Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

T he parlor was so quiet they could almost hear the ants on the shrubbery outside.

Edmund gritted his teeth at the injustice of it. He'd made a lot of mistakes in his life, but an affair with his late wife's sister was not one of them.

Then Arabella strolled into the room with the grace and precision of a cat stalking a mouse and an equally feral look in her blue eyes. "Oh dear ," she said again, the words firing like bullets from a pistol. "Lady Lovell, what on earth are you doing?"

Sylvia lifted her chin, but it trembled ever so slightly. "I think it perfectly obvious, Lady Carlisle."

"Not really," said Arabella, closing in on her prey. "Because to us, it looked like you were inflicting yourself on an unwilling participant and that is simply not acceptable. Did His Grace consent to that kiss? Or more broadly, did he offer any indication at all that he wished that from you, his married sister-in-law?"

Right before Edmund's eyes, Sylvia began to wilt. "Men like kisses!"

Nev shook his head. "It isn't right when a man forces a kiss on a lady, nor the other way around, Lady Lovell. What kind of example are you setting for the lads?"

Edmund cleared his throat. "Perhaps I haven't been specific enough, but let me say this plainly, Sylvia. There is nothing between us except a familial bond. You are my late wife's sister, no more and no less. Although I suggest you make yourself scarce in future. Cressida will decide whether she wants you at her wedding, but knowing how she feels, I do not like your chances. Now, I suggest you leave Stanforth House. I'll advise my staff accordingly."

Her cheeks flushed crimson, Sylvia stalked from the room, slamming the parlor door behind her.

Arabella exhaled slowly. "Well. That was…interesting."

"I have never—" Edmund began miserably.

"I know," she replied, tilting her head meaningfully toward the two bug-eyed boys. "But we have a far graver matter to air, and it must be attended to immediately. Harry, Toby, why don't you sit on the couch?"

Edmund blinked. A far graver matter? Harry ? What the devil was going on? "Perhaps someone could explain why Denby is here when he should be at Jourdelay's boarding house?"

Nev actually frowned as he sat beside the boys. "He prefers Harry. It's rather nice, isn't it, when titles can be discarded amongst those we care about?"

Edmund winced at the pointed reminder of their second night together, where he had asked to be just Edmund rather than the Duke of Stanforth. It had felt good, very good, to be just Edmund. "I'll rephrase. Why is Harry here when he should be at Jourdelay's boarding house?"

Young Toby met his gaze directly. "We were abducted by pirates, Your Grace," he said with great dignity. "Covered by a blanket and all."

Arabella's lips twitched. "Thank you, my dear. In summary, Harry and Toby are best chums at Eton—"

"I know that," said Edmund quickly, trying to regain some sort of equilibrium. "Cressida read me your letter, Den…er, Harry. I didn't realize Toby was related to the Carlisles, though."

"Our nephew," said Nev fondly. "My heir."

Arabella coughed. "Anyway, Nev and I traveled to Eton today to take Toby a parcel of treats. Things he can eat or play with or trade. However, when we were introduced to Harry, he said something so alarming that we simply had to scoop up both boys and come straight here."

Edmund went cold. What had his son said?

"Go on," he croaked, bracing himself. "Wait, no, I'll hear it from Harry himself. What did you say?"

Harry took a deep breath, as though bracing himself as well. Toby put a hand on his shoulder, and a little devastatingly, Nev put his hand on the boy's other shoulder. "I said that you h-hate me. Because I took too long to be b-born."

The words were like an arrow to the heart. His son thought he hated him?

Christ. His failure was far worse than he'd ever imagined.

Edmund rubbed a hand across his face, then through his hair, but it was too late. His armor of stoicism had disappeared, he was stripped bare and drowning in shame.

Just when it seemed all hope was lost, a feminine hand came to rest on the small of his back, halting his plummet into the abyss. A simple gesture of support. Encouragement. A chance to make this right.

"No," he said eventually, then more forcefully, " No ."

"But you don't like talking to me," said Harry. "Or playing games. And…and you love Cressida. She is your pirate princess. But I'm never your pirate prince."

Edmund swallowed hard, but a jagged boulder remained lodged in his throat. "I…I…"

Abruptly, Arabella cleared her throat. "I am famished . Nev, Toby, why don't we invade the kitchens and see what they have to offer?"

The three Carlisles then departed the room so swiftly that sparks almost flashed from their heels. Leaving him and Harry alone. Just staring at each other.

Edmund straightened his shoulders and slowly moved forward to the overstuffed couch. "Mind if I sit?"

Harry looked startled, but he shuffled over. "I didn't…I didn't mean to embarrass you, sir."

Edmund flinched at the formality. He'd been such an ass, continuing the most foolish Vane family tradition of keeping sons at a distance. It didn't make a boy more resilient and ready to be a duke, it just hurt. Toby was clearly, openly loved, and not only did he seem to be a good friend, he was quite prepared to stand up and fight for what was right. The mark of a true gentleman. "You didn't embarrass me. Or at least no more than I deserve for not being the father you should have had. I have made so many mistakes, not least of which was not saving your mother when she was sick."

Harry frowned. "But you didn't give her the fever. She got caught in the rain when out riding with her friend and was in wet clothes for hours. And you summoned a physician with all the tonics and poultices. He was the best. Everyone said so."

Edmund sat forward, hunching over at the reminder of those harrowing few days. No one had expected Lydia to fall so quickly. Nor could they explain how the fever had consumed her like a locust, robbing her of the ability to speak or eat, draining her strength until she was an ashen, sweating shell. Then she passed. Oh, the physician had tried to placate him with terms like "weakened lungs from a childhood illness" and "prolonged exposure to cold wind" but Edmund hadn't believed him. His duchess was dead, and it was his fault. If he'd just done more, moved faster…

Then he felt it. The softest touch on his shoulder. A pat.

Even after everything, his son was trying to comfort him.

Edmund's vision blurred and he sucked in a breath, trying to quell the waterfall gathering. But tears were soon trickling down his face. "I apologize," he choked out. "For not playing with you in the nursery. For making you feel so hurt and heavy and alone. It was very wrong. I was very wrong. I felt the same as you growing up…and then I continued the poor example my father and grandfather set."

"Sir—"

"Listen to me, Harry. This is important. How long it took for you to be born…that was not your fault. It was no one's fault. Sometimes babies come fast, and sometimes they come slow, and sometimes they don't come at all, no matter how hard you wish. But the night you arrived…all the stars were shining. They knew how special you were. If you'd come earlier…it might not have been you. And we wanted, we needed our Harry."

His son stared at him, eyes glistening. "Really, sir?"

Edmund exhaled slowly. "Not sir. Just Father. I should have told you long ago how glad, how fortunate I am that you are my son. Just as I am glad and fortunate that Cressida is my daughter."

"Cressida said that even though you and Mother didn't do so well together, you both loved us very much. Is that true?" Harry asked hesitantly. "It is hard to know because Mother didn't play with me either."

How did one explain aristocratic upbringings that could vary from loving to indifferent to downright hellish? Lydia's childhood had been no warmer than his own, hence her rebellion at the Michaelmas festival. Two people, both looking for love and approval in entirely the wrong way. And both so…so unready for children. Hell, they'd barely known each other, let alone what they wanted in life or for a family. And then his father had passed and he'd inherited the dukedom as well. Overwhelming didn't begin to describe that time.

"It is absolutely true that your mother and I loved you both very much," Edmund said slowly. "Unfortunately, we didn't know how to say it. Or show it very well. Because we didn't learn how."

Harry's brow furrowed. "But it's so easy. You say ‘I love you' and wrap them in a big hug and ruffle their hair and play with them. That's what Toby's mother does. And his aunt and uncle."

"The Carlisles are very, very smart," Edmund replied, before awkwardly holding out his arms. "If you want to…"

In seconds Edmund was jabbed in five different places as his lanky lad scrambled onto his lap and wound his arms tightly around Edmund's shoulders. And it was marvelous.

"We could play toy soldiers," mumbled Harry. "Before I go back to Eton."

"Yes, we could. Perhaps with someone who fought at Waterloo."

Harry gasped. "Who?"

Edmund grinned. "When your sister returns home, I'll let her explain."

Indeed, today had been a very, very good day.

Neville sat back in his chair and dabbed his lips with a linen napkin after consuming perhaps the most delectable berry tarts known to man.

A half hour ago, Edmund's valet, Rivers, a man who seemed to be everywhere, all at once, had directed him, Arabella and Toby to the amusingly-labeled small dining room—a cavernous space—where they had then been presented with a buffet of bite-sized treats and freshly-made tea. The strikingly warm welcome had made him hesitate, until a maid whispered that all the servants were very, very grateful for their support in the dismissal of Lady Lovell before she could sink her claws into His Grace.

Poor Edmund. Something else that had clearly been weighing heavily on his shoulders.

Toby cleared his throat. "Do you think Harry is well? He's never said anything about his father using his fists or a birch or anything, but…it has been a while."

Neville exchanged a glance with Arabella, who nodded ever so slightly. "Why don't you eat another of those pastries," he said. "I'll go and peek into the room."

His nephew nodded eagerly, but in truth Neville was equally eager to reassure himself. Obviously a deep hurt had provoked young Harry to have such an opinion, but it was impossible to believe that Edmund hated his own child.

After rising to his feet and smoothing his jacket, Neville departed the dining room and casually sauntered back to the parlor. Comparing this place to the Golden Square townhouse was like comparing a tea shop to the British Museum. Everything was priceless. The carpets, the drapes, the chandeliers, the furniture, the paintings, hell, even the trinkets. Yet it was missing a certain warmth, a certain coziness. Really, it was missing any personal stamp of Edmund and his children.

As he approached the parlor door, Neville began tiptoeing so his shoe heels didn't echo. Then he glanced in.

Oh.

Edmund had Harry on his lap and the lad was curled against him, clinging on even as he dozed. And Edmund…Edmund just looked at peace.

Neville grinned, about to turn away, when Edmund unexpectedly looked over and met his gaze. They stared at each other for a long moment, when impulsively, Neville touched two fingers to his lips and lowered them, blowing a kiss.

Then Edmund smiled and returned the gesture.

It was like being struck by lightning.

Oh God. Edmund felt the same?

Neville had always known he fell fast and hard and forever. His love for Arabella was intense and all-consuming and he would never be silent about it, but to fall equally hard for Edmund had been the first shock. Could Edmund love him in return so soon? Arabella's love was a brick-by-brick build that grew into a palace. She did not trust easily but loved fiercely and deeply. He'd been more than prepared to wait for Edmund's feelings to match his own.

But the duke was there now? They could be a trio?

Neville shifted from one foot to the other, desperate to walk into the parlor and kiss Edmund properly. But no. Everything was more difficult when children were involved. Instead, he blew another kiss, then practically flew back to the small dining room, only to find Arabella and Toby sitting in awkward silence, something they never did.

"Here now," he said carefully. "Who are these two quiet mice pretending to be my wife and nephew?"

Arabella smiled tightly as she stirred a sugar cube into her tea. "We were waiting to hear news. Also…I told Toby I wished to discuss something very important once you returned."

A little confused, Neville sank back onto his seat. Thankfully, they had complete privacy in the room. "Everything is excellent in the parlor. The Carlisle Mission of Father and Son Reunite and Reconcile may be considered a resounding success. Now, what did you have to discuss with Toby?"

Arabella set down her teaspoon. "Toby, my dear, I need to know how you feel about being your uncle's heir. How you truly feel. Not what your mother or grandmother or friends or anyone else thinks…just you."

Toby looked briefly startled, then his expression turned thoughtful as he set down the pastry he'd been eating. "Grandmother was mean, wasn't she? About you and Uncle Nev not having any babies."

For perhaps the first time ever, his wife's jaw dropped. "Er…why do you say that?"

Their nephew rolled his eyes. "I heard her barking at Mama a few weeks ago. When they were getting me ready to go to Eton. Grandmother doesn't want me to be a lord, she wants me to go to Divinity School at Cambridge, then become a curate, then a vicar. Like her precious Harvey. A traveling vicar . Why does she think I am a slug-head who can't remember all the bad things he did? Father was a vicar like I'm…like I'm this raisin pastry."

A snicker erupted from Neville, and despite his best efforts it soon became a full-blown belly laugh. Describing a self-indulgent ne'er-do-well like Harvey as a traveling vicar was the most ludicrous story imaginable; the fact that even a ten-year-old saw through it like glass demonstrated exactly how ludicrous. Even Arabella's shoulders were shaking as she attempted to control her amusement. "You are definitely not a raisin pastry. You are clever and observant and know damned well what is what."

Abruptly Toby turned exceedingly grave. "I don't want to be like Father. Every day I try not to be. He didn't care about anyone. And he yelled at me because I wouldn't tell him he was the best and cleverest and that he was going to be very rich. He made Mama cry a lot. I don't understand why Grandmother loved him so, so much and talks about him like he was a saint."

Arabella sighed and sat back in her chair. "Sometimes when a loved one dies, especially when they pass at a younger age, people remember only the good and not the bad. Over time, the good can become very, very, very good."

"Or just lies," said Toby bluntly.

"Or just lies," agreed Neville. "I wonder if your Aunt Arabella needs to hear directly from your lips how you feel about being my heir. For it does have a lot of responsibilities, and because we have together chosen not to have babies, those responsibilities will fall to you."

"I would hate for the barony to be a crushing burden," added Arabella. "Something too heavy that you are unprepared or unwilling for. So please be frank."

Toby nodded. "I like being the heir. Knowing that one day, far, far away I will take over from Uncle Nev and sit in the House of Lords and make speeches and help people. I mean, I don't want to know everything now, because Harry said being a peer means sitting in a library and reading lots of boring papers. But maybe when I come home each summer holiday you could show me one thing about the barony."

Arabella brightened. "Like ledgers?"

Neville snickered again. "Be very careful, Toby, what you wish for."

His nephew blinked. "I love numbers. My tutor said I am best at mathematics."

Oh God .

Neville shook his head and glanced at his wife. "He's all yours, my love."

Arabella clapped her hands in true glee. "Next summer, Toby. You and me and a ledger."

Neville could only smile at such madness. But another, much larger part of him felt pure relief. Toby wanted to be his heir. And he and Arabella would support the lad in all ways possible; especially against his grandmother and the vicar nonsense. And repel horrific ideas like the one to impregnate a maid that had aged him about twenty years. Neither he nor Ara would ever forgive the dowager for that; there would be serious consequences, it was just a matter of what and when.

"Is this a private party, or may anyone join?" asked a familiar deep voice, and they all turned to see Edmund and Harry in the dining room doorway. Edmund had his arm around his son's shoulder, and the lad was positively glowing.

"Come in," said Arabella. Then she grinned. "I promise I have not entirely taken over your household."

"I wouldn't mind," said Edmund softly. "Will you stay? Supper and a guest chamber is no trouble whatsoever."

"Please?" said Harry. "Father said when Cressida gets home we can play toy soldiers with someone who fought at Waterloo ."

Toby gasped and turned pleading eyes on them both. "Can we?"

"Yes," said Arabella, glancing at Edmund. "There is much more to be said, I think."

Edmund inclined his head in clear deference. "I'll inform the kitchens to set an extra three places. Perhaps after supper we could discuss private matters?"

"An excellent idea," said Neville as his stomach flip-flopped in anticipation. "Now, let's finish these sweets. It would be a grave insult to such a skilled pastry cook to leave even a crumb."

Harry immediately sat next to Toby and piled his plate. Edmund sat next to Arabella, and Neville saw the moment she discreetly touched his thigh, for the duke shivered, his eyes closing briefly.

Edmund needed to be held as much as his son did.

Neville almost smiled; Arabella was well versed in the care and management of touch-starved peers. Then his thoughts turned pensive. Did she truly want another one, though? It wasn't an easy leap to go from a marriage of two with occasional playfellows, to a marriage of three. And how would they make it work living apart?

Tonight loomed as either shadow or sunshine.

What would it bring?

After a delicious supper of roasted beef, glazed carrots, green beans, creamed potatoes, and meringue with vanilla cream, Arabella, Neville, Edmund, Harry, Toby, Lady Cressida and Sir Kenneth had all proceeded to Harry's bedchamber to engage in perhaps the most comprehensive battle of toy soldiers in English history.

While Arabella had expected a popular politician like Sir Kenneth to be as good a storyteller as Nev, she'd been pleasantly surprised at how fascinating he could make even the most mundane details.

As they'd laid out the toy soldiers, Sir Kenneth explained the tactical brilliance of the mighty Duke of Wellington choosing Waterloo as a battlefield due to the ridges and valleys, and the nearby towns he'd garrisoned. He spoke of the brave men from Britain, the Netherlands, the Kingdom of Hanover and the Duchies of Nassau and Brunswick. Where the infantry and gunners and calvary and sharpshooters had been located, and how utterly formidable the enemy Napoleon's forces were. Sir Kenneth had even demonstrated how Wellington's men formed the squares that so effectively repelled the French charge, how the highly skilled Prussian General von Blücher's forces swept in just when it seemed all hope was lost, and the place where Wellington and von Blücher had met and saluted each other in victory.

The boys had been enraptured, deciding Sir Kenneth and Lady Cressida would be the coalition leaders of their forces. Edmund and Nev were declared Napoleon and Marshal Ney, and despite Arabella's best efforts to turn the battle in the French favor by raiding Harry's toy box for a wooden Trojan Horse, marbles, and a spinning top, they were unfortunately defeated.

What a time. Between the teasing and banter, the cheers and commiserations, the boisterous evening truly felt like a family occasion. But now the boys were tucked into bed, Sir Kenneth had departed, and Cressida had retreated to her chamber, leaving Arabella, Nev and Edmund standing a little awkwardly in the hallway.

They had so many experiences behind them, yet somehow it seemed like they were starting afresh once again.

Arabella cleared her throat. "Where shall we sit and talk, Edmund?"

He hesitated. "My bedchamber is probably the most private location. But I don't want anyone to think I have expectations…not with the children here."

"Let's go there," she replied decisively. Privacy was of the essence for this particular conversation.

Soon all three were seated on the leather couch in front of a roaring fire, glasses of brandy in hand. Edmund's ducal bedchamber was simply enormous, with lovely large windows, thick carpets, a few exquisite Constable landscapes, and a carved oak sideboard she would sell all her worldly goods for. Unfortunately, the rather ancient-looking four-poster bed did not look at all large or sturdy enough for three people.

Edmund smiled encouragingly. "Well. Here we are."

"Before we discuss anything else," said Arabella quickly, "I want to apologize for this afternoon. I know very well how difficult family business can be. Yes, there was a good outcome for you and your son, Edmund, but I should not have forced that without your knowledge. Or removed Harry from school."

Edmund shrugged. "It needed to be done, though," he said quietly. "I'm not sure Harry and I would ever have gotten there by ourselves. I always thought we were very different, but now I see we are actually so similar. I will be in your debt, no, in debt to you both, forever."

Nev sat forward. "Speaking of forever…"

Arabella almost laughed. Her husband was practically champing at the bit. In truth, she had so many chaotic feelings twisting and turning inside her that it would be difficult to articulate them all. And speaking on emotional topics was something she'd always found challenging. But as Edmund had been prompted to face his past, and she and Nev had received reassurance from Toby, now they could all march forward. "We've been on quite a journey. There have been two critical discussions in this household today; Edmund and Harry, and Nev and I with Toby…"

Nev sat closer and took her hand as she met Edmund's gaze.

"Our decision to remain childless has been met at various times with confusion, disdain, anger, and much judgment. Most recently, Nev's mother tried to convince us that Nev should impregnate a black-haired maid and pass off the child as ours. It was…"

Edmund's jaw dropped. "What the bloody hell?" he burst out.

"It was fucking horrific," growled Nev. "As well as foolish. While we adore Toby, Ara and I have never wanted children of our own. It's just not our path, and we are very weary of stating that to people who refuse to mind their own damned business. We love our life, and thought we were complete as a pair who enjoyed occasional playfellows. Well, until we romped with a certain duke at Sanctuary and everything got turned on its head."

Arabella reached across and took Edmund's hand and squeezed it. "While we've had some grand times with one-night lovers over the years, precisely none of those men touched our hearts like you did, Edmund."

Nev nodded. "We've never before had a second night with a playfellow let alone a third or fourth. Never wanted to. But with you, breaking that rule was essential."

Arabella smiled ruefully. "And I never break rules and rarely seek outside counsel. But I actually consulted Lady Whitmore about turning a couple into a threesome; we became fast friends after learning we each had a submissive husband. She gave me sound advice: honest, frank discussion. So here is my unpolished truth: I love Nev. However, I have also developed very strong feelings for you, Edmund. So strong, that I cannot be without you. I love your courage, your heart, and the tenderness you bring out in me. But be aware what I'm asking and offering here. I wish to be your madam. You would belong to me, body and soul, and I would care for you, pleasure you, and discipline you. For always. Just like I care for and pleasure and discipline Nev."

For the longest moment, an actual eternity, Edmund stared at her, and Arabella's blood went cold. Oh God, did he not want that?

Then he blinked rapidly. "Forgive me. It sounded like you said you want me as your lover for always and I can scarcely comprehend a third perfect event in one day after my daughter's betrothal and reconciling with my son. Are you sure it is what you want? What you both want? For I know it's not about money. Or title. Or a child. So it can only be…me. And that doesn't seem enough."

"Not enough?" Arabella said fiercely. "You are magnificent. And you are mine ."

Nev rose gracefully to his feet before tossing a cushion down and sinking to his knees in front of her. Then he turned and held out a hand to Edmund. "Hurry up, love. Come and take your place beside me. Madam is waiting."

A huge grin lit up Edmund's face and he scrambled down onto the floor to also kneel in front of her. Then he winced a little. "Bloody hell. Should have brought a cushion."

Nev burst out laughing. " Always bring a cushion. Wooden floors are not our friend."

Arabella's lips twitched with amusement, but she forced herself to give her two pets a stern look as she cupped both their cheeks, stroking Nev's blond hair with her left hand and Edmund's brown hair with her right. Yes. This was exactly how it was supposed to be for Lady Arabella Carlisle, two adoring men at her feet, ready to serve and worship her. Perhaps in future she might just shock society and present herself as Lady Arabella Vane-Carlisle to indicate the two men who belonged to her.

What an intriguing thought.

"You are smiling, ma'am," said Edmund softly.

"Yes," she purred, as content as a cat with both cream and canary. "Why would I not? I have all I desire."

Then she leaned forward and kissed Nev deeply until her husband moaned. Once satisfied that he was a quivering, panting puddle, Arabella kissed Edmund, holding the duke's head and mastering his mouth until he broke away, giddy and gasping for breath.

"How do you do that?" said Edmund unsteadily. "It's love without saying the words."

"I know," said Nev. "Trust me, you'll always know where you stand with Ara."

Arabella laughed. "Indeed. Now, you two. Show me how my pets care for each other."

Edmund hesitated, once again that vulnerable uncertainty in his eyes, and she added his Vane ancestors to her list of wretched people. But Edmund would come to understand the importance of touch, not just in bed, but casual affection. How to give and receive what he so obviously needed.

Fortunately, Nev took the lead and slid his hand behind Edmund's neck before leaning forward and brushing his lips back and forth against Edmund's. It was soft and sweet and she could actually watch as Edmund relaxed into the kiss, even reaching out to place his hands on Nev's shoulders. Then Nev deepened the kiss, reaching around to cup Edmund's backside, and they both moaned.

Arabella bit her lip, her pussy burning with arousal, but forced herself to say one word: "Stop."

Both men turned and stared at her, blinking in dismay.

She leaned back on the couch. "Not here, not now. But I propose a visit to Sanctuary once the boys are back at school. Do you both concur?"

"Oh yes," whispered Edmund.

"Indeed," said Nev, his eyes glittering.

Arabella nodded. "By the by, I have been pondering a sexual act I think would be particularly delightful…"