by Jenna Jaxon
“None. I swear to you on any holy thing you will name,” Fanny said, tears in her eyes.
“And if you had known? Would you have told me?”
Should she tell the truth when a lie would be so much more convenient? What did it matter at this point what she would have done in her wretched state seven years ago? Now a better life hung in the balance for her and her child. Their child. Opening her mouth to speak, she stared into his accusatory eyes then hung her head. A slight shake, a world of betrayal. She raised her head to find herself gazing into the eyes of a stranger.
“Well, then.” He turned sharply on his heel and strode to the doorway.
“What good would it have done, Matthew?” She had to stop him. They could find a way to make everything all right, if only he wouldn’t leave her. “I was married to Stephen. No matter what I told or who I told it to, that fact could not be altered. In the eyes of the law she will always be Stephen’s daughter.”
“Oh, no.” He wheeled about again, pacing toward her so quickly she backed into the chaise and sat down hard, jarring the tea things on the nearby table. “If you had come to me as soon as you knew you were increasing, we could have gone to Belgium, or Germany. Anywhere. We had proof of our affair, right there in your belly. Stephen would have divorced you before the ink was dry on the confession. Then we could have been married and began a life together.” He leaned down until his face was within inches of hers. “But you didn’t want that. You wanted Stephen, though God knows why. Perhaps because he treated you like the mud beneath his boots.” Matthew rose. “Perhaps if I treat you that way, you’ll come running after me.”
Heart hammering, Fanny sat stunned, unable to speak, to call him back as he spun around and strode out of the room, without a backward glance.
CHAPTER 22
November had ushered in weather even colder and wetter than they had suffered at the end of October, if that was possible. A more miserable month Fanny had never experienced, but not only because of the dismal weather. She hadn’t seen or heard from Matthew since that terrible day six weeks before when he’d walked out of this very room. After the first week of waiting for him to call or send word, she’d taken to having tea in the small receiving room. It made her horribly sad, but also helped her feel closer to Matthew as well. She’d just sent for Ella to have tea with her, in the hopes that having their daughter here would give her some comfort.
In less than two weeks’ time she would return to Kent for Charlotte and Nash’s wedding. By now she’d thought she and Matthew would be traveling there together as husband and wife. Instead she’d be going alone, and returning to London. Only a week ago, Lavinia had informed her and all the members of the household that Theale had decided not to journey to Northumberland and his primary estate there for Christmas.
No explanation had been given, but Fanny had written to Jane, still at Lyttlefield Park assisting Charlotte with preparations for the wedding. She’d given her the latest decree from their brother-in-law and asked what she thought might be the cause of this drastic break with family tradition. Jane’s response had been a tale, almost a scandal in fact, regarding Theale’s acting drunk at several parties and balls and accosting young women. An occurrence completely out of character for the marquess, who had always enjoyed a sterling reputation as a teetotaler and a man who never looked at a woman other than his wife. This odd behavior on top of remaining in London for the holiday did not bode well for any of them. As Shakespeare was often famously quoted, something was rotten in Denmark.
Little as she wanted to admit it, Fanny’s life, so recently like a straight path lined with gold, had now spun out of control and threatened to crash like a runaway carriage. Powerless to make any changes, she would live at the whim of the Marquess of Theale for the rest of her days unless she managed to find someone to marry her. She sighed and distractedly poured milk into her cup of tea, stirring as the white swirls made pretty patterns before muddling into a bland tannish color. Much like her life now. She raised the cup to her lips, tasted the milky brew and grimaced, but swallowed. Where was her mind to have put milk in her tea? Woefully fixed on her predicament.
It might be possible to catch another husband. She still had her looks, and if she took a little more pains, she would do well enough she supposed. However, her heart was simply not engaged. Flirting had not even held any charms for her recently. She’d have sworn she’d enjoy that pastime until the grave, but nothing about talking to or teasing men appealed to her now.
Not since Matthew.
Why had she not accepted him and married him in June when he’d asked? Or in Brighton. Or even in Kent in October? Had she not hesitated, had she not wanted her daughter to matter in her decision regarding her life . . . Had she not told the truth, she’d likely be married this moment to Matthew and happily ensconced at Hunter’s Cross. And even if not happy, then at least tolerably situated and with the ability to win him back.
So what was she to do now?
“Frances. Why are you in this small room again?” Lavinia’s voice grated on Fanny’s ears worse and worse these days. “Why are you not in the family drawing room with everyone else?” Her sister-in-law came quickly into the room, frowning at the tea service. “Laying tea service in two different rooms is a wasteful extravagance. I am surprised you haven’t heeded my warning about that already. Theale says this room should be closed up during the cold months unless we are entertaining, which we so seldom do these days. It will save on the household expenses tremendously, he says.”
“I didn’t realize the Marquess of Theale had financial worries, Lavinia. I will, of course, do my best to save him a penny or two by remaining in my rooms at all times.” Fanny could have bitten her tongue. Such outbursts did no good whatsoever and only tended to make Lavinia even more unpleasant toward her.
“Temper will never do, Frances. I will tell Mrs. Gaines to have another pot of tea sent up to the drawing room for you. We are all gathering there shortly.” Lavinia stepped to the door. “Unless you would like to go directly to your room to dress for dinner.”
What she would like was to be left alone by this harpy, but that was impossible. “May I please have the tea and cakes brought here? Nurse is bringing Ella down for us to have a tea party and I think this room is much more suitable for a girl Ella’s age.”
“Ella is coming down?”
“Yes. We have tea quite often now.” Now that Fanny was home almost constantly.
“Would you mind if I joined you? I have not been able to see Ella as much as I used to. The household seems more difficult to run to Theale’s taste recently. I’d planned the move to Northumberland, had even had the packing begun, and he decided to stay here.” She clasped her hands together, wringing them to and fro.
In all the time since her marriage, Fanny had never seen Lavinia so distraught. That alone unnerved her more than anything Theale himself had done. Perhaps her sister-in-law needed some time away from her myriad duties as marchioness. “Certainly, Lavinia. Please have a seat. Nurse should be bringing her any moment.”
Taking the Queen Anne chair—not nearly as imposing as her one in the drawing room, but much more comfortable looking—Lavinia looked around the small room as though seeing it for the first time. “I hadn’t noticed how intimate this room seems. I have seldom had the need to use it.”
“It’s quite my favorite of the public rooms here just for that reason.”
Silence fell between them, broken only by the scrape of porcelain as Lavinia set her cup in its saucer and the clink of Fanny’s spoon against her cup. Not a companionable silence either. Conversation, no matter how banal, would have helped, but Fanny hesitated to offer any for fear a quarrel would break out just as Ella appeared. Her times with her daughter were very precious, more so because she had had no contact with her father in weeks. Ella was her only link to him now.
The soft pattering of feet on the hardwood floors down the corridor made Fanny sit up suddenly and force a pleasant
smile onto her lips. Lavinia’s effort actually looked more genuine.
“Mama!” Ella’s voice held the joy that always stopped Fanny’s heart. To be so loved by her daughter, when she certainly didn’t deserve it, made her most humble indeed. The child raced into the room, face wreathed in smiles, only to skid to a stop at the sight of Lavinia.
“Good afternoon, darling.” Fanny motioned the girl to her and hugged her tight. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “It will be all right.”
Ella nodded, then put on a smile of her own and curtsied to Lavinia. “Good afternoon, Aunt. I didn’t know you would be here today.”
“I didn’t know myself, my dear, but isn’t this a pleasant surprise?” The older woman smiled warmly at the child. “I haven’t seen you in quite some weeks. I shall be glad for us to take tea together again. I hope your manners have not suffered because of my absence.”
“I have seen no problem with her manners since we began our parties, Lavinia. You taught her well.” The words galled Fanny to no end; however, they might go some way to smoothing the way for a tolerable teatime today. “Have a seat by me, my love, and I’ll pour your tea.”
“Children do need strict instruction if they are to get on well in Society. So often they do not receive it.” Lavinia raised her cup again, her gaze still on Ella.
As discreetly as possible, Fanny put two lumps of sugar into the cup, poured the tea slowly, and gave the cup to her daughter.
“Thank you, Mama.” The child’s eyes widened, but Fanny gave a slight shake of her head, and Ella avidly sipped the tea without milk. “This is very good.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Perhaps the milkless tea would slip past Lavinia’s notice if she distracted her. “Have you been able to assist with your charity at the Magdalene Hospital recently, Lavinia? I know you have been extremely busy here at home.”
“I have not, Frances, and that has been a sadness to me.” Lavinia turned to Fanny, lines of fatigue deeper than usual in her face. “I know the Magdalene Hospital is one of the most important charities in London. These poor women, sunk into such depravity, most through no fault of their own, have proven they can be rehabilitated, if only we will take the time to help them relearn the Christian values of good, honest work and teach them the skills to accomplish it.”
“It is a noble cause. Perhaps I can assist you with it.” Not that she particularly wished to work with her sister-in-law, but the charity itself seemed well worthy.
“I would be happy to have you along the next time I go to the board meeting. Sadly, I’ve not been able to go for several weeks.”
“The last time I heard you mention you were going was the day . . .” Her heart stuttered. It had been the last day Matthew had come to call.
“The day I met Lord Lathbury, before his defection.” Lavinia’s face pinched. “You still have no idea why he ceased his attentions to you? You had given me to understand you were about to announce an engagement.”
“I liked Lord Laffbury, Mama.” Ella had drained her cup and now piped up. “Why has he not returned?”
“I suppose you could say he and I quarreled. As ladies and gentlemen sometimes do from time to time, Ella. I hope we can make it up at some later time.” Wishful thinking at best. Unless his conscience got the better of him and he wished to see his daughter again.
“Can’t you tell him you are sorry, Mama? He was ever so much fun at tea.” Ella smiled excitedly. “Did you know he looks like me?”
Fanny froze, afraid to breathe. “Why would you say that, my dear?”
“When we were having tea that day I saw us together in the mirror. We look just alike.”
Think, think, she must play this off as best she could. “I suppose you both have dark hair and blue eyes, but so do I, poppet. And I do not look anything like his lordship, do I?”
A frown twisted Ella’s small face. “No, you don’t look like him at all.”
“But you do look like me, don’t you?” Fanny cut her gaze over to Lavinia, who was also looking at her with lowered brows. A storm obviously brewed from that direction.
“Yes, Mama. Everyone has always said I looked like you.” Ella nodded, then her gaze followed Fanny’s to her aunt and her small face suddenly pinched with worry. “Is that a bad thing, Mama?”
“No, of course not, darling. Children are supposed to look like their . . . mothers.” The word “parents” had almost slipped out, which would have been disastrous. “Or sometimes fathers, although your father had blond hair like his father and brothers. But that happens in families. Sometimes.” The more she talked the more she seemed to be digging herself in deeper.
“Clayborn.” In a strained voice, Lavinia called and the nurse, who’d been waiting in the corridor, entered. “Please take Miss Ella back to the nursery.” The look of outrage she turned on Fanny made her stomach sink. “I think our teatime is ended.”
Instantly, Ella jumped up and rushed to throw her arms around Fanny. “Mama, I’m sorry. I don’t want to go back to the nursery. I want to stay with you.” Hiding her face in Fanny’s bosom, the child began to sob.
“Hush, sweetheart. Don’t cry.” She pulled Ella’s head up and smiled into her face. “Go with Nurse now and I’ll come up in a little while to play. We’ll read a story or maybe we can take a short walk in the garden before it gets too dark.” She wiped the tears from the girl’s cheeks with her napkin. “I promise.”
“Truly? You’re not angry at me?”
“No, darling. Of course I’m not angry with you.”
Ella shot a look at Lavinia, but nodded. Head hanging, she marched over to Clayborn and took her hand.
“Close the door, Clayborn.” Lavinia sat back in her chair, watching until the door shut, then turned a malevolent gaze on Fanny. “Why does Stephen’s daughter look like Lord Lathbury?”
Head suddenly cool and mind focused, Fanny shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean, Lavinia. The child saw a similar coloring between her and the earl, nothing more. She’s too young to understand anything other than that.”
“But I do understand, all too well now.” The marchioness rose, her lips pulled back in a grimace. “When I met Lord Lathbury something nagged at me. I’d not met him before, yet he seemed very familiar. And as soon as Ella pointed it out, it became obvious. He looked familiar because he looks like her. And he looks like her because he is her father. They favor one another much too well beyond just their coloring.” Trembling, she drew herself up. “How could you betray Stephen so? Betray the Tarkington family so?”
Clenching her fists, Fanny rose. She could continue to deny the accusation, but Lavinia would never believe her. She’d always disliked Fanny, so nothing she said now would change that in the least. Time at last to set the record straight. “How could I betray him? Better ask your precious Stephen how he could betray and dishonor me.”
“Stephen would never—”
“Oh, wouldn’t he? You may have no idea what Stephen Tarkington did and did not do during the course of our marriage, but everyone else in the ton certainly knew it. After the first year of our marriage I could not set foot in a ballroom without the constant whispers. ‘Do you think she knows?’ ‘Will she make a scene?’ ‘Did you hear he was almost caught by the woman’s husband?’ I tried to ignore the whispers, ignore the nights Stephen did not come home, ignore the smell of women’s perfume and powder on his uniform whenever he did come home.”
“Men cannot be held accountable for their baser transgressions. And you must have known his reputation when you married him, my dear. He was never a saint by anyone’s estimation.” The cool defense of her philandering husband by a woman who’d never experienced such shame enraged Fanny even more.
“I knew he was a rake, but I believed he would change after our marriage.” More fool her. “And even . . . even after I realized he would never change, I would not have betrayed him had he not dishonored me in the vilest manner.” The memory of it even now made her ill.
S
uddenly wary, Lavinia drew back. “I doubt Stephen would have done anything as wicked as you claim. Men simply have greater needs than women do.”
“Then he should have eased them with a light woman in a brothel, or procured a mistress. Someone I would not have to meet socially.” Chest heaving with pain and anger years old, Fanny fought back tears in a fight she would not win. “But he chose to dally with women of the ton. Married women bored with their own husbands, who allowed themselves to be seduced by a handsome face in regimentals.”
“You are mistaken, my dear.” Her sister-in-law’s smile had slipped, but she insisted on denying the truth. “Stephen would not have risked bringing scandal to this house by consorting so with decent women.”
“Why do you insist on defending him?” The woman would drive her mad. Had she really never known of Stephen’s unfaithfulness? “If you don’t believe me, you can ask your husband. I’m certain he remembers. I believe he may have paid off a husband or two so they wouldn’t call Stephen out. So the affairs never became full-blown scandals, although rumors of them circulated a great deal. The worst infidelity drove me to seek my revenge.”
“Lies, all lies.” Lavinia’s voice rose shrilly. “Can you name these ladies you claim he . . . he dallied with?”
“Lady Godwin was the first I knew of, almost a year after we married. A fleeting transgression that I forgave him for. Then a somewhat longer affair with the Countess of Alnwick, after which he was so contrite I forgave him again.” How many more might she have forgiven him for but for Selena? “The one I could not forgive, will never forgive him for, was his affair with Selena Prothroe.”
“Selena Prothroe?” Lavinia’s jaw dropped. “Wasn’t she . . .”
“The maid of honor at our wedding? Yes, and my friend since childhood.” Had she any opportunity to do bodily or other harm to the deceitful Selena, she would have sold her soul to do so. Unfortunately, no such chance had presented itself. Yet. “She married soon after I did, to a man with much less exalted connections than Stephen. Perhaps she was jealous of me. I know she was smitten with Stephen. We both were. In the end I suspect no one could say who seduced whom.”
