Oxford Whispers Part 16

"No. I'm breaking up with Harriet as soon as she's back from holidays, and we can meet face to face." Pouring himself some coffee, Rupert didn't feel guilty about his admission. He would never love Harriet and was fed up with pretending. "I met someone."

"Do I know her?"

A protective surge stirred inside, but Rupert volunteered, "She came to our Christmas party. The American student, small, brunette."

"You're totally nuts." His friend pointed a finger at his own temple. "The hot goodie-two-shoes from Yale?"

Rupert didn't want to confirm the charge. Eager now to cut off the conversation, he stood and walked to the fridge in search of a soft drink. Coffee didn't appeal to him anymore.

Monty wasn't done. "You're asking for trouble. These girls don't understand the concept of a one-night stand. And you don't understand the concept of commitment... like falling for a girl,"

Back at the table, Rupert was torn between defending himself and defending Madison. "Give me a break. People change. I can change. Anyway, we spent the night together. We didn't have s.e.x." He raised his hands in an innocent gesture. "It wouldn't have felt right."

"Why bother? You'll just move on to some new girl in a day or two. You've always done that." Leaning against the back of his seat, Monty switched the TV back on. He kept shaking his head but didn't push his point further.

Monty's lack of faith hit Rupert hard. It was true. He had never fallen in love, no teenage crush, no love at first sight, nothing. Maybe he wasn't that type of guy and never would be. Like father, like son.

Inside his jeans' back pocket, his mobile vibrated. He stood again and walked toward the French window overlooking the landscaped garden. While he sipped his ginger ale, he checked the message. Recognizing the caller I.D., his next breath eluded him, and he clenched the handset between his fingers.

HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM PIERRE PART, LA! HOPE THE COMING YEAR WILL BRING YOU WHAT YOU HAVE ALWAYS DREAMED OF. M.

He could have sworn her honey-accented voice whispered the words right into his ear. But that was an illusion. Madison LeBon was too far off in a foreign country, in more ways than one. Monty was right. She was a goodie-two-shoes, or maybe, simply too good for Rupert. He'd never keep a girl like that happy.

He sighed. "G.o.d, please, don't let me screw that one up."

Chapter 24.

PALL MALL OPENED up in front of Madison, cla.s.sically designed and bursting with high life and high status. The Oxford & Cambridge Club occupied an imposing position on the central London avenue, in stark contrast with the small world of Pierre Part.

After her fight with Peter, Madison had been desperate to leave Louisiana. The days until her flight had been torture. Her mother had seen something was wrong with her. But Madison couldn't tell Bernadette LeBon anything, or her mother would have grabbed her shotgun and burst Tarquin Vionnet's head into brainy pieces.

Madison kept what happened a secret, even if the choice not to report Tarquin to the police had been tearing her apart. She couldn't take the risk of having her ghostly rescue made public. There would always be people believing the crazy stories of a drunk. Especially when the LeBon women were involved.

Still her silence was wrong. What would happen the next time that jerk of Tarquin felt h.o.r.n.y?

She pushed the thought aside. Now she was back in England. Her plane had landed in the early hours of the morning, and Ollie had invited her to his family home. All she wanted was to crash on a fluffy duvet, but Archie Black, the Vance's genealogist, had other plans.

After traveling during the whole month of December, he was now back in the U.K. and had a free moment to see Madison. She waited in the solemn entrance of his club. The venerable building of the O&C Club offered a haven for former students of both elite universities. When they couldn't bear to part with the consecrated "Oxbridge" atmosphere, they tried to evoke their former glory in London.

Members, mostly male and on the other side of fifty, pa.s.sed Madison and barely hid their disapproval. She had checked the dress code, though. The club permitted jeans on weekdays before eleven a.m.

But she wasn't sure about Converse sneakers. Ooops.

"Miss LeBon?" asked a tweed-clad man. His willowy frame and disproportionate height gave him the look of a hawk.

She nodded, and he bent to extend his hand, "How do you do?"

To which Madison had no idea what to reply. She followed up another nod with her most respectable smile and a "Fine, thank you."

He gestured for her to follow him. "We'll have tea in the drawing room, if you don't mind."

And another one of her polite smiles.

Madison resented arrogance, but the historic charm all around her impressed her. The understated interior gave her the illusion of being part of a distinguished European tradition. Maybe, she was now.

They sat at a square, wooden table next to a French window overlooking the Mall.

"Thank you for taking the time to see me, Professor Black."

Today, she needed the academic's help to decipher the mystery that Robert Dallembert's life posed. The Cavalier was her fate, her duty, her secret.

"It's no problem at all. I enjoyed refreshing my knowledge of the second Earl of Huxbury. How unfortunate the poor chap was."

Her chest tightened. She knew that he died young, but this confirmation hurt anyway.

"Robert Dallembert had a conflicted relationship with his father, G.o.dfrey," Professor Black continued. "The two men hardly saw each other after the son married Lady Elizabeth Percival, in April 1651. Then father and son died, one after the other."

G.o.d, these long-buried facts burned in her heart like yesterday's memories.

"Why did they oppose each other?"

"Robert was an only child, at least the sole legitimate heir to the earldom. He had to provide an heir, as a matter of urgency."

"I understand times were dire, but it seems to me he acted in a rush." Robert could have waited for Sarah, at least if she was still alive.

"G.o.dfrey had a b.a.s.t.a.r.d son, a reckless, ambitious man. Should Robert have died without a son, the t.i.tle would pa.s.s to his half-brother. As an illegitimate child, he would have been barred from succeeding to any t.i.tle without a special dispensation from the king. This is what happened in the end anyway, as he benefited from King Charles' protection."

A waiter brought porcelain cups, saucers and a teapot to their table. The conversation stopped. Madison had to sit in polite silence and observe the age-old ritual. With a strainer, Professor Black let the tea leaves steep in a full pot. Then, he diluted the brew with a second pot of hot water.

After he had poured the amber liquid, Madison tasted the smoky, slightly bitter taste of the tea and asked, "Why did Robert choose to marry this Lady Elizabeth, out of all the women available?"

"They needed an impeccable lineage to resist against any of the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's claims. Elizabeth belonged to one of the most ill.u.s.trious families in Scotland. Scotland was on King Charles' side. However, she was G.o.dfrey's choice, and Robert resented this."

"Robert didn't love her." She sputtered out the words without putting much thought to them. Their naivete grated in her own ears.

Archie Black's angular features softened. "As a matter of fact, some written record shows that Robert had his heart set on someone else. He referred to her in a couple of letters to his father, the few that have survived the centuries." He brought his cup to his mouth and swallowed the tea. "At the time, there were even rumors of a love child, sired by Robert. But no evidence substantiated them."

Jealousy and a sense of betrayal hit Madison hard. Maybe she was channeling Sarah's feelings. For sure, Robert Dallembert had been a busy dude, seducing girls everywhere he went.

"I found a few of his belongings, and Rupert Vance suggested giving you one of them. It is more of a loan, actually."

Hearing Rupert's name mentioned out loud squeezed a corner of her heart as Archie Black moved his sinewy hand toward a brown leather satchel beside his chair. With care, he extracted a sizable square object wrapped in silk paper and handed it to Madison. "Open it," he prompted and she obeyed his order, setting the package on her knees.

As she unwrapped it with respect, the purple material emerged from under the layers of protective paper.

"Robert's cape," Professor Black explained.

Madison laid her hands on the frayed garment.

Her head jerked backward.

Thunder shuddered through her body.

She fell to the ground and could smell the earthy scent of the soil. Pain sprung from a burning hole in her stomach and took her breath away. Rolling onto her back, she dragged herself up to her elbows, but blood leaked from the open wound.

She clasped the injury with her hands in an attempt to stem the flow, only the hands weren't hers, but rather the hands of a man.

Above her, a horse thrashed its head from side to side. All around, mayhem reigned. Men fought, swords in hands.

She forced herself to open her eyes back into the present. The vision had vanished, not her fear.

"Did Robert Dallembert die on the battlefield?" Her voice resonated from far off.

Archie Black set suspicious eyes on her. She wanted to rea.s.sure him, no, she wasn't on drugs. This was just part of her everyday life. But an Oxford academic wouldn't understand her Cajun voodoo madness.

"Indeed," he answered. "He died at the Battle of Worcester on the third of September, 1651. The battle marked the final Parliamentary victory, when Cromwell defeated Charles the Second. Previously, Robert had distinguished himself at the Battle of Dunbar, in Scotland, although the Royalists lost it."

Madison folded up the cape, placed it in her bag and stood. "Thank you very much, Professor." She should have waited for his signal to leave the table, but she had to get out and breathe some cold, city air. "I'd like to ask you one last question."

He nodded, and Madison noted his relief to see her leaving.

"Was the painter William Shakespeare Burton connected to the Vances in any way?"

His mood picked up. "Yes, of course. He stayed at Magway for a while at some point during the 1850s, benefiting from the earl's generosity. In fact, The Wounded Cavalier is one of my favorite paintings."

He seemed to reflect for a moment, then added, "I never thought about it this way, but the Cavalier reminds me of Robert Dallembert. Maybe that's how Burton got his inspiration."

You bet.

She shook his hand and started to make her way out of the drawing room.

His voice stopped her. "Hopefully, the next earl will meet a happier fate than Robert."

It took Madison a few seconds to register that he was talking about Rupert.

Creepy.

Chapter 25.

SPLISH. SPLASH. The rain dripped on his car's bonnet.

Rupert breathed in the leather scent of the Morgan's seats. The drive back from Magway had sapped all of the energy that remained in him. At least Harriet's monologue had kept him awake and focused on the road, a small blessing.

They had made it back to Oxford, and he no longer needed to register her voice. He let her out. She rushed toward the front door of her house and tried to get out from under the downpour. He didn't want to leave the shelter of the car, and instead stared blindly at the mist rising from the street.

The sight of Harriet made him feel sick to his stomach. A word from her caused his jaw to clench. He couldn't even bring himself to look at her, let alone touch her. If he got into her house, she'd expect them to have s.e.x. For the first time in his entire life, Rupert was going to pa.s.s.

He had to break up with her, just like he had planned to do this morning before going to Magway for a "family" lunch. Camilla had invited Harriet and her parents.

But breaking up wouldn't solve his problem. He couldn't bear to face his own image. Closed s.p.a.ces made his skin itch. At Magway, he had vanished and ventured onto the bleak hills, striding across them, eager to exhaust his nerves.

In vain. The walks hadn't killed the grief after his mum died either.

From the steps of her house, Harriet waved for him to hurry up and join her. She waited under the porch, barely protected from the rain. She was soulless, but she didn't deserve his lies, or the truth that he had never loved her.

Rupert jumped out of the car and caught up with Harriet.

"At last," she said. "My house keys are in your pocket."

He handed them to her. She made her way inside and held the door open for him. "Rupert, it's freezing outside."

"I'm not coming in. Sorry."

A quizzical expression crept across her face.

"I can't do it anymore. I'm sorry," he repeated. And he was.

She took a moment before speaking, "We can talk about it inside. You're cute. It's fine if you want to play the field. As long as you do it discreetly, I don't need to know. We're together for the long haul."

She misunderstood his motives, but her words proved she cared as little for him as he cared for her.

"I don't want to play the field. I hope you'll forgive me."

She stiffened and directed a sharp look at him. "You found someone else."

"I think you and I, we're not good for each other."

"It's that little American b.i.t.c.h." Harriet spat venom. "She's been at your house for the whole Michaelmas. I thought the two of you were working together, but you've slept with her."

As much as he wanted to spare Harriet's feelings, there was a fine line she should not cross. And that line was Madison. "Madison is my friend, so watch your words."

"You'll forget about her. She's too bland to keep you interested for long."