The Suffragette Scandal
Page 5

He’d had enough of people making him into someone else, and the boy who had grown up in this house might as well stay dead, for all the use he’d been.
“You, on the other hand,” he finished smoothly, “can. You will.”
James blinked, taken aback, but seemed to take this as simple truth. He seemed, even, to think that Edward had given him a compliment. He nodded, looking faintly relieved to discover that his entire world was not going to be upended.
God, James was so simple to read. Relief was evident first in the slump of his shoulders. That was followed by an intake of breath and a narrowing of his eyes. He looked at Edward in sudden suspicion. He was no doubt wondering why his brother had returned from the dead after all these years if not to claim the title. Soon enough, James would realize this was a negotiation, not a reunion.
“You need an allowance, then.” James sounded resigned.
“God, no.” Ongoing blackmail was never his preference. There were too many opportunities to get caught. Edward thought of the file underneath his fingertips. “There’s only one thing I want from you.”
James leaned forward. “Well?”
Edward flattened his hand on the newspaper clippings. “You’re going to leave off whatever it is you’re plotting to do to Stephen Shaughnessy.”
James let out a long, slow breath. He reached up and rubbed his forehead. “I see.”
“Your word that you won’t hurt him, directly or indirectly. That’s all I want; give me that, and I’ll let you live out your life in peace.”
“I see,” James repeated more sharply. “It was his fault you were sent away in the first place, or have you forgotten? But that’s how it is. You’ve been alive these last seven years. In all that time, you’ve sent not one note to your own brother, not one word indicating that you were alive. But I can see you’ve spoken with Shaughnessy. Regularly enough to know that his little brother has landed himself in water too hot for his taste. That does rather clarify matters.”
“You left me to die,” Edward heard himself snap out. “You can hardly complain because I chose to gratify your desires.”
James paled. “I didn’t,” he said too swiftly. “You must know I didn’t. What I told the British Consul… It was true, in a sense.”
A sense. When the declaration of war had come, Edward had written to his father, asking for the means to return to England. It had been a blow when his father refused. He’d said that if Edward didn’t believe in the family honor, he needn’t rely on the family’s help.
But it was James who had taken matters two steps further. When Edward had arrived at the British Consulate in Strasbourg two steps ahead of the advancing army, the consular secretary had declared him an impostor. The secretary had received a letter to that effect, after all—a letter signed by James himself. Edward had been called a liar and a profiteer and he’d been tossed out on his ear.
With that had vanished Edward’s last hope of financial assistance or a pass of safe-conduct.
Old news, now. They’d both been little more than boys when that happened. Edward steepled his fingers. “What you told the British Consul,” he repeated calmly. “It was true. In a sense.” He didn’t make the words a question. He didn’t need to.
“It was just that you were singularly unrepentant, Ned, and—”
“I prefer Edward.”
James swallowed. “Yes. Edward. I didn’t think… That is, it was for your own good, and…” He seemed to realize that this was not a fruitful line of argument. He shook his head, as if he could shake off what had happened to his brother with so simple a motion. “You’re not dead after all. So…” He let out a long breath. “All’s well that ends well, eh?”
Too bad for James that Edward was not the sort to be won over with meaningless platitudes.
“I agree,” he said smoothly. “All’s well that ends well. These are old events, and you and I find ourselves in agreement after all these years. It’s in everyone’s best interests that I remain dead. Yours. Mine.”
He smiled and waited for that threat to sink in. His brother shifted uneasily on the seat across from him.
“So once again, I ask you: Will you leave off plotting against Stephen Shaughnessy?”
James let out a long, shaky breath. “It’s not that simple. I have a place in this world. If I am going to be Viscount Claridge for the rest of my life, I’ll need to maintain a certain reputation.” He pressed his lips together. “It’s like with dogs. If you don’t give them a good slap on the head from time to time, they’ll never think you’re in charge.”
“Are we still talking about Stephen Shaughnessy? He’s a boy with a silly column, not a dog.”
“Yes,” James said flatly. “He’s completely unimportant on his own. But you asked me not to hurt him indirectly either, and I can’t do that unless I let Miss Marshall and her damned paper alone.”
Edward inhaled and thought of the card in his pocket. But he didn’t let his brother see that his interest was piqued. He managed a dubious frown instead. “Who is Miss Marshall? Am I supposed to care about her?”
James’s lips thinned. “She is the prime example of everything that is wrong with England. Writing those damned reports, getting the women all heated up, forcing Parliament to spend valuable time on irrelevant matters. Do you know how much time was wasted on the inquiry she forced regarding the government lock hospitals?” His brother made a disgusted noise. “Decades ago, a pretty girl with pleasant conversation, a mild competence, and a taste for independence would have set herself up in London as some man’s mistress. Look at her now.” There was an angry edge to James’s voice. “Beholden to no man, putting her nose in where it’s not needed, setting wife against husband, servant against master. Most of these women, well…” He shrugged. “They’re relatively harmless. Let them natter on; it gives them something to occupy their time. But Marshall? She’s real trouble.”
It was interesting to know his brother so well and yet not know him at all. Edward could still tell when James protested too much. “When did you ask her to be your mistress?”
His brother flushed crimson. “It was a generous offer! The best that someone of her breeding could expect. And she turned me down without any consideration for my feelings. In any event, that’s years in the past—hardly relevant now—and I wouldn’t have her at this point, not if she begged me.”