Scandal with a Sinful Scot

by Karyn Gerrard

  She never should have entered into another physical relationship with the obstinate man. It proved that she had no self-control where Garrett was concerned. All her talk of courting came to nothing in the end. They had managed a couple of days of candy, flowers, and carriage rides before it had imploded.

  Megan returned to school in Little Hadham. She’d been subdued on the journey home, offering support but obviously affected by the intense drama they had been swept up in and the turbulent emotions that accompanied it. Megan had grown up a little these past few weeks. She’d stated in a firm voice that she would respect whatever decision Abbie came to. Abbie was indeed thankful for Megan’s quiet strength, as it bolstered and supported her own.

  Now she had returned to her lonely life. Truly, she had no close friends, except for Alberta. And from what she surmised of Garrett, neither did he. Outside of their families, it was as if the both of them, after their painful, youthful affair, had retreated and isolated themselves. Was she not doing the exact same thing once again? Withdraw and lick my wounds.

  Sighing forlornly, she glanced up at the sky as snow flurries started to fall. The overcast sky matched her melancholy mood. She returned her gaze to the building across the way.

  Samuel Jenkins, the Wollstonecraft groom that had accompanied them home, stood in the makeshift stables attending the horses. Abbie could see him from her small porch. When Elwyn passed, she sold the horses and carriage, and since Megan was away at school most of the week, she boarded her daughter’s mare at a nearby farm.

  In the two years since, the stables had fallen into disorder. The young man asked if he could make repairs, since it would give him something to do while they awaited word that Sutherhorne had been dealt with. Abbie approved it, along with the purchase of needed materials and oats and hay for the two horses. She would have to explain why a young man was staying with her. Lie? Claim he was a distant relative? She might, considering this was a small borough and people talked. Hated lying, but it would have to be done. Samuel had mentioned that he’d received curious looks in the village.

  Perhaps she should head to the clinic and resume her volunteer duties—and her previous life. God, her heart ached with a lonely yearning. Even if Garrett rode up, claimed to love her, and vowed to place the curse behind him, how could she ever believe him? Should she even try? Yes, she would hear him out. Then she would have to decide if she were willing to take another chance on love. For Abbie did love him, she had never stopped. The trust was a more difficult hurdle, but one she was willing to make. If he met her terms.

  Was Garrett recovering? Blast, she could not stop thinking about him. Worrying about him. Nor could she stop longing to be held in his arms once again. How impetuous of her to travel to Kent. Reckless even, for all those raw and hurtful memories ached afresh. There would be no packing them away now. Not ever.

  Get well, my love, and please…come to me.

  Chapter 20

  Four days later, the men set off for London. Prince Albert had agreed to see the family the following day, February 4. After much discussion they’d agreed to bring Jonas, since he’d heard and seen Sutherhorne and could offer definitive proof to the prince.

  Sitting in the carriage with Jonas, Garrett stared out the window at the overcast sky. Next to him, on the cushioned seat, Laddie slept peacefully. Garrett could not bear to be parted from him; man and dog had already formed a close bond. Absently, he scratched the puppy’s ears and Laddie whined with contentment.

  Despite having Laddie with him, Garrett’s mood was as gray and cold as the weather. He was damned tempted to ride with all haste to Standon and beg Abbie to give him another chance. Forgive his insane mutterings. But his sluggish recovery hampered his plans. As it was, he could not ride his horse and had to travel in the carriage like a damned invalid. He was uncomfortable, still weak, and it merely fueled his sour mood. He tried to organize his thoughts and decide what he was going to say to Abbie when they did meet, but could not concentrate.

  Giving his closely cropped beard a few strokes, he turned his attention to Riordan’s revelations of finding the ancient papers in the attic. For all his declarations and vows to Abbie to place the curse behind him, it had been there still, as always. Mocking him, maliciously sneering at him, denying him love and happiness.

  It was damned sobering to discover that he was the one causing the impediments by using the curse as a protective shield to guard his emotions. All these years. Why? Well past time to accept the truth: he was terrified of being hurt and experiencing loss and heartache. The irony? He’d experienced them anyway, the day that he’d turned away from Abbie. Strange how childhood traumas played such an important role in how one is shaped into an adult. He had carried this fear since the age of ten.

  And the curse? Through the years, Garrett had wondered if the hall itself was cursed. It had been originally owned by a baronet during the medieval period, the curse may have originated with him. When the seventeenth century Earl of Carnstone bought the crumbling hall, perhaps the curse transferred to the family. After all, part of the original building still stood, the timber framed front entrance and hall, with the Georgian and Gothic wings added years later.

  Regardless, it no longer mattered how the curse could be broken. If only it hadn’t taken so long for him to comprehend it. Whether it was true love as rumored for decades, even centuries, or what the papers revealed: all the men living had to form a love bond during a twelve month period. Did. Not. Matter. Almost succumbing to his injury had put things in their proper perspective, along with the recent conversation with his father. Life was indeed too short. He had made enough mistakes.

  How to persuade Abbie to trust him would be difficult enough. Convincing her that he would lay the curse aside would be even more daunting. Damn it, he had to try. He must. Lost in his thoughts, he had not heard Jonas. “Sorry?”

  “How do I address the prince?” Jonas asked.

  “‘Your Highness’ is appropriate, but speak only if he addresses you first.”

  “Wait until I tell Meg I met Prince Albert,” Jonas beamed.

  The young man truly loved Megan. Considering Jonas’s liabilities, most men would discourage the association. But he would not, for Garrett did not have the heart to deny what lay between them since he’d rejected the love between him and Abbie all those years ago. Young love—a first love—was not to be dismissed so cavalierly, a lesson hard earned.

  “Jonas, you had mentioned an occupation, to provide for Megan when you marry. Would you be interested in learning about horse breeding? To train as a groom, to be more specific. I will pay you a salary. If you work hard and apply yourself, as I know that you are able, you may become head groom one day.”

  Jonas’s eyes sparkled merrily. “When we marry, Garrett? Not if? Truly?”

  “A few years from now, of course. If you and Megan feel the same, I will not stand in your way.”

  “Then, yes, I would like to learn all about horses. I love animals.”

  Garrett smiled. His gray mood lifted at the happy enthusiasm displayed by Jonas. “The exact reason I thought that this would be a good fit. We will begin next month and discuss salary once we return from London.”

  “Thank you, Garrett.” Jonas reached under the seat and brought out a box. Opening it, he asked, “Bert packed me a lunch, would you like a sandwich? It’s my favorite, egg and ham.”

  Garrett accepted the brown paper-wrapped object. “Thank you.”

  As he slowly nibbled on the wedge, his thoughts turned to Abbie once again. He needed her. Ached for her. Loved her more than life. More than any damned curse. And Abbie needed to hear it, understand it, and ultimately…believe it.

  Once they had arrived at the London townhouse, the servants saw them all properly settled. Garrett joined his father, brother, nephew, and Jonas for a hearty dinner before retiring to his room. Thankfully he’d slept, and was well r
ested when they gathered the next morning to depart for the palace.

  One of Prince Albert’s many secretaries and two guards greeted them. They were shown into what appeared to be a library-study and instructed to sit at the table and await the prince. The dark wood walls were covered with bookcases stuffed with hundreds of books; an ornate walnut desk sat in the corner. More than thirty minutes had passed, and Garrett was losing his patience. He exchanged glances with his father, who had already warned him to hold his quick temper in check.

  When the prince made his entrance, they all stood and bowed. George Edward Anson, private secretary to Prince Albert, made the introductions.

  The prince sat at the head of the table and they took their seats. “Carnstone, what is this concerning?”

  “It is a matter of delicacy, Your Highness, concerning Brendan Whiddon, Marquess of Sutherhorne.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Your Highness,” his father continued, “we have come seeking justice for multiple incidents directed at my family, including the injury incurred by my younger son, Garrett. A near fatal gunshot wound.”

  The prince gave him a cursory glance, taking in his sling, his expression neutral. His father started his narrative, beginning with Sabrina being sold to Sutherhorne after she had been married to Riordan. His father stuck to the facts and refrained from embellishment. “I have Baron Durning’s signed statement corroborating the kidnapping.” He slid the paper to Anson, who glanced at it before passing it on to the prince. “I also have a written statement from Riordan’s wife.”

  The room was silent as the prince read the papers. Baron Durning had made outrageous demands for his testimonial, but Julian had made it plain that the Wollstonecrafts would not be blackmailed. The baron had been offered full payment of his outstanding debt, along with the agreement never to contact Sabrina again. But this would only take place if Sutherhorne was banished. Julian had suggested Durning leave England, promising there might be a small stipend if he agrees. The baron had grudgingly agreed to consider it.

  Prince Albert looked up from the papers. “This is most disturbing, my lord.”

  “It is, Your Highness. There is more.” His father explained about the shooting and what Jonas had overheard and observed.

  Prince Albert turned his penetrating gaze to Jonas. “Is this true, young man?”

  Jonas was visibly nervous. “It is true, Your Highness. It was a thin, older man with a white beard; I would know him anywhere.”

  “Anson, summon Sutherhorne at once. His presence is required immediately. I will brook no excuse for his absence.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Anson departed, and the prince frowned, the first show of emotion. “What is it you wish from me, my lord?”

  “As I said, we require justice for these multiple incidents. To avoid public humiliation and censure, I thought it prudent to keep this private and not involve the law. In the past, peers have been banished for similar or even lesser offences. It may be best for all concerned, Your Highness, if Sutherhorne is expelled.”

  “That is for me to decide.” The prince stood and the rest of the table followed suit. “Remain here until the marquess arrives.” He departed.

  “Will he inform the Queen of this?” Julian asked as they took their seats again.

  “He may, after the fact; he is one of her closest advisors. Queen Victoria abhors this type of behavior in the peerage. We are saving the prince from embarrassment, since he and Sutherhorne are friends of a sort,” Oliver replied.

  Servants entered, carrying trays of fresh fruit and a pot of tea. More than thirty minutes later, as they sipped their tea, Sutherhorne was shown into the room. The older man startled when he noticed the Wollstonecrafts sitting around the table.

  “What is the meaning of this…”

  The door opened, and the prince entered followed by his secretary. After the bows, the men sat.

  “You will remain standing, Sutherhorne,” the prince stated in a flat tone as the marquess moved toward an empty chair.

  Sutherhorne actually looked worried. Good.

  “There is a law, not used since 1820, the Bill of Attainder. What it states, in essence, Sutherhorne, is that I have the authority to strip you of all lands, money, and title. Your son and his son will never be marquess. Complete and utter ruin. Public shaming. By God, I am tempted to recommend it to the Queen.” The prince frowned, clearly annoyed. “Charges have been laid before me. Shocking charges. I require the complete truth. Did you shoot Garrett Wollstonecraft?”

  Sutherhorne cleared his throat. “Outrageous and insulting. I never—”

  The prince lifted his hand to silence the marquess. “This young man, sitting next to the earl, is a witness. He heard what you said to your man. Described you perfectly. This is the man you observed in the woods, Mr. Eaton?”

  “Yes, Prince—I mean, Your Highness. It is him,” Jonas answered, his tone firm and resolute.

  Sutherhorne sputtered. “Your Highness, you would take the word of the village idiot over me? Your trusted friend and advisor—”

  “How do you know enough about this young man to call him such a disparaging name, unless you have been to Kent recently?” Oliver accused.

  Sutherhorne pulled out a lace handkerchief and wiped his brow. “It was an accident, Your Highness. I only meant to scare Wollstonecraft and his party by firing shots overhead. It was a response to an insult. The beast had manhandled me, you see.”

  Garrett had to use all his self-control to keep himself from vaulting out of his chair and pummeling the sniveling marquess into a bloody pulp. Yes, he could batter the bastard easily with only one arm. Abbie and Megan could have been harmed—killed—all because this puffed-up, privileged peer took insult. He gritted his teeth as his blood boiled.

  “I care not for your petty squabbles. Your response was excessive, and beneath your dignity as an aristocrat. As a peer of the realm. And what of having Riordan Wollstonecraft’s wife kidnapped?” The prince demanded, no longer keeping his anger tethered. “Do you deny it?”

  Sutherhorne looked down. “No, Your Highness. But she was to be my bride before—”

  “Enough. I have heard enough. Tempted as I am to invoke the Bill of Attainder, I will give you a singular option. If you agree to leave these shores and never return in your lifetime, your son can inherit all entailed property and money, along with the title. You are to have no further contact with anyone in the peerage or at the palace.” The prince paused. “However, all nonentailed lands and money will become the property of the crown. It will be used to further education reform and assist in the Irish potato famine relief. Meanwhile, until arrangements can be made for your transport to a remote locality, you will remain here as a guest and under guard.”

  Sutherhorne gulped deeply. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

  “Is this suitable, my lord?” the prince asked the earl.

  What could his father say? It is exactly what they had hoped for, though Garrett wished they were still in the era of Henry VIII, where a stretch on the rack would be welcome and well deserved.

  Oliver stood and bowed. “It is, Your Highness, and thank you.”

  Two Grenadier Guards entered the room, resplendent in their red uniforms. They marched toward Sutherhorne, intent on escorting him to a part of the palace where he would be kept under surveillance.

  “Wait. I wish a private word with Garrett Wollstonecraft,” the marquess cried.

  What? Everyone looked to Garrett and he gave a quick nod in response. Might as well hear what the villain had to say. One of the guards escorted Sutherhorne to the corner of the large room and Garrett followed.

  “Speak, and make it quick,” Garrett snapped.

  “I had Delaney travel to Standon to find out what he could about your woman and the girl.”

  Garrett lunged for the marquess, bu
t the guard halted him.

  “Stop fretting; no harm will come to them. While there, however, he saw your nephew in a wheeled chair outside of a private clinic. You see, your wretched, drug-addled relative sold himself at a particularly debauched party I had attended in December. I bought him…for Delaney’s personal pleasure.” A cruel smile curved about the marquess’s mouth, as if he were savoring this shocking reveal. “I believe Colm Delaney covets your nephew, for some strange inexplicable reason. I tell you this because I have no control over the man. Any action he takes is not at my urging. Fair warning: Delaney is rather a brute, and dangerous when denied what he most desires.”

  Rage tore through Garrett at this revelation and his heart ached in empathy for his wayward nephew. Now he knew how Aidan had sustained the violation injuries. Damn this man to a fiery hell.

  The smile widened. “Such a murderous look on your face. It is quite amusing. A parting shot: I have seen to it that this gossip makes the rounds, although I did not reveal your nephew’s current location. Your family will be humiliated. Perhaps ruined. ‘Destroy the young heir.’ I can only hope my plan comes to fruition.” He raised his chin in the air and sniffed, “Guards, I am ready.”

  The guards escorted Sutherhorne from the room as Garrett clenched his fist, his cheeks flushing red-hot with fury.

  “Alas, there is no time to discuss the education reforms, but Mr. Riordan Wollstonecraft, I expect a complete accounting of all your achievements and successes. Send it to Anson, and we will meet again later in the spring.” The prince gave Riordan a genuine, but brief smile.

  “I look forward to it, Your Highness,” Riordan replied.

  With leave-taking bows, the prince departed, his private secretary following closely behind.

  Jesus. Did Aidan even know what he had been doing? Did he remember any of it? Delaney is rather a brute. Garrett glanced at his family, who gave him quizzical looks. They would want an accounting of what Sutherhorne had said to him. How could he lie, especially if the gossip was spreading throughout London? Peers liked nothing more than to crow over salacious tittle-tattle. Damn Sutherhorne to hell. The morally bankrupt marquess would probably live out his days in sunny Spain. How was that punishment?