Scandal's Deception

by Pamela Gibson

  Mrs. Murdock, sitting next to her, sat up and smiled broadly.

  “Is that my guardian?”

  She tilted her head as if trying to recall what she’d heard. “No, my dear. That’s Horatio’s cousin. He’s come to bring us to his home as soon as you depart with your guardian.”

  Jane sighed and held out her cup. Mrs. Murdock poured the steaming liquid into it, handing her a spoon for milk and sugar. The man limped over and grasped Mrs. Murdock’s hand, kissing the air above it. After introductions were made, he bowed to Jane and turned back to his cousin.

  A hum of voices rose from the tavern’s main room. The dim interior light and the steady buzz of sound made Jane’s eyes droop. Lordy, she was tired. The tedious voyage, deep-seated apprehension, and memories that caused more inner turmoil than she’d expected had drained her energy. All she wanted to do was lie down somewhere soft and sleep.

  “Jane.” A hand gripped her shoulder, startling her awake. Had she drifted off for a moment? She couldn’t be sure.

  She turned toward Mrs. Murdock, blinking to clear her vision. “I do apologize. I believe fatigue has overcome my ability to focus. Did you say something I missed?”

  “Your . . . er . . . guardian is here.”

  “Oh.” She gazed toward the door where Mr. Murdock and his cousin blocked her view of the gentleman behind them. A lady had also entered, a very young one who gripped the edges of her cloak as she stood slightly behind the gentlemen. The woman appeared too young to be her mother.

  “She’s right here,” said Murdock. The two older men stepped aside, and the man behind stood alone. Jane gaped—she couldn’t help herself. There must be some mistake. This man wasn’t Papa’s age. As far as she could tell, no grays glistened in his hair. No infirmities impeded his stance or ability to walk as he moved forward. He was tall, muscular, and handsome as sin and walked like a man who knew exactly who he was and what he wanted. His eyes, the color of damp straw, roamed over her as if searching for something he didn’t quite see.

  As if remembering why he had come, he nodded and bowed.

  “Miss Stafford. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Earl of Ralston, come to escort you to your new home.” When she extended her gloved hand, he shook it quickly, instead of kissing the air, and then turned to greet Mrs. Murdock.

  Jane released her pent-up breath and hoped her gawking hadn’t been too noticeable. This was Ralston? Had Papa already been in a delusional state months prior to his death? This man did not fit the description Mr. Hornsby had given. Age alone decried his identity. Yet the Murdocks seemed satisfied that he was indeed her guardian.

  She tensed as the man turned back to her.

  “Are you ready? We have a journey that will take most of the day. I assure you my carriage is quite comfortable. You can doze if you like en route.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To Painswick. Less than a day’s journey this time of year, pending no difficulties.”

  “Is your father accompanying us?”

  The widening of his eyes was followed by an almost imperceptible upward movement of his lips. “My father passed away years ago. If he were still alive, I would not be Ralston.” He tilted his head as if waiting for her to acknowledge her understanding.

  “Of course.”

  This was a puzzle, but why not? Wasn’t her life one tangled mess after another these days?

  She rose, her limbs stiff, said her goodbyes to the Murdocks, and strolled over to Lord Ralston. He extended his arm, and when she stared at it, he used his other hand to place her arm on his. A frown flitted across his face for an instant.

  “What about my trunk?”

  “It is already stowed in the carriage.”

  They wove their way through the tables in the tavern and out to the street where a black carriage with a gilded coat of arms on the door stood waiting. A man in livery stood by the open door. She climbed in and waited. Lord Ralston did not come in with her. Instead, the young woman who had waited near the door in the private dining room entered and sat opposite.

  “Hello. I’m Jane. And you are?”

  “Mary, my lady. I’m to be your personal maid.”

  My lady?

  Her tired brain conjured up an image of a young girl in a fairy tale Maddie once read to her as a child. It was about a stepsister who was destined to wait on her mother and sisters until rescued by a handsome prince. Written in French, Maddie had translated as she read, and at the time, Jane had longed to be the girl who would someday be carried away by a prince in a magnificent coach.

  The same longing had briefly flitted through her brain the second she’d gazed into the beautiful golden-brown eyes of Lord Ralston.

  Papa had entrusted his only daughter to a stranger in a foreign land. How could he not have known the Lord Ralston he remembered was gone, replaced by an heir? And where was her mother?

  Another phrase, often quoted by Papa, raised its ugly head as she had walked out the door.

  A pleasant countenance sometimes masks a black heart.

  That phrase was a bit more grounded in reality, and until she knew this man better, she would keep it uppermost in her mind in the days to come.

  Chapter 4

  If his sister hadn’t confirmed that Jocelyn had a twin, Ralston never would have believed it at first glance. This girl wore an unfashionable black gown, had straight hair parted in the middle with two braids twisted into tight balls over her ears, skin tanned by the sun, and eyes that told him she longed to be somewhere, anywhere, but here.

  Lady Jocelyn was fair, dimpled, and had curls accenting her heart-shaped face. While her eyes were the same shade of blue, they always sparkled with flirtation. This girl seemed as somber as a caged lion. He was to teach her the ways of the ton when she didn’t even know to place her arm on his when he extended it?

  He was going to murder his sister.

  He rode alongside the carriage, not wanting to be close to the girl yet. Once they got to Painswick, his aunt would hopefully take charge. Elizabeth had seen to everything, including an impeccable chaperone. His aunt lived well outside the village and was known as a recluse. It was the perfect solution if you needed to hide a young girl away from society without damaging her reputation.

  When to reveal her existence was another matter, thankfully not his to decide. An uncomfortable visit with Lady Siltsbury had made that quite clear.

  The day was overcast and cool, and a breeze chilled the back of his neck. They would ride halfway and stop at the Red Rooster Inn for a light meal, then continue. He’d have a chance to observe her manners and see how she conducted a conversation. According to Elizabeth, Jane didn’t know she had a sister—hell, she had just been told her mother was alive. Her upbringing was a mystery, as was her level of education. The only thing he knew for sure was that she and her sister had generous dowries and would one day be the proud owners of their own modest establishments. They also had trust funds for their sole use, in addition to their dowries, once they came of age. How Lord Siltsbury had managed that was beyond his understanding. But he had. Siltsbury’s London solicitor had verified it.

  The rest of the estate, the part that was entailed, would go to some long-lost relative he did not have to worry about. Finding the heir fell to a different authority. His responsibility was to the females.

  Bollocks! How did I get into this ridiculous situation?

  Ah yes, sister dearest and her best friend.

  He thought back to the day he’d tried to finagle at least part of the story out of his sister. Lord and Lady Siltsbury had been wed through an arrangement by their parents. While they hadn’t detested each other, it had been by no means a love match. At the time, Peregrine, the elder brother, would inherit the title. Mathew had been destined for the law.

  When a close friend of
Stafford’s convinced him there were opportunities in America that far exceeded his prospects in England, he’d decided to emigrate. His wife remained. She’d been terrified of sea travel—her parents had drowned while on a voyage—and preferred to remain in England with her friends. Her father, a wealthy merchant, had left her funds and a remote residence in Cumbria. That house was where the twins were born.

  Stafford had agreed on one condition. One of their twin girls would go with him; the other would remain with her. When Peregrine died without issue in a hunting accident, Stafford became the Earl of Siltsbury. By then he was established in his profession, a leader in political circles in America, and owned a thriving farm. He remained in Baltimore while his father’s steward kept everything humming in his absence. When he became ill, he’d begun making arrangements for his daughters’ futures. All of this was according to Gilbert’s sister, Elizabeth.

  There were pieces missing from this puzzle, glaring omissions he might never know. The wily Lady Siltsbury and his sister had embroiled him in a mess of huge proportions. Jocelyn’s birthday ball, scheduled for late June, had not been postponed. Why mourn a man Jocelyn had never met and society had forgotten?

  He was surprised Lady Siltsbury hadn’t seen fit to accompany him to at least greet her daughter upon her arrival. She said she’d given up the girl as a babe and didn’t know her. Was that a proper reason? Perhaps she was apprehensive about the girl’s reentry into her life.

  The carriage slowed as they reached the Red Rooster Inn. Ralston dismounted and handed his horse to one of the grooms that had accompanied the coach, dismayed that rain had begun to fall. He opened the door, lowered the steps, and offered his arm. No one alighted. He poked his nose into the door and found Lady Jane ensconced in the corner, her maid asleep on the opposite seat.

  “We’ve arrived, if you hadn’t noticed. This is where we’ll have a light meal before continuing our journey. Allow me to help you from the carriage.” He extended his hand and waited for her to move.

  She put on her bonnet and picked up her cloak. Her gloves rested on the seat.

  “Put your gloves on and grasp my hand.” Was this girl still in the schoolroom? She did not seem to know what was proper.

  “Mary.” He nudged the sleeping maid who awakened with a start. “Help your mistress put on her gloves and cloak.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  “I can do it myself.” She thrust her hands into her gloves and yanked her cloak onto her shoulders. “You do not have to wait for me.”

  She spoke with flat vowels with an odd tone. Both inflection and word usage gave away her heritage to someone who was accustomed to aristocratic speech. Was he supposed to help her master a proper accent as well as learn manners?

  Have you no pity? Think of how frightened and bewildered the poor girl must be.

  He chastised himself for being churlish, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and waited for her to alight on her own. He placed her hand in the proper spot on his arm once again and guided her inside the establishment, with Mary following.

  She stood in silence, waiting for direction, putting her weight on one foot and then the other. Restless sort was she. When he realized her need, he took the maid aside and whispered instructions into her ear. She blushed and nodded.

  “Come with me, my lady. I believe I can show you something outside ye might be needin’.”

  The girl cast her eyes downward and followed the maid to the necessary.

  That wasn’t so difficult, was it?

  Ralston made arrangements for a brief repast in the inn’s private dining room and rose when the two women returned. Mary did not sit with them, but at a table close by.

  “Are you not hungry?” Jane called out to the maid. “Why are you not sitting with us?”

  Ralston put his hand on Jane’s arm, drawing her attention. “Mary would be uncomfortable dining with us. I assure you she will eat whatever she likes. She probably would prefer to be in the taproom with the coachman and the grooms, whom she knows. For propriety’s sake, she must remain in here with us.”

  A bewildered look crossed her face. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Do you eat with your servants in America?”

  “Not always.” Maddie often joined them for supper in the kitchen, but not when they had guests.

  The proprietor bustled in with bread, cheese, slices of ham, and a frosty glass of ale. He set the teapot and cup and saucer in front of Jane, along with sugar and milk.

  “Eat up. We aren’t to dawdle. I’d like to get you settled in Painswick before dinnertime, and Aunt keeps country hours.”

  She eyed him with suspicion, a sour expression on her pursed lips. Lord, how was he going to approach making a lady out of a country bumpkin? Lady Siltsbury, when he’d finally cornered her, had been clear. “We must make sure she knows what’s required of her in society before she leaves your aunt’s residence. Even though the girl is of my body, I know her not. Jocelyn is my daughter. Jane belonged to her father. I would hate for her to be shunned because of a broken rule in front of malicious tongues.”

  He knew about the evils of gossip, having watched his best friend’s wife suffer at the hands of rumormongers before she was wed. He wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone, especially a young woman who was now his responsibility. “Would you care for more tea?”

  “I’m not fond of tea. I prefer what you’re drinking. I assume ladies don’t drink ale.”

  Ah, she’s a quick learner.

  He pursed his lips. “I know a few ladies who drink ale in their homes, not in public establishments.” He tried to smile, to lighten the atmosphere, but she turned away. Several attempts at conversation resulted in clipped answers. They finished their meal in silence.

  Mary swallowed her last bite and slid back her chair, joining them as Jane rose and put on her outerwear. Staring straight ahead, she ignored his arm and strode from the room to the waiting carriage.

  The rain had intensified and would make travel by horse miserable. He tied his mount to the back of the carriage and climbed inside. Mary repositioned herself next to her mistress and left him the opposite seat.

  “Are you comfortable, Miss Stafford? There are blankets in a compartment under the seat if you need one.”

  “I’m fine.” She focused on her folded hands, clutching an unusual string of beads.

  “What do you have there?”

  “They’re called worry beads. They come from Greece. They were first used by the monks of Mt. Athos.”

  “Do they have a purpose?”

  “They keep the hands occupied. I find them calming.” She narrowed her eyes. “Have you not been to Greece? I thought you were a world traveler.”

  “That was my father. He died several years ago.”

  She nodded. “Ah yes. Papa thought he was making your father my guardian, and you allowed the deception.”

  “I did nothing of the sort,” he sputtered. He couldn’t allow her to think he had taken part in devising this tomfoolery. “I knew nothing about the guardianship until your father died. I never met your father, and to be honest, I was astounded that I had been named guardian of . . .”

  “A young woman you’d never heard of?”

  He hesitated. “Yes.”

  He’d started to say, two young women, but caught himself in time. Lady Siltsbury had been adamant. Neither girl was to learn about the other until after Jocelyn’s ball. She did not want Jocelyn distracted.

  Ralston had never been easy with partial truths, and it appeared he would have to be careful in this girl’s presence. She hadn’t said much. His instinct told him she would not be easily fooled.

  He studied her bent head, her fingers stroking each bead. She must be devastated, having lost her father, her home—her very life. She hid it well beneath a cloak of indifferen
ce. If a string of yellow balls helped her cope, who was he to judge?

  Find your inner compassion, Ralston. The girl needs a friend.

  Would she think of him as a friend? A jailor, more likely. He sat back in his seat and tried to close his eyes. He did not look forward to the coming days.

  Chapter 5

  Ralston told the truth. His indignant expression confirmed it. Although he had not placed blame, this was all Lady Siltsbury’s doing.

  My mother.

  The carriage bounced on a bump, then settled into a steady motion. The vehicle was well sprung, and the squabs smelled of leather. A light blanket had been provided. Jane left it folded in the seat as she sank back and clutched her beads, moving them along the string. She’d purchased them on her trip to New York with her father. Made of amber, they were solid and familiar, providing a semblance of tactile comfort.

  What was Ralston’s relationship to her absent parent? Was he a friend or more? Some wealthy women had admirers, younger men who danced attendance on them and made them feel young. Judging from his age, he was too young to be her lover. Or were morals different in what Mrs. Murdock had referred to as the ton?

  She settled into her corner and closed her eyes. She must have fallen asleep. Darkness surrounded her in the quiet carriage when she opened her eyes. Had they arrived? Ralston opened the door, and a groom let down the steps.

  “Good. You’re awake. You have been fast asleep for hours. I thought I might have to carry you in and you would not like that much.”

  She could barely see him in the wan illumination of the carriage lamp. By the tone of his voice, he was trying to be amusing.

  She cursed under her breath as a sharp pain pinched her neck. She must have slept awkwardly in her corner. After gathering her cloak, she took his hand as she jumped onto firm ground. He tucked her arm in his and propelled her up several steps and into a warm hall. A fashionably-dressed woman with a narrow face and gray hair tucked under a frilly cap greeted her. She was introduced as Lady Amelia, the owner of the manor.