Page 51 of The Marriage Wager

He shrugged. “Impossible, anyway.” He looked at her and grinned. “Not much call these days for a knight or a corsair.” He gestured out in front of him. “You see the stream going down to Cowden? And there’s the tower of St. Edmund’s in the distance.” Closer to them, he indicated two of the farms that they had ridden past earlier this afternoon.

“You love this land very much, don’t you?” Constance remarked.

He glanced at her, surprised. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s in your voice. And in the way you know your tenants and their families. The way you asked after them.”

The knowledge caused a sharp pain in her chest. It was clear to her that Dominic would do whatever was necessary to help the estate. No doubt that would include marrying an heiress.

“I am surprised that you have stayed away from it so long,” she went on.

He glanced at her, his eyes bright and hard. “My father and I are…estranged.”

Constance did not say anything, reluctant to pry into his affairs, and after a moment, he went on. “He and I had a falling out years ago. He ordered me off the land. After that I could not return—would not have, even if I could. I gave up all ties to Redfields then. I despised the place. I despised my family.”

Constance made a small noise, and he looked at her. “You disapprove,” he said.

“No. I—I am just surprised. I had not realized how much your past troubled you.” She thought of his light manner, the easygoing smile. She had realized that there was a rift between him and his father, but she had not guessed at how deep it ran. The pain was still clear in his voice.

Dominic grimaced. “I have done my best to get away from my past, but I have found it a difficult thing to outrun.”

Constance took his hand, and he smiled down at her. “Dear Constance,” he said, reaching up with his other hand to cup her chin. “You are always so kind, so ready with your sympathy, your warmth. I fear you would be appalled if you knew what my family was really like.”

“I am sure I am a great deal less kind than you give me credit for,” she replied, with a rueful smile. “And whatever your family may be, I know you and I know your sister, and neither of you is wicked.”

“Perhaps Francesca and I were not wicked, only negligent. Selfish…” He sighed, then tugged her toward a large rock. “Come, sit down here with me, and I will tell you about the FitzAlans.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“FRANCESCA AND I WERE close in age, only a year apart,” Dominic began after they had sat down on the rock. He held Constance’s hand in one of his, with the other tracing a light pattern over her palm. He watched his finger on her skin, not looking at her as he told his story.

“We had an older brother, Terence,” he went on. “He was three years older than I. And we had a younger sister, Ivy.” He smiled sadly. “She was the baby. Such a beautiful little girl. I remember, I thought she looked like an angel.”

The loss in his voice pierced Constance with sorrow, and she took his hand in both of hers, bringing it up to lay a soft kiss upon it. For a long moment she cradled his hand against her cheek, then let their joined hands fall back to her lap.

“My brother, however, was anything but an angel. Terence was always a bully. He terrorized Francesca and me when we were young, but Ivy was enough younger than the three of us that he did not bother her. Our governess knew what Terence was, and she did her best to protect Francesca and me from him. There was, of course, only so much she could do, for our parents would hear no ill of Terence.” His mouth twisted with remembered bitterness. “Terence was the heir, the perfect son. As far as my mother and father were concerned, he could do no wrong. Fortunately, Francesca and I had each other, so we were able to join forces to combat him. And, even better, eventually he went off to Eton and we had to put up with him only at holidays.”

He paused, gazing out across the vista before them. “Terence was better as we grew older. I never really liked him, but he left us alone more. I’m not sure if he gave up his bullying or simply confined it to school. At any rate, we did not have to be around him much. After Eton, there was Oxford for a couple of years, and when he grew tired of that, he did a tour of the Continent, then lived in London for a while. Finally, when he did come home to live, I was not often at Redfields. I had started Oxford by then, and after that I was busy being a young blade in London. Francesca was not home much of the time, either. She made her debut and got married. Neither of us realized…”

He stopped. Cold dread filled Constance’s stomach. She almost hoped he would not continue.

“But finally, when Francesca was home visiting, Ivy confided in her. She was, of course, too frightened to tell our parents, too sure that they would not believe her. She told Francesca that Terence had—had been forcing himself upon her for the past two years, since she was only fourteen. And she was in despair.”

“Oh, Dominic,” Constance breathed, and she put her arms around him, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I am so sorry.”

He turned into her, sliding his arms around her and resting his cheek against her head. His voice was low and hoarse as he went on. “Francesca wrote to me. She urged me to come posthaste to Redfields and help them. She was frightened, but she hoped that while she was there, Terence would not try anything with Ivy. She had Ivy sleep in the room with her. But Terence tried to get around Francesca. He wanted to take Ivy riding with him, and she fled to Francesca, who confronted him, told him that she knew all about him and what he had done. He denied it, of course. He swore that Ivy was making it all up. Francesca went to my parents with Ivy and told them everything. And my parents…my parents sided with Terence. As they had always done. They would not believe Ivy. Francesca begged them to let Ivy come live with her, but they refused. They said it would reflect badly on them. They were afraid that Ivy would spread her ‘lies’ about Terence, about them.”

Dominic released Constance and sprang to his feet, as though unable to sit still any longer. He paced away from her and back, and she watched helplessly, seeing his pain and wishing that she could take it from him somehow.

“Francesca assured Ivy that all hope was not lost. When I arrived, she told her we would get her out of there. But Ivy did not believe her.” His mouth twisted, and moisture glimmered in his eyes. “And why should she have? All of us had failed her already. For two years she had been subjected to Terence and his attacks, and we had done nothing.”

“You didn’t know!” Constance cried out, jumping to her feet. “You couldn’t be expected to know.”

“I knew what he had been like. I should have paid more attention when I was home. I should have asked Ivy. Dear Lord, surely if I had just looked at her more closely, I would have seen her unhappiness! But I did not. I was having far too much fun cutting a swath through London.” He swung around, staring off into the distance as he said, “Ivy killed herself shortly before I arrived. She stole my father’s dueling pistol, and went out into the woods and shot herself in the head.”

“Oh, Dominic!” Constance went to him, her heart aching with pity. She wrapped her arms around him from behind, resting her cheek against his back. “I’m so sorry. I’m so terribly sorry.”

He crossed his hands over hers, holding her tightly to him. “That is why I attacked Terence at her gravesite. No doubt someone has filled your ear with that story. It will not surprise you, I am sure, to hear that my father again sided with Terence. He threw me out and told me never to come back. I told him I had no desire ever to set foot in the house again. I left. My uncle, my mother’s brother, bought me my commission, and I went to the Peninsula. I never saw or spoke to my brother or my parents again until Terence died in a riding accident. My father had to take me back then. I was the heir. And I had to return. I never wanted anything less.”