Page 51

The only time in her life when needlework had not consumed her was during her supposed elopement, when she’d thought she was finding freedom with Morgan.

That had turned out to be merely another trap.

Mr. Pryce led her to a settee. When she took a seat, he sat down next to her. “You’re much like my nephew, I suspect. He pours his frustration into his passion, too, except that his passion happens to be pistols. His guns allow him the control over his life that he lacks.”

The last person to whom she’d compare herself just now was Sebastian. She eyed him bitterly. “In what possible way does your nephew lack control over his life, pray tell? He owns a vast, unencumbered estate that he rules with absolute power. He seems even to have control over you and your estate at times.”

“That is merely an illusion, all of it.” He fell silent a moment, staring off across the room. When he spoke again, his voice held an edge. “Charnwood runs like a finely crafted watch these days, but Sebastian knows better than anyone how easily such efficiency can be ripped away. He’s seen it happen before.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

He swung his gaze back to her. “You don’t seem terribly fond of my nephew. Is it because of what his brother did?”

His “brother,” ha! She scowled at him. Did the man know the truth? Because if he did, and he was covering for Sebastian’s lies, he was as bad as his nephew, despite his appearance otherwise. “You could say that.”

“Before you make any judgments, you should know some things about Morgan and Sebastian.” He searched her face. “And about my brother-in-law, Sebastian’s father.”

“Are these the family secrets you were offering? Because if you mean to tell me that the previous baron was a notorious rake, I’m well aware of that.”

“Ah, but you are not aware of how that affected my nephews. It was Edward’s philandering that drove my sister to flee the marriage, leaving Morgan to grow up in exile and Sebastian to grow up motherless and friendless. You can’t possibly know what that meant for them.”

She tipped up her chin. “Actually, I do know what it’s like to grow up motherless. My own mother died giving birth to me.” The sympathy that flared in his eyes was so obviously genuine it hurt for her to look at it. Swallowing hard, she averted her gaze.

“But you had sisters to fill the role of mother. And a father who was part of your life. Sebastian had no one.”

So now they’d come to the crux of the matter. Sebastian. Not Morgan, but Sebastian. She shot Mr. Pryce a hard look. “He had his father. And you.”

“He had no one,” Mr. Pryce repeated firmly. “After my sister left, Edward abandoned Sebastian at Charnwood with a nurse and the housekeeper, then returned to London to enjoy himself. Sebastian rarely saw him.” A trace of remorse filled his face. “My parents were dead, so I spent my days in London, too. As a young buck on the town, I did not concern myself with my young nephew, believing that he was well taken care of at the estate.”

By servants? she thought, vainly attempting to squelch her sympathy for a little boy ignored by all family and left to his own devices in a huge, soulless mansion.

“He was fourteen when I married,” Mr. Pryce went on, “but my wife and I rarely came to Foxglen. We enjoyed the delights of town.” A heavy sigh shook him. “After she became ill, we made the round of physicians, hoping for a cure. By the time we repaired here, when Lucinda was dying, Sebastian was twenty-two. My wife required my full attention anyway. There was no time for my nephew, even if he’d needed my help.”

His revelations tugged at her heart, which infuriated her. “Why are you telling me all this?” She rose from her seat and went to stand before the fire, trying to distance herself from his heart-wrenching revelations.

“You asked me how he lacked control in his life. I’m merely explaining.” His clipped tone bore into her back. “Sebastian grew up alone and friendless, inevitably tainted by the scandals his father attracted. Even out here we get the papers, you know, and they were full of Edward’s exploits. Sebastian couldn’t go into town without hearing his neighbors speak of his father with contempt and censure. As a child, he blamed himself, sure that his father’s behavior was connected to the death of Ophelia while she was bringing Sebastian into the world. No doubt you’re familiar with the guilt a child can feel in such a circumstance, warranted or not.”

She stared wordlessly into the flames. Oh, yes, she was quite familiar. It still haunted her to know her mother had died bringing her into the world, no matter how much her family dismissed her culpability.

“Sebastian reacted by arguing with anyone who condemned Edward’s behavior. The more the townspeople criticized, the more Sebastian defended him. That brought on their pity, which only angered him. Nor did it help that he had to watch pieces of his inheritance being sold off to pay for Edward’s London extravagances–his mistresses and other entertainments. Or that he had to witness a succession of stewards steal his father blind, though he wrote Edward repeatedly about their incompetence. Yet despite all the evidence of Edward’s true character, Sebastian was stubborn, damn his hide. He made excuses for his father at every turn.”

“Children often do.” She thought of all the excuses she’d made for Papa’s behavior through the years.

“But everything changed when he turned thirteen.”

Sudden awareness dawned as she put together what else she’d heard. She faced him, feeling her heart twist in her chest. “When he learned the truth about his mother.”

Mr. Pryce nodded. “Once he knew that his mother had left deliberately to escape his father, he could no longer excuse Edward’s actions. Nor could he stand by and watch the man destroy himself, his family, and his estate through a lack of character or sense of responsibility.”

“So Sebastian ran Charnwood himself,” she mused aloud.

He eyed her with interest. “You heard that, did you? Yes, he demanded it of Edward, and fortunately for the estate Edward agreed. By that point, my brother-in-law was so sunk into depravity he didn’t much care what happened at Charnwood.”

“Still, to leave his affairs in the hands of a boy of thirteen—”

“It was the only wise thing Edward ever did.” A half smile played about his rouged lips. “Sebastian at thirteen was more capable than the average man at twenty, I assure you. By the time he was seventeen, he’d reversed the dangerous downward spiral begun by his father. By the time he was twenty-six and Edward died fighting a duel, Sebastian had restored Charnwood to its former glory. And he did it all alone. That’s the sort of man he is.”

Her throat constricted painfully. Not the sort of man who’d kidnap a young woman on behalf of smugglers. How could someone so responsible risk the family name he’d fought so hard to protect?