The Clarendon Rose (18 page)

His brother seemed exhausted as Edmund followed him into the study.
 
“So tell me what happened,” he suggested, pouring the man a drink as Clarendon sank into one of the chairs.

“Nothing.
 
She went to the coaching inn and then… no-one knows,” Clarendon said wearily, accepting the drink with a grateful nod.
 
“I left a sizeable sum with the innkeeper, and the promise there would be more to come if he could give me some real leads.
 
That should be sufficient incentive for him to continue questioning the coachmen and guards who pass through the place.
 
He has a description and I’ve left him this address if there’s any news.”

Edmund poured himself a brandy as well, then sat down.
 
He glanced at the duke with some concern.
 
“I hate to say this, brother, but I fear that particular avenue will not lead us anywhere soon.
 
Traveling clothes are too concealing.
 
More than likely, given the number of young, demurely dressed women the drivers see, they have forgotten her already.”

Clarendon downed the contents of his glass and surged to his feet.
 
“I know, I know,” he muttered, pacing.
 
“But what else is there to do?
 
If we can even determine she’s well, I’d be able to rest easier.
 
But my concern is that something might have gone awry.”

“Rest assured, Tina can take care of herself.
 
I sometimes forget, but she did not have an easy childhood.
 
And at some point along the line, she learned to defend herself quite well, or so she tells me.
 
I’ve never put it to the test, but I have little doubt of the truth of it.”

The duke’s scowl grew even darker at this revelation.
 
Then, he shrugged and filled his glass.
 
“At least there’s that,” he conceded.
 
“But I won’t rest easy until I have the confirmation of her well-being.”

“Nor I, brother.”
 
Edmund took a swallow of brandy.
 
“At least Miss Fielding has provided us with the promised list.
 
We can send letters off to them on the morrow to determine if they offered—and she might have accepted—a position.
 
And if there is no new information by tomorrow, I would suggest you return to the manor and begin questioning the staff.
 
Perhaps Tina made other inquiries about positions.
 
There may be other names and addresses we can collect and investigate.”

Edmund noted that though Clarendon was nodding slowly at everything being said, he had all but inhaled his glass of brandy.
 
The duke kept darting dark glances at Edmund, as if he were readying himself to say something.

“You’d better just come out with it, Clare.”

“Out with what, old chap?”

“Whatever it is you’re itching to tell me.”

The duke raised his brows, his face a picture of puzzled inquiry.
 
Then, he seemed to change his mind.
 
Slowly, his expression darkened, and he nodded.
 
“Did she tell you why she ended the engagement?”

Edmund eyed his brother.
 
“Of course.”

“Did she tell you what I did?”

“That depends on what you might have done,” he said even more warily.
 
He had promised Tina he would not betray her confidence, after all, and they seemed to be moving into dangerous territory.

“What the devil is that supposed to mean?” the duke snapped, then shook his head.
 
“Sorry.
 
What exactly did she tell you?”

“Perhaps you’d better just tell me what you think you did and we can go from there,” Edmund suggested.

Clarendon resumed his restless pacing.
 
“That’s far easier said than done, Edmund.”
 
He paused by the desk, his back to his brother.
 
As Edmund watched, the duke seemed to steel himself.
 
Then, he set his glass down on the desk and turned.
 
“I compromised her.”

“You did
what?
”
 
Edmund rose to his feet, blinded by a flash of utter fury at his brother’s lack of control.
 
Tina had certainly not mentioned this.
 
“Have you no sense of restraint, man?
 
No sense of honor?”

Clarendon ran a hand through his hair.
 
“Apparently not,” he said wearily.
 
“Or at least, not where she’s concerned.”
 
He looked up, glaring at his brother.
 
“Appearances to the contrary, I do not make a practice of attacking every woman I meet.
 
There was something about Miss Merriweather…” he shook his head.
 
“But that’s not an excuse for what I did.”

“Damned straight, Clarendon.
 
I’ve half a mind to call you out!” Edmund growled, thinking about Tina’s confession.
 
His brother was a rake and an experienced seducer.
 
Poor Tina hadn’t stood a chance.

“And I’ve half a mind to accept.”

Edmund frowned at his brother, actually seeing him again as the haze from his brief flash of anger cleared.
 
Already, cool reason was rushing in to fill the gap.
 
Clarendon clearly felt as bad about the whole thing as Edmund did—or worse.

“Let it pass,” Edmund said impatiently, already busy working out the implications of Clarendon’s remorse.

Edmund walked towards his brother, the frown still in place.
 
The Tina I know wouldn’t allow herself to be compromised without her consent, after all.
 
This is undoubtedly part of those feelings she was talking about.
 
He sighed.

“I suspect that she broke off her engagement with you and fled because of her guilt, but I want to assure you now that she had nothing to do with this.
 
It was all me.
 
I forced myself upon her, don’t you know,” Clarendon said heavily.

Edmund leaned against the desk beside his brother and gave the duke a wry smile.
 
“I somehow doubt that.”
 
He set his glass down on the desk behind him.

“You think your betrothed participated in our intimacy willingly?” Clarendon straightened, glaring at his brother as if Edmund had gone mad.

“I think that even if she did not do so willingly, then at the least, she was not an
un
willing participant.”

“Good God Edmund, what are you saying about your betrothed?”

Edmund laughed at Clarendon’s shock.
 
“I am saying that my
formerly
-betrothed knows her own mind very well, whether she likes what she sees there or not.
 
And that if she did not in at least some way crave your attentions, then she would not have accepted them.”
 
Edmund shook his head at Clarendon’s look of bafflement.
 
“A few years may have passed since that sordid childhood of hers, but I would guess that even now, our lovely Miss Merriweather might give us a good run for our money in an all-out street fight.
 
Not the honorable gentleman’s scuffles we pursue, but the down and dirty sort of fights she had to win in order to dissuade bullies from making her a target for their torments.”

Clarendon shook his head.
 
“It was she who broke things off before we went too far, Edmund.
 
I want to make her role in this clear to you in the hopes it might help you two reconcile.”

Edmund smiled.
 
“Rest assured, it will not, brother.
 
We ended the betrothal for reasons other than her supposed infidelity, but those are not for me to discuss.
 
If you would have all the details, you’d be advised to ask her.”

Clarendon’s lip curled bitterly.
 
“Perhaps I will, if we ever manage to find her.”

“I hope you do.”

At that, Clarendon sank down in one of the chairs and closed his eyes.
 
“Good God, Edmund, how am I supposed to face her again after this?
 
How is she to forgive me, leave alone begin to trust me again?
 
How can I even ask for those things when I’m not sure whether I deserve them?”

“Would you walk away, then?” Edmund asked.

“If I felt that were best for her, then yes.
 
And I’m more than half way convinced it is.”

“Are you in love with her?”
 
Edmund spoke even more quietly than before.
 
He was already fairly certain of the answer—Clarendon wouldn’t be this upset if he didn’t have deep feelings for Tina.

The duke opened his eyes, and examining them, Edmund glimpsed a hint of something broken in their depths.
 
He frowned.

“Of course not.
 
I care about her, but love?” Clarendon shook his head.
 
The words triggered a flash of irritation in Edmund.
 
“I don’t think I’m capable of it anymore.”

“I see,” Edmund murmured.
 
If it wasn’t love, then it was the closest thing he had ever seen to it, and Edmund strongly believed in calling a kettle a kettle.

“Well, regardless, I think you and Tina have a few things to discuss.
 
The sooner we find her the better,” he said briskly, privately convinced that his brother was being just a little too self-pitying.
 
Tina would be just the one to pull Clarendon out of his mire.
 

Edmund straightened and finished off the last of his brandy.
 
“Well, I think I’m to bed,” he said, setting the glass down on a side table.

“Are you going back to the other townhouse?”

Edmund shook his head.
 
“I’ve already sent instructions to have all mail received there brought here.
 
And there’s more than enough space for us, so I figured I’d just retire here for the night.
 
That will also save Miss Fielding from having to face Mother alone tomorrow morning over the breakfast table.”

“Chivalrous of you,” Clarendon muttered, getting up from his chair.

“You’ll be staying up, I assume?”

“Rest assured, I won’t be getting much sleep without a lot more of this stuff in me.”

“Are you certain of that?”

Clarendon sighed.
 
“I’ve tried, brother.
 
Some nights, I still do try.
 
But then other nights, I’m just too tired.
 
I don’t want to have to see the faces and wrestle with the horror of it.
 
I just want to sleep the night through.”

With a surge of compassion, Edmund watched as his brother moved to the drinks tray with the creaky stiffness of an old man.
 
Though he did not understand what the duke had been through, Edmund hoped that in time his brother would heal from it.

The next morning, Edmund entered the breakfast room to find his mother in mid-spate about “the irresponsibility of some chits who could fling the kindness and hospitality of a family who had taken her in and treated her as one of their own, in their faces without so much as a by-your-leave &c.”

Clarendon had appropriated the jug of coffee from the sideboard and was slouched over a cup of the stuff, pausing in his sips to throw the occasional morose glare in the direction of their mother.
 
Miss Fielding sat, nodding politely at the duchess’s tirade.
 
Still, the girl’s embarrassment was evident, and Edmund felt irritated with his mother for putting the child in such a spot.

“Do you mean to say, Mother, that if Tina had asked for a by-your-leave, then her actions would be justified?” Edmund interjected as he forced a pleasant smile.
 
He heard Clarendon snort, and the duchess cut herself off in mid-speech.
 
Edmund’s grin became less forced as he caught Miss Fielding’s grateful smile and gave her a slight nod of greeting.

“Of course not, silly boy,” the duchess said, recovering a little too quickly for everyone else’s peace.
 
“I can only say that at least you’ve broken off that odious engagement with the chit.
 
If nothing else, then that’s one of the few positive results of this whole thing.
 
Then again, it’s probably a good thing she’s gone.
 
Saves us from having to figure out what to do with the girl…”
 
The duchess prattled on, apparently oblivious to the dark glare she was receiving from her eldest son.

Edmund sighed, giving up.
 
He helped himself to breakfast from the sideboard.
 

“… Such a nuisance, really.
 
She always has been—“ This time, she was cut off by the loud clatter of cup against saucer and she turned to glare at the duke.
 
“Goodness, Edward, you’re going to shatter that cup if you’re not careful.”

Edmund watched with amusement as his brother raised a cool eyebrow at their mother, then turned to Edmund:
 
“I was thinking of riding to the inn this morning to see if any news had been uncovered regarding Miss Merriweather’s whereabouts.”

“And why, pray, would you want to do such a thing?” the duchess demanded.
 
“If she’s gone then that’s none of
our
concern.
 
As far as I can tell, her departure simply means that we’re able to wash our hands completely of the hoyden…”

“Excellent idea, Clarendon,” Edmund replied.
 
Over the years, he had come to realize there was no real point in trying to keep the duchess from talking.
 
Any conversation in her presence had to be carried out in concurrence with her monologues.
 
“I’ll be happy to join you after I’ve seen Miss Fielding off,” he said with a smile at the lady in question.