“How can we help you if you can’t trust us with your darkest secrets?” He caressed the side of her face.
“I have always been forthcoming. Just don’t ask it of me with this. This was private.” Tears filled her eyes but did not flow.
“What do you think we’ll do with the truth? Jessica, we love you and would kill anyone who dared to hurt you.” Which hadn’t been entirely true, he realized after the words had passed his lips. There was one person who had hurt her …
“There was nothing that you could have done about Fallon. It’s only a shame he didn’t die sooner,” she said without an ounce of remorse.
Hayden hadn’t been able to do anything after first discovering her husband’s violence and he’d never seen any signs of the earl’s heavy hand on Jessica after the day he’d confronted Fallon in the parlor.
“I’ll send Leo home and ask for his silence.”
“Thank you, Hayden. You’ve been too kind to me. Everyone’s been so kind when I don’t deserve it.”
“You’re wrong, Jez.” He’d move mountains for her, and it was in his power to do so now that the impediment of her husband had been removed from the equation.
“Look at me, Hayden. Have you really looked at me?” She raised her hand, encompassing her disheveled state. “I’ll be naught but an old widow … and a poor one at that once Warren takes the Fallon seat and pushes me out of this house.” She yawned and rubbed at her tear-damp eyes. “Right out of my own house.”
“You are not without friends.”
“Aside from you, Leo, and Tristan, no one else will associate with me. That’s a truth I’ve avoided for too long.”
Jessica had surrounded herself with men; Hayden thought she had done it partially to infuriate Fallon and partly because she could find no common ground with other society ladies, aside from Tristan’s sister, Bea. That needed to change, since Jessica was no longer able to hide behind the Fallon fortune. It was odd how the one thing that protected you could also be the one thing that hurt you the most.
“You’ll have to befriend some of the ladies that hold influence. Most of the ton are fascinated enough by the life you’ve led to take tea with you at the very least.”
She raised one eyebrow as she stared back at him. “Do you take me for a circus poodle performing its master’s tricks when commanded?”
He frowned as he rolled up his sleeves and took the small towel from the washbasin, wringing it out. “You know I don’t believe that for one second. I have always admired your determination and strength.”
Not surprisingly, the strength she’d displayed through their conversation suddenly diminished as she slouched back against the pillows.
“Save your flatteries, Hayden.”
“They are not said for the purpose of flattery. I mean it, Jez.” He turned toward her. “I’m going to remove the sweat from your brow; then I’ll leave you to rest.”
“There’s plenty of time for sleep.” Her words were whispered, her eyes drifting shut as she watched him approach the bedside again. It wasn’t long before she fell into a deep slumber.
The housekeeper came forward to tuck her mistress properly into the bed, but Hayden held up his hand to stall her. He pulled the coverlet up high enough to cover Jessica to the chin and looked down at her sickly form. After a spell, he folded the damp cloth, placed it over her forehead, sat on the edge of the bed.
He turned to Mrs. Harper. “You only need to stay till I’m back from seeing Lord Barrington off.”
“Your Grace.” The woman nodded her head in understanding.
“One of the maids can set up the sofa. I plan to stay the evening.”
“You understand that I must refuse for the sake of Lady Fallon’s reputation,” the housekeeper said with a stern look that weighed down her brows.
“There isn’t a force strong enough to remove me from this house right now.”
The older woman bowed her head, and it was obvious to Hayden that she wanted to deny him even that.
“As you wish, Your Grace. Though I insist you take another room. There is a large guest room only next door.”
Hayden crossed his arms over his chest. “I will leave this room once to see Barrington off. When I arrive back upstairs, I will sleep on the sofa so that Your Ladyship may have my assistance if she wakes during the night.”
The housekeeper turned to the maid to give her instructions on readying the room. “Do as His Lordship asks. Have bedding brought in and the sofa set up to accommodate his stay.” She turned back to him, clearly not happy having to cede to his wishes. “Is there anything else we can get you?”
“I’ll need some help keeping vigil through the night, so coffee would be great if it’s not too much of a bother for the cook.”
There were no further protests, though Hayden could tell by the set of Mrs. Harper’s jaw that she was displeased with him.
He went down to the main foyer to see Leo off. He had to reveal why he knew about Jessica’s condition, explaining that he’d asked her if there was a possibility she was with child, as it would have kept the Fallon estate in her name. Leo had reluctantly agreed not to reveal Jez’s secret to Tristan. What Hayden hadn’t told Leo was that he had thought Jez had already miscarried. He’d thought …
It didn’t matter what he thought. He was here with Jez now, and he’d stay by her side until she was better, and he’d make sure she knew he was a man who would stand by her side, no matter the circumstance.
Hayden climbed the stairs to Jez’s private chambers. He dreaded what the long night would bring. All he knew was that he couldn’t leave. Because he sure as hell wouldn’t abandon her now.
When he checked on her she was sound asleep. He flipped over the towel to the cooler side and watched her till the housekeeper returned, tray in hand, laden with coffee and sandwiches.
“Shall I keep watch first, Your Grace?”
“No, go on up to bed, Mrs. Harper. The staff has worked hard this evening. You’ll need your rest for whatever tomorrow brings.”
“I don’t think I can sleep knowing Her Ladyship is in the state she is in.”
“Then feel free to keep me company,” he offered, knowing that would put her at ease about him staying the night.
The housekeeper came up next to him and removed the cloth from Jez’s forehead and pressed the back of her hand against her to see if she still ran a fever. He knew she did, but it had lessened since his arrival.
“Have you any experience with this?” he asked.
“Once when I started as a ladies’ maid … though she wasn’t as far along as Lady Fallon. It’ll be a long night, and we may need to fetch the doctor if the fetus doesn’t come out on its own.” She leveled him with a stern glare. “It’s woman’s work you’re interfering with here.”
“There is nothing you can say and nothing I can witness that will make me leave this room.” He stroked his fingers across Jez’s forehead and over her temple. “She’s always been so strong.”
“She still is, Your Grace. Now if you don’t mind the informality of the evening, I’ll join you for coffee as we wait out the night.”
He didn’t mind in the least, and of course he didn’t expect Jez’s trusted housekeeper to leave him alone with his friend, no matter the outcome of the evening.
“I suppose she’ll need undisturbed rest,” he finally said, forcing himself to step away from the bed. “Let us reconvene in the private sitting room.”
Hayden turned down the gas lamp next to Jez’s bed and tucked the blankets up around her chin again. Whatever the night brought, he promised to be there for her.
* * *
The soft snick of the door closing woke him. Wind rattled against the windowpanes that flanked the sitting room, indicating an oncoming storm. The housekeeper had taken the chaise across from him—the very one he’d found Jez resting on when he’d arrived. She had dozed off sitting up, but someone had put a blanket over her.
He was on his feet in the nex
t breath, causing the thin blanket that had been draped over him to pool on the floor.
It felt as though he’d just shut his eyes, so it couldn’t be much later than six in the morning. Hayden glanced back at Jez’s bedroom. The blankets were thrown back to the foot of the bed, and Jez was gone. The light from the moon revealed the unmistakable stain of blood discoloring the ivory sheets where Jez had slept soundly and without incident throughout the night.
Where could she have gone? And why hadn’t she woken him before leaving?
Her dressing robe was tossed over the end of the bed, so she was wandering around the house in nothing but a thin night rail.
He grabbed his jacket from the end of the sofa and checked the bathing room before heading downstairs. An unbolted door was slamming in the frame at the back of the house, where a small garden was situated. He ran in that direction. He found Jez out of doors and underdressed for the weather. Her slender silhouette stood tall in the summer rainstorm that raged outside.
Her night rail blew this way and that in the strong wind; it flapped around her ankles like the sail on a boat picking up speed. Her hair was loose and whipped around her shoulders and lower back like the wispy branches of a weeping willow caught in the gale of storm. She cradled something swathed in linen in her arms and stared at her rosebushes lining a tall fence that marked the border of her property. There was a beautiful starkness in the way she stood so silent, so still.
He was running toward her as she fell to her knees in the wet grass. He heard her heart-wrenching sobs the closer he got. Wailing, broken sobs as she hummed to the bundle of cloth in her arms.
Hayden swallowed back against the lump of desolation and pain that had built in his throat. By God, he knew what she held. He knew it with every fiber of his being. She needed him in this moment more than she had ever needed him in all her life. And he would not turn his back on her.
She didn’t acknowledge him, but she knew he was there. She put the bundle of cloth in her lap, hunched forward, and plowed her hands deep into the damp ground with a growl of frustration. Her fingers came away slimed with mud and grass. She repeated the process until a small hole was dug.
He put his jacket around her shoulders and wrapped her tight in the safety of his arms as he dropped to his knees behind her. She fought him with tears on her face and nothing more than sorrow and sobs in her voice. Her fists pounded at his arms, his hands.
But he didn’t let her go.
He couldn’t.
“Hush. It’s all right. I’m here for you.” His voice was jagged, raw with emotion.
Fat drops of rain spat down from the heavens as he held her on the ground.
“I’m so sorry, Jessica. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He cradled her head on his shoulder and smoothed her hair away from her face in calming strokes as he rocked her back and forth. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I can’t express it deeply enough. Shh…”
What did you say to a friend who had lost everything? There were no words that would lessen her sorrow. Her grief. So he did the only thing he could: he held her and didn’t let her go until the sobs finally receded. Even then he didn’t want to let go, so he held her for a while longer, letting the rain drench them as he vowed never to let this kind of despair strike her down again. He alone would keep her safe. She was his to cherish and protect and he wouldn’t let her go.
When she could do no more than stare back at him broken and silent, he found a spade and dug a hole deep under the arbor of roses for Jessica.
Chapter 5
Where does the dowager countess hide? Nary a word has come from her townhouse. One must wonder what society’s most daring lady is planning. Considering the state in which she arrived at her husband’s funeral, it’s doubtful she’s donned widow’s weeds to properly mourn the late earl.
While it’s no secret that I despise the woman, the question is how to properly taint and mar her image for good.
Mayfair Chronicles, July 1846
“Where is my ruby hat pin?” Jessica’s palm smacked hard against the white-painted vanity; her voice was shrill even to her own ears. “I can’t bloody well find my ruby hat pin, Louise.”
Jessica’s maid’s face was downcast as she knelt to pick up the accoutrements that Jessica had swept to the floor in her rage to find the hat pin her mother had given her.
Jessica slid off her stool to her knees, picked up the tray that held her perfumes, and started placing random items from the floor onto the silver dish.
“I’m sorry.” Everything angered her and sent her into silly, stupid, unpredictable rages.
“It’s not a worry, my lady.”
“Why is everyone being so nice to me?” She felt tears building behind her eyes. She hated uncertainty, especially when it concerned her future. “I don’t deserve the kindness you have all been careful to dole out. I’ve been wretched these past few weeks.”
“It’s not a bother at all. We understand everything you’ve gone through, my lady.”
She wished more than anything her secret could have remained her secret alone, but it was out in the open and the past couldn’t be changed. “Too kind by far. I don’t think my late husband would agree with your benevolence.”
“He’s well and dead now, isn’t he?”
The candor in Louise’s voice brought a smile to Jessica’s lips and a few tears leaked down her cheek.
“He is. And it should be a blessing.”
“I can’t disagree with you, my lady.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So you’ve already said,” her maid pointed out.
“What would I do without you, Louise?”
“You needn’t think on it. I haven’t gone anywhere, nor do I have plans to leave, my lady.”
Jessica set the tray back on her vanity and took a deep breath as she looked at her pale complexion in the mirror. She stretched the darkened skin under her eyes, trying to make herself look livelier.
It didn’t work. Not really. It was so obvious that she was still on the mend, even though three weeks had passed since the miscarriage.
“I’m afraid you have your work cut out for you. I’m not sure you’ll be able to cover the signs of fatigue that have plagued me over the past month.”
Jessica pulled at one of the limp red curls hanging about her shoulders. Her hair hadn’t been properly set in weeks, either.
Louise placed the items she’d picked up from the floor back atop the vanity and smiled at Jessica in the mirror. “You’ll look just as you did at the viscountess’s ball two months past. No one will be the wiser that you’ve been ill. That I can promise.”
“Only because they are none the wiser,” Jessica said.
Her maid shrugged and pulled Jessica’s hair away from her face so she could put maquillage on to cover the fading signs of fatigue.
It was important that she be perfectly presentable within the hour. Hayden had sent a card—unsure of the state she’d be in, she assumed—insisting that he sit with her over tea today. He’d been specific about the insistence part, underlining it twice. And besides, he never sent a card ahead of his visits.
The first week after the miscarriage he’d come by every day, sitting with her in silence because she couldn’t speak, nor did she know what to say. He would occasionally read the paper to her, or sometimes a few verses from her favorite poets. When she’d been able to get out of bed on her own, he walked her around the house and sometimes out to the garden if the weather was decent and they’d sit in the sun and have their morning tea. Finally, when she’d had the strength to do all that on her own, she’d asked him to give her some time alone, to stop calling on her daily or she’d be constantly reminded about just how weak she was. He’d disagreed but ceded the argument in the end.
It seemed his patience had run thin, hence the calling card.
While it had only been a little over a week since she’d seen him last, she knew better than most that she couldn’t keep refusing his company.
It was time she came out of the doldrums and faced life head-on. She’d handled every situation that way previously, and it was time to get back in the saddle, as the saying went.
Not ten minutes after Hayden’s note had arrived, she’d received another from Mr. Warren—the rapscallion set to inherit everything that should be hers, especially considering it was her money that had put the estate back in order.
Mr. Warren was the last person she wanted to see, and she knew without doubt that he was looking for signs that she might be increasing. He’d find no indication, not that anyone had even known she had been with child—except her husband, of course, for he’d seen fit to end it.
Her pregnancy had been her secret until Hayden had further investigated the will of the estate, at which point she’d been forced to tell him why having the next heir was impossible.
The less Warren knew, the longer she could stay in the house that had been her home these past eight years. The sad truth of the matter was that she had nowhere else to go. Who would take in society’s most debauched, reckless countess?
There was only one answer to that.
No one.
In a sense, she had dug her own grave where the ton was concerned. No one would allow her entrance into respectable society, and though it was good form to not send a widow an invitation for the first six months after her husband’s death, Jessica couldn’t recall the last time an invite had been directly sent to her and not her husband.
While that had never bothered her before, it bothered her a great deal now.
Hayden’s standing in society would only get her so far. She was in every sense of the word a pariah and had been for too many years to count.
She might not have cared before her husband’s heart had given out, but without his name behind her she was no one. To her surprise, she now cared a great deal about her standing and reputation. That bastard husband of hers couldn’t have held on for a few more months? But what would that have brought her except the humiliation of divorce? He’d threatened to do just that before his sudden death.
The Scandalous Duke Takes a Bride Page 4
