Double Deceit (27 page)

“It doesn’t matter,” she said aloud, hoping to convince her stubborn conscience.

It had been plaguing her for days. She hadn’t lost her temper so badly in years, lashing out in a pointless attempt to assuage her pain, saying anything that might hurt, and denying even obvious facts. His deceit still hurt. She’d respected him, trusted him, loved him… Yet all the time he had been living a lie.

So were you.

But that was different. She’d been protecting herself from harm, not hiding her character.
Tossing your innocent companion into a situation you dared not face yourself…

But she’d been right that Sarah would be safe.
She has more integrity in one finger…

Yes, Sarah had been safe. He respected her too much to cause her any grief. And he had rarely been alone with her. He wasn’t all bad.

He isn’t bad at all
, insisted the voice.

Well, maybe…

You know he’s not. And so does Sarah.

Sarah had been driving her crazy with
Jon this
and
Jon that
. He wrote nearly every day –
so considerate, Alex; he even gets his uncle to frank his letters so I needn’t pay for delivery
– always including long descriptions of his cousin. Sarah insisted on reading the letters aloud over breakfast, which she was unaccountably sharing these days, and referring to them in every conversation. It was one reason she’d come to the villa today.

Why couldn’t Sarah accept reality? It was over. Nothing could put their partnership back together. It was irretrievably broken. The only way to survive was to put him behind her and get on with life.

Yet Sarah persisted, painting word pictures that merely added to her pain.

Tony was far from the care-for-naught rumor described. He often helped servants, tenants, villagers, and even area residents with no claim on Linden Park. But he never took credit, using Jon to administer the anonymous funds.

Only two people mattered to him – Jon and his mother. He would do anything to protect them, particularly his mother. Most of the pranks he had perpetrated in his youth had been deliberate attempts to distract his father from castigating her. At other times, Tony had shouldered the blame for acts he had not committed or had deliberately broken his father’s rules, again to deflect the man’s attention.

Lord Linden was a harsh man who forbade everything enjoyable. He was even harsher with Tony than with his wife, setting spies to watch his every move and waging a war of wills. Instead of submitting tamely, Tony had fought back, finally exploding in a display of every vice his father abhorred. Thus was born his reputation. Despite repenting – and avoiding any repetition of that spree – rumors followed him to this day. Ten years ago, he’d given up, inventing Mr. Torwell so he could pursue his love of antiquity.

She could understand. Embracing masculine mannerisms and flaunting her education had been a futile attempt to show the world that her own father’s criticisms didn’t hurt. And hadn’t she also adopted an alter ego with Lord Mitchell? Having a father like Lord Linden would be enough to make anyone rebel.

Not that it mattered. It was too late for truth. After that exchange of insults, deceit was irrelevant. No man would forgive her taunts and stabs. She had meant to hurt him, and she had. Even if she could stretch her own love far enough to put that argument behind her, he could not. Sarah’s report confirmed his own words upon arrival, words he had repeated before she threw him out: He had come here solely to protect his mother. He cared nothing for Miss Alex Vale. He might have accepted Sarah as the price of restoring his mother’s home, but he couldn’t accept her.

“Pay attention,” she admonished herself, scraping at the next layer of soil. The temple was the one area where he had never worked. Thus it was the only place she had any hope of maintaining her composure.

The trowel struck another rock.

Sighing, she concentrated on removing it. It would be the third today, each surrounded by shattered roof tiles. She’d carefully extracted fragments, hoping to find intact floor beneath, yet so far, nothing else had turned up. Maybe the temple had held no decoration.

Interest stirred as she exposed a curved edge. It was neither stone nor tile. The color was wrong.

Excitement mounted, driving everything else from her mind. Slowly, an amphora emerged from the ground. Intact. Even its delicate handles remained.

She had never seen one before, though one of her books contained an illustration. Ancient peoples had used them as storage jars for wines, oils, grains, and possibly other things. To find one here, undamaged, was almost miraculous.

Tony was right. The site must have flooded, cushioning corners with mud that had protected them from the slide.

He would love to see this, wouldn’t he, Alex?

How true. He would be so excited. He might even kiss her again…

Heat instantly seared her body.

“Damn you!” she shouted as tears coursed down her cheeks. “How am I supposed to work with you looking over my shoulder?”

Scrubbing her face dry with her skirt – she had locked the pantaloons in her workroom, determined to set the past firmly behind her – she put away the tools. “I won’t let him ruin this excavation. I won’t let him invade my dreams. And I will
not
shed another tear for that man.”

She pulled out a sketch pad.

Her life was her own, just as she had always planned. His intrusion had been too brief to matter. Her disappointment would fade. So would her pain. In the meantime, she must stay busy.

Once she finished the sketch, she gently lifted the amphora from its bed of mud. Cradling it in her arms, she headed for her workroom.

* * * *

Jon ignored Tony’s glare. He’d expected it, though understanding the cause did not negate the pain.

Tony had left Linden Park the day after they’d arrived, without even bidding him farewell. Nor had he responded to letters in the two weeks since. So he’d come to London.

“Don’t let that stubborn temper build a new barrier between you and the world,” he said now. “You are behaving just as stupidly over this as you did about wrecking your reputation.”

Tony slammed a fist onto the desktop that separated them. “I cannot believe you came all the way to London to meddle in my affairs. Are you sure Sir Winton’s agent did not throw you out?”

“Positive. He has kept the staff intact and approved the plans for next year’s planting. That is as far as his concern extends, for his tenure will end next summer. Sir Winton has already told Alex that she will be unwelcome at Vale House after the Season. Either she weds or she starves.”

“It’s her choice,” he said.

“It is also yours. Alex is miserable.”

“Because she has to find a new companion – if she bothers doing so. She’s odd enough to flout even that convention. Now change the subject. I am not interested in her activities, her looks, or her feelings.”

“But Sarah says—”

“Enough, Jon.” He strode to the window, keeping his back to the room. “It’s over. I misplayed the hand and lost. End of discussion. It’s time to move on.”

“I don’t believe that. Nor do you, if you would only look beyond your grief and pain.”

“Much of it caused by your persistence, Jon. Why must you torment me?” His fists clenched.

Jon flinched. “I owe you too much to let pride destroy your best hope of finding the happiness you so richly deserve.”

“You owe me no—”

“You welcomed me, Tony,” he said, hoping a reminder of those days might soften Tony’s antagonism. “You supported me through the worst period of my life, accepting my intrusion into your world, giving me more affection than most boys accord a brother, and not once criticizing my tears or demanding to know why it took me more than a year to recover. Many children lose their parents, but they manage to move on.”

“You needn’t refine on it. I was lonely and needed a playmate.” But he’d stiffened.

“Uncle Thomas told me he’d let the sordid details out of the bag. But even he doesn’t know everything.” He had to inhale deeply to keep his voice steady. “I found them that day, sprawled in pools of blood. I held my father’s hand while he begged my forgiveness, tears streaming down his face. I watched him draw his last breath. So don’t talk to me of finality and impossibilities. As long as you can breathe, you can repair any breach.”

“A lovely thought,” said Tony, walking to the door. His averted head hid his own tears. “But not in this case. You don’t know the facts, Jon. Nor does Sarah, or she would not keep pressing. It’s over.”

Jon gave up, allowing Tony to push him out – for now.

* * * *

Tony grimaced as he returned to his desk. It was bad enough that Jon had shown up in person to berate him. But why had he trotted out his parents’ deaths? Dear Lord, it had been worse than he’d thought. No wonder Jon had been so distraught.

But he had done nothing to help Jon recover, so bringing up such ancient history was merely another way of applying pressure. And this was only the beginning. They had agreed to dine together.

He should have stopped at the vicarage before leaving Linden Park, but he hadn’t felt up to facing those judgmental eyes. Not when he was already reeling from emotion. Leaving the Park for the last time had been harder than he’d anticipated. Despite years of conflict, the Park was home. He’d expected to live out his life there and be buried with his ancestors.

As if that wasn’t enough, a host of other feelings had swirled through his head – hope that the fragile truce with his father would continue, guilt for failing his mother, pain… He couldn’t have faced another of Jon’s sermons.

The Vale House fiasco had strained their relationship badly. He had never expected Jon to become a dedicated matchmaker. This latest confession merely made it worse.

“It’s over,” he repeated, focusing on piles of paper atop his desk. “Everything’s over.”

He’d finished the article for
The Edinburgh Review
, working late into the night so he’d be tired enough to sleep without dreaming.

Surprisingly, Simms had found a banker willing to loan Tony Linden money, though the letter of recommendation from his father might have helped. An agent had settled the purchase of the Somerset property, so at least part of his life was proceeding smoothly. He could take possession within a fortnight. Not that he would personally do so. It was too close to Gloucestershire. Before heading west, he had to put the Vale House visit behind him. So he would go north.

Despite the season, he had requested permission to excavate a Roman encampment near Hadrian’s wall. It was a site that had intrigued him for fifteen years, ever since he’d visited a schoolmate whose father owned the land. He’d signed his request
Torwell
, though Lord Pembroke would recognize him the moment he arrived. But explanations were better made in person.

Northumberland in November matched his mood. It would be cold, windy, and gray. Very gray. Very cold. Perhaps freezing the pain would lessen its impact.

And the project would serve other purposes. It would begin the difficult process of redeeming his reputation, for this was the last time he would hide behind the Torwell name. It would keep him busy, exhausted, and fed without having to sell the first editions that had been a parting gift from his father. And it would take him a long way from Gloucestershire.

He could not afford to go within a hundred miles of Vale House. If she were near, nothing would stop him from calling, on his knees if necessary, to beg. And she would laugh in his face, witch that she was. He could not survive another encounter.

Look to the future
, he reminded himself for the thousandth time as he banished her face from his mind. His hopes were as dead as the Romans he studied. Nothing but pain would come of dwelling on them.

Focusing once more on the job at hand, he resumed sorting notes and papers. Those to be kept went into trunks that Simms would move to Somerset.

* * * *

A week later, Simms escorted Lord Linden into Tony’s denuded study.

“Did you change your mind about joining me?” he asked, pouring wine.

“No. I accepted an appointment as governor of Elboa.”

He nearly choked. “What and where is Elboa?”

“An island in the Caribbean. The previous governor died last month, so the government is pleased that I can sail immediately.”

“How does Mother feel about leaving the country?” His head was spinning at the unexpectedness. His father had never hinted at an interest in government service, nor had he mentioned the sort of connections that could obtain a post so quickly.

“Pleased. The winters have bothered her in recent years. She looks forward to the warmth.” He hesitated before pulling out a letter. “Jonathan asked me to deliver this. He is concerned about you.”

“He needn’t be.” He set the missive aside, fighting temper at Jon’s continued meddling. “He has fallen into the euphoria that too many newly betrothed men experience. Having settled his own future, he wants his friends to join him. But he does not realize that some alliances are impossible.”

“Don’t—” Linden started to speak, but changed his mind. “I am not qualified to question your decisions, Tony. Or even to offer advice. But I hope that you are not suffering the same blindness that afflicted me for so many years. The Linden temper takes many forms, but it will destroy your life only if you allow it to.” He set his glass on the desk. “We sail tomorrow. Will you dine with us this evening?”

“I would be delighted. And I am equally delighted that you arrived today. I signed the purchase papers for Nolton Grange yesterday. Tomorrow, I will be leaving London.”

“Excellent. We will expect you at the Pulteney at seven.”

Tony passed a pleasant evening with his parents. Bidding them farewell was surprisingly difficult. He was only beginning to know his father, but that process would now be postponed for several years. Yet it could not be helped. The appointment offered Linden a new life, restoring his self-respect. If he remained there long enough, he might even rebuild his fortune.

Once they sailed, Tony directed his carriage north, hoping that frost and snow might freeze his heart enough that he could survive. Simms would move his belongings to Nolton, then await further instructions. Jon’s unopened letter went with him.