideously deformed, and he is neither.”

“Clearly the young ladies here, thrusting themselves on him, are already convinced of that fact. Of course, now that they are finally able to see the beauty of his house, they may be persuaded to see the beauty of his character. And other things.”

“So they might imagine, but they are too late,” Claire said.

“For you not only have the cameo, and the man, but perhaps another token of his affection,” Marissa said with certainty. “It is no wonder you look healthy.”

Claire knew it was impossible to keep anything from her friend. “I only wish I felt so healthy. The mornings have been simply wretched. But I am happy, just the same.”

“And no one will hear anything from me, until the announcement is made and everything is done properly. Ah, here is your future sister, looking very lovely.” Marissa paused. “I hope no one heard me say that.”

“In this crush, the only person who could hear it is Lady Camille herself, and she already knows the good news.”

Claire nodded to Marissa as she walked through the crowd of guests, and took Camille’s hand, which was trembling and cold.

“You need not fear anything, my dear,” Claire said, under her breath. “Your brother is here, as are your aunt and uncle. And I will not abandon you.”

“But where is Jamie? Mr. Belden tells me he has not yet arrived, and I fear something is wrong.”

“Hush. He has endured this trip to town for no greater purpose than looking after you. Or perhaps looking after the other gentlemen who have been hovering about you.” Claire smiled at two such gentlemen as she spoke. “His excuse may be nothing more than the necessity of having dinner with an elderly aunt. I understand he has dozens of them.”