The Bachelor Trap (35 page)

After clearing her throat, Marion said, “I liked Mr. Forrest. I know what a loss his death must be to you.”

Theodora's eyes narrowed unpleasantly. “No one knows or can possibly understand what a loss John is to me. He is the one person I could always count on. If you have nothing but platitudes to offer, you might as well leave.”

That was the thing about Theodora, thought Marion. She was larger than life and looked as though she might have stepped out of a Greek tragedy. As for herself, she was stubborn. She wasn't going to leave without saying her piece.

“I have something for you,” she said.

Theodora had risen to her feet. She sank back again, and took the box Marion offered. “What is it?”

“Hannah's keepsakes. She was obsessed with your husband, and collected mementoes just like any love-struck girl might do. Only, Hannah made up lies, either to get what she wanted or to convince herself that she was irresistible to men. I don't suppose we shall ever know what went on in her mind. It's enough to know that Robert was blameless.”

Theodora was going through the items in the box. “Where are Robert's letters to her?”

Marion shook her head. “There were no letters. Hannah was a disturbed young woman. Her last employer, Mrs. Love, lives in Brighton. She can tell you that Hannah caused havoc there, too, with the sons of her friends.” Her voice dropped. “Robert was not involved with Hannah. He did not send her letters. The whole thing was a game she played, or a figment of her imagination.”

She'd hardly finished speaking when Theodora shut the lid with a decided snap and thrust the box into her arms. Eyes flashing, Theodora said, “You may take that back to Robert and tell him that I am not so easily hoodwinked. He had his chance to beg my forgiveness, and now it's too late.”

She stalked to the door and held it wide. Marion got up and crossed to it. She stopped on the threshold and looked into those beautiful, flashing eyes. “You must know I'm speaking the truth,” she said. “Why won't you accept it?”

Theodora was as cool as ice. “I've given you my answer and have nothing more to say.”

Marion shook her head. “It must be lonely being a Greek goddess.” She left the room with all the dignity she could muster.

When she reached her own room, she was steaming. To think that she had wasted her sympathy on such a hard-hearted harpy. It was Robert she should have felt sorry for. He was the one who had been rejected, not Theodora. For the last twenty years, they had been together, yet apart. It was all such a waste.

Her thoughts immediately shifted to Brand. He'd been gone for two days, and already she felt hollow inside. What was keeping them apart? An accident of birth? That excuse was as flimsy as the one Theodora used to punish her husband. Was it possible that she and Theodora had something in common?

She sat on the edge of the bed, a confusion of thoughts racing through her mind. The candles burned low. The room became chilled, and still she sat there, thinking, thinking, thinking.

This was how Emily found her when she came to say good night. She looked at the candles burning low in their holders, felt the chill in the air, and quickly crossed to her sister. Sinking to her knees, she took Marion's cold hands into her warm ones. “Marion, dear,” she said anxiously. “What's the matter? You're so pale.”

Marion smiled fleetingly. “There is something I have been wanting to tell you for a long time.” She patted the mattress. “Come, sit beside me on the bed. It's about Mama and Papa.”

Late on the following afternoon, Brand was outside the tavern, close to the common where the platform had been set up for last-minute speeches before the vote was taken. He was doing what was expected of him, mixing with the locals, supplying them with beer, and smiling until his face was ready to crack.

Though it would take some time for the results to come in from outlying districts, he didn't think much of his chances. He could feel his momentum slipping away. The shocking events at the Priory had had an effect not only on electors, but also on members of his own party. They were there in force, but not standing shoulder to shoulder with him. Only a few had stepped up to the podium to endorse his candidacy.

There was nothing new in this, he told himself. He'd been making his own way in the world, without help from others, ever since he could remember. He'd always been a lone wolf. What
was
new was that he wished it didn't have to be this way.

A hand on his shoulder had him turning away from the group of men he'd been trying to win over. Ash smiled into his eyes.

“Ash! What are you doing here?” He knew that Ash had no interest in politics, and he'd left him at the Castle on the point of ordering his dinner. All the same, he was very glad to see his friend.

“I had no choice,” said Ash.

Brand's gaze followed where Ash pointed. Across the common, Marion, Clarice, Emily, and his grandmother were standing on the pavement, having just descended from one of the Priory's carriages. They were smiling and nodding and waving to him. What made Brand stare was that only his grandmother was in mourning clothes. The others were dressed in all the colors of the rainbow.

The darkness inside him lifted, and a slow smile spread across his face.

There was more. Ash touched his arm and Brand turned his attention to the platform. Andrew was there and had just stepped up to the podium. Oswald was standing behind him.

“His Grace, the Duke of Shelbourne!” the chief officer called out.

There was a murmur in the crowd. Someone said, “Isn't that Lord Andrew?”

Andrew heard the comment and shot back, “Titles aren't important! What matters is a man's character and talent. I'm asking you to vote for my brother because I know he'll make an excellent trustee of whatever he takes on. If you don't believe me, take a look at the FitzAlan estates. He has been our trustee since I was a boy and we're thriving.”

“Thriving, is it?” a spectator jeered. “What about John Forrest? Ask him if he's thriving.”

The question threw Andrew off stride, but another bystander, Lord Robert, took up the challenge. “John Forrest,” he called out, “was my employee. I paid his wages. He was in charge of my stables. If you're apportioning blame, then I should be your target, not my nephew.”

Constable Hinchley was there to keep order, but he was also a voter and he, too, was stung into entering the fray. “If it hadn't been for Mr. Hamilton,” he shouted above the restless murmurs of the crowd, “there would have been another murder. I can't say more, because it's official business, but me and Sir Basil knows what we knows, and I'm voting for Mr. Hamilton.”

Some cheered, some jeered. It was not unlike the reenactment between Cavaliers and Roundheads at his grandmother's fête, thought Brand. And he didn't know why he was grinning.

“I have to stay to the bitter end.” He looked at Ash. “This could go on for hours. Would you mind telling Marion and the others not to wait up? I'll see them at the hotel tomorrow for breakfast.”

Ash stared. “The bitter end? It's like that, is it?”

“I suppose it is,” said Brand, but he was still grinning when he went to speak to Robert.

Emily delayed getting into the coach to go back to the hotel. She wanted to speak to Andrew, and waved him over. When he stood before her, she grasped his hands and smiled into his eyes.

“You were magnificent!” she said. “I am so proud of you, I could kiss you!”

He cocked a brow. “What's stopping you?”

She felt a little frisson of something, not alarm, more like feminine wariness, which she instantly dismissed. This was Andrew. He was like a brother to her. She was behaving like a silly schoolgirl.

She put her hands on his shoulders, noted absently that they were broad and manly, and raised her chin. He wasn't helping, so she went on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. That's when his arms clamped around her, bringing her hard against his full length. Her little squeal of shock was smothered by his kiss. And this young man really knew how to kiss.

The kiss was over in a moment, and he set her away from him. She was covered in blushes and didn't know where to look when she caught the knowing glint in his eye.

“What was that all about?” she asked crossly.

“Oh, just staking my claim,” he replied in an odiously offhand manner. “I thought it was about time that you knew where we stand.”

She let out a pent-up breath and said the first thing that came into her head. “But Andrew, don't you see, we're far too young?”

He brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheek. “Yes, my love, but we're going to get older, aren't we?”

And he sauntered off.

Only then did she notice that a crowd of people were gaping and staring. She practically threw herself into the coach and sank back against the banquette.

“What kept you?” asked Marion.

“Oh, Andrew,” Emily replied, and turned her head away to hide the foolish smile that she couldn't seem to quell. “Only Andrew.”

The dowager saw that smile, and the heaviness in her heart lifted a little. Her present grief faded into the background as another thought struck her. She felt that she could safely relinquish all her hopes and dreams for these difficult FitzAlans into other hands. Her time was past, but Marion and Emily were just coming into theirs.

It was a whimsical thought, but it gave her comfort. It gave her hope.

It was the drink on his breath Marion smelled first. One moment, she was dozing in the big wing armchair beside the fireplace in Brand's chamber, the next, she was wide awake, staring into his inebriated eyes.

“You won the election!” she cried out, then huffed a little because he'd gone off carousing while she had waited up for him to hear the results.

“No. I lost it.” He turned away and began to shrug out of his clothes.

Stricken, she stared, then jumped to her feet and went after him. “You lost?”

“I was trounced.”

“Oh, Brand. What can I say? I'm so sorry.”

He didn't look like a man who had lost his heart's desire. He looked like someone who had just won a fortune at the roulette table.

“Don't be,” he said. “I won something that is far more important to me than an election. It was mine all along, only I was too blind to see it.”

She was mystified. “What was?”

“You should know. Didn't you prod them into coming?”

“You mean your family? No. We all had the same idea. Though my sisters and I set off first, they caught up to us and we came on together.”

“And whose idea was it to put off your blacks?”

She shook her head. “There was no collusion there, either. We all seemed to come to the same thought at the same moment, that it was ludicrous to go into mourning for three people who did so much harm. It's different for your grandmother. She has taken Miss Cutter's death, and all the circumstances leading up to it, to heart. They've been together forever.”

He looped his arms around her shoulders, and suddenly his eyes didn't look so inebriated. They were intensely blue and intensely serious. “Why are you here, Marion?”

“Don't you know?”

“I'm not a mind reader, and your mind is so convoluted that it's impossible to read.”

She could be flippant, she could be coy, but in that moment, when this difficult, lonely man gave her a glimpse into his soul, she felt utterly humbled. “Mr. Hamilton,” she said softly, “long have I admired and loved you. Would you do me the honor, the very great honor, of accepting my hand in marriage?”

“Is this to make up for my losing the election?”

Her feelings of humility instantly vanished. “No, you idiot! Because I love you and can't live without you.”

He closed his eyes and opened them wide. “I'm never going to let you forget,” he said, “that you proposed to me.”

She pouted. “If you're going to make fun of me—”

He held her fast. “I'm entitled to a little revenge for all the pain you've caused me. And the answer is ‘Yes.' I've known you were the woman for me since…”

“Since?”

Humor brightened his eyes. “Since you fell down that flight of stairs and stubbed your toes.” He nodded when she looked at him dubiously. “Oh, yes. I was rigid with fear until you told me to stop fussing. I love you, Marion.”

She dimpled up at him. “I know. I've been reading your mind, remember? Now see if you can read mine.”

She looked pointedly at the bed. With a hoot of laughter, he swept her into his arms.

A long time later, Marion stretched under the weight of Brand's arm and raised up on one elbow to look at him. “You're not going to give up politics, are you, just because you've lost one election?”

A look of surprise crossed his face. “I thought that's what you wanted, you know, a quiet life, in case the truth about your parents ever gets out?”

She winced. “I suppose I deserved that. I was trying to be noble, trying to do what was best for everyone. It doesn't work. In fact, I've come to believe that trying to be noble is a form of arrogance. What's the point in making everyone miserable?”

“Now, this is interesting.” He raised on his elbow so that they were eye to eye. “Don't stop there. Tell me how you came to change your mind.”

“I didn't change my mind. I think, in my heart of hearts, I always knew that I could never give you up. But Theodora made me see what a fool I had been—oh, not in so many words. Just the opposite. She gave up the man she loved for no good reason, and the longer she allowed her hurt pride to fester, the harder it became for her to admit that she had made a mistake. What a waste of two lives.”

He looked amused. “I can't see Theodora ever believing that she had made a mistake.”

“That's my point. If that's not arrogance, I don't know what it is.” She lowered her head to the pillow. “Then there was you. You become so fixed on reaching your goals that you cut yourself off from those who are close to you, or should be close to you. You really do need a wife, and since I could not tolerate the thought of another woman taking on that role, I decided I had better do something about it. So I spoke to Emily and told her about our parents.”

He said slowly, “You told Emily about your parents?”

“I felt I had to. It seemed to me that when we were married and you were prime minister—and Phoebe really believes that will happen—I would become a target for gossipmongers or hate-mongers or whatever you want to call them. So I wanted Emily to know the truth before she heard it from someone else. Did you say something?”

“No,” he said hoarsely. “Just a frog in my throat.” He cleared his throat. “So, how did Emily respond?”

“Oh, she shed a few tears, not for herself, but for our mother and me. But she thinks like you. She thinks that those transcripts will show that our father married our mother the first chance he got.”

She shook her head. “I wish I had been like Emily. The last few years, I've guarded that secret as though the whole world would end if it ever got out.” She gave him a sad smile. “That's a kind of arrogance as well. The result was, I built a shell around myself. It's lonely living inside a shell, as you should know.”

He nodded. “None better.”

She nodded, too. “Well, Emily isn't like us. The first thing she did after I shared our dark, family secret was run off and tell Andrew. She says that he is like a brother to her, and she felt better after she'd talked things over with him.”

“A brother?” he murmured. “I wonder. That reminds me. I have something to show you.”

She held him back with a hand on his wrist. Her voice was low and urgent. “Look at the time! I have to get back to my own room before the hotel staff are up and doing.”

He looked at the clock. “No, don't go yet, there's still time.”

“Time for what?”

He kissed the hand that restrained him, then her nose, then her mouth. David Kerr could wait.

“Read my mind,” he said.

Three weeks later, after the banns were called, they were married in Longbury's parish church. Emily made a lovely bridesmaid and Phoebe and Flora were positively angelic flower girls, but it was the bride who took Brand's breath away, not because she was beautiful, but because she was radiantly happy, and her happiness made him happy, too.

Andrew stood up with him, and more than one person commented on the strong family resemblance. But it was Ash Denison who won the hearts of all the ladies present. A time or two, he was seen, surreptitiously, to dab the tears from his eyes with his handkerchief.

The reception following the service was held on the Priory lawns. The whole village was invited and they turned out in force. With Marion by his side, Brand wandered from group to group, exchanging a few words, but for the most part, he was content to let Marion do the talking while he lost himself in thought.

He was thinking of his grandfather, wondering what he would make of it all if he were here. He wanted to honor the memory of his grandfather, but not by living in the past or carrying grudges that belonged to a former generation. He was a FitzAlan as much as he was a Hamilton. The wonder of it was that it had taken him so many years to realize it.

Marion's words interrupted his thoughts. “We're making our home in the Priory,” she told Sir Basil's wife, “with Brand's family. There's more than enough room, and the dowager has found the perfect tenant to take over Brand's house, General Frampton. He's of the old school and fell in love with the place the moment he clapped eyes on it.”

She slid a mischievous look in Brand's direction, and he nodded at the hit. Marion had taken one look at his grandfather's house and hadn't been able to conceal her dismay. General Frampton had proved to be a godsend. He was enchanted with the dark oak paneling, the horsehair sofas and chairs and solid Jacobean furniture, and had promised that not one thing would be altered as long as he was the tenant.

He might have sold the house to the general, but Brand wasn't quite ready to give up this tie to his grandfather. Meantime, they were sure they could let Yew Cottage to, hopefully, some congenial family who were not put off by recent events at the Priory.

Sir Basil nudged Brand with his elbow. “Bad luck about the election,” he said. “I hope this doesn't mean that you're giving up politics. The timing was wrong, that's all. There will be other by-elections. I hope you'll let your name stand?”

Brand nodded and thanked the magistrate for his kind words. In truth, he hadn't made up his mind what he would do in the long run, only what he would do in the short run. He wanted a respite from his ambitions, no matter how laudable they were. He wanted a chance to get to know his family and forge bonds that could never be broken. And most of all, he wanted to spend time with his wife and lay a solid foundation for their new life together.

Marion said, “That's a lewd smile if ever I saw one. What were you thinking about just now?”

He banished the lewd thought in his mind and said easily, “I was thinking that we should name our firstborn son FitzAlan Hamilton, if that's all right with you.”

“That's a bit of a mouthful, isn't it?”

“Alan for short.”

She nodded. “I like that.” Her eyes sparkled up at him. “What if we only have girls?”

He brushed his lips over hers in a quick kiss. “We'll call her Alana.”

She was laughing when she was swept away by Emily to get ready for her journey to Stratford. This was to be both a honeymoon and a pilgrimage. Brand had been right about her parents. The transcripts had duly arrived and proved that her parents were married in Stratford, most likely on the journey down to Longbury, three years before Emily was born. The transcripts meant more to Marion than his account of how he'd dealt with Kerr, though she was delighted to get back her mother's emeralds. The transcripts cleared the cloud that hung over her sisters. Nobody could shame them now.

Brand wandered onto the terrace and sipped his champagne, a little apart from his guests, but not feeling the least bit solitary. There was a difference. His eyes roamed the crush of people, coming to rest on various members of his family.

He was both gratified and humbled by how well everything was turning out. In Theodora's absence, Robert seemed to have pulled himself together. He and Andrew had plans to turn the stables into a stud, and Manley was now working for them. His grandmother had insisted on taking over the education of Flora and Phoebe until a governess could be found. There was no question of Flora spending six months with her aunt. Robert had put his foot down. Flora's aunt would always find a welcome at the Priory, but henceforth, Flora's place was with him. And last but not least, Clarice and Oswald had confided they were expecting a baby.