by Jayne Davis
“I promise to observe, and not get involved. I did take Archer with me last night. Will that do?”
She bit her lip, but nodded.
“Archer has been letting Stubbs think—” Damn. He shouldn’t have mentioned Archer’s excuse for being out, not after this morning.
“He has a girl in the village,” she suggested.
“That was his excuse, yes.”
“It seems the obvious excuse.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I thought that of you, but if it will help, Archer may spread the idea that…” She waved a hand, clearly embarrassed to be discussing such things.
“I could not let people think—”
“I know it is not true, and no-one is likely to mention it to me.”
She did trust him then. In that, at least.
“Thank you. I will ensure he only does so if talk arises.”
There were still her worries about a possible future without him. “I will give the matter of a guardian some thought,” he promised. “But in the meantime, I have left myself in the position of addressing my staff but having nothing to say.”
Her laugh lifted his spirits. “If you don’t want to say you’ve changed your mind?”
He shook his head.
“You could say you wanted to tell them all formally that you will be living here for the foreseeable future, and you might be taking on more staff. And that you are now paying them, not your father.”
That was an excellent plan. “Yes. And that you’ll be acting as housekeeper while Mrs Strickland is indisposed. Do you wish to listen to my non-announcement?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Chapter 27
Mrs Trasker arrived not long after Will set out for his next farm visit, and Connie spent a couple of hours with her, working on the yellow gown.
They were interrupted by Warren. “A Lady Elberton has called, my lady.”
“Who is Lady Elberton—one of our neighbours?”
“I have not heard the name before, my lady. She asked for Lord Wingrave.”
“I’d better see her, I suppose. Can you carry on, Mrs Trasker?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Connie stepped out into the hall, pulling the door to behind her. She glanced at her gown. Her old, comfortable muslin was not the most impressive of garments.
“You may inform Lady Elberton that I will be with her in twenty minutes. Ask Mrs Curnow to provide some refreshments.”
“Yes, my lady. I put her in the formal parlour.” Warren cleared his throat, his eyes fixed on some point beyond her shoulder.
“Yes, Warren?”
“I… er… Lady Elberton did not seem… pleased, when I said I would see if the lady of the house was at home to visitors.”
Connie stared at him, trying to work out what he was hinting at. Why wouldn’t a visitor wish to see…
One of Will’s mistresses? Former mistresses?
Will had promised he would keep his marriage vows this morning, and she believed him. He would not—could not—have said such a thing if he’d invited one of his paramours to visit. No, Lady Elberton had come of her own volition.
She must change—a pity the yellow dress wasn’t finished. Connie hurried up to her dressing room, already pulling pins from the edges of her stomacher. The muslin gown was left in a heap on the floor as she hurriedly lifted and tied the underskirt of her best gown. She pushed her arms into the sleeves and pinned the front. A fichu… where was the fichu? If this was one of Will’s old lovers, she was going to present a respectable image.
Her hair—all she could do was to tidy it into a loose knot. There was no time to dress it fashionably high, even if she knew how.
She had the satisfaction of seeing the butler’s eyes widen as she descended the stairs. “You may announce me, Warren.”
Lady Elberton sat in the parlour, a full cup of tea on the table beside her, delicate white hands clasped in her lap. Connie was glad she’d changed, although she still felt dowdy next to Lady Elberton’s lace-trimmed silk gown and elaborately dressed and powdered hair. Still, being seen in the old muslin dress would have been far worse.
The woman’s lips, surely redder than nature made them, turned from a hard line to a pout as Connie entered, and her blue eyes scanned from Connie’s face to her feet.
Not a normal social call, then. Her supposition may well be correct.
“Good afternoon, Lady Elberton,” Connie said, keeping her voice calm. This was her home, after all. She took a seat and poured herself a cup of tea, although she had no wish to drink. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
“I came to see Lord Wingrave.”
No pretence at politeness—that made things easier. “Such a shame you missed him. Perhaps I can help you instead. Have you come far?”
“From London.” Lady Elberton’s eyes focused on Connie’s waist. “Your marriage was very sudden. I don’t recall it being announced beforehand.”
Connie shaped her lips into a smile. “The betrothal announcement was only made to his friends.” She was pleased to see Lady Elberton’s mouth twist in anger. “Can I give him a message from you?”
“I understand he will return this afternoon. I can wait here and speak to him myself.”
“Oh, I think not,” Connie stated. No reasonable person would expect her to entertain her husband’s former lover.
Lady Elberton looked down at her hands, still clenched in her lap, then back up at Connie. Now her blue eyes swam with tears, one drop welling over and trickling down her cheek. Her hands showed that she really was worried, but the change from spite to pathos was too sudden to be convincing.
“I must see him, Lady Wingrave. It is of the utmost importance. Please, please, do not make me leave before he returns.” She gave a delicate sniff, and dabbed her eyes with a lacy handkerchief.
“Oh dear, my lady, whatever is the matter? Surely your husband—”
“My husband is divorcing me.”
Connie lifted her cup and took a mouthful of tea. “I fail to see how this is relevant to your visit here.”
“Lord Wingrave…”
“Is he named as co-respondent? Is there a child that your husband will refuse to support?” It was Connie’s turn to inspect Lady Elberton’s waistline, trying to keep her face mildly enquiring even as a weight settled in her stomach. An illegitimate child would be a scandal that would sour Will’s relationship with his father even further.
“I… no.”
Connie let out a breath. “Then why have you come?”
“I… Wingrave…” Lady Elberton looked down again, sniffing delicately and dabbing at her nose with a lacy handkerchief. She was facing social ostracism and likely poverty, if neither her husband nor her male relatives would support her. Connie would have felt some sympathy had it not been for the brief, assessing glance the woman darted her way.
“Go on.” Connie took another, unwanted, sip of tea.
“He fought a duel over me, you know!”
That rumour was true then. But what he had done before their marriage did not matter now.
“Yet he did not kill your husband. I thought he was a better shot than that.” Or so she had gathered from Fanny’s gossip.
Lady Elberton looked away.
“Was Lord Elberton badly injured?” Connie asked.
“No.” Lady Elberton looked at her. “He was not hurt at all.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.” Connie nodded, as if her concern was for Lord Elberton. “What, exactly, do you want of my husband, Lady Elberton? You cannot expect him to divorce me and marry you—someone who has already demonstrated that she cannot keep her marriage vows.”
Lady Elberton looked away, delicate teeth biting her bottom lip. “I… I will need… I mean, my husband will only give me a small allowance. A pittance.”
Connie waited. Lady Elberton was about to ask for money.
“Lord Wingrave will want to help me, I’m sure.”
Connie made an effort to keep her expression neutral as Lady Elberton’s hand went up to the neckline of her gown, toying with the lacy trim. It looked as if she was proposing that she become Will’s mistress in return for financial support. To his wife?
She suppressed her anger. “It is a long way for you to come, Lady Elberton. Have all your previous lovers declined to aid you?”
The red flush spreading up Lady Elberton’s face told Connie that she’d hit the mark. She stood and rang the bell.
“My lady?”
“Warren, Lady Elberton is leaving.”
Lady Elberton made no move to rise from her chair.
“Warren, if Lady Elberton does not leave of her own accord, get Barton, and one of the grooms if necessary, to assist you.”
Connie turned her back on her unwelcome guest and walked out of the room, taking refuge in her parlour. Mrs Trasker took one look at her face and bent over her stitches again.
Connie stood by the south window, taking deep breaths. She was still astounded at the bare-faced cheek of Lady Elberton. Or stupidity—what would-be mistress thought that telling the wife of her target was a good idea?
The waiting coach moved off down the drive. Connie turned back to the room and picked up her sewing, unable to dismiss the interview from her mind.
The duel—that was odd. Will had not been harmed, as far as she knew. And by all accounts, Will was a crack shot, so why hadn’t Lord Elberton been injured? Will must have missed deliberately, but she couldn’t work out why he would do such a thing.
She would have to ask him.
Will took Mercury straight to the stables before heading into the house through the kitchens. Warren awaited him in the hall.
“A Lady Elberton called,” the butler said, as he took Will’s hat.
Will cursed under his breath. “You sent her away, of course,” he said, with more hope than expectation.
“I told her you were not at home, my lord, but Lady Wingrave saw her.”
Damn. “Where is Lady Wingrave now?”
“In her sewing parlour, I believe, my lord.”
Will hurried to Connie’s parlour. Hetty might have fed her with all manner of lies.
He pushed open the door. Connie stood on a stool in the centre of the room, facing away from him, clad in the yellow brocade he’d seen her working on the previous day. Her green gown was draped across the back of a chair, and Mrs Trasker knelt at her feet, her mouth full of pins.
“What is it, Warren?” Connie did not turn as she spoke.
Mrs Trasker hurriedly took the pins from her mouth. “My lady—”
“Connie, you mustn’t believe what that woman told you!”
Connie’s shoulders stiffened, then she turned her head. “Oh, Will. Did your visit go well?”
Will gaped for a moment. Whatever he’d expected her to say, it wasn’t that.
“I… er… yes. It did.”
She smiled, but it wasn’t the usual, unrestrained smile with which she normally greeted him. It didn’t reach her eyes. What had Hetty told her?
“Er, would you take tea with me, my lady?” What else could he say, with Mrs Trasker still kneeling there on the floor, regarding him with interest? Of course, the whole household would be speculating about the visitor.
“That would be nice. In about half an hour. Do carry on, please, Mrs Trasker.” Connie looked down and pointed. “Do you think the hem is a little uneven just there?”
He’d been dismissed.
Will gazed at Connie’s back for a moment but her attention was fixed on Mrs Trasker and her pins, so he headed to his room. He was covered in dust from the lanes and it would be only polite, as well as politic, to change.
As he washed and tied a fresh neck cloth, he had the uneasy feeling that tea in the parlour might not be the pleasant interlude he’d grown accustomed to lately.
Will entered the parlour to find Connie pouring tea.
“Connie, I didn’t know Lady Elberton was going to visit, I swear it. What did she say to you?”
She raised a brow. “It was an interesting visit. Have some cake, Will.”
Will ignored the plate she held. Her greeting earlier had been strained, but now she was acting as if nothing had happened. Something was wrong. They’d been getting on so well—was it all about to unravel?
“What did she want?”
“Perhaps it was a social call,” Connie said, as if entertaining one of her husband’s past lovers was nothing out of the ordinary.
“It cannot have been.”
Connie took a sip of tea, then set the cup back in its saucer. “I think she wanted to resume her position as your mistress.”
“She…” What? Hetty had said that to Connie?
“In return for financial support, of course,” Connie went on calmly. “This is very good seed cake, do have some.” She was wearing that odd smile again, the one that did not reach her eyes.
“I don’t want cake!” He pushed his chair back and strode over to the window, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. He turned to face her. “Connie, you don’t think I asked her to come, do you?”
Her expression softened. “Come and sit down, Will.”
“Connie, I’m sorry you had to deal with her. I had no idea she would come here.”
She met his eyes, her expression serious now. “I know you did not. I’m sorry for provoking you, Will, but I was…” She took a breath. “You seemed to think I would believe whatever she told me rather than trusting you.”
Did I? He thought back—yes, he probably had given that impression.
“You said you would keep your marriage vows, Will. I do trust you.”
Some of his tension dissipated. “Thank you. I meant it, Connie.”
She smiled again—a proper smile this time, that lightened his heart.
“Who is she, Will?”
The truth—nothing less would do.
“Her husband caught me with her, and that led to a duel and to my father’s ultimatum.” That they hadn’t made it into bed wasn’t a mitigating factor—they would have done if Elberton hadn’t returned when he did. “Connie, what did she tell you?” He’d freely admit to his own errors, but not to any of Hetty’s fabrications.
“She said her husband was divorcing her, and told me about the duel.” She paused, fiddling with the tea cup. “I did ask if there… if there was a child, but she said not.”
At least Hetty wasn’t trying to lie about that.
“There was a duel, Connie, but not quite for the reason she thinks. She persuaded me that her husband neglected her, and didn’t care what she did. When he caught us, it was obvious that she’d lied. I accepted his challenge because I’d been stupid enough to believe her.”
“That doesn’t make standing in a field firing pistols at each other any more sensible.” She sighed. “I suppose it’s a male notion of honour.”
“Yes.” And if he’d been killed, Elberton would have had a murder charge against him, and still be saddled with an unfaithful wife. “As you say, if you examine the idea rationally, it is nonsensical.”
“And they say women cannot think logically.” She raised one brow.
“Touché, my lady.” Some women could not, but he was not going to point that out.
She smiled—a proper smile this time, the kind that warmed him inside. The sense of relief left him feeling drained.
“Tell me, Will, have you any other past lovers who might come calling?”
Past lovers, yes, but all with complaisant husbands, and other lovers since. “No, Connie, no-one else will come.”
He should tell her about the boy, though. Not now, but soon.
Chapter 28
Friday 4th July
Connie examined the finished yellow gown with satisfaction, twisting around to see her back view in the dressing room mirror. It was a vast improvement on anything else she had—hopefully Will would think so, too, when he returned from his farm visits.
Yesterday, she’d
felt a flash of hurt at his assumption she wouldn’t trust him, and hadn’t been able to resist making him squirm a little. He hadn’t held it against her, she reflected, starting to unpin the stomacher. They’d talked about his plans for some of the farms over dinner, and then spent a companionable evening reading together in the library.
“Do you wish me to adjust another gown, my lady?” Mrs Trasker asked, pulling Connie from her reverie.
“Yes, of course. There’s half a dozen more, at least.” Although Mrs Trasker needed the work more than Connie really needed the gowns. “That one.” She pointed to a gown laid over the back of a chair—pale, creamy muslin, printed with a delicate pattern of leaves. She started to unpin the yellow gown. Beautiful though it was, it was too fine for everyday use.
“That’ll be lovely, my—”
“Ma!” Sukey burst into the room, her face screwed up and eyes red with tears. “Ma, come quick. It’s Danny.”
Mrs Trasker cast a quick glance of apology at Connie, and dashed out after her daughter.
Only half-dressed, Connie removed the yellow gown as quickly as she could, pulling on the muslin she’d been wearing earlier and hurrying downstairs.
In the kitchen, Mrs Trasker, Mrs Curnow and Warren were gathered around a boy sitting at the table. Across the room, Sukey had her arm around her little sister, tears running down both their faces.
From the back, Danny had the same black hair as the rest of the family, but Connie sucked in her breath as the boy turned his head. One side of his face was swollen and streaked with blood and tears, the eye closed. His nose, too, ran with blood, and bruises were already forming on his forearms, visible below rolled up sleeves.
“Who did this?”
The faces around the table showed the same shuttered looks as when Mrs Strickland had been attacked.
“Ma has to go back down to the village,” Danny said, mumbling as if it pained him to speak. His glance met hers for only a moment. “She has to go back.”
The look on Mrs Trasker’s face was as horrifying as Danny’s injuries—white, and wide eyed. The look of someone about to face execution.
