A Promise of Tomorrow (8 page)

“Thank you,”Andrew continued with a relieved sigh, seemingly unaware of the violence of his uncle’s reaction. “Well, he looked so mortified, I thought perhaps we should excuse ourselves and leave him his dignity, but Anna wouldn’t hear of it.” He smiled ruefully. “I don’t believe Anna truly understood what had happened. But he was so pale and obviously unwell that she wouldn’t hear of leaving him alone.”

When Andrew fell silent again, James took a moment to look away and compose himself. He had never in his life felt this level of protectiveness for anyone outside of his own family, and it confused and frightened him.

“So the three of you came up with a grand scheme to help him and offyouwent?”James finished for him, swallowinghis discomfort.

“Almost,” Andrew admitted. “Boodle’s was my idea. Anna didn’t think it was a good one, but he needed money, and he didn’t want anyone else to know what had happened. He told us his father had disowned him because of Weir, and he had no other friends or family in town. There’s an aunt at Bury St. Edmunds that he hoped might aid himifhe could get enough to pay for the journey. It seemed like anexcellent planat the time,”he finished defensively.

“One would have thought, with nineteen years of experience and a first-rate education, that you would have learned to never underestimate your mother’s nose for mischief,” James commented sardonically.

Andrew chuckled. “I suppose you’re right, Uncle. If I ever get too high in the instep, all it takes is one word from Mother and I’m back in a skeleton suit with dirt on my nose.” He laughed again, seemingto relaxfromhis earlier discomfort.

“Yes, well, perhaps you’re wiser than I thought.” James chuckled. His own unease hadn’t abated, but his nephew didn’t need to know that. “Thank you for being honest with me, nephew. You and your sister were right to try to help, though there were perhaps better ways for you to have gone about it. I’ll have a talk with Mr. Allen after he’s rested and see if we can get this sorted out,” James finished, and he stood to go.

“Uncle.” Andrew stood with him and grabbed James’s shoulder. “He really is a decent fellow. We had time to talk on our way to Boodle’s, and I, I truly believe he’s a good chap. He didn’t deserve what happened to him, no matter what anyone says about…
that
sort. He seems a decent man to me, and I don’t think who he chooses to… anyway, I don’t think it should matter among friends,” he finished lamely.

“I
do
understand, nephew, though I’m surprised to hear you say it. You have a good heart,” James said, smiling fondly at his nephew.

“I don’t know about all that, Uncle, but, to quote Voltaire, tolerance ‘is the consequence ofhumanity. We are allformed infrailty and error; let us pardon reciprocally each other’s folly—that is the first law of nature’,” Andrew said as an embarrassed flush crept up his face. “Don’t understand it at all myself, but it’s the nineteenth century, for God’s sake, modernideals and allthat.”

“It seems you have been paying attention in school. I’m proud of you, Andrew. We’ll talk again after dinner,” James said, pulling Andrew into a brief hug before releasing him and heading out of the room. He needed to get to the privacyofhis ownrooms,
now.

He was almost choking on the intensity of his emotions, and he needed quiet and solitude before he broke down and embarrassed himselfinfront ofhis nephew.

God, I need a drink
, he thought as he entered his bedchamber. Thankfully, his own valet, Edwards, was nowhere to be seen. He needed to collect himselfbefore anyone else set eyes onhim.

Folding himself into a plush chair by his own set of windows overlookingthe garden, he closed his eyes and leaned his achinghead against the back. He was not ordinarily such an emotional man, and the strainofthe morningmade himfeelveryold indeed.

Yet another reason why I should never leave the country
. His estate and his home were so peaceful, the rhythm of his life undisturbed withallthis emotionalupheaval.

It was time to sort through his churning emotions like the sensible man he was. He thought back to the last words he and his nephew had shared and smiled.

He wouldn’t be able to explain to Andrew why his easy acceptance ofAllen had meant so much to him. His own inclinations were simply not a subject he discussed with his family, or anyone, for that matter. There was no need. The possibility that he could be open about that part of himself with anyone in his family was something he’d never entertained.

He sometimes thought that Charlotte must have guessed, but they never spoke of it. He was always discreet, and his lack of bride and children made her son his heir, so, he supposed, she should have little reasonto object, but it was not a risk he was willingto take.

Still, Andrew’s words eased a tightness inside him he hadn’t realized was there, and he couldn’t keep a few wistful imaginings from playing across his mind, thoughts he hadn’t entertained in over fifteenyears.

There had been a time, long ago, when he had considered sharing his life with someone, before he had become
Lord
Warren. He’d falleninlove witha boyat school.

Jonathan. Blond, blue-eyed, angelic Jonathan.

They’d been friends for more than a year before they’d discovered they shared more than that. They’d come together in a set of unused rooms at the back of the school one glorious afternoon shortly before the summer holiday. They hadn’t known what they were doing, of course, but the innocence of their time together still held a special place in his memories, completely unsullied by anything that came after.

Jonathan had been his first and only love, and they had given themselves to each other in secret all that next year, declaring their love with words and deeds every chance they found. It had been a wonderfuldream, but alldreams are destined to end, and, toward the end ofthat year, it had.

He remembered the day had been quite warm, and he and Jonathan had just returned from a long walk, among other things, in the woods whenhe was summoned to the dean’s office. He’d been a little concerned at the summons, but still flushed with the excitement of a stolen tumble in the grass, he hadn’t even considered that anythingcould so completelycrushthe joyhe felt.

The letter informing him of his parents’ deaths had caught him completely off-guard, like a blow to the gut, sending himto his knees in the dean’s office, unable to breathe. It had taken hima long time to gather himself up and stumble off to his bed, and, once there, he hadn’t been able to leave it for a day and a night. Even now, more than fifteen years later, the memory of that day had the power to make his stomachclenchand his chest hurt.

He and his parents had always been close, closer than any of his friends would ever claim to be with their own families, including Jonathan. The depth of his grief had not been understood by anyone, not even the boy he loved. When the closeness he and his lover had shared could do nothing to ease his grief, he had withdrawn into himselfand Jonathanhad lashed out at the perceived rejection.

Their parting had been ugly and bitter. At the time, he had been so tangled in his own grief and guilt and fear that he hadn’t even tried to make his lover understand.

His duty had been the lifeline he clung to during those first terrible months, and over time, he realized that that was where his future lay, not in the fantasy he and Jonathan had been playing out. The carefree, happy boy he’d been at school simply couldn’t stand against the harsh reality of the world outside, and there would be no goingback to a love that never could have lasted inthe first place.

The slight ache those memories caused was as familiar to him now as breathing. It had dulled over the years, leaving only a small emptiness that he knew would never trulydisappear.

Jonathan had written to him a few years after their parting, on the eve of his marriage to some Scottish heiress. He’d apologized for any misunderstandings they might have had and assured him that he now understood the weight of duty and honor. He had even gone so far as to ramble on, at some length, about the virtues of marriage in general, and his soon-to-be bride in particular, to the point where James had almost thrownthe letter into the fire without finishingit.

Even now, he still wasn’t sure whom Jonathan had been trying to convince. James supposed he had written the letter seeking some sort of closure to that time in his life, and perhaps he had wanted James to do the same. But the formaland stilted tone ofthe letter had onlyleft James feelingcold and unhappyfor bothofthem.

He’d never harbored any hopes that anything could ever happen between themagain, but he would have been quite content to leave that door open and the dream in place for the rest of his days. There would never be anyone inhis life againlike that.

But
that
thought inevitably led him to the other reason he was hiding in his rooms: Mr. Kyle Allen, beautiful, bright, good-natured, and inneed ofhis aid.

James sighed. He simply didn’t have any energy left to deal with whatever he was feeling for the man. There wasn’t any point, really. The poor young man had been through hell, and anything he might be feelingbeyond concernwas completelyinappropriate… and impossible. He would do what he could for the lad, and that would be an end on it. Wistful imaginings aside, even if they’d met under better circumstances, he couldn’t risk acting on his feelings for the same reasons he’d chosento live his life as he had.

England had not changed, so neither could he.

Weir was another matter. He would have to think on what to do about the blackguard, and soon. In all conscience, he couldn’t allow Weir to get away with what he’d done nor leave himfree to do it to someone else, at least not and be able to live withhimself.

But not right now, he supposed. He was too tired to come up with a plan that would punish Weir
without
causing a scandal. His fatigued brain could only come up with finding the man in a dark alley and pounding him into the ground. But unless he killed the man, that wouldn’t be any kind of permanent solution. And, despite his thoughts from earlier, he wasn’t a murderer, so that wouldn’t do at all.

Pistols at dawn, perhaps?
He chuckled wryly. Charlotte would killhimifWeir didn’t.
Sleep and then a bath were what he needed now. His hands, his neck, and his head all ached from suppressed fury and other feelings. It was time he did something about it before he became an absolute
bear
.
Stretching, he rose and rang for Edwards. The man arrived in short order, and after helping him undress, with more than one disparaging look at the cravat James had tied for himself, Edwards left, taking the offending cravat and the rest of James’s clothes with him. James left instructions for himto assure his sister that he was well but would not be joining them until the afternoon and to wake him with a bath in a few hours, then slid under the crisp linens of his bed and forced himselfto fallasleep.

Chapter 5

 

K
YLE
sat on the edge of the large four-poster bed in a daze. He had been led to a lovely room decorated completely in shades of green: the walls, the furnishings, and counterpane were all in soft, calming greens. It was quite lovely, but he was hardly in any condition to appreciate it.

He had been brought a bath, and Ashton’s valet, Timms, as he’d introduced himself, had brought him some of Ashton’s clothes, instructing him to ring when he was ready to be dressed for dinner. Then, after Kyle had assured himhe didn’t need anythingelse, Timms had left himto his owndevices, closingthe door behind him.

Kyle was happy to be alone. As the son of a country curate, he’d never had a manservant to wait on himor help himdress before coming to London, and he was still uncomfortable with the idea. At home, they’d had only two or three servants in the house most of the time, and beingina house this grand made himfeelsmalland shabby.

After he’d bathed and changed into the nightshirt and dressing gown, more servants had come to take away the bath and his soiled clothes, and now he was sittingnumblyonthe edge ofthe bed, feeling pale, hollow, and insubstantial.

Asmall part of his mind kept urging himto pull back the linens and surrender to sleep, but he couldn’t seem to dredge up the strength to obey. He was almost too tired to sleep. He was numb all over except for a sharp ache he didn’t want to think about. He’d had to suppress a yelp on entering the bath when the warm, soapy water had stunghis abused body. And now, cleanand dressed inAndrew’s fine shirt, he couldn’t seemto take that finalstep that would allow him to fallinto oblivion.

Tears stung his eyes as the events of the past twelve hours began to play themselves out in his head again. He didn’t want to think about it, but he still didn’t have any answers, and it seemed his mind would continue to torture himuntilhe did.

What did I do that was so wrong?

There must have been something awful that he missed for Victor to use him with such violence. One minute they’d been standing in the ballroom with Victor’s friends; the next Victor was leading him up the stairs, away from the other guests. He’d been startled by Victor’s strange behavior, but at the time, he’d just assumed that Victor had decided not to wait to give him a tonguelashing.