by Jenna Jaxon
“Yes. Get on with it.” He stood perfectly still while his man tied the knot with ease.
“Will there be anything else, my lord?”
“Make sure my Hessians are polished to a shine and ready for the ride this afternoon. And I’ll wear the claret coat and the green-and-red-striped waistcoat. Add a bit of holiday to the ensemble.”
“Very good, my lord.”
“The navy blue for now.” Anthony held his arms back and Phipps slipped the coat neatly over them, then snugged it down over the shoulders, creating an excellent fit. A final look in the mirror, a slight adjustment of the shirt sleeves, and he deemed himself fit to be seen this morning.
Hurrying down the stairs to the breakfast room, he passed the table where the post was kept.
A footman was tarrying there. Odd. “You, footman. What’s your name?”
“John, my lord.” The man turned to him, shoulders back, suddenly straight and tall.
“What are you doing with the mail, John?” Anthony peered closely at the servant, but the man stared straight ahead. At least he was well trained.
“I was told to check the incoming post for letters addressed to Mr. Granger. They are to be forwarded on to him in Lavenham, my lord.”
The hairs on the back of Anthony’s neck rose up. Certainly his father had given no such order after Granger’s insolence. “Who told you to do that?”
“Charles, my lord, the first footman.”
“Charles. I see.” He’d find that footman as soon as he dispensed with this one. “And have there been any letters for Mr. Granger?”
“No, my lord.”
“Hmm.” Nothing there then. “Very well. You may go, but you are relieved of this duty as of now, do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord.” The footman turned to go, sliding something into his pocket as he did.
“Wait.” Anthony grabbed the lad by the arm. “What did you put in your pocket?”
Without a word, John brought out a letter and handed it to Anthony.
He snatched it from the servant’s hand, peering at the handwriting. Addressed to Mr. H. Granger, Wingate, care of Kersey Hall. And in a feminine hand. He looked at the footman. “You’re dismissed, John. Go to Mr. Chambers and tell him to give you your wages, but no reference.” A smile broke over Anthony’s face. “Tell him to ready Charles’s as well. He’ll be down as soon as I can find him.”
“Yes, my lord.” John turned on his heel and strode toward the kitchen.
Turning the letter over, Anthony wafted it toward his nose. No scent. Unfortunate, but the woman quite likely couldn’t afford perfume. The letter was sealed in black, unusual except for use by those in mourning. Perhaps the woman was obsessed with Princess Charlotte and in mourning for her. A glance around the corridor showed no one in sight, but then you could never be too careful. He stepped into the small blue receiving room and shut the door.
Anthony went to the desk by the window and pulled the seal from the folded foolscap. Unfolding the letter revealed a single sheet, written only straight across. Hardly a love letter then. Those could run on for pages, as he’d had the bad luck to know. He raised the letter to read the few lines.
My dearest Hugh,
A love letter after all? He read on, his jaw slackening with every word until his mouth stood wide open at the signature.
Your beloved Maria
Dropping down onto the conveniently placed desk chair, he stared at the missive, his head whirling. Granger had been trysting with the little widow all along, right under their damned noses. But obviously hadn’t married her. Which, given her newfound wealth, was undeniably strange.
He returned to one particular sentence. I particularly wish to speak to you in person, about something of a delicate nature so I dare not write it. “I’ll be damned. The little widow is increasing.”
How had he let her slip through his fingers? And why had none of the family known of her and Granger’s tendre? Father would be absolutely furious when he found out, and likely blame it all on Anthony again. As if he hadn’t tried his best to compromise her, at the very risk of his life.
Tapping the end of the letter against the desk, he let his thoughts wander. Was there some way to turn this to his advantage?
Tap, tap, tap. Had the widow told anyone about her “delicate condition”? The start of a scheme began to form. It would work best if she hadn’t told a soul, but even if she had, he had confidence in himself and other considerable skills in deception that could be brought to bear upon dear Cousin Maria.
He folded the letter and shoved it in his inner coat pocket, then rose and quit the room. So much to do. But first, to find his father and inform him that Anthony would be spending Christmas in London.
* * *
The night before Christmas had been the merriest evening Maria had spent in ages. They had moved the furniture in the drawing room, clearing enough space for them to have dancing. Each of her friends had performed on the pianoforte, so while that lady played, Maria had partnered that lady’s husband. She found Jemmy the easiest to follow, and Kinellan too tall to make it comfortable to stand up with him. Rob had twirled her wildly around the room, but Nash, was quite the most accomplished dancer. Of course, after the altercation with Alan last autumn—in which Nash had drubbed him but good—she still felt the need to walk on eggshells around him.
Despite the laughter and fun, however, Maria still couldn’t help wishing for a partner of her own. For Hugh. She’d heard nothing from him, as she’d feared. Tomorrow was Christmas Day. If he’d wished to come to see her, he would have done so by now.
Her heart tried to flutter, but she forced air deep into her lungs, quelling the agitation. She’d have to learn to live without him, as she’d done with William. Strangely, now, her first husband’s face was lost in memory. If she concentrated she could remember the way his unruly hair stuck up, or how he laughed when she tickled him, but no complete image of him remained. Would it be that way with Alan? With Hugh?
“What shall we do now, Maria?” Elizabeth had come to her side, perhaps sensing her melancholy. She would have to be a good hostess and do better.
“I thought either cards or charades?”
“Oh, let it be charades.”
The voice that wafted above the chattering guests froze Maria in her place.
“I am very good at charades.”
“Lord Wetherby, my lady.” Her butler’s perturbed tone spoke volumes about his opinion of Anthony.
As one, Jane and Kinellan rose from the sofa and rushed to Maria’s side, although there was certainly no danger from his lordship in a room filled with her friends. Still, she was glad of their nearby presence. Maria stepped forward and curtsied. Best find out why the scoundrel had come, before asking the gentlemen to throw him out. “Merry Christmas, my lord. To what do we owe the honor of this call?”
He grinned and sauntered toward her. “I had decided to spend Christmas in London after all. Even with Father’s guests, the country had become deadly dull.” When he finally stood before her, he made a grab for her hand, but Kinellan jerked Maria aside.
“A simple bow will do, Wetherby.” With a smug grin Kinellan demonstrated. “It is fairly easy to accomplish if you practice long enough.”
“I see you have got it well in hand, Kinellan. How hard could it be?” Anthony turned once more to Maria. “My lady.” He executed a perfect if somewhat florid bow. “I remembered Father saying you were planning to spend Christmas in the Kersey townhouse, so I thought while I was here I should come wish you a Merry Christmas.”
“And having done so, my lord, I hope you will be on your way. As you see, I have guests.” She motioned to her friends behind her, all staring at the interloper with avid interest.
“Ah, would you be so good as to introduce me, my dear. Friends of yours—”
“As you will not be staying, Wetherby, I see no need for introductions.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Kinellan glared at Anthony, for the world
as though he was itching to go several rounds with him at Jackson’s saloon.
A narrowing of his eyes was the sole response to the taunt, but Anthony then addressed himself once again to Maria. “In that case, my dear, that leaves only the other matter I wished to inquire about.”
On her guard around the blackguard, Maria frowned and shot a glance at Jane, who looked blank and shrugged. “I know of no other matter between us, my lord.”
“The child, Maria,” he whispered, though loudly enough everyone surely heard him.
“Lady Jane?” A sudden chill raced through Maria. Had he done something to her daughter before sauntering in here? Her legs threatened to buckle, and she grabbed Jane’s arm. “Jane, go to the nursery. Make certain—”
Before she had even gotten the words out, Kinellan had run from the room. Charlotte, Fanny, Elizabeth, and Georgie all clustered around her and the gentlemen surrounded Anthony, wearing very un-gentlemanlike expressions.
“I don’t know who you are, Wetherby”—Nash had positioned himself in front of the scoundrel—“but none of us will stand by and allow you to threaten or harm Maria or her child.”
On Anthony’s right stood Rob, his mouth grim as death, and on the left, Jemmy, blocking the door. “He’s going nowhere, Nash. Never fear.”
“Gentlemen, you misunderstand.” The softness of Anthony’s voice made Maria’s skin crawl. “Ladies, do not distress yourselves. I was not referring at all to Maria’s daughter.”
Maria had had enough of Lord Wetherby. She should have just made good on her promise to his father to give either of them the cut direct when she saw them again. “Then who the dickens do you mean?”
“Why our child, of course, Maria.”
Though unable to speak, Maria’s mouth had dropped open, her brow furrowed in an attempt to make some sense out of his words. Her friends, however, wore curious expressions, as if they might, heaven forbid, give some credence to his claim.
Finally, she said, “You must be mad.”
“I assure you, I am not.” His face bore the expression of a repentant rogue, who has definitely sinned and enjoyed it, but would have you believe he is sorry now. An expression Anthony had apparently cultivated and could produce at a moment’s notice. “Do you not remember? We agreed that if you found yourself increasing, you would write to me and we would make arrangements to marry.”
“Get out!” Maria strode toward him exactly as she had done to his father. “This is now my house, not Kersey property. You will get out now before I have the footmen fetched to throw you out.”
“You don’t need to wait for footmen, Lady Kersey.” Rob spoke up and punched Jemmy in the arm. “We’re old hands at moving unconscious bodies, aren’t we, Brack?” He gave Anthony a fiendish glare. “We’d be happy to oblige you this instant.”
“Maria.” Anthony seemed to ignore all the threats, but maintained a calm and soothing manner. “You haven’t even told me if you have suspicions. However, if you didn’t have any you would have said it straightaway.” He grinned at her and her stomach turned. “Do you think you are carrying my child?”
“No.” It took every ounce of strength of will to refrain from pummeling his smirking face. “There is no way on this earth that I am carrying your child because I have never, ever been intimate with you, Lord Wetherby, and never will be. So take this little scheme of yours and try it on some other woman. It will not work on me.”
“I can produce proof, if you insist.”
“You can do no such thing.” The man was mad. What proof was he going to produce? The rock that smashed his face when she dropped them to the ground during the mistletoe gathering? Would he bring in the imaginary bird to testify what it had seen? “It’s preposterous. It never happened for there to be any proof.”
Her friends, however, had begun to eye her askance. Dear lord, why would they not believe her? “Then show it to me.”
To her astonishment, he reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and produced two black jet jeweled hairpins. She looked closer. They looked just like the ones she had been wearing when—
“I found these in the dowager house after you left.”
Her hand going to her throat, Maria gasped. Dear God, he knew. Anthony knew about her tryst with Hugh the day she fell through the ice. They had been in such a hurry to get back they had left the chamber somewhat disarrayed. She’d missed the hairpins later that night, but didn’t remember where she might have lost them. Now she knew.
“Are they yours, Maria?” Fanny asked, her gaze darting from Maria to Jane to Anthony.
She should simply lie to Fanny. Say they were not hers. Or tell the truth, as Jane had stressed all along. Her friends already knew about Hugh, knew that Anthony was spouting lies. So why were they sending questioning glances her way? The gentlemen were carefully avoiding her gaze now. In a case like this, did everyone assume the man was telling the truth and the woman was lying?
And suddenly Maria was running. Out the door, up the stairs, down the corridor to her bedchamber. She raced in, heart pounding, then whirled around and slammed the door. Suddenly drained, she leaned against the door, laid her head on the panel and burst into tears.
How was she to prove to everyone that she’d been in the dowager house with Hugh, if Hugh was not here to defend her against Anthony’s lies?
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.” The soothing ritual hair-brushing had helped calm Maria once more after the disastrous events of the evening. At least her friends had rallied around her after she’d left in tears. According to Jane, Anthony had been escorted from the house by the gentlemen of the party. Not quite by the seat of his pants, as Rob and Jemmy had hoped, but forcefully enough that he had gotten the idea he was not welcome. Jane had reported this information to her later, when she’d come up to check on Maria before she went to bed.
Putting the brush down, Maria picked up a pot of hand cream and spread a bit of it on her skin and began to work it in. The small nightly rituals always helped her to relax and hopefully to have a good night’s sleep, although that might be stretching it tonight.
A slight tapping on the door, made Maria sit up quickly and grab her robe. “Who is it?”
“Jane. Can you open the door?”
Her cousin had presumably gone to bed over an hour ago, but Maria dutifully opened the door, finding Jane, tea tray with tea and biscuits, in hand. “What are you doing?”
“I thought a little Christmas repast would not be amiss.” She set the tray on the low table in the part of the bedchamber furnished as a sitting room, with sofa and chairs, and poured two cups. “Here, have a biscuit.” She took up one, thin and crisp with chocolate sprinkled on top. “I think Cook may have been hiding these for tomorrow, but as it is after midnight, it is tomorrow.”
“I am not particularly hungry, Jane.”
That apparently made no difference to her cousin, who thrust the biscuit into her hands with the admonishment, “Eat.”
Dutifully, Maria bit into the biscuit, and quickly decided Jane’s idea had been sound.
“Have you thought any more about what you plan to do about Wetherby?” Jane stirred milk into her tea briskly, avoiding looking at Maria.
“There is nothing to do about him, Jane. He is lying, pure and simple. And unless Hugh arrives, it is only his word against mine.”
A scratching at the door made Maria exchange glances with Jane, who frowned. “Who is that?”
“I don’t know.” Throwing her robe around her shoulders once more, Maria called again, “Who is it?”
“Elizabeth and Georgie.”
Wide-eyed, Maria opened the door to find Elizabeth bearing a plate of biscuits and Georgie a bottle of milk and several cups on a tray.
“What are you doing here?”
“We thought after the incident with that horrible Lord Wetherby, you needed fortification,” Georgie said as the pair made their way in, putting their tray and plate be
side the tea things.
“But I see Jane has beat us to it.” Elizabeth sat down next to her. “Are these chocolate biscuits?” She snared one and bit into it. “These are delicious.”
Smiling at this outpouring of love, Maria sat by Georgie on the sofa nearest the crackling fire. “Won’t you have something, Georgie?”
Her friend looked askance at the sweets. “I fear I have lost all appetite for sweet things since I began increasing, which is most inconvenient because I love to eat them but now they make me violently ill.”
“No biscuits for Georgie.” Jane moved the plates away from their friend. “We were just discussing what Maria must do now that Lord Wetherby has tried to compromise her, yet again.”
“He has tried it before?” Elizabeth looked aghast. “Isn’t it terrible when the most attractive men are also the most evil?”
“You find him attractive, Elizabeth?” Jane’s eyebrows rose. “I find that quite surprising.”
“Well, I didn’t say I would be attracted to him, but some women might.”
Another knock on the door brought giggles from Maria and Jane. “Shall I guess who this is?” Maria headed for the door again.
“Too easy.” Taking up one of the sweets from Elizabeth’s tray, Jane contemplated the heart-shaped cake. “Guess what they are bringing instead.”
Grasping the door handle once more, Maria opened it on Charlotte and Fanny, who looked at the gathering and burst out laughing. “May we join the party?”
“Please, come right in.” Maria gazed at her friends as the last two settled into the sofa, setting their offerings on the table and grabbing cups of tea. She’d never have believed these women could include her so completely in their circle. As she’d told Jane, they seemed more her friends, but that apparently wasn’t true. A feeling of warmth and closeness, of being included and belonging for the first time in a long time would make this Christmas one of the most special she had ever known.
