by Cheryl Holt
He wouldn’t like Roxanne interfering in his amour. He wouldn’t think a dalliance was any of her business. But honestly!
Clearly, it was time for Miss James to vanish, and Roxanne had ordered Kit to deal with the problem. So far, Kit had ignored it, but they couldn’t continue to dither. Miss James had to go—and her niece had to depart with her.
And as to Jacob?
Roxanne had to devise the best method to rectify the situation. Why didn’t he recognize how he was embarrassing her? Then again, he was a Ralston male, and they were extremely obtuse. Perhaps he’d never been told there were rules about an illicit liaison, the most pertinent one being that you hid it from your wife.
How could she explain that fact to him without raising his ire? There had to be a means to accomplish it, and she’d deduce what it was. Yet she didn’t dare bump into him until she’d carefully rehearsed what she was determined to impart. In that sort of discussion, there couldn’t be any mistakes.
“Could I speak with you?”
As Roxanne waylaid Jacob in the hall, he could barely tamp down a wince.
He was back at the manor, bathed and dressed for the day, and bound for the dining room to enjoy a late breakfast.
Roxanne was standing in the doorway to her bedchamber, and she appeared to have been watching for him, which was aggravating. He reminded himself to remember her influential position in the household and to not be so judgmental about how she wielded her power.
He had let her assume control. He could have reined in her usurpation of authority, but he’d always been content to have others run the estate for him. He’d squandered the chance to complain.
He’d agreed to engage himself to her when he shouldn’t have, but if he cried off, he’d probably have to start supporting her financially. She’d traveled to England on the promise that she’d have security as his wife. If he withdrew that security, hadn’t he incurred a fiscal obligation?
Then again, she seemed to have plenty of money of her own. Might she have? It was the sort of tidbit his mother should have unraveled during the nuptial negotiations, but if Esther had dug into it, she’d never shared any of the information with him.
Roxanne dressed like a princess. Was that because she was flush with income from some unknown source? Or had she purchased a wardrobe on credit, with the expectation that he would pay her bills after she was his bride? If that was what had occurred, how would he handle the situation? Would their first quarrel be a fight over money and how she was frittering it away?
It was an issue a bachelor never considered, and the quagmire it presented was exhausting.
“I’m headed down to breakfast”—he forced a smile—“and I’m starving. We can chat, but I hope I can keep a civil tongue in my mouth. I’m cranky when I’m hungry.”
She waved him into her sitting room, and she gestured to a table by the window.
“I realize you haven’t eaten,” she said, “so I had a tray delivered. It should tide you over for a few minutes.”
He saw a pot of tea and a tray of muffins, and he swallowed down a sigh. Evidently, she intended a protracted conversation. Was he about to be scolded for an infraction? If so, it would be audacious conduct on her part, but he had no idea how to avoid the discussion. He went over and pulled out a chair.
She joined him, and she played hostess, pouring his tea and buttering a muffin. She shoved a plate at him, and he tried to begin, but the moment was incredibly awkward. She was studying his every move, and an oppressive silence festered. Eventually, it became too overwhelming.
He put down his knife and asked, “What’s wrong?”
She was a steely female, and she said, “I’ve never been one to beat around the bush, so I’m just going to bluntly inquire about what it is I wish to learn.”
“Good. I hate dithering myself, and we’ll get along much better if we deal with problems straight-on.”
“I shall pray you mean that.”
He scowled. “Of course I do. Please explain what’s vexing you. Have I upset you? If so—without even being aware of my transgression—I apologize.”
“I’ve been debating for hours whether to raise this topic. I had told myself to ignore it, but I can’t. If we don’t address it, I’m not sure what will happen between us.”
“I can’t bear to suppose you’ve been fretting. What is it?”
She took a deep breath, slowly released it, then said, “I know you’re besotted with Joanna James.”
He froze, his mind whirring as he struggled to choose a response. Should he deny it? Should he lie? Should he placate her and claim she was being silly?
“Why would you think so?”
“I’ve noticed your budding attraction for some weeks now, and you spent the night at her cottage.”
“You were spying on me?”
It was a stupid reply, and it slipped out without warning.
She didn’t admit she’d been spying. She simply stared, her expression unreadable. His cheeks heated with chagrin, proving his guilt. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined himself immersed in such a hideous encounter. From the instant he’d met Joanna, he’d understood that he was behaving contemptibly toward Roxanne, but he hadn’t been able to stop.
“I grasp that your private life is your own business,” she said, “but you are acting outrageously and right before my very eyes. I ought to pretend I haven’t observed your antics, but in light of your father’s treachery with your mother, I can’t help but be alarmed.”
Jacob was always incensed when his father was yanked into a discussion, and his first impulse was to lash out verbally, but she was trying to have a sane dialogue, and it would be petty to chastise her.
“You don’t need to be alarmed,” he half-heartedly stated.
“It’s easy for you to feel that way. It’s a tad more difficult for me. Your liaison with her seems to have spiraled to a dangerous level, and I’m not certain where it leaves me. You just arrived home from the navy, yet you’re fully enmeshed in an amour—while I am living with you and planning our betrothal party.”
“It’s not an amour,” he said.
“What is it then? You’re so fascinated that you’ll sneak out of the manor in the middle of the night to be with her.”
His cheeks grew even hotter. “I’m speechless and have no defense.”
“Once we’re married, what is your plan with regard to her? This can’t continue after I’m your wife. I could never tolerate such blatant disrespect.”
“I can’t give you an answer, except to say that I’m very embarrassed.” It was a paltry offering, but he couldn’t devise any other remark that might be relevant.
“Fine, you’re embarrassed. Are we still proceeding with the engagement? Or should I pack my bags and depart? Is that what you’d like to have transpire?”
She’d furnished the perfect opening to sever the engagement, but he couldn’t force out the cruel words. “No, I don’t want that.”
“Then what do you want?”
The question hung in the air between them. If he could pick any path in the world, he would alter himself into two men. One man would stagger forward with his very tedious betrothal to his cousin and the other would sinfully frolic with Joanna James.
After an excruciating silence, she said, “I should have bitten my tongue, but you’re behaving despicably, and I’m at a loss as to how I should deal with it. Can you advise me?”
“I’ve been very discreet,” he idiotically claimed.
“No, you haven’t. I know about it, and my opinion is the only one that matters.”
“I’m sorry. I’m bewildered over how to have a conversation like this. I’m being an ass.”
“I traveled from Italy to be your bride. I had a grand life there. The weather alone was reason to tarry, but I abandoned it all. For you.”
&nbs
p; “I’m grateful.”
“Are you?” She scoffed with offense. “It doesn’t appear that you’re interested in marrying me—if you ever were. Perhaps you’ve been a bachelor for too many years. Is that it? Be frank with me.”
He blew out a heavy breath. “I can’t decide what’s best.”
“I’ve never assumed you’d fall in love with me, but I can’t wed you when you’re in love with someone else. It’s a recipe for disaster.”
“I’m not in love with Miss James.”
Thankfully, she didn’t call him a liar. She simply said, “I’m not a naïve woman, and I expected you to have affairs.”
“I hate to hear it. I’d like to suppose I’m a better man than you’ve envisioned me to be.”
“I think I should go to London for a bit while you figure out your mental position.”
“You don’t have to go to London.”
She shot such a vicious glare that she could have stabbed him with it. “If I remain here, will you promise you won’t dally with her again? Will you truthfully promise?”
He was back where he’d been during his quarrel with Margaret. He’d told his sister he would break off his flirtation with Joanna, and he had—for two weeks. He was treating Roxanne so badly, but he couldn’t imagine never seeing Joanna again. He couldn’t promise because, as he’d proved, he was incapable of staying away from her.
Why was that exactly? Was he in love with her? Roxanne had leveled the accusation, and he’d denied it, but he allowed the prospect to roll around in his mind. He’d never been in love, so he couldn’t guess how it would feel. If he’d been pressed to state his view on it, he’d have vehemently insisted there was no such emotion.
But if he was that deeply attached to Joanna, how could he and Roxanne trudge forward together? She wasn’t even his wife yet, and he’d already betrayed her.
He was stunned to have changed into such a randy, unrestrained rogue. What had come over him? And how could he return to being the steady fellow he’d been before he’d met Joanna James?
“I will dawdle until Monday,” she said, “so you can reflect on our future. If you can’t give me an answer about her then—or if you won’t—I’ll head to London for a month so you can sort it out.”
“That sounds fair.”
“If, in the end, you declare that you’re still willing to marry me, Miss James can’t continue to reside in the neighborhood. We’d have to move her far away from here, and you could never be apprised as to where that spot was located. You understand that, don’t you? I’m convinced you haven’t fully considered the consequences of your actions or the steps that will be required to repair this.”
He nearly blanched at the notion of Joanna departing, but he managed to calm down. He’d never deemed himself a fool, but maybe he was, and he found himself being very impressed with Roxanne. She’d been brave to raise the difficult subject, to put her foot down with him, but that didn’t render any of it easier to bear.
“That’s all I had to say,” she told him.
He let out a miserable laugh. “It was plenty.”
“There is another matter for you to address, but on a different topic.” She looked cool and collected, as if she hadn’t been discomposed in the slightest by their discussion. “You’re probably in no mood to be confronted with this, but Margaret and Sandy have vanished. His sons too.”
“What do you mean?”
“A maid mentioned earlier that Margaret hadn’t slept in her bed, and evidently, no one’s seen her since she fought with you yesterday.”
“Uh-oh.”
“And a stable boy knocked on Kit’s door this morning, wondering if he knew where Sandy was. They had a chore he was to supervise, but he never showed up, which was highly unusual. Kit checked on him at his house, but it’s empty.”
“Do you think they simply went somewhere? Or might they have . . . eloped?”
His fury sparked. If they had, he’d wring their bloody necks! Starting with his sister! He’d refused their request to wed. Had they ignored him? Had he no authority in his own home?
“I have no idea what it indicates,” Roxanne stated. “I’m merely passing on the information that’s been presented to me. Now then, if you’ll excuse me? This is my bedchamber, and I don’t care to have you in it. I shall lock myself away as much as I can until Monday when decisions have to be made.”
“You don’t have to hide yourself away. We’re adults, aren’t we? We’re cousins? We’re friends?”
“I don’t have to hide. I want to.”
She stared him down so scathingly that he felt petty and ridiculous. He sighed with regret, then stood and left.
“I thought we’d finally visit Bath.” Joanna smiled at Clara and said, “Would you like that?”
“I’d miss my classmates,” Clara said. “How long would we stay?”
Forever? Joanna had to swallow down the word.
Clara loved her school, her teacher, and her fellow students, and she would be distressed if they weren’t coming back. Joanna couldn’t figure out how to explain the situation in a way that wouldn’t sound alarming.
If Clara was apprised that they were fleeing, she wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret, but Joanna’s plan was to quietly vanish. If she didn’t, she truly believed Jacob would track her down and demand she return. If gossip spread as to where she was, she’d spend the rest of her days, peering out the window, hoping he’d be riding up the road to fetch her away. She couldn’t and wouldn’t carry on like that.
She also couldn’t ever have Roxanne Ralston or Kit Boswell learn where Clara had gone, and she couldn’t fathom why her Aunt Pru had moved them to a spot that would put Clara in such danger. Then again, when Pru had taken custody of Clara, Miss Ralston had abandoned her daughter and sailed to Italy to conceal her disgrace.
Who could have guessed she’d bluster to the location where Clara was residing too?
Had Miss Ralston ever notified Kit Boswell he’d sired Clara? Was pompous, pretentious Mr. Boswell aware he was a father? Or did he assume his child had died at birth? Is that what Miss Ralston had claimed? If he presumed Clara was dead, how might he lash out if he found out she was alive and well and living with Joanna?
Joanna doubted he’d be interested in Clara, but hazard seemed to be swirling around her, imperiling all she held dear. Should she tell Jacob what she’d discovered? Would that be appropriate? Would she feel safer?
Miss Ralston and Mr. Boswell were both incredibly arrogant. If Joanna ruined them, how might they retaliate?
She peeked up at the sky, yearning to scold Jacob’s father. If this was Miles Ralston’s idea of watching over her from the afterlife, he wasn’t doing a very good job.
She was descended from a long line of females who’d had to be adept at disappearing. There had been many occasions when her ancestors had run from angry men, angry vicars, angry mobs. Aunt Pru had taught her the necessary lessons: in case something happens . . . in case there’s ever trouble . . . in case you need to hurry . . .
In her mind’s eye, she was already packing. What would she like to have with her? What would she miss? What was vital? What wasn’t?
A woman could get by with very little, but she’d planted roots at Ralston that sank far into the ground. How would she ever pull them out and start over? The whole notion left her terribly weary.
“We should tarry in Bath for a few weeks,” Joanna said. “Once we travel such a distance, it would be silly to arrive, then depart immediately.”
“Could I bring a friend?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have the extra money for it. We can barely afford to entertain ourselves, let alone a guest.”
“While I’m away, the girls will have parties and suppers without me. I won’t be there for any of it.”
“Consider this: When you’re back, you’ll have
many amazing stories to share.”
“None of them have ever been to Bath. I’ll be the only one.”
It was Sunday morning. They’d been to church, and they were walking home. The woods were verdant and pretty, with birds chirping in the trees and small animals skittering in the brush. She was trying to absorb every detail so she’d never forget.
They reached the path that led to her cottage, and as they approached the gate, Kit Boswell was standing there and obviously waiting for them. A shiver slithered down her spine. Had she conjured him by pondering him so vehemently?
“Miss James! There you are!” His tone was aggrieved, as if they’d had an appointment and she was late.
“Hello, Mr. Boswell,” she said. “This is a surprise.”
He didn’t respond to her greeting, but studied Clara meticulously, providing stark evidence that he was aware of Clara’s paternity. Joanna studied Clara too, thinking she looked like Miss Ralston and not like Mr. Boswell at all. It was as if Miss Ralston had had a miraculous conception, with no man involved in the event.
“She definitely resembles her mother, doesn’t she?” He snorted with disgust. “If questions were raised, it would be hard to deny a relationship.”
Clara hadn’t previously met Mr. Boswell, and at his snide comment, she shrunk away so she was partially shielded by Joanna. She’d never been particularly shy though, and she asked, “Are you acquainted with my mother, sir?”
Mr. Boswell snorted again, and Joanna was afraid of what he might reveal. She was frightened too as to why he’d arrived. In all the years she’d lived in the cottage, he’d never visited, and his sudden appearance boded ill.
She cut off any chance he might have had to answer Clara. “Clara, this is Mr. Boswell. He’s Captain Ralston’s friend and estate manager.” She spun to him and asked, “May I help you? What do you need?”
“Shall we go inside? I have several delicate issues to discuss with you”—he glared at Clara—“and I’d rather not address them out here in the yard.”
