“I see,” Joan said, folding the sheet again.
The duke’s eyes opened again, but only halfway. “Make certain it gets to . . .” The words were lost in a mumble.
“You can trust me to do the right thing with this document,” Joan told him.
“The croaking raven doth bellow for revenge,” Eversley said, his voice clear, if only a thread.
“Hamlet,” Joan exclaimed. “That’s from Hamlet.”
“I’ll be revenged on the whole pack of them.” His voice grated to a halt.
Joan waited for five minutes, but he didn’t open his eyes again, and his breathing was hardly audible. She touched his hand lightly. “Goodbye, Your Grace.”
She picked up the paper, tucked it in her coat, and walked out.
Chapter Twenty-three
The billiard room was crowded with tall, powerful gentlemen doing what comes naturally to men when they find themselves in company with limitless brandy: gossiping. For his part, Thaddeus had trounced Jeremy at billiards—a rare event—and retired to a deep armchair. He and the duke sat together in a comfortable silence.
Thaddeus occupied himself by staring up at the wooden tracery of the ceiling, where all the coats of arms of the Wildes were painstakingly detailed with gilt accents. A few others appeared there as well: that of the Duke of Wynter, for example. Since he was married to Viola, the new father was presumably no blood relation.
The duke followed his eyes. “We’ll add yours, the Eversley arms.”
“True or not?” Jeremy demanded of Parth on the other side of the billiard table, waving a glass of whiskey.
“True,” Parth said. He made a shot that ricocheted off three rails and rolled into the corner bag.
Jeremy gave a crack of laughter and turned around. “Lavinia has turned an entire chamber in their house into a museum for her gowns.”
Parth’s brows drew together. “My wife adores clothing. If she wants to turn our entire house into a museum, I will support her.” He considered. “Perhaps not the nursery.”
The door opened. Devin, Duke of Wynter and father of the newest Wilde offspring, stood there, his hair tousled, his eyes glowing. In his arms was a tiny, wrapped bundle. “Otis has arrived,” he announced, happiness visible in every lineament of his body.
The Duke of Lindow was the first at the door and took Otis in his arms. “Beloved boy,” His Grace said softly, kissing the child. “Welcome.”
Thaddeus moved to Devin’s side as the baby was handed from arm to arm, grown men cooing over the child with no respect for manliness. The Wildes were like that, Thaddeus had noticed. Fearless and unashamed when it came to emotion.
“Congratulations,” he told Devin.
Devin’s eyes never left his son, but he nodded. “I gather congratulations are in order for you as well.”
“Yes,” Thaddeus said.
Devin flashed a look at him before watching, narrow-eyed, as Otis was transferred from one uncle to another. “Here,” he said, starting forward, “watch his neck, you lobcock.”
Thaddeus melted into the corridor. Someday he would feel comfortable in the Wilde family, but not just yet. He turned left, intending to go to his chamber, and looked up in time to see a slender figure in green hurtling toward him. A smile curled his mouth as Joan melted into his embrace, talking so fast that he couldn’t understand.
“My father?” he asked, tucking her against him.
She pulled back enough so that he could see her face. “I have it, Thaddeus. I have it.” She caught her breath, panting. “See?” She stuck her hand inside her velvet coat and pulled out a folded sheet.
Thaddeus blinked. “How did you get it? You didn’t—”
“No, I didn’t steal it from a dying man!” she cried. “I’m not dressed as an angel either, so I didn’t frighten your father with tales of brimstone, though I have to say that he’s a horrid old man, Thaddeus, and he deserves whatever happens to him!”
Thaddeus gave her a wry smile. “I still hope he doesn’t encounter brimstone.”
“Of course,” Joan said repentantly. “Me too. I mean, so do I. But honestly, Thaddeus, he is not a nice man. I don’t think he’d repent his sins, not even if the Archbishop of Canterbury were to lay hands on him.”
Thaddeus looked about. “Perhaps we shouldn’t carry on this conversation in the corridor.” He couldn’t hear any sound from the billiard room, but at any moment the family might wash into the corridor, baby in tow.
“Let’s go to the turret,” Joan said. “I’d invite you to my chamber, but Aunt Knowe gave me a frightful scold earlier about not being scandalous. By which she meant, Don’t be caught in your bedchamber by the maids.”
She gave him an impish smile.
“Does your aunt know you’re wandering around the castle at night dressed in breeches?” Thaddeus took in her appearance. “And studded with jewels? If diamonds were raisins, you’d be a tasty cake.” Thaddeus wrapped his arms around her and nipped her earlobe. “Very tasty.” He felt himself harden against her thigh.
“We need to discuss this.” Joan held up the letter, crumpled after being caught between them.
Thaddeus allowed himself to be drawn down one corridor and up another, until they ducked under an archway and started up a winding stairway.
“We used to come here often,” Joan said over her shoulder.
“Why did you stop?”
“Aunt Knowe thinks it’s too dangerous with side panniers.”
Thaddeus agreed with her. The narrow walls turned with the stairs, and he couldn’t even stretch out both his arms.
“Breeches are so much better than panniers for climbing stairs!” Joan called happily, and skipped up a few steps.
They finally emerged on the turret that topped the family wing of the castle. Like everything at Lindow, the stones that made up the crenellations were massive, so heavy that it was difficult to imagine how they could have been levered into place. The gaps weren’t there to create a pretty border either. This was a battlement turret, built at just the right width to allow a man to launch a stone or pour some boiling oil over the edge.
Thaddeus walked to the edge to take a look. Looking out over the moonlit country, the acres that surrounded Lindow, including the dark mire that was Lindow Moss, Thaddeus had a sense of time and continuity. His father wanted to break the rules of primogeniture . . . but there was sense to it, unfair though it seemed. The Lindow duchy represented the achievement of generations marshaling their wealth and power.
His father, on the other hand, had tried to bankrupt Eversley Court. Perhaps the Duke of Eversley was so enraged at his parents that he wanted to destroy his heritage. It was a strange thought, but it made sense.
Joan was on the other side of the parapet. “Over here!” she called.
Thaddeus rounded the parapet and discovered his future wife sitting on a mattress tucked under a covered walkway. The moonlight was full in her face; she’d taken off her hat, and beams struck light from the diamonds around her neck.
But most of all, from her.
She shimmered.
Thaddeus sank to his knees before her. “Joan.” The word was so full of longing and love that he was almost embarrassed, but he pushed the thought away. “I love you.”