Page 7 of How to Seduce a Viscount (Wed Within a Year #3)
I t turned out he lied. He did not wake her.
Luce let her sleep through lunch for both their benefit, although if anyone had asked he would have argued it had been primarily for her sake.
She was the one recovering from a serious wound, after all.
The adventure to the library had taxed her nascent return of strength.
The other part of that reality, though, was that he was recovering too from the force of her revelations, which had both intended and unintended consequences.
One of which was that they made it impossible for him to get back to work on Grandfather’s memoir.
She looked like an angel when she slept.
He knew. Empirically. This wasn’t the first time he’d watched her sleeping.
He’d spent a hellish two days at her bedside watching her do the same thing.
Even in the midst of fever and pain, she’d slept with a serene quality.
And now, she was at peace again while his own personal world and tenets he’d once believed unequivocally true, were, if not in turmoil, teetering on the brink of it.
His grandfather—a man he’d grown up admiring as the grandest, smartest, most powerful and yet kindest man in the world; a man who was busy but always made time for his grandsons; who saw to the welfare of every family member even if they weren’t in the line of succession, had recruited an eight- year-old orphan with the intention of grooming them for the network.
For life as an agent, private spy or courier.
For entrance into a game one could never leave.
To Luce, whose own relationship with the Horsemen was fraught with the tension between uniformity and individuality, making that decision for another, especially a child, seemed ethically and morally wrong.
He and his brothers had a saying ‘once a Horseman, always a Horseman’.
The expression was meant in many ways. A motto of solidarity.
A reminder that your brother always had your back, even when he disagreed with you.
But it was also a reminder of the permanence of membership.
One could not quit the game, one simply survived it.
After Stepan had gone missing Luce had tried to leave, tried to retire to his newly gained estate and forget about the game.
For various reasons, he’d been unsuccessful.
He could not leave his brothers out there alone without him.
He might be willing to give up his loyalty to the Horsemen and the network, but he’d never give up his loyalty to his brothers, and so the contradiction bound him.
Now, a new contradiction was testing his loyalties to the grandfather he loved.
At its core, Grandfather’s decision to recruit Wren made sense, too much sense. Where there was one, were there others? Was the network full of orphans deliberately recruited as agents, spies and couriers for one of the most powerful private citizens in the country?
An orphan was the perfect candidate, Luce mused.
An orphan had no family who might be used against them.
The younger the better, too. If recruited young enough, there would be no fraternal or sororal bonds of the street, no friendships or loves to compete for their loyalty.
All their loyalty and gratitude could be saved for Grandfather and the network.
That had certainly been the case for Wren.
Luce watched Wren make a small adjustment in her sleep, a long length of her exquisite hair falling over the edge of the sofa.
It was hard to imagine this angelic beauty as a street urchin.
But that was testimony to Grandfather’s efforts.
It was no small thing he offered the orphan—shelter, food, clothing, education and a career.
Where else would the street rat have such an opportunity?
That was the rub, Luce thought. The answer was nowhere else.
Grandfather had to know that what he offered could not be duplicated.
That for the child looking to break away from the streets, there was no choice but to accept.
There was no choice but to be bound to him and the network.
It was a deal even a canny street child could not truly fathom.
A Faustian deal indeed, as Grandfather was no doubt aware.
That was what made Luce uncomfortable. There was a remarkable lack of consent in the arrangement when all was stripped away.
The child was trading a street boss for another boss who would exact his payment just as the street boss did, only in subtler terms and under a different guise.
Which begged the question—was that what Grandfather had also done with him and his brothers?
Luce rose and went to the long windows, looking out over the clean, white snow.
He didn’t want to let his thoughts run in that direction but how could they not?
He and his brothers were not much different than the parentless orphan whom no one was counting on.
He and his brothers were the sons of his grandfather’s third son.
The spare to the spare, in a male rich family tree where the prospects of inheriting were less than nil.
In terms of the succession, no one was counting on them.
Luce’s uncle, the heir, had multiple sons of his own.
All of whom would be married within the year given the developments of this past Season.
Grandfather would have seen the succession dynamics early on when his sons started having children.
Had Grandfather decided then to recruit him and his brothers?
No one was counting on their branch of the Parkhurst family, no one except Grandfather and the network.
It was to Grandfather and the network that they owed their purpose, their lives and now their estates and titles.
To be untrue to that would be to be ungrateful for the things that had come their way and to be ungrateful to the man who’d made all that possible.
Luce looked out onto the snow-covered grounds of Tillingbourne, a place he was coming to love as his own.
He knew sons of third sons had a difficult go in life, that Society felt they weren’t truly gentlemen because they had to work for their living.
He and his brothers had been allowed to rise above that. Which made his own lack of abject appreciation harder to grasp. What would his brothers think if he raised such speculation with them? Caine was devoted to Grandfather and the purpose of the network.
If Caine had to choose between his brother and the things that had shaped so much of his life, which would he choose?
The old dilemma whispered. Belonging to the Horsemen meant acceptance within the family, equal footing with his revered brothers.
Would that acceptance still be there if he stepped outside of it?
And did he truly need to step outside of it to find what he was missing?
‘You didn’t wake me.’
Luce turned at the sound of Wren’s sleepy accusation. ‘You needed the sleep and luncheon could wait.’ He gestured to the tray on the long table, untouched, as proof.
She gave an impish smile. ‘Good, I’m tired of beef broth and I’m starving.’ She tossed off the blanket and Luce crossed the room to assist her to the table.
‘I could have made you a plate and brought it over,’ he scolded, getting his arm about her to steady her.
Wren was an apt name. She was petite in stature, delicately boned and yet hardy and strong.
She wasn’t brown like a wren though, that’s where the analogy stopped.
She was the color of winter. Her hair and her skin, shades of white.
‘I can make my own plate.’ She gave a resigned sigh.
Resigned over being helped? Over her invalid state at present?
Or something else? Luce wisely said nothing.
He simply pulled out a chair for her at the long table and allowed her to assemble her own plate, as long as she sat down to do it.
He was coming to understand that negotiating with Wren Audley was likely going to be a series of compromises on his part.
Dealing with Luce Parkhurst was likely going to require a firm hand and direct speaking.
He wasn’t an unreasonable man, but he was a protective one.
He’d have her wrapped in cotton wool if she allowed it.
Wren made a modest sandwich from the bread and meat.
As delicious as the food looked, she knew better than to rush her stomach after a strictly beef broth diet.
Luce nodded approvingly as she took a small bite.
‘That’s right, take it slowly.’ She wanted to snap back that she knew how to take care of herself, that she’d been wounded before, that she knew what to do.
But that would give too much away. She held her tongue and focused on chewing instead. He was just trying to help.
‘I read your paper on the impact of alkaline soil on the flora of southeast England.’ When in doubt it was best to focus conversation away from oneself. ‘What are you working on now?’ Wren nodded towards the papers strewn on the table.
‘A memoir of sorts for Grandfather. I want to finish it by spring.’ Luce paused as if he were in conflict with himself. ‘When did you see him last?’
Luce Parkhurst was a protector indeed. There was concern in those dark eyes of his for a man who likely did not need protecting any more than she did. Sandmore was one of the most powerful men she knew. ‘Right before I left to come here.’
‘How is he? Is he well? At Christmas, I worried the journey to Wales was too much for him even with all of my father’s careful planning not to tax him.’