31

 

Madeline touched her heated cheeks. The duel was on.

Justain handed the pawn back to Father and made his way to the mahogany desk stashed in the corner. Two piles of paper separated by a bottle of liquor splayed the bevelled marble top. The thinner stack contained maybe a couple of pages; the other had an endless supply of stationery.

His finger traced the outline of the crystal flask. “Duke, you shouldn’t have. I recently abandoned brandy. What brought on the need for gifts?”

The old man coughed. “Read the papers, Devonshire. You may change your mind.”

Justain held the first paper up to the light of the candelabra.

His countenance changed, growing dimmer as he scanned it. Justain took his time flipping through the stacks. He crumbled one tawny piece of parchment and packed it into his fist.

“I thought a summary would make things easier for you.” Father used the same awful tone he reserved for Step-mother.

Justain cast a look to Father over his shoulder. His eyes seemed vacant. “Why all the questions of my intentions, the surprise at my military service, if you investigated me?”

“Did you think I’d give my permission to wed Madeline based upon your station and a fancy letter? I’ve been looking into you since your first correspondence. I’m glad you didn’t take my agent’s bait and desert my girl to follow a fool’s trail written in red ink.”

“You’ve investigated him?” Madeline’s grip tightened about a queen, as if it were a restorative. “How could you?”

“Maddie!” Father scolded. “It was bad enough to leave you in his care, but then Devonshire wanted your hand. I had to weigh the foolhardy advent of Dorset and his womanizing versus his stewardship and military record.”

“You have a letter from Lady Glas-Glaston.” Justain’s rich voice seemed stilted and choppy. “I’m sure she ripped me to shreds.”

“On the contrary, she’s taken a fancy to you. She told me you were an honourable man worthy of Madeline. That’s why it’s to your left, one of your three recommendations.”

“Three. So many.” Justain tore a white paper in half.

“The Duke of Wellington decided the matter. He said to overlook the foolish pursuits as the lusts of youth.”

“The Duke of Wellington? You contacted Lord Wellesley!” Justain scanned the door as if seeking retreat. He fluffed his cravat. “Why show me this now?”

“Madeline has become attached to you. I’d hate for her to be broken-hearted by scandal, like your mother, Lady Beatrice.”

“Don’t men-mention Mother’s name again.” His nostrils flared. “Her heart might’ve ached, but it was the poison of the high and mighty Ton, rubbing her nose in the old man’s messes that killed her.”

The air felt thick. The gilded sword above the mantel could slice the strain between Justain and Father.

“Struck a nerve. Fevered blood does course beneath the foppish ties.” Father forced his quaking arms to fold. “See, Madeline, how the perfect warrior crumbles.”

“Father, please. Don’t do this!”

He waved her silent. “I could’ve found another man to marry Madeline, but I trusted the hero of England’s words. Wellesley told me to see past the gambler, the scourge of his father’s boot.”

Justain coddled his side for a second. “I’m not proud of some of the things I’ve done. And my father is dead.”

The duke reared up, pushing aside the chessboard. He seemed powerful again, akin to a yellowed cast of Zeus vanquishing an uprising. But Zeus threatened her David, and just when the sculpture seemed to breathe life. “I decided to set a final test with your cousin’s help.”

He gazed at Madeline. “Devlin betrayed me, too?”

“No, my men never found the reverend. Jodest Montgomery, the heathen of Bath, the one spending all of the Duke of Dorset’s money. Montgomery mentioned our mutual acquaintance, Contessa Salvatore. Her late husband and I are old friends.”

“Spanish connections? That’s why Emillae was in Leicestershire on our wedding day.” Justain brought a hand to his mouth. His face paled.

“When she told me you didn’t take her bait, I saw my gut was right. Lady Glaston and Wellesley were right. You could honour my daughter. Or was I wrong? Were you done with Emillae or still mooning over Lancashire?”

“Please, relent. Justain doesn’t deserve this.” Madeline’s heart beat a hundred times a minute. “Everything in those papers is well in the past. You know he’s a good man.”

Father ignored her. His gaze never strayed from Justain’s. “Will you always protect and covet Madeline as I do?” He held his insignia ring to Justain. It swayed in the air with each tremor. “Swear to me your allegiance, that you’ll never let your baggage like Gallows—”

“Barrow.” Madeline seized the outstretched hand. “He doesn’t need to prove anything.”

Father shook free and extended his vibrating fist again to Justain. “Swear to me that you’ll do all in your power to keep Madeline safe and faithfully make her happy. Then I’ll sign another copy of the writ you shredded. All my business interests from my trading in Africa will be yours. That’s eight thousand pounds a year. It’ll end the dependence on that queer inheritance foisted on the Delveaux line.”

That was Father’s game. He, of all people, should know he couldn’t force someone to do his bidding.

Justain picked up the bottle of brandy and held it to the light. The facetted glass reflected a rainbow upon his hand. “In some perverted way, I’m flattered you’ve gone to such lengths, hunting and bribing people to know more about me. And now I’ve won your approval.” A wry smile twisted on Justain’s lips as if he was humoured by this dark affair. “I understand that you’re trying to gather your affairs, put things in order before you expire.” He set the brandy back onto the desk. “I’ve spent one lifetime seeking approval, another trying to drown the need. I won’t change to please you.” He started toward the door.

Madeline held out her hand to him.

Justain ignored it. No warmth filled his eyes. All the tenderness disappeared. “There’s nothing I can do for either of you.” He bowed and left.

She stared at the hall, watching Justain’s shadow grow smaller as he soldiered away. A pain swept through her. It cut like a knife’s blade slicing her heart. She needed to go to him, convince him to forgive Father’s arrogance. Struggling on wobbly knees, Madeline propelled to the door.

“Don’t follow him.”

She pivoted. “Why would you humiliate him and in front of me?”

“I don’t want him holding this Kent business over you. I evened the score for you, Maddie.”

“Evened the score?” She wanted to scream. “He’s been respectful and decent.”

“The way you idolize his footsteps. Your eyes brighten at the mention of his name. At least the truth will show you he’s mortal.”

Her chest felt as if it would burst. “Do you see my profound disappointment?”

He started coughing. “You’ll get over it and learn how to use it to keep Devonshire in his place.” The spite in his raspy voice was thick.

She rubbed her throbbing temples. “My disappointment is at you, Father. He’s told me of his failings.”

His brows flew together. “Really?”

She slipped back to his bedside. “And he hasn’t lauded anything over me. He’s been so kind. Did your report tell you that he’d rescued children from Barrow? Or that his commitment to honour drove him to propose.”

“Maddie, I know you feel deeply for him. Pushing him to commit his life to making you happy in exchange for my wealth…it’s within my right to do so.”

“Why would I want him to have it, when the lust of money has made everyone here unhappy, maybe even crazed?” She towered over him, hoping to see some signs of the father she loved.

He lowered his gaze to the chessboard. “He’s an ambitious man. The right incentive will make him the man you want.”

She wiped away a dripping tear. “He is the man I want. Justain was beginning to open up his life to me. He started to trust me. And I…I could’ve been his Angelique.”

He looked down and spun the board to assume the opposing colour. “Come let us play chess.”

“For once, Father, say you’re sorry. Chess won’t fix everything. I’ll send Meriwether in to sit with you.”

“Maddie—”

She left the room, now understanding the blight of the St. Jameses' pride. They could be wrong, very wrong.

 

****

 

Icy water, not hot blood seeped through his veins. Justain barely made it back to the main hall. The map in his mind disappeared, replaced with piles of shame-filled paper. Even Richard’s widow had put her hatred to words. The woman repeated her accusations that Justain had intentionally killed his brother for the title.

Justain leaned against a marble warrior. If only the point of its spear were real. It could run him through.

He wrested the parchment from his pocket and smoothed its creases. The list of his sins numbered the clouds. Memorable passions were on the paper. Passions he wished to forget were there as well.

“Emillae has no loyalty.” The contessa meant to betray him, her next act of revenge.

The duke must’ve bribed Devon. Even worthless cousin Jodest sold his secrets for silver. Only Dr. White, Wellesley, and Lady Glaston recommended him. He crumbled the note, making a taut ball. What did it state that wasn’t correct? Every inked word illuminated truth. The duke was right. Justain did battle both sides of the bit.

He swatted his sweating brow. Strawberry fragrance laced his palm. Madeline had sat in that room for hours. She didn’t warn Justain. Must be complicit. Why else was she accommodating, forgiving of his dark moods? His wife didn’t expect better.

He’d almost bought her missionary act, almost ceded her power. Did women possess a middle ground between weak and conniving? “She’s better than Caroline at getting her way.”

He trudged further down the hall, paying no attention to where his feet carried him. Feisty old bird, the duke. In his gut, Justain admired the duke’s loyalty to his daughter, envied the fatherly pride. Though the man spoke with vigour, his pallor seemed worse. The duke tried to cover the shakes of his hands “He’s trying to make things right for Madeline before he dies.”

Two months ago, Justain wouldn’t have been able to make that concession, to be charitable to someone who slighted him. He struck at his forehead. Madeline affected his opinions even when he wanted to draw blood.

He turned down the main passage and tried to count marble tiles to calm down before his thoughts started to stutter. The duke pestered Wellesley. “At least my old commander spoke well of me. If he hadn’t, vibrant Madeline would be married to an old man or that skunk Kent.” No scenario seemed winning.

Another ride? He’d already exercised the duke’s stables to their limits. He wouldn’t be reckless with them. The wine cellar? That wouldn’t do. If anyone found him in the cups, it would confirm to all his stature as a man given to excess. His aimless wanderings led him again to the patio. He edged forward and sat on the low knee wall. Justain cast pebbles at the lawn. He should’ve saved one of the horses. They’d be on their way to Devon, away from this lunacy.

“I fancy Avington right before sunset.” Meriwether stood at the door. “It’s quietest then. Sir, may I get you something?”

A gun or tall glass of brandy. “Will you retrieve my satchel?” Justain asked. “It’s upstairs.”

The man nodded and soon returned with the leather bag.

“Thank you, Meriwether.” Justain took it and slung it to the ground.

“The sun’s about to set.” The reserved man pointed to the tree line. “The colours foretell the ending of one day and the promise of the next. A new day with new mercies.”

Justain fiddled with the straps upon his boot. “Mercy’s a good thing.”

“It’s God’s miracle.” Meriwether straightened the wrought-iron chairs about the table. “Do you want something to eat?”

“I look that bad. Humph.” Justain launched forward then dropped into a chair. He started rummaging through his bag. “No.”

“Very well, sir.” Meriwether moved to the doorway. His onyx coat flapped like a regiment’s flag. “With each new day, we get to decide who we are. A new man with new mercies. Our choice until there are no more days. The duke is running out of choices. Good evening, sir.” Meriwether left.

Mercy. Running out of days. Justain sighed, opened his satchel, and removed his writing set. He wrote to the one person who never abandoned his trust, the one person who’d understand.

Avington Manor, 25 October 1821

Reverend Devlin Delveaux

Sourton Chapel, Devonshire

My Dear Cousin,

No new disaster has occurred, unless you count my daily life. I remember the time Richard taught me to ride. He pushed me to hold my seat firm until I got the horse to obey. Lately, it seems no matter how hard I try, I cannot keep my seat firm. I cannot get my life in order, let alone obey.

I would be in your debt if you visited Avington soon. My father-in-law is near death. I have no words to comfort Madeline. I know you will.

Very respectfully,

J. M. D.

He curried one more taste of mercy and wrote Madeline’s aunt. Then he rose from the table to find Meriwether. These letters needed to be sent right away.