The Undoing of a Libertine

  Therese answered him softly. “I met your father in France. He was handsome and charming and vibrant. I did love him, Mr. Greymont. For my part, the feelings were genuine. It was thirteen years ago. I had thought a child an impossibility for me, but alas I conceived Revé much to my surprise. Henri seemed delighted at the prospect, and we were happy, or at least I was.”

  She paused in reflection, a melancholy expression lighting her gaunt features. “Our marriage was a short one, less than a year. One night he didn’t return home. I don’t know what happened to him, if he got into trouble with debts and vengeful creditors, or desired to hold on to his freedom, or simply caught up with the wrong crowd. His body was found in an alley behind a gaming house about a week later. He never saw his son.”

  Therese was seized with a fit of coughing that delayed her story. Her thin shoulder bones made for sharp edges underneath a Chinese silk shawl of deep yellow that gave the illusion of warmth and cheerfulness that wasn’t there. A mirage, Jeremy thought, his mind in a daze from the information Therese had shared.

  “I took the legacy left me by my father and came to England. Made my life here. Revé is away at school right now. He knows nothing of my life aside from being his mamma and this home. He knows his father is dead, but doesn’t know that Henri had another family before. The Velvet Swan and its dealings are also unknown to him, and I wish it to remain as such. I have sold my interests in any case. Luc and Marguerite have been set up and are already in France, and situations are being found for the other servants.”

  “Why did you never tell me? All those years you knew and didn’t say anything.” He couldn’t keep the accusation from his voice and knew it showed how wounded he was by her omission.

  “I am sorry for that. Deeply sorry. I believed you would resent Revé and imagine my motives to be other than familial in connection. That is all I want from you, Mr. Greymont, nothing more. There is a generous settlement for Revé. My solicitor has all of the details. His education is already secured, and he will have this house…” She trailed off, her voice stuttering with emotion.

  Jeremy lifted his eyes to Therese, still dazed, but sure of his feelings. “I have no resentment for my brother. My father, yes, but never an innocent.” He felt Gina’s hand return to take his in a clasp. He looked at her and said, “I have a brother, Gina.” He smiled.

  “You do. Jeremy, ’tis wonderful.”

  “It is,” he whispered in awe.

  Therese let out a sob from across the room. “Forgive me, both of you, please. I now know it was wrong of me not to tell you years ago. I have been so afraid, Mr. Greymont. Afraid of leaving my child wholly alone in this world. Only twelve years old, and when I am gone, not one person to call family. No one to care for him and guide him into manhood. No one to…love him…” She broke down then, unable to hold back her mother’s tears.

  Life presented challenges, and sometimes opportunities. This was an opportunity. Jeremy recognized it and embraced it for what it was. He knew what he would do with it.

  All those years of feeling unworthy. Of believing he was lacking. He’d been loved by his mother and his grandparents, yes. But not by Henri Greymont. Jeremy’s father had not even been bothered by him, let alone shown a scrap of affection. Why, why, why? No answer would be forthcoming to that question. Nobody knew why Jeremy’s father hadn’t cared for his wife and son. It simply existed as the painful reality.

  But a Henri Greymont Jeremy was not. Suddenly it did not matter anymore that his father had been unfeeling and cold. Jeremy would never be that sort of man. He had a life now filled with purpose. He had Gina to help him. He was a loving husband, and someday, God willing, he would be a father who cherished his children for the gift they were.

  And he could be more, too. Jeremy could make sure that his flesh and blood knew the love and support of family. He could be a brother, the guide and mentor that young Revé would need in the absence of his mother.

  Jeremy rose from the settee once again and walked over to Therese. He put a hand on her trembling shoulder and waited until she looked up at him, her pale face streaked wet with tears.

  “My brother will have me,” he told her.

  * * * *

  With no moon to soften the darkness, only the streetlamps glowed behind their wet, sparkling glass on London’s winding paths and byways. It was the perfect night for taking care of business.

  On the corner stood a gentlemen’s club whose heavy door opened and closed regularly as its well-heeled patrons came and went.

  One particular patron was watched as he went out. Unaware of course, he made his way to the carriage waiting. The watchers remained hidden and quiet.

  When Ned Smith stepped forward to open the door, the man balked at the driver’s strange visage.

  “Who the hell are you? Where is Rigby? You are not my driver!”

  “No, my lord. I am Smith, sir. I drive for your neighbor, Lord Verlaine. Ribgy took violently ill, quite sudden-like, and sent for me to take his place. I will be driving you home, sir,” Ned replied easily. He opened the door and held out his arm. “Your lordship?”

  Momentarily taken aback, the gentleman absorbed this strange information and then shrugged, resigning himself to it, just like that, as if pondering the trivialities of servants becoming ill and substituting drivers a mere waste of his more superior and valuable time.

  “Dare I pray to hope you know the way to my house, driver?”

  “But of course, Lord Pellton. I know exactly where to take you,” Ned answered politely.

  The instant Pellton stepped into his carriage, John and Tom Russell went to work on their prey. Although they subdued him within seconds, and he hardly made a sound over the din of wheels rolling over cobblestone, Pellton did manage to land one blow, with his signet ring no less, onto the left cheekbone of John Russell’s face.

  In no time the men had Pellton trussed like a goose for Christmas, gagged and bound on the floor of his own carriage.

  “Hello, Edgar. How goes your endeavors of rape and pillage? Been busy have you? I imagine your work to be piling up now that you’re down a partner. Your nephew, was it? You know. The one who—raped—my—daughter!” John had difficulty keeping the lethal venom from lacing his words.

  Pellton shook his head and emitted a muffled, “No, John.”

  “Shut up!” Tom kicked him in the ribs. “You’re going to listen and not talk.”

  “Back to your nephew, Edgar.” John forced himself to take on an instructive tone of voice. “I think we should talk about him, don’t you? I heard he’s gone missing. You must be beside yourself with worry over him. The poor lad. I wonder what’s happened to him?”

  Pellton cringed and closed his eyes.

  “Do you take The London Times, Edgar? I would imagine you do, being a peer of the realm and all. It is de rigueur for a man such as yourself, I suppose.”

  John turned up the flame on the interior lamp so he could see and held up a newspaper. He gave it a sharp crack.

  “There was the most intriguing article today. Well, it wasn’t even an article really. More of a snippet. And I had to search carefully to find it being those inconsiderate newsmen at The Times crammed it out of the way and down at the bottom of page thirteen.”

  John cleared his throat.

  “Let’s see what it says, shall we, Edgar?”

  Pellton whimpered like a baby. Tom kicked him on his other side.

  “‘Defiled Body Dumped at Sea.’ That’s the title line, Edgar. Shall I read more?”

  Silent sobs came from Pellton on the floor.

  John scanned the article before flinging the paper to his lap in theatrical disgust. “Good God! This is downright revolting! What has the world come to? I am sure I do not know! It says here, a man’s body was found in the Channel by fishermen yesterday morn. Dark hair, average height, wearing no identification except for a red waistcoat with the initials S.S. sewn inside. They estimate the poor creature had been in the water for a fo
rtnight in the least, near frozen for the cold temperatures.”

  Pellton grew quiet, his sobbing ceased. He was listening.

  John continued to make his point to his enemy. “Good, Edgar. I am glad you are paying attention to the story. I’m about to get to the interesting part. The paper says his body was defiled, and I quote, ‘The male genitalia had been cut off and the anus impaled with a staff of wood.’” He set the paper down on his lap.

  “Ouch.” Tom whistled. “That couldn’t have felt nice.” Tom peered at Pellton on the floor. “In fact, it must have been gawd-awfully painful. To think that this S.S. person had to sit there while they cut off his cock and balls and then get buggered up the arse with a sharp stick! Shit, I think a fellow would bloody well want to die after all that!”

  “Language, Tom,” John admonished his son.

  “Apologies, Pater.” Tom shook his head. “Still, this S.S. must have made some terrible enemies to have wound up fish feed and minus his Nebuchadnezzar.”

  “Yes, son, you are right about that.” John turned to Pellton. “What do you think, Edgar? Do you agree with Tom that S.S. made some vengeful enemies?”

  Pellton nodded his head up and down. He now had a dark stain at the front of his trousers.

  “I am glad we are of a like mind on this, Edgar, because it is very important that you understand the lengths that fathers and brothers and husbands will go to avenge their womenfolk.”

  John rapped on the roof to signal Ned.

  “I am afraid this visit is nearing its end, Edgar. My son and I are engaged this evening—a Christmas party with my daughter and her good husband’s family. In fact, we must fly in order to be punctual. There will be fifty people there at least. Peers, politicians, the crème of society, all witness to our attendance this night.”

  The carriage turned a corner and slowed.

  “Sorry, Edgar, but you are not invited to the party. You must get busy packing, my friend. Well, not really my friend anymore. I guess you never were my friend, or you wouldn’t have conspired to hurt my daughter and devise evil abuse on her. My Anne was wise to you, Edgar. She saw right through your thin veneer of gentility straight in to the vile poison that pumps from your monstrous heart. Anne hated you, and she loved me.”

  The carriage pulled to a stop.

  “If you make it through this night alive, Edgar, do go home and pack your things. Leave England and never return. I mean this in all truthful sincerity. If you ever set foot on British soil again, your fate will be similar to what this unfortunate S.S. knew. Remember the words of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Edgar, ‘Pray you avoid it.’”

  Pellton’s eyes bulged in disbelief as he comprehended the threat.

  “You see, Edgar, it was no trouble to find a father and a husband out for revenge for their sweet girl. I believe the young lady in this case was named Emma and her pater a well known tradesman in Town. Owns a tannery. Good knife skills I hear, but I wouldn’t know personally. Given the gift of time, I imagine scores of wronged maidens, and their angry menfolk, can be located.”

  Pellton started whimpering again.

  John and Tom stood up to leave.

  “Tom, would you be so kind as to relieve our passenger of his money purse, watch, and signet ring? Take his coat and his shoes as well, I think. We’ll find some worthy priory or house of good works and make a donation on our way back.”

  “My pleasure, Pater.”

  His son was roughly efficient in his task, and a few extra kicks and blows met their target with no trouble. Tom made sure to tie the bindings extra tight, too.

  “Good-bye, Edgar. Our carriage awaits outside to take us to our festive evening. We’ll just leave you here in Whitechapel. I’m sure some helpful person will come along eventually. You be careful though. ’Tis a rough sort of neighborhood, and your carriage will stick out like a jewel box atop a rag pile here on this street.”

  John Russell took one last look, hovering over the squirming, befouled man on the floor. “Be a stranger now,” John said, and then he spat in Pellton’s face.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  A little rebellion now and then is a good thing.

  —Thomas Jefferson, “Letter to James Madison” (1787)

  Standing beside Sir Rodney at the landing, Jeremy watched as first his grandmother and then his wife descended the stairs. Dressed in a magnificent gown of silver, her mother’s pearls, and the pearl and diamond earrings he’d given her, Gina was ethereal to him. Grandmamma looked fine, too, in her gown of dark green. For the first time he could recall, he actually found himself looking forward to the festivities tonight.

  “What beauteous wives we have, son! They are a sight tonight, are they not?” Sir Rodney declared, admiring the view.

  “An understatement, Sir. I’d say they were a vision,” Jeremy murmured, never taking his eyes off the two most important women in the world for him.

  He greeted his grandmother first. “Grandmamma, you are most splendid in that green, and thank you for organizing this evening.” He kissed her cheek.

  “It is my great pleasure, dear. We are so proud of you, Jeremy, for bringing Georgina into our family. I think celebration is due, don’t you?”

  “Quite.” He bowed and stepped forward to claim his wife. He took up her hand and kissed in a lingering brush, inhaling deeply. “You sparkle like the moon and the stars in that gown and your pearls, and will be the talk of the town by tomorrow, I predict, Mrs. Greymont.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Greymont. I daresay we are lucky ladies to be escorted by such handsome gentlemen, especially in your new jackets. I see that no details have been left dangling.” She smiled at Lady Bleddington and Sir Rodney. “Your waistcoats are in hue with our gowns. We shall be matched pairs.”

  “As it should be, my sweetheart. This way I can stand proudly by your side and growl at the throngs who’ll want an introduction and will annoy me greatly in seeking your favor.”

  “No growling, Jeremy.” She laughed at him. “And there won’t be any throngs of admirers either.”

  “Oh, so we don’t agree on that point then, for I think there will certainly be throngs. And I promise to refrain from growling so long as you stay close by.” He kissed her quickly on the lips. “God, you smell good. It’s the most lovely—”

  He indulged in another inhale. “You’re like a night-blooming rose. My rose in the starlight,” he whispered with a wink, plucking at a silvery sleeve of her shimmering gown.

  “Clarissa wore the same scent, Jeremy.”

  He froze. Grandmamma had been listening in. “She—she did?” he stuttered, shocked at what his grandmother had just shared.

  “Yes, dear. It was your mamma’s favorite. I noticed it on Georgina and thought it a happy remembrance for you. You were so young though…” Grandmamma trailed off in her reminiscence.

  “My mother wore it also,” Gina reminded him.

  Jeremy looked at his beautiful Gina and silently thanked the heavens once again that she was his to love.

  “Yet another reason why you were meant for me. It was fated,” he told her, thinking back to that strange dream he’d had in hospital. Had his mother come to him a dream? A warm flush spread through him, and he felt something he’d never really known. Full. Filled up. Replete with good feelings and blessings—

  “Ahem.” Sir Rodney cleared his throat, breaking through the poignancy. “Shall we go forth and greet our guests?”

  “Yes, sir.” Jeremy came to attention and tucked Gina into his arm, feeling a bit possessive and definitely proud. “Lead us on, Grandfather. Lead us on.”

  * * * *

  “How’s my baby sister?” Tom wrapped his arms around Georgina in a loving embrace. “God, it’s good to see you.” He held her back and perused her from head to toe. “And looking so smashing. You are a diamond, my dear Georgie!”

  “I’ve missed you, Tommy. We haven’t seen each other once since I’ve been in London,” Georgina scolded her brother.

  “Sorr
y, Georgie. Had some unfinished business up in Haymarket, but that’s all done now.” Tom greeted Jeremy, who took his hand in a friendly shake. “You look good, too, my brother. You’ve hardly changed a bit despite the leg shackles,” Tom teased.

  “Really, Tommy, you ought to consider matrimony for yoursel—” Georgina lost the rest of her words when she laid eyes on her handsome father stepping toward her. Dressed in his evening clothes, he seemed to stand a little taller, a resolve in his manner that boded a certain poise. He looked well, happy even.

  “That’s what I keep telling your brother, my dear, to take a page out of his sister’s book,” he said softly, his hazel eyes a mirror of hers.

  “Papa…you came.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed this chance for all the world, my daughter.” Her father kissed her forehead. “To see you looking so beautiful and happy.” He touched her cheek. “So like your mother, Georgina. She loved you so much. Mamma wanted the world for you—for all your hopes and dreams to come true. I know she rejoices when she looks down on you from heaven, as I do in this earthly life.”

  “Oh, Papa!” Georgina embraced him and relished his strong arms returning her clutch. “I’m so happy you are here.” She realized how truly she meant her words.

  “As am I.” He smiled. “You look like a queen in that gown, my dear. With your mother’s pearls and those earrings, all you lack is a crown.” He bowed. “Walk with me, daughter?”

  Georgina took her father’s offered arm and walked with him for a bit.

  He looked wistful. “Do you remember the picnics we used to have by the old oak tree when you were a little girl?”

  Her heart dropped. “I do remember them, Papa,” she whispered.

  “Your mamma made you a circlet of wildflowers one time, and on that day we crowned you the Fairy Queen of Oakfield.”

  She gasped. “You recall everything! I had no idea you still think of those times, Papa.” Georgina was stunned by his revelations.