He wondered briefly if she was going to hit him with it and immediately tried to stand, only to find his legs wouldn’t hold him up. Eliza’s small hand in the middle of his chest propelled him further backward until he was leaning uncomfortably against the hard arm of the chaise, watching in disgust while she opened the window and hefted the bottle outside.
Ignoring the fact that a woman was present, Peter cursed fluidly and watched her stalk toward him, anger practically reverberating from her. He should stand up and argue with her. He should protest that he was grieving just as much as she was. But all he could do was sit and watch her approach him. He couldn’t blame her for hating him; he deserved her anger. Not only had he failed to protect her sister as he had promised he would, but the results of his failure had brought about untold grief from which neither of them would recover.
His mind clouded with a mix of brandy and grief, he stoically sat perfectly still and silent, and waited for her to lambast him.
“If there is one thing Jemima hated,” she muttered, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling it tight, drawing him forward until they were nose to nose, “it was a drunkard. If I see you with another bottle in your hand, I’ll beat you over your stupid head with it.” Her voice trembled with the strength of her anger as she glared into his eyes.
“What are you trying to do? Do you really think you will succeed in drinking yourself into an early grave too?”
“I love her,” Peter’s voice was hoarse with grief and bitter regret. Staring into eyes so similar to Jemima’s brought about a pang of longing so sharp that he almost cried aloud with the pain of it.
“I know,” Eliza replied gently. “I do too, but drinking yourself to death isn’t going to bring her back. She has gone, Peter. If you really care about her, you need to sober up and help us sort out her funeral. When she is buried, you have an estate that needs your attention and people living and working there that depend on you for their livelihood. You cannot fail them.”
“Like I failed Jemima?” Peter’s voice was harsh as the horrifying memory of his last look at Jemima alive swam in his mind before he could quash it.
“You – didn’t – fail – Jemima.” She bit out each word through clenched teeth. “Nobody did. If you really want to be harsh about it, Jemima could have done more to protect herself. Instead, we sat there in Derby like ducks waiting to be picked off by a merciless hunter. It was only a matter of time before Scraggan found us. Luckily for me, Edward found me and saved me before Scraggan got me. Jemima wasn’t so lucky. There was nothing you could have done. Drinking yourself unconscious is going to get you nowhere,” she chided, releasing her hold on his shirt and pushing him abruptly away from her.
“She should have come to me,” Peter gasped through the heavy weight in his chest. “I would have helped her.”
“I know, but don’t you see? She was trying to protect you. By staying in Derby, she was as close to you as she dared be without actually seeking your help and putting you at risk too.”
Peter studied her as she stood before the fireplace. She looked so familiar, so like Jemima, he ached to hold her. It was all he could do to remain in his seat.
“I would like to remove her to Padstow. She should be buried beside Father.”
“I’m sorry, Eliza, it isn’t possible,” Dominic replied from his position by the doorway, regret lacing his voice. “It’s too dangerous with Scraggan’s men in the area. If we could get her there, they probably wouldn’t give us the opportunity to bury her in peace.”
“We owe her the dignity of a peaceful burial, without the threat of Scraggan disturbing proceedings,” Edward added. He didn’t mention that Havistock was only a few hours away from his own estate, Eliza’s future home. Having Jemima buried at Havistock meant that Eliza could at least visit her sister’s grave whenever she chose.
“I have already arranged for the funeral to be held in two days,” Dominic announced flatly, in a voice that brooked no argument.
Peter swore again and sighed deeply. Although he could understand the need to give Jemima the peaceful burial she deserved, he hated that her final resting place was so far away from his own home in Oxfordshire.
“Eliza, might I have a word with you?” Edward moved toward the door that connected the study to the library and waited for her to join him.
Within moments, Peter was alone in the room with Dominic.
“I’m sorry, Peter. I wish we could move her to Willowbrook, or even Padstow, but it really is up to Eliza,” Dominic began, struggling to find a way to communicate with the new and grief-stricken Peter. Although his friend hadn’t actually vented his fury at being knocked out, Dominic knew their friendship had changed forever, and felt a pang of loss for the easy camaraderie that they had once enjoyed. “I think Edward has plans to marry Eliza, and wants Jemima buried her so she can visit the grave whenever she wants to. You are also more than welcome to visit as often as you want to, I hope you know that.”
Peter ignored the comment, and stared blankly into the fire for several moments. “As soon as she is buried, I’m going after Scraggan and I won’t be back until the bastard is dead. If I go too, then so be it.”
“Don’t say that, the man from the War Office has just arrived. We can decide between us what to do to make Scraggan pay.”
Peter snorted, and stood on shaky legs to glare at his one-time friend. “It’s none of your business. You have your wife, and are expecting your first child any day now. It isn’t your battle anymore. Stay here and take care of your own.”
“You are our own, Peter, whether you like it or not,” Dominic countered swiftly, not liking the reckless determination on Peter’s face. “I think there has been enough death, enough loss in the family, don’t you?”
“I will have vengeance,” Peter snapped, determined not to allow Dominic to command him. “You can do what the hell you like, but nobody is going to stop me getting vengeance for her.”
He couldn’t stand to waste time arguing with Dominic and turned to stumble toward the door.
“I’m coming with you,” Dominic declared, watching Peter’s uneven gait as he lurched toward the door.
“No, you are not,” Peter replied flatly, turning back toward the room. “You have a family to protect. This isn’t your battle Dominic, your job is done. You cannot control everything in your world, especially me. I’m going after Scraggan, and I don’t need your permission to do so.”
“Let’s go and talk to Sir Dunnicliffe,” Dominic suggested carefully, watching his friend sway alarmingly due to the effects of the brandy. “You cannot interfere with a government operation, you know that. Once you know what Sir Dunnicliffe and his men have planned, then we can decide what to do.”
He carefully ignored Peter’s snort of derision and followed him out of the room. They were half way to the library when a loud, high-pitched scream rent the air. Cursing, Dominic turned and took off for the back of the house. Peter paused and listened carefully for several moments, before shaking his head. Whatever madness was going on at the back of the house; clearly wasn’t Jemima, or Eliza, and could be left to Dominic to sort out.