Page 92 of The Danger of Desire
“None of us are supposed to lie,” Hart put in, “but we all do.”
“Ah, but I have a Wesleyan servant,” Delia said, “and he takes that stricture about not lying very seriously. The fact that this man lied to cover up such horrible behavior shows that he knew what he was doing was wrong.”
Hart nodded. “Pickering was an arse, always disapproving whenever we boys got away with mischief. Since he knew he’d have Warren to himself a whole week, he decided it was his chance to set my rebellious brother straight once and for all. Pickering stuffed Warren in the cellar and brought him food and drink, but that was about it. Only left him enough oil for the Argand lamp to last a couple of hours each day, and after that...”
“Total darkness,” she whispered, pity swelling up in her for her poor husband.
“I think he meant to keep him there the whole week,” Hart went on, “but Warren stepped on the Argand lamp in the dark and broke it, gashing his leg in the process.”
Ah, yes, his scar. Oh, Lord, how awful. “How did you step on a lamp?” she asked her husband.
Warren downed some brandy. “I was trying to stomp on the rats.”
“Rats! The devil you say!” Her heart could scarcely bear the thought.
“I never knew that,” Hart said. “I always wondered how you managed to break that lamp by stepping on it.” He turned back to her. “Anyway, that put an end to the cellar treatment. Pickering had to let him out.”
“So my leg could be treated,” Warren said dully.
Hart shot his brother a look of sympathy. “Pickering was the sort of fellow more focused on the hatred of wickedness and less on the good works taught by the Methodists. Mother was badly mistaken in his character.”
“Was she?” Warren snapped. “Or did she just not care, as long as her minion succeeded in getting theheirto toe the line?”
“Your mother sanctioned the punishment?” Delia asked.
“Of course not,” Hart said. “She was appalled when she learned of it. Dismissed Pickering straightaway.”
Turning to face the fireplace, Warren took a large gulp of brandy but said nothing in response. Apparently he blamed his mother still. Not that Delia was surprised, given how the woman’s neglect had doomed him to a lifetime of nightmares.
Just then, a footman came in bearing the brandy Warren had asked for, along with food and a bottle of wine.
The three of them fell silent while the servant set everything out. But as soon as the man had gone, Hart went to pour himself some of the “good” brandy. “Anyway, Warren used to have awful nightmares about his time in the cellar. Fortunately, he grew out of those as he got older.”
Her husband froze with his back to her.
“Did he?” Somehow she managed to speak past the tears clogging her throat. “That’s good, at least.”
Warren jerked his head around to meet her gaze, a flush rising up his cheeks as his eyes bore into hers.
“They were horrible,” Hart said. “He used to keep everyone in the nursery up at night with his thrashing about and his screams.”
She couldn’t take her eyes from her husband. “Then I’m glad to hear he got over them. I’d hate to think of him suffering so for all his life.”
Was that gratitude she saw flash in Warren’s eyes?
It broke her heart. Could he really think she would betray his secret? Because clearly he’d been hiding his ongoing nightmares from his family.
He probably would have hidden them fromher, too, if she hadn’t accidentally witnessed one. God forbid that he let anyone see anything he would regard as a weakness. Even his wife.
“Anyway,” Warren said with clearly feigned nonchalance, “that is all far in the past, and frankly, rather boring.” He set down his glass. “So, Hart, what do you say? Shall we go paint the town red as we used to in the old days?”
Hart glanced from Warren to her and seemed belatedly to recognize the undercurrents between her and his brother. “That was before you were married, old chap. Now that you are, I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your beautiful bride. Especially a mere day and a half after the wedding.”
With a faint smile for her, Hart picked up the brandy bottle. “Besides, I just got off a transport ship after weeks at sea, and I’m exhausted. I never sleep well on those things. So I shall take myself and your fine brandy off to my usual room and my usual comfy bed and let you get on with your evening.” He bowed to her. “Lovely to meet you, Lady Knightford.”
“Lovely to meet you, too, Captain Lord Hartley. I’m so glad to get to know one of Warren’s brothers.” And to get to the bottom of the issue with the nightmares.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, and winked.
