Cathy Maxwell Read online

  “We don’t know. I assume Margaret is free of it, but she has her doubts.”

  “And the colonel’s obvious dislike of me—?”

  “Is because he hates my idea of marrying,” Neal finished. “Harry, Margaret, and I are very close. They believe the three of us should not marry at all. They want the curse to end here, with us.”

  “That’s what he meant,” Thea said, half to herself. She frowned. “You obviously don’t feel that way.”

  “I think the curse can be broken. After all, father lived many years and had three children.” He dropped his gaze to his gloved hand resting on his leg. “And I want children, Thea. I want what you have. I hunger for it. I don’t know if my overwhelming desire for a child is part of the curse or what, and it has created a rift between Harry and me.”

  Thea shook her head. “Did not your father pass away only a few years ago? He must have been of a ripe age.”

  “He was sixty-one.”

  “That is a respectable age to die, Lyon, and I mean no disrespect to his memory,” she hastened to add lest he think her callous. “After all, your father had three children. Could it not mean that he has already defeated the demon of the curse?”

  Neal lifted his head toward her, his expression bleak. “I wish it were so. Can you not imagine the hell of living a loveless life?” He paused and then asked, “Do you not wonder why I quit meeting you so abruptly that summer? Thea, our friendship is my fondest memory. I would not have ignored you the way I did if this curse was a hoax.”

  He leaned back into his corner of the coach. “My father learned of our meetings and came from London to talk to me. He explained the danger of the curse.”

  “But we were friends, Neal. Nothing more.”

  “Do you believe that, Thea? That it was nothing more?”

  She frowned. “We were so young.”

  “Yes, we were.” He turned his gaze away from her. Studied the passing scenery out the window.

  “And you never questioned him?” she asked, uncertain if she was glad to finally know the reason for her friend’s defection—or angry.

  “I did not. Sometimes when one hears truth, one recognizes it. I knew immediately what he was saying was true.”

  Anger trumped gladness.

  “You tossed aside our friendship over the silliness of this curse?” She moved to reach for the coach door. How dare he confess to her. How dare he have treated her so callously years ago. The confines of the coach were suddenly too restrictive. She needed space. She needed to stomp around and have a fit.

  Neal grabbed her hand and brought her around before she could open the door. “I had to, Thea. It was necessary.”

  “You didn’t send a word to me that you weren’t going to be there,” she said. “You just didn’t appear ever again. You could have said something. You could have sent a message or come to my father’s house and explained—”

  “I could not. Thea, don’t you understand? My father feared our friendship.”

  “Why? Because he thought we were going to fall in love and you would die?” she said, throwing the words at him.

  “Yes. And he was right to fear it. I could have fallen in love with you. Can’t you understand that? I was in danger of doing so.”

  It took several moments for the import of his words to sink into her brain.

  And when they did, she was shocked.

  She pulled back and he let her go. “We were just friends,” she whispered.

  Neal retreated to his side of the coach. “Then why are you so angry?”

  She remembered so much of that summer, but for her it had been friendship . . . or so she’d believed.

  Thea looked over to him. He once again focused on the passing scenery, but she doubted if he saw anything.

  What could she say after realizing how oblivious she had been? He’d been in danger of loving her. And all she’d been giddy about had been having a friend who’d understood her.

  Neal broke the silence between them first. He spoke flat statements. “My mother died seven years ago. She was a lonely woman. There is a companionship in marriage which she never had. Father refused to grow close to her. But then at the age of sixty, he decided to enjoy himself. He first saw Cassandra Sweetling on stage. Cass Sweetling, the Coquette of Covent Garden.”

  “He fell in love with an opera dancer?”

  “Madly. She was seventeen and happy to oblige him in every way.”

  “What did you and your siblings think of this?” Thea asked.

  “What we thought didn’t matter. She was everything to him. He showered her with attention. He was warm, kind and generous. He died within four months after their wedding.”

  “He was over sixty,” Thea gently argued. “Men die of natural causes much younger.”

  “Does it matter?” Neal countered. “The curse lives.” He curled one gloved hand into a fist. “I don’t care about love, Thea. And I am not afraid of death. But I want a son, and I want to see him grow to manhood. My father had that blessing that none of the others in my line enjoyed. Find a wife for me, Thea. I dare not go looking on my own. The risk is too high.”

  “Because you are afraid you will fall in love inadvertently?”

  “Exactly. She must be a decent woman who will understand that I have material goods and a fortune to offer her but little else—and she must never ask for more. Ever.”

  “You are condemning yourself to the selfish, the frivolous, the sort of woman who can’t make any man happy.”

  “As long as she is an affectionate mother,” he answered.

  “That may be hard to find,” she replied.

  “I’m willing to pay handsomely. In fact, why don’t I start with an advance payment, say two hundred pounds?”

  If the heavens above had opened, Thea could not have been more elated. Here was the money for Jonathan’s school, for better lodgings, for more than she would have let herself imagine. “It is too much,” she demurred.

  “I’m a wealthy man. Don’t think on it.”

  “I shall find you a wife,” she declared.

  His gaze met hers. He smiled. “I thought you would.”

  “But I don’t know if I believe in this curse yet,” she said.

  “You don’t need to, Thea. You don’t need to.”

  And on those words, the coach rolled to a halt, a sign they had reached the stables.

  In the stables, Neal and Thea found Jonathan and Christopher working around Ajax, Harry’s huge bay, brushing away at his legs and anywhere else they could reach. They had no desire to leave, but their mother insisted.

  “I hope they haven’t been too difficult for you,” Thea said to Harry.

  “Not a problem.” He gave Christopher a tousle of his hair. But his eyes held no warmth for Thea, and he was absolutely cold to Neal, not that Neal minded. He could weather his brother’s wrath.

  Besides, Harry would find other diversions quickly enough and forget he was even angry.

  Neal and Thea didn’t linger. The boys begged to stay longer, but Thea wanted them home and in their beds. And of course, they fell asleep the moment the coach started to move.

  “This has been a big adventure for them,” Thea said. One arm was around Christopher, who had his head down in her lap. Her other hand rested on Jonathan’s leg. He was leaning against her shoulder, his head back and his mouth open.

  Thea saw the direction of Neal’s gaze and smiled. “They are like puppies. They tear around full of energy and curiosity and then just drop where they are when tired.”

  “They are welcome to come see the horses in my stable,” he offered.

  “That’s very kind of you. I shall hold such a trip over their heads to see that they do their studies.” She made her threat with such delicious anticipation that Neal had to laugh, but then he sobered.

  “What happened to their father?” he asked, knowing he might be treading on dangerous ground. One thing hadn’t changed over the years about Thea—her pride.

>   “He passed away almost four years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She gave a small lift of her shoulders, a dismissive gesture, and brushed a curl back from Christopher’s forehead.

  “I’m certain the boys miss him,” Neal heard himself say. He wanted more information.

  “Yes” was her noncommittal reply. There was a beat of silence between them, and then she added, “It is hard to raise boys without a father. I want Jonathan to attend Westminster School. I believe it will be good for him.”

  “It would. That is an excellent school.”

  She nodded and bent to place a light, loving kiss on her oldest’s forehead. “Now that you have hired me, I shall be able to pay his fees, provided he is admitted. His interview for acceptance is next month.”

  “I’m certain he will do well.”

  “He is bright.” There was a hesitation in her voice.

  “What is it? What concerns you?”

  She stroked Christopher’s head again before saying, “I don’t have any doubts about my sons. They are strong and bold, and I will never regret having them. But I sometimes wish I had been wiser . . . . for their sakes.” She met Neal’s gaze. “In my own impulsiveness, my own desire to live by my terms and in flouting all conventions of society, I may have harmed my babies, and I never meant to do so.”

  “I’m certain this is not true,” he started.

  She smiled, the expression bittersweet. “You are obviously a person who has no regrets, my lord.”

  “Actually, I have too many.”

  Her gaze slid away from him. “But none that has harmed those who are innocent. I’ve robbed them of so much.”

  “Or will they be stronger because not everything has been handed to them? Westminster is not the only school in England, and just because your father disinherited you doesn’t mean you aren’t of good family. After all, you have been building a quiet little business based on those who have not forgotten your lineage or connections. Listening to Sir James rave about what you did for his nephew, I would say you are building a reputation on your successes more than your history.”

  “I want more than this for my sons.”

  He leaned forward. “We live in a new age, Thea. Any man with discipline and intelligence can make his own way in the world.”

  “I’m out in the world, my lord. Things have not changed as much as you imagine. One misstep and Sir James would forget he knew me.”

  Before Neal could answer, the coach reached their destination. The vehicle leaned as Bonner jumped down.

  Neal touched her arm. “None of us are perfect, Thea. You made choices, honest choices. Don’t apologize for them,” he managed to say before Bonner opened the coach door.

  It was a small matter to carry two exhausted boys. Neal held one in each arm. In fact, their weight felt good.

  Thea hovered anxiously. “Please let me carry Christopher, my lord.”

  “I’m fine,” Neal said. “I may not be as dashing as my brother, but I’m good for some things. Catch the door for us.”

  She hurried to do as bid. The building’s stairs creaked as Neal climbed them. Inside her apartment, he laid both Christopher and Jonathan on the pallet that served as their bed. “I wish my conscience was so clear I could sleep so deeply,” he said.

  “They always look like angels when they sleep,” she murmured. She left the bedroom and he followed. She went over to stand by the still open door.

  He hesitated.

  “Thank you, my lord, for a wonderful evening. Neither the boys nor I will forget it for a long time.”

  “We’ll see each other soon, won’t we?” he said, finding he didn’t like the faint hint of dismissal in her tone. He had an urge to linger.

  Her gaze slid away from his. “Of course. I shall contact you as soon as possible with a list of the young women I think are suitable for your particular needs. I’ll also plan something special for you to be introduced to them. I do like house parties, because you will often meet the parents as well, and that is important.”

  “That sounds good.” He moved to the door. He had no choice, not with her standing there waiting for him to go. Still, he had one more question.

  “I know it isn’t my place to ask,” he said, “but I don’t understand why you are here in this building, Thea. Why are you not under your family’s roof?”

  She crossed her arms, her whole body tightening. “My brother feels no need to offer support. He’s within his rights.” She was so defensive, so proud. Neal needed to be careful in how he phrased this next concern of his.

  He moved to the door now but stopped before leaving. “I don’t like this building or these rooms. I don’t want you and your sons staying here.”

  “This is perfectly fine—”

  “Thea, think of them,” he interjected, quietly, firmly. “I have several properties throughout London. None of them fancy, but they are good homes and better than this. I want you to move into one of them.”

  Her chin lifted. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I cannot accept such charity from you.”

  “It’s not charity. I’ll lease the house to you.”

  “We are fine right here—”

  “Damn it all, Thea, quit thinking with your pride and think of your sons. This is no neighborhood for them.”

  Her mouth closed. She pressed her lips together.

  “My man will be over tomorrow to show you the houses I have,” Neal said. “Be ready. I will not accept an argument. Understand?”

  For a second, he expected her to countermand him, but then she said, “Thank you, my lord.”

  “And thank you for your common sense, Mrs. Martin,” he answered.

  She gave a small bow of her head and he left, feeling both victorious and more optimistic about life than he had for a long time. It felt right to have rekindled the friendship he had with Thea. He trusted her.

  Neal was not surprised to find Harry waiting for him at home.

  “You are an ass,” his brother informed him, waving the bottle of port he held in his hand. Neal did not like talking to him when he was drinking heavily. Fortunately, he did not act as if he’d been taking the laudanum—yet.

  “Thank you, Harry, and on that comment, I’ll turn in for the night.” Neal started up the stairs.

  His brother followed. “She’s too nice a woman to do this to, Neal.”

  “To do what? Help me find a wife? She’s a matchmaker. She has a talent for it.” Neal frowned, shook his head, kept walking up the stairs. His brother could be a pest, even as an adult.

  “You know what I mean,” Harry accused, right on his heels.

  At the top of the stairs, Neal continued to his room. “That I want a son? Of course.”

  With a skip, Harry placed himself in front of Neal, blocking his path. He cocked his head in disbelief. “Maybe you don’t know, do you? Poor bugger.”

  “Stop talking in riddles. I’m tired—”

  A door opened to his right, his sister’s room. Margaret had been under the weather the last few days. She now gave them a sleepy, annoyed frown. “Won’t the two of you please take the argument to another part of the house?”

  “Neal is revisiting a fancy he once had for a woman and he doesn’t even know it,” Harry said.

  “What?” Neal almost roared with laughter. “I assure you I have not taken a fancy to Thea Martin. Nothing against her, but I’m not looking for her sort for a wife.”

  “Sort?” Harry repeated. “What sort is that? Attractive female?”

  “Harry, what are you going on about?” Margaret demanded.

  “You don’t remember Lady Thea?” Harry asked his sister. “Duruset’s daughter. Her family had an estate close to ours. She and Neal were friends one summer until Father cut it off.” He waggled his eyebrows on “friends.”

  “How do you know?” Neal demanded. “You weren’t even in the country that summer.”

  “Father told me. Said he’d saved you. He told me the story when
he explained the curse to me. He didn’t want you near her, Neal.”

  “I’m not near her out of attraction,” Neal responded.

  “No, now she is a matchmaker. Don’t be naive, brother. About her or yourself.”

  Now Margaret was awake. “Lady Thea is the Mrs. Martin?” she whispered. “I’ve heard of Mrs. Martin. She’s put together several interesting matches when everyone had given up hope. Please, no, Neal. We discussed this. I thought we had a pact. Let it stop with us.”

  “Be like me, brother,” Harry said, obviously happy now that he’d found an ally. “Women are fine. They are adorable, enjoyable, lovable—all the ‘-bles’—but don’t marry. Don’t carry this curse farther.”

  “Maybe I’m ending the curse,” Neal muttered, pushing past his brother. “Father almost made it. If the curse doesn’t claim one of us, then perhaps it will be broken. Certainly, I do not want to do as Father did and lose my head over some opera dancer.”

  “You poor, sorry soul,” Harry said with his customary disdain. “You are already lost, and you didn’t even realize it this evening. The two of you practically had an invisible cord around each other.”

  “That was the concern of old friendship,” Neal shot back. “In your bullheadedness, you are fabricating what is not there.”

  Harry ha’d his disbelief and took a healthy swig of the port straight from the bottle.

  “Neal, what is he saying?” Margaret asked, worry in her tone.

  “Nothing that he knows anything about,” Neal replied. “Nothing at all. Don’t worry, Margaret, I will be careful.”

  “Men are never careful,” she answered. “Your sex doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

  “I’m not like the others,” Neal said. This was an old argument between them. “And contrary to what my tomcat brother thinks, I’m not the village idiot about women.”

  “We can’t beat the curse, Neal,” Margaret said sadly. “It isn’t possible.”

  His response was to go to his room and shut the door.

  For a moment, he leaned his back against the hard wood, every fiber of his being shouting that she was wrong. There was a way to beat this curse. There had to be.

  He could hear Margaret and Harry talking in the hall. They were probably plotting against him and his desire to take a wife, but they were wrong if they thought he didn’t know what he was doing.