In the Shadow of Arabella Page 25

  “On my way home I was so eager to get here; I had missed you so. My trip had gone splendidly. Serena was free of Sir Humphrey’s power, and I owed it all to you. You had made it all possible. I know now that I loved you even then, but I did not realize it until the day you left. When you became so angry and accused me of such awful things, I did not blame you in the slightest. I was only angry with myself—for not being honest, for not telling you everything, for keeping secrets and in the process losing your trust.”

  “Katherine, those hours you were unconscious, I prayed I had not stayed away too long, that I had not destroyed the tender feelings you once had for me.’’

  “I do not think it is possible for you to destroy the love I have for you,” she said simply.

  These were the words he had hoped to hear, but even as she spoke them he was finding it difficult to believe he had heard her aright. He stared at her for some moments in silence and then held out both hands to her. When she put her own in them, he drew her to her feet and took her into his arms, slowly and gently, as if she were one of the fragile blossoms that would grow there in abundance when the summer came. He did not kiss her but only held her close against his heart, for he knew beyond any doubt that if their love had survived these past months, it would be equal to or stronger than anything the future could hold.

  *

  Chapter 22

  When Katherine descended the stairway to the great hall in the late afternoon, she found Rudley in conversation with his brother. After Oliver had greeted Katherine then disappeared toward the estate office, Rudley said, “It is a beautiful day. Shall we walk?”

  As she took the arm he offered, she said, “We can walk along the stream to the little footbridge in the woods—” She stopped and turned to Rudley, for at her mention of the bridge he had halted abruptly. “Once before you refused to take me there, Ned. What is it about the bridge? Why will you not go there?”

  “Phantoms again, Katherine,” he replied. “Shadows of Arabella—very unpleasant ones.”

  “I think now is the time for you to tell me about Arabella. In what way did she deceive you, and why did your marriage end?”

  They moved back into the blue drawing room and he led her to a sofa and seated himself beside her before he continued. “It was on that bridge, a little over a month into my marriage to Arabella, that she told me she was pregnant with another man’s child.”

  “Oh, no!” Katherine could not keep from exclaiming as she laid her hand on his sleeve.

  “She went on to say—and very flattering it was to my ego, let me tell you—that she was already in her fourth month and had married me only to protect her reputation. Perhaps I should have exposed her then. A public scandal might have been easier for me than the years of lying and pretense. But I did not know that then, and I had been raised to believe that scandal was to be avoided above all things, whatever the cost. She knew that, of course, so she had little fear of being cast off by me. When I asked her why she accepted me instead of marrying the child’s father, she explained, with typical brutality, that I held a higher rank than the father and was considerably wealthier.

  “Parts of this story you know. From that day forward our marriage was a marriage in name only. We were never reconciled. When the child arrived, people either thought it premature or believed that Arabella and I had engaged in some premarital familiarity. No one, to my knowledge, ever doubted my paternity.

  “So perhaps now you can understand why Sir Humphrey’s accusations came as such a shock to me. I could not credit that such a thing could happen to me twice! In my confused state I compared your behavior to Arabella’s. I was not willing to await explanations. Like a wounded animal, I wanted only to run and hide, and feel sorry for myself, and allow myself to hate you as I had hated her.”

  When he paused, she interjected a question she had been anxious to ask. “What became of the child? And if your marriage was over, how did Pamela come to be conceived?”

  “Pamela was the child Arabella carried. I have raised her as my own, though admittedly I have done a poor job of it.”

  “But I do not understand,” Katherine insisted. “Pamela is your child.”

  “Legally, yes, but Arabella was already three months pregnant at the time we married.”

  “Were you intimate with Arabella before you married?”

  “Katherine! What questions you ask. Certainly not!”

  “Then the baby must have been premature, or there has to be some other explanation, for there can be no doubt Pamela is your child.”

  “Katherine, what are you trying to say?”

  “I am saying there can be no question that you are Pamela’s true father. You have only to look at her. Have you never looked at her? She is without question a Seaton. She has the same deep-set eyes, and the same color, too, the same sweep of the brow, the same lines in the chin. She is so like you, I cannot believe you would ever doubt she is yours. It is true that she is fair like Oliver, your sister Margaret, and your father, but—”

  She stopped speaking as a strange look came over her husband’s face. He went rigid, the color quickly draining from his cheeks. He looked directly at her but did not seem to see her. It was as if he were looking through her into something beyond.

  Then, suddenly, he startled her by speaking. “My God! My own brother!’’ The tone of his voice made her blood run cold. He leaped to his feet and, seeming to forget Katherine and not bothering to excuse himself, stormed from the room. Confused and frightened, she followed him.

  Rudley quickly crossed the hall to the estate office, where he found Kendall and Oliver at work on plans for the dower house. “Kendall, leave us,” he said sharply.

  Kendall needed only one glance at his employer’s face to obey without comment. As he left the room, Katherine entered it and quietly closed the door, setting her back against it. She was most likely not welcome, but she was determined to stay.

  Rudley crossed the room to where Oliver had been sitting behind a small desk. Rudley’s words to Kendall and his expression had brought Oliver to his feet. “Ned, what is wrong?” he asked.

  The question Rudley shot at him was not one he had expected. “Are you Pamela’s father?” Rudley’s voice was frigid and heavy with undisguised fury. Oliver had spent the last decade wondering when, if ever, the light would finally dawn. He saw no reason to make a denial now that it obviously had. His eyes met Rudley’s unwaveringly as he answered.

  “Yes.”

  Oliver’s lips had barely formed the word when the earl’s fist shot out and caught him a powerful blow on the chin that sent him sprawling backward over the chair behind the desk and crashing into the wall beyond.

  “Ned!” Katherine’s anguished cry from behind made Rudley spin around.

  “Leave us,” he commanded her. “You have no business here.” Clearly expecting to be immediately obeyed, he wasted no more time on her but turned again to Oliver, who was beginning to rise from the floor. Rudley moved around the desk and assisted his brother by grasping the front of his coat and hauling him roughly to his feet.

  Oliver raised no hand to defend himself. “I will not fight you, Ned. It will accomplish nothing.”

  If Rudley had considered hitting him again, he now changed his mind. Still grasping the cloth of Oliver’s coat, he contented himself by using all his strength to slam his brother against the wall.

  Katherine, who had stood her ground, stifled another exclamation, covering her mouth with her hands.

  “I have loved you, trusted you, all our lives,’’ Rudley spit at him. “Tell me what I have done to deserve such treachery from you.”

  Glancing past his brother’s shoulder at Katherine’s horrified face, Oliver came close to guessing what must have happened. “I daresay I should have foreseen this,” he said. “It was inevitable that you would eventually tell Katherine that Pamela was not yours. It was not to be expected the likeness would escape her, although it certainly eluded you long enough.” This
speech was not calculated to be conciliatory, and Rudley once more clenched his fists. “Really, Ned, it will not be necessary for you to hit me again. You have made your feelings quite plain.”

  “Get out of this house! You are no longer welcome here, nor on any other piece of property that belongs to me.’’

  “That also is plain.” Oliver stepped past Rudley and walked without haste to the door. “Good-bye, Katherine.” As he passed her, she grasped his arm and held it.

  “Oliver, please,” she pleaded.

  He carefully pried her fingers loose and moved her gently aside. “Let it go, Katherine. It’s best this way.” He stayed only long enough to say good-bye to the children. Then he ordered his black brought around—the only horse in the stables that belonged to him—and within twenty minutes was gone.

  In the estate office Rudley and Katherine had remained standing, she by the open door, he still with his back to her, beside the desk. She had disobeyed him by remaining in the room; now she was afraid to speak.

  She was bewildered by what had occurred and two things only were clear to her. Firstly, that Oliver had admitted to being Pamela’s father, and secondly, that her carelessly uttered words had been responsible for the bitter confrontation she had witnessed. Never in her life had she seen one man strike another in anger, and never had she thought to see Ned display such impassioned, naked, violent emotion.

  Suddenly he turned. He was pale but in command of himself again. Walking to the door, he paused beside her. “I am sorry you had to see that, but I did not invite you to follow me.”

  As he started to walk away, she found her voice. “Ned, whatever Oliver—”

  He cut her short. “I cannot discuss this with you, Katherine.” He abruptly crossed the hall and disappeared into the library. Clearly he wished to be alone, and she knew if she tried to join him she would only be rebuffed. She considered going in search of Oliver but decided against it for the same reasons.

  Rudley did not put in an appearance at dinner that night, but the next day he went about all his normal activities. He spoke seldom and seemed preoccupied when spoken to.

  Katherine heard him tell Kendall to cancel any plans that had been made for the dower house since Oliver would not be using it after all. He said nothing, however, about Nicholas and Pamela, and she was relieved that he would not allow his anger to extend to Oliver’s children. She wished he would confide in her, hoping she would be able to help mend the rift between the brothers, a rift she felt partially responsible for.

  Three days passed, then four, and still Rudley kept his own counsel. After five days Katherine took matters into her own hands. She retired early after dinner, bathed, and donned her night attire. She then proceeded to her husband’s room and settled comfortably into one of the large upholstered armchairs before the fire, determined to stay until he came to bed. Inevitably she fell asleep, but woke when he opened the door. He was about to ring for his valet when she forestalled him.

  “You need not ring for Wiggin. Let me help you.” He looked around in surprise, for he had not expected to see her there. Even though they had made their peace in the rose arbor several days earlier, they had continued to retire to separate rooms each evening. He waited as she crossed the room to him, her nightgown and wrapper of palest yellow silently brushing the floor. Her attire was nothing short of provocative, but he doubted she realized how tempting she appeared.

  “If you have come to seduce me, Katherine, you must know you are not sufficiently recovered to indulge in such a pastime.”

  “I have not come to seduce you—only to act as your valet.’’ She began deftly to untie his neckcloth, and he stood impassively, gazing down at her in amusement. He had forgotten how much it soothed him to have her close. She helped him out of his tight-fitting coat. When she pulled the shirt from his breeches, she could not resist the impulse to run her hands underneath it, up the smooth, hard plane of his chest. She felt the sharp intake of his breath as his languor deserted him. No longer able to resist her, he took her face between his hands and kissed her long and hungrily.

  “Katherine,” he murmured against her lips, “you are beginning something I am not permitted to finish.”

  “I have missed being close,” she said. “These last few days you have been pushing me away. We agreed to share everything.” Safe in his arms, she found the courage to introduce the subject she knew was tormenting him. “Please talk to me about Oliver. Tell me what you feel.”

  He answered without hesitation. “I feel betrayed and deceived. Duped by my own brother, who until a week ago I would have sworn would never lie to me.”

  “Did he actually lie to you?”

  “Don’t quibble, Katherine. For ten years he kept the truth from me. It is the same as a lie, make no mistake. At the time I asked Arabella to marry me, she had already been intimate with my brother.”

  “And what would you have had him do?” she asked sensibly.

  “Warn me. Tell me what she was.”

  “You were both so young. I doubt very much if he realized then what she was capable of. But if he had, and had told you, would you have believed him?”

  He considered the question, remembering how all-consuming his passion for Arabella had been. “No, probably not. I would have been much more likely to call him out for impugning her character.”

  “Then you have your answer. He did not tell you because he knew you would not believe him.”

  “At best, that is a weak assumption on your part, Katherine, but I can see you are prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  “And so should you be,” she insisted.

  “No. I cannot agree with you. Whatever his motives for keeping their relationship a secret, he could have no excuse for remaining silent after Arabella and I were estranged. He was in my confidence; he knew how infuriated I was that Arabella would never tell me who the father was. She probably planned to use the information against Oliver someday, but she did not live long enough.”

  “You have now answered the question of why he did not speak after the estrangement.”

  “Because he feared me, you mean?”

  “He apparently had good cause, considering your behavior in the estate office the other day.”

  He frowned. “I am afraid I must disagree with you again. I saw him display no fear of me then—only defiance. But since you have set yourself up as Oliver’s champion, perhaps you would like to explain why he has kept silent all these years since Arabella’s death?”

  Katherine had wondered this herself, but she said only, “I don’t know, but don’t you think the best way to discover that would be to ask him yourself?”

  “This entire conversation has consisted of the wildest conjecture. If Oliver has not had the decency to explain himself in eleven years, I see no reason why he should trouble to do so now, simply because I have discovered his perfidy. I will not ask for any explanation from him, for anything he could say comes much too late in the day to have any value or meaning for me.”

  Rudley went into his dressing room to finish changing and Katherine settled herself comfortably in her husband’s bed. She could see that trying to reason with him would not serve, for he was being ruled by his emotions. A rational discussion, no matter how calmly approached, would have no power to sway him. She wondered if there would ever be an end to the erosion of faith and the destruction of peace that Arabella was perpetrating, even from beyond the grave.

  It was the same old wound, ready to open and bleed again at the slightest provocation. Katherine had unwittingly opened it, and now she could only let time once more do the healing. Rudley had forgiven her, and she was convinced that he would forgive Oliver, too, when the pain died to a dull ache and the reasonable mind of a fair man came once again into its own.

  Katherine realized that her husband, like most people, would continue to seek love in his life, even when time and again he had been betrayed and humiliated in the name of it. It seemed to be the nature of lov
e to be a double-edged sword. If it was incapable of hurt, then it would bring no joy. If it could not die, then it would find no victory in survival. If there was no price to pay, then the attainment would hold no allure.

  Whatever Oliver’s reasons for keeping his terrible secret, Katherine had no doubt that the primary motivation overriding them all was his love for his brother. And another thing she realized, which her husband did not see, was that Oliver, too, must have suffered. If he and Arabella had been lovers, perhaps he had cared deeply for her. How had he felt when she turned away from him—in favor of his own brother?

  And then there was Pamela. How hard it must have been for Oliver all these years to accept the title of uncle when it was a father’s love he bore her. It was so easy now to see why there was such rapport between Pamela and Oliver—such distance between Pamela and Rudley. And in the middle, poor Pamela, wanting only to be loved and belong, never realizing how her mother had used her as a pawn in a vicious game.

  Now Katherine herself was in the middle and found she did not mind being there. She would stay close to Ned, and she would try to communicate with Oliver, if he would allow it. Then, perhaps, when the time was right, she would be the bridge over which the bonds of reconciliation could pass.

  When Rudley returned, he extinguished the candles and joined her under the quilts. She nestled like a contented cat against him, her head on his chest, his chin in her hair. The leaping flames of the fire cast eerie shadows across the walls and furnishings.

  Rudley let his fingers play up and down the softness of her arm, feeling the warmth of her skin penetrating the thin material. His fingers encountered a stray curl and he absentmindedly twisted it around his finger, then loosed it again. All those weeks he had been separated from Katherine, this, he thought, was what he had missed most. Her physical nearness. Not possessing her physically, but simply having her there, close to him, touching him.

  He bent his head and kissed the soft chestnut curls that tickled his face. During all the months he had been away from her, first in Yorkshire and then London, he had never been tempted to find solace with another woman. And it was not only his marriage vows that deterred him. He had found such completeness in Katherine’s arms that the memory of those days and nights with her had destroyed his desire for any other woman and had made the pain of the separation just that much harder to bear.