Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire (111 page)

Oliver’s face blossomed with sudden anxiety. “You don’t dislike him, do you?”

My sister answered for me. “Of course he doesn’t, that’s why he’s in such shock. Give him time to get used to the idea, then you’ll hear him talking about nothing else.”

I shrugged again, adding a sheepish smile.

Oliver raised his glass, saw it was nearly empty and filled it again. “Then here’s to the very good health of my cousin Jonathan and his son Richard.”

Elizabeth raised her teacup and joined him in the toast. I spread my hands and bobbed my head once, modestly accepting the honor. I was yet unable to offer coherent conversation and quietly eased into a comfortable chair near the fire. They occupied themselves with their own talk about Richard, not excluding me so much as allowing me time for my own reflections and speculations. I folded my hands and watched the flames, content with the world and my lot of it in particular.

“Heavens!” Elizabeth hastily set down her cup and gestured sharply at the mantel clock. “See the time—I’ll be late for dinner if I don’t go now and dress for it. You, too, Oliver, unless you want to pique family curiosity even more about what you’ve been doing today.”

“No,” he said, sighing deeply. “Can’t have that, though it’s bound to be a rotten tribulation. Jonathan’s the lucky one, he can do whatever he likes while we sit chained to the table for the next few hours.”

“Or at least until the ladies take their leave,” she reminded him. “Then you and the other men can get as drunk as you please while I drown in tea.” Custom held that all ladies had to eventually retire from the table for their tea or coffee until it was time for the gentlemen to rejoin them for the serving of dessert.

“Well, I did warn you. Tell you what, I’ll see if Radcliff will sneak some brandy into the teapots for you. That should help you pass the time more merrily.”

“Dearest Oliver, it’s a wonderful idea, but we ladies have already long made a practice of it.”

“Have you, by God! First time I’ve heard of it. Perhaps I should forsake keeping company with the gentlemen and fall in with your troop.”

“Cleave to your duty,” she advised. “Except for me there’s not a woman left in the house that’s under sixty. You’d be bored to death in five minutes, for that’s ever been my fate. Now I really
must
go.” So saying, she swept out, skirts swinging wide and bumping against the doorframe, and we heard her quick progress down the hall.

“A damn fine girl, your sister,” said Oliver. “A pity she didn’t find a man worthy of her.”

“She probably will, given time and inclination,” I murmured. “But whoever she may settle on will have to behave himself with the two of us as her guardians.”

He laughed. “Now, isn’t that heaven’s honest truth, especially with your talents. Tell me, though, if it’s not too impertinent, why did you not question that Norwood fellow first before she married him just to be sure about him?”

What a sore wound it was he’d struck. I actually winced. Oliver started to withdraw the question, but I waved him down. “No, it’s all right. All I can say is that at the time it seemed an ungodly intrusion. She was so in love with him that I hesitated to tamper with her happiness. As it turned out, my hesitation damned near got her killed. Be assured, I will not make the same mistake again. Should she seriously take up with another suitor I’ll be able to tell soon enough if he’s a right one or a rogue.”

“Now there’s a good idea for an occupation.”

“Hmm?”

“It just occurred to me that since you can’t practice law because of your condition, you could busy yourself as some sort of inspector of marriage proposals. The ladies could come to you to have you ferret out the truth about their gentlemen prior to committing marriage. That way they can find out the worst before it’s too late.”

“The gentlemen might also be interested in such a service,” I pointed out.

“True . . . then it’s an idea best forgotten. If engaged couples knew all there was to know awaiting them, then none would marry, and humanity would die out for want of progeny. Unless they do what you’ve done and father a child by—er—ah—that is to say—well, no offense.”

“None taken. Get on with you, Cousin, and ready yourself for dinner. You wouldn’t want to leave Elizabeth alone with the crows, would you?”

“No. But given a choice I’d prefer to leave the crows alone with themselves, then they could feed on each other and soon disappear altogether.”

“Dreamer,” I called to his back as he left to prepare himself for the endeavor to come.

Alone and comfortably settled before the revived fire, I let forth a satisfied sigh. Now could I give in to my own dreams for a little time. Not the bad ones I’d endured for a brief interval early that morning, but the light and fanciful ones that possess a man so filled with good feeling that it overflows his heart and makes the very air about him seem to hum from it.

I’d met my son, and all was well.

The trepidation and apprehensions had fled. I was so encompassed with warmth for the boy that it seemed impossible I’d ever been worried at all. Whatever problems the future might hold would solve themselves, of that I had no doubt.

There was much work ahead, of course, but it would be easy labor. Facing down the disapproval of the family, dealing with the scandal of the boy’s conception, dealing with Edmond, even dealing with Clarinda, tribulations all, to be sure, but not terribly important so long as I could spend time with Richard. I could hardly wait to see his face again, to see it glow with another smile like—

If
Edmond would even allow it. Before God, he could tell me to go to hell and be well within his rights and then I’d never see—

My moment of panic came and instantly passed. He
would
allow it. I’d make certain of that no matter what. If I could turn the likes of Ridley into a lamb, then I could just as easily convince Edmond to cheerfully welcome me into his home. Elizabeth would probably disapprove—she usually did when it came to forcing my influence upon another person, but this was a special circumstance. Surely she’d not object to my making life a bit smoother for all concerned by the use of this strange talent.

Then the only limitation I’d have against being with Richard would be my inability to see him during the day. Damnation, but there was one obstacle I could not influence my way around. Half a loaf was better than none, but it irked me all the same. Ah, well, I’d just have to live with it until he got older and could stay up later. By then he’d be away at school, though . . . but he’d be home for visits between terms. . . .

So much to think about, so much to dream and plan. I stared at the fire until my eyes watered, blinked to clear them, but they only watered the more. To my astonishment, first one tear then another spilled forth.

“You’re being absurd, Johnny-boy,” I muttered aloud, wiping at them with my sleeve before remembering my handkerchief. It was the one I’d used in the stable, the one bearing evidence of my last feeding in the form of some small bloodstains.
No matter
, I thought, scrubbing away at my wet cheeks.

Though in a way it did matter, for now did I realize why I wept. Mixed with my happiness was the certain knowledge that Richard was the only child I would ever father, thus making him immeasurably precious to me.

Because of my changed condition the male member of my body, though still capable of providing enjoyment to any lady so desiring to make use of it, was now incapable of producing seed. Though it could come to glad attention, allowing me to roger away as happily as any other man, it was no longer at all necessary for the achievement of a climax to my pleasure. That sweet accomplishment was only to be found when partaking of the lady’s blood, a process we could both enjoy to its fullest for as long as we could stand the ecstasy. Wonderful and superior as it was to the more common way of making love, it had a wretched price. The joys of having a wife and a hearth might yet be mine in the future, but my present state tragically precluded any possibility of fathering a family of my own to cherish.

Why was it so?
I wondered. The question had long occurred to me prior this night, but never before had the lack of an answer seemed so hard to endure.

If I could only find
Nora
.

Seeing Nora Jones again had ever been the focus of all things for me since that summer night when I’d awakened in a coffin buried deep beneath the church graveyard. For all its limitations, though, the condition she’d bequeathed upon me had its favorable side. I was grateful for the advantages, but needed to know more about the drawbacks. Ignorance had caused me grief in the past, so I harbored a reasonable desire to learn all there was to learn before committing additional blunders. If I could just speak with her, even once, and put to rest my questions, then might I find a bit of peace for my troubled heart.

I’d have to tell her about Richard, of course. There was no way around it. I hoped she would find a delight in him similar to my own. Her temper was such as to make it a possibility, though in our time together we’d not discussed any matters to do with children, so her reaction was not anything I could predict with certainty. Most females were fond of children, though, and Richard was a singularly charming specimen. One smile from him and she might fall in love with him as well.

If
I ever found her.

Oliver and I would just have to take up the search with renewed vigor. I could have another look through her London house on the slender chance that I’d missed something earlier, and Oliver could track down the agents who had sold it to her. Perhaps they had records on where she’d lived before and we could speak to her neighbors. . . .

I quelled the speculations. Firmly They’d had their race around inside my head far too often already to offer any new approach to this particular hunt. Time to let them rest and cast my mind back to better, more productive thoughts. Like Richard.

Alas, it was not to be. Just as I was summoning the energy to forsake my comfortable chair and build up the dwindling fire, one of the footmen came in with a message for me. Damnation, if it wasn’t one thing it was another.

He handed over a small fold of paper, then stepped back a pace to await my reply. I half expected it to be from my valet, Jericho, who was probably wondering if I planned to return home tonight. An excellent question, that. I opened the thing, but did not recognize the bold, flowing writing within.

For God’s sake, will you come speak with me? I beg only a moment.

The signature was a large, florid C placed in the exact center at the bottom of the sheet.

Clarinda,
I thought, my spirits sinking. What the devil did she want? And did I really wish to find out?

Edmond Fonteyn had taken full charge of his murderous wife to make sure she was securely confined for the remainder of their stay at Fonteyn House. Had he not been forced by his injuries to rest, he would have swept her away to their own home by now.

A temporary prison for her had been improvised from one of the more distant upstairs rooms. I understood it to be cold, bare of furnishings except dust, and horrifically dark and stuffy since it had no window. Oliver’s description of it, given earlier when he filled me in on the day’s events, was vivid, as the chamber had served as a place of punishment for him when he was a child. His mother had a great fondness for shutting him away there for hours at a time whenever she deemed any given transgression of correct behavior to be serious enough to merit it. That meant most of them, he’d added with heartfelt disgust. Nanny Howard hadn’t approved, but was forced to comply with orders or risk a dismissal with no reference. To mitigate the worst of it for poor Oliver, she’d sit just outside the door and keep him company, talking and cheering him while pretending for his parent to play the stern and watchful guard.

Clarinda had no such companionable warden. Edmond instructed two of the footmen to keep a close eye on her locked door, and see to it she didn’t make too much noise. He had been up twice today to see she got her meals, but no one else had come since he’d put the story about that she’d fallen ill from the strain of the funeral and needed complete quiet to recover. That and the long climb up the stairs had been sufficient to discourage the remaining elderly relatives from paying calls, though Oliver reported that speculation on the real nature of her illness was rife. Some took Edmond at his word, but others maintained that he’d gotten tired of her infidelities and had finally decided to lock her away. Though close enough to the truth, the chief mystery for them was why Edmond had waited so long, and then chosen this particular time and place to take action.

They would most certainly connect it with the row last night: Edmond and Arthur Tyne’s injuries, Ridley being held prisoner in the cellar, Oliver getting roaring drunk and all the other odd goings-on that had taken place in the wee hours after Aunt Fonteyn’s funeral. I grimly wondered how Oliver and Elizabeth would ever manage to hold fast to a topic like the weather throughout the ordeal of supper. The gouty crows would be disinclined to ask a direct question, but there was always a chance one of them might pluck up the nerve to try. Just as well for me that I was missing it all, for I’d find myself hard-pressed to keep a neutral and sober face.

I dismissed the footman, thanking him with a penny vale. He had surely gotten the note directly from Clarinda, and even if he could not read might have some idea of what it was about. Though the servants of Fonteyn House were fairly trustworthy, they were not above taking an avid interest in the antics of their betters. Would I go to see her or stay? I intended to have a talk with her, but not really planned out when. It was rather like having a tooth drawn—sooner or later it would have to be done, but neither haste nor delay would make the process the least bit pleasant to endure.

Well,
I
thought, heaving out of my chair with a groan,
mustn’t disappoint the below-stairs gossips.