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Imperfect Love

Chapter 28

Charles inhaled the smelling salts with an unsteady paw, then put the stopper on the glass vial and slipped it in his housecoat. He had undressed and was ready for bed, but he couldn't sleep. It had been hours since the argument with Richard. Richard returned to the ball and to their guests, but Charles went up to their room and undressed. He had never been one for balls anyway - though he wished he'd had any other reason for leaving than that hideous display with the princess.

That Richard had screamed that Jonathan wasn't his son . . . hurt Charles more than anything else the duke could have said. How many years had Charles cared for the boy while secretly wishing he was his, while secretly believing he was a better parent than Richard?

While Richard was down at the ball, Charles looked in the mirror and realized he had become the Duchess Victoria, caring for a child that wasn't his and wishing that child was his - even while his lover slept with someone else. Richard was with Sarah again after Jonathan was born. Several times. Charles threatened to leave every time he caught them. What else could he do? Kick Richard out? He didn't have the right. The manor and the duchy belonged to Richard by marriage and by blood: Charles was just a bastard. All the evidence Giselle had accumulated against Charles hadn't been destroyed but locked away in the family vault, and only Richard had the key. Those papers could still be used against Charles, and he knew if he ever threatened to leave Richard, all the duke had to do was pull out those papers to make it final: once there was solid proof that Charles was a bastard, he would never be allowed to return to Howlester. And he wouldn't have a cent to his name.

Sometimes Charles wondered if Richard would really use those papers against him. After all, why did he keep them? Why didn't he destroy them? Charles sometimes thought of destroying them himself, but that meant betraying Richard's trust to get the key. He would rather live with the belief that Richard would never betray him. He would rather go on loving him than lower himself to sneaking around and scheming before his lover could do the same. He didn't want to live in a house of lies. So he never tried to destroy the papers and simply trusted.

But oh. There were so many times when he wanted to leave.

Richard mourned Evelyn and Giselle for many years, and there were many times when he would sit for hours in the study and drink, while Haskell stood beside his chair and poured. He blamed himself for Evelyn's death and deeply regretted that he and his mother had never gotten along, and there was nothing Charles could do or say to ease his pain. He was always inconsolable during such stints, and Charles would leave him to his grief, determined to fight his own sadness and pain by devoting himself to caring for Jonathan.

Jonathan was the light of Charles' life during those long years. He took the boy's love and showered him with affection. Because he needed it. He needed affection and he needed to give affection. He needed the love and comfort he was not getting from Richard, who was too consumed by his own grief to notice anyone else was alive.

And while Richard was consoling himself with a drink in one paw and Sarah in the other, Charles was consoling himself with little Jonathan. Richard resented that Charles was closer to his own son than he was. Charles resented that Richard was sleeping with Sarah. Sarah resented that Richard and Jonathan loved Charles and not her. And there was their imperfect life. All a big scandal for the public to whisper about behind fans.

One day Charles had had enough and told Richard to choose. It was either him or Sarah. Richard chose Charles and Sarah left in tears that very afternoon. It was Charles who had Sarah sent away, not Richard -- something Jonathan could never know. Jonathan would hate Charles, and Charles . . . didn't think he could bear it.

With Sarah gone, Richard threw himself fulltime into running the duchy. And he ran it well. Charles watched him preside over court, both proud of his lover and guilty at once. Charles knew that if he wasn't so useless, he could have helped his lover run the duchy. But he was useless. And instead of sharing the burden with Richard, he wound up caring for Jonathan fulltime. He stole Jonathan's love from Richard. Stole it not just because he needed it but to hurt Richard as well. For all the years of infidelity. For all the drunken arguments. For all broken promises and lies.

No. Charles couldn't pretend it was all Richard's fault. Sometimes he compared his relationship to Victoria and Verneus and wanted to say to the religious zealots who hated him and Richard: "See? We degenerates can screw up a relationship just like anyone else."

Charles stared out the window, across the grounds. "Oh, Evie," he whispered. "Things were so much _easier_when you were here."

His throat tightened when he thought of it: Corene wearing Evelyn's dress, looking like Evelyn, standing poised like Evelyn, smelling like Evelyn. The girl had no shred of decency. Not only did she splash on Evelyn's perfume, but she wore all her diamonds, and her white mane had even been styled in a manner very similar to the late duchess. Charles walked into the ballroom and saw not Corene but his sister. And something in him . . . broke.

He never meant to get to hit her. He never meant to get so angry and still didn't know what had come over him. Perhaps Evelyn came over him. He was still furious that Donica had not allowed him to bring his own sister home. Evelyn was cremated and her ashes laid to rest in Wychowl - something he knew his sister would have hated. He wanted to bury her at Howlester Manor, in the garden where they played as children. But she had been torn from him in every conceivable way - and by Donica.

Charles' nostrils flared to even think of the queen. They would find Etienne, they would bring him back to Howlester, and then Charles would do everything in his power to convince the boy that he must return to Wychowl and depose of the witch. If Donica remained on the throne, then that meant Donica won, and Charles would die before he let her win this twenty-year game of chess. He would see her removed, perhaps imprisoned for her crimes. He only needed Etienne to realize what sort of power was at his fingertips.

There was no turning back now. Especially after what Charles had seen of Corene. The poor girl was as much a victim as Etienne - if not more. It was highly likely that the girl's parents had been murdered by Donica in a play to claim her as heir. But unlike Etienne, Corene hadn't a clue about the truth. She had lived as Donica's pet for years, never knowing that the female she called Mother was actually responsible for her real mother's demise. That Donica had cut Corene's arm, Charles wasn't even surprised. He wouldn't put it past Donica to have physically abused the girl for years. No wonder she was so frightened and confused. Charles wanted to go to her, to apologize. But what could he say? It was best to just let her return to Wychowl with Etienne. Best to let her just forget Howlester and everything that had happened to her here.

"Are you ready to retire, my lord?" Hadly murmured. "The guests are all but gone. The ball is over. Young Master Jonathan has retired to bed, as has her majesty the princess . . . and Master Richard should be up soon."

Charles didn't answer. Behind him, Hadly slipped the bed warmer from the bed, her chocolate brown mane falling long down her back as she bent to retrieve it. She carried the scent of Prince Etienne on her fur. Try as she might, she hadn't been able to wash it off, and Charles realized with a glower that she had slept with his nephew.

"Hadly, when the prince returns, I must ask you not to wait on him," Charles said stiffly.

". . . yes, my lord," Hadly said humbly. She stood and folded her paws over her apron. "Will that be all, my lord?"

Charles didn't look at her. "Elsie resigned and left with some duke or other. Is this true?"

"It's true, my lord. The Marquis Lucas Owen."

Charles frowned out the window, his paws in the pockets of his housecoat. "She didn't even say goodbye."

Hadly smiled. "She was quite enamored of his lordship. I do believe he swept her off her feet. Literally."

Charles laughed softly. "I'm happy for her. But . . . I heard she and Jonathan . . .?" He trailed off as he thought of it. Richard had blurted something about Jonathan sleeping with Elsie.

"She has found a love _worthy_of her," Hadly said almost angrily. Charles looked at her in surprise, and she cleared her throat and dropped her eyes. "I mean . . . she is happier with the marquis, my lord."

Charles looked away again. "Good," he said to the window. "At least someone around here gets to be happy."

". . . you and Master Richard argued again, my lord?" Hadly asked sympathetically.

"Yes. But it's nothing we won't live through. Off with you now, Hadly. I'm . . . very tired," Charles said wearily.

"Yes, my lord."

Charles listened to Hadly leave the room and close the door quietly behind her. He pulled off his housecoat and climbed into bed. He had almost fallen asleep when the mattress shifted under someone's weight, and then an arm had slipped around him, and hot breath was on his ear. Charles didn't open his eyes, but he smoothed his paw over Richard's paw.

"Been a long time since I've sent you dramatically from a room," Richard whispered in his ear.

Charles didn't answer, though he opened his eyes. He stared unhappily at the nightstand, on which a book and a candle stood. The book was his, a volume of steamy poetry Richard had given him for his birthday.

Richard kissed Charles' ear, his neck, and nuzzled his nose in his fur. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too."

Richard laughed. "For what?"

"For being a terrible duke?" Charles said unhappily. "If I was ever any use to you, you wouldn't have had to do everything on your own. You would have found time for Jonathan . . ."

"No, no," Richard said at once and began kissing Charles again, on his neck, on his cheek.

Charles fell silent and let the heat of the kisses sooth him.

"I was happy to take that burden for you, Charlie. I'd do anything for you. Because I love you. And I love Jonathan. He knows that. Even if I never had time to show him."

"Richie . . ."

"I won't pretend all of it is your fault," Richard went on. "Even when a male is bone-tired, he should still find time to be with his son. It would have cost me nothing to let the boy sit on my lap at the end of the day." Richard blinked and said unhappily, "I didn't even let him have that."

Charles reached back and touched his cheek soothingly. "Hold me tighter."

Richard scooted closer and obliged.

"How was the ball?" Charles whispered.

"Boring."

Charles laughed softly. "After that display? I doubt it. And . . ." Charles cleared his throat sadly. "Corene?"

"She returned . . . in your mother's dress this time."

Charles smiled. "Ah. The one she was supposed to have worn."

"She made a show of acting as if none of it had happened," Richard went on, sounding amused. "She laughed and danced and sat on the throne with me. The guests were charmed by her, and everyone soon forgot your little . . . spat. It was quite clever of her, actually. Of course, no one blames you for what she did," Richard added darkly. "Wearing Evelyn's things like that? It was appalling. I'm sure many of the guests were disgusted by it long before we showed up. I mean . . . she looked just bloody like her. I thought I was seeing a ghost when we came in."

Charles' face darkened and he was silent. He smiled when Richard squeezed him tight and kissed his cheek.

"So we aren't getting divorced?" Richard whispered playfully.

Charles' lips pulled in a half-smile. "No, Turnip."

"Whew," Richard teased. "The servants were all in a state. Half were ready to resign if we split."

Charles laughed softly. "We aren't even married."

"Sure, we are."

Charles looked at him over his shoulder.

"Feels like marriage to me," Richard said with a shrug. "Living together. Bickering. Raising a son. And the acute lack of hot sex."

"We just . . . the other day . . ."

"You were tired. So was I."

"How about morning sex, then?" Charles suggested with a laugh.

Richard kissed him and whispered, "It's a date."

They both settled down and closed their eyes.

"I love you, Richie."

"I know, baby. Go to sleep."