The Westminster Intrigue, page 38
Pippa turned to the thick leaded-glass windows, as though the memories were too private to share. Mélanie knew the feeling. "The next weeks were the happiest and most uncomfortable in my life. I'd never been so happy as I was when we were together. But even lost in madness—and it did feel like madness, the most exhilarating madness I've ever experienced—I knew we couldn't go on. Oh, I'd have left Haworth. Without a second thought." She bit her finger. "I should miss him more now he's gone. Instead, I'm sorry he didn't have someone who loved him better. But I'd have run off with Edmund and lived shunned by society. In fact, that sounded rather heavenly. I'm not sure how it sounded to Edmund. We never talked about it. Because we both knew I wasn't going to leave my children. My child." She cupped her hands round her coffee cup. "I only had one, at that point. That was what ended it."
"Your daughter?"
"No. That is, not my first daughter. When I realized I was pregnant with the second."
Once again, she should have seen it coming and hadn't. "Did you know who the father was?"
"Yes. Haworth and I—Suffice it to say, yes." She tossed down a swallow of coffee. "Edmund said we could go away together. That he'd do whatever it took. But that he understood my decision. Because of course going away together would have meant giving up Cynthia. My first daughter."
"I understand. At least, as best I can, never having faced that situation." Not quite. Though losing her children had been one of her greatest fears before Malcolm knew the truth.
"I couldn't give up my daughter. Which meant Edmund had to give up his child. It was damnable. We both knew it. And so we separated. It was a mess and and neither of us can bear goodbyes, so we didn't say them. At least not proper ones. We simply stopped seeing each other. It felt brutal. Edmund went to France. He said he couldn't bear to stay and watch. I was miserable. I saw Jamie at the theatre. God help me, I thought, I'm already with child, what do I have to risk?"
"And perhaps it felt like a way to be close to Edmund Blayney."
"Perhaps. Though they could scarcely be more different." She rubbed her hands over her face. "It couldn't really even be called an affair. It was only a handful of times over less than a month. But of course Sophia tumbled to it. That woke me up. I hadn't given up Edmund only to lose my children in any case. I focused on what I needed to, which was making things work with my husband. Haworth—I managed to make him believe the baby was his. Or at least enough he didn't ask questions. Especially when it was a girl. I owe him rather a lot, actually for not making more of a fuss. It's one of my fonder memories of him."
"It must have been beastly," Mélanie said with genuine feeling.
"Yes. Though I have only myself to blame. Of course, Edmund may be relieved to have escaped having to attempt to form a family."
"He hasn't asked about his daughter?"
"He made it clear he knew he couldn't think of her as his. I hadn't talked to him properly in years. Until I went to warn him last night. He—I got the feeling he didn't want me there."
Mélanie curled her fingers round the warmth of her cup. "There was a great deal going on last night. Which is only tangentially related to Jamie Blayney's murder. But having spoken to Edmund Blayney very recently, my advice would be that you should speak to him without delay."
Pippa's gaze flew to her face, with all the anxiety of a schoolgirl in the throes of first love.
"I'd be the last to claim relationships are easy," Mélanie said. "But as I told Mr. Blayney, I do believe that when happiness is possible, one should seize it."
Pippa tossed down the last of her coffee and snatched up her gloves and reticule. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Rannoch—"
"Go," Mélanie said.
Chapter 48
"Good God." Hubert grabbed his spectacles, which were sliding down his nose.
Malcolm folded his arms across his chest. "You sound surprised."
Hubert pushed his spectacles back into place. "That's because I am."
"It never occurred to you?"
"Did it occur to you?"
"No. Not precisely." Malcolm dragged a chair over and sat opposite Hubert's desk. "Not at all. But I'd been questioning Alistair's death. Without quite putting together the implications. And I don't have your sources of information."
"You overrate me. And underrate yourself."
Malcolm sat back in his chair. "You've been investigating the League."
"So have you. I admit a lot of things about Alistair's death didn't add up. And given what I knew about Julien's supposed death, perhaps I should have been quicker to see it. But I wasn't."
Malcolm sat back in his chair. "So it seems I'm a fraud. Like you."
"Not precisely. Not unless you knew Alistair was alive and blackmailed him into staying away."
"An unwitting fraud, then."
"You're too astute to waste your energies on your own role, Malcolm. We have to focus on what Alistair wants. And how to stop him." Hubert tented his hands together. "You think he has some of the memoirs?"
"I think he may have the chapter about Brougham. Which probably has the most damning details about the queen. But he wants the rest. And he claims he's willing to trade me quite a bit to get them."
"I'm glad to hear you didn't go off on a moral high horse and tell him you'd never make a deal."
"I'm not quite so stupid. As long as the memoirs are missing and he wants them, we have a hold on him. Of course, if he thinks there's a chance in hell I'd give him the memoirs, he doesn't know me."
"Alistair never knew you. If he had, he'd have played his whole life differently."
"I was never more than a footnote to Alistair's life."
"Which was possibly his greatest mistake." Hubert spread his hands on the desktop. "Where do you think the memoirs are?"
"I don't know." That was true. But there were some pieces of the investigation Malcolm hadn't updated his former spymaster on. Such as Danielle Darnault and Pierre Ducroix's relationship and whereabouts. "We'll keep looking." He pushed his chair back. "Sir?"
"Yes?"
"Why do you think Alistair disappeared and is now so desperate for a pardon? What did he do?"
Hubert aligned the papers on the desk before him. "I don't know."
"Really?"
Hubert's gaze locked on Malcolm's own, opaque behind the spectacle lenses. "Really."
Pippa paused outside the window. Edmund was in the print shop again, but slumped in a chair, head thrown back, not in the midst of producing the paper. She didn't knock this time. She stepped into the shop and closed the door behind her. Edmund's head jerked up. His gaze locked on her own.
"I'm sorry," Pippa said. "I thought we needed to talk some more after last night, and I wasn't sure you'd come to me."
Edmund's chair scraped against the floorboards as he pushed himself to his feet. "My apologies."
"Don't be silly, Edmund. When have you stood when I came into a room our entire lives?"
"Any number of times when others were present."
She took a step forwards, then paused, studying him. "That's always been our problem, hasn't it? We did fine on our own. It was being round other people that muddied things up."
He gave a wry smile. The sort one gives at a beloved memory. "Difficult to live one's life without other people."
"Of course it is. And I can't imagine you, in particular, would do so. No ignoring the world when what keeps you going is trying to change it. But I think we've both learned to cope with the world's chatter. To ignore the part that's most destructive."
"Pippa—" Edmund moved to the cabinet, pulled out the flask and glasses again, again poured two glasses of whisky. "I'm sorry, I know it's early. The house is in a bit of chaos just now. Difficult to brew tea." He seemed to take unusual care topping off each glass to the desired height. He crossed to her side and put one into her hand. "Circumstances brought us back together. Whatever Jamie was, I'm sorry for his death, and I'm sorry for the damage that's been done to others. But, God help me, I'm not sorry it brought us together." He picked up his own glass and tossed down a swallow.
"Well, then," Pippa said. "We're in agreement."
Edmund's fingers whitened round his glass. "Things ended badly between us. This gave us a chance to put some of that right. We can look back on our past without bitterness. At least, it's that way for me."
"I was never bitter," Pippa said. "Well, only towards myself. Well, perhaps a bit towards you at the beginning."
"Honest Pippin." Edmund gave a faint smile. "I'll own to my own share of bitterness. And more than a little guilt. And regret that we'd wrecked it. But now we've got the memories back."
"And I'm grateful for that. But—" Pippa swallowed, took another drink of whisky, tightened her grip on her glass. "I don't see why they have to be just memories."
Something shot through Edmund. Fear? Hope? Wariness? "Because we still live in the world, Pippin. And the world still matters. In both our lives. The investigation gave us something to share. But can you really imagine our sharing our lives?"
Her fingers tightened round her glass. "Are you saying you don't want me here?"
He drew a ragged breath. "It's complicated just now. There were reasons I needed you to leave last night. Reasons outside what's between us."
"Yes, I understand, and you needn't tell me just now. But other than that, do you not want me here?"
"Wanting has nothing to do with it."
Pippa glanced round the print shop and then up at the ceiling to his rooms above. Which she'd never seen. "I don't know how much room you have, but I expect we'll need more. Perhaps we can take over the flat next door. Or we could live in Brook Street and you could keep the shop here, though I quite see that would be difficult with having to get out the paper late at night. I own I don't much care for the idea of my husband's constantly slipping from my bed to go set type. And I think the girls would like to help, but taking them back and forth in the middle of the night seems complicated."
For an instant she saw a spark in his eyes that could set fire to damp wood. Then his gaze closed, as though an iron curtain had been set before a flame. "Pippa. Pippin. Love of my life. You have no idea what that means to me. But even before you were married, even before Jamie, even before my politics rendered me a social pariah—we lived in different worlds."
"Don't be silly, Edmund. If we'd lived in different worlds, we wouldn't have played together. I spent more time with you as a child than I did with my parents."
"Children can play together without really inhabiting the same world. Your father loved Jamie—but do you think he'd have let Sophia marry him?"
Pippa's breath caught in her throat. "That's different. Papa was old-fashioned."
His gaze lingered on her face like the brush of fingers that was at once a caress and a farewell. "Your father understood the world we live in. I didn't agree with him about a great many things. We'd no doubt be at odds were he still alive. But he was a good man, who loved his children. He wanted the best for you. And the best didn't include marrying Jamie. Or me."
Her insides burned, as though she'd tossed down the last of her whisky. "You can hardly claim to agree with his thoughts on that, given how you differ about the course of the world. I loved my father, but I certainly don't agree with him. About any number of things. You can't tell me you disagree with him about the world in general, but agree with him when it comes to his family?"
Edmund drew a breath that echoed across the room, like the scrape of sandpaper. "The world needs to change. But individuals don't change all at once. I know what you deserve. And I know what I can offer you."
"That seems rather presumptuous. And while I can't claim to know your circumstances, surely at this point it's at least as much a question of what I can offer you."
"Pippa, you can't think I'd take advantage—"
"And you claim to believe in equality of the sexes. Women take advantage of their husbands' circumstances all the time. Granted we don't have a lot of other options for making our way in the world. But given what you're trying to do to improve the world, I'd think you're entitled to take all the advantage you can get."
"For God's sake, I wouldn't—"
"That's quite your own affair. But I'm very well able to take care of Cynthia and Katie and myself. You wouldn't find us a burden."
"Maddening woman. That's not what I said."
"What you said was a lot of idiotish twaddle, so I'm doing my best to ignore it."
"Pippa." Edmund set down his glass. His hands closed on the edge of the table, as though he was trying to anchor himself. "I know how brave you are. I know you could make do in almost any sort of privation. I know your courage. But can you imagine I'd want to put you through the consequences of—anything permanent between us? Through losing—"
"What? Vouchers to Almack's? I find it tedious, and whatever you say, I'm quite sure Cynthia and Katie would too when they're grown. Going to Mayfair balls? I expect we'd still be invited to some, but I don't really care."
"Not even if they're hosted by—"
"My sisters? Or my sister-in-law? I don't think they'd cut us entirely, but that's their choice. One could say Sophy's wanted to be rid of me since we were in the nursery."
"You think I could live with that? Separating you from your family?"
"You think I could live without you?" The words tumbled out without thought. She gripped the edges of her chair. "I suppose that's silly. Of course, I can live without you. I've been doing it for five years. And, of course, you can live without me; you've been doing it for the same. But I don't want to do it. And I flatter myself that you don't want to, either."
"For God's sake, Pippa—"
She pushed herself to her feet, crossed to his side, took his face between her hands, and put her lips to his own. His mouth tasted of whisky and memories. His arms slid round her and then hardened, melding her to him. He let out a harsh breath and his fingers sank into her hair. Her hat and a hail of hairpins thudded to the floor. The sound thundered in her brain like the call of victory.
He lifted his head, wonder in his gaze. He had a shaving cut along his jaw. "Pippa—"
"Unless you don't want us," she said. "And I do mean 'us.' It wouldn't really work if you weren't prepared to be a father, or at least an uncle. I fully realize that's a great deal to take on. And of course, the girls mean everything to me because they're my daughters, but I understand it doesn't follow that they'd mean the same to you, whatever the circumstances of Katie's conception, and perhaps you don't want children—"
"Pippa." He caught her hand in his own. "Even without Katie's being my daughter, can you imagine I wouldn't love any child of yours? And I've always thought of Katie as my daughter, even when I couldn't claim her. That's the hell of it."
The floor tilted beneath her feet. "Oh. Well, then." She scanned his face. "I won't pretend it isn't quite a transition, being a parent, but it really does make life better in so many ways. At least, I think so. Oh, dear, I'm babbling. Edmund, for God's sake, stop worrying about what I'd be giving up by marrying you, and start thinking about what I'd be giving up by not marrying you. I'd be giving up you. Which I don't think I can bear, having found you again." She scanned his face. "Unless you don't want to get married? I own that would be a bit odd, but if you don't, I suppose we could live together—"
"Pippa, don't be an idiot," he said. And folded her in his arms.
Chapter 49
Raoul sank into a chair in Harry and Cordy's library and looked at his friend. "It's a lot to adjust to."
"For all of us." Archie's gaze fastened on Raoul's face. "We're still in the midst of an investigation. I imagine sitting in Cordy and Harry's library is the last place you want to be."
Raoul returned the gaze of the man who was possibly his best friend. Unless the distinction belonged to Fanny. "I think I'm precisely where I most need to be right now." He leaned back in his chair. "Given that I didn't realize about Fanny and Alistair, I'm not sure what insights I can lay claim to. But I've known Fanny since she was fifteen. I've seen her with you. It's not a relationship I've seen her have with anyone else."
"No, I'm sensible enough to know that." Archie stared at the tip of his walking stick. "That doesn’t necessarily answer the question of what she wants."
"You can't seriously think Fanny would leave you."
"No. This may sound odd given her first marriage, but she takes her promises seriously. At least, certain promises.."
"One can love more than one person. I've never doubted that. It does change a bit, though, when the two people are there at the same time. Or perhaps it makes it clearer." Raoul hesitated. There were some things he didn't speak about to anyone. But then, Archie was a friend like few others he had. No others he had, in point of fact. "Laura and Mélanie are quite good friends."
Archie returned his gaze. They'd talked about a lot, but never talked about this. Not in so many words. "Laura and Mélanie were friends before Laura was your lover. And I think Laura knows what Mélanie is to you. And what she isn't."
"Granted. But I don't think Alistair means what he used to to Frances."
"I suppose we'll find out, one way and another." Archie turned his walking stick in his hand. "I never thought of myself as the jealous sort. But then, I never had much cause for jealousy."
