Scandalous Scions One

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “I was given leave. I wanted to discuss something with Mother…” Cian’s scowl came back in a rush. “The Queen is to issue the last list of honors for the Crimea War next month.”

  “I had heard,” Raymond said.

  Cian gulped the fresh brew as if he was drawing courage from it. He put the tankard down a little unsteadily. “My father is not on the list. Again.”

  “Seth fought in the Crimea War?” Raymond asked, amazed. “I do not remember that,” he added carefully.

  Cian leaned forward and lowered his voice. “He did not go to Russia. He did something here in England. Agents and all the clandestine business that happens far behind the front lines. You know.” Cian gripped his tankard, his knuckles white. “He died for Queen and country. He should be honored for it.”

  Raymond stared at Cian, his thoughts racing. “I heard that Seth died of blackwater fever, that he brought back with him from Australia.”

  Cian snorted. “There is no blackwater fever in Australia.” He leaned even closer. “It is all part of the secrecy, yes?”

  “Who told you your father was an agent for the Queen?” Raymond asked, keeping his tone light, even though his heart was squeezing.

  “Mother, of course. Oh, she was never blunt about it. The hints were enough for me to put it all together. That is why I wanted to discuss it with her. The insult to my father’s memory can’t be allowed to slide.”

  Raymond shook his head. “You may be stirring things up that should be left alone, Cian. The stealthy affairs of that type are often tied up with heads of state. To acknowledge your father’s role in them openly, as war honors would do, may jeopardize the stability of Europe. Do you see that no insult is intended?”

  It was pure bluff. Raymond fervently hoped that Cian’s grasp of politics and furtive military affairs was weak enough that he would accept Raymond’s theory. That way, the man—who was still a boy in many ways—could find a way to live with himself and with Seth’s death.

  It also would prevent Cian from asking the question that Raymond now held in his heart.

  How did Seth Williams really die?

  Chapter Thirteen

  When the girls were finally asleep in their gently rocking berths, Lilly carefully slid the compartment door closed and made her way to the lounge area at the front of the carriage. The entire Wardell family was travelling to Kirkaldy for the winter instead of Farleigh Hall, because both Will and Vaughn hated the hall. The longer journey required they travel by sleeper train to Inverness, then coach to Kirkaldy.

  As there were ten family members, including Lilly, the Wardells had an entire sleeper carriage to themselves. Elisa’s staff was travelling with them in a second public carriage.

  The train rocked gently as Lilly moved forward along the narrow corridor, taking care to not snag her dress on any projections. The corridor was not made to accommodate crinolines.

  The rhythmic clacking of the train wheels on the rail lines was soothing. She suspected she would be able to sleep tonight, perhaps even through the whole night—which was not always a given.

  Jack and Will and Peter were in the lounge area. Jack helped himself to the brandy decanter, which rattled softly against the others inside the little brass fence used to hold them in place despite movements of the train.

  Peter looked grumpy. He was only fifteen and grew bored easily.

  Jack held the decanter up toward Lilly as she entered.

  “No, thank you,” she told him and sat next to Will. “Did Raymond miss the train, or is he travelling to Scotland later?”

  Jack laughed softly and put the decanter back inside the fence.

  “Is there something I should know?” Lilly asked, puzzled by Jack’s reaction.

  Will sat back, his arms along the top of the couch. The upholstered couch was a U shape and built against the wall of the carriage. “You didn’t hear, then? Raymond is staying at Innesford House until the Great Family Gathering in October.”

  “Innesford…” Lilly looked down at her hands as the implications became clear.

  “Do you still not believe us about Raymond and your mother, Lilly?” Jack asked, sitting on her other side.

  Peter sat forward. “It all seems far too odd. Lilly’s mother is…well, she’s old!”

  Will grinned. “Lady Natasha only seems old to you because you’re still wet behind the ears.”

  Peter scowled. “Raymond is one of us. The cousins.”

  “Actually, he’s thirty-three,” Lilly said quietly. “The next oldest of the children in the Great Family is Benjamin. He is twenty-three. That is ten years’ difference. Raymond has always been stranded in the middle, between us and our parents.”

  “Also, Benjamin is adopted, like me and Jack,” Peter said.

  “Jack and Patricia are not adopted,” Will said. “They are fostered with us while their parents live in India.” He said it with a tired, why-am-I-repeating-myself? tone, for Peter and the younger children always lumped Jack and Patricia in with them as having been adopted, for Jack and his sister had been living with Will’s family since before anyone could remember.

  Will turned back to Lilly. “Do you know how old your mother is?”

  Lilly considered. She had never thought about her mother being any particular age. She had simply been there, a stable foundation in Lilly’s life. “She sometimes spoke of my being born when she had barely turned twenty-one, so that would make her…just turned forty.”

  “Which is, of course, absolutely ancient, hey, Peter?” Jack teased.

  Peter rolled his eyes.

  Will put his lips together in a silent whistle. “There’s only seven years’ difference between her and Raymond. That makes it seem less odd than, say, Raymond taking up with you, Lilly. There’s fourteen years between us and Raymond.”

  Jack tapped his fingernails against the brandy snifter. “When you put it that way, it doesn’t seem completely unreasonable.”

  Will leaned forward. “The ton would lose their collective marbles over it, especially if there hasn’t been a decent scandal lately, which there hasn’t been.”

  “Why should they?” Lilly asked, indignation stirring.

  “Smooth your feathers, Lilly,” Will said. “I only mean that with nothing else to snare their attention, everyone will focus upon your mother being older than Raymond and a widow, besides. Widows are supposed to decline and fade away, not have adventures with younger men.”

  “It is little wonder that everyone is being so guarded about this, even inside the family,” Jack added.

  Will shifted on the couch so he could see her face properly. “Do you mind, Lilly?”

  “Isn’t Cian the one you should be asking that?” Lilly replied. “He is the heir.”

  “Seth was your father, too.”

  Lilly flinched, yet managed not to let it show. “If Raymond and my mother really are forming some sort of…attachment, then I can’t see I have any right to object.”

  The rest of her thoughts she did not speak aloud. Even if she had wild objections to the match, she would accept it, because she was in no position to judge morals or lack of them.

  She deliberately moved the subject on, before Jack and Will asked the wrong questions. “Have you found out anything more about Susanna?”

  Both men looked at her, Jack startled and Will with a thoughtful expression.

  “Should we bother with all that now?” Jack asked. “If Raymond really has moved on…”

  Lilly shook her head. “No. That is immaterial. We must find out who Susanna is.”

  “Why?” Will asked flatly. “You’ve been hounding us to find Susanna for weeks and I’ve never really understood why you cared so much.”

  “Are you…fond of Raymond?” Jack asked.

  “No,” Lilly and Will said together.

  “Not in that way,” Lilly added.

  “You and Raymond always have your heads together on family occasions,” Jack pointed out.

  “We are friends
. Good friends,” Lilly said defensively. “I am the oldest girl among the cousins. Raymond found it easier to talk to me, I suppose, than the younger cousins.”

  “He didn’t see fit to tell you about your mother, though, did he?” Jack asked.

  Lilly smiled. “Of course he didn’t and for good reason. Raymond is far more discreet than both of you put together. He would not speak of…of affection for anyone else, until there was a match that could be announced publicly. In this case, he was twice as cautious because it is my mother who is involved. And besides,” she added quickly, “no one in the family is really talking about it yet, are they?”

  “We are,” Will pointed out. “I guarantee the rumor will have travelled to Rhys and Annalies’ family, too.”

  “Benjamin and Iefan are probably sighing with relief that their family is out of it for once,” Jack added.

  “How did we get back to Raymond and my mother, anyway?” Lilly complained. “We still need to find Susanna. Kirkaldy has a superior library. You and Will should go through the European peerage not included in Burke’s. She may be there.”

  Will snorted. “Why on earth should we spend the opening of the hunting season locked up with dusty old books?”

  “Because this is important, Will.”

  “Have you thought of simply asking Raymond who Susanna is?” Jack asked. “If you’re so determined to uncover the woman, it might be best to go to the source, wouldn’t it?”

  “I did ask him, at last year’s Gathering.” She frowned. “He wouldn’t tell me. He said her identity, if it were known, would threaten the family.”

  Jack considered that, his mouth pulled down.

  “Instead, Raymond takes up with a far more unsuitable woman,” Will finished. “Thereby threatening the family, anyway.” As Lilly frowned, he added, “I speak, of course, only as the ton would see the affair. Personally, I don’t give a damn. Raymond deserves whatever happiness he can carve out of life, after all he has been through.”

  “Listen to you, measuring propriety with a yard stick,” Jack teased.

  “It’s a measure you should develop yourself, Jack,” Will shot back. “We’re both heirs to titles. After living with us for so many years, you still haven’t learned how close our families—all our families—came to losing everything because of scandal?”

  Jack considered Will, his gaze thoughtful. Then he sat back. “You may have a point.”

  “You’re both missing the far larger point,” Lilly said impatiently. “If Raymond will risk scandal by taking up with my mother, then how much greater must the risk to the family be if he won’t speak of Susanna to anyone, even me?”

  “The woman is long gone,” Jack said tiredly. “With all due respect and humility, Lilly, I suggest you let it go.”

  “No,” she said, frustration stirring. “I just want to protect the family, Jack. That includes you and Peter and Will and all the cousins. Everyone. She could still be a risk to us, only we won’t know that until we know who she is. Do you not understand that I will do anything to preserve the family?”

  Will tilted his head. “When did you become so concerned about the family? You couldn’t see beyond the date of the next soiree, once.”

  Cold fingers walked up and down Lilly’s spine, making her shiver. She had said far, far too much. Before she could say any more, she lurched to her feet and hurried from the lounge as fast as the swaying carriage would let her.

  * * * * *

  September and early October flew by far, far too fast, in Natasha’s estimation. With the return of the staff and the family, Innesford House once more became the center of activity in the district. There was the official opening of the hunting season, held in Dunstall Woods, which lay on Innesford lands. There were hunting parties, riding parties and horse-racing events to attend and sometimes to officiate. The return of the families to their estates meant a round of calls to country houses to welcome everyone back.

  When in Cornwall, Natasha naturally spent far more time with the children than she could manage in London, where engagements and at-homes were daily events. Here in the house, there were no neighbors to observe and disapprove of her mothering methods, or speak of her spoiling the children with her devotion.

  The days fluttered past, most of them near perfect in their level of contentment and peace…and then there were the nights.

  During the day, Raymond was a model houseguest. He was formally polite at both breakfast and dinner. He took his lunch in the small estate manager’s office, which he had taken over in order to manage the Marblethorpe estate in Sussex, via a flurry of letters and written instructions. He was kind to the girls and friendly with Cian, the only boy home from either Eton or Cambridge. Somehow, Raymond had diffused the situation with Cian. He and Cian had returned from Truro that first day in a rented hack, with a horse from the Innesford stable tethered to the back of it. Cian had been outrageously drunk and Raymond had almost carried him to his old bedroom, while Natasha stripped away the dust covers and found a pillow for Cian’s head.

  She had spent a tense day, waiting for Cian to wake so they could deal with the unpleasantness. However, when Cian had walked carefully downstairs around sunset, he kissed her cheek as he always did and asked if he might have tea.

  By then, Corcoran and the staff had arrived. The house was a chaotic swirl of people cleaning and packing away covers, while Cook exclaimed loudly in the kitchen over the mess left there.

  Cian said nothing about Raymond and after a few days, Natasha relaxed. She had no idea what Raymond may have told her son. The two of them got on as well as they always had, even though Cian seemed wary when all three of them were in the same room at once. After a while, though, even Cian’s tenseness disappeared, for Raymond did not so much as brush past her during the day.

  The wild, tempestuous kisses they had risked in London did not happen here. There were no comments with double meanings, no risqué conversation. It meant that Natasha did not have to be on guard, monitoring what she said or how she behaved. She could remain as she always had been—a mother running a busy estate for her son, the Earl.

  Instead, Raymond watched her. Sometimes, she would catch him observing her, with a guarded, brooding look that would disconcert her and make her think of a hawk circling above prey.

  At other times, she would recognize the heat and speculation in his eyes for the passion it was. Often, when she saw that look in his eyes, she would forget what she had been saying and have to look away in order to marshal her thoughts once more. Or she would realize that she had frozen in the middle of some action—her embroidery needle held in mid-air, or the quoit she had been about to throw clenched in her hand while the twins complained about her inattention. Once, she had poured tea all over the tablecloth, ruining it forever, when she had forgotten she was in the processing of pouring a cup.

  Raymond’s heated looks would instantly turn her mind to the promise of the night ahead and leave her to wander the house for the next few hours, unanchored and impatient.

  The nights…oh, the nights!

  At night, Raymond would come to her, sliding into her bed and wrapping his big body around her. He would hold her. Just hold her, as if he were making up for the day’s lack. Their hands would stroke and slide and brush, travelling over places they had only traced with their eyes during the day. The stroking would turn to kisses, which would travel over the same places.

  Natasha could bring herself to blushing just by thinking about what Raymond did to her and how much she enjoyed it. She had thought herself an experienced woman, however, Raymond was not simply experienced. He was inventive, curious and able to find sensitivities on her body that she was not aware she had.

  The first time he had kissed her between her legs, she thought she would melt with a combination of mortification and delight, yet he had merely held her hips firmly in place and stroked her nub with his tongue until her pleasure peaked with almost painful intensity.

  Her whole body was his
to orchestrate and he was a thorough conductor. His explorations encouraged Natasha to experiment for herself. The first time she had thought to try kissing his shaft, he had directed her on the most effective way to manage it. His pleasure had been a distinct reward; he had shaken the bed with it, his hands gripping the rails until his knuckles whitened and the tendons straining in his neck.

  When they were not busy with their hands and lips, they lay entwined and talked.

  Those conversations were some of the most delightful she had ever had with anyone. Raymond was extremely well read and also thoughtful. “I have had a lifetime of reading and observation,” he told her. “It has made me able to see things that others do not…or chose not to see.”

  He had always been a quiet man. Natasha had always assumed that his checkered beginnings in life—torn away from Elisa at a young age when the ton had presumed his mother had caused his father’s murder by her promiscuous ways, then shuffled from family member to family member, until Vaughn had rescued him—had left scars that made him stay cautiously silent and watchful. That was, until she had learned how deep his thoughts really ran.

  Often they spoke of lighter things. Laughter, smothered and made quiet, frequently peppered their talk. Natasha enjoyed making Raymond laugh. Most often, he laughed about her tribulations, her daily challenges running a big household, and the vagaries of men who believed her incapable of putting together two coherent thoughts. Dealing with some of the local workers and artisans and farmers who thought it highly inappropriate to deal with a widow and a woman became less frustrating when she knew she could vent her irritation with Raymond, later.

  October, and the week of the Great Family Gathering, drew near. Natasha fell to planning the week. This time, for this one occasion, she included both Raymond and Cian in the decisions and sometimes consulted the twins and Lisa Grace, on aspects that involved the children.

  “It is an event for the whole family to enjoy,” she told Raymond and Cian. “Therefore, the whole family can plan and execute it.”