Page 42 of The Secret Life of a Lady
It struck Killian again how similar Alfred looked to Patrick. But he was also a copy of his father. Unfortunately, Alfred inherited his father’s double-chin. Patrick had been spared that feature. Perhaps it would have developed over time if he had been given the chance to live long enough. Killian pushed down the guilt and focused on his task.
Lord Cavendale smiled at Killian, the wrinkles around his eyesdeepening. ‘Thank you for taking time to speak with us about such a painful topic. It may seem masochistic for me to want details, but sometimes imagination can be a cruel monster, creating the worst of scenarios.’
Alfred made a noise in the back of his throat like a choked cough. ‘Please. Are you really thanking the man responsible for Patrick’s death?’
‘Alfred!’ Lord Cavendale turned on his son, his mouth tightening as white brackets formed at the corners of his lips. His face grew red with anger or embarrassment, perhaps both.
Alfred couldn’t be more different than his father in manner. Lord Cavendale was courteous and kind; his son was a battering ram.
Alfred glared at Killian, not bothering to mask his hostility. Killian knew anger and grief were twins born from the same pain. He couldn’t blame Alfred for his disdain, but the man’s rudeness still chafed.
‘I won’t sit here and pretend to be grateful to this man, Father. Unlike you, I hold no kind feelings toward a leader who failed to protect his men.’
The bullet hit its mark, and Killian clenched his hands to stop them from shaking. He had failed so many.
‘Silence! I won’t have any child of mine behave like a savage.’ Lord Cavendale’s voice shook as he gripped the armrest of his chair. ‘I want to know what happened to my Patrick. Lieutenant General Killian has agreed to meet with us. Control yourself or get out.’
‘I already know what happened.’ Alfred stood and tugged roughly on his jacket. He strode around the low table, stopping several feet away from Killian. He jabbed his finger at Killian like a sabre. ‘You, sir, are why Patrick is dead, and no amount of bills passed in the House of Lords for wounded soldiers will absolveyou of your crime.’ Unshed tears shone in the younger man’s eyes.
Alfred’s words were a guillotine severing Killian’s hard-won composure. Both Alfred and his father deserved to hear at least some of the truth. Something to ease their pain. If Killian could offer a moment of peace, he must do it.
Rage and grief sometimes amalgamated into something else entirely. A raw need for revenge that would never be fulfilled. A madness with no cure, and he loathed for either of these men to embrace that monster. Killian forced his voice to soften. ‘I do not seek absolution. But I would offer you some comfort if I can. Patrick fought bravely. You should know he died with honour.’ The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he did not regret it.
Alfred’s skin mottled red, contrasting against lips pressed so tight, they were a single white line. ‘I don’t need you to tell me that my brother was brave or honourable.’ Alfred’s voice broke. ‘Patrick was always perfect. Even in death.’ He cleared his throat and spun around. ‘I’ll take my leave.’ He strode from the room without another word, slamming the door behind him.
Lord Cavendale wiped his hand over his mouth. ‘Allow me to apologise for my son. Older brothers are supposed to be an example for their younger siblings. But Alfred followed along behind Patrick from the moment his younger brother could walk. I think Alfred’s lost now, without Patrick to lead the way.’ Lord Cavendale laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. Killian wished he could say something to help, but words failed him.
Lord Cavendale leaned back in the chair, his sharp gaze taking in details Killian wished he could hide. The sheen of perspiration on Killian’s brow. The way Killian couldn’t hold Cavendale’s frank stare. The black halo of disgrace that covered him.
‘Alfred is wrong about you, son.’ Cavendale nodded at Killian in wordless affirmation. ‘Patrick’s death is not your fault. PoorAlfred has always tried so hard to be the kind of man Patrick was. Tried and failed. When Patrick joined the military, his brother went out and joined one of those secret societies of all things. As if that was the same.’ Cavendale tapped his fingers on the chair’s arm. ‘Don’t let Alfred upset you, Lieutenant General. He doesn’t understand men like us. Men like my Patrick.’
Killian couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be to lose a son like Patrick and try to guide another like Alfred. He wanted to ease Lord Cavendale’s embarrassment about Alfred’s behaviour. ‘Grief does strange things to people. And Alfred is right. It was my job to protect the men under my command. Including Patrick. I failed in my duties.’
Lord Cavendale harrumphed, an oddly comforting sound. ‘Bollocks! I followed the campaign, you know. You did the best you could in an impossible situation.’
A footman entered carrying a silver tray laden with various pots and dishes. He set up the coffee, cream, sugar, and cups on the table and then exited.
Lord Cavendale poured two cups of steaming, black liquid. ‘Please, join me.’
Killian leaned forward to take the offered cup, inhaling the rich aroma. Lord Cavendale’s study was large enough to be comfortable without seeming ostentatious. Killian glanced to his left where three bay windows looked out onto the grounds. His entire body tightened. A distinctive leather boot, too small for a man’s, poked out from underneath the forest-green curtains of the far-left window.
Impertinent woman!
Hannah must have been snooping in the study. She wouldn’t have assumed Lord Cavendale to be conducting business so early with guests in his manor. All Cavendale needed to do was glance to his right, and she would be discovered.
Killian stood. Lord Cavendale raised a surprised eyebrow but was forced to join him.
Killian cleared his throat. ‘I know you have questions about Patrick, but I would like to have this conversation when Alfred is present. You both deserve to hear the details. Perhaps I can speak to Alfred privately and ease his anger.’ He grasped for a line of conversation that would get them out of the study. ‘I have been told he has an interest in horses and that you have quite an excellent array of specimens in your stables. Major General Drake and I were hoping you would give us a tour. It might give me an inroad to winning over Alfred.’ He gestured toward the door.
Lord Cavendale’s eyes brightened. ‘Clever idea! I admit, I hoped you and Alfred might strike up a friendship. He would benefit from your influence.’ He clapped a hand on Killian’s shoulder. Killian felt a strange warmth, something close to acceptance emanating from the older man. Lord Cavendale smiled at Killian, his crooked teeth lending an endearing quality to the expression. ‘Yes, quite. I would be happy to show off some of Alfred’s prime stallions. His hobby is an extravagance, but he keeps telling me there’s profit to be made in quality horseflesh. Perhaps we can convince him to join us.’ He stepped forward.
Killian glanced behind him. The boot disappeared behind the drapes. Just as he reached the door, he paused. ‘I must return to my room to get my gloves. Shall we meet in the stables in fifteen minutes?’
Cavendale nodded his agreement, and they turned in opposite directions. Killian slowed his pace and listened to the older gentleman’s boots echoing down the hall. When he could no longer hear them, he spun and retraced his steps. Moving swiftly, he snuck back into the study just as Miss Simmons emerged from the drapes.
‘You sneaky little minx.’ He shut the door behind him andenjoyed watching Hannah’s face transition from surprise to annoyance.
‘How did you know I was here?’ Her dark brows furrowed, creating a crease between them.
