Chapter Three

“Michael.”

Michael glanced at his sister, immediately alert at the softness of her voice. They’d left Belington House a short while ago, in mostly good spirits, but now he could tell that something was bothering Clarissa. She stared at him in the dim light of the carriage, hands folded tightly in her lap.

“What is it?” he asked.

Her frown deepened and she drew in a slow breath, as if she was bracing herself for something. “I overheard your conversation with Uncle Henry.”

For a brief moment, Michael only stared at her in bemusement. Then he realised that it meant she’d overheard his plan and had learned of the true reason he had been away for so long.

Quelling his irritation, he looked out the window once more. “I see.”

“Michael…” Clarissa’s hand touched his, squeezing. “You must know that this is not the right way.”

“Do not preach to me, Clarissa,” Michael replied, striving to contain his anger. It was alarming how swiftly he would lose his temper whenever this subject arose. “If you knew of the horrors our father suffered at the hands of that deceitful man, you would be encouraging me.”

“I cannot encourage you to be so deceitful yourself ,” she said softly. “I must admit that it was not proper of me to eavesdrop, but I do not regret it. Hearing you speak with such vengeance in your heart appalled me. This is not the Michael I used to know.”

“The Michael you knew died the day Papa did, Clarissa.” He gripped her hand, facing her fully. “You are kind and pure and far too virtuous for his treacherous world. Leave this to me. Pray, do not burden yourself with thoughts of what I intend to do.”

“I cannot seem to shake this dread,” she cried. “From the moment you departed till the day you returned, I have been consumed with concern. It is clear you are no longer the man you once were, and now I understand why. Have you given any thought to what might become of you should your scheme come to light?”

“It shall not come to light,” he pushed out, releasing her hand. “And I shall get what I want before anyone is any wiser.”

“And the innocent lady you intend on involving? What of her? She may very well be ruined by what you’ll do.”

“It is only what she deserves.”

Clarissa reeled back, shocked. “You cannot truly believe that. Her father’s actions should not reflect on her.”

“Do you know this lady?”

“I do not, nor do I need to. But I know you and—”

“You do not know me, Clarissa! You cannot possibly know me if you fail to comprehend my burning need for vengeance. And you cannot fathom the countless sleepless nights I have endured while meticulously piecing together my evidence, dispelling the falsehoods woven around our father’s name. Our righteous father who has never acted in vindication and yet suffered at the hands of those wolves.”

As the carriage rattled past a lamppost, light spilling inside for a fleeting moment, Michael caught tears shining in her eyes.

Still, her voice remained strong. “Papa would not approve of this.”

“Papa is not here to stop me. I am doing this for him. For you. For our family. To restore his name and our previous glory. To ensure that those who did such evil will not get away with it.” Michael sighed, leaning his head against the seat. His temples were beginning to throb. “This is important to me, Clarissa. More than words can express. I need you to understand.”

Clarissa was quiet for a long moment. “I do understand, Michael,” she replied softly. “But even so, I cannot, in good conscience, agree.”

Michael decided not to respond to that, ignoring the stab of hurt he felt at those words. As his sister, he’d hoped that she would not oppose his plans when she eventually learned of it. But he should have known better. Clarissa was virtuous, her mind and heart uncorrupted by what happened to their family. Michael could not say the same for himself.

He ignored the faint voice in the back of his mind that warned him he was on the wrong path. He had not spent years chasing this vengeance to be dissuaded by the morally upstanding. Getting his revenge was his only reprieve, the only thing capable of bringing him peace.

He would stop at nothing to achieve that.

***

Edward’s chamber was shrouded in darkness, as he preferred, allowing barely enough light for Elaine to see as she helped him to his bed.

He’d spent most of the day in the drawing room, slipping in and out of sleep, murmuring to himself whenever he was awake. Now Elaine wondered if he might have fallen asleep on her again because he felt heavier than usual, his body weight pressing down on her shoulder.

“Nearly there,” she murmured, mostly to herself. She could barely make out the shadowy outline of his bed in the darkness.

At last, she felt the cool brush of the sheets against her knees. Bracing herself against the mattress, Elaine helped her father into the bed, adjusting his stiff limbs until he was settled under the sheets. She tucked him in, certain that he must be deep in sleep by now.

As she began to walk away, his hand caught her wrist with surprising strength. It fell a moment later.

“Papa?” she spoke in the darkness.

She could not see his face but a moment later, his gravelly voice broke through. “Sit with me a moment.”

He sounded clearer than usual. Tonight must be a good night. Elaine nodded and quickly claimed the chair that was always by his bed. She would often sit there during the day with her embroidery while he rested, or when she would read to him.

“Yes, Papa,” she breathed, taking his hand in hers.

He cleared his throat. Elaine held her breath in anticipation. “I am…so proud of you, my dear.”

Tears rushed to her eyes, much to her alarm. She’d done so much crying today already, she couldn’t believe she had any tears left in her. “Why?” she asked, trying to sound light. “I have not done anything for you to be proud of.”

“You have grown into a beautiful young lady,” he rasped. “You have not left me to rot by myself.”

“Papa! Why would I ever do that?”

“There is so much you do not know, my dear.”

Elaine didn’t like the sound of that. She especially didn’t like how morose he sounded. She tried changing the topic. “I will be attending my first ball tomorrow evening.”

“Ho…how?”

“Aunt Lorna and James have agreed to sponsor me this Season. I am committed to finding a wealthy husband who will be able to help us, Papa. Perhaps I may even enjoy myself in the process.”

“That is good. You should enjoy yourself. You should be happy.”

“I am happy,” she lied, though she couldn’t understand why. It was evident that their circumstances were far from joyful.

“I want you to be happier,” her father pushed out weakly. “I have made so manymistakes during my life. I do not want you to suffer from them.”

“What sort of mistakes?” she asked tentatively, uncertain if she truly wished to know.

Edward said nothing. After a moment, a sob escaped his lips.

“Papa?” Elaine gasped, filled with alarm.

“I am tired,” he told her. “I wish to rest now.”

“Papa…”

“Go now. Rest. You have a lot of preparations to do for your ball tomorrow.”

She wiped her tears and nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “I shall tell you all about it upon my return.”

“That would be nice,” he said and she hoped that was truly a smile she heard in his voice.

A few seconds later, his breathing grew loud but even, a clear indication that he had fallen asleep. Elaine stayed there for a while longer, thinking about all he’d said. Conversations did not happen often lately and when they did, they were always short-lived and unimportant. This one was different. Her father rarely spoke of his past.

At last, she stood and left the room, when she was certain her tears had dried. But by the time she made it to her bedchamber, they’d returned with full force. Hearing her father speak just now only reminded her of when he had been strong and healthy, when his illness had not turned him into a shell of his former self. When her mother had been alive, her brother had been home, and she’d truly been happy.

There was no changing the past, however. But as she crawled into bed and let her tears lull her to sleep, Elaine resolved to let her present dictate her future.

***

Grenshaw House screamed opulence, from the white-washed brick walls to the tiered balconies, to the long driveway lined with painted stone and manicured shrubbery. Michael had never attended a ball hosted by Lord and Lady Jones, but he had certainly heard the rumours. He was well aware of what others said about their grand ballroom and their endless wealth, how such balls often ended well into the morning because there was just simply so much to do. As his carriage pulled to a stop near the front of the house, Michael wondered if he would have anticipated such an event if his plan for revenge had not been simmering in his mind.

“Michael.”

Clarissa’s soft voice drew a weary sigh to his lips. He knew what she was going to say simply from her tone.

“Leave me be, Clarissa,” he said to her, watching as footmen approached their carriage. “If you do not intend to support my quest then at the very least, do not lecture me about it.”

“I cannot help but lecture you. It is what younger sisters do.”

“An older sister, perhaps,” he murmured. “But as I am the eldest, you would do well to listen to me.”

She was already shaking her head. “Do not purport to be wiser than me, Michael. Not when you are still on your insane quest for retribution.”

“Insane, she says,” he scoffed.

She sighed. “I only wish for you to see that there must be a better way.”

“There is no better way. And I shall not be convinced to the contrary.”

She sighed again but Michael ignored her. The footman was upon them now, opening their door. Michael nodded absently at him as he climbed out of the carriage and then helped Clarissa out. Right behind them, Beatrice and Henry were exiting their marked carriage as well.

They waited for the two of them to approach before they turned to the house, falling in line with the other arriving guests. The Jones seemed to have an unlimited amount of footmen because they kept pouring out of the house, assisting newcomers out of their carriages and escorting them to the ballroom.

A soft sonata wafted through the hallway as Michael approached, Clarissa on his arm. They were brought to a small flight of stairs that led to a set of double doors. A podgy footman in a black and blue livery bowed at their approach before he swung the doors open.

“His Grace the Duke of Ryewood and Lady Clarissa,” he bellowed to the guests down below.

Michael stepped into the ballroom, his eyes sweeping over the sea of faces that turned to assess him. He did not focus on a single one of them, yet that familiar hum of resentment welled within him as he descended the spiral staircase to the left, slowly so as to accommodate Clarissa’s long gown. He was well aware of their unspoken thoughts: the new duke had returned, seeking to salvage the remnants of his broken title.

“Smile, Michael,” Clarissa whispered to him. “You look downright terrifying.”

“Good,” he grunted right before stepping into the thick of the guests.

The ball seemed to have just begun but the ballroom was already teeming with life. His height afforded him advantages, however. He could easily see over most of their heads, capable of picking out a number of familiar faces. But there was only one person he truly wished to see.

And he had just found her.

Lady Elaine Sutton, daughter of the Earl of Suthenshire, and the key to executing his plan. His extensive research of her and her family made it easy to spot her, but he wasn’t as prepared for the gut-punching reaction to the sight of her.

He hadn’t expected her to be so beautiful.

Of course, her beauty was unimportant, he reminded himself. He did not intend to seduce her if it could be avoided. Yet, it was quite difficult to ignore how she stood as a beacon of beauty among the common folk. Long auburn hair that sat in delicate curls around her face, most of it pinned up to dangle down her back. He could not see the colour of her eyes but it was easy to see that she had porcelain skin, a small nose, and such lovely, pink lips currently set in a line. Her eyes were round, darting around the room as if she could not figure out what to look at first, yet she held such regal grace in her slim figure that it was hard to believe she’d not done this a dozen times before.

“Michael?”

Beatrice’s voice brought him back. He hadn’t noticed that they’d approached, hadn’t even heard when they were announced.

Beatrice was frowning at him. “What are your thoughts?”

Michael cleared his throat, annoyed by the trance he’d slipped under. “About what?”

“About Lord Hanson.”

Michael blinked at her.

“Lord Hanson,” Henry supplied slowly. “He just approached Clarissa asking for the first dance. Did you not see him?”

“I…hadn’t noticed.”

“How could you not have noticed that?” Clarissa asked incredulously, frowning at him as if he’d just grown a second head.

He didn’t blame her. He couldn’t understand it himself, even though he was well aware of the reason.

“I suppose I was lost in thought,” he answered noncommittally. “Was I to judge the man based upon his request to dance?”

“Well, yes,” Beatrice said. “It is your duty to ensure only the proper gentlemen are given the honour of Clarissa’s time, you know.”

“I hardly think one dance will tell me anything I want to know about him,” Michael said.

“And I am more than capable of determining that myself,” Clarissa joined in. “I happen to find Lord Hanson quite handsome and kind.”

“You say that about everyone,” Beatrice bemoaned.

“Not everyone,” Clarissa protested. “I certainly did not say that about Lord Gregory…”

Michael stopped listening, his gaze trailing back to Lady Elaine. She was in the same spot, still looking around as if she didn’t know what to do with herself. At that moment, an older lady approached her. It took Michael a moment to recognise her as the Dowager Viscountess of Abney, Lady Elaine’s maternal aunt. The man who stood at her side bore a striking similarity to her and he assumed he must be the current Viscount of Abney and Lady Elaine’s cousin.

They seemed close, Michael observed. Lady Abney said something to Lady Elaine, which made her smile briefly. The act lit her face a thousand times brighter than the look of apprehension she wore before. Michael suddenly struggled to breathe.

Lord Abney stood by his cousin’s side, not partaking in the conversation between the two women yet hovering in an imposing manner. His gaze skimmed the crowd, falling on Michael. Their eyes met and Lord Abney’s narrowed.

Michael did not look away right away, though it bothered him that he got caught staring. He didn’t need to draw attention to himself, especially not from someone who appeared to be an overbearing family member of the lady he wished to approach. He would have to wait until Lord Abney was not by his cousin’s side before he made his move.

Michael’s heart trembled with anticipation at the thought. He had been planning this for far too long, years of painstaking detail all leading to this very night.

At last, the beginning of the end.

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