With This Ring (33 page)

“Further, here she states that ‘He’ is due to marry another in a matter of weeks.
Yet Lord Aaron has never been engaged, nor married.”

Carter stared down at the diary.
“But—but everybody knows it was him!”

Elektra shook her head.
“Sir, hundreds of years ago, ‘everyone knew’ a ship could sail off the edge of the flattened earth!”
She drew in her temper.
“Amelia was not accusing Lord Aaron in her last entry.
She was simply recording his visit, and his offer—and her own desire to sleep on her decision.”

He swallowed hard.
“If that were true, why take her own life?”

Elektra put her hand on his shoulder.
“I do not believe she did.
I believe that ‘the winter must end’ means that she was determined to put her heartbreak behind her, to see to her future.”
She closed the diary and set it next to him.
“She was exhausted and careless with the laudanum.
That is all.”

He stared down at the journal, helpless to wipe at his dampened eyes with his bound hands.
“It was just an accident.
Oh, my God.
Oh, Amy…”

Then he lifted his head to gaze at Elektra.
“Black Aaron—Lord Aaron knows who it was, doesn’t he?
He knows who ruined my sister!
Why else would he offer for her, unless it was to save someone he knew?”

Elektra remained silent for a long moment.
Carter was still caught up in retribution, unwilling to release his role as his sister’s avenging angel.

“Carter,” she said quietly.
“What if I swore to you, upon my word, upon my name, that the one who Amelia loved has long since joined her in the grave?
Would you take my word?
Would you let her go, and live your life the way she would wish you to?”

Just outside the folly archway, Aaron leaned against the outer wall and listened to the utter faith and belief in Elektra’s voice.
His heart expanded with every breath.

Oh, my beauty. You make me believe again.

Carter’s breathing was ragged.
“I—yes, I would believe you, Miss Worthington.”

*   *   *

When Carter Masterson climbed back on his horse and rode slowly away, Elektra watched until she could no longer see him on the distant road.

There was a lesson to be taken from her encounter with Carter.

She simply wasn’t sure which one it should be.

Let the past be in the past. The future awaits you.

Or possibly—
Putting your family back together is the most important thing you can do.

While she had watched over Carter’s departure, Aaron had retrieved Lard-Arse from his wandering.
The rangy gelding was saddled, and their things were tied neatly on board.

Aaron turned to her as she approached.
“I ought to take you home now, but my grandfather—his health is most delicate, and I fear that Carter’s letter may well destroy him.”

Elektra nodded.
“Of course.
We should go at once.”

He shook his head.
“No, I will escort you back to the last village, where you can contact your family to come get you.”

She folded her arms.
“Oh, will you?
And what will you tell your grandfather about Carter’s claims?
That they aren’t true?”

He blinked.
“Of course.”

Elektra narrowed her eyes.
“But they are true.
Entirely.
Completely.
True.”

He opened his mouth to protest.
Then his eyes widened.
“Oh, hellfire.”

She nodded sagely.
“Indubitably.”

Aaron rubbed his hand through his hair in dismay.
“So … now I truly
am
Black Aaron!”

She smiled slightly.
“It looks good on you.”

He shook his head.
“No, I must still see him—if only to apologize, to try to repair something.”
He sighed.
“My inheritance is lost, I realize that.
However, I need him to know that I—that I never meant to—”

Elektra couldn’t bear it any longer.
“Oh, for pity’s sake, my lord.
Put me in the saddle and let us go explain ourselves to your grandfather!”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Button cleared his throat.
“Well, lad … you’ll have a fine time at the palace.
What a marvelous opportunity for you!”

Cabot paused for just a moment, breathing deeply, allowing the pain to move through him and then disperse.

Except that it never did, not really.

Button stood in the doorway to Cabot’s bedchamber.
One hand was braced casually on the frame; the other held a hanger of freshly stitched cravats made from exceptional opalescent silk—his farewell gift.

Of course, he did not venture farther into the room than the doorjamb.

Cabot continued in his methodical packing.
He had many fine suits after his years with Lementeur, and he packed each with the care it deserved.
Each layer of superfine or silk had a sheet of linen laid between it.
It was an exacting job, and Cabot took care to do it perfectly.
Such attention to detail kept the pain at bay.

Except that it didn’t, not really.

Now he turned to Button and gazed at him levelly.
“I will be done shortly.
If you do not mind the wait, I will bring your tea then.”

Button waved a careless hand and smiled.
“Nonsense.
I managed to make my own tea for most of my long life.
I can manage it again.”

Another reference to the difference in their ages.
Did Button even recognize his tendency to utter such things anymore, or had it become such an ingrained habit, a way to keep Cabot at a distance, a way to remind himself?

Cabot had never understood it, not when he felt a hundred years older than his puckish, playful master.
Not years ago, when he was much younger than he was now, and Button had taken a mentor’s role.
Not now, when he was a master himself, as fine a designer as Button himself, if a bit less outrageous.

It hadn’t worked, in the end.
All his striving for perfection, secretly believing somewhere inside him that by gaining artistic equality with Button, it would somehow cancel out Button’s fixation with Cabot’s lesser years.

Now he had achieved the pinnacle of success.
He’d been called into service by the Prince Regent himself, to add his genius to the Royal Wardrobe, to bring his talents to bear in dressing one man, and one man only.

And Button would not even allow him to make the tea, one last time.

Cabot turned back to the trunk he was currently filling.
As he spread out the fine linen, he listened carefully to the brush of the cloth against his skin.
For all these years, he’d longed for the touch of something other than fabric.

Now, with a tightness in his throat and a piercing ache in his chest, he was releasing that dream.

It was time to walk away from love.

*   *   *

The Earl of Arbodean sat in his grand hall, on a fine carved chair, by his massive stone hearth, and gazed sternly at Elektra for a long moment.
“Worthington, eh?
The name is familiar.”

She had done her best with the mint-green gown, and her hair, with the few minutes she’d been allowed to freshen up in a guest chamber.
She was a bit less mussed, a bit less dusty, and on her very best behavior.

Aaron watched her face.
She did not seem at all intimidated by the grandeur of Arbodean.

His grandfather had yet to look at him.
Aaron supposed that he ought to be grateful to have been allowed within the ancient doors of the hall.
A slender woman entered the hall, carrying a tray of tea and cakes.

“Grandfather, let the girl sit.”
Serena had a light, musical voice, but time and motherhood had given her a tone of command.

Sourly, the earl waved Elektra to a chair opposite his.
Then he slid a glance toward Aaron.
“You.
Wait outside.”
And to Serena as well.
“You, too, pet.
I wish to hear Miss Worthington tell me why Aaron is not a blackguard.”

Aaron felt his face heat, and for moment he held his ground.
He wouldn’t leave Elektra alone if she felt at all uncomfortable.

She smiled easily at him.
“It’s quite all right, my lord.
The earl and I will become better acquainted.”

Aaron remembered who it was the earl was dealing with and nearly laughed aloud.
As he left the room, he heard the earl speak.

“I met an Archimedes Worthington, a very long time ago.
Odd fellow, but clever.”

Aaron was still smiling when Serena caught at his arm.
“Aaron!
When I told you to stay away, I didn’t mean for you to run away with someone’s daughter.”

Aaron stiffened.
“From you, Serena?
I thought you of all people understood the truth of matters.”

She blushed and released his arm.
“I do … now.
I admit, when Wells finally told me, I thought he was just in his cups again.
Then I realized how it all fit together.
I knew what you had done for me—and for my children.”

Aaron shook his head.
“I never meant for you to know at all.
Wells made a mistake, but it was his mistake, not yours.”

Serena lifted her head.
“My mistake was in not trusting you when you told me to keep my distance from him.”

He looked away.
“Well, I may not be the best person to give advice on making wise choices.”

Serena’s gaze sharpened.
“She’s very pretty.”

Aaron sighed.
“She’s astonishing.
And exasperating.
Clever.
Brave.
Quite possibly insane.
I cannot bear to lose her.”

His cousin bit her lip.
“Oh, dear.
It’s like that, is it?”

“Oh, yes.
Entirely like that.”
He rubbed his hand over his face and admitted his greatest fear out loud.
“But I am not what she wants.”

Serena snorted.
“Perhaps she is not as clever as you think her, then.”

Aaron shook his head.
“I will always be Black Aaron, Serena.
I will always be the uncle that people whisper about behind the boys’ backs.
If I were to have children of my own, they would always be known as Black Aaron’s get.
How can I ask a woman to wed herself to that?”

Serena put her hand on his arm, but she had no comfort to offer that would erase the unavoidable.
She left him there to linger in the hall, wishing he could hear what went on behind closed doors.

Then those doors opened and he saw Elektra being ushered out by the earl’s own gnarled hand.
“Thank you, dear,” he heard the earl say.
“Send the boy in now, if you will.”

Elektra spotted him lurking in the shadows and wiggled her fingers at him.
“It is your turn to brave the lion’s den.
Go on.
He’s a sweet old dear, isn’t he?”

Aaron tilted his head.
“Not my first choice of description, no.”
Then he took her hand, grasping her fingers in his.
Her skin was warm, her grip steady.
She was frightened of nothing, it seemed.

“What did you tell him?”

Elektra blinked.
“I told him everything.”

Aaron swallowed.
“Ah … everything?”

She grinned at him.
“Do you fear that I corrupted his innocence?
Yes, I told him everything—from the first time I saw you in the inn-yard at the Green Donkey to the moment we sent Carter Masterson packing.
He seemed greatly interested in the slightest of details.”

Aaron looked down.
“I vowed to Wells that I would keep his secret forever.”

Elektra waved a hand.
“Oh, he already knew all about that.
Lady Serena told him the truth just today, when he got that ridiculous letter from in the post from Carter and nearly dropped dead from the shock.”

Aaron sucked in a breath.
“She did not say.
That … that is unexpected indeed.”

Elektra rolled her eyes.
“Oh, I’m going to strangle that boy.
Do you know that he described me as ‘naive beyond sense’?”

Aaron couldn’t help smiling.
“How dare he,” he said mildly.

She turned him about and gave him a bossy little push.
“Go on.
Don’t keep him waiting.
He’s likely to expire any minute.
I’ve never in my life met someone so old.”

When Aaron opened the door to the hall, he was still laughing.

When he saw the grave expression upon the earl’s face, his merriment faded away like mist before the midday sun.
He bowed.
“My lord.
You wished to see me?”

The earl waved him in from his seat by the fire.
“Sit down.”

Aaron sat opposite him.
The earl regarded him in silence for far too long.
Aaron fought the urge to fidget like a boy.

“I sent you away.”

Aaron met his grandfather’s narrowed gaze.
“Yes.
I recall it quite clearly.”

The earl picked up a sheaf of letters from his side table.
“These letters of recommendation—are they real?”

Stung, Aaron kept a tight hold on his temper.
“Why do you not correspond directly with the men who signed those letters, if you do not trust my word on it?”

The earl waved a hand.
“Don’t be so touchy, boy.”

Aaron sighed.
“I am not a boy, my lord.
I have spent a decade trying to make up for something terrible that happened, but in that time I have realized that my portion of the blame is not large enough for the punishment I was served.
I was a youthful idiot.
I was not gentlemanly when it would have served everyone for me to remember my honor, but I did not ruin that poor girl.
This you already know, apparently, so why do you still treat me like a liar and a criminal?”

The earl leaned back in his chair.
“Well, you’ve certainly learned to hold your temper when prodded.
That alone was worth sending you away.
You were always such a touchy little sod.”

Aaron seethed, but kept his tongue.

The earl went on.
“That girl—she’s a pretty little thing, and not half clever!
She told me a tale that made me laugh, it did!”

Aaron frowned, confused.
“I’m glad you found it amusing, my lord, but—”

“But I didn’t believe a word of it, of course!
Kidnapping
you
!
Ha!”
The earl kept chuckling while he sipped his tea.

Aaron sat, his confusion mounting.
The earl always made him want to check his weskit for stains.
The old man was as straight as a stick, and as conservative as any white-haired statesman could be.
Yet he’d enjoyed the company of the most irreverent, subversive woman Aaron had ever met.