Page 51 of The Proposition
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When Audric was just a tender lad, his father took him on his first hunt. He remembered the dry whisper of the branches across his face and the nearby churn of the river, the birdsong that crested to a panic as they were alerted to a human presence, and the ruffle of feathers as they were startled out of their trees. Away, away, to elude the hunters.
The hare twenty yards off in the brush was not so lucky. Audric crouched, unseen, his father’s breath hot on his neck. The boy watched the hare’s eyes, bulbous and wild, its tiny velvet nose twitching as it listened and waited but did not perceive its doom.
Audric remembered thinking the hare could see him there, downwind but surely somewhat visible among the mounded leaves. He remembered the uneasy stirring in his gut as he recognized in that animal something familiar—a will to survive despite the great bigness of the world and the smallness of himself. Powerlessness and the acceptance of that fact. His father was bearing down on him, holding him roughly by the shoulder as Audric hoisted the rifle to aim. He fired and missed the easy shot.
His father’s grip turned biting and cruel.
“Always you stumble at the crucial moment. Fool boy.”
He was no longer afraid of the vastness of the world, and he no longer felt powerless. He would not stumble at the crucial moment.
Concealed by the shadow of a tall, crumbling garden statue, he watched Denning Ede worry his thumb across the top of a crystal glass, pacing among the unblooming azaleas and rain-soft earth. A cold, lush smell filled the garden, the plants and bushes growing unchecked, a primitive, overrun remnant of some more refined time.
The far-off lanterns glowing along the walls at the edge of the property showed Ede to have a face older than his years. Worry lived deep in the cracks along his forehead, eyes, and mouth. Audric pressed himself against the statue as footsteps rapidly approached.
“I hope you realize you have disrupted a most pleasant evening,” muttered Ede.
“Your little hobbies can wait. Until our business is concluded I own you.”
That thrum in his chest had not lied—their quarry had come. Turner Boyle lurked under the high collar of a thickcoat, his red hair a tangled snarl as he grabbed the cup out of Ede’s hands and drank from it.
“I suppose none of this behavior should shock me,” the older man said with a sigh. “You remind me so much of my younger self. It is truly humbling. And sobering.”
“Inspiring, I think you mean.” Boyle laughed darkly. “Ambition runs in the blood.”
In the blood? Audric strained to see the two men better.
“The documents will be yours this evening. Chilvers is the very best in London. The child is made your ward, and the Boyle line is no longer extinct. Unless your godforsaken parents return from America, they will be none the wiser. It is finished, boy, do you hear me? It is finished, and you will never extort another farthing from me. I only have one final question: What makes this child so important to you?”
“He is a loose end,” Boyle replied with a shrug. “This is the beginning of the rest of my very happy life, and I will not leave anything to chance.”
“May God have mercy on that boy.”
Boyle returned the glass, though Ede was reluctant to take it. “I am most obliged,Father.”
“Insolent welp,” Ede hissed. He took a threatening step toward Boyle. “Stupidly, I once admired your mother’s soft heart, but now I see what it has produced. You should have been hided, hard and often; it might have made you a man instead of this…this beast.”
“It takes one to know one.” Boyle performed a mockery of a bow. “Thank you for your cooperation in these matters, Father.”
“Never speak that word to me again!” The crystal cup flew across the garden, shattering against the statue thatsheltered Audric. Glass twinkled down into the bushes, hard, glinting tears. “With this done, you are no longer my issue, you are Boyle’s, and this child is a Boyle. Do not forget that this pistol is pointed both ways, boy.”
“How could I?” Boyle sneered. “A bastard is never allowed the luxury of forgetfulness.”
“Or gratitude. Or humility, it seems.” Ede seemed to wilt, his shoulders collapsing inward. “Go and go now, before you are seen. My courier will handle what remains.”
With another ridiculous bow, Boyle was gone.
18
Clemency’s mind spun so fast the room tilted, a blur of bad wallpaper and Oriental rugs, an upside-down Vauxhall fireworks explosion that left her clutching the back of a chair for support. She had wandered out from Mrs. Chilvers’s study in a fog, taking careful, tiny steps until she at last rejoined the other guests and lost herself briefly in their too-loud laughter.
“Clemency! Oh, you are quite pale! Are you ill?” Tansy had come, peering into her face with a worried expression.
“Some air will set me to rights,” Clemency lied. She would need rather more than some air. But anywhere other than that hot, crowded room would be an improvement. “Stay,” she told Tansy. “Just…stay. I will not be long.”
The documents hidden in her bodice scratched against her skin, an unfriendly reminder of all that had just transpired. Awhirl. Her brain was awhirl. She hurried clumsily to the entrance hall and then out the door, ignoring the maid who looked stricken at the thought of her going out without a wrap.
