Once Upon a Marquess (The Worth Saga 1)

“You’ll have to put that out of your mind,” Christian said. “If he goes back, it needs to be on his own terms. If he only returns because you’re forcing him, he’ll feel powerless. That’s no way to take on bullies.”

“I don’t want to force him to go back,” Judith said. “I just want…”

“You want to set up his life so that he makes precisely the choices you think he should?”

Well. Put like that. It made her feel uneasy.

She pressed on. “Whatever you said just now, it was very kind. Doubly kind to attribute all those sentiments to Anthony, when we both know he wouldn’t have made that last point.”

Christian turned and looked at her. His eyebrows crinkled, and he shook his head. “Drat. Now I must contradict you again. Not only would Anthony say such things, he did say them. To me.”

“Oh, I believe he said that bit about being better than the other boys and such like. But revenge? Plastering over a door? We both know Anthony…” She trailed off.

He gave her a pained smile, and all the weariness in his face returned, dropping on his shoulders like a burden he’d carried a hundred leagues. “You really don’t know Anthony, do you?” He sighed. “Judith, your brother was a rigid moralist. He was not a rigid follower of rules. Don’t confuse the two. When the authorities looked the other way—when the schoolyard was ruled by those who favored swagger and intimidation over fair play, and bullies were given free rein? Revenge under such circumstances, according to Anthony, was justice, not a violation.”

His voice was low. His eyes were dark. And for one moment, she felt as if she were looking straight though the veneer of humor that he painted on everything, straight into the heart of him. He was looking at her steadfastly, as if willing her to believe. As if he needed her to understand that her brother could violate rules, laws…everything.

If she could believe that, she could understand what Christian had done. And if she could comprehend that…

“Plastering over the door was my idea,” Christian said to her. “But yes, your brother helped. He approved. And he never told. It was justice.”

She couldn’t comprehend it. She didn’t want to believe him.

But when he said it was justice, he had that same ring in his voice. The one that she’d heard earlier. The one that had so reminded her of her brother.

He’d come, bearing strawberries and an apology. He’d spoken to Benedict and brought a light to his eyes that had been missing ever since he returned home. It didn’t change anything.

He believed her brother was a traitor. He knew Judith well enough to comprehend her likes and dislikes, and he’d only spent summers with her. He’d reached Benedict in a way that even Judith hadn’t, and he hadn’t seen him in eight years. If he could do all of that, how could he not have known Anthony?

He had to be wrong. He had to be.

She swallowed. “I understand what you’re trying to say. Anthony wasn’t as good as I believed.”

“No.” He shook his head. His voice dropped. “I’m trying to say that he was better. Not so cribbed in by rules. He never feared consequences on his own behalf. I think Anthony was a traitor to his country. I have never believed he was a bad person—just a misguided one. You may have never heard him say that revenge is the only response to injustice, but he used to tell me that all the time.”

“And what has that to do with treachery?”

“You know that already,” Christian said evenly. “The only reason you won’t consider the possibility is that you don’t want to admit the truth.”

“The truth about my brother?”

“No.” Christian set his hand on hers. “The truth about us.”

She looked up into his eyes. Some part of her—oh, very well, some large part of her—still missed him. Not just her heart, but her body. Her skin. Her thighs. They all seemed to tingle with his proximity. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt toward him. Her shoulder brushed his lightly. Wool whispered against muslin.

She would hate kissing him as much as she yearned for it. She straightened, moving away from him. “There is no us.”

“There is. If your brother was a traitor, he didn’t just betray England by selling her military secrets. He betrayed you, by risking your entire future. He betrayed your sisters and your brother, by leaving them without support if he were ever found out. And he betrayed me, putting me in the unenviable position of having to keep quiet to save him.”

Judith swallowed.

“I understand. You won’t accept any evidence I can give you of what happened. You don’t want to admit that your brother is a traitor, because if you do, you’ll have to admit the truth about us.”

She didn’t ask what truth. She didn’t want to hear it.

She already knew.

“If your brother was a traitor,” Christian said, “then I am not your enemy. I am not the cause of all the harm you’ve ever experienced. I’m not the villain. Instead, I am the only person in the world who loved Anthony as much as you did. I’m the only person who can understand how much you hurt.”

Her eyes stung.

“If your brother was a traitor,” he said, “you would have to admit that we have a great deal in common. That there is nobody else on earth who can understand you as I do. And you know, Judith…”

He reached out. She ought to move away. She ought to slap his hand. But she couldn’t. His fingertips grazed her cheek and her eyes fluttered shut. He knew her too well, if he knew this, too.

He knew that there were nights when matters had seemed impossible, when she’d laid in bed examining the ceiling, wishing her brother had spoken in his defense. Why had he not said anything? Why hadn’t he explained?

Sometimes, she’d hated her brother, too. She’d wanted to grab him and shake him and demand to know why he’d done what he had.

She wasn’t proud of those moments. They’d left her feeling even more bereft of hope, even lonelier, than the times she’d despaired.

“If my brother were a traitor,” she said thickly, “then I would hate him for what he did to me. I could never forgive him. I would be filled with bitterness. How could I trust anyone at all?”

“You could trust me,” he said in a low voice.

“If my brother were a traitor…” She could scarcely get the words out. “I couldn’t trust myself.”

For a second, she let him touch her. For a second, she could feel a world of possibilities opening up to her. His fingers grazed down her cheek. She opened her eyes to see him looking down at her. He was close, so close that she might have kissed him.

“My brother was not a traitor,” she said. “And I don’t trust you.”

But he didn’t lean down to her. He didn’t kiss her. He left the possibility of the kiss floating in the air, waiting for her response.

He let his hand fall to his side. “It’s all right,” he said. “You don’t have to trust me.”

Chapter Sixteen

Beside Judith, Daisy swung her basket on the way home.

There was very little in her friend’s basket. Some carrots and potatoes, and little else. Daisy had bargained for those vociferously, walking away from the butcher when he’d refused to sell her soup bones for the price she’d offered.

But she smiled as if nothing were wrong. “It’s been an age since the queen came to tea,” Daisy said. “But lo, she sent over her messenger just this morning. She’ll be by shortly.”

It was difficult for Judith to fall back into their little game. She’d spent the last few days being forcibly reminded that their game had once been a near-reality for her.

“What a compliment,” Judith made herself offer cheerily. “She hasn’t called on me since the Prince Consort passed away.”

“You have all the luck.” Daisy looked upward and sighed miserably. “Now you see my difficulty. I am naturally of such a cheerful disposition that dampening my usual vivacity in deference to her mourning will prove difficult.”

“Have

you considered adding brandy to her tea?”

Daisy giggled. They paused at the street corner, ready to part ways.

“Think on it,” Judith said. “Brandy and queens. They go hand in hand. But as I’m sure you’re busy, I’ll take my—”

“Wait.” Daisy bit her lip. “I have a small favor to ask of you.”

“After you looked in on the terrible ones a few days back? I should think that a large favor would be in order. How can I help?”

Daisy looked at her, as if considering the matter. Finally, she shook her head. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“Surely there’s something. Even if it’s only to offer support.”

Daisy considered this. Finally, she fumbled in her pocket. “That is precisely what I need,” she said slowly. “A little support. That’s all. The queen’s visit has left me feeling a little out of sorts, and it might help if someone would…know.”

She held out a folded sheet of paper.

Judith took it, and Daisy’s cheeks flamed red.

For a second, she thought that maybe this was a letter from Crash, Daisy’s…sweetheart? Friend? Enemy? She wasn’t sure which. He’d taken an interest in Daisy once, and Judith wasn’t sure at all why the thing hadn’t come off. But Daisy’s expression wasn’t the flush of embarrassment. It was pure shame.

Judith unfolded the letter.