At first, after his return home from the isolated cottage, he had been obsessed with finding his captor and the woman who would bear his child. Unfortunately however, his identity as well as hers had eluded him. Despite the hiring of private investigators and a handful of other less savory methods he’d employed, he had been unsuccessful in locating either of them. Though it infuriated him that he had been unable to bring justice to, nor to exact his revenge upon his captor, surprisingly it was his inability to find her that had troubled him most of all. During those long weeks at the cottage he had come to care about her, even more so than he’d first imagined. He was hesitant to call his feelings for her love, but even so, he’d been forced to admit that she had affected him more profoundly than he would have ever dreamed possible. In truth, he thought of her still, more often than he cared to acknowledge.
As his thoughts turned to Lady Edgington, Gavin scarcely noticed that Natalie had ended her denigration of Anastasia and moved on to regaling him with the numerous on-dits she’d heard during the night. How odd, he mused, that her laughter had so reminded him of her. Thinking back, he tried to recall the exact sound of her voice as they’d danced. Had her voice been similar to hers as well? It hadn’t struck him as such during their waltz, but then again their conversation had been limited, and of course their voices had been in constant competition with the overlapping sound of the music. Was it possible? He concentrated for a moment, and then sighing in frustration he forced himself to stop. He was being ridiculous. To imagine even for a moment that the widowed Countess of Edgington…well it was simply absurd. Irritated with himself he snorted softly and then shook his head to clear his thoughts, causing Natalie to falter momentarily in her narrative of Lady Dottingham’s latest escapade. Fortunately, she hesitated for only the briefest of moments before continuing her account as he promptly resumed his efforts to appear attentive.
Damnation, why in the hell was he still torturing himself anyhow? It was a question he’d asked himself more than once. He needed to put it behind him, that entire situation, for it did him no good to dwell upon the past. Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the seat cushion and drew a slow, deep breath. If only it were that easy. Perhaps a stop at one of his clubs would help to distract him. It certainly couldn’t hurt, he supposed.
And so, after dropping Natalie at the Marshton residence a short time later, Gavin made up his mind and instructed his driver to take him to White’s.
Chapter 15
Entering through the familiar front door of White’s Gentlemen’s Club, Gavin responded briefly to the host’s greeting and then moved swiftly toward the rear of the establishment in search of Darby and the rest. He soon found them in one of the card rooms and promptly seated himself at their table amid a flurry of raucous greetings. Much to his surprise, he saw that Nelson Bingham was also seated at the table. From the look of him he was already well into his cups and based on his dour expression, he wasn’t having much luck with his cards. Neither was a surprise. Sadly, Nelson’s fondness for strong spirits didn’t do him any favors when it came to his decision making, and more often than naught he gambled away far more coin than he could afford to lose.
“So, Rutherford,” he said, casting his bleary-eyed gaze toward Gavin as he settled into his seat. “Rumor has it you took my dear aunt for a turn about the dance floor this evening.”
That bit of news certainly traveled fast, Gavin mused silently. “Indeed I did,” he replied, somewhat puzzled by Nelson’s austere expression and sarcastic tone.
“As did I,” Andrew stated, grinning widely at Gavin, before returning his attention to Nelson. “She’s quite a beauty. Your uncle was a fortunate man.”
“Fortunate?” Nelson spat, his tone suddenly full of anger and hostility as he glared at Andrew. “My uncle was a dammed love-struck fool, a bloody imbecile!”
Andrew was clearly taken aback by Nelson’s outburst, as were the rest of the men seated at the table, and an awkward silence immediately fell as they watched him grab his tumbler of whiskey and drain the contents in one long swallow. Slamming the now empty glass down onto the table, his expression was filled with contempt. “And now that self-serving bitch has the audacity to show herself in polite society after all that she’s done. It is simply too much to bear.”
“Nelson,” Gavin said sharply. “You are speaking of a lady, and a member of your own family no less.”
“Lady, hah! That lady, is little better than a common trollop; and her unwelcome presence within my family is certainly no fault of mine.”
A collective gasp went around the table, but Nelson paid little heed. It was only when Gavin pushed back his chair and rose angrily to his feet that the drunken sot appeared to realize that he might have gone a step to far.
“That is enough!” Gavin glared at Nelson, his expression deadly serious. “I think it is clear that the amount of whiskey you have consumed this evening has clouded your judgment as well as your good sense, Hattford.” Though he longed to reach across the table and throttle Nelson for speaking of Lady Edgington so callously, he kept hold of his temper. But nonetheless, when he spoke again his voice held an unmistakable touch of menace. Stepping back from the table he moved toward the other man’s side. “It’s late. Perhaps you should call it an evening.”
Nelson looked as if he was about to protest, but Gavin’s expression brooked no argument, and after a sweeping glance at the unsmiling faces of the other men still seated at the table, he rose unsteadily to his feet.
“Yes, well, it is rather late I suppose,” Nelson mumbled as he raked his few remaining chips from the table and into his hand, before shoving them into the pocket of his waistcoat.
“Allow me to walk you out.”
Falling into step beside Nelson, Gavin nodded politely to the others. “Please continue without me, gentlemen.” The low murmur of voices quickly ensued behind them as they made their way from the card room.
Remarkably, Nelson remained silent as they made their way through the milling crowd of gentlemen in White’s main gathering room and proceeded toward the front entrance. It wasn’t until Gavin had instructed one of the attendants to have Hattford’s coach pulled round to the front that Nelson finally spoke.
“It isn’t bloody fair,” Nelson muttered in a low voice, his tone sullen as he turned to face Gavin. “He left everything to those mewling brats, knowing full well they weren’t even his.”
“What the devil are you blathering about now?” Gavin asked in spite of himself. He knew better than to encourage Nelson’s rant, but he had to admit that his curiosity was piqued by such an unexpected statement. What Melody Cavendish could have possibly done to illicit such an unconscionable accusation from her late husband’s nephew he could hardly fathom. Had the disappointment of losing his uncle’s title to the late earl’s infant son, not to mention the immense fortune that had gone along with it, somehow addled the man’s brain?
“My uncle didn’t father those children; he couldn’t have even if he’d wanted to. They’re some other man’s bastards, and still he left everything to them,” he ground out in a low voice, his features tightening in anger.
Recalling Lady Edgington’s air of artlessness and her overall charming demeanor at the Middleton’s ball, Gavin found Nelson’s aspersion difficult to believe. “That is a very malicious allegation, Nelson, and one I assume you cannot prove.”
“If I could prove it I would have had that damnable will reversed years ago, but therein lay the problem. My uncle, damn him, kept his inability to perform in the bedroom a closely guarded secret. I only learned of it myself because my uncle’s first wife, Eugenia confided to my mother years ago that a debilitating illness contracted shortly after their marriage had not only rendered my uncle without full function of his limbs, but caused him to be impotent as well.”
Gavin’s expression was dubious.
“It’s the truth I tell you,” Nelson stated adamantly.
“If what you say is true,” and
he highly doubted that it was, “why would your uncle have allowed his title and estate to pass to a child, to children he clarified, recalling that Edgington had fathered twins, that were not his?”
“Because that jezebel bewitched him.”
“Bewitched him?” Gavin scoffed.
“Is it so difficult to believe that a woman can be cunning as well as beautiful?” he sneered. “Bah, you know as well as I that most women are greedy, self-serving creatures. Is it so hard to imagine that a woman driven by avarice could convince a besotted old man to do her bidding?” When Gavin didn’t answer, Nelson continued on, picking up steam as he went. “Clearly she wanted a child, a child with whom she could secure her own future once my uncle had passed, and when he couldn’t give her one himself, she used her feminine wiles to convince him to allow her to find someone who could.”
“But why would he -”
“Pride,” Nelson spat, cutting off Gavin’s question mid-sentence. “Don’t you see? The old fool was too proud to allow anyone to think for even a moment that he was less than a man, that the child she carried wasn’t his. Even in death he sought to protect his blasted pride, and at my expense damn him.”
Gavin opened his mouth to speak, but whatever response he might have made was interrupted by the halting advance of one of White’s uniformed attendants. Signaling for him to approach, he remained silent as the young man addressed Nelson.
“Your coach is awaiting you out front, My Lord,” he said, and then with a polite bow quickly took his leave.
“Heed my warning, Rutherford,” Nelson said as he turned to depart. “You would be wise to keep your distance from that harlot. It is far too easy for a man, even a smart man, to be blinded to artifice by a woman’s beauty, and when it comes to her, I can assure you that it cloaks the cunning of a devious she-devil and a heart as black as night.” He snorted angrily. “And despite my mother’s insistence that we not create a family scandal by alerting Society to her true nature, I fully intend to expose her for what she is.”
With that parting comment, Nelson exited through the front door and stumbled out into the night. Gavin watched him go, shaking his head in stunned disbelief. He considered going after him, for he could not in good conscience allow Nelson to so recklessly tarnish Lady Edgington’s reputation with such outlandish and unsubstantiated accusations, but after a moment he decided against it. Clearly there would be no reasoning with him at this point. He would have to wait until morning; for until Nelson sobered up there was likely little that he could do to get through to him.
It wasn’t until hours later, when Gavin and the last remaining gentlemen within the establishment were taking their leave that the shocking news of Lord Hattford’s continued misfortune reached the patrons and staff of White’s Gentleman’s Club.
Apparently, Nelson hadn’t gone home after leaving White’s. Instead, staggering drunkenly from a local tavern in which he’d likely been drowning his sorrows since leaving the club earlier that evening, he had stepped blindly into the street and directly in front of a fully laden produce wagon. Trampled under the hooves of the two powerful workhorses pulling the heavy load, he had suffered numerous injuries and was presently being treated at Westminster hospital, his prognosis unknown.
For Gavin and the others the news came as quite a shock, although truth be told, it had been speculated for years amongst the members of the ton that Hattford’s downward spiral would most likely end tragically, in one manner or another.
Hours later and long past the first light of dawn, Gavin finally lay within the warmth of his bed, but not surprisingly he found himself unable to sleep. As he’d been doing for the past half-hour, he continued to replay Nelson Bingham’s words again and again within his head as he pondered the night’s events. Could Nelson’s wild accusations actually have merit? It seemed implausible, but even so, time and again the memory of Lady Edgington’s laughter, so much like hers, wormed its way into his thoughts. Was it possible? Though he cursed himself for a fool for even thinking it, there was a part of him that couldn’t seem to let the notion pass.
Then again, if there was even the slightest possibility that Melody Cavendish had been the woman at the cottage, wouldn’t he be an even bigger fool for not looking into the matter, at least. In all likelihood it would be a fruitless endeavor, but if nothing else, he could at least rid his mind of the niggling suspicions Nelson’s claims had triggered. If nothing else, it certainly warranted further consideration, he supposed.
Finally, with a weary sigh, he closed his heavy lids and slung his arm across his tired eyes. He was exhausted. There would be time to ponder the matter later, but for now he needed sleep. It had been a long night. With a concerted effort he managed to clear his thoughts and a short while later, slumber finally claimed him.
Chapter 16
Alone in her bedchamber, Melody gazed absently at the spiraling wisps of steam that rose from the delicate teacup she held in her right hand. Since waking, her thoughts had been plagued by the remarkably vivid dream that had woken her just before dawn. Over the years, her dreams had often centered on the man at the cottage and the time they had spent together, though in the past his face had always been obscured and shadowed by darkness. Last night however, her lover’s face had been surprisingly clear. In her dream, her true love had vivid green eyes, wavy brown hair, and a smile that caused the breath to catch in her chest, for the shadows had finally cleared and in their place had been the face of Gavin Montrose.
She knew that it shouldn’t bother her, for it was merely a dream, but oddly it did. For so long now she’d assumed that her heart had been left for eternity with the man at the cottage, the man who’d taken her innocence, taught her the meaning of passion and unknowingly secured her everlasting love. So how then had another man so easily invaded her dreams? How could she have allowed, even unconsciously, the Duke of Rutherford to fill his role? Was she so fickle of heart that the first handsome man she encountered in London could have affected her so strongly?
Taking a sip of tea, she turned her gaze to the window. “You’re making too much of this,” she told herself. It was just a dream after all. Perhaps it didn’t mean anything. Rising from her chair, she stood and breathed a long, heavy sigh. Then again, perhaps it did mean something. Clearly she’d been attracted to the duke; there was simply no denying it. Was it a sign for her to move on then, to move past the memories? Rather than living in the past, should she turn her focus to the present, for as much as it pained her to think it, she would likely never find him. And of course with so much time having passed, there was always the possibility that he now had a wife and family of his own. If so, as painful as it was to imagine, she hoped that he was happy.
Looking out the window, she watched as the children played in the rear garden, waving butterfly nets to and fro as they chased the winged creatures under the watchful eye of Miss Tibbs. In all likelihood her children would never know their real father, never have the slightest inkling of Charles Cavendish’s deception. Maybe it was best to move on, for all of their sakes.
As she watched, Emma suddenly turned toward the house, her gaze moving to the window where Melody stood.
Catching sight of her mother framed in the tall window, Emma raised her hand and waved excitedly, then quickly resumed her chase of the elusive butterflies.
Yes, she needed to focus on the present. Setting down her cup, she moved determinedly toward the door.
Moments later Melody entered the rear garden, and focusing on the present, she immediately set about catching butterflies with her beloved son and daughter.
Later that night, as she prepared for the evening ahead, Melody could scarcely contain her growing anticipation, for she had always dreamt of attending a performance at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. When Penny had suggested the outing, she’d leapt at the chance to see the opening night performance of Cenerentola, Rossini’s version of Cinderella. Watching in the vanity table mirror as Elizabeth put the finishing touch
es on her elegant coiffure, she felt almost giddy with excitement.
Once her exacting lady’s maid had finished adjusting the final curl to her satisfaction, she smiled broadly. “You’re a vision, My Lady, if I do say so myself.”
Melody cast the young woman a grateful smile as she gazed at her reflection. She felt like Cinderella. “Thank you, Elizabeth, you did a beautiful job as always.”
Rising from her seat, she quickly smoothed the folds of her sapphire-colored silk skirt and slipped her feet into a pair of matching silk damask, heeled shoes. Then, taking the pair of long white gloves from Elizabeth’s outstretched hand; she pulled them on, tugging them up past her elbows to just below the wide bands of her lavishly embroidered off the shoulder gown. She wore no jewelry other than a pair of small sapphire earbobs her mother had given her years ago, but she didn’t mind her lack of expensive finery. With the money Charles had left her she could have easily afforded to adorn herself with jeweled bracelets, necklaces and the like, but it simply wasn’t in her nature to indulge in things she viewed as frivolous and unnecessary. The cost to create her current wardrobe alone, including the gown she wore now, had been exorbitant and she still felt guilty over the jaw-dropping expense. But now that she had entered the exacting ranks of the ton’s elite, she understood that it had been a necessary sacrifice.
And so, satisfied with her appearance and having already said goodnight to the children, Melody grabbed her reticule from the top of the vanity table and slipped the thin satin loop around her wrist.
“The gentlemen in attendance will be hard pressed to keep their focus on the stage once they see you, My Lady,” Elizabeth enthused, seeming almost as excited as Melody was herself.
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