a person feel any regret whatsoever for seducing and abandoning an innocent girl? The answer, surely, was no.
She felt physically sick. I’m afraid I’ve found him, Linette.
And, oh, Lord, he was going to be a powerful adversary.
Some hours later Alec was pacing the landing outside the main bedchamber of his father’s magnificent Belgrave Square house.
As soon as he’d seen his unwelcome visitor—Mrs Rowland—off his premises, he’d ridden to give a fencing lesson in Piccadilly, then he had an appointment down at the Limehouse docks with a warehouse owner who wanted to hire a dozen men. Alec always tried to find work for his ex-soldiers if they were fit for it.
He’d got back to Two Crows Castle to find a message for him, written by the Earl’s steward, Jarvis. Master Alec. I’m afraid that your father has been taken ill. The doctor is with him. Please come.
A thousand thoughts had raced through Alec’s brain as he’d urged his horse westwards through London’s busy streets to Mayfair. A thousand regrets. How serious was this? Had his father’s bout of illness been brought on, perhaps, by the shock of evil knowledge? Would his father even want to see the son he’d disowned a year ago?
Jarvis, a loyal old retainer, came out of the bedchamber now, bearing a tray laden with medicinal beakers. ‘Your father will see you now, Master Alec, sir.’
That was something. ‘Is the doctor still with him?’
‘He’s gone, but he’ll call back within the hour. He said there are no physical signs of illness, but your father needs to rest.’
Alec felt a great release of tension throughout his body. But—No wonder he needs to rest, with a young wife who pleads to be taken to every party of the Season. With a young wife who …
No. You must forget that, for now.
Alec went swiftly up to the lavishly furnished chamber. His father lay against the pillows of the four-poster in the half-light, for the curtains of the big room were already drawn against the early February dusk and only the coals in the fire lightened the gloom.
‘Alec.’ Slowly his father turned towards him. His gaunt hands twisted the bedcovers fretfully. ‘It’s been so long, Alec. So long since I’ve seen you …’
When you told me you’d no desire to see me ever again.
‘Sir. If there’s anything I can do, you have only to say the word. How are you?’
‘Oh, the doctor says I’ll live.’ His voice rasped. ‘Your brother—he was here the moment he heard I was ill.’
I’ll bet he was. Alec merely nodded. ‘Jarvis told me what the doctor said. That your affliction is thankfully nothing serious.’
‘Yes,’ muttered his father. ‘Damned quack poked and prodded everywhere. But he said it would do me good to get away from London.’
Away from London. Yes. But … ‘What does Lady Aldchester think of that, sir?’ Susanna adored London life. She’d once said that she would die in the country.
The Earl shuffled against his pillows and coughed. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know; she’s been out shopping with friends all afternoon, she won’t even be aware that I’ve had this damned turn. But she’ll come with me, she’s devoted, Alec, despite what you said! And so is Stephen. Would you believe it, he’s just told me he was setting off for Carrfields himself today, to see that everything was in good order!’
Alec’s fists tightened at that. So his brother had taken heed of him then, last night.
‘But now,’ went on his father, ‘he needn’t go, of course. Because I’ll travel there myself, with my dear Susanna.’
I would die in the country.
‘And,’ went on his father, ‘no doubt Stephen will escort us there and visit us regularly.’
Alec exploded. ‘The hell he will!’ He dragged his hand through his hair, said in a quieter voice, ‘I do beg your pardon, sir.’
His father was silent a moment, kneading the bedcover with his fingers. ‘Do you remember the times we used to have, when you were home on leave? We used to sit up till late into the night, didn’t we, and you’d tell me, oh, such tales, about the battles, and the sieges in Spain …’
‘I’ve never forgotten it, sir.’
‘But now …’ and his father’s voice was growing fretful ‘… now, all I hear about you is that you avoid civilised company, you avoid your brother, except to fight with him. And my wife has told me, reluctantly mind, that it’s you, always you, stirring things up …’
‘I suppose she would,’ said Alec bitterly.
‘What? What did you say? Do you take heed of me, Alec? Your mother died so long ago—am I never to be allowed happiness again? Will you make your peace with your brother and your stepmother?’
Alec stood ramrod straight. ‘You ask the impossible, sir.’
The Earl stared at him. Then he waved a tired hand. ‘Go back to your soldiers’ drinking dens. Go on, go. And once I’m at Carrfields, I want you to clear out everything of yours that’s left in this house. Your old army journals, your maps of Spain—all the paraphernalia that clutters up your room and my study. It hurts me to see them all, to remember … Take them away, do you hear?’
‘Everything will be removed. Though I hope you know that if you ever need me, I’m here for you—’
‘Leave. Just leave.’
And Alec turned, with a heavy heart, to go.
He found Stephen in the first-floor drawing room, gazing with narrowed eyes at the paintings on the walls—some of them inherited, some acquired from auction houses—and worth, like everything in this palatial house, a small fortune.
‘So, little brother.’ Stephen, on observing Alec’s entry, turned from staring at a French landscape to sink on to a sofa, where he tapped his fingers rather nervously on its satin upholstery. ‘Come in hopes of taking advantage of the family drama, have you? Planning, perhaps, to weasel your way back into our father’s affections?’
Alec gazed at him calmly. ‘You’ve had a respite, Stephen. Last night I suggested you leave London. Now there’s no need. Because our father’s going to Carrfields with his wife.’
‘No! Has he just told you that?’ Stephen was on his feet again, his face flushed. ‘Susanna will die of boredom there!’
‘Perhaps. But if you do anything other than tell her she must accompany our father, then your game is at an end.’
‘You wouldn’t …’
‘Oh, I would. Believe me, I would.’
‘She’s young, Alec! Younger than me, younger than you. And Carrfields—it’s like a prison for her!’
‘She
