Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

" Y ou think you can come into my home and assault me!" Thorpe shrieked as Cecilia swept from the room with all the dignity her terror would allow.

Flock followed, she knew from the sound of his heavy footfalls—but she also heard those footfalls hesitate. Without looking back, Cecilia knew that he had stopped to glance back over his shoulder at Thorpe. She also didn't need to hear the catch in Thorpe's voice to know the fear that Flock's hard-eyed stare had engendered in the Viscount. She did not reply as she walked through the almost bare hall to the doors.

"I have the ear of the Regent! I know what the two of you have been planning! I know your husband had sought an audience! It will be useless, you hear me?! I will see to it!" Thorpe screamed.

But Cecilia's mind was full of one thought only. Lionel .

Was he wounded? Was he dead? Her sickening fear was laced with anger. She had told him why his obsession with vengeance terrified her! She had told him that she did not want to lose him to injury or death because of his obsession. He had promised to remain by her side, and now that she was carrying his child, he ran off like an errant youth seeking his pointless vengeance. For what good could it do him? If Thorpe was ruined or even killed, what would be the ultimate satisfaction? It would not bring back Arthur! At best, it would be a fleeting feeling of victory. Fleeting, but hollow, as the grief and loss would soon rush in to smother it. If she could endure the loss of her brother, endure, and then move on with her life, then Lionel should be able to too!

She waited for Flock to open the carriage door and unhitch the steps, then ascended, before sitting back, staring straight ahead.

Blankly.

Tears brimmed in her eyes but she refused to let them drop.

The carriage rocked as Flock took his seat and then began to move. Cecilia glanced out of the window at Thorpe's barren house and saw him at a window, watching her.

So, the Viscount Thorpe was short of funds too, just like his friend Sir Gerald. It changed nothing. She did not want to take revenge on Thorpe, only to live her new life with Lionel and raise a family. Thorpe could be rich or poor or the King of England for all she cared. She wondered if Lionel knew.

That brought her mind back to her husband and she was crippled by the fear that while she had slept, her husband had been taken from her.

The short drive back to Bruton Street seemed to take an eternity.

Finally, the carriage was rolling along the cobbles of the lane that led to the house's stable yard. She jumped down before Flock had a chance to unhitch the steps, and picked up her skirts to run for the kitchen door.

Inside were the startled faces of servants as she burst in. For a moment they froze where they stood and Cecilia realized that they were not engaged in the activity of preparing an evening meal. One maid had an armful of linen, while another, a large basin of steaming water. A footman bore a great bottle of rubbing alcohol, another a brandy bottle and glass. Then she saw Blackwood emerge into the kitchen, his hair awry and his face slack.

"Come along now! Come along! The master needs bandages and… Your Grace!"

His eyes alighted on Cecilia who glared at him. He had conspired to conceal Lionel's plans from her. He knew his master's insane plans and had helped him. She stalked towards him.

"How badly is he hurt?" she breathed, for that was all her voice could choke out.

For the wrong answer, Cecilia would have balled her hand into a fist and punched Blackwood on the nose. If he had told her that Lionel was grievously wounded, she would have been lost to rage and he would have been its object.

"A scalp wound. A rifle round grazed his skull. He is well and truly mazed and bleeding like a stuck pig, but he'll live."

The relief made Cecilia's knees slump. She grabbed for the doorframe for support, and when Blackwood grasped her arm, she shook him off fiercely.

"Take me to him. Now!" she commanded.

Blackwood didn't argue or hesitate, nor did he waste time with words. He simply turned on his heel and hurried away, Cecilia following close behind. A sudden mad thought came to Cecilia just then, that a head wound might have a perverse effect on Lionel, that he would forget her and their marriage. She almost laughed hysterically, having to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop it from bursting out. That would be cruel. Enough to make her damn the world and withdraw to a convent under a vow of silence. It would not be, of course. She remembered a book she had read by a Frenchman.

"All will be well in the best of all possible worlds," she whispered.

Blackwood glanced over his shoulder once but one look into his mistress' eyes slammed his head forward once more. He led her to the master bedroom. Cecilia shoved past him at the sight of Lionel lying on the bed. He was clad in his breeches and shirt. A maid was gathering a pile of bloodied linen from the floor and depositing it into a basket.

"Get that stained linen boiled at once," Blackwood ordered, "and give Her Grace some room there."

Cecilia ran to the bed. Lionel's face was gray. A bandage was wound around the top of his head, one half of it stained deep red. For a moment, she feared that his very lifeblood was leaving him, soaking into the linen, leaving him a gutted wraith. Then she remembered Blackwood's words. She knew something of field medicine herself, having helped on the farm when injuries had occurred. She remembered a farm hand being kicked by a recalcitrant cow and battering his head off the stone wall of the barn. The wound had bled profusely but the boy had never been in any danger.

She took Lionel's hand and felt for a pulse. It was regular and strong. She lifted the hand to her lips and kissed it. Lionel lay with eyes closed, breathing deeply. At the touch of her lips, his eyes opened.

"Cece?" he croaked.

" Cece ?!" she was about to snap back, but her words caught in her throat at the weakness in his voice and the paleness of his hollow gaze.

Immediately, he tried to sit up. She pushed him back to the bed, not roughly, but not as gently as she might have done. She ran a hand down the side of his face, avoiding the side that was bleeding. But her mouth was pressed tight, jaw clenched. She was relieved and happy, but at the same time angry. Furious .

"You promised…" she muttered between clenched teeth, hoping to conceal her breaking voice.

Lionel frowned in confusion.

"Do not tell me that you don't remember. I will not let you off the hook so easily!" she punched lightly at his chest, eyes reddening now.

"I… I remember. I promised to remain by your side when we came to London. Have I not?"

Cecilia's anger and grief slipped, doused by the look of genuine confusion on Lionel's face. He lifted a hand to his head and winced as he touched the bandage.

"What has happened to me? The last thing I remember is…is…" Lionel's face creased in concentration. Then his eyes widened in alarm, "You were unwell? Have you recovered? Is it serious?"

He tried to rise again but his eyes closed against a bright stab of pain. Cecilia kept her hand to his chest and was surprised and disturbed at how easy it was to keep his substantial frame pinned down.

"It is nothing, and I am recovered. I am with child," she whispered, gently.

Lionel's brows drew down and then he smiled. It was the dawning of bright sunshine through a raft of clouds. His face lit up from within, unable to hide the joy radiating from him.

"Yes, I remember that now. I remember you being ill and telling me."

"But nothing subsequently?" Cecilia asked.

Lionel shook his head. "What happened? I woke up here but my head is in agony. Something has happened but…" He closed his eyes and then thumped the bed in frustration.

"I do not know. I was not there. But, I have been told that you… you received a scalp wound from a rifle shot."

Lionel gaped at her in disbelief. "How could I forget such a thing? It is as though it did not happen. As far as my mind is concerned anyway. I am looking into a void of memory, except I am not, because it feels as though you telling me that you are with child was just a moment ago."

"It was this morning. It is now nighttime," Cecilia mumbled.

Lionel began to shake his head but stopped himself. He reached for a small brown glass bottle on the bedside table. Then he let his hand fall to the bedclothes.

"No, I will not take it. It will dull the pain but it will dull my senses more. I cannot afford that."

"And why is that?" Cecilia asked. "Is there something requiring your attention?"

Lionel looked at her as though she was mad. "Your presentation at court. It is in three days' time, unless I have lost more time than I knew. I must be able to navigate the currents of court and avoid any missteps. Who shot me?"

Cecilia was taken aback by the sudden change of subject. She wondered what to say. She knew it was Lord Thorpe but only because he himself had bragged of it. There was no other way for her to know it.

"I do not know," she said, half-truthfully.

"You were accompanying a patrol of excisemen to view a ship," Blackwood said from a position he had taken up on the other side of the room, far enough away to give privacy but not so far that he would not hear himself summoned.

"Excisemen?" Lionel repeated wonderingly. "This must have something to do with what Lennox wanted to see me about. A ship, you say?"

"Yes, Your Grace. You had been taken to the excise headquarters at Broad Street. That is where I found you and brought you here. Mr. Lennox was also present."

"This had something to do with Thorpe, didn't it?" Lionel added grimly.

"I do not know, Your Grace. I was not brought into your confidence."

"Where is Lennox, anyway?" Lionel asked.

"Not here, Your Grace," Blackwood stated. "He did not inform me where he was lodging in town. You may have been waylaid by highwaymen on your way to this ship. By all accounts, it was moored downriver in not the most respectable of areas."

Lionel looked at Cecilia and managed to look guilty. He took her hand, squeezing it.

"No matter," he shook his head before wincing at the pain. "I do not need to know what went on. I clearly had a narrow escape and that has taught me a lesson. I will not come so close to losing you again."

Cecilia smiled behind a sudden veil of tears. "I am relieved to hear that," she whispered, "I would not lose you either."

"It will not be easy. Thorpe is bound to be at court if he has heard that you are to be presented to the Regent. And he cannot help but hear of it if he is an advisor to the Prince. But, I will put it aside. You are my priority. We will begin now to create a legacy for our child to carry on. Will you forgive me for leaving you alone?"

"I have already forgiven it," Cecilia broke down silently, pressing his fingers to her lips.

Lionel smiled, closing his eyes.

"Good. I don't want to think of that blackguard anymore. I just want to sleep."

"Then rest and sleep, my love. All is well and all will be well."

"In the best of all possible worlds," Lionel murmured sleepily, unknowingly echoing Cecilia's earlier quotation.

"I love you."

"I love you more."

She smiled through thick tears, smoothing his hair back from his temple. Soon, his breathing deepened and she quietly got up, gesturing to Blackwood.

Cecilia left the room and Blackwood followed. She led him along the corridor for a few yards before turning.

"How much do you actually know, Blackwood?" she asked, rounding on the man.

"Of your evening jaunt or the master's?" Blackwood replied.

"My evening jaunt?"

"Flock told me that he took you to Regent's Circle and there confronted the Count of Thorpe. Gave him a few stripes to remember you by. I don't disapprove."

Cecilia sighed in relief. "And the Duke?"

"Master Lennox told me that the raid was of a ship belonging to Lord Thorpe and his associates. That there were slaves aboard."

"Why didn't you tell Lionel?"

Blackwood looked uncomfortable, looking away from Cecilia towards the door of his master's bedchamber.

"He is injured and it will do him no good to go chasing after Lord Thorpe. Which is what he would do if he knew what had happened. You saw Lord Thorpe before or after the raid?"

"After. He is a desperate man. Lacking funds and intensely covetous of what Lionel has. A very dangerous man…" Cecilia trailed off before sighing. "Thank you for not telling Lionel what you know. You are right about his reaction. And in his current state, I think Thorpe would kill him if he could."

"Over my dead body," Blackwood muttered. "This revenge nonsense was useful when it came to learning to walk again. But it's gone too far. I will keep it from him as long as I may."

"And if he ever discovers the truth, I will claim that I ordered you to withhold it," Cecilia assured.

"I don't need a shield from His Grace's anger. I've been the brunt of it plenty of times. He knows how much he needs me. Water off a duck's back, isn't it?"

Cecilia felt a touch of confidence now. Lionel's mind was blank of his escapades. He had no idea that Thorpe was on the brink of ruin or that he had taken another opportunity to try and murder Lionel. She was not so naive that she thought the secret could be kept for long. Lennox knew the truth and so, of course, did Thorpe. But she would keep it as long as she could.

Lionel opened his eyes at the sound of the door shutting, the dim light of the moon filtering through the heavy curtains of his bedroom blinding him for the briefest moment.

Fragments of the past hours flitted through his mind like specters, leaving him disoriented and uneasy. He could scarcely recall the events—a flash of rage, a beat of chaos, and a fleeting glimpse of victory that felt disturbingly... disturbingly hollow. The pounding in his head served as a painful reminder of how perilously close he had come to losing everything.

Cecilia and their unborn child… his heart clenched at the mere thought.

The terror of losing them gripped him more fiercely than any desire for revenge ever could. He had masked his emotions well when he'd been confronted by her and Blackwood, but it was a fa?ade. A deep fa?ade, for it didn't reveal even a dash of the true horror he felt coursing through him. And now, in the solitude of his room, it threatened to engulf him. He made a decision then.

He struggled to sit up, his body protesting every movement. With a deep breath, he reached over for the paper and pen on his bedside table.

He now understood what Lennox had tried to convey weeks ago—how the loss of his Marie had driven him to bury himself in his work, never allowing himself to grieve. Lionel had dismissed it as a weakness, a failing he would never succumb to. Yet here he was, staring into the same abyss.

The memory of Lennox's hollow eyes haunted him. For he had seen that same emptiness reflected back at him in the reflection of the river, where he had wound up face down after falling from the ship. By the narrowest of luck, he had survived the fall over the ship's railing and been rescued by Marshall soon after.

Revenge had utterly consumed him, but in the end, it had brought no satisfaction.

His hands trembled as he lifted pen to paper.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, his resolve hardening. Cecilia deserved better . Arthur deserved better . And Lennox deserved better . They all did. Lionel decided then and there to write to the man, to tell him that his task was complete, that it was time to let go and grieve his wife as he should have done a decade ago.

For, now, he finally understood… that cherishing what he had was more important than burying the memories of those he loved beneath years of bitterness.