Silk and Shadows(142)

"Why? For promoting a marriage between your only daughter and Charles Weldon?" Peregrine's voice was edged. "That certainly merits self-punishment."

"I knew that Charles Weldon had his little peccadilloes, but what man doesn't?" the duke said defensively. "I thought that he would make my daughter a good husband."

"For Sara's sake, you should have made it your business to learn what Weldon is. But because he was above suspicion, it was easier and more convenient for you to wear blinders."

Unable to refute the charge, Haddonfield's gaze dropped. "I see that now. I didn't then."

Following his intuition, Peregrine continued, "What did Weldon know about you? Are you a patron of one of his more disreputable brothels? He owns a number of them, in case you didn't know."

"He is the owner?" Haddonfield's eyes widened with shock, his aristocratic hauteur entirely gone. "After my wife died, I felt—half-dead. No longer a man. Charles suggested going to a place where they were expert at... bringing men back to life. I found myself going back again and again. I couldn't stop myself..."

His voice trailed off. "Charles never made any blackmail threats. If he had, I would have refused. He just made it clear how much he admired Sara and hoped she would accept him. He didn't have to threaten to expose me. It was enough that he knew my weakness. As a result, I used what influence I had to promote a marriage."

Peregrine wondered which of the whorehouses had appealed so much to the duke. A normal brothel would not have inspired such shame. Guessing, he said, "Which was it, Mrs. Kent's house for children, or Mrs. Cambridge's whipping establishment?"

The duke looked horrified. "Children? Such places exist, but surely Weldon couldn't be involved in anything so despicable."

"He is indeed," Peregrine said dryly. "Being an English gentleman doesn't mean that there are depths to which one will not stoop. I don't think there is anything that would shame Charles Weldon."

Haddonfield shook his head, looking ill. "What I did was shameful enough. I went to—the other place you mentioned."

So the noble Duke of Haddonfield enjoyed whipping, or being whipped. At a guess, his preference was the latter. One could see why the duke would not wish his taste to become public knowledge. "So in return for silence about your charming little vice, you gave your daughter to a monster. May the saints preserve us from English gentlemen."

Haddonfield flinched. "I deserve your condemnation, but remember, the idea of marrying Charles was not distasteful to Sara. I swear I would have endured public humiliation sooner than let her be hurt. I did not know what he was, though perhaps I should have."

"Indeed you should." Peregrine was about to continue in that vein, for chastising his father-in-law relieved some of his restless anger. He abruptly shut his mouth when he realized that this conversation had similarities to his argument with Sara. He had claimed ignorance of the repercussions of his actions then, just as Haddonfield was doing now. They were both culpable.

It had taken courage for the duke to admit his shameful weakness and the way he had failed his daughter, and Peregrine had no right to continue haranguing him. If he wanted mercy from Sara, he should show it to her father.

Deciding that enough had been said, he crossed to the door. "Tell Sara that she can send a message at any time, no matter how late she comes in."

The duke nodded and got to his feet. With difficulty, he said, "Will you tell Sara about... what I've done?"

"I see no reason why she should know." He hesitated, his hand on the knob. "In turn, I hope you will not encourage Sara to ask for a permanent separation."

Haddonfield said, "I will not try to come between you." After a long pause, he said, "You're a better man than Charles Weldon. A better man than I am. I hope you and Sara can resolve your 'philosophical differences.'"

"Thank you." As Peregrine left Haddonfield House, he realized that he and the duke had moved to a different level of relationship. They might never be great friends, but there was a beginning of mutual understanding. He hoped it was a good omen.

* * *

It was the middle of the day before Eliza was missed, for everyone assumed she was somewhere else. Lady Batsford thought that her niece was with the governess, while her daughters supposed that their cousin would not be taking lessons because she was only staying for a few days.

When Eliza did not appear for luncheon, more time was lost looking throughout the house. Only when it was clear that the girl was nowhere to be found did Lady Batsford confront her daughters. Her voice stern, she asked, "Was Eliza up to some mischief? If you are withholding information, I will hold you responsible for any trouble that results."