In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.
—William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing, I, i
Gervase bit back a startled exclamation. His family sat frozen in place like figures in a tableau-vivant, while Margaret had stiffened beside him, her eyes widening in her suddenly pale face. But to a one, every person in the breakfast room was now staring at Reg, still kneeling beside Alicia’s chair.
To Gervase’s critical eye, his brother neither looked nor sounded like an eager bridegroom. But Alicia—sweet, naïve Alicia—flushed rosily, her eyes aglow as she gazed at her betrothed.
“Oh, yes, Reg,” she breathed, “I should be delighted to marry you this New Year’s Eve!”
Reg’s smile was closer to a grimace—and it certainly did not reach his eyes, Gervase noted. “Very well, then—it’s settled.” He took her hand and bestowed a perfunctory kiss upon it.
Covertly, Gervase studied the faces of those around the table. His sisters’ reflected mainly surprise, although Madeline’s narrowed eyes hinted at some suspicion as well. Hugo and Alasdair looked merely bemused, Jason startled and sullen, clearly aware that the forthcoming marriage meant that Reg was back in their father’s good graces, and Augustus...
The flash of displeasure on the young duke’s face lasted no longer than a second before disappearing under a smooth, unreadable mask, a mask that reminded Gervase all too well of the one he himself assumed for public purposes. And reminded him forcibly of what his father had said a few nights ago: that Augustus did not want this marriage either.
He did not look at Margaret... but then, he didn’t have to. Her continued silence and rigid posture told him all he needed to know about her feelings regarding this latest development. Indeed, apart from Alicia, the only person who looked unequivocally pleased was the duke, surveying them all with a satisfaction bordering on smugness.
Hugo was the first to break the silence, declaring perhaps a shade too heartily, “Well, this is splendid news, isn’t it? Congratulations, Reg, old boy—and to you as well, Lady Alicia!”
“Splendid, indeed.” Madeline leveled a searching gaze upon her father. “And quite the surprise too, I must say.”
“Isn’t it, though?” The duke smiled beatifically at her, his own gaze as blue and guileless as a newborn infant’s. “But a delightful surprise, you must admit, after so many years!”
Must we, indeed? Gervase cast another glance around the table. More of the family was chiming in with their good wishes, trying to compensate for that first, startled delay; Juliana, Elaine, and Alasdair even managed to sound as if they meant it. He himself murmured a vague benediction, aware that Margaret had not yet uttered a word. Alicia, still all smiles and with eyes only for Reg, did not appear to notice her sister’s silence. Reg, for his part, accepted the congratulations with the stoicism of a soldier following a particularly unappealing set of orders.
“Alicia.” Augustus rose from his chair and bestowed a ducal kiss upon his younger sister’s cheek. “I am pleased to see your patience is to be rewarded at long last.”
Gervase wondered if he was the only one who heard the faint edge under that smooth tone. Except for his father: the duke could be magnificently purblind when it came to his own children, to say nothing of his wife, but Gervase suspected that he had the measure of Augustus, on whom he now bestowed a brief, bland smile before turning his attention back to his heir.
“I believe there’s someone else who should hear the happy news,” he remarked. “Do you not agree, Reg?”
“Of course.” Reg turned to Alicia. “Will you come with me, to tell my mother?’
She looked at him with her heart in her eyes. “I would be honored to go with you, and tell the duchess.”
He offered his arm, and she rose and fairly floated out of the breakfast room with him. Gervase saw Margaret’s hand tighten about her teacup and wondered if she were trying to stifle the urge to hurl it at his brother’s broad back—for which he could not blame her in the least.
His father continued to smile benignly about the room. “I trust all of you will lend your assistance to ensure the wedding goes off as it should?”
“Of course we will,” Elaine said at once, followed a moment later by Juliana. Madeline merely nodded, while Margaret remained silent, her gaze fixed on the tablecloth; fortunately, no one but Gervase seemed to be paying attention to her.
Augustus turned to the duke. “Whitborough, I believe we have some matters to discuss?”
“Indeed, we do, Langdale,” the older man returned. “Shall we adjourn to the li—” he paused, and Gervase couldn’t help wondering if he was remembering just how un-private the library had turned out to be the night before. “To my private study?” he amended smoothly.
Augustus inclined his head, and they strolled out of the room together, with every appearance of amity.
Not surprisingly, it was Madeline who broke the silence once the two dukes were out of earshot. “Well, nothing like starting off the morning with a bombshell, is there?” she remarked with an acerbity that would have done credit to their mother. “And now we’ve just a week to plan a wedding.” A frown creased her brow. “I’m a little surprised that Alicia agreed to it. I’d have thought she’d prefer a big wedding in London or York, with more guests present.”
“Augustus and Margaret are here,” Elaine pointed out. “Her family. That’s really all one needs, isn’t it?” But there was a note of doubt in her voice.
“We could work really hard to make it memorable,” Juliana suggested. “Even if it’s a small intimate ceremony rather than a grand one.” Her face brightened in sudden inspiration. “I know! We can decorate the chapel ourselves, with holly and ivy. And perhaps some of the winter flowers from the conservatory—we’ve got some beautiful camellias. Or we could try to force some roses into bloom, just for the occasion.”
Force. Interesting choice of word, Gervase reflected. And all too apposite, under the circumstances—had anyone besides himself and Margaret noticed Reg’s indifference towards his impending nuptials and even his affianced bride?
As if on cue, Alasdair gave a slight cough and ventured, “Not to be a wet blanket, but did not anyone else find Reg’s reaction a wee bit... lacking?”
An awkward silence fell, during which everyone at the table seemed to avoid looking directly at each other—although Gervase thought he saw a speculative gleam in Jason’s eyes just before the boy lowered his gaze to his plate again.
“Well, Reg has never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve,” Madeline said dryly.
“True, but he shouldn’t look like he’s facing the hangman, either,” Hugo retorted.
“It wasn’t that bad!” Elaine protested. “Surely, he’ll come round by the time of the wedding. And Alicia seemed perfectly happy—didn’t she, Margaret?” she appealed to her friend.
Margaret looked up, her face a polite mask that made Gervase’s scalp prickle with apprehension. “Yes, very,” she replied in a voice as flat as her expression.
Elaine studied her more closely, a worried crease between her brows. “And it’s good news, isn’t it? That she and Reg are to be married at last?”
“Indeed.” Margaret stood up, forcing a smile. “Pray excuse me,” she added, and headed for the door.
“Pardon me.” Gervase pushed back his own chair and followed her out of the breakfast room. He could feel several pairs of curious eyes on his back, but did his best to ignore them. Let them speculate as they would—he could do nothing to stop them. At least Reg’s wedding was the more pressing topic.
Just as he stepped out of the room, he heard Juliana ask whom they should ask to perform the ceremony: the elderly vicar or his new curate, young and rather green.
“Why not wire the Archbishop of Canterbury?” Jason inquired, the sneer evident in his voice. “I’m sure he’d drop everything to officiate at the heir to Whitborough’s wedding!”
“That’s enough, Jason!” Madeline’s voice rang out sharply. “Father may tolerate your insolence and spite, but the rest of us aren’t so indulgent! If you can’t kept a civil tongue in your head, then leave the room!”
One could always count on Madeline to deliver a dressing-down when needed, Gervase mused; she took after their mother that way. And with Jason’s faults being satisfactorily addressed, he could concentrate on Margaret, white-faced, agitated, and—to judge from her expression—moments away from an emotional outburst as alarming as it was uncharacteristic.
He reached out and caught her arm. “Belle amie, what is it you mean to do?”
Her eyes stared wildly into his. “I have to stop this, Gervase! I have to make them see—”
“Hush a moment, now,” he soothed, taking her gently by the elbow and throwing a quick glance about the passage. “You’ll not do your case any good while you’re in such a state. Let’s go somewhere private.”
The library was deserted, fortunately. He escorted her inside, closing the door behind them—and then locking it, after a moment’s thought. Turning, he saw Margaret pacing before the fireplace, all but wringing her hands in distress.
Striding up to her, he set his hands upon her shoulders and guided her to the nearest chair. “Sit,” he instructed in the level tone used to quiet nervous barristers preparing for their first appearance in court. “And take several deep breaths before you even try to speak.”
She flashed him a glance, half-surprised, half-resentful, but obeyed. After a few moments, a trace of color crept back into her cheeks and her restless hands stilled in her lap. Composure reestablishing itself: good.
He crossed to the liquor cabinet, poured out a glass of soda water, and brought it to her. “Drink this. Slowly.”
She regarded the fizzing liquid quizzically. “What, no port this time?”
“Not this early in the day. Besides,” he added with a wryness to match hers, “I suspect this morning’s announcement had the rest of us doubting our sobriety already.”
“Our sobriety—and Reg’s sanity.” She took a tentative sip from her glass, grimaced a little at the taste, then set it aside. “I still can’t believe it!”
Gervase took the chair opposite hers. “Nor I. That was quite an about-face.”
“He’s all but ignored Alicia for five years—even last night, when she was doing her level best to captivate him. And now he’s set to marry her, in a week’s time?” She shook her head.
“Your sister is beautiful, virtuous, and as your brother pointed out, patient,” Gervase replied, taking the devil’s advocate position out of habit. “Not many young ladies would be willing to wait as long as she has for Reg, duke’s heir or no. Some might argue that he’s finally come to his senses and is prepared to do right by her.”
Her mouth twisted. “Like Elaine?”
“Lainey’s a romantic—she wants to believe there’s a happy ending for every couple. And she’s not alone in this,” he added, “not even in my jaded, cynical family.”
Margaret sighed, pressing her fingers to her forehead. “If I believed that was possible and not a disaster in the making, I wouldn’t say another word! I know how long Alicia’s waited for this—just as I know that Reg is the last man on earth who could ever make her happy!”
Her voice had risen on the last words, some of her earlier agitation returning, and he leaned forward to take her hands in hers. “Hush, love—”
“He’ll destroy my sister’s life. Maybe not intentionally, but he’ll ruin it all the same!”
Gervase blinked, taken aback by her vehemence. “How can you be sure?”
She flushed, biting her lower lip. “I cannot tell you just how I know! But trust me, I have a good reason to feel as I do!”
“I do trust you.” He gave her cold hands a gentle squeeze. “And for what it’s worth, I agree with you. Reg is not likely to make your sister happy, not if his demeanor at breakfast is any indication. I saw his face—he hasn’t miraculously fallen in love with Alicia overnight.”
“Then why, in heaven’s name, is he marrying her?” she demanded. “What happened to change all that?”
“Not what, who,” he corrected. “Did you see how Father was smiling? At a guess, he’s promised something—or threatened something, to make Reg come round.”
Margaret exhaled sharply, her eyes now holding a dangerous spark, and the hands he held balled into fists. “Pray don’t take this the wrong way, Gervase, but sometimes I wish that someone would just shoot your father! Not fatally, just painfully!”
“The thought has doubtless crossed a number of minds,” he remarked dryly. “My mother’s, chief among them. But I’d settle for seeing him outmaneuvered instead.”
“But how does one outmaneuver a master manipulator?”
She was fretting her lip again, and for a moment, he remembered those same lips, soft and sweet, pressed against his own. Had it really been just a few hours ago? The taste of her mouth, the warm satin of her skin, the glorious tangle of her limbs with his... simply being near her was enough to render him light-headed to the point of intoxication. And, after last night, as randy as a stallion in rut, he acknowledged ruefully. But they were still Gervase and Margaret, who’d known each other from the cradle onward, and right now she needed the cool-headed, analytical friend, not the ardent lover.
“Well, for starters,” he began, releasing her hands and leaning back in his chair. “I don’t recommend taking on Father directly. He’s been at this longer than we’ve both been alive.”
Margaret gave a reluctant nod. “Much as I’d love to give him a piece of my mind, I doubt he’d listen to me. Which leaves Reg or Alicia, who aren’t likely to appreciate my interference either,” she added, sighing. “But I can’t just sit back and do nothing, not when my sister’s future is at stake!”
“I know it’s difficult in this situation, but try to keep your emotions in check,” Gervase cautioned. “Take some time to consider how best to handle this, and plan your strategy accordingly. Or you could bring about the very thing you’re trying to prevent.”
She looked at him, and despite the worry shadowing her face, her eyes softened and the memory of last night flickered between them like a candle flame. “Dear Gervase. Thank you—For understanding.”
He lifted a shoulder. “It’s family. What is there to understand?”
A rueful smile tugged at her mouth. “True enough.” She set her hands on either side of his face and gave him a sweet, lingering kiss before pulling away reluctantly. “Pray excuse me. I must go and think up some ways to stop a wedding!”
“Good luck,” Gervase replied gravely, wondering if that was the appropriate remark under the circumstances. And the speaking look Margaret flashed him over her shoulder as she headed for the door showed that she too recognized the irony of the situation.
In spite of the complications that lay ahead, Gervase found himself smiling as he watched her go. Everything and nothing had changed between them. A thousand kisses buys my heart from me... but he’d parted with his after only one from her.
He shook his head ruefully. Utterly besotted. A complete mooncalf. How his family and friends would laugh if they could see him now! But the thought made no difference to his present mood. A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor.
Still smiling, he started for the door in turn, only to stop short as it swung open to reveal an all too familiar figure.
“Ah, Gervase. Might I have a private word with you?” his father inquired in that mild tone that everyone most familiar with him knew better than to take at face value.
Gervase eyed him warily, remembering the last time they’d met in this room. “If this is about last night, sir—”
“Good God, I’m not about to rebuke you, boy! Given what this family is capable of, eavesdropping is a very minor peccadillo.” The duke paused, regarding Gervase thoughtfully. “I had not realized that you and Margaret had become so close.”
Gervase stilled, all his defenses rising like a castle drawbridge, but he strove to keep his voice and expression neutral. “Margaret and I are friends,” he said with perfect truth. “And she was in some distress, last night, after revealing such a personal loss.”
The duke had the grace to look a little ashamed. “I did not intend to revive such a painful memory. You may rest assured that I will not do so again.”
“Or attempt to promote a match between her and Reg?”
“No,” his father said, after a moment. “There’s no point in that, if they’ve neither of them the inclination. And Reg has confirmed what Margaret told me—that they are only friends.” Again, his blue eyes scanned Gervase probingly. “But I realize that some friendships ripen into a deeper affection, with time. I would not be at all displeased if that should prove to be the case with Margaret and—another of my sons.”
Gervase just managed to conceal his surprise. Well, well. A day of miracles, indeed: Reg set to marry Alicia—for now, anyway—and the duke giving a blessing, of sorts, to the relationship between Margaret and himself.
“Margaret is a fine woman, whom I would have been proud to call daughter,” Whitborough went on. “Indeed, if you would like me to put in a word—”
“No! Thank you,” Gervase amended in a milder tone. “I appreciate your support, Father. But I would prefer to handle that aspect of my life without assistance.”
“So there is something between you then!” the duke remarked with satisfaction. “Well, I commend your taste, my boy.”
Damn. He hadn’t intended to reveal quite that much. But if the alternative was his father interfering in his careful courtship... well, he supposed he could part with a few details. “I care very much for Margaret, sir. I always have. But it’s early days yet.”
“Well, should your friendship,” Whitborough emphasized the last word, “with her take a romantic turn... I want you to know that I would be glad to dance at your wedding.”
The admission sent an unexpected rush of warmth through Gervase, even as he reminded himself to keep his defenses in place. While he did not doubt his father’s sincerity, he knew from experience that the duke wasn’t above using one’s deepest, most personal feelings for his own purposes. Deflecting the subject, he said lightly, “You’ll have the opportunity to dance at Reg’s before long. Congratulations. Might I inquire as to just how you managed to talk him into it?”
The duke eyed him quizzically. “Would you believe the fine art of compromise?”
Gervase raised his brows in polite incredulity. “Compromise on what, exactly?”
“Your brother’s career, for starters,” his father replied. “I have agreed not to raise the subject of his leaving the army for the next nine months. After which time, he and I will renew our discussion... if certain events have not transpired.”
The begetting of an heir, Gervase translated without difficulty. Whether that meant Alicia would accompany Reg when he returned to his regiment was unclear. Given her reaction to last night’s conversation, Margaret would be furious either way over the terms of this arrangement, at the prospect of her sister being used as a broodmare.
“I see. Well, I am sure Reg will endeavor to do his duty.” If Margaret didn’t manage to stop the wedding, Gervase added to himself.
“Are you indeed?” the duke mused, regarding him through narrowed eyes. “You haven’t given me an answer, you know. About those precedents for breaking an entail.”
“I was not aware that you still required that information,” Gervase temporized, feeling a sudden unease. “Especially now that Reg has come to heel as you desired, and is to marry Alicia, after all.”
“On the contrary, I suspect I will need it even more,” his father retorted. “Call it insurance. Because, between the two of us, I do not entirely trust your brother not to wriggle off the matrimonial hook, if he can manage it. Indeed, I’d expect nothing else from your mother’s son.” The duke’s gaze rested almost broodingly on Gervase. “From any of your mother’s sons.”
Gervase suppressed a shiver, reminded of just how ruthless both of his parents could be in their ongoing campaign to outmaneuver each other. Scylla and Charybdis indeed.
“I was hoping perhaps to persuade you to be my son—at least in this,” Whitborough went on. “And that I could rely upon your legal expertise and tenacity, to find the answers I seek.” His tone softened suddenly, becoming warmer than Gervase could remember it being in some years. Towards him, anyway—Hal and now Jason had probably seen far more of their father’s indulgent side. “And my offer still stands, you know. I’m prepared to give you everything I promised when we last spoke of this. And more.”
Gervase felt his eyes widen. His father’s proposed incentives already included a sizable retainer, a country estate, and shares in a possible silver mine. What other carrots was the duke proposing to attach to the stick? “More?” he echoed, allowing his skepticism to show. “At this rate, you will surely bankrupt yourself, sir.”
“Not at all. When it comes to the future, I have limitless capital to invest.” The duke paused, his keen gaze almost kindly. “Margaret has two young stepsons, does she not? Who would be part of your life as well, should you and she decide to marry someday.”
So they would, Gervase realized with an inner start. The young Bellamys would surely want to spend time with their stepmother, even if she were to remarry—and why shouldn’t they?
The possible shape of his future unfolded before him with dizzying, dazzling speed. If matters developed as he hoped, there’d be two boys to befriend. Or with whom he’d strive to build some kind of rapport, at least. A home to be shared, refurbished to accommodate two—no, four—rather than one. A few cats underfoot, perhaps a dog as well. And Margaret herself, always at the center, the most essential ingredient of all. He’d dared to imagine it before, on the train journey up to Yorkshire, but now, amazingly, it felt almost within his grasp.
All the more reason to be cautious, Gervase reminded himself. As he’d told his father, it was early days yet, and delightful as it was to imagine a future with Margaret, his lady was not yet won; time enough for castles in the air once she was.
The duke’s voice broke into his thoughts. “You’ll agree, I am sure, that two promising boys should be given a good start in life. I would be more than happy to assist you with that.”
“Generous, but I am sure that Bellamy provided well for both of his sons.”
“Oh, no doubt, but it can do no harm to offer extra assistance, if necessary. I know that you’d never underestimate the advantage of being connected to a duke, if only by marriage.”
“That would depend on the duke,” Gervase said dryly. But he couldn’t deny that his father had a point. He’d risen to the top of his profession by his own efforts, but being one of Whitborough’s sons had opened some doors for him in the beginning. And the Bellamy boys would receive that social advantage too, if he married Margaret.
If, not when. Those damned castles in the air again...
“True enough,” his father acknowledged, an amused glint in his eyes. “But you must admit that my reputation in business is impeccable. Nor would I distinguish between grandchildren who are born—and grandchildren who are acquired. Although,” he added gently, “it is not impossible that God might bless you with a child of your own, in time.”
It was on the tip of Gervase’s tongue to gibe that, based on his experience, children might be a mixed blessing indeed, but the flippant words died in his throat at the thought of how overjoyed Margaret would be if it happened, while he...
Rather to his surprise, he discovered that the idea did not displease him at all. Strange, when he’d given so little thought over the years to fatherhood, despite being fond enough of his nieces and nephews. Margaret’s claim of barrenness did not alter his feelings for her—he doubted death itself would do that—but if by the grace of God, they had a child, a daughter, perhaps, with her velvety brown eyes...
The weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder recalled him to the present. Startled, he looked up and felt himself caught by that keen blue gaze like a butterfly on a pin.
“Would you not agree, my boy,” the duke’s rich voice was a sonorous, almost hypnotic rumble in his ears, “that our children deserve every advantage that we can give them? That they’re worth every sacrifice, every compromise, that we can make?”
Keep calm, Gervase had advised her, and Margaret had to admit he was in the right of it. In the first shock of the announcement, she would almost certainly have said the wrong thing. Now, at least, she’d taken the time to consider her approach, and discard the ones most likely to blow up in her face.
She would speak to Reg first. After all, he would understand her objections far better than Alicia would. Steeling herself, she knocked on his chamber door, only to learn from his valet that Lord Reginald had gone down to the gymnasium with Lord Saxby.
No word on whether Alicia was with him, Margaret mused as she headed downstairs. On reflection, she hoped not—it would be far harder to say what she needed to say to Reg in her sister’s presence. Finding a way to speak to him alone would be enough of a challenge.
Pausing outside the gymnasium, she took a deep breath, then opened the door. Almost immediately, she caught sight of Reg and Hugo, stripped to the waist, and engaged in a vigorous wrestling bout in the middle of the room. Not surprisingly, they had an audience, much of it female and admiring, although—to Margaret’s relief—there was no sign of Alicia.
Making her way towards the bench where Madeline, Juliana, and Elaine were seated, she glanced at the two wrestlers as they alternately circled and lunged. No denying that Reg was a fine figure of a man: tall, broad-shouldered and broad-chested. Even more impressive than Hugo, whose own build was also athletic and well-proportioned. Just now both men glistened with a fine sheen of sweat as they grappled with each other. From a purely aesthetic point of view, Margaret supposed many would find Reg irresistible, although she herself would have preferred to watch another man: not as tall, but lean, lithe, and elegant as the fencers’ foils he wielded with such skill: Gervase, without a shirt, wrestling, fencing... or simply lying slack-limbed among her bedclothes, smiling at her with the lazy repletion of a recently fed lion.
Her face flamed at the memory, and she glanced down at her hands until her cheeks cooled. Keep your mind on the task at hand, she reminded herself sternly. She could not afford to be distracted by thoughts of her lover, however delightful.
A heavy thud accompanied by a grunt had her glancing up again. Hugo now lay on the mat, with Reg sprawled on top of him, pinning him in place. A scattered but enthusiastic round of applause broke out.
“Finished?” Madeline inquired sweetly of her husband, whose chest was heaving like a bellows. “Or haven’t you been punished enough yet?”
Hugo shot her a speaking look, but made no other reply, rolling to his feet once Reg let him up and extending a congratulatory hand to his brother-in-law. “Well done, old boy,” he half-gasped, with a rueful smile. “Listen to me, wheezing like a grampus! I probably should know better at my age.”
“Probably?” Madeline murmured, but both men ignored her.
Reg grinned, relaxed as he always was when engaging in the pastimes at which he excelled. “Nonsense, that was an excellent bout! We should do it again sometime.”
“Maybe in another year or so,” Hugo puffed, reaching for a towel to mop his sweaty face.
“I commend your prowess, Major,” a new voice remarked from the doorway.
Everyone turned at once to see Augustus approaching, his stride as smooth and powerful as... as a panther’s, Margaret thought suddenly, and every bit as predatory. Gervase moved with a similar grace, but without that undercurrent of what felt unsettlingly like menace. Why had she not noticed it before? It was almost like watching a stranger instead of her baby brother.
Augustus’s presence introduced a subtle change to the room as well, a lessening of the relaxed, almost convivial atmosphere. While the women still regarded him with undisguised admiration, the men, especially Reg, seemed a bit less welcoming. But then, Margaret reflected, he and Augustus weren’t exactly friends. Even without the sensitive subject of Alicia between them, they were far too different in tastes and temperament to be truly compatible, and the seven years between them was an additional barrier.
“Thank you, Langdale.” Reg inclined his head, his face a polite mask.
“Well done, indeed,” Augustus continued, with a brilliant smile. “There’s nothing like a good wrestling bout to help a man expend some excess energy. I hope the victor is willing to go a few rounds with me.”
Without waiting for a reply, he shrugged off his coat and stripped off his shirt and waistcoat with almost lightning speed. A little to Margaret’s discomfort, Juliana gave a soft murmur of admiration and Madeline’s eyes glinted with unconcealed appreciation. Augustus’s admittedly impressive physique emerged: slightly shorter than Reg and more willowy, but still handsome, well-muscled, and sturdy. The comparisons to Adonis and Apollo might be overblown, but they were by no means inaccurate.
“Shall we make it two out of three falls, Major?” Augustus invited, seemingly oblivious to the feminine attention he was attracting.
Reg’s gaze flicked over Augustus, bare-chested and golden, smiling at him with blinding confidence. “Not today, Langdale—if you’ll pardon me. After my match with Hugo, I should not be giving you my best effort.”
“Oh, come now. You underestimate yourself,” Augustus protested. “I met a friend of yours in London just last month. A Captain Andrew Hastings?”
Margaret froze, her gaze going at once to Reg, who had also stiffened at the name.
“As it happens, Hastings and I belong to the same club,” her brother went on, his voice smooth as cream. “We struck up a conversation over dinner, and he told me there was no one to match Reginald Lyons when it came to wrestling. That he could take on half a dozen challengers, one after the other, and still prevail.”
“Flattering of Hastings to say so,” Reg returned. “But we were considerably younger then. I fear I would only disappoint you now.”
“Come, Major, don’t be so modest,” Augustus chided, striding forward until he and Reg stood just inches apart. “After what I witnessed between you and Saxby, I’m convinced you couldn’t possibly disappoint me.”
Margaret stilled, eyes narrowing as she watched her brother. They made a striking picture: the golden youth facing the powerful soldier, Adonis and Achilles, taking each other’s measure. But what unsettled her even more was the intimate, almost confiding note in Augustus’s voice... as if he and Reg were sharing some sort of secret.
Reg stiffened further, drawing himself up as though about to deliver a blistering snub, of the sort he dealt Jason. But all he said was, “Another time, Langdale. I must go and wash now. I promised your sister,” he emphasized the last word, “a walk in the conservatory.”
“I’d be happy to oblige, Langdale,” Hugo offered, ignoring Madeline’s glower of disapproval. “Once I’ve got my second wind.”
“Or I,” Alasdair spoke up for the first time, from his position leaning against the wall. “Mind you, I’m not in Reg or Hugo’s league, so you’re assured of an easy victory, Langdale.”
“You see, you won’t lack for challengers,” Reg remarked, sidestepping the younger man.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me—” he nodded to those assembled, and started for the door.
Bemused, Margaret glanced from Reg’s retreating back to her brother’s face, which wore the strangest expression. Far from appearing annoyed or offended by the older man’s rebuff, Augustus seemed to radiate satisfaction, his well-cut lips curving in a faint but unmistakable smile. What on earth...?
But there was no time to think about that now, with the door just closing behind Reg. Recovering her wits, she hurried after him, thankful that everyone else’s attention seemed to be focused on her brother.
Her quarry was already halfway down the passage. Stifling a most unladylike curse, Margaret caught up her skirt and quickened her pace, but she still had to take two strides to keep up with his one. “Reg, wait!” she called. “I must speak with you—about Alicia!”
He glanced over his shoulder, slowing his pace but not stopping; his expression was guarded, almost wary. “I haven’t got time to talk, Margaret—”
“Then make time,” she said tautly as she drew level with him. “You wrote to me when your betrothal was first announced, that you knew what you were doing and that Alicia wouldn’t be hurt!”
Reg’s mouth set in a stubborn line as he resumed walking. “And I meant it—then and now. Your sister will come to no harm at my hands.”
“How can you say that?” she demanded fiercely. “You’ve just set a wedding date, even though we both know that you could never make Alicia happy—and why!”
He did not look at her, nor did he slacken his stride. “Leave it to me, Margaret. I have things under control.”
“If that were true, you’d never have allowed them to go this far in the first place!”
Now he paused, though he still avoided her gaze. “I will ensure that Alicia has every opportunity to change her mind before New Year’s Eve.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
He made no reply, and Margaret stared at him in dawning horror. “My God, you’d actually go through with this?”
“Whitborough needs a duchess,” Reg said curtly, walking on. “Alicia is available and willing. More than willing. I doubt she would thank you for your interference. If she is satisfied with our arrangement and our upcoming nuptials, I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”
They were approaching the stairs now; Margaret caught hold of Reg’s arm before he could ascend. “Alicia’s well-being is my business! She has no mother to guide her now—and I won’t stand idly by while she enters into a loveless marriage! If she seems willing, it’s only because she doesn’t know the whole story!”
Reg rounded on her, his eyes blazing. “Neither do you, I might add!”
Margaret matched him glare for glare. “Then enlighten me!”
He exhaled audibly. “A number of things have happened in the last five years, things of which you cannot be aware or hope to understand! Indeed, I doubt that any woman could.”
Margaret ground her teeth at the patronizing note in his voice. “And just what,” she began with saccharine sweetness, “are these terribly important things that you deem beyond my sex’s comprehension?”
“Private matters,” he emphasized in that same lofty tone, “which are none of your concern, but which have influenced my most recent decisions.”
“As ‘private’ as your association with Captain Hastings?” she flashed.
Reg’s expression hardened, and he started up the stairs, pointedly not looking at Margaret. “Hastings is ancient history. I haven’t seen him in nearly four years. Nor have I any plans to see him in future, or impose his company upon my prospective duchess.”
Margaret stalked after him grimly. “And you think that’s enough to make you a fit husband for Alicia?”
Reg shrugged a shoulder. “Time changes us all. Just ask Hastings himself if you don’t believe me. Better yet,” he added, with the barest hint of a wintry smile, “ask his wife.”
Margaret halted on the stairs. “His wife?” she echoed faintly.
Reg’s gaze was as cool and remote as his smile. “Indeed. Who can say what sort of husband a man might make, until he marries? Good morning, Margaret.” He lengthened his stride to take two steps at a time, reaching the top of the stairs before she could frame a response.
Gripping the banister, Margaret stared after Reg, his last words ringing in her ears.
Andrew Hastings... he’d been a lieutenant five years ago, a darkly handsome young man, with a lithe, slender build that contrasted dramatically with Reg’s broader, heavier frame. But they’d been a striking pair to look at—and apparently inseparable when they’d arrived at Denforth that first Christmas after Hal’s death. Playing billiards and endless hands of cards, sharing brandy and cigars by the fire, riding out when the weather permitted, wrestling, fencing, and engaging in all manner of sport together... He hath every month a new-sworn brother, Gervase had quoted, watching them from a distance.
He’d spoken perhaps more truly than he knew, Margaret mused. The loss of Hal had left the whole family wounded and vulnerable, even Reg. Despite their fierce rivalry, he’d seemed almost adrift without his older brother to compete against and quarrel with. Initially, Margaret had wondered if Hastings filled some of that void, but without the abrasiveness that had been so much a part of Reg and Hal’s relationship. Until the night she’d learned more than she’d ever wanted to, about how matters stood between Reg and Hastings.
And now Hastings was married. Was that what made Reg believe he could do likewise? Marry, beget children, and live a completely different sort of life? She supposed it was possible—clearly, other men with Reg’s preferences did it—but she could not convince herself that it was fair. Least of all to the unsuspecting women caught up in such a deception. She had no wish to see Reg publicly disgraced and ruined for his proclivities—nor to be the agent of that ruin—yet neither could she support his marriage to her sister, knowing what she did. Alicia’s happiness or Reg’s security: why must one be sacrificed for the other?
She trudged upstairs wearily, burdened by a five-year-old secret as well as her own misgivings. No matter what Reg said, she could not believe that he would not ultimately hurt or disappoint Alicia. Her sister still believed she could win his heart. She would be devastated to learn the truth—but wouldn’t it be far worse if she discovered it after the wedding? And that her own sister had known, but kept it from her? Her sister—and perhaps a few others as well?
Uneasily, Margaret’s thoughts circled back to that moment in the gymnasium, when Augustus’s seemingly careless remark had raised a ghost from five Christmases past. Did her brother know—about Reg and Hastings? Had he even guessed or sensed what effect his comment would have? Augustus had been only eighteen himself, down from his first term at Oxford, and self-absorbed, in the way undergraduates could be. But he’d never been stupid, or slow on the uptake. And if he hadn’t pieced it together then, it was possible he’d done so later.
If Augustus did know... that put a whole new face on the matter, especially the way he had acted towards Reg this morning. Almost as if he’d been baiting him. Challenging him in a way that had nothing to do with wrestling matches.
Now that she thought of it, Augustus had never been particularly deferential to Reg—not since childhood, anyway. Even less so now that he’d acceded to the dukedom. Perhaps Augustus’s awareness of his position partly accounted for that. Despite the seven years’ difference between them, Augustus approached Reg as an equal, neither intimidated by nor envious of the older man. Likewise, Reg did not attempt to dismiss or belittle Augustus the way he often did Jason. Was that due to rank... or was there some other, subtler alchemy at work?
Margaret’s temples throbbed, promising a headache of major proportions. At this moment she could not have said which troubled her more: Reg’s evasions when it came to Alicia—or her inability to gauge her own brother’s thoughts.
She’d reached the Long Gallery, and Reg was nowhere in sight, having most likely gone to ground in his chamber. For a moment, she considered following him and continuing their exchange, but common sense intervened; at this point she would almost certainly do more harm than good.
Keep your emotions in check, Gervase had warned... and so far, she was failing miserably. Crossing the gallery, she tried to focus on her next move. Reg might not have routed her, but he had certainly ambushed her. Defeat, however, was not an option.
She had almost reached her chamber when Alicia’s door opened, and her sister peered out, flushed and radiant.
“Meg!” Alicia hailed her delightedly. “I’ve been longing to speak with you! Do you have a minute?”
Margaret’s heart sank. All she wanted was her own chamber and a Beecham’s Powder to soothe her aching head—along with time to consider her tactics, to formulate another plan. But here was her sister, positively aglow with happiness and no doubt brimming with plans for her big day. She couldn’t rebuff her now, nor could she pass up the chance to see if there was some way to persuade Alicia to change her mind. If only she felt more equal to the task before her.
But she dredged up a smile somehow. “Of course, dearest, for you,” she replied, and let herself be drawn inside.
“Isn’t it marvelous!” Alicia gushed, leading the way to her dressing room. “I hoped—oh, you know what I hoped—but I never dreamed it would happen today of all days!”
Margaret sat down on the nearest chair. “How did the duchess take the news?”
“Oh, she was wonderful, Meg! I admit, Her Grace used to terrify me, but she was so dear today! She kissed me on both cheeks, welcomed me to the family, and said she hoped that Reg and I would be very happy.” Alicia danced over to the vanity and picked up a black velvet jewel box. “And just look what she’s lent me to wear for the wedding.” She opened the box with a flourish. “The Whitborough pearls!”
The pearls in question were a shimmering triple rope, accompanied by matching earrings and pearl-studded combs. Margaret had seen the duchess wear them on several occasions and had been told they would one day be hers, on her marriage to Hal.
“Aren’t they splendid?” Alicia asked, beckoning to Berthe.
“Magnificent,” Margaret admitted, watching as the maid fastened the pearls around Alicia’s slim throat, where they gleamed like perfectly formed spheres of moonlight.
For every pearl a bride wears, she will shed one tear. Margaret shivered as the warning echoed in her head. Had it been their mother or their grandmother who’d said that? She wondered if Alicia remembered that wedding superstition. If so, she appeared unaffected by it. Or perhaps she believed there would be only happy tears at this wedding.
Alicia sat down at the vanity, turning her head this way and that as she admired the necklace in the mirror. “Can you believe I’m to be a bride at last? Oh, Meg, do say you’ll be my attendant!” she entreated, turning to stretch out her hands to Margaret. “And I was thinking of asking Juliana too—I know we aren’t exactly close, but she’s Reg’s favorite sister. I’m afraid there’s no time to have bridesmaids’ dresses made, but I’m sure we can find something suitable.”
Margaret forced a smile, giving Alicia’s hands a brief squeeze. “I’d be honored to serve as your attendant, dearest.” The lie that was not quite a lie left a bitter taste in her mouth; she would have been delighted to be a part of Alicia’s wedding... if the groom were different.
Alicia turned back to the mirror. “I’m so lucky to have my gown already made! Monsieur Worth designed the most glorious white satin wedding gown for me when I first came to Paris! I didn’t want to mention it—you know what they say about not counting one’s chickens!—but I thought it might bring me good luck! And it has!” she concluded with a breathless little laugh.
Margaret clenched her hands in her lap, wishing with all her heart that she did not have to cloud her sister’s happiness. “Alicia, are you—completely sure that this is what you want?”
Alicia turned around again, eyes wide. “Of course I’m sure! Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, when we were girls, you used to talk of having a grand wedding,” Margaret began. “With lots of guests, and in the spring when your favorite flowers were in bloom—”
“I’m perfectly satisfied with the current plan,” Alicia said, a trifle stiffly. “I don’t need some ostentatious ceremony at St. George’s, Hanover Square. The most important thing is that Reg and I are finally getting married! Nothing else matters.”
Margaret hesitated before asking as gently as she could, “Does Reg feel the same way?”
A tiny frown marred Alicia’s smooth brow. “Well, surely he must—as he’s the one who suggested we get married next week! Why would you think otherwise?” A hint of challenge colored her voice.
“It’s just that he’s dragged his feet for so long,” Margaret explained, choosing her words with care. “Don’t you find it, well, odd that he should have changed his mind so suddenly?”
For a moment, she thought she might have got through to her sister. Then Alicia shrugged and glanced aside. “They say that Christmas is the season of miracles,” she remarked, rearranging the scent bottles on the vanity according to height.
And it would take nothing less than a miracle to transform him into a fit husband for Alicia, Margaret reflected somberly. If only she could say as much... but she’d promised silence and discretion back then; a woman’s word was just as binding as a man’s. And as angry as she was with Reg—and the duke—for making a pawn of her sister, she couldn’t bring herself to reveal a secret that could destroy his entire life. Not until every other approach had been tried. “I just wish I could be certain that Reg was as—whole-hearted about this as you are.”
“As long as Reg is there to say his vows, I’ll be more than content,” Alicia countered, still avoiding her eyes. “After all, weddings are far more important to women than to men.”
“Rubbish!” Margaret retorted, feeling her patience fray in spite of her resolve. “Weddings are equally important to men and women—or at least they should be! And a man who wants to get married usually shows much more enthusiasm about it. I know Alex did!”
Alicia whipped around so abruptly that one of the scent bottles fell over. “So you don’t think Reg wants to marry me?” Her voice quavered, her blue eyes wide with hurt.
“I didn’t say that!” Margaret protested, realizing her mistake too late.
“That’s what it sounded like!” Tears pooled in her sister’s eyes. “Is it because you think I’m too young, too frivolous, or too stupid to appeal to him?”
“That’s not what I think at all!” Margaret insisted. “If anything, I don’t feel Reg is good enough for you!” She gentled her voice. “You have so much to offer, dearest. I’d hate to see it wasted on a man who... who doesn’t appreciate you as he should!”
“I don’t believe you!” Alicia’s face went stony. “After last night, I thought you’d be relieved—that I’m finally marrying the man of my dreams!”
“Alicia, all I meant was—”
“I’m not listening to another word!” Twin flags of scarlet flew on Alicia’s cheeks as she leapt to her feet. “Oh, why didn’t I see it before? All this nonsense about Reg not appreciating me—what you really mean is that you’re jealous!”
“Jealous?” Margaret echoed incredulously.
“Yes, jealous! Jealous because I’m to be the next Duchess of Whitborough, not you! Jealous because Reg has named a wedding date—and Hal never did!”
The injustice of her sister’s accusation shocked the breath from Margaret’s lungs. “That’s not true! Can’t you see I just want you to be happy?”
“I’ll be happy when I’m married to Reg!” Alicia stormed. “We’ll be happy together, and no one is going to stop us, least of all you!” She stalked over to fling her chamber door open, her eyes steely through their sheen of tears. “And if you can’t be happy for me, dear sister, then we have nothing more to say to each other!”