Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ryland leaned back in his seat at the dinner table and brought his goblet with him, sipping his wine. He was sulking. He knew this. That knowledge, coupled with the fact that he likely seemed taciturn and sullen to his friends, was not enough to put a false smile on his face. Aurelia had kept the truth from him and it hurt. When he had talked to her of his school bullies, had she already known? Had she sat there and listened to him, all the while aware her brother was his chief perpetrator?

Ryland glared at the wine in his goblet, watching the liquid swirl and thinking of all the things he wished he had said earlier when he'd been too stunned to speak. The time had passed now, but had he been able to return to that moment, he would have had the most cutting remarks.

"Ry," Oliver said, garnering his attention.

Ryland looked up. Was the meal finished? Were they ready to move to another room and play cards?

Oliver jerked his head toward the other side of the table where Congleton and Smedley were arguing over something.

Ryland sat straighter. Both men had a tendency to drink too much. He usually kept a tally of their consumption so he could signal Pike when it was time to cut them off, but he'd been lost in his own head.

"Shall we move on to cards?" Samuel asked.

"You will not speak of my cousin in that manner," Congleton said to Smedley, ignoring Samuel. His cheeks were mottled, his eyes wild. "I care very little for the slight she gave you. She is a good lady and I will not see her name besmirched."

Oh, blast. What cousin had Smedley besmirched? Would Ryland be forced to talk these men out of a duel now? It did not take much for Congleton to peel off a glove and fling it at a friend in a moment of pique.

"We will not discuss any women at this table," Ryland said with authority, hoping to end their argument before it gained wings and flew off on its own.

"None?" Smedley asked, a wicked gleam in his eye. "You mean I cannot inquire about the Beswick chit?"

Ryland's spine became steel, stiffening to an almost painful degree. "No. We will not be discussing my son's governess."

Smedley lifted his glass—it looked suspiciously full, as if it had been recently refilled—and took a slow drink. "All the same, I think your boy can do better than her."

Oliver pressed a hand to Ryland's forearm just below the table, stopping him from saying something he would later regret.

He regrouped. "She has been an extremely satisfactory addition to our household."

"Pretty thing, isn't she?" Smedley looked at his glass and took a large swallow. "Nearly became Mrs. Smedley, in fact. You ought to thank me for walking away from her, or you wouldn't have gotten her."

Ryland's vision went red. He had never had the desire to rise and flip a table over, but now the impulse overwhelmed him. Imagining Smedley with Aurelia made his skin itch and nausea roil in his gut.

He hadn't eaten enough. He was going to vomit.

"Cards, yes?" Samuel said, pushing away from the table and rising. "I have a hankering to win some money tonight. Who is prepared to lose handsomely?"

Smedley frowned at his glass before tipping back the remainder of the contents. He put it down with a thud and pushed back from the table.

"Cannot promise any losses," Congleton said, sweeping his hands through his shock of copper hair. "But I can request more of that fine whisky you brought out at the last party, hmmm, Ryland? A little nightcap, perhaps."

"What the devil is a nightcap?" Smedley asked.

Congleton shrugged. "I honestly couldn't tell you. Heard it from my cousin. He says it means a drink before bed."

Ryland stood, exchanging a glance with Oliver and Samuel, ready to wring both of the out-of-town guests' necks. Why couldn't his other friends have arrived a night early instead? He was glad Oliver and Samuel were able to come at a moment's notice once the Smedley carriage had arrived.

"Before bed?" Smedley asked, scoffing. "The night is but a wee babe."

Both men laughed, finding that to be extremely funny.

Oliver sighed. "I think my grandmother might be calling for me. I can nearly hear her from here."

Samuel pointed at him as they followed their inebriated friends from the dining room. "She is my grandmother too. If you leave, I will gladly come."

"You cannot both abandon me."

Oliver sighed. "Except I must return home. Ryland was well aware I would not be sleeping here."

Samuel looked wounded.

"Any news on that front?" Ryland asked, stepping into the drawing room where the servants had prepared the card table and stocked the cabinet with whiskey and bourbon.

"Nothing," Oliver said. "No letters, nothing."

Samuel stopped walking. "Which front is that?"

Ryland cringed internally. He had assumed Samuel would be apprised of the situation.

Oliver rubbed the back of his neck. "Grandmother has been asking for my father. I cannot reach him."

"Was he not meant to land in Plymouth last month?"

"He was meant to," Oliver said, starting toward the card table. Smedley and Congleton were pouring more drinks at the cabinet. "But I have not heard, and I cannot leave Grandmother now." He spoke quietly, but all the men understood. She was too unwell to risk any sort of trip.

Samuel stared at him. "You did not tell me."

"It is my father," Oliver said.

"My uncle," Samuel argued. "My grandmother. You could have asked for help. You needn't take everything on, you know. She is not your mother."

Oliver closed his eyes and inhaled. The Rose family matron wasn't his mother, but she had raised him. Ryland didn't know much about the pain Oliver had endured over the years, but he knew the man had been passed off to his grandmother as a babe, and she was nearing the end of her life.

"Perhaps this is better discussed when you have both had time to think," Ryland offered.

"No, he is right." Oliver scrubbed a hand over his weary face.

"I drive quite fast," Samuel quipped. "Ask Mr. Walton from Locksley. Beat him by at least four seconds."

"You could be there and back before Sunday," Oliver agreed.

"Then it is settled." Samuel looked determined. "I will return before the ball. Do not shoot all the birds, please. Leave some for me."

Ryland bit his tongue. He didn't want to lose another man so soon, not when Oliver's attendance was shaky at best and no one else would arrive until tomorrow afternoon.

"I'll stay another hour," Oliver promised, somehow guessing at his thoughts. They pulled out the chairs and sat, Oliver lifting the deck of cards to shuffle.

Ryland watched Smedley lift decanters and give them a sniff before weighing which of the expensive drinks he wanted next. Given Aurelia's revelation earlier that afternoon—or Smedley's, if he was being honest—he shouldn't have been so angry to hear about the connection between them. Now, watching the buffoon struggle with the decanter of bourbon, his blood simmered.

Mrs. Aurelia Smedley ? It was too absurd. Laughable. Yet the very idea made Ryland green with envy. Mrs. Aurelia Smedley. It did not sound good in the least.

Lady Aurelia—no. He could not allow himself to take any step in that direction.

"He could have been lying," Oliver said quietly, splitting the deck and shuffling it.

How did the man always know what Ryland was thinking? Had he been glaring at the dolt? Revealing the direction of his vitriol?

"She knew him," Ryland said quietly. "Earlier, when they arrived. Aurelia knew him well."

"He's a friend of her brother's," Samuel said, taking the seat beside Oliver. "Nathaniel."

Oliver's eyes lifted quickly, understanding heavy within. "Did you know?"

"No. I'd had my suspicions, but she had put them to rest early." Ryland was uncomfortable, too warm, his cravat growing tight. "I do not know if it was deceit or artful manipulation or an accident…but I cannot imagine she was wholly unaware." He shook his head. He'd told her of Nathaniel. She chose to say nothing. "It was deceit on some level."

"Have you given her the chance to explain?" Oliver asked. "She may have a perfectly reasonable explanation."

"I will not make her leave straight away, but I cannot have a governess who has not been honest. It is not the first lie she has told," he said, thinking of when they met at the inn and the fabrications she made that day. "I have to dismiss her. How do I know what else she is keeping from me?"

Oliver and Samuel exchanged a glance. The other two men joined them at the table, but Oliver did not look away yet. "Simple, Ry," he said firmly. "You ask."

The cards were dealt and Ryland did his best to shove thoughts of Aurelia to the back of his mind. He played multiple rounds, lost money, won some, and gestured for Pike to lock the cabinet once he joined them in the drawing room so no more drinks could be poured. He ignored Oliver's heavy glances and the little niggling feeling that, regardless of how frustrated and hurt he felt hearing about Aurelia's relationship to Nathaniel, he could not hold on to his anger and keep it. It continuously slithered from his grasp.

Aurelia, Nathaniel's sister . Of all the things, she had surely been aware of the kind of man he was. Even then, she had never once shown similarities to the dolt. Yes, Ryland could see they had the same eyes, perhaps, for Nathaniel's striking blue had always been his only good quality, but that was where their resemblance ended.

Aurelia was everything good in the world, and Nathaniel was her opposite. Newgate, Smedley had said? It did not surprise Ryland in the least.

He grew more distracted as the evening wore on, losing more money than he'd like. By the time the clock tolled for an hour past midnight, he knew it was time to end the evening. His body hummed with the need to speak to Aurelia, to see her and demand an explanation, but the clock argued against it.

"Do not bother me until noon," he said to his guests after bidding Oliver and Samuel a farewell at the door.

"We'll shoot tomorrow, I hope," Congleton said. "I have a beautiful new rifle. You'll love her."

"Yes," Ryland said around a yawn. "Tomorrow."

"My offer stands, Ryland," Smedley said, his words slurring. "I'll happily take Miss Beswick off your hands if she'll have me." He tripped on his feet but righted himself and gave a lopsided grin. "Say the word and I can make her my wife. That's better than being a governess, I'd wager."

Ryland wanted to land the man a facer. He curled his hands into fists and breathed through his nose. "That won't be necessary."

Smedley scoffed. "Necessary? We will let her decide, eh?"

"Go to bed," Congleton muttered, leading Smedley away.

Ryland released his fists, stretching out his hands while he breathed, waiting for the men to fully disappear. He climbed the stairs, past the floor with the guest rooms, past the floor with the picture gallery and his bedchamber, up again to where the nursery and schoolroom could be found. His mind was in turmoil. He needed to see his son, to be anchored in what truly mattered. He walked quietly down the corridor in the dark, holding a candle before him, and pushed open Edmund's door.

Shock swept through his body. There, on the narrow bed only big enough for one small boy, lay Edmund wrapped in Aurelia's arms, both fast asleep. Half of her body was precariously lining the edge of the mattress, but her eyes were closed, her breathing steady. He stood at the foot of the bed and watched them for a moment, his heart bursting with equal parts hurt for what she'd kept from him—that she had not trusted him with the truth—and love.

Ryland nearly choked. Love? As he looked at Aurelia holding Edmund, he realized they each had a place in his heart, separate and different, but their own. His fears that she could be anything like her brother—that she would use Ryland to get what she wanted—felt small and insignificant when she was precariously sleeping on the edge of his child's bed, likely having helped Edmund through another nightmare.

A woman who was pretending to be kind in order to use Ryland and his title, to ensnare him, would not sacrifice so much for a child, would she? He thought back on each moment they had shared. He could take responsibility for most of them. She had not artfully arranged the tree stump near the ruins that caused her to trip or forced him to come after her with a fencing foil. He chose to share his favorite place in the library with her, to share of himself . It could not have all been false.

As though she had sensed his presence, Aurelia's eyes blinked open. They shifted down to Edmund before lifting toward Ryland. She held his gaze for a long moment before whispering, "Nightmare."

Ryland nodded. "You may return to your room now."

She looked down again before pulling away, slowly untangling herself from Edmund's grip. Once she had climbed from the bed, she bent and arranged the blankets around Edmund, waiting to be certain he was asleep. She straightened, and Ryland realized she was only wearing her nightgown.

Aurelia crossed her arms over her chest and bent in a quick curtsy. "Good night, my lord." She hurried into the corridor.

Ryland followed her. "Wait," he whispered when she'd reached her own chamber.

Her hand stalled on the doorknob.

"I need to know."

She looked over her shoulder, her eyes worried. "What, exactly?"

Ryland let out a breath. "Why didn't you tell me yourself?"