Double Deceit (2 page)

He shook his head, for the question itself was stupid. His reasons may have been childish, but he could still recall every moment of that infamous day.

His father, Lord Linden, was the most rigid, disapproving man he had ever known. Nothing satisfied him. Every word the man uttered was a complaint, criticism, or accusation – or a punishment.

Punishment had been part of life for as long as he could remember, even when his behavior was no worse than other boys’. He had endured it as long as possible, but his temper had finally snapped.

Sighing, he dropped his head into his hands.

That day was not one he was proud of. Seventeen years later he was still living with the consequences. But what else could he have done?

He’d arrived home for long break, happier than he had been in years. He had enjoyed the term, discovering a serious interest in the classics that had brought praise from all his tutors. Even the harsh school discipline had softened, for no one had indulged in pranks for more than a month.

But he’d hardly reached his mother’s sitting room when his father summoned him to the study.

The confrontation was no different from a hundred others. Linden cared nothing for his son’s school performance or his plans for the future. All that mattered was behavior. His correspondents had reported a host of infractions, proving that Tony was an incorrigible hellion hovering on the brink of ruin.

He was a disgrace. His language alone would guarantee an eternity in hell – someone must have reported the oath he had flung at his horse for scraping him against the stable wall last month. Or maybe his friendship with Haskell’s heir was enough to condemn him; Mark could put a sailor to the blush.

Linden then launched his favorite rant against the evils of gaming, decrying his son’s penchant for impulsive wagers and canceling a quarter’s allowance to prevent even greater losses. It had taken awhile to work out that charge. Though playing at cards and dice were common at school – indeed, eschewing such activities would draw ridicule from the other students – he rarely lost more than a few shillings, usually breaking even over time. The past quarter he’d actually come out ten pounds ahead, though there had been one game several weeks earlier that had cost him twenty pounds.

But his father refused to listen, listing other indiscretions in a tirade that lasted a full hour. His punishments were more severe than ever before. Besides forfeiture of his allowance, he was to spend four hours a day in the chapel, contemplating his crimes. “And you must remain inside the Park. You are weak-willed, Anthony. Duggat hired a new maid for the Striped Cat, but the girl is naught but a harlot, leading lads straight to the devil. I’ll not have you disgracing your name. Since you’ve proven yourself incapable of control, I must keep you away from temptation.”

The tirade had finally snapped Tony’s temper. Living up to Linden’s standards was impossible. If he was going to pay anyway, why should he not enjoy himself? Thus had begun a bitter clash of wills. He found a hundred ways to slip in and out of the Park without being caught. He sampled the Striped Cat’s ale, its maid, and two of her friends. He indulged in card games whenever possible, wagering on anything and everything. And he laughed at each new punishment. By the end of that summer, he’d acquired a reputation for debauchery and excess that surpassed hellions ten years his senior.

Linden believed he was worse than ever, though the excesses of that summer were long behind him. Even in the early years he had not been as wild as rumor claimed. While it was true that he had hovered on the brink of expulsion a dozen times in the terms that followed, he had always stopped short of actually being kicked out. He’d made a great show of gaming, but had never lost more than a few pounds. In fact, his investments had grown until he could almost live on the proceeds. In like manner, his debauchery had been mostly show, as was his legendary drinking.

But none of that mattered.

His sigh filled the room. That childish rebellion had once been satisfying, but it had been years since he had done anything to maintain the fiction. Yet his reputation worsened every Season. No one knew the real Tony Linden. No one wanted to know. Young bucks actually admired the imaginary rakehell. Others envied his supposed disdain for society’s rules. And while parents tried to keep their daughters out of reach, the girls themselves often sought him out, thrilled to flirt with the danger he represented.

You are such a fool.

“True.” Though he was still admitted to most drawing rooms – unlike Devereaux, who truly
was
despicable – his reputation made it impossible to relax. He had to constantly think ahead, examining every word lest it be misconstrued, behaving more formally than anyone else so nervous hostesses would not bar their doors, and hiding his identity whenever he needed people to listen seriously to his ideas.

It was time to redeem himself. He was tired of living two lives. His alter ego could only skulk in isolated places, cutting him off from society. He had hesitated to reveal the truth for fear he would lose everything he’d accomplished, but until he did, both lives would suffer. And the need that had led to his alias no longer existed.

He smoothed the summons.

Ten years ago, his lurid reputation had made it impossible to find funding for his excavations. No one had believed Tony Linden was serious about anything but debauchery, so he’d invented Anthony Torwell. The antiquarian was now a renowned authority on Roman England, though establishing that expertise had been difficult. Too many people knew Tony Linden, so Torwell could only work in remote areas. He had to avoid sites owned by lords, for they might recognize him, even if they had not previously met – Lindens shared a strong family resemblance. And Torwell had to cultivate an image as a recluse. Even correspondence from other antiquarians went to an anonymous address. England had enough eccentrics that no one questioned his habits, but the stress of keeping his two lives separate made relaxation impossible.

It was time to live in the open. And the first step was to convince his father to cease persecuting him. Since Tony Linden could not disappear completely without raising speculation, he had to spend time in London and other gathering places. But his father encouraged his correspondents to report every hint of vice, keeping his reputation alive. Even impeccable behavior could not counter Linden’s constant reminders.

So he must answer this summons. Never mind that he needed to organize his summer notes and had promised
The Edinburgh Review
an article. He would go to Linden Park and try to make peace with his father.

But reading the summons one last time raised a frown. The tone was off. Something was wrong – very wrong.

Please don’t let it be Mother,
he prayed before issuing a spate of orders to Simms, who doubled as his secretary and valet. His mother had kept him sane through his childhood. She was one of only two people he could count on for support.

Never had his isolation seemed so stark.

Chapter Two

A wave of excitement caught Tony by surprise when his carriage turned through the Linden Park gates for the first time in nearly a year. Shadows swallowed the hill beneath the manor, the sun’s last rays turning the house into a fiery castle that seemed suspended in the air. Magical. Otherworldly. He had long imagined that Avalon resembled Linden at sunset.

Its core was nearly ancient enough to qualify as Avalon. After centuries of alterations and additions, it now sprawled across several acres, but none had erased its brooding gothic look. Crenelated walls and an ornately arched entrance remained, though enlarged windows now allowed light into the ancient rooms.

The family occupied the baroque wing constructed more than a century earlier. Tony planned to add a new master suite when he came into the title himself. Recent innovations made it possible to set up bathing rooms with facilities for heating piped-in water. Years of digging up ruins in all sorts of weather made hot baths his most coveted luxury.

But that was for the future.

The house faded to sullen gray as the sun slipped below the horizon. The Park’s herd of red deer gathered near the stream. A stag nervously studied the coach clattering across the bridge.

Tony smiled. Linden was his favorite place in the world, despite his father’s antagonism. It was good to be home.

But contentment died the moment Pollard opened the door. The butler’s demeanor could not hide a gray face. “Thank God you came quickly,” he said, the lapse in formality raising new fears.

“Is Mother—”

“Lady Linden is quite well.” Pollard’s face twisted into apology.

Tony exhaled in sharp relief, though this second slip proved that something was seriously amiss. But he would deal with it. And doing so might even lead to peace with his father.

The house had been a battleground long before his own rebellion. Though never religious, Linden had adopted very puritanical notions. He refused to let his wife visit London or consort with those who did. He railed against most entertainments, prohibited wine, and even ale, from being served at his table, and complained bitterly when servants left for more congenial households.

Tony had rarely discussed Linden’s oddities with his mother, but to spare her, he often deflected the man’s wrath onto himself. She did the same for him, sharing a wordless understanding that they did not deserve such treatment. He never minded assuming her guilt. Taking the blame for her mistakes was easier than enduring lectures and punishment for his own.

Pollard’s words had eased his greatest dread. From the moment he’d realized that this was not the usual summons, he’d feared that Linden’s irritation had moved beyond tirades into the sort of brutality that could inflict physical damage on his wife.

“Is Father in his study?”

Pollard nodded. “But you would do well to change and take a bite of dinner before meeting him. Shall I send a tray to your room?”

Is it that bad?
He suppressed a frown. This couldn’t be about his behavior. None of the crimes he had imagined during two days on the road necessitated fortifying himself before facing his father.

“I ate in Costerton. Tell Father I will join him shortly.”

Dread seeped into his bones. He had barely returned to London after a summer away from society, so there should be no new rumors. The two people who knew he was Torwell would never mention it. He was due for another lecture on securing the succession, but that would hardly account for Pollard’s gray face or the footman’s tension as he delivered warm water to his room.

Was his father ill?

He had not considered that possibility earlier. Linden had always been larger than life. But even the most stubborn man could fall prey to disease…

Twisting a clean cravat into an imperfect knot, he headed for the study.
Please let this be another misunderstanding…

The door stood open. The usual footman was absent. Pollard must have sent him elsewhere. He shivered, forcing suddenly reluctant feet into the room.

Linden sat behind his desk, as usual. It was his favorite position for handing down punishments.

“Thank you for coming so quickly.” His voice was somber, but bore no hint of censure.

Startled by the unprecedented greeting, Tony mentally revised his own opening. He leaned casually against the mantel, ignoring the miscreant chair facing the desk. “Is Mother well?”

“Quite.”

“And you?”

“As usual.”

He could think of nothing further to say. Conversation was alien to their relationship.

Linden rose, pacing as if he were also at a loss for words. “A problem has arisen,” he said at last, swallowing hard as he resumed his seat.

Tony thrust down the familiar mixture of helplessness and fury, noting the man’s appearance for the first time.

White face.

Sunken eyes.

Disheveled hair.

Grease spots on coat and waistcoat.

Shaking hands.

Linden looked old – or mad. The realization severed the last link to past confrontations. Something was seriously wrong. Stepping closer to the desk, he rested his hands on the back of the chair.

Again Linden swallowed, finally forcing out words. “We must leave the Park.”

“Leave the Park?” Tony repeated slowly. “Why?”

“I—” His voice broke. Licking his lips, he tried again. “I lost it.”

This cannot be happening.

Tony ran shaking fingers through his hair, his eyes never leaving his father’s ghastly face. “Start at the beginning.”

“What is there to say?” demanded Linden harshly. “The Park was mine. It was unentailed. Now it is gone.”

No!

Inhaling deeply, he fought to awaken from this nightmare. “How?”

“A wag—”

“You wagered the estate?” He nearly shouted the question. “You? Mr. Holier-than-thou Puritan?”

“How dare you question me?” roared Linden, rage turning his face red. “Your betting is notorious.”

Tony lunged, leaning across the desk to glare into his father’s eyes. “I have never wagered anything I could not afford to lose.” The words hissed through gritted teeth. “What devil possessed you?”

Linden recoiled.

“Can’t you buy it back? You’ve enough in Consols—”

“No.”

His breath froze, dropping his voice to a whisper. “You lost everything?” Only his hands atop the desk kept him from collapsing.

“I wouldn’t have if you weren’t such a debauched fool!” snapped Linden, rising so his face nearly touched Tony’s. “The man needed a fortune to dower his deformed daughter. I tried to talk him into taking you instead of the estate – it would have amounted to the same thing – but he wouldn’t hear of it. Your reputation has ruined us.”

“Your gaming has ruined us!” Fury shattered Tony’s fragile control. Linden had actually offered his son’s hand to save himself from his own stupidity. For the first time in his life, he blessed his reputation. “How dare you preach about the evils of gaming, then throw away the family fortune on the turn of a card?”