“He was respectful to you because you controlled the money,” Randal retorted. “To everyone else, he was a brute and bully. After his death, you made accusations against Julia that caused her to be cast off by her father.” His grip on her hand tightened. “She managed to survive despite the worst you and Castleton could do to her. Now she is my wife, and I will not allow you to hurt her again in any way.”
“So the sly slut cozened you with her lies.” Daventry stared at Julia, his mouth twisted bitterly. “She looks as young and innocent as the day she married my son. Don’t blame me when she decides she’s tired of you and kills again.”
Randall’s temper snapped, but it was Julia who exploded. “Enough!”
Releasing Randall’s hand, she stalked toward Daventry, a slim furious figure. “A dozen years ago, I made allowances for the way grief warped your judgment, but no longer!” she spat out. “Branford almost succeeded in murdering me. Last summer, you nearly killed Randall because of your angry neglect. Branford was mad and I pitied him almost as much as I feared him. But you are not mad, sir. You are a selfish, arrogant, bullying brute, and that is far more wicked than madness!”
Daventry flinched backward from her words. “Did you know your pious midwife was such a dangerous shrew, Randall? If you believe her lies, you’re an even bigger fool than I thought!”
“Do you wish proof of what your innocent, honorable son did? See the evidence for yourself!” Julia ripped the fichu from her gown, exposing the ghastly scars on the upper curves of her breasts. “Branford carved his initials on my body the night he almost killed me.” Her voice dropped to a haunting whisper. “The night he kicked me until I lost the child I carried. The night he died.”
The countess gasped and put her hand over her mouth. “Merciful heaven!”
“You did that yourself to garner sympathy,” Daventry said after a shocked pause, but his voice was uncertain. His gaze was riveted to the scars.
“Don’t be a damned fool, Daventry.” Fighting the urge to knock his uncle to the ground, Randall wrapped his arm around Julia’s shaking shoulders as she tucked the loose fichu back into place. “Julia is not the only one to bear the marks of Branford’s madness. Shall I show you the scars he carved into me when I was a boy half his size?”
Daventry’s face twisted with rage and anguish, but the countess said, “I know you loved him, my dear, but Branford was…not normal.” Distaste flickered across her face for a brief moment. “I found it best not to be alone with him.”
As her husband swung around to stare, she continued, “Though Branford could be charming, too many people had beastly stories for all of them to be false. Servants who fled his household came to me, as did shopkeepers and tenants whom he had injured. None of them dared go to you because you refused to listen.” Her compassionate gaze moved to Julia. “Stop blaming this poor girl for what happened.”
His face vulnerable, Daventry said, “Et tu, Louisa?”
“It is time to stop looking back,” she said in a gentle voice. Her hand crept to her stomach. “The future is more important than the past.”
“You’re right, my dear.” Competing emotions showed in Daventry’s face. Triumph won. He turned to his visitors. “Randall, I was prepared to accept you as my heir of last resort, but I’ve recently learned that I can disown you. Louisa, stand up.”
The countess rose, revealing that she was well along in pregnancy. The news struck Randall like a body blow. But he’d be damned if he would let that show. After a pause of several heartbeats to collect himself, he said, “My congratulations, sir, your ladyship,” he said coolly. “This is very good news for you.”
“But not for you.” Daventry’s voice rang with conviction. “It will be a son, I know it. I have only ever sired sons, and this one will be healthy. Once again I shall have an heir of my blood for Daventry!”
Taking advantage of his uncle’s changed mood, Randall said, “You are free to disown me, but you must stop persecuting my wife. Call off Crockett and his men.”
He glanced at the countess, guessing she didn’t know what her husband had done. “In the last month, Julia has been abducted from her home, terrorized, and shot at by your men. All because you refused to accept the truth about Branford. As Julia said, Enough!”
His eyes narrowed into his fiercest officer gaze, the one that made armed men pale. “Or there will be blood, and it won’t be Julia’s or mine.”
“The major is right, Daventry,” the countess said, looking appalled at Randall’s recitation. “You really mustn’t be terrorizing your nephew’s wife. It’s most improper.”
The earl looked as if he’d bitten into a lemon, but after a glance at his wife, he said grudgingly, “I shall tell Crockett to leave her alone in the future.”
“Do I have your word as a gentleman on that?” Randall asked.
“Yes, damn it, you do!” Daventry snarled. “Now get out of my house, and I hope to God I never see either of you two again. Don’t expect to inherit a penny from me!”
“You never gave me anything in the past,” Randall said, letting his anger show. “I never expected anything in the future. Being disowned merely makes it official.”
“Damn you both!” Daventry gave his visitors a last fulminating glance as he stalked furiously from the room.
The countess broke the shaken silence first. “That certainly wasn’t pleasant. Will you two join me for tea? Very soothing, tea, and my cook makes excellent cakes.”
Randall exchanged a glance with Julia. Her expression echoed his anger and exhaustion, but she nodded acceptance. “Thank you, Lady Daventry,” he said. “That would be most welcome. You’ve never met Lady Julia, I believe?”
“No, and I am most anxious to do so. Please, take seats.” The countess gestured to chairs on the other side of the tea table. This close, Randall saw the fine lines around her eyes and haunted tension in her face, but her graciousness was impeccable.
“Would you like oolong tea?” The countess’s hand hovered between two handsome teapots. “I also have a quite nice lapsang souchong. It’s my favorite variety.”
Her calm social manner seemed rather mad under the circumstances, but Randall supposed that an ability to ignore wild moods was essential to living with Daventry. “I’d like the lapsang souchong, please.” Though he doubted she was a poisoner, it wouldn’t hurt to drink what she was having.
Perhaps sharing the thought, Julia said, “I’ll have the same.”
Lady Daventry poured, the fragrant liquid arcing gracefully into the cups. “Lady Julia, please accept the silk shawl draped over your chair as a gift. The color suits you.”
“Thank you, Lady Daventry.” Julia draped the shawl around her shoulders, completely covering the crumpled fichu. “You’re very generous.”
“It’s the least I can do.” The countess passed out the teacups. “I knew your mother when I was a girl, Major, and admired her greatly. You resemble her.”
Randall felt an unexpected tightness in his throat as he accepted a delicate porcelain cup. “Thank you. I’m glad to take after her family.”
“And so you should be. The Blairs are a more reliable lot than the Randalls.” The countess stirred sugar into her own tea, looking down at the silver spoon. “But Daventry’s not mad, you know, nor evil. His blindness is because he cares so deeply.”
“Blindness that profound might not be evil, but it produces evil results,” Randall said dryly. “Branford was surely mad, but the fact that his father left him unchecked greatly increased his destructiveness.” He stirred his tea, the spoon clinking against the delicate china. “Marrying him to an innocent child like Julia was a crime.”
“Indeed it was.” The countess’s grave gaze moved to Julia. “I was so glad when Daventry said you were alive. From the stories I’d heard about Branford, I can imagine the horror of sharing a bed with him.”
“No,” Julia said softly, her eyes bleak. “You really can’t.”
Lady Daventry became v
ery still. “I suppose not. It was very wrong for my husband to arrange a marriage for Branford, but he desperately fears that his bloodline will die out. His fear is not unjustified. All three of his wives, including me, suffered multiple miscarriages and stillbirths. I didn’t tell him I was increasing this time until I was far enough along to be confident the child would go to term.”
“Did Branford’s madness come from the Randall side of the family?” Julia asked.
The countess shook her head. “It’s from his mother’s people. The first countess was more than a little mad, but she apparently had a wild charm that made her irresistible. Daventry thinks of her as the love of his life. She died in childbirth.”
Amazed at Lady Daventry’s detachment, Randall said, “Yet my uncle married twice more.”
She offered a plate of iced cakes. “He was determined to see his bloodline carry on. He had great hopes for his younger son, Rupert, who survived infancy, but the poor boy was always sickly. Daventry was mad with grief when Rupert died at age ten.” The countess’s face was shadowed. “I was sorry, too. He was a good lad. No madness in him. He was a child of Daventry’s second marriage.”
Julia asked in an edged voice, “You seem a sensible woman. Where were you when your husband was killing Randall with neglect in his very house?”
Lady Daventry looked directly at Randall. “I was at Turville Park recovering from a miscarriage when you were brought back from Spain with your wounds, Major. Please believe that I would not have allowed such ill-treatment and neglect. I was horrified to learn of it later from the servants. You have my deepest apologies.”
So not only had Daventry lost his one living son, but his wife had miscarried, magnifying the earl’s desperate sense of loss. No wonder he’d hated his nephew’s tenacious ability to survive. But his raging grief had damned near cost Randall his life. “The fault was not yours, Lady Daventry,” Randall said. “But I would have died if Ashton hadn’t invaded the house and taken me away.”
“That was a dreadful summer for everyone. I am truly sorry for how you were treated, and very glad that you have a friend like Ashton.” The countess turned to Julia, her face intent. “Lady Julia—Daventry said you were a midwife. Can that be true?”
So that was what this conversation was about. Lady Daventry’s hospitality was real, but her interest in Julia’s midwifery skills was burning.
“Indeed it is.” Julia took a ginger cake, but her gaze was on her hostess. “I shall be happy to discuss your condition, but surely you have a physician here?”
“Sir Richard Croft, considered the best physician in London for such matters.” The countess crumbled a seed cake between anxious fingers. “I had my other sons when I was young, without any problems for them or me. I wanted another child. That was one reason I married Daventry. But now…I am over forty.”
“I’ve had a number of patients who delivered safely at your age,” Julia said reassuringly. “It’s not that uncommon.”
“I had hoped we would have a chance to speak privately.” The countess gave Randall a sidelong glance.
Julia nodded, a hint of smile in her eyes. “This will be the sort of conversation that sends strong men fleeing for the hills, Randall.”
He didn’t even want to imagine what they would discuss. He scooped up his teacup and a small plate of cakes. “There’s a salon through that door, I recall?”
“It’s now my private parlor. Daventry never goes there,” the countess replied. “He probably went out to his club where he is safe from females. Or perhaps he’s riding too fast in the park.”
Randall hoped the damned man would break his neck, but the devil protected his own. As he retreated to her ladyship’s private parlor, he prayed that he’d never have to enter this house again.
Chapter 22
Julia emerged from Daventry House jangling with nerves. “That was the strangest tea party of my life,” she said after their carriage door closed and the vehicle rumbled into the late afternoon traffic. She pulled off her bonnet and ran stiff fingers through her hair, displacing several of the pins.
“Strange indeed.” Randall’s expression was as impenetrable as when they first met in Hartley. “How is Lady Daventry’s health?”
“Reasonable. The baby is very active and close enough to term that it will likely survive even if born early.” Julia thought of the lively kicks she’d felt at the countess’s invitation. “Beyond that, I can’t say. There seems to be a weakness in Daventry’s seed that has prevented him from fathering a truly healthy child.”
“Is the countess in danger? She seemed very worried.”
“She’s terrified that the delivery will kill her.” Julia pulled the shawl Lady Daventry had given her more closely around her shoulders. “And it could, of course. Much can go wrong.”
“You said you’d delivered many women safely at her age.”
“Yes, but I’ve also lost some.” Sometimes Julia dreamed—or had nightmares—of patients who had died. One’s best wasn’t always good enough. “Lady Daventry was gravely ill after her last miscarriage. This delivery will probably be harder on her.”
“What about the expensive physician Daventry has engaged?” Randall said rather dryly. “His precious heir will surely get the best care possible.”
“Sir Richard Croft has an excellent reputation. He’s been bleeding her and he has her on a reducing diet. It’s not what I would recommend.” Julia frowned. “I know that having male physicians in attendance is the fashion, but a competent midwife is as good or better than a physician. Of course, I’m biased.”
“A woman would have more respect for the territory,” Randall said with a faint smile. “I hope the countess comes through. I’m amazed that any woman would want Daventry for a husband, but she seems to see him clearly and still likes him.” He shook his head. “Women truly are extraordinary.”
Julia laughed. “Men and women are so often mysteries to each other. I succumbed to vulgar curiosity and asked why she married him. She was quite candid. She found him attractive in a Byronic sort of way.”
“Byronic?” Randall asked incredulously.
“As you say, women can be odd creatures, and they’re often attracted to powerful men. After her ladyship was widowed, she didn’t feel ready to languish into embroidery and good works. Marrying Daventry made her a countess, with wealth and influence. That also appealed to her, of course.”
“Of course.” His dryness had increased.
Julia’s thoughts moved from the countess’s health to the implications for Randall. “Are you upset to be displaced and disowned?”
“I think we’ve done rather well.” His profile was like marble as he glanced out at the crowded street. “Between us, we’ve been disowned by two of the most powerful men in England within the space of three days.”
“My father had virtually disowned me a dozen years ago, so hearing the words doesn’t change my situation,” she pointed out. “But you’ve not only been disowned, but likely lost an earldom. That does make a difference.”
Outside, an upraised Cockney voice shouted at another driver. Several rounds of insults were exchanged before Randall said, “I was getting used to the idea of becoming the next earl. There was a kind of justice to it.” He turned from the window and took her hand. “I would have liked to make you a countess.”
“That would be a lower rank than the one I was born to, so it’s no great loss to me,” she said lightly. “But you would have made a very good earl. Fair and wise and used to commanding men.”
He shrugged off the compliment. “For most of my life, I never considered the possibility of inheriting—there were too many others in line before me. So it shouldn’t take me long to readjust to being a mere major.”
“You earned your army rank, which is more than a peer can say.”
“The peerage is all about inheritance,” he agreed. “Even when I was heir presumptive, I always knew the estate would come to me only because it was entailed. Daventry w
ould never voluntarily leave me any of his personal fortune. So as in your case, being disowned just makes official what was already the reality.”
Thinking his voice didn’t sound quite right, she studied his face. The carriage lurched forward and sunlight poured in the window, revealing his expression clearly. She was shocked by what she saw in his eyes.
Losing the earldom might not concern Randall over-much, but Daventry was the powerful man who had ruled his childhood. Though Randall had stood up unflinchingly to his uncle’s fury and abuse, he was not unaffected by it. Just as she had not been able to shrug off her father’s rage and revulsion.
A wounded spirit could ache far longer than physical injuries. Daventry’s grudging acceptance when he’d thought Randall was the heir wasn’t much, but she suspected it was the closest thing to approval her husband had ever known from his guardian. Today, Daventry had smashed that fragile bond into bleeding pieces.
Randall could not be as sensitive to her if his awareness hadn’t been honed by his difficult childhood. She imagined him as a wary boy, always watching his surroundings for safety’s sake, just like she had always been vigilant when Branford was near. Now Randall was hurting. It was time she took care of him as he’d cared for her.
“The ride home will be a slow one at this hour.” Julia pulled the shade down on her window, then reached across Randall to lower the shade on his side. “Let’s use the time to forget about our rather difficult visit to Daventry House.”
In the dim remaining light, she could see his brows rise. “What do you propose?”
“I was thinking about kissing.” A little hesitantly, she lifted her head and pressed her lips against his. “I’ve always been the kissed, not the kisser, so I hope you don’t leap away from me.”
“Why would I want to do a foolish thing like leap away when I’ve been campaigning to lure you closer?” His mouth opened and the kiss deepened.
She reveled in the touch and slide of tongues, which made it easy to forget the voices of angry old men. Reality was this man, who made her pulse quicken as they pressed together. His hands kneaded her back, causing her fingers to bite into his arms as pleasure simmered through her. No wonder chaperones tried to protect girls from kisses. Such drugging delight drove out good sense. But this dangerously attractive man was her husband, so there was no need to be sensible.
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