The Countess Conspiracy (40 page)

The house was quiet, as if everyone in it were keeping silence in hopes that it would help their master recover. Her footsteps seemed too loud by comparison. Wood creaked as she put her weight on one stair. But there was no turning back. She could only hope that nobody would notice.

She came to the top of the staircase just in time to see the butler open a door and step inside.

No point waiting to be caught. She didn’t have time to dilly-dally. She marched down the hall and yanked the door open.

The bedroom beyond was dimly lit, the curtains drawn. Benedict Malheur was sitting up in bed—she hoped that was a good sign—with his butler standing before him, arm reached out, in the act of handing over Violet’s card.

Both men turned to Violet. The butler frowned; Benedict simply looked resigned.

“My apologies,” she said, entirely unapologetically. “But after I handed over my card, I realized that I had completely forgotten to tell you the purpose of my visit. I hope you don’t mind the interruption.”

The butler took a step toward her.

But Violet had been counting on Benedict—mild-mannered, good-tempered Benedict—to put things right. “Of course I don’t mind,” he said. “There’s nothing duller than a sickbed. I’d be glad of a little company.”

The butler huffed. “So long as he does not get excited…”

“Don’t worry,” Violet said airily. “I have little desire to see your master dead.”

Benedict’s mouth quirked up at that—an expression so like Sebastian’s smile that she wanted to smack him over the head for his temerity in reminding her of him.

“Pull up a chair for the Countess of Cambury,” he said with a smile, “and then, Smith, you may leave until I ring for you.”

“Very well, sir.” This was said with an air of faint disapproval.

The butler chose a chair from the wall—the one with the thinnest cushion, Violet noted, and set it several feet from the bed at an uncomfortable angle. Violet sat, and then, when Benedict gave another firm nod, the servant disappeared.

“Well, Your Ladyship,” Benedict said. “I’m pleased to see you, although I only wish that the circumstances were more auspicious. Obviously, this is a reminder that I shouldn’t wait until ill health strikes to spend time with old friends.”

No comment at all on recent events.

She had never trusted his smile or his pleasant demeanor. She leveled a look at him. “Am I supposed to call you Mr. Malheur?” she said. “It’s difficult, Benedict. It’s hard for me to be formal when…” When he was sitting in bed looking awful. “When I remember how terrible you are at croquet,” she finished. “
I
beat you when I was seven and you were fourteen.”

“Yes,” he said. “You did, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question, and there was something altogether too mild in his tone.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh, that’s how it is! I didn’t beat you, did I?”

“Ah.” The hesitation was palpable. He shrugged, noncommittally. “Of course you did.”

“You let me win. All these years, I thought…” Violet shook her head. “Well, that tears it. I refuse to let you call me ‘my lady’ when you falsely proclaimed me Croquet Championess all those years ago. If you are allowed to lie to me, you must call me Violet.”

He smiled at her again. “It’s lovely to see you, Violet. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate the visit.”

She snorted. “You always were too kind for my tastes.”

“I know,” he said gamely. “It’s one of the reasons I never made any effort to win you.”

Her lips twitched. “One of the other reasons being that you were married by the time I came out.”

“Yes,” Benedict agreed. “And also because my brother was in love with you.” He smiled. “You were the only thing that Sebastian ever wanted and failed to get. You have no idea how much I appreciated you for that.”

About that…

Violet swallowed. She wasn’t good at cajoling people or getting them to see her way of thinking. She was very good at browbeating them, but then, Benedict had never been susceptible to browbeating. And even she would hesitate before berating a man with a bad heart.

“When I was younger,” she said slowly, “I always hoped you were hiding some horrid secret. You were too nice.” She sniffed. “You have no idea how annoying it is that your horrid secret is a heart complaint, and not, for instance, a double murder committed by moonlight.”

“Gruesome,” he commented. “I’m desolate that I’m unable to oblige you.”

“I know,” she said. “It was a foolish thought. You used to go out of your way to spring the gamekeeper’s traps whenever you saw them. You couldn’t even bear the thought of seeing a rabbit in pain. That’s why I’m finding it difficult to understand what you’re doing now.”

He laughed. “I’m hardly doing anything at all. If you haven’t realized, I’m confined to my bed until further notice, and it’s incredibly boring.”

“I mean,” Violet said, “what you’re doing to Sebastian.”

His eyes narrowed. He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. Instead, he sighed and looked away. “Ah,” he said. “I should have known my little brother would enlist help.” Benedict waved a hand at Violet. “Tell him that I won’t let him win by cheating.”

“He didn’t send me.” Violet swallowed. “In fact, I left him completely alone without any explanation. I just…” She swallowed. “I wanted to talk to you about your brother, because I am not sure that you know him.”

Outside the room, a stair creaked loudly.

Benedict made a rude noise. “I know my brother,” he said. “I know him quite well. I know how good he is at getting others to do his bidding. I know that he’s persuasive and good-looking, that he has only to snap his fingers and the world does as he wishes. He’s a flashy man. Everything comes easily to Sebastian, don’t you know? He drifts because of it—drifts from person to person, from thing to thing, gadding about like a butterfly.” But Benedict’s jaw set, as if he were trying to convince himself, not Violet.

“You know him better than that,” Violet said. “There was a point in my life when I was more ill than you are now. I could scarcely lift my head in bed. My husband was away on business, and I was trapped on his estate, far from my friends and my family. The only one who lived nearby was Sebastian.” She looked away. “He visited me every day. And do you know what he did?”

“What he did? No. But I know precisely
why
he did it,” Benedict said stiffly. “And—your pardon, my lady—but you have been married. It’s obvious to me what he wanted.”

“He wanted to make me laugh.” She speared Benedict with her gaze. “It was the only thing I had to look forward to, lying in bed without the strength to even hold a cup of water. I would sleep and wake and look at the clock and wonder when he was going to come.”

“Yes,” Benedict said uncomfortably. “I suppose…”

“If you think he wanted to seduce me when I was too ill to move, you’re awful.”

Benedict looked away. “I suppose.” He sighed. “No. I know.”

“You had a chance to see what Robert and Oliver are like,” Violet said. “But I don’t know if you know what they would be like without Sebastian. They’re both so serious.” She made a face. “Everything is a matter of life and death to them. You should see what happens when Sebastian arrives. I’ve watched them argue a point back and forth for three hours. The instant Sebastian comes in the room, he makes fun of them, cracks a joke at his own expense, and in the next minute, they’ve figured it all out.”

“Yes,” Benedict said again, this time a little more dryly. “I am aware that my brother fancies himself a jester.”

“A jester?” Violet said. “No. He’s the one who connects everything. When he walks into a room, everyone looks at him. Some of them hate him; some of them love him, but nobody ever looks at him with indifference. When I don’t know what I’m thinking about, when I’m stuck on some great problem, he’ll come over and somehow, every difficulty is smoothed away.”

Benedict let out a long breath. “I…” He shut his eyes. His voice faded to a whisper. “I know.”

“And it isn’t just me,” Violet said. “He makes people smile. Everyone. For all that you called him flashy, it’s not a flashy talent. It will never get his name on a placard—the other things he does will get him that. But that thing he does—making people smile—that is what makes the world worth anything at all. Sebastian will never fight wars, but it’s because of people like him that the rest of us don’t have to fight as many of them. He makes everyone around him more than what they are.”

Benedict sighed. “So,” he finally said glumly. “He got to you, too.” He shook his head. “I should have known.”

“Tell me, Benedict,” Violet said. “Several weeks ago, you told Sebastian that you would never trust him with your son.”

Benedict didn’t meet her eyes.

“Since you have been bedridden,” she asked, “since you allowed him to come back and visit, how often has he come to you?”

“Every day,” Benedict Malheur whispered back.

“And in that time, how often has he argued with you? Made demands?”

Sebastian’s brother shook his head.

“As I thought,” Violet responded. “How often has he made you smile?”

Benedict bit his lip, began to touch fingers, and then shook his head. “Too many times.”

“The entire time he was doing that he was busy—petitioning the queen on my behalf, fielding cables from Harvard and offers from Paris. And yet when he was with you, he made you feel like you were the only person in the world.”

“I… Well…”

“And you think you can’t trust him to care for your son? I had never taken you for an idiot.”

Benedict let out a long breath. “Violet,” he said softly, “listen. There is something…” He trailed off, though.

“This is how things are going to be,” Violet whispered back. “I never, ever want to hear you say that Sebastian is good for nothing. He’s…precious.”

Benedict turned toward her. His eyes were dark and somber, but they widened slightly. And that’s when she realized Benedict was not looking at her. He was looking beyond her.

She swiveled and saw Sebastian standing in the doorway. He wasn’t looking at Benedict; he was looking at her—staring at her as if she were the bright center of everything.

“Violet.” His voice was hoarse.

“I’m sorry.” She stood. “All I could think when I saw you earlier was what I’d done to you—walking away, when you begged me to allow you to make things better. I just—I wanted to—I wanted to make things better for you. Somehow. I just—I’m not thinking straight right now, and—”

“Say it again.” He took a step toward her. “Say it again. What you said just a moment ago.”

She swallowed. “You. You’re precious. After everything I did. I had to do something to make things right for you. You begged, and I…”

His hands touched her shoulders, drawing her close. “No, darling. I had no right to ask what I did of you. All the while you were gone, I kept thinking of your words in the court, what you said. You said it was your work. That nobody would take it from you.” He folded his arms around her. “That’s what I tried to do. I didn’t just try to take your place in prison. I tried to take your claim to what you’d done. You were magnificent, and I realized that I didn’t deserve you. That you couldn’t ever forgive me.”

“Codswallop.” Violet felt her throat close. “Utter codswallop. This long I’ve known you, and you think one little attempt to save me from pain will turn me from you forever? Don’t be ridiculous, Sebastian. I love you. I have for years. Even when I couldn’t let myself love at all, I loved you.”

He kissed her then—the kiss she hadn’t known she was waiting for, his lips soft and tender against hers. “And I adore you,” he whispered to her. “I love you. I—”

Behind them a throat cleared loudly.

Sebastian straightened abruptly. Violet blinked and suddenly remembered that not only was Benedict still in the room, he was confined to his bed and couldn’t slip out discreetly.

“This is admirably touching,” Benedict said. “And I do mean that. But perhaps you might finish at some point when you’re lacking a captive audience?”

Violet blushed.

“Violet,” he said, “Championess of Croquet—if you would do me a favor, I should like a word with my brother.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

“S
O,”
B
ENEDICT SAID
as soon as the door closed. “Violet. Little Violet. Do you remember that when you were five, you announced to me that you were going to marry her?”

“That was a little premature of me,” Sebastian said. “Please keep it to yourself. I have yet to mention it to her.”

A smile flickered across Benedict’s face, but slipped away. “Look. I wanted to talk to you. I spoke with my doctor yesterday.”

Sebastian straightened and slipped into the chair next to his brother’s bedside.

“He let me listen to my heart,” Benedict said. “It’s doing well, all things considered. Once I’ve become a bit stronger, I’ll likely be able to be up and about again, so long as I’m careful.” He looked down. “There’s still a little swish, an arrhythmia that I can hear.” He made a little motion with his finger. “Such a little noise, really, and it’s going to kill me.”

Sebastian tried not to look aghast and failed utterly. Instead, he took his brother’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “In a way,” he managed to get out, “that’s actually comforting.”