Helpful, Magnus?
“Yes, helpful. After all, they do have a problem with the succession. It would only be proper courtesy for a guest to help them resolve it. Wouldn’t it? Yes, of course.”
CHAPTER 4
Magnus hadn’t intended to risk upsetting his great-uncle, but when the Count heard that he had asked for a “family conference,” the old man had insisted it be held in his bedchamber. Now Magnus sat looking about at them all, choosing his words very carefully, not wishing to hurt any of them—he should really have been feeling sorry for each one. But the feeling of outrage was still there, though firmly held down, and he couldn’t completely keep his emotions out of the affair.
“Well, what is this all about then?” the old Count demanded. He stirred restlessly in his bed. “Say your piece, young man. What is it that is so important that you wish to address it to us all together?”
“Why, Uncle,” Magnus said slowly, “what should it be but my thanks for your hospitality, and a farewell?”
There was instant consternation, and Magnus found it very satisfying.
“No, not so soon!”
“You mustn’t, young man!”
“Come now, after all these years? Surely you have a duty to your family!”
Magnus rode it out, permitting himself to feel a very solid satisfaction—which was somewhat tempered by the glow of hope and delight he saw in Robert’s face, and the relief in the Count and Countess.
Pelisse, though, was completely taken aback, even appalled. “So soon? And so suddenly? But Magnus, this is really too bad of you!”
“My apologies.” Magnus inclined his head. “I would not have been so abrupt, or so dramatic, if recent events had not made my departure a matter of some urgency.”
“Recent events?” Countess Matilda frowned. “Of what sort?”
But Pelisse had a look of foreboding for a few seconds, before she regained her composure. “Yes, Magnus. What events could you be thinking of?”
“Not events alone,” Magnus said slowly, “but new information, too. I have become aware that you may be having a difficulty with the succession.”
Instantly, the guards were up, the faces wore bland smiles, and the family had rushed to battle stations. “However,” Magnus said, “it really is not politic to discuss this in the presence of the current Count.”
“No, no! Absolutely necessary, absolutely!” The Count waved the objection away—but anxiety shadowed his features. “How can I rest easily if there’s a chance I’ll leave the family in the lurch, eh? What sort of problem are you thinking of, young man? What difficulty with the succession?”
“My place in it, primarily,” Magnus said slowly. “I have become aware that you all believe I may attempt to inherit, when … the time comes.”
They should have raised a chorus of protest, they should have claimed that such a thought could not have been further from their minds—but they were silent, Pelisse wide-eyed, Robert infuriated, the Countess frightened, and the Count grave.
“The notion is ridiculous, of course,” Magnus said, “or should be—but I have slowly become aware that all of you fear I may have come to Maxima for that purpose.”
“Why ridiculous?” the Countess said, through tight lips.
“Why, because, on my home so far away, only the most general news of Terra and its colonies has come to us—and nothing from the family, though my father mentioned from time to time that he had attempted to send word to you…” “We received the occasional missive,” the Count acknowledged, “but we had no means of replying.” Magnus reflected that they could not have tried terribly hard. “Exactly—we were isolated from you. I grew up in the assumption that Maxima was the family home, but of no other interest to me, for my father’s uncle was the current Count, and his son would inherit in his turn. I never dreamed that the title might pass to the cadet branch—though I knew that if it did, my uncle would inherit, not my father…”
“But you had no way of knowing that he would be non compos mentis.” The Count scowled, nodding. “Indeed,” Magnus acknowledged. “Of course, if matters came to such a pass, it would be my father who would inherit, not I—but as you all know, he has won a title and lands of his own, and would certainly relinquish all claims to the inheritance.”
“You, however, are available.” Robert’s eyes smoldered.
“I did not quite realize that, until yesterday,” Magnus said. “It explained many things—Robert’s hostility, the Countess’s reticence, perhaps even Pelisse’s attentions.”
“You lie!” Robert leaped to his feet, face red, fists clenched.
“Really, young man!” the Countess snapped. “Magnus!” Pelisse cried, then faltered and looked away.
Magnus held up both palms. “My apologies; I did not mean to offend. But you must understand that I grew up on the fringes of court intrigue, so it is natural to me to question every attention, even the kindnesses that Cousin Pelisse has shown me. She is truly a gentle and open-hearted woman—but a man with a suspicious mind might note that she is the current heir and that, since she is female and the succession is patrilineal, she would only inherit if there were no male to claim the title—so that my claim might be construed as being as strong as hers.”
He waited for a response, but no one spoke. Eyes were wide and faces pale, but lips were sealed. Grimly reassured, Magnus went on, “So suspicious a person might have noted that the logical way to remove the conflict was to unite the claimants—and that Pelisse might therefore have been instructed to cultivate my affections.”
He expected a hot and outraged denial from the Countess and from Pelisse—but Matilda only looked away, her face pale, and Pelisse kept her gaze on the floor.
The Count glanced from one to the other with a scowl. So, then, he had not been in on it. He turned to Magnus, starting to speak—but, afraid it might be an apology, Magnus beat him to it. “Quite ridiculous, I know, and really showing only my own conceit—after all, though I would not say I was handsome, I flatter myself that being tall, muscular, and having a certain amount of presence, might make me not altogether unappealing. But, as I say, this shows only my own arrogance…”
“Indeed,” Robert muttered.
“…and after all,” Magnus went on, “so beautiful a lady as Pelisse certainly could not be in love with me. Could you, Pelisse?”
“No,” Pelisse admitted, though she almost strangled on the word.
Pain stabbed Magnus, even though he had already guessed the truth of it. But he kept his face grave and nodded. “No, of course not. I must ask your forgiveness, fair cousin, for having presumed to fantasize as much—but you are fair, after all, so I think I might be forgiven for a masculine weakness.”
“Of course,” Pelisse said, managing to raise a haunted gaze to him.
Robert stood silent and trembling, fists clenched, glaring hatred at Magnus.
Magnus took it as tribute and fed his confidence off the other man’s dislike. “Yes, quite ridiculous, all of it—beginning with the notion that I might wish to inherit.”
Instant consternation. All the minor relatives were talking at once; the Countess and Pelisse stared at him with huge, disbelieving eyes; and Robert’s jaw dropped.
“Come, now!” The Count raised a hand and waited till the tumult stilled, locking gazes with Magnus. When the room was still, he said, “Not wish to inherit? Turn your back on a billion-a-year business? Wealth and power, and a title with it? How could you not wish to inherit?”