Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

S tephen watched his wife walk away and tried to put a name to the ache hollowing out his chest.

Tonight had been a mistake, that was for sure. He had no idea what had possessed him to kiss her the way he had, to touch her, to let her touch him . That was a mistake, an even greater one than he could have imagined. It was a loss of control, to allow her to make him feel, to?—

Stephen cut off that thought neatly. It horrified him how easily the wretched woman could inspire lust in him. Even now, he imagined running after her, turning her around to face him and pushing her firmly against a wall, kissing her, tearing that delightful velvet gown off her, baring her in a way they simply hadn’t had time for in the carriage.

Groaning aloud, he dropped his face into his hands.

“You are a fool, Stephen,” he said, his voice muffled.

And then, the woman had the audacity to take his room from him?

“Reduced to a guest room in my own house,” he muttered.

He was too high-strung to sleep, his head buzzing with thoughts and feelings. Rather than debase himself by asking Mouse to find him a guest room, or chasing down his wretched wife and challenging her further, Stephen bounced to his feet and strode out of the conservatory.

He knew where he was going even before his feet hit the ground. Passageways curved around the huge house, forming a maze of corridors and large, empty rooms, but Stephen could find his way to the observatory with his eyes closed.

The narrow, spiral staircase could easily have been missed. A thin, nondescript door hid the stairs and was always kept locked. The servants did not venture upwards, except on occasion.

Stephen felt in his pocket for the key, reaching for the doorknob. Before he could withdraw the brass key and insert it into the lock, the door clicked open.

With a start, he realized that the door was unlocked. Unlocked!

The wretched woman . So much for her promises. She has been nosing around in my business.

He climbed the stairs, forced to slow his two-steps-at-a-time pace to something more careful, on account of the steep, treacherous stairs spiraling up and up.

Often, in his youth, Stephen had missed a step on his way down and tumbled to the bottom. He no longer had the springy bones and energy from his childhood, so best to be careful. After all, he knew very well how much a fall down these steps would hurt. Especially if one were pushed.

Generally, the observatory would be shrouded in darkness, but he could see that a candle glimmered, buttery light spilling down the stairs.

“Beatrice,” Stephen snapped, “if that is you up there, then?—”

“It’s not Beatrice, dear.”

He flinched, only a few steps from the top, and paused. “Mother?”

He climbed the rest of the way, stepping onto the dusty wooden floor of the observatory.

Sure enough, Theodosia sat at the huge, sprawling table that took up half of the space. Her chair was tipped back, her delicate boots propped up on the table, and she was dressed finely, as if for the opera.

“What are you doing here?” Stephen managed, a trifle lamely.

Theodosia smiled lazily at him. “Well, Beatrice sent me a note to tell me she would not be coming to the opera, and she had the grace to inform me that you were home. I thought I would pay you a visit. Did you forget I had a key to the observatory?”

To emphasize her point, she withdrew a brass key, matching the one Stephen had in his pocket.

She grinned. “After all, your father built this place for me when we first got married. We did rather like each other once, you know.”

Stephen flinched. He headed straight to the desk, rifling through some papers there.

The room was not a large one, perfectly circular, with a domed glass ceiling kept covered by heavy plates, which could be opened and closed at any part by the application of heavy machinery, operated by a winch set in the corner.

There were heavy telescopes of all shapes and sizes, all aimed towards the heavens at various angles. The papers on the table were notes, journals, manuscripts, books, and spyglasses, as well as various pieces of equipment and charts. It had all once belonged to Theodosia.

Stephen picked up a small, brass spyglass, turning it over to read the inscription on one side.

To Stephen, from Mama. Turn your eyes upwards, always, for there are stars to see.

The ache returned to his chest, and he tightened his grip on the spyglass. “Beatrice has gone to bed, I’m afraid.”

“That’s alright,” Theodosia remarked. “It’s you I came to see.”

He bit back a sigh. “I’m tired, Mother. Are you staying the night?”

“I haven’t decided. I had a fine time at the opera, by the way.”

“I’m sorry that Beatrice could not accompany you.”

“No, no, not at all. I enjoy doing things alone, you know. Your papa never allowed me to do anything without him. I never went to the opera for years before he died. Or did much of anything at all.”

He swallowed hard. “I know that. He went mad, Mother. I wish you’d realize that.”

Theodosia tilted her head thoughtfully. “Mad? No, I don’t think so. Madness gives him almost an excuse.”

“There was no excuse for anything he did,” Stephen snapped. “I need a drink. Would you like one?”

“A whiskey, I think.”

He blinked. “A whiskey ?”

Theodosia grinned at him. “Oh, yes. I do all sorts of unladylike things these days, my dear. Drinking whiskey and brandy is only the least of it.”

Stephen shook his head and crossed the room to where a glass decanter of whiskey stood, ready to be used. He poured two generous glasses.

“I’ve been spending a good deal of time with your wife since you’ve been gone, you know,” Theodosia said. “More time than you, in fact.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“I confess, I had no idea what to expect from her,” Theodosia continued, taking the proffered whiskey glass with a smile. “I was pleasantly surprised. She is kind, and intelligent, and remarkably entertaining. One of the first times she ever spoke to me was to invite me to join her book club. I did join, of course. It’s rather diverting, I must say.”

“I’m glad,” Stephen remarked, smiling wryly. “You seem happy.”

“I am,” Theodosia answered, giving him a wink and swigging back her whiskey with a horrifyingly practiced air.

Stephen winced and sipped his own drink.

“The household adores her, of course,” Theodosia added, delicately dabbing her mouth with a handkerchief. “She is a good duchess, I can tell you that. She is popular with all the right people, well-respected in clever society—by that, I mean bluestockings, which I always thought was a silly name for clever women—and she is a fixture in London. Well-liked and happy, despite what those nonsensical papers say.”

Stephen took a moment to collect himself.

“Why are you here, Mother? Did you come here only to sing Beatrice’s praises?”

Theodosia smiled dryly. “Well, yes, but beyond that, I wanted to talk to you . I am not happy about your extended absence, Stephen.”

“I would have never guessed.”

“Are you deliberately trying to make yourself unhappy?” Theodosia pressed, leaning forward. “Are you still clinging to that spiteful, poisonous promise you made when he died?”

“Not to continue his line? Yes, I am clinging to that,” he snapped, setting down his glass with a click . “How could I ever forgive him? No, our name will die out, and good riddance.”

“Holding a grudge, my dear boy, is like drinking poison and waiting for somebody else to die. In this case, of course, it is doubly pointless because your father is already dead. You are destroying yourself, Stephen, and for what?”

“For a principle.”

Theodosia let out a sharp laugh. “Misery for a principle? You do consider yourself a martyr, don’t you?”

Stephen glared at her. “So, Mother, let me review our conversation so far. You came here to compliment my wife, and insult me, your own son, yes?”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic. Can’t you see that I only want you to be happy? I am your mother . I want to see you thrive, grow. If you never have children, well, that is your business. But I would hate to see you miss out on things that might make you happy—such as true love and a family—because of misplaced spite. Beatrice is… well, she’s such a fine woman. Her good qualities are seen by everybody—everybody, it seems, but you—and I know in my heart that she would make you so, so happy. Why will you not listen ? Why will you not forgive yourself?”

He flinched at that. “Myself? Why would I need to forgive myself?”

Theodosia met his eyes squarely. “Because you believe you should have saved me, and you hold yourself as responsible as he is. Which, of course, is patently untrue. Do you not recall what happened the last time you tried to save me?”

Stephen flinched again, the memory tearing through him like a bullet through flesh. Of course, he could recall what had happened. He would never, ever forget it.

“A man’s business is his own, boy!” the Duke roared, dragging his son through the halls by his hair. “Nobody should come between a man and his wife! No one should give an opinion on how he chooses to run his family and his household.” He paused, turning to the boy and yanking his face up to his. “Not even his own son.”

At the age of fourteen, Stephen was tall but thin. He was beginning to fancy himself a man, a proper man, the sort of man who could protect his family.

Or he had been.

One side of his face, boasting a patchwork of bruises and a nasty black eye, was swelling diligently, impeding his vision on one side of his face. His ankle was twisted, perhaps sprained, the pain radiating up his leg in a steady, merciless throb. He was not entirely sure when or how he got that injury.

Theodosia followed behind them, limping, pressing a hand to her side. She had been kicked there when she lay curled up on the floor, he recalled. Blood trickled down from her nose, muffling her voice.

“Leave him alone, Thomas!” she called. “I am the one you are angry at, not him. Leave him alone!”

“Quiet, woman! I am not yet finished with you. Your disrespect is appalling, and not at all what a woman ought to offer her husband. To a woman, her husband ought to be like a god.”

Theodosia’s lips drew back, revealing bloody teeth. “Only God is like a god to me, you stupid man.”

Stop it, Mother! Stephen wanted to scream. He knew what she was doing. She was trying to rile his father up, to draw his rage back to her, instead of him.

Fortunately—or unfortunately for Stephen—it did not work.

They reached the narrow doorway that led up to the observatory, and he was dragged up the spiral staircase. The door was slammed in Theodosia’s face.

The observatory was meant to be Theodosia’s domain, her space, but it had not been such for as long as Stephen could remember. After all, what man wanted his wife to fill her head with astronomy and mathematics, when she should be downstairs, attending to him?

They reached the top, and the Duke tossed Stephen to the ground. Stephen landed with a painful thump, curling up into a ball immediately to protect himself from a kick.

It never came.

“You are a pathetic boy,” the Duke hissed. “A mewling, weak creature. You disgust me. Do not interfere in my affairs again, or you will be sorry. You’ll stay here until I feel you have learned your lesson.”

Without waiting for a reply—not that one was forthcoming, as Stephen’s acid wit had not yet taken root, even if he’d been brave enough to respond—the Duke turned on his heel. The door slammed shut, and after half a moment, Stephen heard the key turn in the lock downstairs.

He rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. At some point, the panels covering the glass roof had been pulled back, revealing a vast, midnight-blue sky, its velvet studded with countless, countless stars.

Stephen closed his eyes, letting the pain wash over him.

“Stephen?”

He flinched, coming back to himself.

Three days . He left me locked in this room for three days. If Mouse hadn’t brought me a carafe of water—he was just a footman, then—I might have died.

He turned around and found his mother eyeing him thoughtfully.

“I do wish I had done more to protect you from him,” Stephen said quietly. “But you can’t believe that I let it affect my life now.”

Theodosia returned his stare evenly. “Neither of us can ever pretend to be unaffected.”

Stephen swallowed, obliged to drop his gaze first. With a rustling of skirts, Theodosia got to her feet, crossed the room, and wrapped her arms around him.

Stephen tried to stay stiff and cool, but he found himself sagging into his mother’s embrace after only a moment.

“She cares for you,” Theodosia whispered. She did not explain who she was, and really, it was not necessary.

“She doesn’t know me, Mama.”

Theodosia pulled back, cupping his face in her hands. “But I know you, Stephen. And I am telling you that if you don’t take the bull by the horns soon and leave this Blackheart behind, you may end up living up to your namesake.”

“I already do.”

“No, Stephen, you do not. The day you become like your father, I will stop being your mother.”

He blinked, backing away from her. “Mother, I would never. I would never .”

“I know.” Her voice was soft again. “Think about what I’ve said, Stephen, won’t you?”

He sighed. “I will.”

There wasn’t much else to say, really. Theodosia narrowed her eyes at him as if trying to read his mind, trying to see what he was thinking. He kept his expression neutral, relying on his natural coldness to protect him.

Theodosia sighed, just the way he had. “Hm.”

“Are you staying, Mother? Shall I have a room prepared for you?”

Theodosia shifted, looking almost like a guilty girl again. “No, actually. I’m… I’m going out again.”

Stephen narrowed his eyes at her. “Oh? At this hour?”

“It’s a private ball,” Theodosia said, a trifle defensively. “Let me tell you something, Stephen.”

“You have not ceased telling me things since you arrived.”

She chose to ignore his sharp wit.

“While your father was alive, I lived a certain way. You know how it was. I was a slave in my own home, imprisoned in more ways than one. I could have left, yes, but his cruelty was not known well enough to make Society side with me. I would have lost everything. You made your escape, but as long as your father lived, I never could. And now? Now, I am free. I am free , Stephen! I think of the wasted years when I could have been living ! I look back and think about the time when I was all but imprisoned, and I can’t help but consider how differently things could have been. Your prison, Stephen, is in there .”

She lifted a finger and tapped it on Stephen’s forehead.

There was a moment of silence, then she broke into a smile.

“Think about it, won’t you?” she said and then swept out, not waiting for a response.