Wicked Under the Covers, page 18
“Fayre, my girl, are you not thrilled Mr. Brawley was able to join us on our adventure?” the duchess said, not caring for the silence of her companions.
Maccus sensed Fayre’s private amusement at her mother’s choice of words. He had promised her adventures, too. The light staining on her cheeks indicated she was probably reflecting on the adventure they had shared in her bed.
“Yes, Mama.” To Maccus she said, “Lord and Lady Dening keep a residence just outside London. Their gatherings are very popular and can go on for days.”
There seemed to be a warning in her statement, but Maccus could not fathom what was troubling her. Since it seemed polite to mention the missing member of the Solitea family, he asked, “Will His Grace be attending the Denings’ fête?”
He received an interesting tableau of reactions from the trio. The duchess’s smile wobbled and she suddenly discovered something fascinating about the passing scenery. The hand Lord Temmes had braced against his cheek curled into a fist. His sullen expression darkened with blatant hostility. If Maccus had not realized his grave error in mentioning the duke, Fayre cleared it up for him by kicking him in the shin when her mother was not looking.
“His Grace had other pressing commitments,” the duchess explained, and Maccus regretted dimming the vitality he always credited her with because of his innocent question.
“My father usually misses the Denings’ fête, ” Fayre said, her green eyes seeking out her mother. Maccus read sympathy in her expression.
Her brother stirred from his brooding slouch. “Well, ’tis a fact Lord Dening does not miss our father,” the marquess muttered.
Fayre gave her brother a quelling glance and rewarded his callous remark with a not so discreet jab with her pointy elbow. Maccus thought it was nice to see her picking on someone else for a change. For a merry trip to the countryside, the beginning of their adventure was starting off rather grimly.
“All right, explain to me why my question about your father has the duchess sitting there like a flower wilting in the sun and has your brother plotting my death?” Maccus demanded to Fayre when they had stopped at an inn to rest the horses.
Fayre had not joined her mother and Tem inside the inn, telling them that she preferred to walk the yard and ease the stiffness in her limbs. She knew Maccus would not leave her unescorted. Tem should have objected, but he was too angry right now to be thinking clearly.
“No one blames you,” she assured him, then paused. “Well, Tem does, but he was surly before we even arrived at your house.”
They walked the boundary of the enclosure. Years of the ground being trampled by people, equipage, and horses had prevented anything but a compact mix of dirt and dung to exist there. Crowded near the wooden posts of the decaying fence that wrapped around the inn and the outer buildings, wild grasses and a few stray flowers flourished.
“This is family business so if you repeat what I am about to tell you, Tem will try to give you a scar to match the one on your chest,” she said, wanting him to understand that the subject was painful for her family.
“Your brother does not need any encouragement. For some reason he despises me,” Maccus said, truly puzzled why anyone would not like him.
“He probably recognizes you for what you are,” she said, shrugging. Fayre was not overly concerned that Tem was planning to ambush him. Her brother had the sense not to murder Maccus in front of the duchess.
“And what is that?” he asked. There was an edge to his husky voice. Great. She had managed to insult him.
She motioned helplessly with her hands. “A scoundrel. A seducer of innocents.”
Fayre uttered her insults so blandly, he barked with laughter. “My jewel, I am wounded,” he mocked, grabbing his chest.
“Oh, and a liar, too,” she added, after his feigned chest pains had reminded her of that particular flaw. “Even so, you do not have anything to fear from him. Tem is just posturing because the Solitea women are fond of you. If he had met you without the family interference, you might have grown to be best friends.”
Maccus glanced back at the inn. He shook his head. “I disagree.”
“No, truly. How could he condemn you? Tem is a scoundrel, too. With the Solitea curse on his head, there was no incentive for him to behave, I fear.”
“There is no such thing as a curse,” Maccus said flatly.
He did not believe her. She supposed that to an outsider, it did sound peculiar. “I confess I have not researched the origin of the curse to confirm it. Still, the Carlisle family for generations has believed in its existence.”
Maccus cut her off and grasped her upper arms. “Fayre, if you don’t want to tell me why your mother was upset by a simple question, then very well, don’t tell me. You don’t have to make up another tale to distract me.”
Exasperated, she pushed aside his arms and kept walking. “Fine. Forget about the curse.” Perhaps there was no curse. Her father seemed to have escaped it. And Tem, well, he was young and very wicked. She had always thought it prudent not to be too attached to him. “About my father—”
His handsome face creased in concern. “Fayre, if it is too upsetting for you—”
She shook her head. “This does not have anything to do with me. No, really. Like Tem, I am just an unwilling spectator.”
Maccus knew better, but he could not seem to resist putting his arm around her and cuddling her for a moment. “Of what, love?”
“The Carlisles and the Denings have a history,” she said, carefully picking her words. “I cannot think of a clever way of saying it. My father and Lady Dening were lovers.” She saw his expression and waved away his opinion of her big confession. “I know what you are going to say. My father has taken many mistresses and everyone in the ton knows he is not particularly fussy if they are married or not. My mother is tolerant in ways I could never be.” She pouted, thinking about Lord Standish.
He tickled her underneath her chin, reminding her of his presence. “But there was something different about Lady Dening?”
Fayre nodded, feeling wretched. “Papa fell in love with her. This occurred years before my birth. Tem was a few months old and Mama was still recovering her strength from the difficult birth. I cannot give you specific details on how they came together or why Lady Dening had captured my father’s heart when his other lovers had not.”
“I assume Lord Dening discovered that he had been betrayed and ended the affair?”
She raised her hand and squinted against the bright sun. The warmth felt good on her face. “It was a little more complicated than that. My father planned to leave my mother and run off with Lady Dening. It never happened. Perhaps Lord Dening caught them or Lady Dening realized belatedly that she could not destroy two families.”
Fayre took a breath. Naturally, she had been curious about what had transpired, but this was not a subject she could discuss with her family. “Lady Dening remained with her husband. Seven months later she was delivered of a son. He will be introduced to you as Lord Jerrett.” She paused, allowing the words to sink in.
Maccus was quick. “The baby was sired by your father. Christ, what a coil!”
Fayre nodded, feeling relieved to have unburdened herself. She had not even known the secret had been weighing on her until she had shared it with Maccus. “Now you understand why my father does not attend Lord and Lady Dening’s gatherings. I assume my parents and the Denings came to an understanding. Lord Dening accepted the baby as his own. Each year as far back as I can remember, my mother brings us to the fêtes. Everyone is friendly. And no one speaks of the past.”
Fayre sensed that Maccus liked her mother. His face was harsh with anger on her mother’s behalf for the distress the duke’s carelessness had caused her. “Why does the duchess subject herself to facing a woman who must bring her pain when she looks upon her?”
“For the duke. She loves him. Despite their odd ways, their marriage works for them. These yearly visits give her an opportunity to visit with the son her husband will never be able to claim. I would not be surprised if she shares with my father the changes she notes in Lord Jerrett and the tales the Dening family relate to her about him.”
“It seems cruel to drag you and your brother into this mess.”
She placed her hand on his arm, wanting to soothe the tension rising within him. “I doubt she sees it that way, Maccus. Lord Jerrett is our half brother. Trevor is your half brother. He is your family. We will never be able to call the viscount brother. Nonetheless, it was important to my mother and father that we know him.”
Maccus pressed a kiss to Fayre’s forehead. “Fayre—”
“Get your hands off my sister!” Tem said coldly behind them.
14
“Mr. Brawley,” Fayre said, her gaze never moving from her brother’s seething face. “I appreciate your escort. Might I impose on you to get me some refreshments before we depart?”
Maccus hesitated, not pleased at leaving her to face her brother’s wrath alone. “Fayre, I do not stand behind a woman,” he said, his concern for her causing him to use her given name.
“Nor do I need a stubborn man to hide behind!” she angrily retorted. “Please. You can entertain the duchess while my brother has a tantrum.”
Tem waited until Maccus had left the yard.
“What is going on between you and Brawley?” he demanded.
She had strolled the yard enough to long for the carriage. “Just making conversation,” she said lightly.
Tem held her in place, when she would have walked away. “He laid his hands on you, Fayre. Called you by name.”
“Such crimes!” she said, sneering. “You are doing the same thing and I have yet to hang you!”
Her brother, realizing he was getting nowhere with his sister by yelling at her, struggled to soften his approach with her. “The conversation you were having with him seemed . . . involved. What were you talking about?”
Fayre made a vague gesture with her hand. “Miscellaneous topics. He knew his question about Papa upset our mother, so he apologized.” Or would have had Tem not interrupted them.
“You didn’t tell him,” Tem said incredulously. “Pray tell me you did not tell him the reason why our mother was saddened by his question.”
“Fine. I will give you the words. I did not tell him.” It was her rotten luck her brother could always see through her subterfuge.
“Damn it, Fayre!” he shouted at her, scaring two scrawny chickens that were pecking in the dirt nearby. “Who is this man to you that you would spill family secrets to him?”
“Oh, please, Tem, it is hardly a secret. There are those who knew Mama and Papa twenty-two years ago. People who were aware of Papa’s affair with Lady Dening,” she said, weary of the pretense. “And let us not forget Lord Jerrett himself. The gentleman may have Lady Dening’s raven hair, but he has the Carlisle eyes. No one can look at him and deny he is our brother!”
“Half,” her brother growled.
“All right. Half. Mr. Brawley is not dim-witted. He would have eventually put it all together himself like everyone else has.” Fayre looked beseechingly at Tem. “Are you not tired of the pretense? The Denings and the Carlisles are the only people who claim not to know the truth.”
Tem roughly pulled her into his embrace and hugged her. “Sister mine, you cannot change the rules just because you do not like the game.”
Fayre sighed against him. “I know. We are merely the spectators. I would not say or do anything to harm either one of them.”
She thought of her attempts to protect her father from Lady Hipgrave’s revenge. Sometimes it was difficult for her to be a good daughter. Her father’s habitual indiscretions had hurt too many people. Fayre felt trapped between loving a faithless man and feeling disloyal for seeing his flaws as weakness.
“What of Brawley?” Tem asked, speaking into her hair. “Do you trust him?”
Fayre pulled back so her brother could see the truth in her face. “Yes, I do.”
Maccus saw the Earl of Dening and his lady in a different light now that Fayre had revealed one of her family’s dark secrets. Lord Dening was a large, imposing gentleman with thinning brown hair and a bald spot at his crown. Maccus approximated the man’s age to be in the early fifties. The thickness around his middle seemed like misplaced muscle rather than fat from overindulgence.
In contrast, Lady Dening was petite. Her bones looked so delicate it was a miracle she had not been crushed by her robust husband. The duchess had confided to Maccus on their drive to the Denings’ that the countess had produced seven children in as many years. Only four had survived past infancy. Discreetly observing this tiny lady with silver laced through her black hair, Maccus thought the strength of a woman was greatly underestimated.
One would have never guessed that there had ever been animosity between the Carlisles and their hosts. The earl and countess had warmly embraced the Duchess of Solitea when the carriage had arrived at the lavish country house. The couple was equally affectionate with Lord Temmes and Fayre. The duchess introduced Maccus to the Denings and he sensed their unspoken curiosity about his connection to the family. The couple might have thought he was the duchess’s lover initially; however, the older woman herself had put aside such speculation by recounting the tale of their shopping expedition, which included Fayre. Much to Fayre’s consternation her mother had neatly shifted everyone’s inquiring gazes on to her daughter.
Now that Maccus knew the truth, he had wanted to meet Fayre’s half brother, Lord Jerrett. Lady Dening had explained with profound regret that the young viscount had been unable to return home in time for the fête. Her Grace expressed her disappointment, but the relief on her children’s faces had not gone unnoticed by Maccus.
While Lady Dening escorted Fayre and her mother away so they could refresh themselves from their journey, he and Tem had joined Lord Dening on a brief tour of the estate. The estate was large enough that they would have had to take horses to view the land wholly. With the house filling up with guests that were now arriving hourly, the earl was content to show them the immense gardens at the back of the house. Beyond the gardens, a pleasant walk in the woods gave way to an unexpected open area. The grass had been cut low to the ground in a circular pattern, highlighting the earl’s newest addition. He referred to it as a Gothic temple.
Tem scrutinized the exotic building. “It is not Gothic,” he murmured, and Maccus had no clue if the marquess was addressing him or his host.
Maccus did not consider himself an expert on architecture, but he had to agree that Lord Dening’s temple was not Gothic, though he recognized an influence. Since he was a guest he decided to keep his mouth shut.
The temple had been hewed from marble and the outline of the building was square. In between the massive columns that numbered two on each side, the architect had inset windows that reminded Maccus of a church with their high triangular points at the top and their horizontal bases. It was the architecture at the top of the temple that was perplexing. The roof bowed deeply at each corner while the ends flared out like a Turkish slipper. Lanterns adorned the ends. Metal railings framing the uppermost section of the odd roof were bent up toward the heavens at each of the corners. The design looked like a square that had turned inward.
“It’s an exotic,” Lord Dening explained with satisfaction to his bemused companions. “My wife and I chose elements of architecture that we liked and had the architect put it all together. The building is a mix of Gothic and Chinese ornament. At night when the lanterns are lit, I feel like I’ve left England and have traveled to some exotic locale.”
Tem was unimpressed. Shaking his head, he walked away from what he considered a monstrosity and returned to the formal gardens he understood and appreciated. Lord Dening smiled at his temple, clearly pleased with the results.
Maccus stared at the building thoughtfully.
Exotic locale.
He grinned at his host. Maccus could appreciate Lord Dening’s desire to escape his mundane world. He shifted his gaze thoughtfully to the temple, wondering if he could convince Fayre to join him on another adventure.
“What are you doing out here?” Fayre demanded later when she discovered Maccus in the gardens. The man was standing alone on one of the many walks with his arms clasped behind his back. There was a smug expression on his face that put her on alert as he surveyed the landscape. Maccus was definitely up to something. “You disappeared almost two hours ago. The duchess has been asking everyone for her preux chevalier,” she said, fluttering her lashes in exaggeration.
Maccus groaned. “Peerless knight? It sounds as though the duchess’s spirits have been revived. Fayre, I beg you to save me from your mother’s clutches.”
The expression he gave her was so boyish; she could not resist grinning at his appeal. “Too late, Mr. Brawley. We have been ordered by the duchess to mingle with the other guests. I can already tell Mama loathes sharing you with anyone, but I have persuaded her to introduce you around to several respectable families, all of whom have young unmarried daughters.”
He cupped her face tenderly. “Trying to get rid of me?”
The gesture always did queer things to her insides. If she did not know better, she could have sworn she had swallowed a few of the garden’s butterflies. Her stomach certainly felt as if she had one or two fluttering about inside.
“Just honoring my side of the bargain, sir,” Fayre said faintly. When he teased her in that manner, she often wondered if he was testing her dedication in helping him. For a man who spoke of building a life for himself with a respectable bride at his side, he seemed reluctant to actually seek this mysterious lady out. It was wishful thinking for her to assume he was enjoying her company too much to consider replacing her with another lady.
“Where are we going?” Maccus asked, following her lead.
“Lady Dening has several activities set up on the front lawn. Guests have the choice of simply watching or participating.” Fayre fought the urge to sulk. “If Mama has her way, I shall be demonstrating my archery skills.”
