David. She shot to her feet. She must speak to David about this!
But then she realized that he would be with Con.
Con.
If she used this information, Con could lose the earldom.
But David as earl would be virtually untouchable. Leaving aside the benefits of rank and fortune, he wouldn’t hang or be transported for smuggling. In fact, this whole area would probably enjoy decades of peace and illegal prosperity.
It wasn’t right to use it. David wasn’t the earl’s son. But it was as tempting as the serpent’s apple.
But Con.
They would be stealing title and fortune from Con.
She should destroy this letter and take the contents to the grave. She began to tear it, but after the tiniest beginning, she paused. Shredding it and burning it wouldn’t scour the knowledge from her mind.
David or Con?
Lies or truth?
Truth, she decided. Once settled, it was so clearly right that Susan could have wept with relief. She could see now that last night with Con had been a web of lies and untruths. Her intentions had not been bad, but all the same, it had been dishonest, and thus had fallen to pieces in her hands.
If she ventured into untruths again, her intentions would not be bad, but she would be back to her old ways, trying to manipulate life to suit her needs. She was through with that.
But then she realized that she really should put this in David’s hands. It wasn’t entirely hers to decide.
Whatever David decided, however, she was going to tell Con the truth.
She returned to the house. If David hadn’t left, she should be able to intercept him and talk to him alone.
In fact, she saw him coming out of the arch.
“David!”
As he turned, smiling, she found it easy to smile back. This was right, and it was good to be doing it outside the oppressive house.
“Believe it or not,” she said as she joined him, “I have a letter from Lady Belle.”
“What does she want?” he asked, and it made Susan laugh.
“Oh, she’s all benevolence. Read it!”
He took it, but pulled a squint-eyed face at the writing. “I presume you’ve deciphered this. How about giving me the précis.”
“No, I think you need to read it as given.”
He sighed but then settled to it, complaining, but then falling silent as he reached the revelations. When he
’d finished, he stayed silent.
She resisted the urge to demand his answer.
“She really is a most immoral woman,” he said at last. “There’s no trace of hesitation about perpetrating a deception, or making out false testimony.”
“I know. It would be pleasant to discover that she wasn’t our mother, but I’m afraid there’s no hope of that.”
“I’m proud to be Mel’s son, especially now I know why they never married.” He looked at the letter again. “She only sent this because she knew he’d disapprove. A sign of her love, I suppose, but still...”
She had to ask. “What are you going to do?”
“Do? Nothing. For heaven’s sake, you didn’t think I’d go along with this, did you? It’s outright fraud!”
Susan was suddenly carried back to last night when she’d taken such fierce offense to Con’s simple query as to whether she had told anyone about their lovemaking. Wrong again. Every step of the way, wrong, wrong, wrong.
She gathered her wits. “No, I didn’t think you would. I hoped not. But I put it in your hands. I do think we need to tell Con, though. The documents might turn up, and I wouldn’t put it past Lady Belle to stir the matter herself later. Now her husband the earl is dead there’s no risk to her in asserting her right to be the countess.”
“Except that letter,” David pointed out. “It admits that we are Mel’s children, and exposes her willingness to lie under oath.”
Their eyes met. “So we have to give it to Con.”
He folded it and gave it to her. “You do it.” He hesitated a moment, then asked, “Can you tell me what lies between you two, Susan? Whatever it is, it isn’t making you happy. I don’t want to be unkind, but you are not looking your best.”
With a sigh, she moved closer. “Give me a hug, David. I need a hug.”
Susan appreciated his strong arms around her, and the certain knowledge that he would stand by her through life even if she continued to fall into follies. She thought soon she would be able to tell him the truth about some of the things she had done. But not yet.
She told him one truth as they parted. “I love him, David. I’ve loved him since I was fifteen years old. But he’s going to marry Lady Anne Peckworth, who I am sure is a lovely lady and will make him very happy.
”
“Is it your birth? Is that what stands between you?”
She smiled. “No, of course not. He doesn’t return my love. It happens all the time, I’m sure, and the world doesn’t end.”
“Eleven years, though. I wondered why you hadn’t married. It would seem you share one thing with our mother. Eternal constancy.”
“Hopefully not quite as obsessively. Go along. I’ll give him this letter and tell you his reaction.”
She watched him set off down the hill, then turned to enter the house. She supposed she needed to go dragon hunting. She crossed the courtyard, glancing in the window of the library, and saw Con still there with de Vere and Swann.
There was no great urgency about giving the letter to Con, and yet she felt it. Perhaps she was afraid that she’d weaken and try to persuade David to pursue safety through fraud. She wasn’t entirely sure of her new skin yet.
Perhaps she simply wanted an excuse to be with Con again.
She took up a watching post in the breakfast room, from which she could see the library. She was soon rewarded when he emerged through the doors to the garden, leaving de Vere alone.
She hesitated for a last moment of thought, then hurried out. “Con!”
He turned sharply. She could almost see shields rising. “Susan.”
“I have something I must show you, tell you.”
He took the time to think, and it hurt, but then he said, “Very well.”
She glanced up at all the watching windows. There were few people here now to watch, but all the same she said, “In the breakfast room would be better.”
His look was both wary and suspicious, but he gestured for her to lead the way. Once inside, she shut the doors.
“This isn’t something anyone should overhear,” she said. At his expression, she quickly added, “This isn’t some attack, Con. Please don’t look like that. This is ... a kindly act. At the least an honest one.” She pulled out the letter from her pocket. “Amelia brought this. It’s a letter from my mother. You can read it all if you want, though she writes in a terrible hand.”
She glanced at the densely covered page. “I’d never seen her handwriting before. Isn’t that strange?”
When she looked up, he was as blankly distant as if they were strangers. Why was she saying such irrelevant things?
“What does it say?” he asked.
She couldn’t think where to start. “That she was married to the earl. I know, I know! But I believe her. It was a mad business, but he was mad.”
She quickly related the details, seeing his distant coolness melt at least into bemusement.
She put the letter into his hands. “There. It’s all there. The letter that you can use to stop her if she tries this again. The sworn false statement. Doubtless somewhere here are those marriage lines. If you find them, you can destroy them too, then she’ll have no case at all.”
“I believe records will have been kept in Guernsey as well.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not true. Surely it can’t be proved if it’s not true.”
“I wonder ...” He looked at her. “You might have made it stick, then you’d have had Crag Wyvern at least through your brother.”
“Dragon spit!” she exclaimed. “I do not want Crag Wyvern! I can’t wait to escape this place.”
“And yet you have just made sure that I keep it. And last night you proved I am vulnerable to you still.”
She closed her eyes. “Con, please!” She opened them to look at him, to try one last time. “I know you have reason to distrust me, but in this I am completely honest. I, like you, will never stay in Crag Wyvern, no matter who owns it. I don’t care about the title, any title. I’m deeply sorry to have given you reason to be so distrustful, but now, here, I am being starkly honest.”
He was turning the letter in his hands as if it could reveal something extra from the outside. “Be honest then. How many lovers have you had?”
“Three,” she said softly.
He looked at her, demanding more.
With a sigh she added, “On four occasions. I’m sorry for misleading you, but I thought that if you knew the truth you would not make love to me, and I was greedy for it. But it was wrong to lie, even by implication.”
“Why only two other occasions? I have no right to ask, but I need to know.”
She hesitated but continued on the honest path. “I was trying to wipe away the memory of you.”
After a moment he put the letter in his pocket. “I need to think about this.”
“There’s nothing to think about. I told David about it, and he thinks as I do. It would be horribly wrong.”
He continued to look darkly thoughtful.
“Con!” she protested. “Please. I will never do anything to hurt you again.”
“I believe you,” he said with a touch of a smile. “Don’t leave here, Susan. I want to talk to you about this more.”
“I am staying for a few more days at least.”
He nodded, and left by the corridor door.
Con closed the door and paused to try to deal with the thoughts swirling in his head. It was no good. At this point, before making some crucial decisions, he needed an obviously sane head to help him.
He changed into riding clothes, then walked down to the Crag’s stables and set off for the two-hour ride to Redoaks in Somerset, home of Nicholas Delaney.
He prayed Nicholas was at home.
As he rode it occurred to him that it was the first time he’d sought out any of his friends since he’d come home from Waterloo. He’d spent time with the Rogues in the Shires and then in London, but with masks and guards thoroughly in place. He’d been hiding within them rather than meeting them.
He’d last seen Nicholas in London a few months back when Francis had married his beautiful, scandalous wife.
All the available Rogues had gathered to launch her into society. Being in hiding, he’d avoided Nicholas, who tended to notice such things.
The devil finds work for idle minds, so he’d kept his mind busy. He’d even gone to Ireland for another Rogue’s wedding.
But in the end, the dark had crept in, and he’d begun to avoid those who knew him well. He’d sent chatty replies to letters from Hawk, who was abroad. He’d sent brief ones to various Rogues, who were busy with their own affairs. But he’d ignored Van’s letters, because Van was too likely to seek him out.
He’d known Van had to be struggling with his own darkness, but he’d been too deep in his own hole to reach out to a friend.
Did he deserve to reach out to Nicholas?
He made good time and was soon looking at the brick house that was Nicholas’s country home.
Redoaks was a simple place, but something about the proportions, the gardens, and the oak trees that gave it its name, all spoke of the kind of Tightness that Nicholas would choose.
Quite a contrast to Crag Wyvern.
He turned his horse into the short drive, wondering what exactly he was going to say, but knowing that it didn’t matter.
The door opened before he reached it, and Nicholas came out in an open-necked shirt and loose pantaloons, his dark blond hair obviously not cut for fashion. “Con! A surprise, but a delightful one.”
He looked relaxed and welcome as a clear spring— which made Con aware that he was remarkably thirsty. He swung off the horse. “I’m at Crag Wyvern. You know I inherited the earldom?”
“Yes, of course. An interesting encumbrance, I’d think.”
“That just about sums it up, yes.” Con was smiling without any clear reason to, except that he was glad he’d made this journey.
A groom came running around from the back of the house and took the horse, and Nicholas led the way into a square hall painted a clear green and containing two pots of hyacinth. The sweet perfume of wax polish and blossoms made Con think of Somerford Court.
“It’s what? About fifteen miles?” Nicholas asked.
“A little less, I think. This was an impulse, though if you’d ever visited Crag Wyvern, you’d know the impulse to go somewhere else is persistent.”
Nicholas laughed. “I’ve known many places like that. I did look up a picture of it in a book. It was depicted suitably surrounded with dark clouds and stormy sea and looked rather like something dreamed up by Monk Lewis.”
“Oh, a mere novelist could not do it justice. To create Crag Wyvern, you’d have to be completely mad.
It runs in the blood.”
He saw Nicholas give him a quick look as they went into a room that was probably called the drawing room, but which had a coziness that rejected such a formal term.
Of course there were books: books in bookcases, in small piles on tables, and three waiting on chairs.
Sewing lay on one chair arm, and a chess table invited. Con wandered over, attracted by the unusual pieces, and saw they were some Indian design with elephants instead of horses.
“Metal,” Nicholas said. “Very practical with little fingers around.”
Con saw then that there were toys around the room, including a collection of dolls and carved animals set in a circle around a small lace cap.
“Guarding it, of course. It is currently Arabel’s most precious possession. She and Eleanor are out, so you’ll have to put up with crude masculine hospitality. What would you like?”
“Cider?”
“Of course.” Nicholas went to the door and gave instructions.
Con put his hat, gloves, and crop on a table, feeling heavily overdressed. After a moment he stripped off his jacket and cravat and opened his shirt. When Nicholas returned, Con asked, “Why the devil do we men dress in so many clothes in May?”
“In recompense for demanding that women wear corsets.”
“Do we demand that?”
“But surely they wouldn’t ask that of themselves?” But Nicholas’s smile pointed to most follies being self-imposed, which pretty well fit Con’s thinking at the moment.