Jo Beverley - [Malloren 03] (27 page)

“And Fort’s part in it? Does the king understand that?”

Rothgar’s eyes were all too understanding. “I think so. When I left, George was annoyed with Grenville for keeping him in the dark, and becoming a little suspicious of Bute. Not of his loyalty, but of his wisdom and judgment. That is as well.”

Elf frowned at her brother. “You don’t have political ambitions, do you?”

“Why the horror? Is it not the pathway paved with gold? But no,” he said with a smile, “I have not. I have enough to do managing my tumultuous family. But I will not stand by and watch my country in the hands of fools. George is sound enough, but not under Bute’s guidance. I suspect Grenville will take his place, and I reserve judgment. Of course, if Cyn had followed the path I laid down for him, he might one day have led the country.”

“Heaven forbid!” declared Elf, knowing her brother was teasing, though that could well have been his plan once. She glanced at her other brother, the one chiefly responsible for the financial management of the family’s affairs. “Now Bryght, perhaps. He might enjoy being First Lord of the Treasury.”

“Oh no,” Bryght said raising a hand. “Government
finances are far too chaotic for me. I’d be in Bedlam in a month. Speaking of which, we wondered if you’d care to take some of the burden off me—”

“Speaking of Bedlam or business?” Rothgar queried.

Bryght gave him a look. “Business.” He turned back to Elf. “I admit to finding it hard to keep track of everything now that I want to spend more time down at Candleford. The silk trade, for example, could probably benefit from your expertise.”

After a second, Elf’s vision blurred, and a prickling ache all around her face warned of tears. Not only were her brothers not reproaching her for her wanton behavior, but they had detected part of the cause of her restlessness and were trying to help.

Bryght cleared his throat uneasily. “Of course, if it’s too much for you . . .”

Rothgar just watched her.

“You are the best brothers in the world.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and blew her nose. “I would love to try. But—”

“But?” asked Rothgar.

“What if I were to marry?”

The silence carried for a few heartbeats, but then he said, “Bryght has married. And though it has definitely affected the amount of time and attention he seems willing to apply to our aggrandizement, it has not proved ruinous yet.”

Elf hesitantly asked, “What if I married Fort?”

“Whomever you marry, we would ensure that your marriage contract safeguarded your property and economic freedom.”

Typically, her brother gave no indication of his true feelings on the matter. It was an unlikely prospect anyway, and a weakness in her to have mentioned it. It reminded her of other problems, however, ones that had made her seek this interview. “He threatened to make a scandal, Bey. To tell the world about us. He’s capable of it. Articles in the news sheets. Pictures in the print shops . . .”

Rothgar did not seem alarmed. “Words spoken
in extremis,
I think, but we have people in his house who will alert us to any such actions.”

“That doesn’t seem right.”

“But very practical. At the moment, of course, he is too ill to carry out any plan of revenge.”

That swung Elf back to her major concern and brought her to her feet. “Oh dear. I wish—”

“No,” said both brothers in unison.

“Elf,” said Bryght, “it really would not help his recovery for you to try to nurse him. Trust us.”

She glared at both of them. “Men are impossible!”

Rothgar said, “We are merely suggesting that you give him a few days to recover his strength before assaulting him again. It’s only fair play, my dear.”

“I have never
assaulted
him!” But there were mental as well as physical attacks, so perhaps her words weren’t true.

She sat down, settling her pale, flowery skirts. “Very well, I will take your advice. But as soon as the battle will be fair, I intend to discuss this all with him. I will not let him be foolish.”

Bryght looked skeptical, but just pushed a couple of ledgers over to the edge of the desk closest to her. “Let us distract you with silk. One of the main centers for silk weaving here is Spitalfields . . .”

Elf emerged from the office an hour later, head positively spinning with information and new ideas. From a life of fashion, and from experience running Rothgar’s houses, she already knew about types of silk, the durability of different weaves, and possible trends in taste.

Now she had some idea of the state of change in the fabric industry and the money to be won or lost on decisions made about it.

After running through the family’s existing involvement in the trade, she’d suggested that her role be expanded to include the management of other materials. Nowadays, there were so many cottons and cotton
blends, so many new methods of printing and pattern weaving, that the whole industry could change.

She was particularly intrigued by improved weaving techniques, even though Bryght knew very little about them. She’d never given much thought to how patterns were made in woven cloth, but she could see the advantage in investing in improvements if they were practicable. It was surely worthwhile to find ways to make pretty, sturdy cloth cheaply enough for everyone to afford.

Though tempted to go to her room and read the two books Bryght had given her, she knew that would only put off an encounter with an anxious twin. The footman in the hall told her Cyn and Chastity were now in the morning room, so she gave him the books and headed there.

She found them playing cards, but Cyn leaped to his feet as soon as she entered. “I was looking for you!”

I’m sure you were, she thought, and tried to distract him. “I was with Rothgar and Bryght. They’ve given me a job.”

“A job?”

“A part in the business.”

His frown eased into a smile. “And you’re glowing like a lamp. Poor Elf, has it been unbearably dull?”

Guilt. She could read it in his concerned eyes. “Not unbearable, no,” she said gently. “I think it’s just that a life of leisure palls eventually.”

“And leads into disaster.”

“I hope it won’t come to that.” Elf turned to Chastity. “Could I ask you, please, to visit Fort frequently and tell me how he goes on?”

Chastity rose, taking the hint. “Of course. In fact, I’ll go round now and fluff his pillows.” With a mischievous twinkle, she added, “I am so glad our sailing was delayed. I would have hated to have learned of all this months after it happened!”

She left, and Elf and Cyn looked at each other.

“I’m feeling guilty on a number of counts,” he said.

“I know you are. Please don’t.”

“But if I’d not left to suit myself, I’d have been here with you.”

“I doubt it. You’d have been tied to Bey’s plan, studying law and entering politics.”

“I’d have been close by,” he said impatiently.

“And miserable.”

“Instead, I left you miserable.”

Elf dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand. “Have I appeared cast down? It is only recently that I began to feel restless.”

He wasn’t convinced, and took a sharp-stepped walk around the room. “Very well, then, what about this? If I hadn’t so absolutely rejected Bey’s plans for me, he might have thought of giving you a role to play.”

Refusing to fidget with him, Elf sat down on a sofa. “That’s nonsense. I’m a woman, so he never thought of it. He thought I’d be like Hilda and settle early into marriage. I suspect it’s still a bit of a struggle for him, but I would never accuse any of my brothers of inflexibility of mind.”

Cyn came to a stop, facing her. “All right. What about Walgrave, then? His behavior to his sisters was
fueled
by inflexibility. Would you want to trust yourself to him?”

She gripped her hands together, knowing his feelings sprang more from Chastity’s sufferings than from any cause of her own. “Don’t hate him, Cyn. Please. And don’t try to kill him. Our case is really no worse than yours.”

“You forget. I saw the way he treated you at Sappho’s.”

“He was still shocked. And it all goes back to when he killed his father. That is not an easy thing to live with, especially when he wanted to do away with him. Cyn, his father was a monster. Far worse than we thought . . . That, of course, is just between us two.”

“Of course.” Cyn sat opposite her, somber now. “I do know something of the earl. Chastity’s told me. It’s hard to imagine what it must have been like to have such a
father. He was a tyrant to his daughters. I suppose he was as bad to his sons.”

“Worse. He used to whip him before the servants to break his pride . . .” She bit her lips to stop their quivering. “It must be hard to shake childhood terrors, even when grown.”

“True. And none of us thought about how killing his own father had to affect him. Even Chastity didn’t realize. Of course, she was distracted by the fact we were free to marry. We’ve been talking about it, this past day. There we were, practically dancing on the corpse and not giving a thought as to how Fort might feel. It was cruel, and damnably careless. But the damage is done. He hates all Mallorens, and always will.”

She feared Cyn might be right, but said, “Time might heal. We’ll never know if you kill him.”

“I gather I still need your permission.” He grimaced. “I do feel for the man but I couldn’t stand by and see him try to hurt you.”

“Then thank heavens you’ll be on the seas before he’s fit to fight. But I don’t think he’ll try to hit out at me once he cools down. I hurt him. He’d grown a shell to protect himself, and I chiseled at it until it cracked.”

“And now he’ll be growing it back, thicker than ever. People don’t change that much, Elf. Why the devil did you have to choose
him
to lose all sense with?” He was back to pacing the room.

“Is it surprising our tastes are the same?”

He swung to face her. “There’s no similarity between him and Chastity!”

“Come, come. There must be. Cyn, my body reacted to him before I found there was a man there I could like. Wasn’t it the same with you?”

He tried to object, but then shrugged. “Perhaps. Chastity certainly presented a formidable appearance when I first met her, and yet she fascinated me. She even tied me to a bed, which I gather mirrors your adventure.”

Elf didn’t like the fact that her brothers had been piecing together her story, and yet she supposed it was
natural. “There are many similarities. Chastity wore disguise, as I did. She didn’t want you to know she was the notorious Chastity Ware, for fear you’d recoil in disgust. I didn’t want Fort to know my identity for the same reason.”

“The difference being that Chastity was pure and honorable and could be proved to be so. You are still a Malloren and always will be. No matter what happened between you, Elf, he will reject you for that reason.”

“I suppose that’s the male code!”

“No, it’s the nature of the beast. In this case, the beast’s nature is as inflexible as his damned father’s.”

“No! No, you’re wrong about that. He’s trying to fill his father’s shoes, and he’s built a shell around his feelings.” She had to make him see, so she deliberately used an emotional weapon. “Beneath the shell is a person who can be kind, a person like Chastity who can laugh and give laughter if freed to do so.”

It registered. When Cyn had first met his wife, she’d been hard and brittle because of her father’s cruelty. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said gently, “but can he be that person with Elf Malloren?”

He meant to be kind, but it hurt like a blow. “I don’t know.”

“Will you promise me something?”

“If I can.”

“If he can’t find the whole person with you, if he can’t be joyous in season with Elf Malloren, don’t marry him out of pity.”

She laughed bitterly. “He’s not likely to ask me.”

“He might come to his senses and beg on his knees.”

The prospect both appealed and terrified. “Wouldn’t that show—”

“No. It would only show that he knows he’s wounded. Not that he’s healed.”

“Perhaps I could heal him . . .”

He shook his head. “Promise me, Elf. Promise or I’m not leaving these shores.”

She didn’t want to. She wanted to be free to marry
Fort on the most atrocious, demeaning terms if that was all she could have. But she steeled herself because she knew Cyn was right.

“I promise. It will hurt dreadfully, but I won’t marry Fort unless it can be with true love and joy. It’s mostly for his sake, though. He deserves to find someone with whom he can be joyous in season.”

Chastity entered Walgrave House with the usual shiver of distaste. It would always remind her of her hated father; of the scandal, the whippings, and the horrible feeling of having the hair shaved off her head. This time last year, it had reached halfway down her back in a thick mass of golden-brown curls. When she’d met Cyn, it had been little more than a stubble. Even now it only brushed her shoulders.

None of that disaster had really been Fort’s fault, though. He’d been with the group who had caught her with Vernham in her bed. Why should he or anyone suspect it to be a contrivance to force her into an unwanted marriage, a contrivance abetted by her own father? During her suffering, when her father used his rights as an outraged parent to try to break her spirit, she had never imagined that Fort would ride to her rescue.

They had all learned in the nursery never to cross the will of the mighty Incorruptible.

Fort felt guilty about it, though, and she didn’t know whether that was good or bad. It certainly complicated his attitude toward the Mallorens.

Mutual support lay at the root of the code that Rothgar had instilled into his half-siblings. Even Fort’s brief stay at Rothgar Abbey must have shown him that, making stark the contrast with the Ware family life.

All this lay in the past, though, and brooding over it could do no good. If only she could convince her brother of that.

At Fort’s bedroom door, she knocked and was admitted by his valet, the rather strange Dingwall. She had no idea why Fort kept him on. At least the man slithered away, leaving her alone with her bed-bound brother and another visitor.

“Jack Travers,” Fort said, quite strongly, though he still looked feverish. “Jack, do you know my sister Chastity? Lady Cynric Malloren.”

Chastity didn’t miss the momentary startled pause before Travers kissed her outstretched hand. Though an explanation had been spread through society, and the queen and king had received her at St. James a number of times, there were still some who remembered Chastity Ware as the most flaming scandal of the decade.

“Lady Raymore, actually,” she said with a grin. “The king gave Cyn a title for—” She bit her lip, remembering that the attempt on the king’s life was to be kept as secret as possible.

“Oh, don’t worry, chatterbox,” said Fort. “Jack already has a good part of the story. It’s whirling through town like wildfire. It won’t appear in the news sheets, of course, and will grow stranger with every telling. So, what’s this about a title?”

She ignored the bitter edge tingeing his voice, and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “The king gave Cyn a viscountcy for saving his life. I didn’t tell you earlier for fear of sending you into a relapse.”

He pulled a face at her words, but only said, “I might have known Rothgar would turn everything to his advantage.”

“Then he should have gained himself a dukedom, don’t you think? And he had nothing to do with it.”

“Rothgar?” Fort laughed sharply. “He never does an unpremeditated act. He sent Cyn on that mission. He could have released me, and sent me.”

“Heavens above! Never say you pine for a dukedom!”

He flushed. “Of course I don’t. I’m merely pointing out that everyone knows what happens to people who bring the monarch good news.”

“I would hardly call news that he was standing by a lethal object
good
. And isn’t there also a saying about bearers of
bad
news?”

Fort leaned back into his pillows. “We’re squabbling, sister dear. Very bad form before a guest.”

Travers bowed. “In fact, I must leave, Fort, so you can squabble in peace. Know how it is. I have sisters, too. My lady.”

With that, he left the room.

Chastity didn’t mention Travers’s obvious uneasiness in her presence, but Fort said, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t start that again,” she said briskly, taking a chair by his bed. “None of what happened was your fault, and if you’d tried to interfere, Father would have destroyed you. After all, you weren’t his only hope of dynastic succession. There’s Victor.”

“I should have done something.”

“What? And looking back, I’m not sure I would want any of it changed. If Vernham hadn’t slipped into my bed, I would never have met Cyn.”

“The fount of all blessings.”

Chastity stared at her tight-jawed brother. “You can’t be jealous of Cyn!”

“Jealous? That would suggest tastes both illegal and immoral. But I wish
I
had rescued and supported you.”

Chastity took his hand, wishing she knew a way to straighten all this out. In the end, it seemed, Fort was the only one left suffering. “Once you realized the truth, you did help me.”

“As I remember, I tried to throttle you when I found you were Malloren’s lover.”

“An understandable reaction to shock. Now, how are you feeling?”

He accepted the change of subject. “Better than yesterday. Which isn’t saying much. My leg feels twice its size, and under that damned cage, I can’t see a thing.” A huge wicker cage covered his lower body, keeping the bed covers off the wound.

“The doctor says it’s healing properly.”

“Damn sawbones.” He looked up at her. “Chas, can I ask you to look at the wound? I know it’s unpleasant . . .”

She could have cried with joy to be asked. They’d not been close before the scandal, and ever since, her place in the Malloren family had been a barrier.

“Don’t be silly.” She was already rising and stripping off her gloves. “Of course I will. Do you think it infected?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t trust them all. They never stop smiling. They say if I move too much I could start the bleeding again, but perhaps they just don’t want me to know—”

She gripped his shoulder. “I’ll look, and I’ll tell you the truth.”

She peeled the blankets off the cage, pushing him back down on his pillows when he tried to rise to see. “Trust me. I am your eyes.” Then she lifted the wicker cage from his heavily bandaged leg. “I’m not sure if I should disturb all these dressings, though.”

“Do it. We can always get someone back to dress it again.”

“Are you sure? I can tell there’s no sign of infection in the uncovered part of the leg.”

“Don’t bother then . . .”

But she could tell he was just trying to let her escape a task she didn’t want. He must be fretting himself to death.

“It’s no bother. I’ll have to move your leg a bit to unbandage it, though.”

“Just do it.” He had flung an arm over his eyes.

Resolving to stop at any sign of bleeding, she gently raised his leg and began to unwind the bandages. “It might be stuck. I’m not going to rip it off. Am I hurting you?”

“No.”

She suspected he was lying, but his need to know the truth seemed greater than any pain. She prayed silently that he was wrong, and that the wound was healing. What if he had to lose the leg?

The bandages were not stuck, and easily came off a final pad of cloth. “I don’t suppose these are the original dressings anyway.”

“Bryght Malloren bandaged me on the wharf. The doctors ripped those off.”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch, indeed. They were in a hurry to extract the ball. It was deep, they said, and came damned close to the bone. They’ve been under there twice since. So, how does it look?”

She carefully raised the pad to expose a jagged, stitched wound.

“You’ll have an interesting scar,” she said, but smiled at him. “Still red and puffy, but I see no sign of trouble.”

He leaned up. “Get a mirror and show me.”

Chastity straightened and looked at him. “Why do I feel you are not the ideal patient?” But she heaved an oval, gilt-edged mirror off the wall and held it so he could inspect his leg.

After a moment, his expression lightened. “It doesn’t look too bad, does it? It feels worse. As if it’s swollen to twice its size and oozing pus.” He smiled for her, almost the lighthearted open smile she remembered from before disaster. “Thank you.”

Chastity replaced the mirror, taking the chance to steady her lips. Fort deserved happiness, and she thought perhaps it lay within his grasp with Elf, and yet she knew the barriers between them might be too strong to be breached.

Steady smile in place, she returned to replace the bandages. “Do they think you will limp?”

“They say not, but I don’t trust their unctuous reassurances. I’ll be grateful, I suppose, to be alive and mobile. Perhaps I’ll even be grateful not to be a suitable candidate for a duel.”

Chastity was straightening the covers over the cage. “I would be very cross if you fought Cyn, you know.”

“Have done. A sickbed gives plenty of time to think and I’ve been thinking. If the whole mess was anyone’s
fault, it was Father’s, and he’s beyond reach. I’m through with Mallorens. Instead, I’m going to use my energies and powers to put right what Father put wrong.”

Chastity listened approvingly to plans to improve conditions on the earldom’s land, and to support worthy causes in parliament. All the time, however, her heart ached for Elf, who was surely included in that wholesale rejection of Mallorens. It ached for Fort, too, who might never know the kind of love she had found.

If she could see any point, she might even try to delay their departure from England to help sort out the tangle, but she had little hope.

They moved on to chat of general subjects, but she noticed that he never mentioned Elf or showed any curiosity about her safety.

Perhaps he’d received a report.

Perhaps he really didn’t care.

Dingwall returned, a doctor in tow. A smiling, bowing sawbones whom she would suspect if she were the patient. But Fort’s treatment had clearly been effective, so she made no objection. She rose and took her brother’s hand to say good-bye.

It wasn’t until she opened the door that he broke.

“Lady Elfled,” he said, “I assume she is well?”

“Oh, perfectly,” said Chastity, and left with a grain of hope in her heart.

Elf welcomed the excellent report of Fort’s progress, though she’d have preferred a message asking her to call. She knew just how likely
that
was. To preserve her sanity, she set about other business, the first being to call on Amanda and explain everything.

Her friend listened, mouth loose with shock. “Lud, Elf. Such things could only happen to you!”

“They happened to him, too,” Elf pointed out, helping herself to more tea.

“You know what I mean. You are every bit as rash as you were as a child, and every bit as fortunate to escape with your life!”

Elf sighed. “I don’t feel fortunate.” She stirred a lump of sugar into her cup. “Except in my family, of course.”

Amanda actually paled. “You mean they know?
All?”

“Of course.” Elf shrugged. “The foolish man insisted on making it clear to Cyn and Rothgar’s face.”

“Perish me! And . . . ?”

“And, what?” asked Elf in spurious innocence.

“And what happened?”

“They’ve given me a job.”

“No! Don’t tell me Rothgar’s set you to scrubbing in the kitchen.”

Elf burst out laughing. “Amanda! Of course not. I’m in charge of part of the family affairs. Would you care to come with me to inspect silk warehouses?”

“Silk. How delightful!” Amanda leaped to her feet but paused. “You mean that’s all that happened? You plunge into mad adventure, end up in danger and scandal, and you’re put in charge of buying the family’s silk?”

“That’s all.” Elf didn’t bother to try to explain the extent of the Malloren enterprises.

“Well, I think it abysmally unfair! I, quite the innocent party, received a stern lecture on folly.”

“I’m sorry for embroiling you, then.”

“Oh, don’t be.” Amanda broke into a smile. “Looked back on, we had quite a splendid adventure, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” said Elf with a sigh. “We most certainly did.”

Some hours later, after a tour of London’s principal silk warehouses, Elf returned Amanda to her house and ordered her carriage to continue to Sappho’s house.

She made a more decorous entrance this time. Her footman knocked at the front door, and being informed that the mistress of the house would receive Lady Elfled, came back to hand her out.

A maid led her upstairs, but not to the drawing room. Elf was taken to a disorderly study strewn with books and papers and flooded with the light of three long windows.

Sappho, in a loose gown, her hair in a long braid,
came over to take Elf’s hands. “My dear! You look much improved.”

Elf smiled, surprised at the burst of affection she felt for this strange woman. “I doubt that was hard to achieve. I was a veritable wreck when I invaded here last.”

Sappho drew her to a chaise, pushing off a drift of scribbled papers to make room. “I’m so pleased you felt able to come to me.”

“I might not have even dreamed of it if Amanda hadn’t said I was with you.”

“But still, you felt able to come. And Lord Walgrave? How is he? I hear he was wounded.”

Elf caught the question in the statement. “Lud,
I
didn’t shoot him!” She gave a simple version of the Scots plot and its ending.

“Well,” said Sappho, leaning back in the chaise, “I think I am quite cross with you both. No one thought to invite me on this adventure. I’d have liked to have been on that barge in the river.”

Elf chuckled. “It never occurred to me that you would wish it. I apologize.”

Sappho waved an elegant hand, heavy with unusual rings. Elf wondered for a moment whether she could take to wearing loose clothes in rich oriental fabrics and heavy rings in fantastic shapes.

“I don’t think so,” said Sappho gently, as if she could read her mind.

Elf knew she was blushing. “I suppose not. I have neither the height nor the looks for it. I do wish, though, that I had a style of my own.” She spread her pale green skirts with dissatisfied fingers. “Whenever I choose clothes to suit my own taste everyone swoons with horror, so I end up wearing things like this.”

Sappho tilted her head, studying her. “Very often, you know, we think an outward change will bring about an inner change that we desire.”

“You mean—?” Elf stared at her. “Are you
suggesting that my taste for bright materials is because I want my life to be brighter? That seems . . .”