She went to the door, and as she was turning the handle she paused and looked over her shoulder. “I will send you my forwarding address. Good riddance, Nicholas.”
“Good riddance, Jacqueline,” he replied affably enough, but when the door had shut, he sank into a chair and buried his head in his hands.
Nicholas was very quiet that night and Georgia understood and did not press him. He had explained what had happened as briefly as possible. She knew he would elaborate if and when he chose to. If there was one thing she knew about Nicholas, it was that things ran very deeply with him. He bore his pain in his own way. She also trusted in his ability to deal with that pain, for he had already come through the fire and survived. Jacqueline was nothing next to that. Now that he had successfully banished her, she could never harm him again, but it was typical of him that he did not choose to gloat over that fact. Instead, Georgia suspected that he was experiencing a great deal of turmoil.
He was not the only one. Cyril had come in from his ride with Pascal, and Nicholas had called him directly into his study. They had been closeted away for some time, and then Cyrll had emerged white-faced and gone upstairs to his bedroom. He had not been down since. Nicholas had not mentioned what they had discussed, but it was no doubt contributing to his silence. Georgia pushed the veal about on her plate, her appetite having fled. Jacqueline might have been banished, but her influence still touched diem all. To see the unhappiness that pervaded the house on this night made her sad, for it was all because of one twisted woman.
Pascal came into the sitting room later that evening in his nightshirt.
“Monsieur,” he said quietly, “I am concerned for Cyril. I knocked on his door to say good night and he did not answer, but I heard him crying.”
“Yes, I know, Pascal. He has some difficult things he needs to work out. He needs to be alone just now. Tomorrow I hope he will be better.”
“It is his
belle-mere
who makes him cry, monsieur?”
“Indirectly, Pascal. But it is Cyril’s business, no one else’s. Sometimes people need to work out their pain in solitude. There are some burdens that cannot be shared and certain things for which one can answer only to God.”
“You are very wise, monsieur.”
“I only wish that were true, Pascal,” Nicholas said wearily.
“But it is true, monsieur. I know that you see this great sadness inside of Cyril and you have tried your best to help him, but as you say, now it is between Cyril and God. I will say good night then, monsieur, and pray that God gives Cyril the answers he needs. And I will say a prayer for you, too, that God helps you with your own sadness.”
He picked up Nicholas’ hand and pressed it to his mouth, then went out again.
Georgia rose to go tuck Pascal into bed. She saw the tears glistening in Nicholas’ eyes, but she chose to say nothing, instead saying her own little prayer of thanks to God for having sent them Pascal.
When Nicholas finally came to bed that night Georgia was still awake, but she said nothing, not knowing whether Nicholas still needed his own solitude. And then his arms came around her.
“Georgia?”
“Yes?” she answered, turning toward him. “I’m here.”
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he said, stroking her arms. “I know you must have been wondering and most probably worrying about what passed between Cyril and me.”
“You needn’t tell me a thing, Nicholas. I understand. Whatever it is, if you want to speak of it, then I will listen. But you need never speak of it at all, not if it is private between you and Cyril.”
“Thank you for that. I wish I could tell you, for I can’t quite seem to come to terms with this…” His voice caught, and he pulled her tightly against him.
Georgia wrapped her arms around him and held him close, feeling his distress. “It will work out, Nicholas,” she whispered. “One way or another it will work out.”
After a few moments of silence he pulled slightly away from her. “I wonder if it can,” he said miserably. “It’s all rather dreadful for Cyril, worse than we’d ever imagined. I really don’t know how he is going to find a way through. I cannot heal him, nor absolve him. It is not my place to do so. And I can see that he cannot give himself absolution, nor will he seek it elsewhere. The one person who might be able to help him is the person he fears the most.”
“Surely not Jacqueline?” she said with dismay.
“No. Certainly not Jacqueline.”
“Oh …” Georgia said with a sigh. “I see.”
“Knowing you, you probably do see. God, I don’t know what I can do for him, Georgia. And we thought we had trolls. The boy is so damned wounded that it hurts just thinking about it.”
“I know, Nicholas. I know. But perhaps time will help. Look at yourself—you came through the worst of battles and survived.”
“I also had you,” he said simply. “And Cyril’s battle is with his conscience, a far more exacting beast than the one I was fighting. I think Cyril’s salvation lies with God now. We can only pray that God is merciful.”
“He works in mysterious ways, Nicholas. Let us trust in that.”
“As you say, Georgia. As you say.” He gathered her to him again, but he held her that night as if it were his own soul that needed safe harbor.
Cyril finally emerged from his room late the following day, and Nicholas looked up from his desk to see him standing in the doorway. “Cyril,” he said gently, putting down his pen. “I am pleased to see you.” He was indeed very pleased, for their conversation yesterday had been fairly brutal, and he had been worried for the boy.
“I have c-come to offer you an apology, N-Nicholas,” he said. He sounded very tired.
“An apology? For what?”
“For the things I s-said to you yesterday. I was w-wrong to Hash out at you. Y-you have d-done s-so many things for m-me, and I have shown you n-nothing b-but ingratitude. You have n-not once c-condemned me when you should have.”
“Cyril, it is not my place to condemn you. I have done many foolish things in my time. As I told you yesterday, what is important is to have the full truth between us.”
“You know it all n-now.”
“That’s good, for I shouldn’t like to discover you have misled me. And although I imagine it will be very difficult for you, you must be completely honest with your father as well. I very much doubt that he will condemn you either. He has also been Jacqueline’s victim.”
“Even if you are c-correct, Nicholas, it d-doesn’t excuse m-me, any of the things I d-did. I was r-responsible for his illness. And G-God help me, I didn’t want him b-better.”
“Cyril. Listen to me. Your conscience is your own, and you are the only person who can make an accounting of it. But do not be harder on yourself than you need be. You hold yourself in far harsher judgment than I do, that I promise you. I think it is time for you to make a new start, a clean beginning. Jacqueline is gone. We must all put her behind us.”
“How, N-Nicholas? How c-can we put her behind us when she has r-ravaged our l-lives? How c-can we ever forget?”
“We may not ever forget, but we can pick ourselves up and go on. She will never return, Cyril. She would not dare.”
“Jacqueline would d-dare anything if she thought it would g-get her something she wanted.”
“Perhaps. I have good reason to doubt her mental stability. But in this case she knows that she has been defeated. She would not risk what little reputation she has left to salvage. So. Let us not dwell on all the misery she has caused. I think we need something to distract us. Why do you and I not go out together after dinner? We might as well enjoy London while we are here, for it will soon be time to go home. I’ve heard how much you enjoy billiards, and Pascal tells me you have some admirable shots. I am sure you will be able to teach me something, for although I’ve read White’s book cover to cover, I am no hand.”
“Yes, all right, N-Nicholas,” Cyril said with an attempt at a smile, but it did not reach his eyes. “After d-dinner.”
He left, and Nicholas went back to his work, but he still felt troubled. He was not at all sure that the wounds Jacqueline had inflicted on Cyril would ever truly heal.
Jacqueline paced the floor of her study, the last of her papers packed away. Evening had drawn down and it was time to leave. She could not understand how everything had changed so quickly, not when she’d so carefully built her position over the years, not when she had worked so hard to regain her birthright and more. No one understood how important that had been to her—no one had understood her humiliation at living above a shop, forced to work. She had not forgotten the Chateau Tourlaville, not for one day, nor how fine life had been there, how she had been looked up to, respected.
And now Nicholas thought to take away not only her reputation but also Ravenswalk, and it was like a knife in her heart.
She slumped down at her desk and picked up the dagger with the pretty ivory handle that she used as a letter opener and regarded it for a long moment. Then she pressed it down on the blotter and cut a long, deep line, imagining it to be Nicholas’ throat. He had stood there so smugly, challenging her, backing her into a corner from which she could see no escape.
The night of the ball had been a bad-enough shock when Georgia’s identity had been disclosed: she had never thought it would ever come out about Eugenie’s brat, but it had, and there was nothing to be done about it. Eugenie the pious, Charles the self-righteous—they had managed to pass it all on to their daughter. She even looked like him—that had been the biggest shock of all, the thing that had set the bells off in her head the day she had first seen Georgia in Madame LaSalle’s dress shop. The eyes were unmistakable, that shade of cornflower his and his alone. And the fair hair, the color of spun gold…
She winced, for the memory of Charles never failed to scald her in the deepest recesses of her soul. Charles—how he had laughed at her when she had made her earnest confession of love to him. But she had made him pay for that, hadn’t she, and Eugenie too? Oh, yes, they had both paid, and paid dearly. Eugenie had probably spent the rest of her life regretting the harsh, unkind words she had spoken to her own sister. It served them both right. And if it hadn’t been for their daughter marrying Nicholas, everything would have been perfect. What fluke had led them to make the connection to Eugenie? She supposed she would never know.
But if the truth about the girl wasn’t bad enough, then there was Cyril’s little revelation to deal with, for she knew that would never be acceptable.
“Oh, Cyril, you idiot,” she muttered. His defiance had been a terrible shock, for she’d had him completely under her control. She still could not quite believe that the fool had told Nicholas about their sexual liaison—told Nicholas, of all people, the cousin he so hated. But Cyril was just one more person who had betrayed her. Why should she be surprised? People had been betraying her all of her life.
And Nicholas Daventry was the worst of the lot.
“Damn him!” she cried, throwing the dagger onto the ground. Its point caught in the Oriental carpet and stuck, the handle quivering. She looked at it for a long time, her brain working hard over her next course of action. She could think of no way out of her predicament. Nicholas had her trapped. And even if there were a way around Nicholas, now there was William to worry about. She thought she’d had that situation taken care of, but if he recovered, he would most likely threaten divorce. It would be better to take Nicholas’ five thousand per year, not that she didn’t have a nice fat sum she’d salted away just as Nicholas had guessed. Better to leave the country with it now, before anything else could happen.
What did she care? She was still Lady Raven, after all. She would go back to Italy, where she would be feted and admired, where they would laugh off whatever stories might come out of England. William would die soon enough, for surely the monkshood had permanently weakened his system? She could remarry, and perhaps another fortune would be hers.
And yet she did care. She cared terribly. She did not take kindly to humiliation, nor to being snubbed. She certainly did not like being bested by Nicholas Daventry, the arrogant bastard. He would pay for ruining her life. She would see to it that he paid, and his whore too.
But how? What could she do to them that would destroy their pathetic happiness?
Her eyes went back to the carpet and she smiled, a small, tight smile of satisfaction as she saw her answer.
Oh, yes, she would leave the country. But not before one last meeting. One last, very final meeting. She would have her revenge after all, and then they’d all be sorry for ever having crossed her.
She pulled the dagger out of the carpet and tucked it into her reticule. And then she went downstairs, calling for her cloak, and went out to the waiting carriage.
Nicholas ruffled Pascal’s hair, kissed Georgia, and took his hat and cane from Binkley. “We’ll walk, as the evening is so fine,” he said. “Do not wait up, any of you. And that includes you, Binkley. Cyril and I are going to have a night on the town and will no doubt not return till dawn.”
Cyril gave Pascal a pat on the shoulder. “G-good night, little m-monkey.”
“Good night, Cyril,” Pascal said, grinning up at him. “Do not take too much money off the good monsieur, or we shall be back to the bread and water.”
“I shall be f-fair,” Cyril said, waving away Binkley’s offer of a coat. “C-come, N-Nicholas. You c-can kiss Georgia some other t-time. You’ve already k-kissed her t-twice already.”
Cyril went out the door and waited at the top of the steps for Nicholas. He found he was impatient for the evening to begin, mostly because he was eager to show Nicholas his skill. And he very much wanted a distraction. He was thoroughly sick of himself and the thoughts that plagued him.
Nicholas came out to join him a moment later. “Look,” Cyril said, pointing at the window, where Pascal’s nose was pressed to the pane. “He is j-just like Raleigh when you l-leave.”
“He is certainly as unswerving in his loyalty,” Nicholas said, waving a finger at Pascal. “By the by, how did the riding lesson go yesterday afternoon? Has there been any improvement?” He started down the steps.