She blinked, then bobbed her head.
“Very well.” He gestured to the chair in front of the desk. “But you’d better sit down. It’s not a pretty story.”
At those words, Clarissa felt a sudden queasiness in her stomach. But this was what she’d wanted, to know what had happened to his mother and how it might bear upon his feelings toward what had happened to her. Which she’d now promised to tell him, and wasn’t at all sure she should.
But this couldn’t go on. She might as well get it over with.
Edwin went to close the door to the study, probably so the servants wouldn’t hear, and then to pour himself a third glass of Madeira. Clarissa frowned. She’d never seen him take more than one before, and it worried her. At least he only sipped this one, as if buying time.
When he spoke again, his voice was carefully measured. “It happened when I was eight and Samuel six. Father had just left to go to town one afternoon, so we were playing in the coat closet downstairs, having escaped our napping nurse. Father’s oldest friend came to call, and we watched from our hiding place as Mother invited him to visit with her in the drawing room while he waited for Father to return.”
His back stiffened. “We didn’t know the man very well—he’d just returned from a long trip to America. But Mother knew him from before she and Father married, and they seemed cordial.” He sipped some Madeira. “Anyway, Samuel and I got into a silly argument about something, and since we knew Mother was in the drawing room, we ran in there to have her settle it.”
A shuddering breath escaped him. “It took a moment for us to register what we were seeing. At first, it looked like the man and Mother were playing some game on the settee, tussling like Samuel and I were wont to do.” His voice grew choked. “But then I realized that the man’s mouth was smothering Mother’s, and he was holding her down while he dragged up her skirts. She beat on his back, but though she wasn’t exactly a small woman, she couldn’t get him off her.”
Clarissa knew firsthand what that was like, having a man who was stronger and fiercer on top of her and not being able to get free. Just hearing Edwin’s account made her hands clammy and her mouth dry.
He cleared his throat. “Samuel just stood there, unable to comprehend what was going on, but I wasn’t about to let Father’s ‘friend’ hurt her, so I cried out for him to stop.”
Pivoting to face her, he stared blindly past her with a haunted expression. “The bastard clamped his hand over her mouth and told me they were playing a grown-up game, and I should go back to my nurse. But I saw the stark terror in her eyes, the tears running down her cheeks. So I launched myself at him, determined to get him off her.”
His hand shook as he lifted his glass to his lips and drank deeply. “He had to abandon his assault of her to fight me, and then he had to fight both of us, and we made such a ruckus that our old butler came running. That ended it.” Ice glittered in his eyes. “Or rather, that ended the physical assault. The assault on her character lasted the rest of my parents’ marriage.”
Her heart sank. “What do you mean? The man tried to rape her!”
“But he told our butler that Mother had encouraged his advances, and then had grown embarrassed when I came in upon them. That I’d misunderstood what was going on. And our damned butler, who’d never really approved of Mother, believed him and agreed to keep quiet about it. Then Father’s friend took me and Mother aside and said that if we told anyone else about it, he would paint her to be a whore.”
With an ugly oath, Edwin threw the wineglass into the fireplace, startling her with his anger. She watched with her heart in her throat as he paced before her, his jaw tight. “Mother, however, wasn’t standing for that. As soon as the bastard left and Father returned home, she tearfully related what had happened. So Father went off to confront his friend, who apparently elaborated on his Banbury tale by claiming that Mother had tried several times previously to seduce him.”
“That scoundrel!” The thought of poor Lady Blakeborough being falsely maligned made her stomach roil. “But . . . but surely your father didn’t believe that awful man.”
“I wish I could say he didn’t.” Edwin scrubbed his hands over his face. “But they’d been friends all their lives, and the man was clever enough to play on Father’s jealousy, and the fact that Mother had always drawn men’s gazes. So Father marched back home and questioned the butler, me, and Samuel.”
He snorted. “Samuel was useless—he kept saying the two had been playing a game. I told Father that it hadn’t been a game, but an assault. That didn’t matter much when our butler said he’d come in upon my mother standing there in disordered clothing, looking flushed and agitated, while I screamed at Father’s friend. All of it was true. But all of it could also corroborate her attacker’s account.”