by Jenna Jaxon
When he turned to her, she gasped. The harsh planes of his face that had never stood out before, were now plainly visible. When he hung his head, a sense of guilt seemed to emanate from him. As though he couldn’t look at her. “I signed the will that left his widow a fortune. And then I married the widow.”
“Hugh, that’s ridiculous. No one will think anything of that.” Dear lord, was he serious? Did he mean not to marry her because of the money?
He raised his head, his eyes bleak. “You’d be surprised what people will say. Especially when I turn up penniless because my brother was declared a suicide.” Clenching his jaw, he closed his eyes, his mouth working as though some great emotion struggled to escape him. “The last I heard from The Grange, Kit has taken a turn for the worse. He will not take any food. Usually the servants could get him to swallow at least some gruel or soup. Now they can barely get a spoonful of water to go down.”
“I am so sorry, Hugh.” Hesitantly, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve known for some time that this was inevitable. Perhaps he’s decided it is time for him to go.”
“And with him goes any hope of a good life for any of us.” He shrugged off her hand. “Mr. Lambert, the surgeon who attended Kit from the beginning, wrote to let me know that the local magistrate spoke to him about Kit’s case. The magistrate knows he will have to rule on the cause of death, and wanted Lambert’s opinion.”
“Do you know what Lambert told him?” Gasping in a breath of air, Maria held it against the answer she did not want to hear.
“Under the circumstances, what else can Lambert say other than felo-de-se, the taking of one’s own life.” Hugh let out a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. “We will lose everything.” Gazing at her, he walked a few steps until he stood directly in front of her. “Including our ability to marry.”
“No, Hugh.” She grabbed his arm. “I don’t care, do you hear? I don’t care what people may say about you signing that will. I don’t care what they may say because your brother, in a fit of melancholy, tried to take his own life and eventually died from the wound. All I care about is that we are together because I love you.” This time she wouldn’t be able to stem the tide of tears, no matter what she did. “Can’t you see that?”
“I can, my love. And I told Lord Kinellan the other evening, I would have to be the strong one of the two of us. I swore I would do anything to protect you or your child.” He grasped her hands, kissed them, then gazed into her face. “Including giving you up.”
“No.” Maria shook her head, slowly at first, then faster, tears flying from her cheeks like drops of rain. “No, Hugh, no.”
“I must, my love. If you and little Jane are to have a chance at life, it cannot be with me. Go now.” He kissed her forehead and released her. “Take the chance that God has given you and do not look back.”
The tears streaming down her face blinded her and when her vision cleared, he was gone. Jane and Lord Kinellan were there, buttoning her pelisse, guiding her with arms around her shoulders out the door and into the carriage.
Jane settled her against the seat, her arms tight around Maria. “There, there, my dear. We will be at the inn shortly. Hatley will take care of you and I will be there if you wish to talk about . . . anything.”
Maria shook her head. All the talking had been done and the stubborn man whom she loved more than anyone in the world save her child, had won. What could she do if he wouldn’t agree to marry her? Nothing. She could stay and try to change his mind, but if his brother was truly dying, then Hugh had grief enough to contend with. She’d not make his burden heavier by hounding him in his time of sorrow.
Her own grief was heavy enough to bear. And the only thing to help her shoulder it was hope. Perhaps, in time, her absence would outweigh Kit’s passing and its consequences. Then he would see that love was the only thing that truly mattered, and return to her. Love and hope must sustain her until then.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Snow had been falling steadily since early morning, turning the dirty streets of London pristine under a fluffy white covering. Maria sat in the window seat overlooking the park, little Jane on her lap, laughing and trying to catch the snowflakes. Children ran and slid out in the park. Two little girls were lying in the snow making snow angels while their brothers engaged in a snowball battle. Everyone was happy and laughing, even Jane.
But not Maria. With Christmas scarcely a week away, and all the Christmas cheer to gaze at right outside her door, she’d have thought she would be more firmly in the holiday spirit than she was presently. She’d settled into the London townhouse, in fashionable Belgravia, with a minimum of fuss. Of course, as Kinellan said, when one could pay, one could get one’s way.
She smiled, recollecting his droll expression when pronouncing that adage. In the week they’d been in London she’d grown very fond of Jane’s amour. The lucky woman had better hold on to that one with all her might. Not that Jane was in any danger of Kinellan straying from her. He had eyes only for her cousin. Lucky woman.
Bouncing little Jane on her knee, Maria stubbornly refused to think of Hugh again. Not that her resolve meant very much. She thought about him at least three times every day, which meant he was not occupying all of her time as he’d done on the first days of her residence. Then the only time she’d not thought about him had been when she dropped into an exhausted sleep. Now the sharp ache in her heart whenever she brought his dear face to mind, had been replaced by a dull one. Perhaps one day, years from now, it would disappear entirely. She didn’t quite believe that, however.
The biggest problem currently was that she had too much time on her hands. She spent most of her days gazing out the window, thinking about things she shouldn’t. Like ice-skating. One day a group of young people had gone by the window, chatting merrily, their skates slung over their shoulders or tucked neatly under an arm. Instantly, she’d been transported back to that day skating on the dowager’s pond—and the luscious interlude in bed after Hugh had rescued her. She’d sat in the window for an hour until Jane had dragged her in to tea. But she had no appetite.
With Christmas only a week away, she really should rouse herself. Some evergreens around the house might put her in a more festive mood, but decorating was for parties and she wasn’t cheerful enough for anyone. She had asked her parents to join her in London, but her mother said the journey would be too much for her father. They had begged her to come and bring the baby, but Maria had postponed that visit until after the New Year. Irrational as it might be, she wanted to celebrate her first Christmas as an independent widow here, in her home. Unfortunately, it would be a very lonely holiday. Jane and Kinellan were here, her cousin promising to remain indefinitely. The marquess’s response had not been in the spirit of the season, but had expressed his own sentiments very succinctly.
Still, they would be here to celebrate little Jane’s first Christmas with Maria. The house should look more festive. “Nurse.” Maria had only to raise her voice slightly and Nurse Celeste appeared. A young woman who had not been a nursemaid before, but who had helped raise five brothers and sisters into their adult years, Celeste seemed genuinely fond of her charge.
“Here, take her, Nurse. She probably wants a bottle and a nap.” Maria stifled a yawn. “As do I, I’m afraid.” Well, not the bottle, but the nap, definitely.
“Very good, my lady.” Celeste picked little Jane up in well-practiced hands and headed off to the nursery.
Sighing, Maria rang the bell for more tea. What else was she to do? Still in mourning, she couldn’t attend parties or balls. A concert might do, but she’d never enjoyed music as most people did. And books had begun to pall. Everything she wanted to do, lay miles away in the country—rides and walks in the woods, friends to visit, tenants to check on. None of those were available to her here, save the rides and walks, although instead of the woods around Kersey Hall she would have to substitute Rotten Row or some of the carriage haunts in Hyde Park. Certainly not the same as the unrestric
ted avenues around the Hall. Perhaps this afternoon she and Jane could at least walk in the small park opposite. Anything to keep her from moping around.
Jane accompanied the entry of the tea tray. “Why so gloomy, Cousin?” She seated herself across from Maria and helped herself to a biscuit. “We must do something to raise your spirits. You don’t want to go to church on Christmas Day with a Friday-face, now do you?”
“No, but I cannot seem to find anything to raise my spirits. Christmas at home with my parents was always a joyous time of year. We made a big outing of going into the woods to bring in the greenery. Mama’s sisters and their children would come to the house for Christmas dinner, so there would be lots of conversation and stories. We children played games like blindman’s bluff and find the slipper. Then of course there was the snapdragon.” Maria bounced up in her seat, excitement in her for the first time in days. “Oh, that was so much fun, even with the burned fingers.” She laughed and sighed. “Why can’t it be like that this Christmas?”
“It can be, my dear. But in order to do so, you will need to invite your friends to Christmas dinner. Better yet, ask them to come several days before Christmas and make a house party of it. You have the room here.” Jane gestured to the townhouse, which had six bedrooms.
Maria’s excitement ebbed as quickly as it had surged. “But I don’t have any friends to invite.”
“Nonsense.” Tasting her tea, Jane made a face and hastily added more sugar. “You have Charlotte, Elizabeth, Fanny, and Georgie. Who could ask for a livelier group once you add in husbands, children, and three more babies? Little Jane will be beside herself with new playmates.”
“They are really your friends, Jane.” Maria’s shoulders slumped. “I was always the outsider in their little group. I’d never have met them had you not invited me to Charlotte’s party in the first place.”
“But you have become one of us, my dear. Doubly so, as we called ourselves The Widows’ Club. You have had a much worse time of it than any of the rest of us.” Jane set her cup down and took Maria’s hand. “We were a comfort to one another during the darkest days of our lives, and we will be the same for you, no matter the sorrow.”
“Do you truly think they would come?” Hope flared in Maria’s heart. The women of The Widows’ Club had taken her in once. And although they had disapproved of her marriage to Alan, they had all supported her when they heard about his death, sending cards of condolence and letters to help her through her grief.
“Why don’t you write to them today?” Her cousin smiled and helped herself to another biscuit. “I heard from Elizabeth just before we left Kersey Hall that she and Georgie were to travel to Blackham Castle for the holiday, although Elizabeth was not particularly sanguine about passing the holiday with Lord Blackham. They will likely be quite happy to alter their plans and come to London instead. And Charlotte and Nash are not even a day’s journey from Town.”
“I suppose there might be a chance those three would come.” Now that the possibility of a merry Christmastide was within her grasp, Maria didn’t want to get her hopes up too high. To have the plans all fall apart would hurt abominably. “But I doubt we can expect Fanny to journey so far in such weather.” The snow outside had thickened until she could scarcely see the trees in the park.
“You forget, my dear. Kinellan is here.” Jane’s smile grew wide and wicked. “I will ask him to write to Lathbury suggesting they come as well. I will almost guarantee that barring a blizzard, Lord and Lady Lathbury will appear with their children and his young sisters. You will have a house full of Christmas cheer in less than a week.”
Suddenly the prospect of spending the yuletide in London seemed joyous once more. She might not have the one person with her she wished for most, but she could have friends and family with her to celebrate a new beginning to her life. She rose from the window seat, turning her back on the snowy scene. “I will write them all directly so the letters can go in the afternoon post.”
“Very good, my dear.” Smiling with anticipation, Jane picked up a lemon tart. “Nothing like friends and food to guarantee everyone will have a good time.”
* * *
Saunders opened the door to Hugh’s office early one afternoon and handed him a letter, sealed with a black wax wafer. “This just arrived in the afternoon post, Mr. Granger.”
Even though he’d been expecting this announcement for weeks, the black seal sent a shiver of dread coursing through Hugh. “Thank you, Saunders.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” The compassion in the footman’s face somehow made the news Hugh was about to receive real in a way it had never been before.
Hugh nodded and Saunders slipped out.
“Ah, Kit. I pray you are finally at peace.” He lifted the seal and unfolded the page. Two brief lines told of his brother’s passing. And that Mr. Lambert had informed the magistrate both of the death and the suspected cause—a self-inflicted pistol shot to the jaw. Life in Lavenham was about to get ugly.
Carefully, Hugh refolded the letter and slipped it in his pocket. It was early yet. He and Bella could quickly pack what was necessary and leave for home within the hour. First, however, he’d need to inform Lord Kersey that his absence from Kersey Hall would be required for some days. He dreaded this interview almost more than the coming procedure with the magistrate.
Lord Kersey had been in a rare mood since last week when Maria delivered her little surprise. Saunders had been on duty at the party in the drawing room, but had been called downstairs to fetch more punch for the ladies. He had heard raised voices in the receiving room and had managed to linger long enough to hear most of Maria’s harangue. Lord, what he wouldn’t have given to have been able to hear her—and see Kersey’s face when he learned his easy life had just become a deal harder.
All week Hugh had walked a tightrope, in an effort to keep his relationship with Maria from Kersey’s notice. How anyone who looked at him didn’t guess the truth, he could not fathom. Each time he thought about her, which was constantly, he would stop and stare into thin air, remembering a particular moment he had been with her: in the garden in October, the tea party with his sister and her cousin, the morning they’d spent in the dowager’s bedchamber. He didn’t allow himself to recall that memory unless he was alone. Embarrassing things sometimes happened when that memory was particularly vivid.
In any case, news that Hugh had won the affections of the new heiress would not likely bode well for him, or for the job that now stood between him and destitution. Any excuse to sack him or any other non-essential servant would be welcomed, he suspected. The fact that the house party that was supposed to last until the New Year had been shortened to the day after Christmas showed that Kersey was fully aware of the scope of the properties over which he no longer had control. Thus the lord’s evil temper had shown itself in new ways. What he would say when Hugh asked permission to leave was anyone’s guess.
Winding his way down the corridor, Hugh sought out Chambers as the one person who would know where Lord Kersey was currently drinking. On the way to the butler’s pantry, he cocked his ear as he passed by the library. The unmistakable clink of glass on glass suggested he’d found his man. He pushed the door open and strode in.
Lord Kersey stood by the sideboard, a decanter of brandy in one hand, a well-used glass in the other.
Not the best time, perhaps, to ask for a leave of absence, but then these days there wasn’t a good time to ask his lordship anything.
“Granger. There you are.” Kersey staggered forward a step. “By God, where the hell have you been hiding?”
“I’ve been in my office all morning, my lord. Totaling up the incomes from the outer tenant farms as you requested.” It had been a waste of time as the figures remained the same as the ones he’d totaled last month and in October as well.
“And?”
“No change, my lord.” Hugh hesitated, then went on. “There won’t be a change until the cabbage and leek crops are harvested in late Janua
ry. That is the way the rotations have been staggered since I came here to work for the old earl.”
“Damned tenants. Why can’t they produce crops year round?” He stared blearily at Hugh. “Can’t they plant year round?”
“They can and do, my lord. But to get the best yields, there are periods when fields have to lie fallow, to allow them to recover from the previous planting.” Clenching his fist at having to explain the idea of crop rotation to a drunken man who would not remember it tomorrow, and would likely ask yet again, Hugh focused on shifting the conversation to his request.
“Too many fields not producing anything. Too many tenants not producing anything.” Lord Kersey’s head came up and he stared at Hugh, a snarl on his lips. “And why in God’s name haven’t you gotten rid of that family on the farm that’s supposed to be rented by now?”
Hugh’s heart sank, all his other worries melting away as the plight of the Tates came quickly forward. “I put the notices up, my lord. There have been no inquiries to my knowledge.”
“Then your knowledge is limited, Granger. A letter arrived yesterday asking if the tenancy was available.” Kersey poured another glass full. “I instructed Chambers to answer the man in the affirmative. He’ll be here, ready to move in on Saturday.”
“On Saturday, my lord? With so little notice, the Tate family will scarcely have time to find a place to move into.” All Hugh could think, even with disaster looming for the Tates, was that he had failed Maria one final time.
“That is no concern of mine.” Kersey took a long pull of his drink. “They should have made provisions long before now.”
“But my lord—”
“Saddle up and ride out there now. Tell them they have two days to vacate the tenancy or their things will be tossed into the yard. Is that clear, Granger?” Kersey’s voice boomed in the enclosed space.
“Yes, my lord.” Hugh closed his eyes and imagined the fountain out in the garden, Maria in her pale gray gown, shimmering like a star, and her adamant stance that the Tates be given a chance to recover from Mr. Tate’s death. As Maria had been given a chance.
