Page 25 of Runaway Countess (Those Wild Whitbys #2)

Chapter Twenty-Five

I t was difficult for a chap to celebrate his sister’s engagement when he had the creeping sensation of a noose being pulled ever tighter about his own neck.

Sebastian brooded in the midst of his delighted family, his glass of champagne growing warm in his hand as he studied the way Cassandra kept Kendrick’s arm in hers while they bid goodbye to the last of the guests.

The sight of them together was at once brand new and as natural as though it had been that way forever. Cassie leaned in as Kendrick told a joke; Kendrick’s head tilted towards Cassie just as she shot him a sideways smile. They were at ease with each other, at home in each other’s company, though before Sebastian could only ever remember dislike and resentment.

Suddenly, they looked as though they had always loved each other. And Sebastian had never suspected it for a moment.

“Sebastian!” called Georgie, fastening the loose ribbon of her bonnet under her chin. “We are all going to walk across to Thistle Hall and give the news to Kendrick’s mother. You’ll come with us, won’t you?”

“No,” he said, kissing her cheek. “I have something to take care of here, first.” Beeston, first of all. Then, assuming he survived that encounter, he ought to order a proper guest room for Jenny. She would no longer stay in the servants’ quarters, happy though Mrs Teasley would be to accommodate her. Mr Gage, too, would be put up in as much comfort as Whitby Manor could still provide.

Cassie seemed to sense his reluctance to join them. She set her hand on Kendrick’s arm, wordlessly drawing his attention to Sebastian, and he relinquished her with a nod of understanding.

Sebastian gave her a wry grin as she approached. “Well, Cass, I must say I admire you. If I were given the choice between Kendrick or ruination, I’d probably choose ruin.”

She matched his grin with a much brighter one of her own. “It’s worse than that, I’m afraid. I’d have said yes even if I hadn’t just made a public spectacle of myself.” She had actually put on a jolly good show with her sword work, not that Sebastian would ever encourage her by admitting it. “It seems Hugo and I can’t avoid either fighting or flirting with each other any longer. Nothing left to do but make a thoroughly improper love match.” She was glowing. Love suited her. Kendrick suited her, so perfectly that only the most self-absorbed clod of a brother could have missed it.

Sebastian pulled an exaggerated grimace to hide his chagrin. “Did you just call him Hugo ?”

“Yes. You’d better get used to it.” Cassie gave him a nudge. “We’re not in the nursery anymore, you know.”

“A good thing too, because Hugo used to put spiders down your back.”

She gave him a sharp look. “I mean that we are all quite grown enough to have our own secrets. There’s something troubling you, Sebastian. I won’t press you to tell me what it is, but I want you to know you can rely on my help, if you need it.”

Sebastian gave a tight smile and shook his head. “Thank you. There are one or two things I need to put to rights on my own. I’ll be sure to call on you the next time I need somebody run through with a fencing foil.” He kissed her cheek. “Go and enjoy your moment. We’ll talk when you’re back from Thistle Hall.”

The privacy of the library was a welcome respite from the glaring sun and the yet more glaring celebrations. Sebastian gave his usual rhythmic rat-a-tat on the frame of the part-open door and went in without waiting for an invitation. Beeston was flicking through a novel. He barely glanced up as Sebastian went straight to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large glass of port.

“My sister,” he began, still not knowing exactly how he felt about it, “has just gotten herself engaged. To Kendrick . The two-faced scoundrel! He never spoke a word about it. Neither did she.”

Beeston glanced up from his book. “Which sister?”

“Cassandra,” said Sebastian, taking a gulp of port. Remembering his manners rather too late, he shook the bottle enquiringly in Beeston’s direction. Beeston gave a non-committal shrug, to which Sebastian responded by filling a second glass. “My twin sister,” he muttered, “and my oldest friend.”

“You’re not happy about it?”

“Happy?” he growled. “Of course I’m happy. I’m thrilled. My twin sister and my oldest friend!” He topped up his own port back to the brim to match Beeston’s. “But why did they have to go conniving about it? Neither one of them said a single word to me!”

Beeston accepted the glass with a cool look. “There are worse lies of omission, I think.”

A spike of guilt poked at Sebastian’s innards. He grimaced. “Yes. You’re right. Listen, Beeston, I…” He set his glass aside and rubbed his hands together briskly, as though he could draw inspiration from the heat between them. “About Miss Cartwright,” he began.

“About Miss Cartwright,” Beeston repeated, soft and menacing, an unreadable glimmer in his dark eyes.

There were a thousand things he intended to say. I didn’t mean for it to happen , perhaps. I was only trying to help her .

Words which might have smoothed things over, for a time, or at least put off the inevitable. The man who had saved his life deserved more than that.

Sebastian squared his shoulders and looked Beeston directly in the eye. “Miss Cartwright and I are engaged,” he said.

Beeston cocked his head to one side as though he was not quite sure what he had heard. Only the crackle of lightning in his eyes made it clear that he had. “Excuse me?”

Sebastian refused to let himself look away. “I fell in love with her,” he said, keeping his voice level and straightforward. “Neither of us meant for it to happen. I made her an offer, and she has accepted.”

Beeston set aside his glass. “When exactly did you make her this offer?”

“Does it matter?”

“It certainly does. It matters very much. How could it be possible for Miss Cartwright to accept an offer from you while she was still in receipt of the offer from me ?”

“Well, it was last night.” Sebastian wished he had drunk a little more of the port.

Beeston’s face was a shade paler than usual. He had barely moved. “ What time ?”

“I don’t know. Late! It is not as though I was watching the clock.” A thought struck him. “The exact timing doesn’t matter. She released you from your obligation two days ago. She wrote you a letter.”

“I have not received any letter.”

Sebastian winced. Of course he had not. Mr Gage, in his wisdom, had chosen to come to Appleby and bumble around in person rather than post back the letter from Shepton Mallet as Jenny requested.

Beeston ran a finger around the inner edge of his cravat. “I think in all decency, Whitby, she ought not to have considered herself free of our engagement until I had actually read the letter she wrote.”

“Do not be angry with her –”

“Angry with her?” Beeston lashed out with his fist, slamming it down on the table. The glass of port toppled, spilled its ruby contents across the age-worn leather, and rolled to the floor where it cracked in two. “Why the devil should I be angry with her ?” He stilled a moment, as though astonished that smashing the glass had done nothing to dissipate his rage. Sebastian had a vivid vision of Captain Graham, the strong young man he’d been six months before, leaping to his feet and marching across the room to seize Sebastian by the throat.

He wished that had happened. He wished more than anything that Arthur Graham, Lord Beeston, had risen up on both feet and punched him in the face.

“You seduced my fiancée,” Beeston murmured, passing a hand over his pale brow. “Good lord, how depressingly predictable.”

Sebastian’s stomach turned to ice. “I beg your pardon?”

Beeston’s lip curled. He raised his head and shot Sebastian a glare of pure disgust. “I should blame myself, really. I can’t say I wasn’t warned. Even your own father told me I’d better let you blunder on alone. You’ve done more for him than he deserves , he said. A sweet boy, but a daredevil . He could never learn to resist temptation . I should have listened. Sheer arrogance, I suppose. I thought I knew better. I thought I knew you better.”

“I don’t believe you.” Sebastian heard the uncertainty in his own voice. Something about Beeston’s disgust hurt far worse than a punch to the nose. “My father would not say that.” But the weight of the pebble was dragging in Sebastian’s pocket.

How many times had his father spoken similar words to his face? How often had he seen the weary sigh, the shaken head, heard the fatherly admonishment? Hadn’t he revelled in his reputation as a hell-raiser?

Hadn’t he embraced it precisely because he was convinced that he would never amount to anything else?

And he had remained utterly certain of his own wayward and hopeless nature until he served under Captain Graham. The first man to believe without question that Sebastian was worth something more.

“I think,” said Beeston, drawing out a white handkerchief and dabbing off the droplets of port that had stained his sleeve, “yes, I think I must now demand satisfaction.”

“I cannot fight you,” said Sebastian. Beeston’s lip twitched.

“You’ve exchanged bullets with other men for less than this. Is my honour worth so little to you?”

Sebastian winced and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “No more duelling. I promised Jenny.”

“You bastard !” Beeston lifted his cane and flung it like a javelin at Sebastian’s head. He ducked aside at the last minute, the makeshift weapon soaring past him straight into the mirror above the fireplace and showering Sebastian in broken glass. The mirror spun from its frame and crashed to the ground.

“I might no longer be able to take ten paces but by god, I can fire a pistol,” Beeston growled. “You’ll see me at dawn or I swear I will take this house from your wretched father and burn it to the ground.”

“ Sebastian !” The sound of raised voices and broken glass had drawn the entire household. Mrs Whitby’s white face was foremost in the doorway, though quickly shouldered aside by Lucius, tight-faced and flustered.

Sebastian straightened up cautiously, shaking the broken glass from his shoulders. He took a step towards Beeston, only to be hauled to a halt by Lucius’s hand on his collar. “Get out before you make things worse,” Lucius snapped.

Sebastian could have wrested from his brother’s grip with little effort, but he allowed himself to be strong-armed from the library, past the pale and sneering Beeston, past his shrieking mother, past the servants hurrying in to sweep up the broken glass…

Past his father, wheezing with the effort of hurrying in as fast as he could. His plump, kind-hearted, foolish father, who in desperation and stupidity had offered himself and his entire estate up to Beeston like a fat codfish for a shark.

Horace shook his head at Sebastian as he paused and caught his breath. Sebastian could not bear to look at him.

Whether Horace had really said those cruel words to Beeston or not, this last action had proven them inescapably true. Temptation called, and Sebastian had dived in headfirst. It did not matter that this temptation came in the form of Jenny, all her goodness and warmth, and the deep yearning hunger in Sebastian’s chest to care for her and protect her. None of his honourable intentions meant anything.

The result was always the same.

“You must be my second,” he said to Lucius, as their father went on into Lord Beeston’s chambers. “I can’t and won’t fight him – you must persuade him to call off the challenge. Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him…”

“I can’t,” Lucius said, with a weary sigh. “I am no longer a gentleman, remember?”

“ Sebastian Whitby !” Their mother’s shriek of horror sent a familiar wince across both brothers’ faces. Apparently Lord Beeston had given her a factual explanation of the reason behind the broken glass.

“Here you are.” Lucius took off his own greatcoat and tucked it over Sebastian’s shoulders. “Go and hide yourself away at Kendrick’s cottage in Appleby. I’ll do what I can to smooth things over.”

“ Come back here at once !” Mrs Whitby’s voice was approaching at alarming speed. Lucius walked Sebastian to the door, stopping to clasp him on the shoulder.

“What did you do this time?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral. “You know Beeston could do it, if he wished. If he calls in his debt, the whole estate is forfeit.”

Sebastian’s heart weighed heavy in his chest, as though the pebble he carried had swollen to a boulder. “I betrayed his trust,” he said.

No, that was not quite right.

“I betrayed his friendship,” he corrected himself, his throat cracking as he forced out the words.

Lucius pressed his lips together, gave Sebastian’s shoulder a brief squeeze, and pushed him out of the door.