24. David

24

David

“ A h!” Arrowsmith’s voice rang out across the entrance hall. The butler hurried over holding a small stack of letters on a silver platter. “I was hoping I’d catch you, my lord. The morning post has just come in.”

With one foot on the staircase, David accepted the little bundle—three for him, and one for Caroline. “Thank you, Arrowsmith. I’ll take up Lady Caroline’s as well.”

His ascent up the stairs was slower than it would otherwise have been. David savoured every step, the stretching of muscles he’d been unable to move in a fortnight.

His stitches had been removed the day before yesterday. The first day he’d spent moving around the fourth floor, avoiding the stairs until he was truly confident in his stride. Yesterday had comprised moving into a proper bedroom on the third floor, not simply the old butler’s bedroom from his grandfather’s day.

But today was the first day he felt truly free once more. Not only had he come down for breakfast, he’d taken it into the garden for the simple pleasure of being able to do so. Now it was finished, he was going back upstairs.

Perhaps he could take Caroline out tonight. The West End? What about Claridge’s? They could see a play and go there for dinner afterwards .

David lightly rapped his knuckles on her bedroom door. Coincidentally , his new bedroom was right next to hers—and he had a mind to visit it later as well.

It had been two, devastatingly long weeks since he’d last thrust into her with feral abandon, and he was keen to bring their hiatus to an end.

“Come,” Caroline called.

Smiling as he entered, she sat at a stout writing desk. She stood, snapping the lid back on her fountain pen. “ Bore da , I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Bore da, Starling.” He closed the door behind him, crossing the room in one effortless move and relishing the ability to take her in his arms. “Fuck, I’ve missed being able to do this.” His lips slanted over hers, drinking in her low, amused hum.

After a moment, she pulled away, rapping him on the chest with a smirk. “Somebody could come in.”

“ Au contraire .” He smirked, holding out her letter. “Harry is down in the garden having breakfast.” The lad’s ribs were still paining him, but his son had been unusually quiet of late.

Caroline didn’t appear to hear him, her eyes fixed on the envelope.

“Are you quite well?” It wasn’t like it was a mourning envelope.

In one blink, her fixation vanished beneath a thin veneer of amiability. “Of course.” Opening the letter, she bit her lip, something resembling sadness lining her brow. “I do…I do need to go speak to Harry, though.”

Harry? David reared back slightly. He couldn’t have been more surprised if she’d declared a lifelong ambition to join the circus. “Whatever for?”

Caroline took his hand, pulling him towards the door. “Come.”

Mutely, he let her guide him back down the stairs. She slowed as he diligently held the banister all the way down, in no great rush to tear open his wound and be ordered to bed rest once more. Finally on the ground floor, he was surprised at the confidence with which she moved through the maze of rooms—quickly leading them out onto the sun-soaked garden terrace.

Seated next to a half oak barrel exploding with pale pink geraniums, Harry’s reaction to their sudden appearance was, rather worryingly, grim resignation. “The letter’s arrived then?” he said quietly, putting his cup of tea down.

She handed him the envelope. “It has.”

Harry scanned the letter, pointing to the garden chairs opposite. “You should probably sit down, David.”

“What’s going on?” he asked, eyes darting between his son and his lover. It was an unpleasant feeling, to be excluded from whatever they had been keeping from him. As far as he was concerned, Harry and Caroline hadn’t even seen each other, let alone conversed.

His gut clenched at the possibility—at the certainty . They had discussed something in private.

Caroline thought she loved Harry once. Had she…had she forgiven him?

“I…” Harry’s false start only had his heart beating faster. His son looked to Caroline, who nodded gently.

A look David felt ill watching.

Harry cleared his throat. “I did something illegal, David. And I’m likely going to prison for it.”

He inhaled sharply, the breath a knife to his lungs. “ What? What did you do?”

To his credit, Harry faced him head-on. “Do you remember the woman who was hiding in my bedroom at Castell Du'r Arddu?”

“For the love of Christ, tell me you haven’t killed her.”

Harry’s shocked chuff of laughter did little to clear the tension pulled tight between them. “No, she’s perfectly well. Left me after it was clear there was no big windfall on the horizon. She’s…well, she’s my wife. My legal wife.”

“She’s what ?” He couldn’t have heard correctly.

“My marriage to Caroline was bigamous.”

Disbelieving rage welled inside him, seeping into his brain. “Tell me you’re not fucking serious.”

Harry’s lips thinned, his gaze jumping across to Caroline. A plea for help.

His next question was for the woman he loved. “You knew?”

“I found out the marriage might have been bigamous a few days ago—Harry confirmed it that night. The letter just states that Harry married Florence in 1924, and says his likely sentence.”

Why was she not as furious as he was on her behalf? Harry had dragged her into his sordid mess of a life, defrauded her, abandoned her, and nothing was legal in the first place. He knew his son had taken his mother’s death hard, but it was two years ago this month.

Harry couldn’t use his grief as an excuse to drag everyone down with him forevermore.

David scrubbed a hand across his face. A wave of exhaustion nearly pulled him under. When was Harry’s list of offences going to end? How long could he try and save his son from himself? “Which is?”

Harry spoke up. “Six months to two years.”

“I don’t…” David let his head hang. He’d pulled his son from the worst of his vices, the drinking, the gambling, the debts . “I don’t know if I can get you out of that, Harry.” His influence as a marquess was vast, but it wasn’t endless. In his grandfather’s day, he stood a good chance. But time never stood still, and the Great War had only accelerated society’s rate of change.

But even if he could get Harry out of it…he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Not after everything he’d done to Caroline .

A muscle pulled at the edge of Harry’s lips. “I will only ask you for one last thing.”

“Which is?”

Harry stood, his shoulders squared and his jaw set in rigid determination. “Do nothing,” he said simply. “Let me hand myself in, and let me serve whatever sentence the law gives me.”

Whatever he thought Harry would ask for…it wasn’t that.

To do nothing was perhaps even harder than doing something , than protecting his son to the end. It was a father’s job. His only job, when it came down to it. How could a father walk away from his son?

Some magnetism pulled his focus over to Caroline. The woman he loved. The victim of the crime. The innocent Harry had dragged into his chaos. How could David fight against the interests of the woman he loved?

His son was guilty. There was no changing that.

He loved Caroline. There was no changing that either.

David ran a weary hand over the back of his head. Over the last few days, he’d debated when and where to tell Harry about his relationship with Caroline. Was it now? Was it after the annulment? Was it after marrying her in secret?

The last one he hadn’t debated over for very long. Caroline had already gone through a secret wedding. For her second wedding, her real wedding, he wanted to let her shine. David wanted to show the world how proud he was to call her his wife.

But that world very much included his son.

“I’ll let you hand yourself in—on one condition.”

Harry lifted his chin. “Namely?”

David approached Caroline, his arm edging around her waist protectively. “Over the last few weeks, Caroline and I ha—”

Harry’s shout of laughter carried across the garden. “Funnily enough, I actually cam—”

“If you complete that sentence, I will geld you,” Caroline hissed. Her expression wiped clean as she smiled up at him. “He knows,” she finished, looking as though butter wouldn’t melt. “I told him.”

“When exactly have the two of you had all of these conversations?”

“I came down one night after I discovered his first marriage certificate.” Caroline turned to Harry, fire blazing in her gaze. “And he was very happy for us,” she said pointedly, somehow managing to make it sound like a threat.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I was very happy for you,” he bleated.

David wasn’t so sure. “Are you, though?”

As soon as he asked the question, he regretted it. What would he do if his son answered in the negative? David was never going to stop loving her. When he’d put forward his not-quite-a-proposal, nothing but Caroline’s refusal would make him abandon her.

Shrugging, Harry crossed his arms. “I do think it’s a trifle weird, but fuck it. The marriage was a fraud conceived of because I needed the funds. You deserve some happiness, David.” His rueful smirk jerked up on one side. “Perhaps you’ll finally make her an honest woman—legally, that is.”

Eyes softening, David’s next exhale felt like the weight of the world had lifted off his shoulders. He pulled Caroline close, pressing his lips to her temple. “Perhaps I will.”