The Virgin in the Rake’s Bed by Ava MacAdams
Chapter Thirty-Five
Catherine screamed. Her brother had a manic looking in his eyes. His clothes were disheveled, and it appeared as though he had barely slept. Nicholas stepped forward to protest, but Rickard pointed the pistol at him, and Rebecca too, let out a scream.
“Nicholas, no,” she exclaimed, and Nicholas stepped back, the look on Rickard’s face enough to know he was serious in his intentions.
“How dare you,” the Duke of Sinclair exclaimed, stepping in front of the Duchess who gave an exasperated cry.
“Is it not a little late for chivalrous actions?” she exclaimed.
“Be quiet, all of you,” Rickard shouted, herding them back toward the far wall of the drawing room.
Ian had his arm protectively around Catherine, and even her father looked somewhat surprised at this astonishing interruption. “Now, Rickard, there is no need for this,” he said.
“Do you know what they have done, father? Did you not receive my letter? I have followed them across the whole country. They are married,” he cried, still pointing the pistol at Ian, his hands trembling as he did so.
“I know that, and we have come to an agreement,” Catherine’s father replied.
“Over a bastard?” Rickard screamed, cocking the pistol as he did so.
“There are things you do not know,” Catherine’s father continued, “things which make it best for us to forget this matter.”
“You should listen to your father,” the duke said, but Rickard would listen to no one.
Catherine had never seen such anger in his eyes. He was a man consumed by hatred, and though terrified of what he would do, she could almost pity him. He had nothing of his own, and he had foolishly believed that her marriage to the Earl of Westwood would bring him fortune and a bright future. Now, left with nothing but his own faults to dwell on, it was hardly surprising he should resort to such irrational actions.
“I will listen to no one. This man is your illegitimate son, and the whole ton will soon know it. The marriage is not binding and will be annulled. Catherine will marry the Earl of Westwood, and there is nothing any of you can do to prevent it,” he cried.
“I think you will find there is,” Ian replied, and now Rickard grew even angrier.
“I will kill you. That is what I shall do. I will shoot you, and then you shall no recourse to my sister. We shall not need an annulment, for a widow may marry as she chooses,” he said, but to Catherine’s immense surprise, it was her father who now took action.
It all happened so quickly that no one quite knew what was happening. Rickard had made to fire the pistol at Ian, who had pushed Catherine out of the way, the two of them ending up in a heap on the floor. Catherine’s father, too, had lunged forward, knocking Rickard to one side, the pistol going off as he did so. The rest of the party had taken cover, Nicholas and Rebecca beneath a large pianoforte in one corner of the room, and the duke and duchess behind an ornate gold etched screen in another.
As the smoke from the pistol settled, Ian leaped to his feet, throwing himself onto Rickard as Nicholas did the same. The sound of the pistol shot had brought the servants running, and soon Rickard was in the arms of two burly footmen, the pistol kicked onto the rug by the hearth. Catherine got to her feet, rushing to help Rebecca who, in the excitement, had twisted her ankle as she dived beneath the pianoforte.
“I am all right, just a sprain,” she said, as Catherine helped her into a chair.
“Catherine…” Ian said, pointing to the floor. To her horror, Catherine saw her father lying motionless there, blood seeping from his shoulder, and she hurried to his side, urging him to wake up.
“Father, can you hear me? Oh…” she cried, looking desperately around her for something to stem the bleeding.
“Here, use these,” Nicholas said, handing her a pile of napkins from the refreshment table, and suddenly her father gave a groan, rolling onto his back and looking up at her with a dazed expression.
“Shot by my own son,” he exclaimed, letting out a cry of pain, as Catherine stemmed the blood from his wound.
It was only superficial, a graze to the shoulder from a pistol which must have been thirty years old, more smoke and noise than potential for harm. But the shock of what had transpired, and of the intention behind it was enough to bring everyone to their senses.
“Have the magistrate summoned, I want that man clapped in irons and before a court,” the duke exclaimed, and Nicholas now called for brandies to be poured for everyone – including the women.
“Something to steady the nerves,” he said, handing Catherine a glass.
Catherine’s nerves were far from steady, and she hardly believed what had happened. She knew her brother to be ambitious, but to go to such length to secure his own fortune was quite remarkable. The thought of losing Ian brought tears to her eyes, and she sank back against one of the chairs, and let out a deep sigh.
“Oh, it is too awful,” she exclaimed, looking up as Rickard was dragged from the room.
“It is all right, Catherine. It is all over now,” Ian said, and he came to put his arms around her.
“It is not entirely over,” the duchess said, and now pointed a finger at her husband and fixed him with an angry glare.
“The facts will not be revealed. I think Broderick has come to his senses. If not from my threats, then from the bullet wound inflicted by his own son. Madness, that is what has led to this, lust for power,” the duke replied.
“Madness, yes, but one which I cannot forgive, not ever,” the Duchess exclaimed.
“What do you mean?” the duke demanded.
“Father, this is all too much. You cannot remain here any longer, not under my roof, not with this revelation. My suggestion is you return to the colonies and we do not speak of this matter again,” Nicholas said, and his mother nodded.
“I think that a very good idea. You were always very good at shirking your responsibilities, George. And I, for one, think the colonies a far better place for you to make your home than under my roof. You have spent enough time there, and who knows, perhaps another of your children will take pity on you,” she said, as the duke swallowed hard, a look of utmost dejection coming over his face.
“But my dear, you know…” he began, but the duchess was no longer interested.
“Out of my sight. You have brought shame on us all, George, and I will no longer be second fiddle to your games. It may all be in the past, but to me, it is very real. I have suffered enough for this marriage, but do not worry, I will keep your reputation intact. You may remain simply absent and unlikely to return,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.
Catherine could not help but admire the duchess’s strength of character, and the duke appeared a broken man, glancing from his son, to his wife and back, each of them unwavering in their response.
“It is for the best, Father,” Nicholas said, and at the word “father,” he glanced at Ian, who shook his head.
“This has been a truly tragic affair,” Ian said, but Nicholas shook his head.
“But not of our own making, brother. How fortunate we are to not be like our own parents,” he said, and Ian nodded.
The duke now slunk away, leaving Catherine, Ian, Rebecca, Nicholas, and the duchess in the drawing room, Catherine’s father having been taken away by one of the footmen so that a doctor might be summoned. Dinner was long forgotten, and no one expressed a desire for further refreshment, save for another drink. The lingering smell of gunpowder hung in the air, but at last Catherine could breathe a sigh of relief in the hope that all was over.
“Then in avoiding a scandal, perhaps I have renewed a friendship, too,” Ian said, and raising his glass to Nicholas, he offered a toast.
“But is this dreadful affair resolved?” Catherine asked, and Ian nodded.
“I believe it is. No one will believe the ravings of a man who would shoot his own father in desperation, nor will he find his future secured if he breathes as much as a whisper of what he knows. The duke had long suspected your father of underhand dealings, and any scrutiny of his dealings will surely bring forth all the evidence required,” he said, slipping his hand into hers.
“And you can have your happily ever after,” Rebecca said, smiling at them both.
“Well, I would like one thing,” Catherine replied, and Ian smiled at her.
“Name it,” he said, and she blushed.
“I would like a real wedding, with all my friends to see us blessed,” she said, and Ian nodded.
“Then marry me again, Catherine, and you shall have everything you desire.”
