by Mary Brendan
‘Are you annoyed because I made some comment about wanting to make my own family? I hadn’t intended to sound callous about the boy.’
His patient self-possession simply exacerbated her indignation. As did the unshakeable vision of a host of voluptuous women parading gypsy-visaged children for their father’s approval. Her tenuous hold on her composure slipped away. ‘I’m annoyed that you hadn’t thought to mention you’d already started making your family. Perhaps you deem your first born none of your future wife’s concern.’
Eyes like twin gold coins gleamed at her until her savaging gaze turned on the wall. ‘Already started? First born?’ he selected with silky softness.
‘Your paramour came here, inveigling for funds to support the bastard she is expecting. She claims you were once secretly engaged and that you cruelly abandoned her. Was that when Edwina bought you for me?’
The silence was catastrophic. Finally he quietly summarised, ‘Cecily Booth came here tonight and said we were engaged and she’s expecting my child?’
‘Yes.’
‘I apologise for her outrageous lies and impertinence. She won’t ever again accost you or bother you in any way.’
‘I’m sure,’ emerged sweetly through clenched teeth. ‘I think she’s more interested in again accosting and bothering you. I agreed that would be best.’
‘Elizabeth…look at me…’
Elizabeth responded to the hoarse plea in his voice.
‘Are you going to let something so patently false and malicious poison what you feel for me? Look at me!’ he blasted when she swung her face away. ‘I’m the same man who held you in your bedroom not two hours ago, who kissed you. What did you tell me then? Say it now! Tell me what you want.’
When she remained silent, staring at the wall, he resumed harshly, ‘If she’s pregnant—and I doubt she is—Cadmore’s the culprit. I know enough about the workings of the female body to be sure she’s nurturing no child of mine. She was regularly indisposed the short time she was under my protection.’
Elizabeth flushed; embarrassment fanned her feverish need to hurt him…topple his composure.
Gently he reasoned, ‘She’ll win if you reject me, Elizabeth. Is that what you want? To let some scheming harlot get the better of you by wrecking your happiness and mine? Come, I’m exhausted and you’re overset. It’s been a chaotic day for us both. Let’s not give credence to this paltry fiction by discussing it further.’ He withdrew her necklace from his pocket and held it out as a peace offering. ‘Do you not want this?’ he asked on a boyish smile that flipped her heart.
Elizabeth stared at gleaming octagonal amethysts. Similar stones to those in her betrothal ring. Was it hers? Was the ring a complement to this necklace or to eight months’ fornication? ‘No.’ She rejected the olive branch. ‘You’ve earned it. Keep it as payment for tonight’s work. I intended the necklace should buy Jane’s freedom.’
A dark thumb began sweeping the glossy jewels; his eyes tracked the movement, as though he was lost in thought. ‘You’ll want it back,’ he eventually said.
‘You told me that once before,’ she mocked.
‘I was right once before. Take it now, or you’ll come and find me again and plead for it. Think what you’re doing. Think carefully, Elizabeth, for I’m done with being honourable and lenient.’ He looked up and their eyes tangled, strained, while he waited, allowing her time. A hand hovered over his pocket, then, fascinated, she watched the jewel slink shimmering out of sight.
‘My lord?’
Ross pivoted on a heel, close to the door, his face a tense, expressionless mask.
‘You’ve forgotten something, Viscount Stratton. Here.’ The ring was whipped from her pocket and thrown straight at him. He put up a hand instinctively, deflecting the missile with a palm. That same hand arrested the ring a foot from the flags.
‘Give that back to your whore. She’s sorely missing it and the eight wonderful months it represents,’ Elizabeth stormed raucously.
A mirthless laugh cluttered his throat as he looked at the priceless ring. Within a moment she was alone.
‘You say the Viscount was in on this! I’ll skin him alive!’
Elizabeth put soothing fingers to her aching head. ‘Please try to understand, Grandmama, they have nowhere else to go. How in the name of Christian decency can they be turned onto the street? I have told you Jack will be forced to pickpocket or climb chimneys if Leach has his way. And Jane—’
‘Oh, I know…and Jane…’ Edwina mimicked ferociously. Jane coloured miserably and pulled Jack back into her skirts to shield him from the woman’s withering glare.
‘I have been truthful in apprising you of their presence, Grandmama,’ Elizabeth said with just a little blush that her honesty was somewhat tardy. Jane had been in residence thirty-six hours before Elizabeth realised it was pointless concealing them longer. For her own conscience’s sake—and, less worthily, because of mundane practicalities such as providing them with basic necessities—she had had to own up, beg forgiveness and appeal to her grandmother’s humanity.
‘Well, as Stratton involved himself in hoodwinking me, you can get him to find a respectable lodging for the pair of ’em. They’ll not stay longer beneath my roof!’
‘I can’t do that, Grandmama…’
‘Why not? He’s your fiancé. You’re all but wed,’ she hinted darkly with a peer at her granddaughter’s waistline. ‘Twist him a little more about that betrothal finger of yours. Where is your ring? Give it to me for safekeeping.’ Jane and her son received another dubious look. ‘Pickpockets, you say…’ she muttered, a hand diving into the silver dish at her side. A piece of marchpane was picked then, with an irritated tut, discarded. Jack, having seen the sweet, crept closer and peeped into the dish. Edwina glowered as he raised his large child’s eyes to hers.
‘I suppose you want it,’ she accused him.
He simply blinked.
‘Oh, take it then!’ She grumpily pressed the dish on him then flapped a hand to wave him away from her. He whispered solemn thanks and was soon back with his mother. ‘Take yourselves off to the parlour,’ she ordered Jane. ‘I want to speak in private with m’granddaughter. Leave the dish!’ she bawled as Jane opened the door.
‘Why is it you can’t do that?’ Edwina demanded, one gimlet eye on the silver dish as it was safely replaced.
Elizabeth winced. This was another piece of news she hadn’t relished breaking to her grandmother. Not least because tears needled her eyes simply at the thought of it. She didn’t want to discuss it and be torn to shreds.
‘Where was Ross yesterday? Usually he visits every day.’
‘We have quarrelled, Grandmama,’ Elizabeth said huskily.
‘People in love always quarrel.’ Edwina flicked a dismissive hand.
Elizabeth swallowed painfully. The lump stayed in her throat. ‘It was a bad quarrel. We are no longer betrothed. I returned his ring.’
‘You have broken the engagement?’ Edwina looked too shocked to be angry. ‘In God’s name, why? I know you love him. And little surprise in that! He is the most eligible man around. You are sought after by all the top hostesses…as his intended. He has helped you rescue these…these waifs. Now you refuse him?’ Edwina was utterly bewildered, but Elizabeth sensed anger, too, simmering close to the surface. ‘Has he lectured you on the wisdom of involving yourself with riff-raff? You can be stubborn and haughty once you get ideas in your head, Elizabeth.’ A plump finger was wagged cautioningly.
‘The cause was his failings, not mine,’ Elizabeth blurted out indignantly.
‘His women?’
Elizabeth pressed tight her quivering lips, but her heightening colour betrayed her.
‘I suppose that silly strumpet’s been following him about again and making a nuisance of herself and you’ve come to hear of it.’
A sharp, violet look demanded further explanation.
‘That blasted brunette is a figure of fun for mooning about after Ross.
Even when Cadmore took her on, she still set out to entice Stratton back…and made it very plain. Damned if she wasn’t eavesdropping on m’conversations last time I was at Maria’s. Everywhere I turned, there she was, watching me. Probably hoping to hear where Ross was to be found. Cecily Booth is a jealous minx up to no good, you mark m’words!’
Elizabeth did. Her heartbeat was painfully slow as she ventured, ‘What did she overhear? Were you boasting of my engagement to the Viscount?’ An icy suspicion shivered her. ‘Were you boasting of my ring?’
Edwina frowned reflectively, then chuckled. ‘Yes. That’s it. Alice Penney was boiling mad when I regaled her with it all at Maria’s.’
‘Was he engaged to her, Grandmama?’
‘Engaged to her? Hah!’ Edwina shrieked a laugh. ‘She’d like to think so, I’m sure! She let it be known she figured on becoming a Viscountess. As soon as Stratton got wind of it, his lawyers were figuring her a pension fund. Impudent hussy! A month or two warming an aristocrat’s sheets and she gets fancy ideas?’
‘Were they together eight months?’
‘Eight weeks more like. Can’t say I ever recall Ross spending eight months with the same filly…’ Edwina coughed and shifted on her chair. ‘Well now, that’s enough of that indelicate talk. What I’m saying is…’
Elizabeth closed her eyes in consternation. She knew what her grandmother was saying better than she did herself. She’d been an utter, utter fool. She’d been swayed by malicious lies because she was too sensitive and too woefully haughty. Finally she accepted he had never wanted her for her dowry, but it was too late. He had warned her where acrimony would lead; he had tried to deflect and soothe her jealous hurt before she let a spurned woman wreck their future together. A smuggler’s son had the graciousness to apologise for his lapse in conduct, to offer her the opportunity to do likewise when she yielded to temper. Still she resisted behaving properly; a Marquess’s daughter was loath to stop being a rude, supercilious little bitch.
Pettifer announced, ‘Mrs Trelawney and the Ladies Ramsden, Du Quesne and Courtenay are arrived, madam, with their children. Shall I show them in?’
Edwina frowned at Elizabeth’s wraith-like complexion and wide shame-filled eyes. ‘Well, Ross has kept news of the rift to himself, that’s obvious, if his kith and kin are paying us a call. Thank Heavens! Perhaps you might yet persuade him you’re just an impetuous madam…as if he don’t already know!’
Ross was in Kent, overseeing repairs to Stratton Hall, Elizabeth had learned from his mother. She implied she knew of his whereabouts, of course, to avoid awkward questions. The ladies had kindly come to see how she fared and whether her indisposition was finally gone. She had felt the fraud she undoubtedly was, and a little tongue-tied with them. Demelza Trelawney had taken particular care to sit close, take one of her hands, and tell her again how glad she was to welcome her into their family. She chatted about the quiet ceremony planned at a local church and how it was drawing close. She said she was sad Katherine and Tristan would miss the wedding and how they had both written to say they were eager to meet their new sister-in-law. Every time Elizabeth met Ross’s gentle mother she liked her better and she knew the woman’s regard for her was genuine. After recent events and the appalling way she had treated her youngest son, she felt an unworthy recipient of such esteem and affection.
Rebecca’s children, Troy and Jason, and Victoria’s daughter, Lucy, had played on the floor with a rag doll and tin soldiers while tea and cakes were distributed. Victoria had a second daughter, Faye, but as she was still a babe-in-arms, just months old, she had been left with her nurse for the afternoon. When the children had got bored with that game, Edwina had huffed down there with them and showed them how to flip a coin with another coin into a cup. Gruffly she had bid Elizabeth fetch Jack, so he could play. Jane came, too, and was introduced as an old friend who was staying awhile. Elizabeth had studiously ignored Edwina’s dry cough at that comment. All the ladies had greeted Jane kindly, and if they thought her overly diffident or recognised the gown she was wearing to be one of Elizabeth’s, they kept it to themselves. If they guessed at her identity from what their husbands had told them of the fracas on Cinnamon Wharf, that kindly went unremarked as well.
But now the drawing room was quiet again. Jane and Jack had repaired to the parlour, obviously deeming it best to avoid Edwina as much as possible.
‘Fine people,’ Edwina enthused, observing their departure through the window. ‘Joining that circle is a privilege not to be lightly dismissed.’ She seated herself again in her comfy fireside chair and looked at Elizabeth. ‘So where were we? Ah, yes. You’ve made a bad mistake, m’girl, haven’t you? You’ve overreacted to tittle tattle and you’re too proud to admit it.’
‘No, I’m not. I readily admit it,’ Elizabeth croaked, blinking rapidly.
‘Well, that’s a step in the right direction. To help you take another…I’ll allow your friend and the boy house room for a few days.’ At Elizabeth’s immediate thankful expression, she added, ‘On the condition that you eat humble pie with your fiancé. Yes, he is still your fiancé, I’d stake m’life on it.’
Elizabeth dropped her face into her hands. ‘I can’t…’
‘You can and you must. Are you still feeling queasy in the mornings?’
Elizabeth nodded. God knows her stomach churned and curdled the day through. As a possibility penetrated, she quickly looked up, scouring her grandmother’s face with apprehensive eyes. But Edwina seemed unconcerned about following up her leading question.
‘No brass-faced baggage is about to ruin m’granddaughter’s happiness and good name. A few days ago you had both those things. You’ll have ’em again or I’ll eat m’wedding hat!’ She gave Elizabeth an indulgent smile. ‘Go and get yourself ready; Josie can travel with you.’
She heard the ocean before she saw it. The sound of surf rushing on shore kept her still for a moment, straining to listen. A violet gaze swept the meadowed horizons; no blue but the sky was discernible.
Aware that the coachman was hovering for a gratuity, she opened her reticule and counted out some coins. Soon the hired rig was turning on the circular forecourt, then cracking back along the gritty drive that meandered a good half-mile, Elizabeth had judged, to the main road.
Josie was dubiously eyeing a crenellated and slate-slipping roofline that crowned the brick-and-timber façade of Stratton Hall. Her wide-eyed stare turned on her mistress. She grimaced. Elizabeth forced her faltering smile to strengthen, as she nervously assessed the decaying Gothic mansion of which she might or might not yet be mistress. Josie began creeping towards the curve of stone steps that lead up to weatherbeaten double doors stranded between crumbling portals.
‘Wait here a moment longer,’ Elizabeth checked her maid. ‘I don’t want to go in just yet. I must find the sea.’
Leaving Josie encircled by travelling bags, Elizabeth calmly got her bearings, then set out across rough, unkempt grass towards the southerly horizon. She passed through the detritus of what once must have been a fine orchard. Rotting fruit was scattered stickily beneath branches that contorted low to the ground. The lush scent of cider cloyed in her nostrils. Insects fidgeted close to her hem, then flew up to worry her for disturbing them. She flicked her shining head and walked on. She noticed shards of broken timber entwined with bellbind. What remained of the rickety fence swayed in a tepid breeze. She plucked a grass stem from a matted clump, drew the feathery frond through her hand, then abruptly shed its seeds onto the ground. She did so again and again with fierce concentration while weaving a path through thigh-high reeds, her skirts gathering dew from the roots of a confusion of uncultivated wild flora.
As the natural melody penetrated her thoughts again she looked up. Slowly she took the last few steps and stopped and stared. Below, sun-sparkling water was rimmed by the silver sand of a small, pretty bay. Captivated, she watched as an arc of foam plunged to race and recede…race and recede.
Finally she became
aware of him, slightly behind and to her right. Instinctively she turned away, smeared wet from her eyes and let the fresh sea draughts dry her skin. ‘It’s closer than I thought. So close…’
‘Move back from the edge. The chalk’s crumbling. It’s possible the house might cover the beach at some time.’
‘That should please you,’ she said with a wryness in her voice. She took two careful paces back and turned to look at him. Her stomach tipped over. This wilderness of rough beauty and decadence was his natural habitat. With gnarled applewood at his back, he merged with the landscape, dark clothes, dark hair wind-tangled, golden hawk’s eyes narrowed…preying on her. She saw a Cornish brigand for the first time.
‘You’ll have to excuse the mess in the house. There are few servants at present. Just a few old retainers. If I’d realised you were coming today I’d have got them to tidy up. You’re here sooner than I thought.’
She was aware of the hard satisfaction in his tone, the idle triumph. But then what had she expected? Think what you’re doing, he’d said. Think carefully, Elizabeth, for I’m done with being honourable and lenient. But she’d come anyway. She saw now, in his glittering beast’s eyes, in the ruthless amusement curving his mouth, that he’d meant what he’d said. Apprehension needled her skin, but proudly she tossed up her head, letting a soft salty zephyr beneath her bonnet to soothe her warm face. ‘Are there steps?’
‘Yes. But you’re not going down there now.’
She heard the implacable note in his denial. He was waiting for her to challenge his ruling. He wanted her to. ‘No,’ she murmured. ‘Not now,’ and walked past him and back towards the sombre house.
The red salon was, he’d said, the only reception room in a reasonable enough state to receive guests. Is that what I am? she had wanted to ask him. A guest? But she had not found the temerity to do so.
It was a dusty room, but well appointed with a view through large leaded casements over an expanse of un-mowed parkland. It held some quite exquisitely dainty furniture that seemed at odds with the rough, masculine tenor of the property. They were, she realised, the last chatelaine’s taste.
