CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Grant took a minute to stay calm. Then he shot from his chair. “Marry? Are you out of your mind? Nothing happened!”
He looked from his father’s raised brow to Aunt Harriette’s shock and raised his hands in surrender. All right, so composure was out of the question. He turned to Patience. “What in hell did you tell them?”
Harriette blanched. “What should she have told us?”
Grant could not believe he blushed. His face had not heated like this since he’d been a raw schoolboy caught contemplating the endowments of Bessie, the parlor maid. He turned from Harriette’s scrutiny to pour himself a brandy.
“You stayed at the same inn, unchaperoned,” Harriette said. “You were lucky there were two available rooms.”
Grant wished with all his heart that he could give Aunt Harriette the confirmation for which her hesitation begged. He gave his father the slightest shake of his head.
Brian coughed and turned away.
Aunt Harriette sought her handkerchief as if it were a lifeline and patted her forehead. She regarded her niece with wide eyes. “Tell me you didn’t sleep in the same room.”
Patience stifled a nervous urge to giggle. She wanted marriage less than Grant, but his offer of carte blanche, combined with his furious refusal, induced her to grasp the closest weapon to hand. “In the same b—”
“Dammit, Patience! Haven’t you caused enough problems?” Grant began to pace. To the window, and back. He stopped before his father, turned to her aunt, shook his head, and returned to the window.
After several quiet moments with his back to them, he turned to face her. The pain etched on his features was so keen, Patience had to look away to keep herself from consoling him. With her bald-faced revelation, she’d intended just-punishment not a life-threatening wound. Remorse blossomed in her breast.
“Suffice it to say, Patience, that I compromised you, but neither of us wants marriage. That has been clear from the beginning.” He looked at Brian and Harriette. “You will have to accept the facts. We will not marry.”
“You will,” Brian said emphatically. “And you’ll thank me, someday.”
Grant’s bark of laughter added to the insult, but Patience couldn’t help agree. “I’m sorry Sir, but I won’t marry. I saw my father destroy my mother as well as himself. I want nothing to do with a life dependent upon anyone else.”
“Patience,” Harriette said. “Your father was basically a good man. Had your mother idolized him less, she might have seen his weakness and prevented much of the tragedy. But you cannot let your parents’ errors destroy your life. You have a right to marriage and children.”
“My father’s greatest weakness was his drinking. My mother could not prevent that,” Patience said, “however much she tried. Do not ask me to live like she did.”
“Grant does not drink to excess,” Brian said, brows furrowed.
Grant, a snifter of brandy to his lips, stilled, shocked.
“Your son was intoxicated the night of the fire,” Patience said. “I realized then that were I able to overlook my need for independence, I could never marry a man who drank.”
Grant placed his brandy on the table and sat forward. “I drank that night because we argued.”
“Fine, then every time we have a disagreement, you’ll drink. Thank you very much, but no. Besides, since that occasion, you have fallen even lower in my esteem.”
If he couldn’t tell her he loved her, how in the world could he convince her that he was drinking because he had discovered the frightening fact? After his offer of a carte blanche—his most recent fall from esteem—she wouldn’t believe him, anyway. Lord, he’d seen all the clues, but failed to note them. Of course, she’d despise a man who drank. “None of this is to the point,” he said, almost to himself. “I decided long ago never to marry. My mother taught me but one lesson. Trust no woman. She will destroy you.”
“All women are not like your mother, son. Most women love and care for their husbands and children. She wasn’t a bad woman, not really. And she certainly wasn’t representative of her sex. Ultimately, her desertion was my fault. I knew she didn’t want to marry me, knew she was in love with someone else. But I wanted her and no one else would do. I blackmailed her into marriage. Said I’d show the world what a charlatan the man she loved was. She had no choice. She married me, but she loved him.”
Brian turned his back to them all and took up the poker to nudge the fire in the grate. He stopped after a bit to stare into the flames. “When I went to her bed on our wedding night, she told me she had gone to her lover the night before, so he would be her first. It was a bitter pill to swallow, I can tell you.” Tired and beaten, he turned back to them and sat, as if he could no longer bear his own weight. “She laughed at my horror, and my love died at that precise moment.”
Grant jumped up and slammed his hands on the desk behind which his father now sat. “See here, man, what proof do you have that I’m your son?”
Startled momentarily, Brian finally smiled. “You are mine, make no mistake. You would not be in line to inherit otherwise. To satisfy your mind, I turned from her that night. One year from the date of our marriage, I consummated the union. To my dismay, she was telling the truth.”
“Why didn’t my mother annul the marriage for the reason you had not consummated it, so she could return to her lover?”
“Once she experienced wealth and social standing, she had no desire to return to her old life.”
“But I thought she was wealthy in her own right.”
“Not until her twenty-fifth year. By then she had two sons, two little boys she left with their bitter father on the very day she received her portion.”
Grant reeled as if struck. “You let us think our mother left us because she hated us. That we had done something to turn her away. Why didn’t you come forward with this twenty years ago?”
His father paled. “I had no idea you carried such guilt.”
Grant hardened himself against an overwhelming need to give absolution. “No, and by God, you didn’t try to find out how we felt, did you? Did it never occur to you that two small boys might miss their mother? Might mourn her loss?” Grant slammed his hands down on his father’s desk once more, in pure frustration, before striding to the window. He gazed at the garden, his back to them all. “Did you, for one moment, ever think those boys might need a word of kindness from their father? Especially after they were deserted by their mother. That they might have needed your love?” He practically spat the word love as he turned toward them, his look bitter. “No, of course not. Who did you think about through it all Father?”
Grant turned toward Patience and her aunt, a closed look on his face. Patience tried to be strong for him, tried not to let him see how she ached for his suffering lest he misinterpret it as pity. She knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t want that.
Brian wiped his brow, his aged, white face etched with pain. Patience’s heart went out to both of them.
Aunt Harriette went to Brian and squeezed his shoulder. “The mistakes we make that hurt our children are the worst mistakes of all. I know. If your sons ever forgive you, I expect you will never forgive yourself.”
Brian raised a hand toward Grant then lowered it. “You and Shane were deserted by both parents,” he whispered, as if just now understanding the depth of his sons’ pain.
“Yes.”
“But Shane had you.”
“Damned right he did.”
Brian blinked, cleared his throat and raised his chin. “Lady Belmont, Patience, I apologize for airing the Garrick Family’s dirty linen in your presence.”
Aunt Harriette shook her head, dismissing his concern. “Our linens were, of course, much whiter that day in Arundel, were they not, Patience?”
Patience kissed Brian’s cheek then she went to Grant. His scowl was fierce. Anyone else would be frightened, Patience thought, but he’d given her worse. “And what was it you said to me and my aunt that
day, Grant? ‘There is love between you if you would but realize it?’” She took his hand, brought it to her breast as she leaned close to whisper, “The present and future will brighten, if you let go the past. I know.”
Grant looked haunted as he pulled her into his arms. “The ever-practical Patience,” he said against her hair. “What am I to do with you?”
“Marry her,” Brian said.
“No!” they said together, releasing each other, their voices strong and sure.
Aunt Harriette drew Patience back to the settee to sit beside her. Without Grant’s arms, Patience felt suddenly adrift.
Brian approached Grant. “Look, son. Your mother hated me not you. Eventually, with a great deal of self-flagellation, I considered what you just said—fifteen years too late and after I’d drunk and whored my way to old age.” He turned in embarrassment. “Excuse me, ladies.”
Pink faced, Aunt Harriette waved away his apology.
“By then, I didn’t know where to find you, Grant. And there was so much ill-will between us, you wouldn’t have listened, would you, if I’d wanted to talk?”
“No. I wouldn’t have.”
Patience saw now that Grant’s aversion for marriage stemmed from the relationship between his parents and his mother’s desertion. And hers had to do with the way her father’s drinking destroyed her mother. How strange, given such parallels, that they should find themselves in this situation.
Grant sat, elbows on knees, head down, shoulders tense. Patience went to stand before him, until he looked up. He took her hand and relaxed against the back of his chair, pulling her down to sit on the arm beside him. Though he held her hand with the appearance of calm, the pressure of his grip said he needed her and, more than anything, she wanted to be here for him.
“So,” Grant finally said, “My mother didn’t want your children, whoever they were. She never hated me and Shane, precisely; she hated the reminder of you. After she left, you didn’t hate us, you hated the reminder of her.” He chuckled bitterly. “I can’t help but wish you had directed your bitterness toward each other. But I’m not an innocent child any longer. Your marriage failed because you did, because you forced my mother to marry you when you knew she didn’t love you.”
Grant shook his head. Lord, his mistrust of the married state was based on a set of circumstances, a jest dealt by fate, unlikely to be duplicated. Given his childhood experiences, he wouldn’t make the same mistakes his parents did. And Patience . . .He studied her face, so filled with concern for him. Then he looked at his father. “Patience is not like my mother.”
“No, son. She’s not. And you’re not like Patience’s father. Your pain, and hers, was caused by parents whose concern ran more to their own suffering than their children’s. You have to learn to live with the mistakes your mother and I made, as Patience will have to deal with the pain she suffered because of her father’s drinking. I hope with all my heart that we haven’t all, among us, destroyed your lives.
Brian placed his hands, palms flat, on the desk and raised himself slowly. “I do not deserve your forgiveness, son.” He cleared his throat when his voice cracked. “But I humbly beg it. I beg with all my heart for a place in your life and Patience’s, and in the lives of your children.”
At that, Patience pulled her hand from Grant’s, her false calm shattered. “We told you. There will be no marriage. No children. Ever. We are grateful for the revelations you shared, are we not, Grant? But nothing can make us change our minds.”
“Society will scorn you,” her aunt said.
Patience laughed. “I care nothing for Society. So there is no problem.”
“I care even less,” Grant said. “Patience is right. There is no problem.”
Aunt Harriette shook her head. “If you don’t marry, the girls will be ruined.”
Patience stilled. The girls. Her girls. As their chaperone, her standing in Society would become theirs. Doors would close, opportunities would end. A wave more frightening than the monster crest tossed by the phantom ship threatened to drown her and she found it difficult to take in air.
Grant chafed her hand as if he sensed how cold she’d become. “Those girls have survived thus far,” he reassured her, looking into her eyes. “With this titillating bit of gossip, they will become celebrities, diamonds of the first water. Doors will open to them!” His bright smile was false, however, because the lines around his eyes did not appear, and Patience’s breathing grew labored.
Brian cleared his throat. “Son,” he said, with a touch of sympathy in the word. “The Duke of Graham approached me at Rose’s wedding, asking permission to address Grace. I told him he needed to speak with Patience. I know his family, Grant, no matter how much he cares for Grace—and believe me, he does—they will not accept a daughter-in-law touched by scandal.”
Excitement over Grace’s good fortune shot through Patience almost as quickly as dejection over her own sudden lack of choice. And the irony was not lost on her. She had brought the girls to London to gain her independence. Because of them she had nearly grasped it. Because of them, she must let it go. If only her need to fight the inevitable did not remain so strong.
Grant read Patience like a favorite book. “I believe there will be a marriage,” he said, standing. He regarded the fear in her eyes and needed to reassure her. “If two people can make a marriage work, we can. We know so many of the pitfalls; we’d avoid them like the plague.”
“How can you marry a woman you don’t respect? Two days ago you asked me to be your mistress.”
Aunt Harriette gasped.
Brian chuckled.
“I meant no disrespect.” He ran a hand through his hair. “How foolish that sounds. I meant—” He shook his head, unable to give voice to what he meant; he feared the answer too much. “Patience, you, of all people, deserve happiness for a lifetime. You deserve commitment, vows spoken before God and man. Marry me, Patience.”
“But your drinking. It sickens me to see a man drink to excess, lose control. I can’t tell you what happened inside me when I realized you were drunk the night of the fire.”
He remembered her look and didn’t think he’d ever seen such haunting fear, not even the night she saved the Knave’s Secret from the Phantom. “Don’t you understand? I was drinking because of you.” He shook his head. “No. That’s wrong. Not because of you, because of me. I was so disturbed that you were angry with me, that I drank in a way even I find distasteful.” He couldn’t tell her he was drinking because he feared loving her. Not yet. “Marry me. Please.”
He placed his fingers against her lips to silence her then found himself tracing their shape. The distraction lasted until he realized where they were. “I . . .care for you Patience. I care about your feelings. I will never drink to excess again. I promise you before my father and your Aunt as witness.”
Patience turned from his embrace. “I will never drink to excess again. If I heard my father speak those very words once, I heard them a thousand times.” But she allowed him to take her hand and to tug her toward the door.
“Patience and I must speak alone,” Grant told Harriette and his father. “If you will excuse us?”
They both nodded, their worry not masking the love in their eyes.
Patience had always wanted her aunt to love her. He had always craved it from his father. How ironic they should become certain of it at the very point their lives were so uncertain in every other way.
Grant led Patience to the library and the chairs by the hearth. For a while they sat facing each other and allowed silence to flow over and around them and were comfortable with it and each other.
Patience settled chin in hand to stare into the fire.
His numbness had begun to be replaced with a heady relief.
He had wanted to stay with Patience the night he taught her passion. He remembered the pain of not being able to lie beside her. At the inn in Scotland, when he’d slept with her in his arms, he remembered joy upon driftin
g, joy upon waking. Finding her beside him every morning . . .Now there was a life to contemplate. He extended his hand.
She rose and took it.
He pulled her onto his lap.
“Will you marry me, Lady Patience?”
“What? Marry the Marquess of Andover?”
She was masking fear with jest. He kissed her. “Will Patience marry Grant?”
“Must I?”
“You must—or there will be little bastard babies running all over England.”
She buried her face in his neck.
“We have to marry, Patience. For the girls.”
“For the girls,” she whispered, her fear like a living thing, her heart pounding. She stood, hands on hips. “I can’t believe you’re smiling when we’re in such a coil. Being forced against one’s will is not pleasant.” She batted dust motes.
“I’m smiling, Patience, because I find the prospect of being married to you . . .intriguing. Now that my arguments are, shall we say, of no consequence, I bow to the inevitable.”
“Fine for you. You’ll go back to sea and leave me to molder while you travel the world.”
“I love the sea, Patience. It’s in my blood.”
“Take me with you then? You said sailing with me was an adventure.”
“Patience, fire, flood and pestilence are adventures, but I would not invite them along on a voyage.” It wasn’t an ocean voyage she needed. “Listen, Patience. I know how much your independence means to you. Suppose we strike a bargain. Here and now. I’ll even put it in writing. I propose we become partners with equal say in our lives and our marriage.”
Patience was struck dumb, but only for a minute. “That’s ridiculous. It isn’t done. Is it?”
She was weakening and Grant was pleased. “Patience, it’s preposterous for a sea Captain to become partners with his crew, but I am, and I’m a good partner; ask any of my men.”
“With this marriage partnership, then, if I choose to go to sea with you, I can.”
“Well, as to that, I plan for you to be in a delicate condition very soon, and I would not want to risk your health or that of our child.” God’s truth, the thought of their children brought a warm stirring to his heart.
Her color rose at his words.
“I do love that blush. Remind me to make you blush while you’re naked so I can see exactly where it begins. I’ve always wondered.”
“You are a true scoundrel. Do you know that?”
“Yes, and you are a true hellcat. And do you know that I am partial to hellcats?”
“Just partial?”
“Fond, perhaps.”
“I might be fond of you too, especially after our night at the inn.”
“That was nothing compared to what we’ll find in each other’s arms as husband and wife.”
She reddened again and looked away. “Will you forgive your father, Grant?”
“I want our children to know their grandfather, Patience.”
“I’m glad. Now. Let’s put this partnership on paper.”