Page 39 of A Lady's Wicked Revenge
Colin’s mind raced, struggling to invent any answer that might not enrage his stepfather. All his stubborn, overworked brain could supply was repeating the question to himself in an infuriated tone.WhathaveI been doing with myself?His imagination was filled with a dozen intensely passionate encounters with Diana in the gardens. Certainly these were no way for a rational man to behave, putting aside his responsibilities so he could indulge in idle lust.
…And that’s certainly what it has been, and nothing more,Colin thought, swallowing what felt like a mouthful of broken glass as he did so.
Fortunately, before he could devise a suitable answer, Sir James waved a hand dismissively, already impatient to be moving on from this subject. “Well, whatever business it is you’ve been wasting your time at, it’s long past time for it to come to a stop. Drinking with that idiot friend Radcliffe, out carousing in the streets of London, and God knows where else … man is not ruled by his base impulses, Colin! You should know that by now; I’m certain I’ve told you a thousand times already.”
“You have,” Colin said, swallowing hard. “I do.”
“Then you’d bloody well act like it!” Sir James snarled. “It’s well past time for you to put aside childish whimsy and get to the business of earning your way in this world. For God’s sake, life isn’t some storybook romance! It’s a practical thing, Colin.”
“And it must be dealt with practically.”
James nodded curtly at the conclusion of this truism. Then, in a somewhat uncharacteristic turn, James looked away from Colin and morosely downed his entire glass of wine in one long draught. This was a sign that Colin could not ignore; something was truly wrong with the grand gentleman.
“Is there … something wrong, sir?” Colin asked as he rose to take another bottle of wine from the sideboard. Trying to fight the urge to wince that came when Sir James looked in his direction—Colin had been bitterly recriminated when he had previously implied something might be amiss with his stepfather’s mood—he lifted the bottle to display the label. When he was given no criticism but instead a distant nod, he opened the bottle and filled both their glasses quietly.
“It’s nothing new,” said Sir James grandly, as though speaking of history’s greatest injustice. “Only the same mistreatment that your poor stepfather is made to endure every day of his life by a god that has nothing better to do than to constantly mock and test His most promising subject.”
Colin blinked as he listened attentively to his stepfather carry on about this subject, as he frequently did. For the most part, he spoke in generalities, referring to business partners and enterprises about which Colin knew little. Sir James was forever protesting his treatment by the gentry and the mercantile class alike, considering every missed opportunity a personal slight by a cabal of men who were intent on keeping him from rising any higher in London society. As far as Colin had heard, Sir James was looked down upon by everyone in the city, if not the whole Empire, despite his having done such tremendous good works for all mankind. To hear his usual telling of it, he was constantly beset by jealous, small-minded miscreants, something that by now Colin knew better than to question.
But as one glass of wine was anxiously drained, then another, then another still, it became increasingly clear that Sir James was bothered by something more particular than his usual affairs. Seeing the hunted look in his stepfather’s eyes, the frantic energy with which he ran his fingers through his stringy hair, Colin could not help himself but ask. “Is it anyone … in particular, sir? Who’s troubling you, I mean.”
Sir James glowered at his stepson, but he answered all the same. “It’s that Mister Cavendish down in Southampton.” He sneered as he thrust a finger in the air. “Up-jumped fishmonger with nothing better to do than stand in my way … I tell you, Colin, he’s almost as bad as that no-good brother-in-law of mine. That blasted William Hann … he and my wicked sister Catherine truly deserved one another almost as much as they deserved their fate for all the evil they brought into the world with their every breath.”
Colin felt his breath catch in his throat. In all his years in this house, he had rarely heard his stepfather even mention his family, and it had never been with such vitriol. “Diana’s parents, you mean?”
The man nodded, though, from his eyes, Colin could see he was only half-listening. “They always thought they were so much better than me, you know. Always putting on airs, always looking down on James Leeson, as though I were beneath them. Hah!”
He spat a fat glob of red sputum onto the carpet. “They never understood me, never understood who I was. I had to show them, had to teach them that James Leeson is beneath nobody.Nobody.”
It was a sinister look that burned in Sir James’ eyes as his mind gleefully pored over whatever he was remembering. He seemed to forget Colin was present for a long moment, and Colin’s breath still did not come.
It felt as though Colin’s heart had been seized by a cold, dead hand. For a long while, he wondered what would become of his body if his heart never pumped again … but then it returned to its task and James Leeson to his broad complaints of the unjustness of the world at large. Eventually, the last of the wine was drunk just as Colin and James themselves were, and the older man dismissed his stepson as he returned to some business at his desk. Colin put on what he hoped was a passable look of unquestioning filial devotion and stumbled back to his room to fall asleep.
But sleep did not come, exhausted though he was. As the darkened room spun gently around him, the same question swirled within Colin over and over again for hours.
What was Sir James talking about, needing to teach his sister who he really is?
Chapter 18
No More Flowers
Compared to his stepfather’s study, Colin had always possessed a keen fondness for his own private study, small though it was. Really it was little more than a narrow enclave, too small to use for anything but an office for a particularly menial or narrow-shouldered clerk. Sir James had given him the space when he was only nine years old, and Colin had risen to the challenge by keeping it an orderly, efficient little study.
The study’s position just to the side of the house’s grand entryway meant visitors were forever wandering into it, assuming it was a cloakroom or necessary; while this was an unfortunately common occurrence, Colin felt this drawback was more than made up for by his opportunity to idly monitor the comings and goings of the house without being noticed.
Even in recent years, he found himself spending many happy hours reading or writing letters in his worn-down chair, feet often as not propped up on his little desk with his back pressed against the back wall. Of late, his stepfather had made some small noise about moving Colin to a setting more befitting the presumptive heir to the Leeson fortune but had never followed through with this proposition. In no hurry to bid farewell to this rare private space, Colin had not pushed the matter.
Today, however, there was no pleasure to be had in the little study, no pleasurable hours of reading nor idle scratching of verse in the margins of wrinkled newspapers. In fact, today, the room felt less a hermitage to Colin than a tomb, one occupied not only by a handsome young rake years before his time but by a malevolent ghost that haunted his every thought.
Sir James is an important man and must be treated as such,Colin thought, his head resting petulantly against his fist.It’s no surprise that he would not wish to make it broadly known that his sister did not treat him well. And even if he does possess an imposing aspect, that does not mean he was implying anything untoward. It is only right that a man teach respect to those who lack such a quality. Especially as great a man as Sir James Leeson, who has demonstrated his generosity and kindness a thousand times in his life.
Colin had considered these thoughts dozens if not hundreds of times over the previous twelve hours. By now, he had nearly convinced himself of their unvarnished veracity. Not that this improved his mood a single jot.
He leaned back in his chair with a mournful sigh, joylessly resting his feet on his scuffed and worn writing desk.I’m accomplishing nothing by spending all day running over the same blasted comment. What I need is something to take my mind off of it.Closing his eyes, he found himself wondering what Diana might be doing at this moment—the only subject that seemed to occur to him over the last several weeks.
She had not been at breakfast that morning, and Davenport had mentioned she had some manner of social engagement, so Colin was left to his own devices for some hours now. He shifted in his seat, feeling his blood pump a degree or two warmer as he wondered whether they might meet in the garden later in the day for another thrilling exploration amid the last of the summer flowers.
Then his eyes opened, an irritated expression on his face as he recalled their argument under the Hanging Tree the previous day. This was not their first spat, to be sure, but he felt a cloak of guilt settle over his shoulders at the memory.When did my life become so bloody dismal?
