Читать книгу Regency Affairs Part 2: Books 7-12 Of 12 - Ann Lethbridge - Страница 33

‘You are talking nonsense. Absolute and complete nonsense.’ Sophie searched for her reticule and wished she had thought to bring more than a hatpin with her as Richard’s question echoed round and round in her brain. He wanted to know why she was terrified of men. It wasn’t all men. It was men who were unsafe in carriages.

The carriage suddenly seemed claustrophobic and tiny, and a complete mistake. How could she have thought for one instant she’d be safe with someone like Richard?

Sophie struggled to breathe. The last thing she wanted was to confess about that dreadful night, particularly here in Richard’s carriage. The consequences to her reputation could be dreadful if he realised the sort of person she truly was. All the vile words Sebastian called her on that night echoed in her mind.

What if she was truly like those words? What if it wasn’t the man, but her? What if she caused men to be unsafe in carriages?

‘I have no idea why you said this! I am not wary of men.’

Richard said nothing in reply. He simply looked at her with a steady expression in his eyes. ‘Why, Sophie?’

Suddenly it came to her—the logical answer, the perfect answer. Air rushed into her lungs. There was no need for a confession. He need never know what sort of person she was underneath her cold exterior. Bluster and outrage had always served before. She could turn the conversation to his failings.

‘Why shouldn’t I exercise caution? Everyone knows about men who are not safe in carriages and the untold damage they can wreak on a woman’s reputation. She might never recover while the man simply moves on to the next unsuspecting soul.’ Sophie stabbed a finger at his chest. ‘You, Richard, are most definitely not safe in carriages. Had the desire to protect my stepmother’s feelings not preyed on my mind, I would have refused. I should have refused. We have settled very little and now I wish to return to my home. Immediately.’

Sophie hated the tremor in her voice and that she wanted him to do something to prove once and for all that he was the sort of man she knew he must be.

‘You want to believe the worst in me.’ Richard’s golden gaze peered into her soul, but he kept completely still. ‘What have I done? How have I behaved improperly towards you? All I have done is to try to preserve your reputation, rather than seek to destroy it or entice you into bad behaviour.’

Sophie straightened her shoulders and forced an uneasy laugh. ‘You have a certain well-deserved reputation. Your exploits are favourite fodder for the scandal-mongers. There is little smoke without fire, as my father used to say. Oh, you might say it is lies, but how much is half the truth?’

‘I have never denied my less-than-angelic past, but it is more than that.’ He ticked the points off on his fingers. ‘You are skittish. You maintain this façade of icy hauteur because you are terrified of any man paying you attention. When you forget, you are full of feisty wit. Someone made you that way. What was his name? You owe it to me for saving your reputation.’

Sophie’s mouth went dry. He had guessed. Richard had seen her for what she was—petrified of becoming what Sebastian Cawburn predicted she was. She should have thought. Crawford had a vast amount of experience with women. He had saved her from Sir Vincent’s machinations. She owed him the truth.

‘Sebastian Cawburn. Lord Cawburn,’ she whispered, staring straight ahead, rather than looking him in the eye.

‘That old lecher! You are comparing me to him?’

At the exclamation, Sophie rapidly glanced at him. An expression of extreme hurt flickered across his face so quickly that Sophie wondered if she had imagined it.

‘Sophie. We are nothing alike. I can’t stand the man.’

‘Not comparing, exactly,’ Sophie admitted. Her grip on her reticule caused her hand to hurt. She should have guessed Richard Crawford would be acquainted with Sebastian. They travelled in similar circles. ‘You both enjoy a certain reputation, to put it bluntly. It terrifies me that I might be attracted to someone like him again. That I am destined to repeat my mistakes.’

She closed her eyes and tried to control the trembling in her stomach. There, she had finally said the words out loud. Finally admitted her attraction to him and the impossibility of it going any further.

‘Sophie, you wound me. I am nothing like that man.’ Richard leant forwards and raised his hands in supplication before her. It hurt more than he liked to admit that Sophie equated him with Sebastian Cawburn. He wanted her to see him for who he was, not who she thought he was.

She simply sat there with her eyes closed.

‘He cheats at cards,’ Richard continued. ‘He maintains two mistresses. He had to flee to the Continent to escape his creditors three months ago. I’ve done none of those things. Nor will I ever do such things. Believe me, please!’

She cautiously opened her eyes.

‘I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I refuse to repeat my mistakes. I made a solemn vow.’

‘When … when did it happen to you? When did you encounter Cawburn? Tell me that much.’ He swallowed hard and tried to control his frustration. Shouting at her would make matters worse, but he wanted to know how she’d become mixed up with Cawburn and what he’d done to her. A primitive urge to do violence to the man filled Richard. Somehow, he’d harmed Sophie. ‘Help me to understand why you might be comparing us.’

‘It was my first Season. I was naïve.’ Sophie raised her chin and he could see tears shimmering in her eyes. She clenched her fists before continuing. ‘Lord Cawburn can be very charming when he wants to be, but when he doesn’t get his own way, he is … he becomes a violent monster.’

Sophie pressed her hands to her eyes, making a sudden decision. She had to tell him everything, then he’d see why their relationship was doomed and why she refused to act on her attraction to him. He was sure to turn away from her in disgust. It would hurt a little, but better to be hurt now than to be led inexorably towards another room in a seedy inn.

‘Go on.’ He put his hand on hers. His voice was soothing as if he were speaking to a nervous horse. ‘Whatever happens, know I won’t be angry with you. I want to understand. It was during your first Season you had the misfortune to encounter Cawburn …’

‘I believed his promises. The ones I wanted to, rather than the ones I thought he said as a joke. I should have paid more attention to those ones.’ Sophie slowly withdrew her hand from his. He made no attempt to recapture it. He simply looked at her with burning gold eyes that bored deep into her soul.

‘It was very flattering,’ Sophie said when the silence became too great to bear. ‘I was his angel put on the earth. It was exciting to have someone that experienced interested in me. Before that I was Sophie, the one with the awkward hair who could never remember to start on the correct foot during the quadrille. It all went to my head. He kept arranging for us to meet at various balls and entertainments. When my stepmother discovered us in a deserted card room, holding hands, my guardian objected to the match and brought me away, but that only increased my desire for Lord Cawburn. He bribed my maid and sent clandestine letters, declaring his undying devotion. He followed me north. We eloped together at his insistence.’

‘But you didn’t marry.’

‘My guardian and Sebastian’s cousin, Henrietta, caught up with us the next day.’ Sophie gave a hollow laugh. ‘We hadn’t even reached Scotland. The carriage had broken down. Trust me to pick someone who couldn’t even organise a proper elopement.’

She waited to hear his sarcastic laughter at her youthful folly. Her heart thudded as the only sounds were the turning of the carriage wheels.

‘There has never been a whiff of scandal,’ he said finally. ‘I have never heard that Cawburn eloped with anyone. Not that I don’t believe you, but I am at a loss to explain how such a thing was kept out of the papers. Cawburn has never breathed a word of it, either, not even when he was completely pie-eyed after a Derby win. And he is the sort of repellent individual who regularly boasts about his conquests to anyone who might listen. How did you manage it?’

Sophie’s shoulders sagged slightly. He believed her story, rather than accusing her of lying. Or worse.

‘That was Henri’s doing,’ she said, leaning forwards. Richard had to understand how grateful she was to Henri Montemorcy. ‘She is marvellous at arranging things like that. I shall never know what she said to Lord Cawburn. We’ve never spoken about it. Henri married my guardian soon after. That part was very romantic. It made me realise the importance of true love versus flattery.’

A primitive surge of anger swept through Richard. Sophie had gone through hell and she’d had to rely on Cawburn’s cousin. ‘You spent the night with Cawburn. It is an intriguing little fact. I am surprised your guardian didn’t insist on a marriage.’

‘Henri sorted it out. In the excitement of her marriage to my guardian, my indiscretion was overlooked, just as Henri predicted. Henri is marvellous. She has been so helpful in showing me how to behave correctly.’

‘Your guardian’s wife must be very good at arranging things.’ Richard struggled to contain his anger and frustration. Cawburn had not suffered at all for his part in this. ‘Most things like that appear within the first months, if not days. How long has it been since it happened?’

‘Nearly four years.’

‘Four years! My God, she is better than good. I’d never have thought Cawburn would keep quiet that long. Of course, if he said anything now, who would believe it?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Why is it that your guardian did not force the marriage? Even if his brain was love-addled, he had to have appreciated the risks to your reputation.’

Sophie winced. And Richard knew his words had come out too harshly.

‘I spent the night barricaded in an inn’s upstairs room. I hit Lord Cawburn with a frying pan when he decided to take liberties and, once he left, I pulled a chest of drawers, a trunk and the bed against the door. I sat up all night with the frying pan in my hand. Lord Cawburn came up twice to shout at me through the keyhole, but I refused to open the door until Henri appeared.’

The muscles in Richard’s shoulders relaxed. Sophie remained an innocent. He had thought he’d have to go and make sure that Cawburn suffered a slow and painful death, but he’d allow him to live. He would simply use his influence to ensure Cawburn had a frosty welcome when he next turned up in London.

Silently he vowed he’d demonstrate that she was wrong in her assessment of him. He wanted to show beyond a shadow of a doubt that he could never do what Cawburn had done to her. He put all thoughts of seduction from him. Sophie needed a friend, not a lover.

‘You hit Cawburn with a frying pan. Thoroughly deserved.’ Richard banged his hand on his knee and barely stopped himself from hugging Sophie. Trust her to sort out Cawburn. ‘What did he do after you hit him once? Did he take the hint that you were no fragile flower and run?’

‘It took three goes, but he went. It is lucky that I know how to play cricket and how to hit the ball hard.’

He laughed out loud.

Sophie smiled back at him. Relief flooded through her. Somehow it made it easier to talk about it. Henri and Robert had never wanted to discuss that night. After they left the inn, Henri told her it was unnecessary as nothing had happened. But it had and Sophie couldn’t forget it. Sometimes she woke up with a pounding heart, reaching for the frying pan, trying to get it from her bag and finding her bag empty. ‘Three times, but I succeeded in the end.’

He instantly sobered and the fury returned to his face. ‘It should have taken him one, but it should never have to come to that. He should have accepted your no. You did say no, Sophie, before you started swinging your frying pan?’

‘I screamed it!’

‘Good girl. That’s what I like to hear.’ He patted her shoulder. The tiny gesture of approval sent a pulse of warmth throbbing through her. Richard agreed with her actions. ‘But why did you have a frying pan? It is not the usual sort of equipment one carries on an elopement. Are you a keen cook?’

‘When we first met, Henri had warned me that her cousin might have difficulties in understanding no. She thought a hatpin wouldn’t do, but he might need a frying pan applied to his head. I think she was joking when she said it, but I couldn’t be sure. When Sebastian insisted on eloping, I took the frying pan as precaution. I might have been a naïve débutante and inclined to believe flattery, Richard, but I am far from stupid.’

‘And what happened afterwards? Once you were rescued? Did no one tell you that it was Cawburn to blame, not you? Did your friends explain that you were young and unused to the ways of rogues and cads?’

Sophie looked at her hands. All sorts of things had been said, but she knew they were easy words. The shame at what she’d done and how she’d behaved rose in her throat. ‘Henri told me that I was to forget that it had ever happened. My life was supposed to go on as before. No one would ever know, but I knew. And I have made sure that I am never in situations like that again … until the other night. I thought I was safe. All I was doing was delivering a note from Cynthia. It was the work of a moment. I had no interest in Sir Vincent as a man. Sir Vincent seemed so … so …’

‘Infused with gentlemanly virtue?’ Richard supplied with a bitter twist to his mouth.

‘Exactly, but he wasn’t. He … he called me the same sorts of names and threaten—’

A shudder went through her. Her throat worked up and down, but she knew if she continued, she’d break down in tears. She refused to cry, particularly not in front of Richard.

Without a word, he gathered her into his arms and rested his head on top of hers. Unlike the other times he had held her, this time had a quality of caring and comfort to it. The gentleness of his touch made her feel secure. Safe in a way that she had not felt for years, not since the inn. She laid her head on his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart.

‘What did he say to you?’ he asked, gently stroking her back. ‘Cawburn, I mean. I can guess, but I need to know, Sophie. Can you tell me, please?’

‘He turned very nasty and called me all sorts of names. A hell-cat, a she-devil. He said that I had led him on. It was all my fault and that he’d never behave like that around a true lady. I had shown my true breeding—a common whore.’

A single tear trickled down her cheek. She sat up and wiped it away with furious fingers. He silently passed her a handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes and regained control.

‘I have made a mess of your shirt front. You must realise that—’

‘Hush. They were all lies.’ He tilted her face so he looked her directly in the eyes. ‘All wicked lies, Sophie, from a cowardly scoundrel. You are the epitome of a lady. You were young. He took advantage of you. Cawburn bears all the blame. You were and remain the innocent victim who used all the means at your disposal and some brilliant ingenuity. Did he say anything else? Threaten you?’

She gave a brief nod. He might believe that, but she had to wonder, particularly given how much she’d enjoyed Richard’s kisses yesterday—was she truly a bad woman who simply played at being good? ‘Finally he said that we would have to marry and he’d spend all my money. He’d enjoy seeing me reduced to poverty and dressed in the meanest rags.’

‘You can see what a liar he was.’ He ticked off the points on his fingers. ‘You didn’t have to marry. And he most definitely has not spent all your money. You have a sterling reputation and are admired by many people, while he was forced to flee to France to escape his creditors … and I know of at least one incident where he cheated at cards. He was caught red handed and denied it with very great bleats, accusing everyone else, until I drew the card from his boot.’

‘You did?’

‘A man who will cheat at cards will cheat and lie at anything, and most particularly in love. Think of that the next time you are tempted to believe anything else he said. The reason you enjoy such a good reputation is because you are a good person, Sophie. Everyone is allowed one mistake.’

‘It was because of Henri … It was all her doing.’

He shook his head. ‘I have never met this Henri, but I know you. No one wields that much power. She might have kept it quiet for a little while, but your subsequent actions ensured silence. You haven’t hidden or stopped doing what you pleased. You simply stopped some of the lies he told you. It is time you stopped believing the rest of the filth.’

‘I still have nightmares,’ Sophie confessed.

‘Always with him. Never with me starring in his role.’ He pinned her with his gaze. ‘You are not frightened of me, are you, Sophie?’

Sophie bit her lip. She could hardly confess to the sort of dreams she was having about him! And how for the past two nights, she had woken with his name on her lips and a deep longing to have his lips against hers. It was trying to make those sorts of dreams real which led to her utter destruction.

‘Only with him,’ she managed. ‘I haven’t known you very long.’

‘I will never give you a reason to have a nightmare.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Is there any dream you have given up because of him and his lies?’ he asked into the silence which had filled the carriage. ‘Something you could do to prove to yourself that he no longer has power over you?’

‘I used to enjoy drawing. I was going to be a great painter. He had promised to take me to the Alps so I could paint.’ Sophie tried to swallow the hard lump which had formed in her throat. ‘I … I had always dreamt of going there on my honeymoon. I wanted to paint the mountains. I read somewhere that the light was good. People used to say that I was quite accomplished. Afterwards, I found it difficult to hold my brush or pen without the feelings of shame and remorse washing over me. Drawing became torture, something I did before. It was like my life was divided into two parts.’

Her limbs started to shake as she struggled to keep control and not allow those feelings to swamp her.

He pulled her back into his arms. ‘Hush, now. Your friend didn’t put a frying pan to Cawburn’s head. You did. And you are safe now. You can go to the Alps and paint if you want to. You don’t have to wait for a wedding trip. You can travel, Sophie. It is easy. All you have to do is buy a ticket and go. You mustn’t allow a creature like that and his self-serving lies to rule your existence. You allow him to win by doing that. And that is nothing you want.’

She breathed deeply and allowed the crisp masculine scent to fill her nostrils. She’d shed all the tears she needed to over that man and what he’d done to her innocence. Richard was right. She had to start living again. She breathed deeply one more time, made a memory and then sat up.

‘Thank you. I will get some new paints when I next go to the shops.’ She looped a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘The trip might have to wait a while. Perhaps after our engagement is done, I might need to get away to recover. My stepmother might agree. She has always wanted to take the waters.’

A half-smile touched his lips. ‘There, better already.’

‘Much better.’

‘Good.’

His hand stroked her cheek. A warm tingle pulsed through her. He was going to kiss her again. She closed her eyes, parted her lips and hoped.

Rather than kissing her, he gave a great sigh before rapping the carriage roof. The carriage turned around almost immediately.

‘Where are we going?’ Sophie asked, her eyes flying open as a pang of disappointment went through her. No kisses today. Despite his easy words, he felt she was tainted in some way.

‘Back to your home, but I want you to do something for me, Sophie.’

‘What is that?’ she whispered.

‘Give me a chance to prove that I am as far removed from the sort of creature that Cawburn is. I do understand the word no and that when a lady says it, she means it.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘Will you do that for me, Sophie? Judge me for me, rather than considering me to be like Cawburn?’

‘I … I will try.’

The box of paints with its bright colours neatly arrayed stared up at her. She fingered the aquamarine and then the crimson red. Gorgeous rich colours which made her soul ache to use them. She pulled her hand away before the temptation overwhelmed her.

‘You have given me oil paints?’

‘They seemed more appropriate than watercolours. You are not some milk-sop miss content with a pastel-coloured life, but a vibrant being who requires true colour to match her view of the world,’ Richard replied. ‘Or that was my thought.’

‘I know how to paint with oils. I used to prefer them, but watercolours seem more ladylike.’ Sophie gently closed the wooden box, before she gave in to the urge to start painting there and then. Oil paints were for people who led reckless and chaotic lives, rather than ordered ones.

‘Sophie, you are a lady whether you paint in oil or water. It is how you act. Your stepmother will confirm it.’ He tilted his head. ‘Where is Mrs Ravel? I have a present of wax fruit for her.’

‘She has a dress fitting.’ Sophie gestured to the piles of old magazines, penny-dreadfuls and fashion plates. ‘I’m sorting through these and trying to decide which to keep and which to throw away. I hadn’t thought you would call. There is no At Home on a Friday.’

Rather than living in hope of Richard calling, she had chosen to wear a faded rose-coloured gown with a high-necked collar and her loosest corset. Her hair was drawn back in a simple knot, rather than being artfully done. Sophie absurdly wished she was in the dark-blue gown which set off her eyes and that she had used curling tongs to make sure her ringlets framed her face.

She squashed the thought. It did not matter what he thought of her looks. They were thrown together by circumstance. She was not going to act on any feelings of attraction towards him. He might have been the perfect gentleman yesterday, but could she trust him today?

‘Is there something wrong with a man calling on his fiancée?’ He glanced about the small sitting room which her stepmother and she used in the evenings when they were not entertaining. ‘This room is far more pleasant than the drawing room. Cosy and more you.’

‘No, nothing is wrong. And I like this room better with fewer china ornaments to knock.’ Sophie picked up a brush and toyed with it, twisting it about her fingers. ‘I will make sure my stepmother gets the fruit. It is good of you to remember her.’

‘I have brought some paper as well as a variety of pencils,’ Richard said, holding out another parcel. ‘In case you didn’t have any. I wasn’t sure about the size of canvas you might require, but the man at the shop will drop off a selection later today.’

Sophie tilted her head to one side, eyeing the parcel with suspicion. ‘I don’t understand. Why are you giving me these things?’

‘Have you forgotten what we spoke about yesterday? You promised to try drawing again. As you said you stopped four years ago, I reckoned you would not have paints, pencils or drawing paper.’ His eyes glinted gold. ‘Finding excuses is a terrible thing.’

‘Spoken like someone who knows.’

‘There are things I avoided until I was forced to,’ he admitted with a studied shrug.

Sophie caught her breath and waited.

‘I am not here to speak about my failings,’

he said finally. ‘Know I have many. Are you going to draw?’

‘And I do intend to after I have finished with the magazines. But these are far too much, Richard.’ Sophie gave the paintbox a wistful stroke. The tubes were new and unclotted. When she had looked this morning at her old oil paints, she couldn’t even squeeze the tube, the paint was so old and cracked. Her brushes were matted and glued. The thought of going and buying more had been beyond her and she’d put it off for another day.

‘What is the harm in spoiling you? Do you like them?’

‘Very much,’ Sophie admitted. ‘I am puzzled why you have given me all this.’

‘Can’t a man give his fiancée a present?’

‘It is nothing that others will see,’ she explained. ‘I’m hardly likely to bring it up in conversation, either.’

‘And what of it? You will know I gave it to you. Sometimes it is not about creating an impression, Sophie, but doing the right thing.’ He shrugged. ‘After our conversation yesterday, I wanted to encourage you. To paint.’

She knew he was talking about more than that. He wanted her to stop allowing The Incident to rule her life. Rather than fearing it, a sort of reckless excitement filled her. It was an unexpected challenge. ‘You are very kind.’

‘Some day you might get to the Alps and want to paint, but you won’t have practised for a long time. You need to practise now, so you are ready. The wax fruit are in case you need a subject. But I thought your stepmother was more the wax-fruit type.’

‘I will definitely go … one of these days.’ Privately Sophie vowed that she would go once they had ended. And she would paint meadows filled with flowers with snow-capped mountains towering over them. It would be a way to ease the pain in her heart. She froze and buried the thought. She liked Richard and enjoyed his company, but nothing more. They could never be real friends. There was far too much between them. After this false engagement ended, she’d never see him again. They would be strangers. The thought depressed her. ‘Yes, I will definitely go.’

‘Then you will accept the gift? I give it to you as a friend. I do consider you a friend, Sophie. I hope you will come to consider me as a friend.’

A friend. Sophie’s heart thudded.

‘Can a man and a woman ever be friends?’ she asked lightly.

‘I like to think you are. We share a secret.’

Friends for now, strangers in a few weeks. She’d miss him. ‘How could I refuse when it was given in the interests of friendship?’

He stood there without moving and she wondered if he expected a kiss. She carefully placed the box down on the table with the drawing paper and pencils next to them, making a show of straightening them, but all the time watching him out of the corner of her eye.

‘I shall start a painting today to show you I’m serious,’ she said to cover the awkward silence. ‘You can see it tomorrow … I mean, whenever you next come to call.’

‘Tomorrow will be fine. There is a concert of Handel’s Water Music on at the Royal Theatre. I thought you and your stepmother might enjoy going. You did enjoy the theatre so much in Liverpool last March.’

‘I promise not to flirt with any strange men with my fan. I gave that up after I met you. Lesson learnt.’

A tiny smile touched his lips. ‘You have our story down.’

‘It is important not to make a mistake.’ Sophie turned back to the paints. ‘I’ve no wish to come undone over it. I’ve told the story so many times now that I almost believe it myself.’

‘Do you have a subject in mind for this painting of yours or shall I pose for you?’

Sophie examined the carpet of the small sitting room. If he posed for her, he’d have to stay. A large chunk of her wanted him here, but the more prudent side knew he should go. She had given up being reckless years ago. And while Richard might say he was different, she had no desire to put him to the test. Once bitten, twice shy as her nurse used to say.

‘It normally takes me an age to decide on the subject,’ she said. ‘I like to spend time arranging things and doing preliminary sketches. Paintings don’t happen like that. They need to be prepared.’

‘Do you draw people?’

‘I used to.’ Sophie gestured towards the pen-and-ink portrait of her stepmother that stood on a side table. ‘I did that one the spring before I made my début. My stepmother was a poor sitter. She kept moving her hands and changing expressions. Most aggravating—the drawing took twice as long as it should have done.’

‘You are very talented.’

‘You’re being kind.’

‘Kindness has nothing to do with it. I merely appreciated your talent.’ He nodded towards the paints. ‘Another time, then. When you are more confident at drawing people. I promise to sit very still and not move a muscle … no matter how much my nose itches.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘No perhaps. I shall look forward to sitting with anticipation.’

Sophie’s mouth went dry. And she privately decided the time would never come. The risk to her resolve was far too great. There would be too many opportunities for seduction. Richard might proclaim to be different from Sebastian, but she didn’t want to tempt fate.

She hugged the paintbox to her chest. ‘I will think about it, but your suggestion to paint the wax fruit is a good one. My stepmother has a silver bowl which will work admirably. Nothing too complicated to begin with.’

‘I am counting the hours.’ His mouth quirked upwards at her expression. Her cheeks burnt. ‘Until the theatre. It is your decision if you need a model. Know that I am a willing volunteer, if required.’

‘And I will let you know if you are ever required.’

‘We understand each other.’ He took the box from her nerveless fingers and placed it on the table. ‘Don’t worry, I shall show myself out. You get on with your painting.’

Sophie stood in the middle of the sitting room, staring at the paints for a long time. Why did Richard Crawford have to turn out to be kind? He was right. He wasn’t like Sebastian at all. He was infinitely more dangerous.