Tender Torment Read Free Page A

Justin suffered for never having explained himself to the man he idolized. There was no way possible
     to explain without disclosing the shame that had sent him fleeing in the first place. Sometime later he had sold out and returned
     from India at the hasty summons of his grandmother. His brother Robert was dying. But Robert was dead by the time he reached
     England. The deep personal loss, along with his mother’s disastrous remarriage, had placed the seal of destruction on the
     family.
    Straeford stood in the long gallery before the portraits of his distinguished ancestors. Holding a glass of port in one hand
     and the bottle in the other, he walked down the gallery to the picture he had come to view. Lord Straeford, seated beside
     his wife, with Robert standing next to him and Justin on his mother’s knee, presented a false picture of family tranquility.
     Justin thought about that coldly beautiful woman, his mother, and how he had tried to warn her.
    “Justin, you don’t know what you are saying!”
    “And I told you I have written proof!”
    “You were always a headstrong boy,” she laughed weakly.
    “I am no longer a child, Mother, you can’t put me off!”
    “So much like your father…” she went on.
    “And that ploy won’t work either! I’m here to talk to you about Huxley…”
    “No! Don’t you dare speak those filthy lies again! You hate Ellis because I love him!”
    “No, I hate him because…”
    “Isn’t it enough for you that you are now the Earl of Straeford?”
    “Do you think I give one blasted damn for the title? For God’s sake, don’t you see anything?”
    “I will not be talked to in such a manner! You were a bad, unfeeling child, Justin St. Clare, and you have grown into a cruel,
     heartless man. That’s why I could never love you.”
    The glass of port cracked in his hand, pouring wine onto the floor and carpet, mingling with his own blood. Becoming aware
     of his aching hand, Straeford pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket and wrapped it about his palm before quietly withdrawing
     from the gallery and the memories it engendered.
    Straeford was going through the strongbox in the library when Major Edward Harding, a tall, well-built man in his early thirties,
     walked into the room. He was an attractive man with tanned features, sandy hair and hazel eyes.
    Easy-going and good-natured, Edward Harding had been Straeford’s friend since boyhood. If there was one person the earl trusted
     and respected, it was this confidante of his youth and companion of his military years in India. Straeford was in need of
     cheerful company and Harding was precisely the one to provide it.
    As they vigorously clasped each other’s hands, Harding admonished his friend for not having called on him and his new wife
     in London. Major Harding had married Ann Cromwell, his colonel’s daughter, shortly after returning to England. He had requested
     a transfer to the western front when Ann’s father retired and the familycame home. Harding had followed them soon afterward, and Straeford had not seen him since that time.
    “I went to your lodgings to see you but found Billings instead. Your batman was concerned about you.”
    “Billings is turning into an old lady,” the earl stated in exasperation. “So that’s what sent you hotfooting it down here.”
    “Thought you might need some company. After all, the press has been pretty hard on you.”
    “Believe me, I’m not going into a decline over some scoundrels who write libel,” Straeford jeered. “I simply came down here
     for some solitude, but between Manners and Lady Maxwell bending my ear about saving Straeford, I might just as well have stayed
     in London.”
    “What are your plans for the Park?” Harding asked as he surveyed his surroundings.
    Straeford threw back his head and laughed, causing the major to smile sheepishly. Then in a more sober vein the earl explained
     that he had just finished an inventory of the family