In the Shadow of Arabella (32 page)

Katherine, who had stood her ground, stifled another exclamation, covering her mouth with her hands.

“I have loved you, trusted you, all our lives,’’ Rudley spit at him. “Tell me what I have done to deserve such treachery from you.”

Glancing past his brother’s shoulder at Katherine’s horrified face, Oliver came close to guessing what must have happened. “I daresay I should have foreseen this,” he said. “It was inevitable that you would eventually tell Katherine that Pamela was not yours. It was not to be expected the likeness would escape her, although it certainly eluded
you
long enough.” This speech was not calculated to be conciliatory, and Rudley once more clenched his fists. “Really, Ned, it will not be necessary for you to hit me again. You have made your feelings quite plain.”

“Get out of this house! You are no longer welcome here, nor on any other piece of property that belongs to me.’’

“That also is plain.” Oliver stepped past Rudley and walked without haste to the door. “Good-bye, Katherine.” As he passed her, she grasped his arm and held it.

“Oliver, please,” she pleaded.

He carefully pried her fingers loose and moved her gently aside. “Let it go, Katherine. It’s best this way.” He stayed only long enough to say good-bye to the children. Then he ordered his black brought around—the only horse in the stables that belonged to him—and within twenty minutes was gone.

In the estate office Rudley and Katherine had remained standing, she by the open door, he still with his back to her, beside the desk. She had disobeyed him by remaining in the room; now she was afraid to speak.

She was bewildered by what had occurred and two things only were clear to her. Firstly, that Oliver had admitted to being Pamela’s father, and secondly, that her carelessly uttered words had been responsible for the bitter confrontation she had witnessed. Never in her life had she seen one man strike another in anger, and never had she thought to see Ned display such impassioned, naked, violent emotion.

Suddenly he turned. He was pale but in command of himself again. Walking to the door, he paused beside her. “I am sorry you had to see that, but I did not invite you to follow me.”

As he started to walk away, she found her voice. “Ned, whatever Oliver—”

He cut her short. “I cannot discuss this with you, Katherine.” He abruptly crossed the hall and disappeared into the library. Clearly he wished to be alone, and she knew if she tried to join him she would only be rebuffed. She considered going in search of Oliver but decided against it for the same reasons.

Rudley did not put in an appearance at dinner that night, but the next day he went about all his normal activities. He spoke seldom and seemed preoccupied when spoken to.

Katherine heard him tell Kendall to cancel any plans that had been made for the dower house since Oliver would not be using it after all. He said nothing, however, about Nicholas and Pamela, and she was relieved that he would not allow his anger to extend to Oliver’s children. She wished he would confide in her, hoping she would be able to help mend the rift between the brothers, a rift she felt partially responsible for.

Three days passed, then four, and still Rudley kept his own counsel. After five days Katherine took matters into her own hands. She retired early after dinner, bathed, and donned her night attire. She then proceeded to her husband’s room and settled comfortably into one of the large upholstered armchairs before the fire, determined to stay until he came to bed. Inevitably she fell asleep, but woke when he opened the door. He was about to ring for his valet when she forestalled him.

“You need not ring for Wiggin. Let me help you.” He looked around in surprise, for he had not expected to see her there. Even though they had made their peace in the rose arbor several days earlier, they had continued to retire to separate rooms each evening. He waited as she crossed the room to him, her nightgown and wrapper of palest yellow silently brushing the floor. Her attire was nothing short of provocative, but he doubted she realized how tempting she appeared.

“If you have come to seduce me, Katherine, you must know you are not sufficiently recovered to indulge in such a pastime.”

“I have not come to seduce you—only to act as your valet.’’ She began deftly to untie his neckcloth, and he stood impassively, gazing down at her in amusement. He had forgotten how much it soothed him to have her close. She helped him out of his tight-fitting coat. When she pulled the shirt from his breeches, she could not resist the impulse to run her hands underneath it, up the smooth, hard plane of his chest. She felt the sharp intake of his breath as his languor deserted him. No longer able to resist her, he took her face between his hands and kissed her long and hungrily.

“Katherine,” he murmured against her lips, “you are beginning something I am not permitted to finish.”

“I have missed being close,” she said. “These last few days you have been pushing me away. We agreed to share everything.” Safe in his arms, she found the courage to introduce the subject she knew was tormenting him. “Please talk to me about Oliver. Tell me what you feel.”

He answered without hesitation. “I feel betrayed and deceived. Duped by my own brother, who until a week ago I would have sworn would never lie to me.”

“Did he actually lie to you?”

“Don’t quibble, Katherine. For ten years he kept the truth from me. It is the same as a lie, make no mistake. At the time I asked Arabella to marry me, she had already been intimate with my brother.”

“And what would you have had him do?” she asked sensibly.

“Warn me. Tell me what she was.”

“You were both so young. I doubt very much if he realized then what she was capable of. But if he had, and had told you, would you have believed him?”

He considered the question, remembering how all-consuming his passion for Arabella had been. “No, probably not. I would have been much more likely to call him out for impugning her character.”

“Then you have your answer. He did not tell you because he knew you would not believe him.”

“At best, that is a weak assumption on your part, Katherine, but I can see you are prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“And so should you be,” she insisted.

“No. I cannot agree with you. Whatever his motives for keeping their relationship a secret, he could have no excuse for remaining silent after Arabella and I were estranged. He was in my confidence; he knew how infuriated I was that Arabella would never tell me who the father was. She probably planned to use the information against Oliver someday, but she did not live long enough.”

“You have now answered the question of why he did not speak after the estrangement.”

“Because he feared me, you mean?”

“He apparently had good cause, considering your behavior in the estate office the other day.”

He frowned. “I am afraid I must disagree with you again. I saw him display no fear of me then—only defiance. But since you have set yourself up as Oliver’s champion, perhaps you would like to explain why he has kept silent all these years since Arabella’s death?”

Katherine had wondered this herself, but she said only, “I don’t know, but don’t you think the best way to discover that would be to ask him yourself?”

“This entire conversation has consisted of the wildest conjecture. If Oliver has not had the decency to explain himself in eleven years, I see no reason why he should trouble to do so now, simply because I have discovered his perfidy. I will not ask for any explanation from him, for anything he could say comes much too late in the day to have any value or meaning for me.”

Rudley went into his dressing room to finish changing and Katherine settled herself comfortably in her husband’s bed. She could see that trying to reason with him would not serve, for he was being ruled by his emotions. A rational discussion, no matter how calmly approached, would have no power to sway him. She wondered if there would ever be an end to the erosion of faith and the destruction of peace that Arabella was perpetrating, even from beyond the grave.

It was the same old wound, ready to open and bleed again at the slightest provocation. Katherine had unwittingly opened it, and now she could only let time once more do the healing. Rudley had forgiven her, and she was convinced that he would forgive Oliver, too, when the pain died to a dull ache and the reasonable mind of a fair man came once again into its own.

Katherine realized that her husband, like most people, would continue to seek love in his life, even when time and again he had been betrayed and humiliated in the name of it. It seemed to be the nature of love to be a double-edged sword. If it was incapable of hurt, then it would bring no joy. If it could not die, then it would find no victory in survival. If there was no price to pay, then the attainment would hold no allure.

Whatever Oliver’s reasons for keeping his terrible secret, Katherine had no doubt that the primary motivation overriding them all was his love for his brother. And another thing she realized, which her husband did not see, was that Oliver, too, must have suffered. If he and Arabella had been lovers, perhaps he had cared deeply for her. How had he felt when she turned away from him—in favor of his own brother?

And then there was Pamela. How hard it must have been for Oliver all these years to accept the title of uncle when it was a father’s love he bore her. It was so easy now to see why there was such rapport between Pamela and Oliver—such distance between Pamela and Rudley. And in the middle, poor Pamela, wanting only to be loved and belong, never realizing how her mother had used her as a pawn in a vicious game.

Now Katherine herself was in the middle and found she did not mind being there. She would stay close to Ned, and she would try to communicate with Oliver, if he would allow it. Then, perhaps, when the time was right, she would be the bridge over which the bonds of reconciliation could pass.

When Rudley returned, he extinguished the candles and joined her under the quilts. She nestled like a contented cat against him, her head on his chest, his chin in her hair. The leaping flames of the fire cast eerie shadows across the walls and furnishings.

Rudley let his fingers play up and down the softness of her arm, feeling the warmth of her skin penetrating the thin material. His fingers encountered a stray curl and he absent-mindedly twisted it around his finger, then loosed it again. All those weeks he had been separated from Katherine, this, he thought, was what he had missed most. Her physical nearness. Not possessing her physically, but simply having her there, close to him, touching him.

He bent his head and kissed the soft chestnut curls that tickled his face. During all the months he had been away from her, first in Yorkshire and then London, he had never been tempted to find solace with another woman. And it was not only his marriage vows that deterred him. He had found such completeness in Katherine’s arms that the memory of those days and nights with her had destroyed his desire for any other woman and had made the pain of the separation just that much harder to bear.

Looking down at her now, he could see only the outline of her face in the dimming firelight, but he knew she was sleeping. He pulled the quilt up closely about her shoulders, and closing his eyes, he, too, was soon asleep. His sleep was sound and dreamless when she slept at his side.

Immediately upon his return to London Oliver removed his possessions from Rudley House and took rooms in St. James’s Street. Having settled himself there, he hired a chaise and posted to Lincolnshire. He arrived at Harrington Manor to find that Charity and her mother were away from home. Lord Harrington, however, welcomed his guest warmly. “It is good to see you, but we did not expect you back so soon.”

“There is something I must discuss with your daughter, my lord, and it could not wait.’’ That he was impatient to see his betrothed was evident, for he seemed disinclined toward conversation and paced back and forth across the drawing-room carpet, nervous as a cat.

When the women returned, he wasted no time in taking Charity off alone. “You will be happy to know that Rudley and Katherine seem to be overcoming their differences. However, I am afraid we now have a new problem. Rudley and I have had a set-to. Or perhaps a falling-out would be more accurate.”

“You and your brother? How is this possible? You never quarrel.”

“We did not quarrel precisely, but he did throw me out of his house and made it quite clear that I was not welcome back.”

Her amazement showed plainly on her face. “But, Oliver, why?”

“He had good reason, believe me. Come and sit down, Charity. There is something I must tell you. I wanted to tell you long before this, but I was not the only person involved; there were also Ned and Pamela to consider.’’

“Pamela?” She was now totally mystified.

He continued as if she had not spoken. “I pray you will understand. Ned does not, and I cannot blame him. I see now that I have been very unfair to him in keeping my secret so long.”

“Oliver,” Charity complained, “I must beg you to make yourself clearer, for I do not in the least comprehend what you are trying to say.”

“There is not an easy way to say this, Charity. Pamela is not Rudley’s child. She is mine.”

“
Yours
?” Her voice was incredulous. “But I understood she was born to your brother and his wife during their marriage.”

“She was, but she was conceived by Arabella and me several months before their marriage took place.”

“What exactly are you saying, Oliver?” Her voice was barely above a whisper and her countenance had grown quite pale.

“Arabella and I were lovers. She had agreed to marry me, but when she met Rudley she changed her mind and married him instead.” Charity was shocked by the bitterness in his voice as he recalled how the woman he had loved had jilted him. “I had only just turned twenty, Charity. It was all such a long time ago, but I have never been able to put it behind me, for Pamela is a living reminder. All these years Ned has known Pamela is not his, but he never knew who her real father was.”