These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(67)

“Before Mr. Kent left for his dinner. Not two hours ago,” she said. “He appeared at the door quite out of sorts.”

“And he’s been sleeping since then?”

“We tried to feed him, but he would not eat a single morsel. And he . . . he purged himself twice.”

“I see. Thank you,” I said, and she gladly left me to him.

I pulled a chair by the bedside and seized the damn fool’s hand. He doesn’t hear from Rose for a few days, and he drinks and cries himself into a stupor? Perhaps I should have told him everything. But if this ridiculous behavior was his reaction to vague suspicions and anxiety about Rose’s well-being, I shuddered to imagine what the truth would do to his delicate constitution.

For ten minutes, I sat with him, listening to his snoring, healing his sickness, wondering if I could replenish the Wyndham fortune by restoring drunks to full health the morning after.

The bedroom door creaked open behind me.

“Will he live?” Mr. Kent asked, leaning against the doorjamb.

“Yes,” I replied. “Very fortunate, saved from the brink of death.”

“Was he awake? Did he explain anything?”

“No, he still seems to need rest,” I said, setting Robert’s hand back on the bed. “Did you speak to him when he arrived?”

“Unless you count his melancholy mutterings about your sister a conversation, no, I have not.”

“I presume he knows something is wrong with Rose. I just don’t know what to tell him when he wakes.”

“It may as well be the truth. It will be better than any rumors he hears.”

“Ah, yes, the truth. The strategy that worked so well on your stepmother.”

“Please forgive me . . . or, well . . . please forgive me twice— no—three times. First because I must be serious for a moment, and I know how unsettling that may be, second, regarding what happened with the old bat . . . I must apologize—”

“There’s no need,” I interrupted. “I’m surprised you even invited me here after her threat.”

“I don’t care one whit about her threat. We will keep this a secret and deny it. Heaven knows she’s done enough of that.”

A breeze drifted in through an open window, and I shivered. “What do you mean?”

“I find it amusing when the most ardent and vocal defenders of propriety and morality are often the ones who’ve most heinously transgressed those values. Maybe they’re atoning for their behavior, trying to keep others from making the same mistakes. Or they’re scrutinizing and accusing others simply to divert suspicion from themselves. Do you think one needs to cross the line to be able to properly understand and defend it?”

“No,” I found myself answering. “That sounds like an excuse.”

“And excuses are nothing more than . . . neatly packaged reports on the messy, unknowable truth. My father had plenty of them. That he and the old bat had suffered and struggled with their forbidden love for years. That my birth mother was mad, mercurial. That everything was done for the good of the families.

“But the story I saw was of two selfish people carrying on a secret affair, while my sick mother languished in Ireland until she learned the truth and lost the will to live.”

I sat there in disbelief. Mr. Kent had never discussed such personal matters with me before.

“You knew this was happening?” I asked.

“I only found out a few years later. After the funeral, the mourning period, the wedding, and living with them.”

My rage grew as tall as the Tower of London, and I was tempted to start the beheadings. Knowing that this was the real reason for Mr. Kent’s trouble with his parents, I found myself impressed that he could even stand being in the same room as them. “Why does no one else know of this? Was it not a big scandal?”

“Only my mother’s maid knew. Otherwise, it was kept secret.”

“And you’ve said nothing?”

“Believe me, I wanted to. I don’t think anything would ever give me more pleasure than to make it known to all of London. But I couldn’t say anything for the same reason I can’t with your unfortunate scandal.”

When I saw the tension in his expression, my brain made the connection. “Laura . . .”

“She’s done nothing, yet she’s the one who’d suffer most.”

He was right. If Mr. Kent defended me and continued to associate with me in society, he wouldn’t be lifting me up so much as I would be pulling his family down. It wasn’t simply about Lady Kent’s threat to take away his money.

“You’re a good brother,” I finally said.

He held his head up proudly. “It’s been said that I’m actually the best in the world.”

“An honor to match your greatest-detective medal.”

“Yes, well, about that. I have another terrible confession to make. I know this may come as a shock to you, but I’m not actually a detective. It was all a lie.”

“My God, fetch the smelling salts.”

“But I had intended to atone for that lie tonight. It was the only reason I showed up to that dreadful dinner party in the first place, and you weren’t even there. Laura said you had been gone all day. Did something happen?”