Read The Duchess and the Dragon Online
Authors: Jamie Carie
The Duchess and the Dragon (33 page)
“I could not ask Drake. But I thought that thou might knowest . . . the truth. I must discover the truth.”
INSIDE RICHARD WAS railing at himself, for all the stupid mistakes he had made, for the courage he lacked—courage such as he saw in this gentle Quaker woman. He had been shocked at first to realize that she was a Quaker. The Drake he knew would never have chosen such a woman. But after hearing her story and spending time in her company, he understood. Understood so very much. And he was glad for some of it. Glad Drake had stepped into the shoes of the poor and the enslaved . . . even if it was only for a little while. And glad heaven had sent him this angel, whose wings had been clipped but could be mended and sent out to love his son again.
His son.
How to tell her?
But then, she already suspected. That letter . . . he had wondered whatever became of it. It was the only one he had ever written to Helena. He’d thought it thrown into the fire or dissolved in the tears he knew it had caused, destroyed just as surely as it had destroyed their love. He would forever mourn those misbegotten decisions of his youth and the wreckage of human life they had caused. But how to tell this sweet girl, his daughter-in-law?
He had been staring sadly at her for some time. Seeing the tears she held at bay, he remembered her question. “Truth? I must tell you, Serena, my dear, you are the first to have asked for it.” He looked down at his hands hanging limp between his knees. “I thought Drake might come here one day, as you have, demanding answers. But I hadn’t expected this.” He smiled at her again and took a fortifying sip of tea.
“Since you have been so brave as to seek it out, I will tell you. What I know of it, anyway. Helena and I met just before she married my brother, Ivor. She had been betrothed to him for years, a most desirable family alliance, you see, but she had never met him.” He gazed at the painting as he continued. “When she came to Alnwick, in Northumberland, she was so young. We all were, looking back on it. She was innocent and my brother . . . well, let’s just say he was much older and experienced of the world. She had ideals about marriage that he had no intention of fulfilling. He told her so, and she tried to end the betrothal. By chance or fortune, I met up with her one night in the garden. I had only seen her from afar and hadn’t fully appreciated her effect on me until that night. She was . . . so full of life. I was enchanted, and she was disillusioned and vulnerable. Together we . . . consoled one another.”
“But you said you loved her.”
“I did, as only a twenty-year-old who thinks himself a man could. But I didn’t understand the cost of such love, or even the meaning of it, until it was too late.” He took another sip of tea. “The marriage went ahead as planned. I was . . . we were both heartbroken. She swore to me she would have nothing to do with him, but we both knew it was a lie. A month passed and Ivor left for one of his many excursions abroad. She knew by then that he went to gamble and dally with his current mistress. He had many mistresses over the years and wasn’t very discreet about it. It was then, while he was away, that she begged me to come for a visit. I did, and as you may have suspected, fathered Drake that long wonderful month we were together.
“We both pretended it would never end. And that it was perfectly natural for me to be there—right, even. We convinced ourselves that we were a world apart, not needing or wanting the outside. We hoped my brother would never return, but he did. And it didn’t take him very long to guess that we had been together. I suppose it was written on both our faces. He threw me out with a broken rib and more than a few bruises.” Richard shrugged. “I can’t say that I blame him. Helena was his wife and I never should have touched her. I received a letter from Helena a month later saying she was with child. She said Ivor had threatened to beat the child from her body if she didn’t assure him the babe was his. Helena lied the best she could, but we knew. We both knew the child was ours. There had been signs even before I left.”
He stood, unable to sit still a moment longer as the terrible memories assailed him. “When I wrote that letter, the one you read, I thought I was doing the wise thing. The noble thing. I convinced myself that the best I could do for my child was to relinquish all rights as his father and allow him to grow up an heir to the dukedom. I had watched my brother, groomed since birth for the position of wealth and power he would someday reign over and . . . I was envious. I thought if my son could inherit that world, it would be worth the sacrifice of Helena’s and my love. What choice did we have really?”
He swung around to face Serena again, unable to keep the harsh tone from his voice. “But I
did
have other choices. Choices Helena hinted at, but I was unwilling to see. Choices involving hardship and lack and hard work. I could have taken them both away . . . to the colonies . . . to Holland . . . somewhere. I could have made a life for the woman I loved, and for my son. Instead, I choose the comfort of cold familiarity.”
did
have other choices. Choices Helena hinted at, but I was unwilling to see. Choices involving hardship and lack and hard work. I could have taken them both away . . . to the colonies . . . to Holland . . . somewhere. I could have made a life for the woman I loved, and for my son. Instead, I choose the comfort of cold familiarity.”
There. It was out. As ugly in revelation as it had been within him. “Serena, I tell you what I have admitted to myself many times in the dark lonely hours since: I was a coward.”
“No—”
Richard stopped her.
“If that were only the worst of it.” He looked back at Helena’s portrait. The same portrait he looked at every day, silently begging her forgiveness. “She wasted away . . . slowly . . . like a flower whose petals dropped off, one by one, leaving a thin and lifeless stem. Until that, too, turned pale and dead.”
The pain sliced through him as he set free the truth he’d held back all these years. “I am responsible for her death.”
SERENA COULD SIT no longer. Striding over to Richard Weston, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sir, thou must not torture thyself like this. Thou mayest have made some mistakes, but only God knows to what degree thy choices affected her life. She might have died in Holland, onboard a ship to the colonies—any number of things could have happened. Thou only played a part. Like Drake and I, we are both responsible for where we now stand. Helena made her choices, too, and I am certain she would not want thee to carry this burden thy whole life.” The tears she had held back during the telling of the story now spilled forth. “Thou must forgive thyself.”
Richard stared into her clear eyes. “Does Drake know what he’s found in you?”
She thought he had, hoped he had. Believed with all her heart he’d known how rare their love was. How it needed to be cherished and protected.
But now . . .
Now she could only bow her head and fight back the sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her. Sorrow for what Drake’s mother and this good man had lost. And for all she feared she had lost as well.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was a relief, telling all of it to someone. Like a weight had been lifted and now his head felt light. Richard laughed, a little self-conscious. “But you didn’t come here to hear all of that, did you, Serena. You want to know if Drake is telling the truth about his identity.” He hated to tell her he didn’t know, but he must.
“To the world and to himself, Drake is the son of Ivor, the Duke of Northumberland and his only heir. I have not seen my brother in many years. Honestly, I don’t know whether he is dead or alive, but if he died I can’t imagine why I would not have been so informed. I would have certainly attended his funeral. So . . . that leaves a very big question. If, indeed, Ivor is dead as Drake told you, why doesn’t anyone else know about it?”
Serena wondered aloud, “But why would he lie to me about his father? And why would he pretend to society that I am his—” she nearly choked on the words—“father’s wife and not his own.”
There was the pain of it, betrayal and hurt in her eyes. Richard wished he had some answer that would erase that look, but he didn’t. “Only Drake can answer those questions. You will have to face him at some point. You know that, do you not?”
Serena shook her head. “How can I believe anything he tells me?”
Richard walked closer to her. “His game is up, my dear. I believe he will tell you the truth now. Whatever he is playing at, he had to have had good reason. Drake is not one for frivolous undertakings, as I’m sure you’re aware. He’s a careful man, a planning man. He will have compelling reasons why he’s done this to you.”
Serena searched his eyes. “How compelling can they be? To pretend I am his stepmother? It is . . . it is disgusting!”
Richard could only agree with her. “Does he know where you are?”
She shook her head. “I–I left suddenly, without any thought beyond finding thee.” Her eyes grew round. “I did not even bring any money beyond the coach fare. Might I stay here tonight?”
“Of course. For as long as you wish.” He smiled at her. “You may find yourself tiring of an old bachelor like myself, and when you do, I will escort you back to London. You’ll not have to face him alone, Serena. It is past time the truth about my part in all this came out.”
“Yes, Drake needs to know who he is. He thinks he knows, but there is something missing. He is so . . . restless. But I cannot go back there. Not now.” Helplessness and fear shone from her eyes. “Perhaps never.”
He patted her shoulder. “A day at time. That’s how we’ll manage this.” He knew of what he spoke. It was how he had lived the last thirty years of his life.
DRAKE PACED BACK and forth between the bedchamber and Serena’s dressing room. Stopping at the mess in front of her armoire, the mess he had made days before while searching her room, he cursed. Where to look next?
His worst fear had come true. She had left him.
He lashed out by pulling more jewel-encrusted gowns out unto the floor. Kicking them aside, he studied the contents of the empty shelves. Where had she gone? How could she leave without even coming to him and demanding to know what he’d done? Why hadn’t she asked him if all Lady Chamberlain said was true?
When he thought of Maria Louisa Chamberlain, the vicious smile in her eyes as she told him about her little conversation with his “stepmother,” Drake ground his teeth. Whatever Serena had believed from that conversation was enough to drive her away. By the time he arrived home, she had vanished without a trace. The servants had not seen her leave and had no knowledge of where she went. Her dressing room looked, at first, untouched, but upon further investigation Drake found a few things missing. That’s when he started to panic. It would be so like her to take only her belongings from before . . . before her life with him.
Slowly it had sunk in that she’d left him. Three days now with no word, no clues. Every avenue of questioning had turned up nothing. When he thought of her alone in London, so naïve, without money and his protection . . . his stomach lurched. It was as if the earth had opened up and swallowed her.
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