Both Hetty and the marquess whirled about, openmouthed, to see Sir Archibald standing quietly in the doorway. Jason’s first thought was that he’d been a fool not to have checked that the door was locked before he’d loved Hetty. Well, that wasn’t important now. Sir Archibald said again, “I did.” He smiled at both of them impartially.
“Father,” Hetty said, running to his side. “What are you talking about? No, you didn’t hear what Jason said. We were speaking of Damien and who would have had the power, the motive, to have him removed from England. Certainly not you. Damien was your son.”
Sir Archibald gazed fondly down at his daughter and fought down the stab of pain he felt whenever he thought of his second son. “You must forgive me,” he said, his eyes searching out the marquess, “for overhearing your discussion, but I was coming to greet you, my boy. I understand you were at Thurston Hall with my darling Hetty here. Did you much enjoy yourselves?”
“Yes, sir, we did. But what do you mean that you did it?”
Sir Archibald sighed deeply and laid his hand upon Hetty’s shoulder. “I didn’t realize, my child, that you had even discovered that there was more to Damien’s leaving England than a simple reassignment. I had hoped to spare you further pain. Now I see that you and the marquess have become embroiled in the affair. You must understand, my child, there was no other choice. You see, Damien had become a traitor to his country.”
Hetty stared in shocked silence at her father.
The marquess said, “Surely, sir, that can’t be so. What do you mean, Damien a traitor? That makes no sense, he died for England at Waterloo.”
Sir Archibald sighed again and shook his silver head. “Alas, it’s all too true. I never told either you, Hetty, or Jack, for I didn’t want you to think less of your brother. I didn’t want you to hate him. I wanted to protect both you and Jack from what he’d done. But now that you and Jason here seem to understand more than I’d ever believed possible, then I must tell you the truth. I’m sorry for the pain it will cause you, Henrietta, for the hatred you will doubtless feel for your brother.”
Hetty gazed at her father, a gentle man, yet a man impassioned by political fervor, a man whose life was dedicated to directing English affairs as he envisioned them.
She placed her hand on his sleeve. “Please, Father, you say that Damien was a traitor. I must know what you mean by that. I can’t believe it.”
Sir Archibald looked at Lord Oberlon. “I must tell Henrietta the ugly truth. And since she has obviously confided in you, my boy, then you will hear it, too. I beg both of you to leave Damien’s shame in this room, to allow it to go no further. I have intended you all along as the husband for Henrietta, and since soon you will be one of the family, it is your right to hear of our disgrace. If you wish to cry off, then surely even Henrietta will understand. It’s a sad tale, Damien’s story is, but I fancy that he gained redemption at the end, as I meant him to.”
“I don’t understand this,” Hetty said flatly. “Stop speaking in circles, Father. What do you mean that Damien was a traitor? A traitor to whom? Father, please, you must tell me if you had anything to do with Damien’s death. How could you ever believe Damien a traitor?”
“Very well, my child,” Sir Archibald said finally. “You must be brave, for you will be as shocked as I was when you learn of your brother’s actions. I trust when I’m done, you will understand why I had to take such drastic steps. It was for the honor of our family. For the honor of England.”
The marquess moved next to Hetty and took her hand in his. He squeezed it. Neither of them said a word. Sir Archibald moved wearily to the large winged chair near to the fireplace, one so shortly before that had given rise to Hetty’s first sexual pleasure, and sat himself down. He stared a moment into the glowing flames before continuing in a surprisingly strong and forceful voice. “You hadn’t yet come to London, Henrietta. For some reason that I did not at first comprehend, Damien asked for and received an extended leave from his military duties. I believed at first that he had finally decided to find himself a wife and settle down. I was disabused of that notion when your brother informed me that he intended to run as the Whig candidate from a borough in Somerset, under the patronage of that infamous, thieving Lord Grayson. I was, of course, appalled that my own son would desire to join in the political fray against me, and I reprimanded him sharply. He told me that Tories Whigs they were all one and the same to him, and that he sought only justice for Englishmen. His notion of securing justice, Henrietta, was to join forces with the baser element of the Whig contingent to incite the rabble in Manchester and Leeds to riot. You won’t wish to credit this, my child, but he then called me a mindless old fool. Accused me, he did, of trying to hold England back from her rightful destiny and that was the destruction of the aristocracy. Only their destruction would elevate the common man to political equality with his betters. His subsequent words were even more fanatical and traitorous, and I refuse to sully your ears with his raving insults, his vile accusations. He accused me of fanaticism. Me! I couldn’t believe that I’d spawned such a vile creature. I finally became convinced that my blood my son was one of that lot bent upon destroying the very fabric of England. I couldn’t allow it.