Four Nights With the Duke(35)

Chuffy cut him off. "I will not."

Vander instantly froze. Before this damned marriage, no one-ever-told  him what to do. He was not only a duke; he had made thousands of pounds  training, racing, and betting on his horses. He commanded, rather than  the other way around.

"Nephew," Chuffy said.

"Of course," he said, sitting down again. "I apologize. I'm at your  service." He could do this. He hated more than anything to discuss his  parents, but he owed this courtesy to his uncle.

"Your father's illness came on when he was fifteen, though we didn't  understand it at the time," Chuffy said, rolling his glass between his  hands. "He started staying up all night, telling mad stories that would  go on for days. At first, I stayed up with him. But I couldn't . . ." He  was silent for a moment. "I couldn't keep up with him. He would take a  horse and ride all night long. When we were in the house in Wales during  the summer, he would dive from cliffs and swim back around to the  village. You know how long a swim that is, lad."

"He could easily have died," Vander said, frowning. "He must have been mad already. Of course, he was mad."

"Yes." Chuffy took a gulp of wine and started turning, turning his glass  again. "He began to grow angry, flaring up between one word and the  next. It wasn't him, not really. He was never like that as a boy. He was  always at my shoulder, defending me."

Vander nodded. "He lost his temper with you?"

"At first, I thought it was my fault," Chuffy said. "That if I could  somehow be a better brother, more quiet, more helpful . . . he wouldn't  grow enraged. But he always did. The anger, the blows, would come out of  nowhere."

Vander stood again. He didn't know what to do or what to say. He wasn't the sort of man who knew how to console another.

Damn it, a tear was sliding down his uncle's cheek. "I was relieved when  he married and moved out of the house," Chuffy whispered. "My own  brother."

"Anyone would understand," Vander said, moving around the table to put a  hand on his shoulder. "My father was out of his mind. Cracked."

"He turned from me to your mother," Chuffy said, his watery eyes meeting Vander's.

Vander suddenly went cold all over.

"I was so grateful for my release . . . but it just meant that he turned  that anger against her. Didn't you ever wonder why you never had a  sibling? Or why your mother never conceived a child with Lord  Carrington, since they were together more than twenty years?"

Vander's jaw tightened. He didn't like where this conversation was heading.

"After you were born, she couldn't have any more children, because your  father-my brother-took that away from her." Chuffy's voice was low,  tortured.

Vander turned away instinctively, stumbling as he did.

"With his fists," Chuffy added, taking a deep gulp of wine.

Vander's gut convulsed and, unable to help himself, he threw up on the floor.

"Hell," Chuffy muttered. "I shouldn't have told you." He grabbed a cloth from the sideboard and tossed it over the vomit.

"I should have known." Vander took a glass of water from the table. "How could I not have seen it?"

"He didn't mean it," his uncle said urgently. "It wasn't his fault, lad. The madness would take over . . ."

"Let's get the hell out of here." Vander put down the empty glass and  strode to the door. In the corridor, he paused and said, "Gaunt, I was  sick on the floor. Please convey my apologies to whomever cleans it up."

"The fish soup!" the butler exclaimed.

"No, no, the soup was excellent."

Chuffy followed him to his study, clutching the bottle of claret in his  hand. "You always had that trick of throwing up at bad news," he said,  leaning against the doorframe.

Vander frowned. He had no particular memories of vomiting.

"You were a bellwether for my brother's madness," his uncle said. "When  the mania came on, I knew you would lose your meal. I think it saved  your life a time or two."

"Surely not," Vander said, his voice rasping.

"Everyone tried to protect you, of course, but you were small, and  children are terribly fragile, aren't they? My brother insisted on going  into the nursery, no matter how many footmen were stationed at the  door. Mind you, he didn't mean it. He had delusions, you see. Sometimes  he thought it was his duty to kill you."                       
       
           



       

Vander searched his memory. "I remember he once mistook me for a burglar . . ."

"That's what we told you." Chuffy's voice was so sad that Vander could  hear the tears. "Yet he loved you, and your mother, and me as well."

Vander cleared his throat. "That's not enough." He met Chuffy's eyes.  "He may have loved us, but he didn't protect us. He didn't make certain  that we were safe. Quite the opposite, it seems."

The corner of Chuffy's mouth twitched. Regret and shame were battling in his uncle's face.

"I'm glad you told me," Vander added.

That was a lie.

Chuffy nodded and upended the bottle.

"I'll be in the stables," Vander said, and escaped past him into the entry, then out the front door into the shadowy darkness.





Chapter Nineteen




NOTES ON FREDERIC'S REPENTANCE





~ day after Frederic cruelly leaves Flora at the altar, his deceitful  friend breaks down and confesses that Flora had never kissed him. It had  all been a lie.

~ Frederic realizes All Too Late the plight that his terrible jealousy has led him to. Loss of the Woman of his Heart, etc.

~ Rushes to her house, only to discover it repossessed by Mr. Mortimer's  solicitor, and a new (formerly impoverished) maiden established there.

~ Horrified, he realizes that Flora's clothes and jewels were delivered to his house before the wedding.

~ She has naught but the gown she had worn for the ceremony.

~ Agony of Repentance. Ha!

~ In a frenzy, Frederic vows to give up his fortune/horses/servants  until such time as he recovers his Beloved. Sets out on foot, following  stories of a Divinely Beautiful woman in tattered wedding dress, begging  for bread.

Vander headed down to the one place in his world where everything made  sense, only to be met on the way by Mulberry. A moment later he was  running down the path toward the stable. What in the hell was Mia doing,  going near that horse again?

He'd made a mistake in buying Jafeer. The animal had clearly been part  of a herd, and some horses never recovered after being separated from  their family. It was rare, but it happened.

He pushed open the door and ran toward Jafeer's stall. He didn't see  Mia, and his imagination presented him with an image of his wife  crumpled under the horse's hooves. The double flip his heart took  startled him, but there she was.

His duchess was curled up against the shoulder of the most unpredictable  stallion that his stables had ever housed. She was fast asleep, as was  Jafeer, looking more peaceful than he had since his arrival in England.

In the wan light of a single lamp, Mia's skin against her dark-colored  gown was as white as porcelain but warmer, silkier. Golden hair had  fallen all around her shoulders, curling like the wood shavings the  grooms shoveled into horses' stalls.

She probably wouldn't like that idea, but it was true. Shavings were  gold and amber and even buttercup yellow, and her hair had all those  colors as well.

But what really caught him was how small she was. Curled up like that,  her brave, independent eyes closed, she looked fragile. Which made a  rush of protectiveness go through him like a streak of lightning.

"Mia," he whispered. He had to get her out of the stall. She didn't  stir, so he walked in quietly, bent down, and collected her into his  arms.

She weighed about as much as a chicken. Maybe a newborn foal. And she  felt good in his arms. She must be exhausted, because she didn't wake.  Her cheek fell against his chest and she nestled in as if he'd been  carrying her around for years.

He backed out of the stall and carefully maneuvered the gate shut with  his knee, quietly enough that neither horse nor lady woke. Then he set  off toward the house.

Granted, he knew nothing about flowers, but he was reasonably certain  that she smelled like honeysuckle. Honeysuckle with a dash of vanilla.

Halfway up the house, she stirred, and her brows drew together as if, in  her dream, she was scolding him. Her eyes flew open and she gasped,  "What are you doing?"

"Carrying you back to the house," Vander said. His hands tightened around the soft, fragrant bundle in his arms.

He didn't want to think about Chuffy's revelations. He'd rather think  about the fact that for the first time in his life, he had someone who  was his and his alone, inadvertently or not.

Mia.

"Please put me down immediately," his wife said. Her body had gone  tense, which wasn't as nice as when she had cuddled into his arms.