My Lord Jack

by Hope Tarr

  But Jack was not so easily put off. “All the same, I’ll have your word on it before I close my eyes. Promise me, Claudia. Promise me that if you find yourself in trouble, you’ll send for me.” In a milder tone he added, “’Tis the only boon I’ll ever ask of you and no such an unreasonable request, mind?”

  Grateful to be facing away from him so he couldn’t see the tears slipping down her cheeks, she swallowed hard. “Oui, I would send for you.”

  For the first time since they’d lain together, she’d told him a lie.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Eventually their idyll had to end. They couldn’t remain holed up in their room at the inn forever, delectable fantasy though that surely was. Even Mistress Tweedie began to wonder aloud if didn’t they have a home of their own to go to. The day after Christmas, Boxing Day, the sun emerged from hiding, setting the snow to fast and furious melting. By the second day the air was almost balmy and by the third the roads sufficiently clear to permit safe travel. They set out on horseback after breakfast, a light meal of tea and toast that neither could find the appetite to eat, Jack on Beelzebub and Claudia on a gentle gelding they’d hired from a lending stable to serve in the stead of the mare.

  Linlithgow lay fifteen or so miles west of Edinburgh, the town’s center clustered around a marketplace known as the Cross. As they left behind the narrow streets and stone-arched bridges to skirt the loch, they fell silent, each falling victim to the press of private thoughts.

  Perhaps he will stay awhile. Perhaps he will return to visit me sometime, Claudia thought even as she allowed the unlikelihood of either occurrence. She and Jack were creatures from two very different worlds. He wouldn’t feel any more at ease in a noble household than she first had felt in his tiny village, and he had too much pride to try.

  Jack’s thoughts ran a similar course. How can I bear to leave her? warring with How can I do otherwise? Within the four walls of their rented room, in their bed, she’d made him feel like a king, but returned to her natural environment, she’d once again see him for what he was: a coarse lummox, a hangman, an embarrassment. No, leave her he must, for he’d too much pride to stay and ape the gentleman. To do so would only heap more misery upon them both and taint the past week with shame and regret. The latter prospect was beyond even his bearing, the threat alone strengthening his resolve to leave once he’d satisfied himself that Claudia would be well cared for. As soon as he had, he would be on the road back to Selkirk, perhaps as soon as that night.

  Castle Aberdaire lay on the southern shore of Linlithgow Loch, a fine stretch of shimmering lake gilded by the unseasonably brilliant afternoon sun. When Claudia and Jack reached the main entrance arch, the Aberdaire coat of arms emblazoned on a shield at the pinnacle of the wrought-iron gate, her courage flagged.

  She reined in her mount. “A moment, s’il vous plait.”

  Jack drew up next to her. “What is it, lass?”

  I am a coward, she might have answered, but instead only shook her head. “I feel that once we pass through these gates, nothing will be the same. I will not be the same. Ah, but you must think me foolish.”

  He reached across to clasp her hand in his. “I dinna think you’re foolish. A wee bit scairt maybe and with good reason but no foolish.”

  Through her kidskin glove, she could feel his warmth, his energy, pooling into her. She held on tight, threaded her fingers through his and wished she might never have cause to let go.

  Regarding their interleaved hands, she said, “I have prepared myself for this for months now. No, for my whole life, I think. When I came of age to leave the nursery, Maman insisted I have a British governess. Almost as if she had seen into the future and knew that someday I must come to Scotland and the home of my father.” She tried for a smile, but it quavered on her lips. “And now that I have, I am afraid to take these last few steps.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Bear up, lass. ’Tis like visiting the toothpuller—best to get it over with quick, aye?” He flashed her a smile that belied his claim of ever having required the services of the toothpuller, just as his sad eyes belied his brisk, cheerful tone. “Come along with you, otherwise I’ll be taking tea with His Lordship all by my lonesome.” He released her hand and urged his horse into a canter, leaving Claudia no choice but to follow him through.

  The crushed shale drive seemed to stretch on forever, winding through fallow fields, a game park and then a series of terraced gardens. Ahead, the castle’s rounded turrets and battlements came into view above the tops of the leafless trees, the stones a gunmetal gray that seemed to Claudia to repel the sun’s golden glow.

  I am home, she told herself again and again, though she’d never felt less at home in her life.

  As they drew nearer, assorted structures dotted the snow-patched lawns, fanciful follies built to resemble Greek temples and Chinese pagodas and grottoes whose fountains of frozen water had just begun to thaw.

  Their journey ended in a circular, brick-lined drive. Jack dismounted and then came around to help Claudia down. Two grooms dressed in matching livery materialized from the direction of the stables they’d passed to take their horses. Jack hesitated. Hand fisted on the reins, he eyed the approaching groom as if they were cattle reevers instead of servants in the sage-and-gold livery of an earl.

  Reminded that he wasn’t accustomed as she was to having servants wait on him, Claudia laid a light hand on his arm. “It is all right. They will take them to the stable and care for them.”

  “Mind you water and walk them before you feed them,” he said to the younger of the two, then surrendered Beelzebub with a grudging air and followed Claudia across the courtyard.

  Elf had been keeping pace beside them but as they came up on the curved stone balustrade, a carved lion guarding either side, she let out a low growl.

  “Come on with you, lass,” Jack coaxed, tugging on her collar. “They’re naught but stone.”

  Still looking far from happy about it, the dog followed them up the stone steps to where, like the lions, two footmen in livery and elaborately curled wigs were stationed sentinel fashion on either side of the massive double doors.

  “We’re here to see His Lordship,” Jack informed them and though they exchanged glances, no doubt taking in his simple coat and ungloved hands, they stepped back to allow them admittance.

  The butler who met them inside the great hall was a man of middling years and undeniable Scottish ancestry though his impeccable black attire seemed out of keeping with his stocky pugilist’s build. “You are expected?” he asked, though the colorless eyes that raked over Claudia and then Jack clearly conveyed they were not.

  Claudia shook her head. “Non, but—”

  “You’ve a card, then, madam?” He held out a square white-gloved palm.

  Claudia shook her head, throat scraped so dry that she could barely get the words out to answer, “Non, but I have this.” Hands shaking, she reached inside her cloak for the brooch that had not left her possession since she’d departed France. Slowly, carefully she freed it from its handkerchief wrapper and dropped it into his open hand.

  The butler looked down at the object resting in his palm and then back at her. Plainly unimpressed, he passed it back to her. “I dinna ken how it is you’ve come by the Aberdaire clan brooch but a card, madam, would be a considerably more helpful means of stating your name and purpose.”

  Drawing strength from the knowledge that Jack stood at her back, she hoisted her chin, squared her shoulders and said, “You may tell His Lordship that Mademoiselle Claudia Antoinette Valemont awaits his pleasure. And that she will not leave until she has seen her father.”

  Strong emotion—Claudia suspected it must be shock—brought ruddy color rushing the butler’s cheeks, the opaque eyes looking black as obsidian, the irises eclipsed by startled pupils.

  Recovering, he nodded. “Verra well. His Lordship is in the east wing. I will conduct you there.” He started to turn away when Elf sounded a low snarl. Slowly, very slo
wly, he turned about to glare beyond Claudia’s shoulder. “The beast remains here,” he said and given the direction of his gaze, Claudia couldn’t be sure whether he meant the wolfhound or Jack.

  Jack stepped forward, speaking for the first time since they’d gained the hall. “The dog accompanies the lady as do I.”

  The butler hesitated, then inclined his head. “For now,” he said, then turned away to strike out beneath the vaulted archway.

  He set a brisk pace. Matching it meant that Claudia registered only a fleeting impression of what must once have been a medieval great hall, its stone walls hung with ancient tapestries and the severed heads of a variety of game animals. The latter’s glassy-eyed gazes seemed to follow them up the circular stone stairs, the walls of which were so close that, mounting them, Claudia was reminded of the tollbooth in Selkirk. She shivered and looked back over her shoulder to Jack. His beautiful mouth was set in a grim line and his eyes looked as sad as she felt, but when he caught her gaze, he smiled and sent her a reassuring wink. She smiled back as if her heart weren’t breaking and quickly turned around before he could see that it was. He was being so brave, so noble, the very least she could do was to behave in kind, though a traitorous part of her cried out that she didn’t want him to be brave or noble at all.

  They entered what must be a newer part of the castle. Iron-studded doors, rounded arches and flagged stones gave way to classical columns, ornate plasterwork and Italian marble. In the gallery, ancestral portraits of seven generations of black-haired, lean-faced Aberdaire earls and their countesses filled the niches between the Corinthian columns.

  My ancestors, Claudia thought, and an odd little shiver trailed her spine for none of them could be said to look happy.

  All the while she was aware of Jack at her back. He didn’t touch her, of course, nor speak so much as a word, but she felt his steady regard like a reassuring hand, urging her on, refusing to let her falter.

  Je t’aime. I love you, Jack, her mind screamed, and she mentally scourged herself for not finding the courage to tell him before they left Edinburgh. Now she might never have the chance to do so, might never see him again after this day.

  The butler’s abrupt halt before a paneled mahogany doorway cut off Claudia’s ruminating. He knocked once and, after receiving permission to enter from the sharp male voice within, opened it. The lavish drawing room they stepped inside was furnished in the French fashion. Gilded pier glasses flanked the far wall, and a massive crystal chandelier crowned an elaborate plasterwork ceiling of vulturelike birds intertwined with scrollwork A’s.

  But it was to the black-haired figure in the gilded bath chair that Claudia’s gaze was drawn.

  “Miss Claudia Valemont, milord.” The butler stepped to the side of the door.

  Long, delicate hands worked the chair wheels on either side, bringing the earl toward her. My hands, Claudia thought, and felt the chill of his silver-blue eyes on her like a bucket of snow dumped down her back.

  “What the devil…Is this some manner of jest?”

  The name, her name, obviously meant something to him. Praying that her shaking legs would sustain her, she swept a low curtsy.

  Rising to look the earl straight in the eye, she answered, “It is no jest, my lord. I am Claudia Valemont, lately come from Paris, France, and I have reason to believe that you are…that you are my father.”

  “Impertinent chit,” he said, dismissing her claim with a flick of his slender, blue-veined hand. Peering beyond her to the hallway where Jack stood in the open doorway, he demanded, “And who the devil is that person? No my son, I trust,” he added, sarcasm plainly evident.

  Ashamed she hadn’t thought to introduce Jack on her own ere now, Claudia could barely bring herself to meet his gaze. “Allow me to present Monsieur Jack Campbell of Selkirk, my lord.”

  Jack started forward, stopping a pace or so inside the door. “Milord,” he said and though he didn’t bow, he inclined his head with statesmanlike grace.

  Claudia’s heart turned over; never had she been prouder to be with him than she was at this moment. How foolish she’d been to think for a moment that he would be out of place here. Jack’s quiet dignity, his effortless bearing, allowed him to more than hold his own in any company be it in a cottage or a castle.

  Aberdaire spared Jack no more than a fleeting glance before calling to his butler. “MacDuff, some wine, I think, for our guest.”

  Earl and servant exchanged a knowing glance. “Verra good, milord,” the butler replied. He went over to the rosewood wine table and, his back turned to them, poured ruby liquid from the chinked crystal decanter. Turning around, a single glass in hand, he crossed the carpet to Claudia.

  Stunned that the earl had not offered Jack refreshment as well, Claudia meant to refuse the glass held out to her. But the manners of a lifetime were not to be broken in a day and so she reached out to take it.

  As if reading her mind, Lord Aberdaire drawled, “Alas, MacDuff, I fear we are remiss. Master Campbell must be thirsty as well.” Gaze narrowing, he said, “Pray have one of the servants see him and his hound to the kitchen for a pint and a meal and then find him a bed above the stables.”

  “Aye, milord, I will,” the butler replied, voice overriding Claudia’s gasp. He scraped a low bow and then backed away toward the door, beckoning Jack to follow.

  Outraged, Claudia stepped forward. “My lord, Monsieur Campbell is not my servant.”

  The earl’s gaze settled on her face. “Have no fear. Should your claim prove valid, whatever he is to you, he will be suitably rewarded for his pains in bringing you to me.”

  Throughout Jack had remained the picture of composure, his hands folded behind his back, the right one clasped about the wrist of the left, and broad back held straight as a lance. But by now Claudia knew him far too well to miss the muscle ticking in the side of his jaw as he said, “I want for no reward save that of knowing milady has her rightful place.”

  “Prettily said, Master Campbell, but you may leave us just the same. I find myself wanting time alone with my…with Miss Valemont.”

  Claudia opened her mouth to protest on his behalf once more, but Jack’s warning look had her holding her peace.

  “I thank you for your hospitality, milord.” Turning back to Claudia, he bowed. “Milady, I will take my leave of you…for now.” He let his gaze linger on her for a long moment before turning to follow the butler out into the hallway.

  Her heart wrenching, she listened to his footfalls sounding down the corridor, Elf’s nails clicking on the tiles as she followed her master out. It was all Claudia could do to hold back from rushing after him.

  “What proof can you bring to substantiate your claim?” the earl demanded.

  Dragging her gaze away from the doorway, Claudia remembered the brooch. “This, my lord.” She passed the pin to him, careful to keep her fingers from brushing his hand. “My mother gave it to me, along with your letters, before the gendarmes came for her. She said to keep it with me always. That it belonged to my father. That it belonged to you.”

  Holding the brooch between his thumb and forefinger, he was silent for a while. At length he said, “Anyone, a servant, could have taken this and the letters, too. Judging from the newspaper accounts, it sounds as if it’s bloody chaos over there.”

  She bowed her head, remembering. “It is, my lord.”

  “And yet you escaped. How did you manage it?”

  “I changed clothes with my maid, my lord, in order to slip from the house and make my way to Calais. There I met the fishing boat that would take me to Dover. My jewels, which I had sewn into my cloak, all went for my safe passage to Dover. All save the brooch.”

  “Clever girl,” he said, and Claudia fancied there was a grudging respect in his voice. “Come closer and let me have a good look at you.”

  So many times she’d imagined this reunion, dreamt of it, prayed for it. Yet now that it had come, now that she was alone with the man who had sired her, she wanted
nothing so much as to turn and flee. Another dream lost, she thought, even as she stepped forward.

  He flagged her toward a gilt-backed chair. “You’re not as beautiful as she was, nor as tall, but you’ve the look of her. In all these many years I’ve yet to encounter another woman with eyes that particular hue of violet—until now.” He reached for his wine goblet, set on the table beside him. “A toast, to reunions.”

  Claudia lifted her glass in a silent salute and then took a small sip. The sherry tasted bitter but then likely it was the bitterness of her loss she tasted.

  Regarding him across the expanse of room, she felt slightly ill and far from triumphant. “Maman…my mother is dead, my lord. She was taken on—”

  “Enough,” he barked, voice so ferocious that she started in her seat. “Nay need to belabor the gory details. ’Tis enough to ken that she’s dead, though I could have guessed as much, otherwise why would you have come?”

  Why indeed, Claudia thought, and took another sip from her glass.

  “But now that you have, you’ll do.”

  “Do, my lord?”

  “Aye, the Marriage Mart, of course.”

  The phrase was unfamiliar to her but the cold foreboding settling into the hollow of her stomach was all too recognizable. “My lord?”

  “Surely you dinna expect me to let a perfectly presentable daughter of marriageable age go to waste, now do you?”

  “B-but I am not of legitimate birth.”

  He tossed the brooch onto the marble-topped wine table as if it were a trinket. “An impediment in some quarters but one that may be surmounted provided the dowry is fat and the bridegroom desperate for funds.” Laying a hand on either curved arm of his chair, he leaned forward. “My late wife was never a well woman. Only one of the children she bore me survived to adulthood. My son and namesake and your half-brother, Gearald, took a tumble from his horse two months’ past. He died the week after and without issue.” A look of contempt crossed his sharp features and he added, “Nay heir but a milksop miss of a wife who’s been nothing but a drain on my nerves and purse.”