The Seduction of Lady X

by Julia London

  With a groan of exasperation, Alexa rolled onto her side. “Please try not to weep so early in the morning, Rue,” she said, and closed her eyes.

  “I beg your pardon, miss,” Rue sniffed loudly. “It’s all my fault, it is. I’m not to say he’s gone for a pint, but I did, and that’s the reason he’s dead this morning.”

  Alexa opened her eyes. “What did you say?” She sat up. “What are you saying? What has happened to Mr. Tolly?”

  Rue gasped, her eyes widening. “Did something happen to Mr. Tolly?”

  “For God’s sake, you just said he was dead!”

  “Not Mr. Tolly, miss! Oh no!” Rue cried. “I could not bear it if something were to happen to Mr. Tolly!”

  Alexa climbed out of bed. “Then who are you sobbing over?” she asked.

  “His lordship. It’s him who’s dead.”

  Alexa gasped. “By all that is holy, girl, tell me what you mean! Why do you say that?”

  “It’s true!” Rue cried. “He fell off his horse and broke his neck. He’s gone and died, miss!”

  The news was so stunning that Alexa couldn’t make sense of it. Edward, dead? “Help me dress,” she said.

  It was as if the marquis’s death had wiped all the rain from the early morning sky. It was the deep blue of a robin’s egg, and sunlight glinted off the moisture that clung to the trees.

  As Alexa rushed up to the main house she saw coaches in the drive, and among them, the undertaker’s black carriage. She still could not believe it had happened, that the marquis was gone. She’d heard it all from Mrs. Lampley, who was eager to share the rumors that were flying about Everdon. The marquis had ridden into the village in the rain, Mrs. Lampley said, and had gone into the public house, and before God and everyone, had accused Harry of making a cuckold of him.

  “What do you mean?” Alexa had demanded. “He accused Mr. Tolly of an illicit affair with my sister?”

  “Even worse,” Mrs. Lampley said. “He accused Mr. Tolly of putting a child in her!”

  Alexa had been too stunned to speak, and Mrs. Lampley had taken that as invitation to continue. She said the marquis had left the public house in a rage and ridden away too fast for the night and the muddy roads, and he and the horse had both gone down.

  Both beasts were dead now.

  Alexa did not give the marquis’s accusations any credence. Olivia would never forsake her marriage vows; propriety would always come before desire. Olivia was more concerned with appearances than her own happiness.

  At the main house, a somber footman directed Alexa to the salon. She could see Olivia within, facing a pair of gentlemen who were wearing black armbands. Olivia was dressed modestly in black, her hair knotted at her nape and wrapped in black crape. She saw Alexa hovering at the door, and asked the gentlemen to excuse her for a moment. She steered Alexa into an anteroom and shut the door.

  “He’s gone, Alexa,” Olivia whispered. “Can you believe it? He’s dead!”

  Olivia looked wan, as if she’d not slept at all. But there was something entirely different about her. It took a moment for Alexa to realize that her sister’s face seemed younger. It was free of tension. “I am astonished,” Alexa said. “It seems impossible.”

  “I couldn’t believe it until I saw him. And still, it seems almost too . . .” Olivia shook her head. “The family has been sent for. The funeral shall be held on Friday. He will lie in state until then.”

  Alexa didn’t care about the arrangements. She waited for Olivia to say more, to at least acknowledge the events surrounding her husband’s death. But Olivia just gazed distantly at the small window. It seemed as if she were miles from this small room.

  “Are you not concerned about how it happened?” Alexa asked carefully.

  That drew Olivia’s attention. She gave Alexa a quizzical look. “He was thrown from his horse and broke his neck.”

  “Oh dear God,” Alexa said as realization dawned. “You are not aware of how what happened, are you?”

  “What do you mean?” Olivia demanded. “Speak plainly. He drank too much and he was thrown from his horse.”

  “No, Livi.” Alexa reached for Olivia’s hands. “You don’t know what everyone else knows. You don’t know what happened last night.”

  “What in heaven are you going on about, Alexa?” Olivia demanded. “I told you what happened last night. Stop speaking in riddles and say what you mean.”

  “I mean that the marquis went to the village last night, to the Cock and Sparrow, where Harry was with his friends, and before everyone, he accused Harry of making a cuckold of him and putting a child in you.”

  Olivia gasped as if she’d been struck. “In the public house!” she repeated disbelievingly. “No, there is some mistake,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve not heard any such thing.”

  “It is true. Edward was foxed, and he made a very public accusation. Harry stood up to him and told him he would not stand by and listen to him slander you, and Edward left. That’s when the accident happened.”

  Olivia stared at Alexa, her eyes clouding with confusion. “I have not heard this,” she said again, a frown creasing her brow. “Why did Harrison not tell me when they brought Edward home?”

  “Perhaps he didn’t want to distress you any further,” Alexa guessed.

  Olivia pressed her fingers to her forehead as if her head ached. “I must speak to him,” she said softly. “I must hear from him what happened.”

  “Shall I fetch him?” Alexa asked, wanting to be helpful.

  Olivia shook her head. “He has gone to Everdon to arrange for crape and funeral tokens.”

  Someone rapped on the door. “Lady Carey, the Earl of Manbrooke has arrived,” a male voice called.

  “I must go,” Olivia said. She took Alexa’s hand and squeezed it. “Find something black to wear. We must pay attention to appearances.”

  Alexa snorted at that. “Why? Edward cannot dictate to you any more, Livi.”

  “Because we are now living at the mercy of the Carey family, Alexa. That’s why. Please just do as I ask,” she said, and went out to accept her condolences.

  The morning moved into day, and that into the next, and slowly, it all began to make sense to Olivia: the looks from the men last night when they’d brought Edward’s body home, the curious looks from the staff. Olivia wanted badly to speak to Harrison about it, but there wasn’t a moment that she was alone. The business of burying a marquis was a complicated task.

  When Olivia did see Harrison, it was always in the company of others. He worked tirelessly to make sure the arrangements befit a man of Edward’s stature. Funeral tokens were arranged, mutes hired for the procession to the church, speakers to attest to Edward’s esteemed life.

  Edward’s family arrived one after the other, all of them grief stricken. His sister, Lady Belinda Mathieson, embraced Olivia more than once to sob on her shoulder, and urged Olivia to do the same. “You must be in a state of shock,” she said tearfully to Olivia. “It is unhealthy to hold it in; you must release your emotions, Olivia.”

  “I am past the point of shock,” Olivia tried to assure her, but Belinda would not have it.

  “You must be in shock, dearest. You’ve not shed a single tear.”

  Olivia allowed Belinda to embrace her again. “You are right, Belinda,” she said sullenly. “I am shocked that he is gone.” And as Belinda stood there, her arms tightly around Olivia, Olivia wondered if the Careys had heard what had happened the night he had fallen from his horse.

  David seemed the most stunned of them all. “I can scarcely grasp it,” he told Olivia the night of his arrival. “I never dreamed I would take over for Edward. I feel so ill equipped. How shall I ever live up to the standard he has set?”

  “You will,” Olivia assured him. “Mr. Tolly will guide you.”

  “Yes. Thank God for Tolly,” David said. He looked at Olivia and smiled weakly. “Thank God for you. You are so dear to us all, Olivia. We’re all deeply concerned for you. My sis
ter, my aunts and uncles and cousins. You must not worry about your future. We’ve all agreed that you have a place with us and a stipend for as long as you need. We are aware there is no one to see after you.”

  To see after her. She had no money of her own, no one to turn to, save Alexa. Everything had happened so quickly that she hadn’t thought about what would happen when Edward was buried and the family returned to their lives. She wished she could speak to Harrison, to seek his counsel and his comfort.

  Olivia hoped that Alexa had misunderstood what had happened the night Edward had died. If anyone would know, it was Harrison. If only she could speak to him.

  The opportunity did not present itself until the morning of the funeral. Olivia couldn’t sleep, so she rose before dawn and dressed herself in her funeral garb of black bombazine and black ribbons. When the procession began, she would add a black hat and veil.

  When she had dressed, Olivia moved through a silent house, down to the receiving room where Edward lay in state. She could hear the faint sounds of pots in the kitchens as Miss Foster prepared for the day. Olivia had no appetite.

  She slowly opened the door to the receiving room—she had yet to get over the shock of seeing her husband deceased—and was surprised to find Harrison there. He was standing at the windows looking out, his clothing somber and marked by the black crape tied around his arm. He turned as she entered, and a smile softened his weary features.

  Olivia quickly shut the door behind her. The two of them stared across the room at each other. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Waiting for the undertaker. He will arrive shortly to prepare for the move.” His gaze roamed her face, drinking her in. Neither of them made a move toward the other, unwilling to do so with Edward’s corpse in the room. “How are you?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse.

  “As well as might be expected. I’ve been desperate to speak to you. Alexa has told me what others are saying happened the night Edward died. But I must know from you, Harrison—is it true?”

  Harrison’s smile faded; he glanced down at his hand.

  “Oh dear,” Olivia murmured. She sagged against the closed door. “Everyone heard his accusation?”

  “Everyone,” he confirmed.

  She looked at Edward then, and a small shiver of foreboding coursed her spine. She knew that no matter how untrue the accusation, it mattered.

  Harrison knew it, too; his gray gaze seemed a little older. “Rumors spread like a cancer, particularly about someone as notable as the marquis. You must prepare yourself for the questions his family will inevitably ask.”

  “They’ve not asked me,” she said. “They must not have heard it.”

  He smiled sympathetically. “Perhaps not yet. But they will. And when they do, think carefully what you will say. Your standing with them has been reduced with the marquis’s death, as you know.”

  “Yes,” she said. “But David is very fond of me.”

  Harrison looked skeptical. “He is the marquis now, Olivia. That has a way of changing one’s perspective.”

  She knew he was right, that she could take nothing for granted. Olivia suddenly felt very tired. She pushed away from the door and walked across the room to him. It seemed like miles. He watched her approach, his body tense, his hands at his sides. It was wrong, so wrong, but Olivia needed his comfort one last time. She leaned forward and put her cheek against his shoulder. Harrison lifted his arm and put it around her back. He turned his head, his mouth on the crown of her head. “Have a care,” he whispered. “You are a widow without an heir. When one adds scandal to that, it’s as if you are standing on the end of a thin tree limb. It is not a question of if it will break, but when. And then the question is how far the fall.”

  She closed her eyes. “On my word, I don’t know what to do.”

  He tucked his finger under her chin and made her look up at him. He smiled softly, reassuringly. “Be who you are, love. Be the vibrant and beautiful woman you have always been. After the funeral, we will determine the course of our future.”

  Olivia’s heart skipped a beat or two.

  She heard the sound of a carriage coming down the drive. Harrison dipped his head and kissed her cheek, his lips warm on her cool skin. “Be brave,” he whispered. He stepped around her, walking out of the room to greet the undertaker.

  When he had gone, Olivia glanced at Edward’s waxen face. That cold shiver ran down her spine again, and she pressed a hand against her abdomen, pushing down a swell of nausea.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  At the funeral, Harrison sat directly behind the family, his gaze locked on Olivia’s back. She was seated between Westhorpe and Lord and Lady Mathieson.

  The funeral was everything Carey would have wanted; Harrison had made doubly sure there was a lot of pomp and flowery words attesting to the fine man Carey had fancied himself to be.

  After the burial, the Carey family received mourners who had come from all over England to pay their last respects. Olivia was regal in her role as the widow. She spoke to each person, the mournful wife, grateful for the respect paid her husband, concerned for their grief, and dignified in the face of the whispers that seemed to float about the room.

  Harrison could feel the scrutiny. More than one suspicious eye was cast in his direction, more than one black fan raised so that gossip might be exchanged. He stood off to one side, available if the family needed him, but removed from the activity so as not to prompt more talk.

  As people began to trickle away, Harrison watched Westhorpe draw Olivia aside. He gripped her elbow and bent his head to hers, speaking earnestly. Olivia looked up at him, nodding, her face serene. When Westhorpe let go of her arm, Olivia turned around and looked at Harrison across the room. He knew instantly by the look in her eyes that the time had come, that the Carey family had heard the rumors of what had happened the night the marquis had died and would confront them.

  A footman appeared at Harrison’s side. “Mr. Tolly, if you please, Lord Carey should like a word in the study.”

  The new Lord Carey. “Thank you, Bruce,” he said. He hadn’t exactly worked out what he would say, but he was quite clear in his head about one thing—he would not accept any responsibility for what had happened to the marquis. The bloody bastard had done it to himself. Harrison only hoped Olivia would remember that, too.

  In the study with Olivia, Westhorpe seemed a bit uncertain about how to proceed. Harrison had always been fond of him. He’d been raised as a second son with no responsibility to speak of. His thirst for pleasure had been encouraged by his father, who found it easier to shower money on him than to sort out a useful occupation for him.

  Westhorpe nervously cleared his throat. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. He walked to the window and looked out before he turned around and smiled at Olivia, albeit rather thinly. “Olivia, you know how fond I am of you, do you not?”

  “As I am fond of you, David. We’ve always had such a grand time in one another’s company, haven’t we?”

  “Yes, well.” He drew a breath. “Unfortunately . . . my fondness for you cannot help me overlook the very disturbing things my family and I have heard in these last few days. Particularly about my brother’s last few hours.” He glanced at Harrison.

  “I regret that you’ve heard anything at all,” Olivia said. “But Edward was mistaken. Terribly mistaken.”

  Harrison leaned back against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. “The problem with tittle-tattle is that it is rarely based in truth.”

  “This is not tittle-tattle, Tolly. This is the account of several people who were in the public house when my brother confronted you.” Westhorpe looked at Olivia. “As much as it pains me to say it, I was told that my brother had gone into the village to confront Tolly and accuse the two of you of making him a cuckold. And that there was mention of an unborn child.”

  “Oh, David,” Olivia said sadly, as if she were disappointed in him for even suggesting it to her. “I regret that
your family has heard such wretched things. But they are not true. I did not cuckold him. I am not with child.”

  “But why should he think it? Why should he ride into the village in the rain, at night, to confront him?” he asked, gesturing to Harrison.

  “Because he was a drunkard who mistrusted everyone around him,” Harrison said flatly.

  Westhorpe gaped at him in shock.

  Harrison pushed away from the wall, his gaze steady on Westhorpe. “Have I ever been less than truthful with you, my lord? Have you not suspected your brother’s fondness for drink was beyond abnormal? You know very well that I, of all people, would never sully your brother’s name to you or anyone else, but the circumstances are exceptional. Lord Carey was given to drink and distrust, particularly where his wife was concerned. He listened to the misguided utterings of a housemaid, and that is the truth.”

  Westhorpe seemed confused. He ran his hand over his head. “I know very well how servants talk,” he admitted. “But I also knew my brother rather well, and I do not know him as the man you describe, Tolly. Yes, he liked his drink, but not more than anyone else. And he was a rational man—not one to listen to gossip or rush to judgment. Didn’t you think so, Olivia?”

  Olivia hesitated, and for a moment, Harrison thought she would deny it. But she slowly shook her head. “He was rarely rational where I was concerned. He was cruel to me.”

  Westhorpe looked completely astonished. He stared at Olivia as if he’d never seen her before. “How do you expect me to believe this is true?” he demanded. “He never once mentioned any distrust of you, Olivia. But even I have noticed a friendship between you and Mr. Tolly—”

  “David, Mr. Tolly intends to marry my sister.”

  “Lady Carey—” Harrison started.

  “Mr. Tolly has been my steadfast friend in this house and in this marriage for many years. Edward could not abide me, David. He even struck me. And the night he died, he was foxed and he was irrational. Yet contrary to the gossip you have heard, I have been loyal to him, as has Mr. Tolly. As I said, Mr. Tolly has an understanding with Alexa.”