Mask of Nobility (Scandalous Scions Book 4) Read online

  Only, she had chosen to give that up, she reminded herself, in order to win Tor back…the real Tor this time, not the man who wished he was anything other than the Archeduke of Silkeborg.

  Tor’s smile faded. “Enough,” he said.

  “Your Highness?” Baumgärtner replied.

  Tor shook his head. “I said, no more. This is getting us nowhere.”

  Baumgärtner blinked behind his spectacles. “Your Highness, these things must be examined—”

  “You’ve done more than enough of that already, both of you,” Tor said.

  Annalies smiled.

  Tor looked at Bronwen. “Tell Baumgärtner what you told me, about the water and the mill. All of it.”

  Bronwen cleared her throat. “The paper mill is putting something into the water—most likely chlorine. That is what is making people sick in Silkeborg.”

  Baumgärtner snatched off his glasses. “Impossible! We vetted the mill and the operations when it was constructed!”

  “Then someone is lying to you,” Annalies said shortly.

  Baumgärtner gasped.

  “I witnessed my daughter’s investigation and I trust her conclusions,” Annalies added. “Hear her out.”

  Baumgärtner opened his mouth to speak.

  “Aldous,” Tor said and shook his head.

  Baumgärtner closed his mouth again and looked at Bronwen expectantly.

  A report was nothing more than a written essay spoken aloud, Bronwen reminded herself. She recalled the facts as she had uncovered them and explained to Baumgärtner what she had seen, what she had learned and the conclusions she had drawn.

  When she was done, Baumgärtner leaned his knuckles upon the table next to him. He looked at Annalies. “Please forgive me, your Highness. I am an old man and this is…profound news. May I have your permission to sit?”

  “Please do,” Annalies told him. She picked up her coat and handed it to Tor, then settled on the chair, as Baumgärtner fell onto the bench behind the little table. He was trembling. This time, he withdrew a big, white handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned his glasses with care. He replaced them and looked at Tor.

  “The Council will be beside themselves when they learn this.”

  Tor nodded. “We must investigate and establish the truth. If Bronwen’s conclusions are correct then the misery of the last decade will have been resolved. That alone is cause for celebration.”

  “Indeed.” Baumgärtner pursed his lips. “As to the other matter…” He sat up, looking at Annalies.

  “No more, Baumgärtner,” Tor said sharply. “I did not bring you here to find a way to object to the match no matter what. I am sure that if you were presented with the most impeccable antecedents and bloodlines possible, you would still find fault with them.”

  Baumgärtner hesitated. “You know the Council will be more thorough than I could ever be. You must have their agreement to move forward.”

  “No, I must have your agreement,” Tor replied. “Your influence is all I need to move the Council to approve and you know it. This is the last great task you left for yourself after my father died, Aldous. Now you can see it through.” Tor looked at Bronwen. His expression warmed. “I love her and I don’t care who her great grandparents may have slighted, a hundred years ago. It is immaterial. I know who Bronwen really is. I got to know her in Yorkshire and you have just sampled the true woman beneath the velvet, Aldous. She has done a great service for Silkeborg. Do you not believe she will continue to serve our people, given the chance? That is the woman I want to marry and make my duchess and I want you to find a way to make it so.”

  Bronwen let out a breath that shook. Her heart would not stop throwing itself against her chest. It hurt. She didn’t care.

  Baumgärtner removed his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose as if he was tired. “Then, your Highness, you’d better marry the lady.”

  Tor looked at Bronwen’s mother. “Your Highness?”

  She folded her hands on her knee. “You had better call me Annalies.”

  Tor smiled. “Thank you. Now, if you will excuse me?” He stepped past both of them and picked up Bronwen’s hand. “Will you come with me?”

  She nodded.

  * * * * *

  There was a widow’s walk at the top of the inn. There, the air was cold, but dry and the sun was dazzling. It warmed them as Tor moved along the walk, her hand in his. He stopped and looked out over the parapet and gave a great heaving sigh.

  All of Brussels lay below them, looking small and fragile. The streets were gray with snow. The sky, though, was pale blue and clear.

  Tor turned to her. “I was warned by the Council and by Baumgärtner, a long time ago, that whoever I chose to marry, I should warn them of the…drawbacks of my life and give them a chance to recant. Only, I don’t have to do that with you, do I?”

  Bronwen held her hands together to hide their trembling. “You don’t have to warn me, no. You do have to ask me, though, so I have something to recant.”

  He laughed. “I knew…as soon as I saw you last night, I knew.” He picked up her hand and drew her toward him. “The witch was gone and a woman the world would accept as mine took her place.” He brought his arm around her, holding her closer still. “You have already said yes, to everything. All of me. All of…this.” He waved his free hand. “The politics, the endless bureaucracy.”

  “I will still need time to adjust to it,” Bronwen said. “That interview just then… It was harrowing, to listen to myself being discussed in third person, with my familial flaws poked and examined.”

  Tor nodded. “I’m sorry about that. I had to let Baumgärtner run out of objections first, before I could make him consider you as a political asset and not just a duchess.”

  Bronwen laughed. “I think that might be the nicest compliment anyone has ever given me. A political asset! I will be useful!”

  Tor laughed, too. Then he let her go and got down on one knee. His thick, heavy hair fell forward over his blue eyes. “Miss Davies, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife, my duchess and the savior of my people?”

  Bronwen nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “To all of it.”

  Tor stood and kissed her and for a moment it felt as though they were back in Yorkshire. Bronwen clung to him, breathless and tingling.

  He held her face, his hands warm, despite the lack of gloves. “I love you.”

  “I know.”

  “Pretend you didn’t hear me tell Baumgärtner first,” he said. “Pretend I am telling you for the first time, for this is the true moment. I love you with a strength that scares me. You have no idea what my first night away from Northallerton was like. You did not see me walk the boards and scream at Baumgärtner. I went a little mad. That was when I knew I had made a mistake about you.”

  Bronwen put her fingertips against his lips. “No, shh…”

  He kissed her fingers and pulled her hand away. “There is no reason to keep me silent anymore. I am yours and always will be.”

  Bronwen rested her hand on his chest, instead. “You should know I love you.”

  “I do.” He brushed her hair. “I knew that, too, when I saw you last night. You’ve made a choice to be with me. You’ve chosen to give up that freedom you had found for yourself, for me. I think my heart actually stopped when I saw you in the ballroom, because I knew exactly what it meant.”

  He kissed her gently. On the building next to them, a clock chimed and he groaned and rested his head against hers. “It is eleven o’clock,” he breathed. “The train to Denmark leaves in two hours.” He closed his eyes. “If we were just Tor Besogende and Bronwen the Witch, we could run away and elope and be together from now on. Only, the people of Silkeborg would be disappointed if we hand them a fait accompli of that magnitude. I’m afraid I must marry you with all the pomp and circumstance the duchy can muster and that will take time to arrange. Do you mind?”

  “If you can stand it, I can,” Bronwen told him. “Only, can y
ou be just Tor Besogende, for one more moment?”

  His expression grew heated and he drew her to him again. “I thank God for the impulse that drove me to escape Scotland that day,” he murmured, his lips against hers. “Besogende will never truly disappear for you brought him to life and gave him a reason to exist.”

  1866 Great Family Gathering

  Anna handed Rhys the snifter and settled on the upright chair next to his armchair, as Natasha and Raymond came up to them. Raymond carried two dining chairs in one hand and held Natasha’s hand with the other and was not overtaxed.

  Anna turned to see if Rhys had noticed and resented the display of masculine strength, which was beyond him these days.

  Natasha thanked Raymond and settled on the chair he placed next to Anna. Raymond sat on the other and crossed his legs.

  “You’re looking much better now, Rhys,” Natasha told him.

  Rhys scrubbed at his hair. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen me after we arrived back from Denmark in the summer.” He laughed self-consciously.

  “That foggy London air isn’t doing you any good at all,” Raymond told him.

  Anna kept her lips together. She had been saying for months now that the city was not conducive to good health. Rhys, though, was still a stubborn man.

  Rhys sighed. “I should move to the country, yes? Grow old and moldy in a cottage by the sea?”

  Raymond cleared his throat. “That would be a useless suggestion, wouldn’t it? Work is all you know how to do. Although Natasha and I did have an idea.”

  “You and Anna should come and live with us,” Natasha said. “At Marblethorpe.”

  “And that isn’t living in the country?” Rhys asked, his tone dry.

  Anna held her silence once more.

  “Not just to live,” Raymond said. “There is a law practice in the village that badly needs guidance. I’m not talking about a full partnership. You could help out from time to time. Teach them what you know. It would be criminal to not pass on your knowledge, Rhys. You’re one of the best barristers and solicitors in the country.”

  “Teaching…” Rhys breathed, staring at Raymond. No, staring through him.

  Natasha rested her hand on Anna’s knee. “Alice should come with you. Catrin, too, of course. Alice would love Marblethorpe. Brighton is barely an hour away and look what a day of sea air has done for her, already.”

  Anna’s chest tightened and her eyes stung as she looked through the big windows at the croquet court. Alice was sitting, for she rarely had the energy to stand for long. She had defied Mortenson’s calendar and was still with them. She was laughing and clapping as the game proceeded.

  Rhys caught Anna’s hand in his. “She looks happy,” he breathed. “If Marblethorpe can make her look that way, then…”

  Anna nodded. “If we do this, then there is one other condition.”

  Raymond raised a brow. “And that would be…?”

  “I will enroll at Oxford and study for my degree.”

  “You?” Natasha said, startled.

  “Yes, me,” Annalies declared. “If Rhys and Alice are well situated, as they will be with you, then I can study during the week and return to Marblethorpe in between. It is only four years. Four years pass quickly these days.”

  “Annalies, you are a woman,” Raymond said, his tone neutral. “Oxford don’t allow women students. Cambridge will have Girton College—”

  “Oxford needs to change its mind,” Anna said. “I have the influence to force my way in there, if the rest of the family stands behind me.”

  “She has a point,” Rhys said. “Between us, we know everyone of interest in Britain.”

  “Anna, you are not young anymore. You won’t be able to make use of a degree, even if they grant you one,” Natasha said doubtfully.

  “I won’t be doing it just for me,” Anna replied. “I will be doing it for Sadie, who always wanted to and was denied. I’ll be doing it for Bronwen, who might have chosen that life for herself if she hadn’t met Tor. I will be doing it for the women who come after me, who should be given the opportunity.”

  Natasha smiled. “I do believe you have the capacity to do just as you say. Very well then. Rhys?”

  Rhys squeezed Anna’s hand. “This is what you want, my love? Why didn’t you say?”

  “Because you weren’t ready to hear it, until now.” Anna smiled at him. “It’s time, Rhys.”

  He nodded. “Yes, it is.”

  * * * * *

  When the knock sounded on the carriage house door, Jack jumped. No one knew he was here. He had crept away from the noise and the busy-ness for a moment. The carriage house was dusty and unused and a perfect hiding spot, only he had forgotten the memories he had made here.

  He had been sitting on the stool, staring at the bed and naked mattress, when the knock came.

  Cautiously, he opened the door.

  Cian held up two glasses and a decanter by its neck.

  Jack let the door go and moved back inside. Cian followed him.

  “I thought you might call this year’s Gathering off,” Jack told him as he dropped the glasses on the dresser and uncorked the decanter. “You’ve been hiding away down here all year.”

  “Everyone likes the Gathers too much to cancel it,” Cian said, in his deep voice. “I’m finding it…energizing, which surprises the Dickens out of me.” He picked up one of the glasses and held it out.

  Jack took it.

  Cian held up his own glass. “I came to say thank you. For last December. For your help.” He settled his hips on the dresser.

  Jack took the stool. “Is that all?”

  Cian tossed the brandy back in one swallow. He hissed and reached for the decanter once more. “Also, to apologize.”

  Jack nodded and peered at the golden liquid. “I’m not the only one to whom you need to apologize.”

  “I’ve already caught up with Will.” He lifted his refilled glass. “Will you drink with me?”

  Jack sighed and touched his glass. “Cheers.” He drank and raised his brows. It was the very good stock, from the back cellar, that Cian rarely allowed to be poured. “Now, this is an apology,” he admitted and held the glass out.

  Cian filled it, then looked around the room. “Every year, I try to remember to have this place cleaned out. It tends to get used, anyway.” His gaze met Jack’s.

  Jack’s chest tightened. “Don’t clean it on my account,” he said, his voice rough.

  “As she isn’t here, anyway.”

  “And she’s married,” Jack finished.

  “Shouldn’t you be, by now?”

  Jack sighed. The letters from his parents were becoming more strident and demanding with every passing month. “I just can’t bring myself to it. Not yet.” He waved his empty glass. “Another,” he demanded.

  Cian filled it, topped his own and settled back to sip.

  Silence filled the room. This time, there was no resentment or tension in it.

  “Eleanore would have been married in May,” Cian said casually.

  Jack jumped. He studied Cian, looking for signs of the glassy, not-quite-present expression in his eyes he had seen outside the Agriculture Show in Islington. “I see…” Jack said.

  Cian grimaced. “The family arranged a ceremony to mark her passing, instead.”

  Jack’s heart squeezed. Cian’s tone was matter-of-fact, hiding what had to be deep pain.

  “Did you go to the ceremony?” Jack asked, for as far as he knew, Cian had not moved out of Cornwall all year.

  Cian shrugged, swirling his brandy. “Wasn’t invited,” he said shortly and drank.

  Jack sighed and drank, too. It was the only worthy response. He cleared his throat. “Cian?”

  He looked up. His clear eyes were steady. Non-glassy.

  “Are you…quite alright now? Are you back to normal?”

  Cian considered the question. “I won’t ever been the same again.” He drank, a small sip, considering. “I won’t ever mar
ry.”

  Cold fingers walked up Jack’s spine. “But…the titles…”

  Cian shrugged. “Neil or Daniel will have to see to their continuation.” His gaze met Jack’s. “I couldn’t bear it, marrying someone else.” He looked away. “I will be alone. Always.”

  * * * * *

  “No, no, you have to take your shoes and stockings off,” Bronwen told him, as Tor stood watching the waves tumbling, the foam glowing in the moonlight.

  “You mean, bare feet?” he demanded, speaking in a whisper.

  “You can shout if you want, my darling. No one will hear you down here,” she replied. “Plus, you must roll up your trousers.”

  “That is utterly barbaric.”

  “It is what Tor Besogende would do,” she countered.

  He stared at her, then bent to pluck at his shoes laces. “Sometimes I regret ever inventing that personage. You use it far too often to get your way.”

  “And you love it when I do,” Bronwen chided him, reaching under her skirt and feeling about for the strings to her hoops. She tugged and the hoops dropped to the sand. She stepped out of them and looped her skirt up over her arm, baring her legs to her knees.

  “Why, Duchess, I do believe you are wearing no pantalets,” Tor teased her.

  “All the better to wade in the sea with,” she replied airily and walked down to where the waves washed the sand. The wet sand sank beneath her feet and she felt the delicious cold touch of it between her toes.

  A wave rushed past her, bathing her ankles in chilly salt water. “I had forgotten how cool the sea is off Cornwall!” she cried.

  Tor edged to the water, his feet bare and his trousers rolled up. “It cannot be as cold as in Denmark…oh!” He stopped in shock as the wave bathed his calves. “I take that back,” he told her.

  Bronwen giggled.

  Slowly, as he accustomed himself to the water, he moved level with her.

  “Are you enjoying yourself this week, Tor?”

  “I am,” he said, after a pause to consider. “Meeting your family, getting to know them and their odd code and behavior…it has let me understand you much better.” His smile was fleeting. “You are not the only one to romp about, here.”