Chapter Five

The Cost of Revenge

Theodosia waited for Frederica to climb into the carriage. Ester was already tucked inside, probably with her eyes stuck in a book she’d found in Mathew’s collection.

Clutching her bonnet, Frederica popped inside then stuck her head out. “We meet two weeks from now at the theater. Don’t make me come back here to retrieve you. Theodosia Cecil is good to her word.”

“Yes.” That was all Theodosia could muster. That and a wan smile.

Frederica nodded then took her seat.

The carriage started to move. The onyx vehicle with the Duke of Simone’s golden crest jerked and jostled down the long drive. Two pairs of handsome horses headed them back to London and Theodosia’s heart dropped. Saying good-bye to her friends felt so final this time. It shouldn’t, but it did. Maybe that’s why fleeing stayed on her mind.

She pushed at a curl falling from her mobcap and took a huge breath of air. The sweet aroma of roses overtook her, cheering her spirit. She hugged herself and that feeling of being unprotected and alone fled. Her friends said they would stand with her. She’d believe in them until she couldn’t.

Like she had believed Ewan would marry her, until he didn’t.

Clutching her elbows as if that would latch in her courage, she looked up into the darkening sky and saw a streak of light. Then the sound that always brought dread pounded through her. Thunder. Fear filled her heart. It pimpled her skin all the way to her ankles. She couldn’t have a panic in front of her pickers or tenants. The Court of Chancery would not look kindly on a mother so fearful of a storm. She would not be considered a good choice to raise a boy independent of his male guardian. No better than a harlot would.

As that feeling of again losing someone she loved swelled inside, the need to hold her son overcame her. She bolted for the portico.

Pickens held the door open for her, as if he’d been watching and had seen her panicked stride.

She ran on, lifting her heavy ash-colored skirts, and made it inside before the rain began to fall.

“Ma’am.” The butler’s voice made her stop and stand up tall.

“Yes, Pickens?”

He closed the door, shutting out the sound of the approaching storm. “Your letter has been sent to the Burlington Arcade.”

Though he may not know what was on the inside of those sealed papers, he surely knew how important they were. She nodded to him. “Thank you.”

In six years, Theodosia had learned the ways of Tradenwood, the roles and responsibilities. Yet, it always felt daunting. Thank goodness, Pickens was a stalwart butler who had served generations of Mathew’s extended family. The staff Mathew had hired were all good people to her, ones who wouldn’t cheat her and who knew how to help without making her feel ignorant. “I’ve lived here six years and I still feel lost sometimes.”

“You do fine, ma’am. You are quite capable.”

She didn’t feel capable, especially when thunder boomed. It reminded her too much of growing up in the harshest parts of London, trying to see the beauty of roses from the papered-up windows of a brothel. Again, she wrapped her arms around her and went in search of her son, her happiness.

Philip always made her happy, like the fluttering big-winged butterflies in the fields. He must’ve seen the door open or heard her slippers with his good ear, for he turned to face her. He lifted his arms and came to her. She picked him up and swung him around until his little face exploded with giggles, silent ones at first, then full belly-jiggly ones.

And Theodosia lost her cares and laughed, too.

“Mrs. Cecil. It is time for Master Philip’s lessons,” said the governess. The spinster lady with dull red-and-white hair sticking from her cream-colored mobcap clapped her hands. “Master Philip?”

Theodosia pulled his little body close and completed three more turns. His little palms were about her neck, and she kissed “I love you” on his forehead. “Ready, Philip. School time.”

Putting him down, she kept his hand within hers and walked to his governess. “Here’s your student.”

The woman smiled and pointed the boy to his shiny maple desk that she’d retrieved from a deep closet. “It is time to begin.”

Philip pulled at his pinafore and made his way to his seat. He fingered the book laid upon his table. The governess went to him and kneeled close to his right ear, his good one, and read the page, sounding out each animal’s name.

When Theodosia heard Philip’s pitchy squeak reciting the word “chicken,” a tear welled. She straightened her shoulders, approached, and kneeled to their left, like a pile of gray silk.

“H-o-g,” said Philip, and her heart skipped a beat. Swine had never sounded so good.

The governess had been highly recommended to work with children with difficulties. She was worth the thirty-three pounds in wages, almost twice what she would pay a good housemaid. Philip needed someone to pack as many words into him before his right ear gave out, like the doctors said would happen.

“Is he doing better?” Theodosia asked when they finished the repetitions.

The governess looked over her glasses at Theodosia, as if she spoke in a foreign tongue.

Stopping the impulse to chew her lip, she tried again. “I mean, is he learning?”

Shoulders drooping, the woman’s gaze lowered. If her head bent any further, it might fall off and roll around like a cabbage. “I don’t want to get your hopes up. He’s good at mimicking. I’ve gotten him to write his name, but it’s hard. He’s not like the other students I’ve worked with. He doesn’t hear my questions sometimes. He can’t—”

“Try using the mimicking more. If he follows what you do, that will be helpful. I know he’s copied my figuring on paper, when I balance my ledger books.”

The woman nodded and kneeled closer to Philip. She popped her chin atop the crown of his shiny black hair. “I’ll try, Mrs. Cecil. That is all I can promise.”

Theodora picked herself up, as if the governess had kicked her in the teeth. She backed up to the entry, waving and getting that last silent smile from Philip. Closing the door, she let her forehead bang upon it. Something had to help. Something had to get him to learn. He couldn’t start in this world ignorant, as his mother had.

Her guilt shook her over the hurts she’d caused this sweet child by her choices.

A noise sounded from the hall. Her butler’s voice alerted her of a guest arriving. It couldn’t be her friends back this soon. She smoothed her hair, putting her lacy cap in her pocket and hoped her eyes weren’t as red as the guilt rotting in her gut.

Then she saw him standing in her threshold in broad daylight. The ghost.

“Good afternoon, Cousin Cecil,” Ewan said. His smirk was wide. He dipped his chin. “I’m sorry to appear without a note, but I am here to see about family.”

As steadily as she could, she managed to come down the steps without falling. “Pickens. Can you show Mr. Fitzwilliam into the parlor?”

The butler’s smile bloomed, a ready harvest of charm. “And bring a tea service?”

Ewan wasn’t worth the shilling for the ounce of leaves. How could she politely ask to bring some that had been used two or three times? There wasn’t a way, especially for someone announcing he was family. “Yes, Pickens.”

She followed the men into the parlor, hoping this haunting would be brief and stay contained to the lower level. Philip’s lesson did not need to be interrupted, especially from evil men or liars. Which category Ewan fell into, she wasn’t sure.

…

After leaving London, Ewan purposed to come to Tradenwood, not slinking around in the dark, but as a man given to ending all the trouble Theo had caused.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

Not liking the wariness in her dark teak-colored eyes, he turned to the fireplace and poked the log. Orange and red embers danced along the wrought iron stick. He fanned the raindrops from his coat. The shower outside had slowed enough for him to leap under Tradenwood’s portico. “I came for a number. You are very good at numbers, from what I remember. Good at a lot of things.”

When she looked away with darkening cheeks, he knew she wasn’t immune to his jokes or their good memories.

The door to the parlor opened and Pickens came in with a tea service. After the cup he’d drunk with his mother, Ewan had had his fill, but he’d partake with Theo. Keeping this meeting more social might move Theo more than bullying. He hoped.

“Thank you,” she said to the old man, and with her graceful long fingers she pointed to the low table. “You brought biscuits, too? I don’t think Mr. Fitzwilliam will be staying that long. He’s no doubt needed up the hill at Grandbole.”

“It’s cousin now. Right, Pickens? And I’ll take a cup filled to the brim. I intend to enjoy Madam’s time.”

The butler raised a furrowed brow. “Sir, do you still take only sugar?”

“Yes.” Ewan couldn’t help but smile. Pickens hadn’t forgotten him. And maybe he hadn’t forgotten that Tradenwood belonged more to the Fitzwilliam side of things than to the usurper flower seller. “It’s good you remember.”

Pickens moved close to the door, and he seemed to stare through Ewan. “Ma’am if you need anything, do not hesitate to pull the bell.”

“Thank you. Thank you for everything.” Theo smiled, maybe the first one he’d seen on her face since he’d returned. Deep brown skin, crinkling eyes, full kissable lips. She was a beauty when she wasn’t fidgeting or sad. That charm had swayed his cousin and the butler, too. It had disarmed him once, but now he needed her to be relaxed, so he could act as if they weren’t enemies.

Pickens left, closing the door with a thud. Ewan circled her as she sat calmly looking toward the patio doors and the falling rain. “I’m glad to find you about today. A woman with late night visitors might be inclined to lie around, becoming lazy.”

Her gaze stayed fixed on the patio, not on him. “Why are you here? Skunks hunt at night. Pigs, too.”

He stepped in front of the golden curtains, hoping to force her to look at him. “I need a number to take back to my father. What will it cost for you to sell Tradenwood?”

She laced her fingers together, creased gray cuffs enveloping her slender wrists. “Your play must not be any good.”

“What?”

“You’re already back here with a change of plans. A new scheme to coerce me, Ewan? It hasn’t been a day and you’re already altering plans. Oh wait. That is what you do.”

Was that her game, to make everything that had happened his fault? Though he wanted her to own her unfaithfulness, to say it aloud, that would show his hand. He couldn’t sweet talk a woman who was set against him. He moved close and sat directly opposite her chaise, in the chair by the fireplace. “There is nothing here that I want other than to restore peace to my family.”

She didn’t move or blink or breathe. “You mean the family who haven’t been so supportive of you?” Her low tone magnified. “The one that keeps you around only when you are useful. That family?”

Maybe Pickens wasn’t the only one with a good memory. Ewan had shared his Fitzwilliam frustrations more than once during their brief courtship. He ran a hand through his damp hair. “You can understand what it means to bring peace to all sides.”

“So, for your peace, you offer to buy me off, to take the only home…to take this home from me.”

“I can make sure my father pays you enough so that you can buy another. This was my mother’s home. I remember spending yuletides in this parlor. Years and years of memories. You’ll have what you wanted—money.”

Thunder rumbled, deep and bone vibrating as the rain came down harder.

Theo looked frozen, almost doll-like. Moments passed but he dared not utter a sound.

He risked a slap, but he reached out and put his hand over hers. He sang, “Twinkle, twinkle little star. How I wonder what you are.”

Those beautiful eyes of hers widened. Her shivers slowed. All these years and she was still afraid of thunder, and his ridiculous tunes again brought her from the darkness. If she were his, he’d hold her in his arms and sing to her again. But she wasn’t his. Theo was his cousin’s widow. “The storm will pass. You are safe.”

She said nothing but picked at the plate of biscuits. Then Theo put one on a plate and handed it to him.

Surprised, he took it. He meant to set it down, but it had a deeply caramelized crust, probably the deepest brown of the pile. His mouth watered, and his heart softened further. She remembered those were his favorite. “Thank you, Theo.”

He took a bite and the crunch melted on his tongue with that sweeter-than-honey taste. He wiped his face and hands on the napkin she stretched to him. “You were always so neat.”

Another pound of thunder made her jitter on her seat, but she didn’t turn from him. “And you, Ewan, were always a hearty eater in want of a handkerchief.”

“I recall we were friends once. Can we be that again?”

“I don’t know, Ewan. You did know how to make me feel safe.” She gazed at him, her eyes soft, maybe longing for yesterday, too. “Never once did you belittle me for such a childish fear.”

“Never, Theo. You were always brave. Do what is brave now. Sell this place so my mother can have her childhood home. Restore her good memories, and we can all live in peace. I know deep down peace is what you want. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

She dipped her head and uttered no response. When the storm quieted, her voice returned. “I have memories, too. One of a man who pledged he would protect and honor me. Of reciting vows by that mantel. Of being welcomed into this house, which I shared with Mathew Cecil. My memories count.”

If she had leaped up and slapped him as she had last night, that would have stung less. Hearing her talk of his cousin, of treasuring their love, pierced. It was easier thinking her money-hungry than loving another.

She moved to open the patio doors. A breeze swept inside and her cheeks flushed, turning a deeper shade of mahogany. “I want you out of here, Ewan. Run home to your parents and tell them no. I will not be run off. I have been civil to you. Something that your people have never been to me. Even when I begged.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ask Lord Crisdon how I was treated when you left.”

Knowing how vicious his father could be, Ewan balled his fist. What had she endured when he wasn’t around to make sure she wasn’t harassed? He eased his palm against his knee. “Is that why you turned to my cousin? To get even with the earl?”

“You never understood me, did you, Ewan? Why else would you be here pretending to care, as you try to buy me off?”

“I knew you quite well, Theo.”

He came close and took her hand away from clutching at her collar. Looping his finger with her fine ones he dipped his head close to hers. “Your mind is sharp. Your will is strong, but even you know that this feud with the Fitzwilliams is wrong. It won’t end well.”

Her eyes grew darker, the flecks of gold disappearing in the flames of her pupils. He could hear her heart beating. His heartrate picked up, too. “You don’t want to be the center of this conflict. You and that next lucky fool who’ll be your husband don’t want that kind of constant tension. End this for me, for what we once had. I’ll make sure they never bother you again.”

A breath crossed her lips, then what started out sounding like a sob became a full-throated laugh. “You don’t know me. Maybe you never did. If you had, you wouldn’t come here and plea to me to think of your people, your senti…sensibilities. I will not sell. I need you gone.”

He released her hand. Now she sounded like a Circe, one who would use her power to destroy the Fitzwilliams. The kindhearted woman whom he had cared for was gone. This was the earl’s work. He’d known his father to be horrible to enemies. Yet Theo, strong Theo, had bested them all. She’d won. She had Tradenwood and control of the water rights.

He rubbed at his face. Her lavender scent sat on his fingertips. “We can’t change the past, but we can set about a new future. Name the price to lease the waterway as before under your husband. The water is drying out.”

“Water lease? Drying out? I’ll check with Mr. Lester, Cecil’s former steward.”

Truth righted in his head, making his pulse race. “Perhaps, he is cutting off the water. Not you.”

The sound of gentle taps of the rain on the stone floor of the patio was peaceful, serene, like the calm before a big storm. What was Theo readying to do? “It doesn’t matter. If it was done in Cecil’s name, it is my doing.”

He came up behind her. He was close enough to hold her within his embrace, wrap his fingers in the curls in her chignon. “It wasn’t you hurting my family. You haven’t changed that much from the girl I once loved.”

“I changed, Ewan. I had to.”

“Theo, you can stop him. You can restore the peace.”

“There will be no peace, not for free. You want a number. Ten times what Lord Crisdon paid Cecil. It will cost the Fitzwilliams something. I will be well compensated for their next revenge plot.”

“Twenty thousand pounds is exorbitant. You don’t need to be so vengeful. I won’t let them hurt you.”

She glared at him, with nostrils flaring. “I don’t believe you. They’ll be no different than the man who wrote a play to hurt me. You took your gift and made it a weapon.”

He wanted to take her in his arms and shake her, but maybe he needed to shake himself. The play was his only leverage, since his charm seemed hopeless. Why wouldn’t she think him trustworthy? “I wrote it thinking you long gone from here, not married to my cousin. I can easily take your name out to protect you, if you will only be reasonable. I remember when you were reasonable. When you were quite content to be reasonable with me.”

Her lip trembled and her fists balled. “I remember believing that we would leave in the morn to marry. You changed your mind faster than I could pin up my hair. You say you’ll stay, but you’ll go away again. Then the war will begin anew. I’d rather stand my ground and collect the penalty money. When I tire of the war, when I say it is over, and go into exile, I’ll take the bulk of the Fitzwilliam fortune with me. You’ll never be able to hurt people again with your money. Do you know how many have starved because of the Fitzwilliams’s need for revenge?”

Ewan could not answer, nor did he want to count. It hadn’t mattered, for he’d wanted no part of the business. “I will be around this time. I’ll show you. I’ll haunt you to get you to be reasonable, to be better than my father.”

She pointed to the doors. “Words. Words are the playwright’s lies. Twenty thousand pounds. Take that to Daddy.”

Thunder clapped and she shivered. Powerful and vulnerable and lovely, a Circe in the eye of his storm.

This wasn’t how this moment should go, with her hating him, pointing out all the sins of his family. It was hopeless to make her see the difference now. He’d have to prove his resolve. “I’ll be around, getting both sides to seek peace. You’ll be sick of me, Theo. You may even grow to like your good old cousin again.”

“I do know that I will never trust you. I see your flaws now. I wish that I’d known the truth while Cecil lived.”

“Why?”

“I would’ve loved him more.”

He watched her bosom heave. Waited for the knife to his gut to stop twisting. “Good day, Cousin.”

That was all he could manage without arguing and showing how deeply her words had cut into his flesh. Ewan plodded down the hall and out to his gig, wondering why a woman he was done with still made him gnash his teeth.

When he climbed into the gig, the seat was wet, but maybe the soaking would quench his fire. Theo had loved Cecil. It wasn’t his money that had drawn her. His family’s treatment had pushed her to his cousin. How could he stop her from ruining his family when he truly couldn’t blame her for hating everything Fitzwilliam? Knowing what they were capable of, he hated them, too. For believing they’d take care of her while he was gone, he hated himself.

But he was here now, and she’d see he wasn’t going away. She’d see and even rue his attentiveness. He’d make her want peace just to be rid of him.