Andrew Lord of Despair(46)

Though Astrid did not think Douglas would permit himself the same latitude.

“I can see your grief is abated.” One could not tell with Douglas where thoughtful observation ended and dry sarcasm began, but he was at least trading honesty for honesty.

“Do you begrudge me an abatement of grief, Douglas? Particularly when what has speeded me along has been nothing other than the reality of Herbert’s betrayals?”

Perhaps the full moon did incline people to lunacy, for Astrid felt a bout of histrionics welling.

White chrysanthemums stood for truth. Douglas tossed his into the hedge. “You speak in the plural.”

“Of course I do. Tell me which of the wedding vows Herbert kept, Douglas, and explain to me how this frittering away of the only funds I have wasn’t also a betrayal.”

They reached a stone bench that overlooked the strange beauty of the fall garden by moonlight. Astrid seated herself and gestured Douglas to do likewise.

Abruptly, she was tired, and tears threatened. She missed being able to eat whatever she pleased; she missed the simple misery of being Herbert’s wife; she missed Andrew’s difficult, affectionate company.

“Sit with me a bit, Douglas. Stop looming over me like a disappointed angel. There is more we need to say to each other.”





Nine





A disappointed angel? Douglas obligingly sat and waited for Astrid to fill the silence.

“My brother uses the same tactic,” she said. “He sits, silent as a sphinx, unnerving people with his odd eyes, and soon they start telling him anything he asks simply to make him and his infernal silences go away.”

And Fairly no doubt turned his odd-eyed stare on his own younger sibling, suggesting Astrid was due a small pang of sympathy.

“I played cards with your brother this afternoon. You would have been amused at our manly stratagems and posturing. I should hope the both of us were.” He fell silent, not to make her squirm, but to give her time to collect her thoughts, because apparently, embezzlement, adultery, and bereavement were not to be the limit of their cheery little discussion.

“What would you have me do about this matter, Douglas?”

He could dither and insinuate, or he could be blunt and get them both off this cold, hard bench all the sooner.

“First, keep it to yourself, and second, allow me time to replenish your accounts.” These were commonsense responses to a ridiculous situation, but Douglas resented that they left him relying on Astrid’s good graces. “The family finances are teetering somewhere between precarious and uncomfortable, but not quite dire. It is not well said of me, but if Herbert had died five years hence, I would not be so sanguine. My own investments are prospering, however, and I am hopeful in time, we will be on more solid footing.”

He was not hopeful, he was bloody determined, though if he had to replace all Herbert had taken from Astrid’s dower funds, he was also going to be bloody old before he achieved his goal.

Astrid scuffed a slipper against the grass. “And if Herbert had died five years ago, this whole situation would have been avoided.”

Douglas maintained a diplomatic interest in the gardens rather than comment on that observation.

“Douglas, I would have truth between us. Don’t hold back if you’re trying to spare my feelings.” She sounded like she was spoiling for an exchange of truths and wanted his magazine empty when she started firing.

“Isn’t it enough your late husband abused your trust in this too?” Douglas asked, anger creeping into his voice, because as Herbert’s heir, Douglas had also been bequeathed a share of ire.

She turned a pretty, sad face up to the moon. “It wasn’t your fault Herbert was morally weak. It wasn’t your fault he had so little self-discipline. It wasn’t your fault I was so anxious to get out of my sister’s household I married him. You have inherited a mess, much as Heathgate did. I will not judge you for it, nor will I judge you because Herbert betrayed your trust as well.”

Douglas remained seated beside her, though the damned woman was entirely too perceptive. Herbert had betrayed them all, and it had caught up with him. Dead men tell no tales, but neither could they hide behind lies, denial, or sheer bravado when truth came for a reckoning.

“I’ve wondered why you accepted Herbert’s suit, but it was too advantageous a match for me to question it. And Herbert’s motivations were obvious.”

She gathered the shawl closer. “Herbert was after two things: the marital settlements David so generously provided for me and a legitimate heir. He may well have gotten both.”

“What in God’s—I beg your pardon?”