~Chapter One~
Christmas Eve 1800, Lauwine Hall, Yorkshire.
“Catch me, Lucerne. Catch me.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Viscount Lucerne Marlinscar’s lips, as he turned on the spot, boots slipping on the polished wooden floor of the long gallery. He opened his arms out wide, but there was no wild, moorland sprite to catch, or swing about his arms, nor anyone to lure beneath the mistletoe. Instead the portraits of his ancestors leered down at him with stern faces and soulless black eyes.
Dead and gone relatives made for very poor company.
Having regained his footing, if not his balance, Lucerne continued along the gallery. Absence of folk to care for was definitely the problem. His parents and brothers were long in their graves, and the friends and lovers he’d looked to for affection were lost now too. No wonder he was filling the void with ghostly voices.
“Lost? You deserted us, and you know exactly where we are. If you want us, you have only to reach out.”
He turned again, but he knew there was nobody there, least of all the man who rightly or wrongly made every part of him tingle with need.
Damn, he was letting his imagination get the better of him again. This last week his former lovers had both inveigled their way into his consciousness, and tormented him ruthlessly whenever he was alone.
Lucerne spent a lot of time alone.
His neighbours didn’t come calling, and there were no guests here except one.
“You want nothing more than to feel my breath on your neck,” Vaughan whispered to him.
“You’re not real,” Lucerne claimed aloud, and his words echoed. In any case, how would he ever even be able to feel a breath on the back of his neck through a severely starched collar and an abundance of cravat?
“Both are easily removed. Admit your mistake, Lucerne. Casting me aside was the most foolish thing you’ve ever done.”
It hadn’t been a mistake. It’d been essential for the preservation of his sanity. Yet he was holding his breath, almost willing himself to feel Vaughan’s breath on the back of his neck. The hairs there were already standing on end as he anticipated that brief flash of heat, followed by a tingle that spread through his scalp and out to the rest of his extremities. The physical sensation was only a fraction of what such a caress meant though. Its real power was in foreshadowing what came next—a touch, a kiss? Perhaps being spun around, bent over, or spread for pleasure.
There was a cabinet not four steps from him that he’d mercilessly pinned Vaughan to in the early days of their relationship. He remembered every moment, holding him there, pushing inside of him, listening to him curse even when he came. It ought to have been plain to him back then that things were never going to be straightforward. And yet, he’d come to accept both Vaughan’s moods and his jealous nature. What he’d never expected were the changes of heart that had taken place, or the fragility of his own sense of worth.
“I couldn’t take any more of you fighting and using me as a bolster,” he told his absent lover. “You drove me away.” It still astonished him that he could have been so blind to what was going on. All that time, he’d thought Vaughan and Bella were squabbling over him, but the truth was that they’d been desperate for one another’s affections, but just too stubborn to admit it.
In all likelihood they still hadn’t admitted it.
Perhaps they never would. It was no longer his concern, because he was no longer part of their lives. He’d been cast aside. He hoped they were happy with one another.
Except, fuck! No he didn’t.
He wasn’t happy, not even slightly. Therefore they ought to be miserable too.
“Lucerne?”
The sound of a real voice calling him caused Lucerne to resume his journey towards the upper parlour. It had become customary for he and Wakefield to meet there of an evening and while away the hours in largely silent companionship. Neither of them every found much to say once they’d exhausted the subject of the weather.
Wakefield was already pouring a drink when Lucerne arrived. The smell of the nursery lingered on his friend’s clothing.
“Is all well with your daughter?” Lucerne asked. Wakefield had skipped both dinner, and welcoming the carol singers into the house to share figgy pudding and punch. “You’ve lingered late in the nursery this evening.”
“Yes, she’s well. Blissfully sleeping now, though she did not want to part with her papa. I’m sorry I didn’t join you downstairs, Lucerne. I admit, when I saw you making preparations earlier, I didn’t expect anyone to venture this far out of the village in such inclement weather.”
“They’re hardy folk hereabouts. A few small flurries of snow doesn’t deter them, especially when there are free victuals in the offering. And in any case they’re obliged to come. It’s common sense to keep the man responsible for the roof over your head happy, and wishing him good will and cheer at Christmastide is an inexpensive way of doing it.”
Wakefield considered this remark with a stony frown. “You’re hardly the sort to turn them out over failure to adhere to some archaic rule.”
“Perhaps not, but I think you’ll find the locals see less good in my soul. They consider me a black-hearted rogue.”
“The hell they do.”
“I’m a social pariah, Wakefield. Everybody knows it. I’m barred from every drawing room between here and Richmond.”
“That’s an exaggeration if ever I heard one,” Wakefield huffed, and then sank into his favourite armchair. He fidgeted a moment, until he was settled comfortably with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, and his port glass balanced upon his chest. “You isolate yourself from the local society by turning down every invitation you receive. The people of Yorkshire don’t hate you; you just choose to believe they do. They have no reason to hate you. All of them know Bella Rushdale was a wild and wilful miss, and in any case, word is out now that it was the Marquis of Pennerley she ran off with, not your good self. She’s openly living as his mistress. Several of the broadsheets have reported it.”
“And you believe that reportage?”
“Why should I doubt it?”
Lucerne bowed his head, not really caring to spell out the truth, which he was quite certain Wakefield knew and was choosing to disregard.
“Just because you were friends with him, Lucerne, doesn’t make you accountable for his crimes. You need to stop punishing yourself.”
“Joshua Rushdale knows perfectly well that his sister fled to London with me.” Hell, Bella had written and told him as much. The fact that she was now living with Vaughan didn’t acquit him of his crimes. “I’m sure Joshua would gladly open me from nave to chaps if afforded the opportunity.”
“Aye, he might,” Wakefield conceded with a nod. “But only because presently he can’t lay his hands on Pennerley. And that right foul bastard wouldn’t demonstrate an ounce of honour even if confronted. That’s not true of you. I know you intended to make good of the situation. You loved her. Circumstances thwarted your pursuit of happiness. I understand that, and I’m sure in his heart Joshua does too.”
“Your faith in me is entirely misplaced.” Lucerne patted his friends shoulder. “Touching though.” He circled Wakefield’s chair. He was too agitated to sit. Besides, it was easier to think while he was on his feet.
“How is it misplaced?” Wakefield adopted a less slouched position as he followed Lucerne’s movement. “Are you saying you wouldn’t have married her? I don’t believe you, Lucerne. That’s not the man I know you to be.”
Lucerne wearily shook his head, as much as he wished for the chance to unburden his soul of all the guilt and regrets he was carrying, there were some things you simply didn’t confess, even to your dearest friends, and one of them was that you’d been involved in a homosexual relationship. It was up there alongside murder and treason as one of the biggest sins you could commit. Men who loved other men were considered the scum of the earth. Better he allowed Wakefield to draw his own conclusions about what had occurred—namely that his current state of misery was entirely down to the loss of Bella from his life, and not in fact due to the catastrophic loss of both Bella and Vaughan. “What does it matter,” he said, waving away Wakefield’s question. “As you said, she’s known to be Vaughan’s mistress now, so I ought to just allow my part in everything to be brushed under the carpet.”
“Vaughan,” Wakefield echoed him contemplatively. “You still call him that, after all he’s done? It seems overly intimate, somehow. You ought to revert to calling him Pennerley.”
“Hm.” Lucerne steepled his fingers. “We’ve always called one another by our Christian names. Pennerley makes me think of his father. I know he’s been dead years, but still.”
“You need to create some distance, Lucerne. Changing how you address him is the first step.”
It might be a wise step, but it wasn’t one that Lucerne particularly relished. There was distance enough between himself and Vaughan. Several hundred miles of it, as a matter of fact.
“See here, I know you were friends a long time, but I can’t pretend I’m not glad to see you cut him from your circle, Lucerne. I never did care for the man.”
“Nor he for you,” Lucerne muttered beneath his breath. Wakefield and Vaughan had demonstrated their mutual dislike for one another many, many times over. Lucerne had lost count of the number of times he’d had to pin Wakefield in a chair, or against a wall, or confine him in some other way so that he couldn’t respond to Vaughan baiting him by calling him out. He’d lost count too of how many times he’d had to plead with Vaughan not to deliberately antagonise Wakefield.
“He was a very bad influence on you. If ever there was any trouble, it was guaranteed he’d be the cause.”
Lucerne didn’t even attempt to deny it. Vaughan thrived on mischief, and his reputation as one of England’s most notorious rakehells was well deserved. On the other hand, he’d been tremendous fun to be around. There was never a dull moment. Vaughan did so like to keep people on their toes, wondering what would happen next. There was always an air of excitement around him. Not all of it created by him, because he collected a host of colourful characters around him.
Many of those men Lucerne had also called friends. No more. Like Bella when given a choice, they would always side with Vaughan over him.
“You need a drink,” Wakefield advised, stretching out his own glass towards Lucerne in offering. “You’re in a dire pickle of a mood tonight. It’s Christmas Eve, man. Try to look a little jolly.”
“I’m sorry, Wakefield.” He refused the offer of the glass. “I’m being horribly morose and selfish tonight. It’s most unfair of me. I’m not the only one who has suffered a loss. You must miss Louisa terribly.” Wakefield had lost his wife earlier that year, and been left with a young baby to care for, a task he’d risen to with admirable enthusiasm.
“Yes, I do miss her dreadfully, but she’s gone, and no amount of wishing will change that. I’ve accepted that, and I have my treasured memories.” He formed a fist, and pressed it to his heart. “You need to find a way to let go too. Make peace with your past.”
If only it were that simple. “Vaughan and Bella aren’t ghosts I can easily outrun.”
Wakefield pushed to his feet and joined Lucerne standing before the hearth. “Running isn’t the solution. You need to face the facts of the matter. You’ve been betrayed by a man you believed to be your friend, and a woman you intended to honour with your name. It’s only natural that it hurts. Now, I could prolong your agony by telling you that I think Bella will soon realise her mistake, but I don’t want you to cling onto her in that way. In any case, I’m not certain she’s the right woman for you. Lucerne, she was my darling Louisa’s dearest friend, and I hate to speak ill of her, but Bella was never wise, and her actions are not those of a gentle-born lady, or a woman you ought to consider making your viscountess.”
“Perhaps.”
“Think on it. She acts as if she’s the heroine in one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels. That is not appropriate.”
When had his life become mired in propriety? It was no wonder Bella had given her heart to Vaughan when Lucerne insisted she choose between them. Vaughan didn’t worry about propriety, society or anything else. He was probably giving Bella exactly the sort of adventures she craved, playing at being a pirate, or a sinister mediaeval monk. Hell, he’d been drawn to Vaughan at the dawn of their friendship for exactly the same reasons. Vaughan knew how to have fun. The fact that he was also mercurial, ruthless, charming, and deceitful, only added to his charisma. Vaughan also possessed one of the sharpest minds Lucerne had ever known and the cruellest wit.
If only he hadn’t ended up as the spare piece in one too many of his games, then he would still be hanging on to Vaughan’s every word.
Tears threatened to fill Lucerne’s eyes, so he faked a bout of sneezes, to cover his need for a handkerchief.
“Are you quite well?” Wakefield asked, casting a worried glance in his direction. “Should I ring and have them bring you a posset?”
“God help me, no.” He stowed his handkerchief away. “I’m absolutely fine, just a bit of soot off the chimney that caught me, that’s all.”
“Are you sure? You do look rather pasty.”
“Quite certain.” He had no desire to choke down one of cook’s medicinal brews. “It’s late, and I’m tired. Why don’t we pour one last drink and then turn in?”
“Aye, I’ll not say no to that. Will you pour?”
Lucerne crossed to the sideboard and fetched them each a snifter of brandy. The liquid burned on his tongue as he supped it, but he welcomed the heat.
Wakefield downed his in one and then nursed the balloon within his cupped hands. “Will you come to church with me tomorrow?” he asked.
Lucerne snorted in disbelief. “And spoil everyone’s Christmas tide? I think not, Freddy.”
“You wouldn’t spoil anything. We’ve already been over this point. Bella ran off with the Marquis of Pennerley. You’re vindicated. All is well.”
Lucerne shook his head. “I can’t stand in front of them and lie to their faces. She did not run off with him. She fled south with me three years ago. She only took up with Vaughan two months back. That leaves a rather significant period of time to account for.”
“No one local knows that.”
“I think you’ve forgotten how easily rumours and gossip spread. I publically courted her in London. We were seen together and there are plenty who know or could surmise that she and I were frequent bed mates.”
“They’d attest too to Pennerley’s constant presence. Everything is open to interpretation, Lucerne. You simply need to present your case as you want it to be seen.”
“No.” He shook his head, causing his blond hair to flop forward over his eyes. “I don’t want to build a future whose foundations are steeped in lies. I just don’t. In any case, I’m not ready to face the world, yet. I’m sorry. But that’s the truth.”
Wakefield placed his empty glass on the mantelpiece. “You’re a fool. There, I’ve said it, and you need to hear it.”
“I know it.”
His friend gazed on him with troubled eyes. “Get yourself away to bed. The world might seem bright come daylight.”
They shook hands like gentleman.
“Good night, Lucerne.”
“Merry Christmas, Wakefield.”
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
