The Art of Taming a Rake (Legendary Lovers 4)
Quinn’s troubled gaze lifted to meet hers. “Yes. It was Lady Beaufort, Kate and Ash’s mother.”
“Macky is certain?”
“As certain as he can be after all this time. Macky located the cottagers who cared for her after she washed ashore. She recovered consciousness only a short while before perishing from her injuries, but long enough to divulge her name and the name of the ship that sank. A marker in the church graveyard bears her name, Melicent. And the Zephyr was my father’s yacht. Additionally, she had distinctive auburn hair like Kate’s, and she wore a gold locket with the Beaufort crest etched on the face.”
Venetia wasn’t quite certain what to say to console Quinn…or whether he regretted that the surviving passenger had not been his own mother.
His expression remained grave when he continued. “Macky says there is more news…or at least suspicions that a storm might not have caused the Zephyr to sink. Melicent spoke of a fiery blast, and sailors in the vicinity reported seeing an explosion and fire—the kind that usually only occurs during military battles at sea. There were other indications of a fire as well—namely burnt wooden ship debris strewn on the beach. Macky speculates that a keg of gunpowder was set alight on board the Zephyr. But that begs the question, why would a passenger ship—a private yacht—have gunpowder on board?”
“Perhaps for protection?”
Quinn nodded. “They might have had cannons on board. Piracy is rampant along that part of the coast. If an explosion did occur, was it accident or foul play? The Zephyr could have been sabotaged. Macky means to remain in France to see what more he can discover. We may never know the truth unless we can locate the shipwreck.”
The silence resumed with Quinn deep in thought.
“Would you rather the survivor have been Angelique?” Venetia asked quietly.
“No, to be truthful. It would be harder to think of her suffering such lingering pain. It is difficult enough knowing that her life was ended so soon.”
“I am so sorry, Quinn. It must be horrible to lose one’s parents like that, especially at a young age.”
“I was devastated, Skye even more so.” His mouth curved faintly in a sad smile. “What I remember most is my mother’s charm and joie de vivre. She was the most lively, enchanting person I have ever known.”
Qualities he had inherited, Venetia thought to herself.
“My father adored her,” Quinn added softly, “and she, him. Perhaps it was best that they perished together.”
Quinn gave a heavy sigh. “I will have to let Ash and Kate know about their mother at some point. Ordinarily I would call a family meeting so I could tell them in person. Such unhappy tidings ought not come in a letter or from a near-stranger like Macky is to them. But I must wait until they are no longer at risk.” His jaw flexed in anger. “Just one more reason I want to be done with this interminable waiting.”
“At least a delay will give Macky time to investigate the possible explosion,” Venetia pointed out.
“When this is all over, I may go to France to see my aunt Melicent’s grave for myself, and to instigate a search for the shipwreck. But I can’t leave in the middle of danger to myself or to you and my family—or, for that matter, until my steamship is successfully launched.”
Quinn ran a hand roughly through his hair. Then, rising, he went to the sideboard and poured himself a snifterful of brandy. Downing a large swallow, he grimaced at the burn.
“Are you all right, Quinn?”
“Yes. This just stirs painful memories,” he answered, indicating the letter. “It is a grim reminder that I was helpless to save them.”
Venetia wouldn’t point out that although his regrets were not irrational, he was being too harsh on himself, and that he held no blame for his family’s deaths. At the time, he was only seventeen, long before he started on his quest to glean some meaningful results from the tragedy.
Moving across the room, Quinn flung the letter down on his desk, then gazed back at Venetia. “I would rather be alone, if you don’t mind.”
“Yes, of course.” She could understand his desire to mourn his parents in solitude.
“Close the door behind you,” he ordered quietly as she rose.
As he tossed back another gulp of brandy, she left him alone. If he needed to drown his sorrows in spirits, then she would not seek to stop him. But that didn’t prevent her from worrying about him. Dinnertime came and went with no sign of Quinn. Venetia spent the rest of the evening watching the clock as the hands slowly swept toward midnight.
Finally, she set down her book and returned to the study. She rapped softly on the door in case Quinn was sleeping off a drunken stupor.
When Quinn bade entrance, however, his voice seemed steady enough. He sat at his desk, poring over blueprints of his steam engine—a reminder of his obsession with exerting control over
his own fate.
Venetia felt relief that he seemed perfectly sober, but there was a bleak set to his features that twisted her heart.
“Cook kept your supper warm. May I bring your plate here so that you can eat something?”