"Please tell me!" Pamela begged.
"Why, he was seen, with a woman, my dear. About six weeks ago, in Bath, apparently. Not just any woman, but a trull, her clothing in disarray, her hair streaming down her back, shouting and making a spectacle of herself as he tried to get her into a carriage. And a little by-blow clinging to her skirts completed the picture."
She tittered and rolled her eyes. "They do not call them the Rakehells for nothing, for all their seeming virtuousness."
Pamela's expression froze into a mask of rigidity.
Seeing her arctic expression, her aunt began to apologize. "I'm so sorry. I know you and Mr. Deveril were friends, though what you could have ever found in common, I have no idea. He was so beneath us. But perhaps I shouldn't have told you something so scandalous. You are after all very young. You have no idea what dreadful beasts men can be."
The clock struck ten. Pamela started, gasping, trembling with nerves and fear. What was she to do?
Suddenly she became acutely aware of the passage of time. It was running out for her.
Pamela stared at her aunt and straightened her spine. "No, but I'm starting to realize just how, cunning, vindictive and evil-minded some people can be. There can be any number of explanations for all of this. I'm going to discover the truth if I have to turn half of London upside down to do it."
She rose from her chair, and marched to the wardrobe to fetch her cloak.
"B-b-but where are you going?" her aunt stammered. "The ball this evening..."
"Hang the ball. I have to go see the Duke of Ellesmere," she said, with an ever-increasing sense of urgency, though she could not have said why.
"The Duke? Whatever for?"
Pamela snatched up her reticule and called for a maid to accompany her in the carriage.
"You can't just not turn up this evening! We're invited to supper beforehand. The Earl is planning to make the announcement!"
Pamela grasped her aunt by the shoulders. "Then stop him. Please, I'm begging you, Aunt Susan. If I'm wrong, then I shall come to the ball as if nothing ever happened. If I'm right..." She took a deep, steadying breath.
"Well, if I'm right, then we shall see. If I'm not there, the Earl must wait. I have not given my full consent. Matters must still be placed in the hands of the solicitors. If we cannot come to an amicable marriage settlement, it could all be off anyway. And you don't want to leave us to a breach of promise suit on top of everything else."
"No, indeed, but-"
"Please, Aunt, I know you think it's a good match, but the truth is, I don't love the Earl. Don't make me accept a man I do not esteem. He is perfectly pleasant on the surface, but..."
"What are you saying?" her aunt demanded in horror.
She shrugged. She had little time to argue. "Oh, I don't know, I seem to be suspicious of everyone these days. Please don't pay any attention to me. Now I must go."
She ran down the steps to the waiting carriage, and hauled the maid in almost roughly. She gave the address of the Duke's townhouse, and forced herself to breathe deeply and evenly, pressing her back and shoulders against the cushions, and praying she was not wrong.
Jonathan could not be as bad as everyone was saying. He had told her he was guarding a secret not his own. If it was not something to do with Clifford and Vanessa, then it had to be something to do with Thomas.
The Duke seemed a man of the utmost dignity and propriety. But as she had discovered, appearances could be deceiving. The Earl's suddenly suave demeanor was just a bit too polished for her liking. There had to be something he was hiding. Why else would he be so eager to marry her so quickly? The Duke and Duchess had also said that if there was anything she needed...
She needed time to think. But the Earl's insistence that she marry him, and her own worries about what was occurring with her family back in Somerset, were enough to drive her to distraction. Jonathan a cousin? How was it possible?
Her aunt had said that wills were overturned all the time. Where there was one claim to the estate, there could easily be two.
Why not more?
The sudden thought which came unbidden made her wonder. How had the Earl become so familiar with Jonathan's family affairs, and her own? Why had he taken the trouble to blacken Jonathan in her eyes with the story of him with a trollop?
She knew the two men disliked each other. Was it possible that Ferncliffe was related to Jonathan in some way... Or her family? And wanted to claim Ashton Manor for himself?
It was possible. And if it were true, he might just get everything he wanted in one fell swoop. The Earl might have decided that the chance was there for the taking, and he had the better claim. He was trying to restore the Castle, but it would take a long time. Far better to help himself to a more prosperous estate, like Ashton Manor?
To run an estate also needed ready money. Hers?
That was just one theory. There could be several other explanations for the Earl's actions. But for Pamela, none of them boded well.
The carriage could not arrive too soon at the Duke of Ellesmere's home. In her haste, Pamela tumbled out of the vehicle, and landed hard on her knees upon the filthy ground. But she paid no more heed to her torn riding habit than she would a flea as she made her way up the stairs.
If the butler was astonished to see a disheveled young woman on the doorstep in her torn spilt riding skirt, he gave no indication. He showed her into a small side parlor decorated in delicate buttercup and peach. She paced up and down, and nearly broke the handle of her riding crop by wringing it between her jittering hands.
At length the Duke appeared. For a moment he was speechless with astonishment. "Miss Ashton! Are you well? Pray sit down and take some refreshment."
"No, thank you, I couldn't touch a drop."
"Please sit, at least, and tell me why you have come," he insisted, alarmed by her pallor.
She did as she was requested and perched herself gingerly on the edge of the sofa. "I'm sorry to come her like this. I've heard the most dreadful things being bandied about with regard to Jonathan. You're his friend, Your Grace. I know you can do something about this, allay people's suspicions."
The Duke's emerald eyes glittered perceptively. "You mean, allay your suspicions."
She nodded and blushed. "Very well, yes, mine too. But I assure you, I want only his happiness. You see, I don't believe he can be as bad as everyone is saying. I flatter myself that I've got to know him well in the time he has been in our parish, and at Bath. I cannot reconcile the man I know with the things that the Earl of Ferncliffe and my aunt have told me."
"Ah, Ferncliffe."
The tone in which he said it indicated he had little regard for the man or his opinions.
"But if it's not true, any of it, then why would he go to so much trouble to damage Jonathan?"
The Duke sat back in his seat and steepled his fingers together. "Why do you come to me with this? How is it you think I can help?"
She blushed again. "Please forgive the presumption. I thought that since I don't believe any particle of it is true, you could warn him. Or if at least some of it is true, I cannot help but feel that it's connected with you in some way. That he's tried to help a friend, and things have been misconstrued or deliberately misunderstood?"
"I see. Well, why don't you tell me what Jonathan has been accused of? If I can help, I will."
She hesitated a moment, for the crimes seemed too great to even repeat aloud. And there was one other thing required before she could ask for candor from him. Pamela had to be truthful herself.
"Please, before we begin, I have to confess something too. No word of what we say in this room will ever be repeated, I trust?"
"That goes without saying. So long as you know that I won't break a confidence of Jonathan's if I can help it."
"I know he only thinks me a silly, flighty young girl, but I love him. I tried to flirt with him in Bath, and made fool of myself. He told me he could never be mine, that he was bound to another.
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"I've tried to tell myself the match would be unsuitable for both of us for many reasons. I ran away from your house after I treated him shamefully. I'm heartily sorry if I offended you and your lovely wife."
The Duke inclined his head politely. "No offence taken, I assure you. We suspected something, but it is not our intention to interfere, merely love and support you both no matter what."
Pamela felt her heart warm at his words. "Thank you, Your Grace. So, having disgraced myself, I determined after Bath that I would do my utmost to stay away from him, not see him ever again if I could help it.
"But that fact is I still love Jonathan. I love him now, more than ever. Even hearing what he has supposedly done, I still love him.
"I know he told me there's no chance for us to ever be together because of some impediment, but I would like to help if I can. I just thought you ought to know why I came to Town with the Earl even though I shouldn't have. I hope you can forgive me."
He leaned forward to pat her clasped hands. "There's nothing to forgive, my dear."
"I've been such a blind, vain, selfish twit. The one good man I ever met, I looked down upon. Toyed with in a silly bid for yet another conquest. It was unworthy of me. Jonathan deserved better for all the friendship he has shown me. If I can do anything to help him now, I will. You have only to say, and I'll do it whatever is required without regard for the consequences."
The Duke nodded. "Thank you for your candor. I hope it shall not come to that. And if I may say so, a great deal can change in only a few weeks. You, for example. You made a mistake in Bath, and have tried to correct it, have you not? You have admitted your own failings, and tried to improve."
"Yes, I have. I want to. I want to be worthy of Jonathan."
He grinned. "Jonathan has had failings too. Hard to believe, but he does." He sobered. "More importantly, though, his circumstances and feelings may have altered since he last spoke with you about such personal matters. But I will not say any more at present, for I still don't know what has you so worried that you came tearing over here without even a proper escort."
He sat forward and poured some tea into a cup for her. He pressed it into her agitated hands. She stilled, took a sip, then began her tale.
"There are two main points. The first is that I have been informed that my stepmother will have to leave Ashton Manor because Jonathan is the rightful heir, not her son Bertie. Jonathan is said to be a distant cousin. I've been told that he has deliberately had the will overturned."
"Overturned you say? Jonathan's your cousin?" the Duke said in obvious surprise.
She nodded. "If he needs the income or home, fine. I can understand that he has to make his way in the world. But to think he was toying with me just to get hold of my money to run the Manor? That's not possible."
Thomas raised his eyebrows heavenward. "It would appear that way to most people. Why then do you doubt it?"
Pamela shook her head. "Because he could have proposed to me in Bath, married me, and then been sure of both house and fortune. I know it's rumored that he quarreled with his father, reconciled with him just for the sake of money, and then gambled his inheritance away and was forced to sell all his holdings. But that doesn't sound like him either.
"Maybe love is blind, Your Grace, but I know Jonathan better than that. He's not a fortune hunter. And I'm sure he loves me. And I don't give a fig if he's penniless."
Thomas smiled, and sat back in his seat to sip his tea. "You're right. He is none of those things. His father disowned him for going to war, and being ordained. He settled matters with Jonathan before he died, but the damage had already been done.
"Between that and Jonathan's attitude about the unfairness of inherited wealth, he sold everything, lock, stock and barrel, and divided it into five parts, four for he and his sisters, the rest for other family members, old retainers, and so on. He has a very good fortune, actually, despite the division. He would have been one of the wealthiest men in England had he kept it all for himself, but he's never been interested in money or material possessions, only helping people."
She let out a sigh of relief. "So then why was the will overturned?"
The Duke shrugged. "I'm only guessing, but I think the Earl must be a distant cousin of yours as well. He was certainly no earl when we knew him in the Army. He was a prize wart of the first order called Edward Murphy. Never liked the chap. Untrustworthy, loose of morals, and a liar.
"He has inherited, from what I can tell, little more than an impoverished title and a mountain of troubles. He must have pretended to be Jonathan, and won the case to make him look bad in your eyes.
"As for the other rumors, which I'm sure originated from Murphy, he probably has no idea that Jonathan was reinstated by his father before he died.
"Also, he might well have a better claim, and can simply have the case re-tried in light of new evidence. He would know with absolute certainty that Jonathan would give up his claim rather than see your family thrown out into the road.
"Finally, Murphy wants to marry you quickly before you find out what he has been up to, and because he needs the cash."
At her look of surprise he nodded. "Yes, I have heard the rumors. He is spreading them all over town that the two of you are to be wed."
She nodded miserably. "Yes, he is supposed to announce it at the Gossards' ball this evening, at midnight. And no doubt he will want to take me back to Somerset to see my family, which will pull me in even more deeply. Either way, he will have ruined me, whether I marry him or no, unless I go ahead with his plans."
The Duke shook his head. "I'm afraid so, my dear girl. But you have friends in us, you know that. We will do whatever we can to help."
"But why now? Other strands of the spider web must have been woven long before," she said, recalling her terrible dreams.
"Yes, a long time ago indeed, about two years ago in fact," the Duke said grimly, suddenly seeing patterns where none had existed before.
"As to the timing, he's getting desperate, I expect. He needs money like everyone else. Especially if he wants to cut a dash as the supposed earl."
"And he is blackening Jonathan's name even further to cut off my retreat from his marriage proposal," Pamela guessed. "He doesn't imagine I could possibly ever face the disgrace of choosing a vicar over him. Let alone a vicar said to be as debauched as Jonathan, thanks in part to all the vile rumors and innuendo he's been spreading like butter to all who will listen."
Thomas nodded. "What exactly did the odious little squit say that has you so riled?"
"That Jonathan was seen with a prostitute and their bastard six weeks ago in Bath, making a scene on the street. But that's not why Jonathan said he was already engaged, was it? There's more to the story, I'm sure of it."
The Duke clinked down his cup and saucer angrily, his normally unruffled façade slipping for a brief moment, causing Pamela to stare in shock. What on earth could it all mean?
"There is a lot more to the story, I'm afraid, and you've been kept in the dark a great deal longer than you ever should have been. I'm sorry, my dear. I blame myself at least in part. I tried to reason with him the night you left Bath, but to no avail."
He shook his head and sighed. He rose now and moved over to the sideboard to pour himself a measure of brandy, though it was so early in the day.
Pamela stared as he downed the tot in one gulp, then leaned on the fine oak piece with both hands.
"I need to confide in you the whole story. I apologise in advance if anything I tell you shocks your fine sensibilities. It still shocks me to this day. But you need to know the truth."
She nodded, eager to learn everything about Jonathan at last, no matter how painful it might be. "I understand. I'm listening."
"The woman in question, the so-called prostitute, is actually my sister Jane."
"Your sister? I didn't know..."
He nodded. "They were close from the time they were very young, and when she came of age a couple of year
s ago, he offered for her. It was a case of puppy love, I believe, but Jonathan was always a man of his word.
"Jane was very young when we went off to war in August 1808, and it was probably difficult for her to grasp being engaged to someone away at the Front all the time. She promised to wait for him, but she was growing up. A false report came back to England via a man called Herbert Paxton that I was dead, early in 1812. He stole my personal effects, pretended to be a grieving friend coming back to do his duty to the family. She inherited immediately upon my supposed death, with Elizabeth to gain a large portion set aside for when she also eventually reached eighteen.
"Paxton was a fortune-hunter. He got Jane to trust him, tried to woo her. She toyed with the idea of eloping, but began to wonder why he was acting in such a hole in the corner manner. He was already married, you see."
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 1 Page 94
