The Tutor (House of Lords) (19 page)

TWENTY-ONE

January 18, 1834

Cynthia awoke on her wedding day to clear blue skies and an unfamiliar room. It took her a moment to remember that she was in the Earl of Sheridan’s mansion, that he was her father, and that today he would be giving her away at her wedding. She rolled over onto her back and stared up at the coffered ceiling while she pondered all those things.

Even now, Endersby was preparing to return to London. She had not had a single word from him during his absence, which was scarcely odd. When he had gone to Berlin for a month he had not written once, either. Apparently he had great faith in his control over her. She felt a smile twitching the corner of her mouth when she thought of how surprised he would be upon his return. She almost wished she could be there to see his face.

Ellen came in just as she was imagining the exact shade of purple Endersby’s face would turn when he realized she was gone. “Good morning, Miss,” she said brightly, setting the tray down on the massive bed. “It’s nearly eight already.”

Cynthia sat up and drank her coffee, watching as Ellen brought out the gown she had chosen, a dark blue morning dress with lace sleeves and skirts split up the sides to reveal a cream undergown. She had chosen it because her father had had no part in its creation. Cynthia had admired the design at the modiste, but her father had said he did not approve of the style. When she had returned for a second fitting, however, the modiste had brought out the gown and fitted it to her. Cynthia had proudly purchased it herself, not realizing that everything she wore had been bought with her own money.

Ellen had a hot bath ready, and Cynthia soaked for as long as she dared. As she sat before the fire to dry her hair, Ellen bustled back into the room carrying a large box. “This was just delivered, Miss,” she said. Cynthia took the box onto her lap and opened it. Inside was a stunning pearl necklace made of three perfectly matched rows. A little card was tucked into the velvet lining.

For my philosopher queen
, it read.

Ellen took a great deal of time dressing her hair and making sure the gown fit perfectly. Just as she was securing the pearls around Cynthia’s neck there was a knock at the door. Sherry came in, holding a small paper box in his hands.

“You look like your grandmother,” he said. “How odd that I didn’t notice it before. There is a very fine portrait of her in the gallery at Heatherly Park that I will show you someday, with the light coming in over her shoulders just like that. You make a very pretty bride, my dear.”

He opened the box and held it out, revealing a corsage of gardenias for her hair. Ellen pinned them in carefully. When she had finished, Sherry said, “I am not sure I will be able to give you away after all, my dear child. I wish I could keep you just a little longer.”

Cynthia took his hand. “You will always have me. I am so grateful that we found each other.”

He nodded, tears sparkling in his eyes. “We must be going now,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to be late for your own wedding!”

Ellen kissed her cheek before she went, and then Sherry took her arm and led her down the stairs and out to the waiting carriage.

The furniture had been moved out of the drawing room to make way for enough chairs to seat the small group of people who had been invited to the wedding. Lord and Lady Stowe sat to one side, leaving an empty seat for the Earl of Sheridan. Leo’s sisters and mother sat on the other side with the Bainbridge family. Charles’s mother had appeared that morning in a second mourning costume of dark gray wool, though she still wore her black lace gloves. “Your father would not want us to mourn today,” she said as she kissed him.

Charles stood before the fireplace with Leo and Mr. Dean, the rector. From his vantage point he could see the clock on the mantle clearly. It was four minutes past eleven. Cynthia was late.

Just as Leo loosed a soft sigh of impatience, the doors swung open. Everyone stood as Cynthia came in on Lord Sheridan’s arm. Charles nearly toppled over at the sight of her.

“Grab my arm if you need to,” Leo hissed in his ear. Charles barely heard him.

The ceremony proceeded without any trouble at all, though if anyone had asked him Charles would not have been able to repeat a word that was said. All he could think about was how perfect Cynthia looked in those pearls.

Then the rector said, “Man and wife.”

There were cheers all around, and Charles pressed a chaste kiss to Cynthia’s lips, and they went out to their wedding breakfast.

They were married.

Cynthia sat beside Charles at the table and watched their guests enjoying the wedding breakfast. She was so overwhelmed by the strangeness of the moment that she had not quite been able to force herself to eat anything.

Wasn’t it she who had sworn not so long ago that she would never marry? And here she was, not only happily wed, but to a duke of all people. She was a duchess.

Beside her, Clarissa smiled. “Who could have imagined things would end in such a happy way?” she asked.

“Not I,” Cynthia had confessed. A year ago—two weeks ago—she had foreseen a life very much like the one she had lived for the last twenty-four years: solitary and gray. So much had changed in such a short period of time that she had trouble believing she was still the same person.

Sherry rose, glass in hand. “I’d like to say a few words on this happy occasion,” he said, his eyes sparkling. But just as he opened his mouth to begin his toast, there was a loud crash out it the hall, followed by a tinkling of broken glass skittering across marble. Charles rose from his seat, glancing quickly at her. No words were needed to understand that they both thought the same thing.

Endersby had arrived.

Charles tossed his napkin onto the table and headed for the door, followed by Leo. Cynthia got up as well and made to follow them. Charles turned to her, and for a moment she thought he would tell her to stay where she was, but then he appeared to think the better of it.

Out in the hall, Partridge appeared to have the situation well in hand. The table that had once stood in the center of the foyer had been tipped over, the vase it had supported now scattered across the floor in pieces, the flowers lying in a spreading puddle of water. But Roger Endersby lay only a few feet away, one arm being held behind his back by Partridge, who was pinning him to the floor with a bony knee. “I have him, Your Grace,” Partridge said in his calm baritone, sounding as though he had trapped an unpleasant rodent rather than a fully-grown man.

“Thank you, Partridge, I see that,” Charles drawled, grinning down at Endersby, whose face had turned the precise shade of purple Cynthia had been imagining earlier that day. He was still wearing the tweed suit he preferred for travel, and among the pieces of paper sticking out of the pocket Cynthia saw her note.

Charles crouched down and looked Endersby in the eye. “Good evening,” he said, sounding perfectly serious. “As you have no doubt discovered, Partridge had a few less savory professions where he picked up some useful skills before he became my family’s butler. If you wish, we can have our discussion here while he continues to restrain you, but perhaps we should go up to the study where we can be more comfortable?”

Endersby nodded.

“Very good. Partridge?”

The butler released Endersby, who got up rather slowly, wincing a little. As he rose, Sherry popped his head out of the dining room. “Everything all right?” he asked. “Anything I can do?”

“Would you accompany us upstairs?” Charles asked.

Sherry nodded.

Leo said, “I’ll go back in.”

Charles, Cynthia, Sherry and Partridge all escorted Endersby up to the library. Partridge guided the still red-faced man to a chair while Charles perched on the edge of the desk, Cynthia beside him and Sherry standing at a safe distance.

“Very well,” Charles said after a pause, “what’s this all about?”

Endersby pointed one thick finger at Cynthia, “This girl,” he growled, “did not have my permission to marry.”

“She did not need it,” said Sherry. “I am her father. I gave my permission.”

Endersby glared at him. “You are not legally her father. I adopted her.”

“You paid for her,” Charles said. “There is a significant difference.”

“She is my daughter!”

“No, I am not,” Cynthia said. “You may have paid to take me from my mother, but you are not my father.”

“In the eyes of the law, I am. Now, let me tell you what I propose.”

Charles folded his arms across his chest and said nothing. Cynthia studied Endersby. Did he really think he was in any position to bargain? But the others appeared willing to humor him, so she stayed silent.

“The girl has no need of money. She is married to a duke. You will settle the eighty thousand pounds meant for her dowry upon me instead,” he said, looking at Sherry, “and provide me with an additional thousand pounds per annum. You will also consult and heed my counsel in all matters pertaining to your duties in the Lords,” he added, turning back to Charles. “If you do not do these things, I will publish all the papers I have been writing about the experiment with her name included in them.”

Cynthia stared at him. All the pretense, all the bluster about the great cause and the grand exercise in freedom were gone, and in their place remained only pure, naked hatred, avarice and greed. How could he threaten such things? Did he truly have no feeling for her at all? Was he mad? He certainly looked it, hunched over in his chair as though all the terrifying power he had once held was gone.

Sherry chuckled. “An interesting proposal, sir. Forgive me, I don’t think we’ve been introduced, and since I have no desire for an acquaintance with you I suppose we never will be. Now, let me tell you what I propose. You will leave this place tonight, without delay, and never come back. You will never speak to my daughter or her husband or any of their friends and relations again. You will turn all your notes regarding this...experiment...as you call it over to me so that they can be destroyed. You may keep the money you have already taken, but you will not receive another penny, and if you do not do all these things, I will personally see to it that you are prosecuted for baby farming, theft, and blackmail. Now, might I suggest that you leave this place without delay?”

Endersby looked from Sherry to Charles and back, and then leveled a sinister glare at Cynthia. “I raised you,” he sneered. “I cared for you, and I made you what you are. Do you not owe me even the slightest bit of gratitude? I this the thanks I get for all my work and time?”

Cynthia took a step towards him. She felt the tension radiating off Charles, but she ignored it. “I will gladly thank you,” she said, “if you will do one small thing: say my name.”

“What?”

Another step. “You heard me,” she said. “Never once, in my whole life, have you called me by my name. Say it now and I will forgive you all the wrong you have done, all the cruelty you have shown me.”

He glowered up at her. “You have no name,” he said. “You are no one. You only exist as my creation.
Mine
.”

She took another step, raised her hand, and slapped him hard across his wide, red face. “I belong to nobody but myself,” she hissed, pointing to the door. “Get out. I never wish to see or think of you again.”

Partridge, who had been standing behind Endersby, reached down now and gripped his arm, hauling him to his feet with a strength that belied his slim frame. “Come along, sir,” the butler said, dragging his reluctant charge towards the door. Endersby went without much protest, but he did not take his eyes from Cynthia until the door had closed behind him.

Cynthia turned back to Charles, and almost at once his arms were around her. “I’m so proud of you,” he said, his lips pressing against her hair. “My fearless wife.”

Behind him, Sherry was still staring at the door. “So that was Roger Endersby,” he said. “What an unsavory character. Is the man mad?”

Cynthia turned her gaze on the door as well, her hand finding Charles’s. “I don’t think so,” she said. “But he has never been exactly sane, either. My whole life he used me as a doll, to be manipulated and paraded in front of other people but never given credit for its own thoughts and feelings. I’m not sure he has ever seen another person as his equal, or even as a human being at all. There is something not right in his mind, and I think it torments him without his even knowing it. Perhaps it is some sort of disease, some illness of the mind for which we have no name. But it doesn’t matter now. He will not be back. I have proved myself unpredictable and ungovernable, and he hates that above all things. He wouldn’t know what to do if he did return.”

Sherry came and kissed her cheek. “I’m only glad you’re safe and well, my dear, and grateful to be able to share this day with you. Now, shall we go back down to your guests?”

Charles squeezed her hand. “I think we’ve had enough for one night, My Lord,” he said. “My wife needs her rest.”

Sherry’s grin widened and he patted Charles on the shoulder. “Of course, my boy,” he said. “I’ll tell them all you’ve retired for the evening. Best to get an early start on those grandchildren, eh?”

Without giving either of them an opportunity to respond, he turned and marched out of the room, whistling softly to himself as he went. Cynthia felt her face flushing, and when the door closed she burst into a fit of giggles.

“Well?” Charles asked when she had got control of herself again. “Shall we do as he suggests?”

Cynthia smiled. “It’s the least we can do, I suppose.”

Without another word, Charles scooped her up and carried her down the hall to the ducal bedchamber. As the doors closed behind them she began untying his cravat, and soon he was standing before her in nothing but his trousers. He turned her so that he could undo the laces of her gown, his lips tracing a path down the back of her neck and along her shoulder. When he had loosened the bodice he pulled the straps of her chemise away and reached around to cup her breasts, kneading them gently. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and closed her eyes as one hand slipped lower, beneath her gown and into the sensitive place between her legs. One finger slipped inside her, and she felt her knees begin to tremble as she pulled the beautiful gown down over her hips and let it and her chemise and petticoats fall to the floor.