A Clandestine Courtship

by Allison Lane

  But her tarnished reputation was not the worst consequence of his attentions. Any girl in her position would form a tendre for a handsome London gentleman who took pains to make her laugh and ease her burdens. She had never admitted her infatuation – had actually denied it more than once – but that did nothing to lessen her pain. Thank heavens Charlotte McCafferty had provided another example she could use with the girls, making it unnecessary to bare her own soul.

  What a fool she had been. Who, in her right mind, would believe that an earl’s son could entertain serious thoughts about a vicar’s daughter? It would have been odd enough if her father had been a well-born younger son, but she was three generations removed from the closest aristocratic tie – and even that was to a little-known baron. Yet she had embraced his interest, using it to heal her bruised heart. And her feelings had rapidly strengthened beyond anything she had felt for George.

  Idiot!

  She had not even accepted the truth when he left. At first she had excused him, assuming that he needed time to sort through the rumors and eliminate the fiction. When he didn’t return, she forgave him. He was only three-and-twenty and was unready for a serious relationship, so he must have forgotten that she was of marriageable age.

  But as the gossip swirled and grew more lurid, forgiveness had faded. He had used her, then abandoned her. Her rationalizations had sought to keep despair at bay. Having experienced the same treatment from two vastly different gentlemen, she could only conclude that she was unworthy, just as the gossips declared.

  Abandoning the window, she headed for her bedroom. As much as she wanted to forget the past, she must deal with James. John had told him that they had conducted an affair. Since James believed him, he must also have believed the other rumors – which put a new slant on his youthful attentions. Perhaps he had not been rescuing her from the gossip after George’s defection. Had he expected her to fall into his bed, abandoning the idea only because he declined to share with his brother?

  She shuddered.

  If that were true, then he was more like John than she had ever suspected. Which boded ill for everyone. Would he resume John’s long campaign against her? Only time would tell.

  But a more immediate enemy was herself. Her attraction remained. He had done more than adopt a more impressive demeanor in his years away. He had also changed his style of dress, abandoning his former experiment with dandyism for something more elegant. A brilliant sapphire had sparkled from the folds of his cravat tonight, drawing attention to his blue evening coat and to the silver embroidery on his white waistcoat. The fit of his gray pantaloons had been the perfect compromise between fashion and movement.

  Then there was that deep, velvety voice. His compliment on her appearance had thrilled her. Trading words had been exhilarating, tumbling chills down her back, and not from cold or fear. Even her fury had contained no fear.

  But she must fear him. He shared too much of John’s blood. Despite his show of openness and kindness, he had hidden basic parts of his character. She did not know him.

  Which brought her full circle to his friends. Mr. Crenshaw was an earl’s younger son, giving him a higher social standing than Amelia. So could he seriously be interested? Considering his reputation, she had to doubt his intentions.

  Sir Edwin was easier to believe. Wedding Caroline would be a step up for him, and he was probably attracted by her vivacity. But he did not yet know the full extent of her problem. And his friendship with Ridgeway raised questions. What did the men have in common?

  Yet without evidence against them, she could not forbid them the house. She needed to investigate their circumstances. In the meantime, she must make sure that both girls were closely chaperoned whenever the gentlemen were nearby.

  Perhaps Justin could spend time with each of Ridgeway’s friends. Men behaved differently with each other than with women. And their morning meeting had gone a long way toward convincing her that Justin was nothing like Frederick. She could trust his judgment.

  * * * *

  “Tell me about Miss Amelia,” demanded Harry as the carriage bounced away from Northfield.

  James shifted so his legs would not become entangled with his friends’. “You know more than I do. I hardly spoke with her this evening, and I didn’t notice children on my last visit.”

  “Then what do you know about Northrup?”

  “Again, very little – he is ten years my junior and was away at school when I left home. I understand he just returned from several years of military service in India.”

  He hid a frown. If Frederick had been John’s closest friend, then what were his sisters like? They had seemed conventional, but public facades rarely revealed true character. And even their facades had been odd. Amelia was too quiet, while Caroline had been crazed. But he had paid them little heed, being too caught up in confronting Mary and listening for any gossip about John.

  “The older brother was not a steady character,” Edwin noted. “In fact, several people compared him to John. But he was rarely here, so he exerted little influence on the girls. Miss Caroline says they were raised by Lady Northrup.”

  “Is that supposed to be a recommendation?” asked James sharply. However much he wanted her, he could not overlook her unladylike conduct. “She wed Frederick, who was two years her junior; she has been running the estate by herself; and though they are undoubtedly exaggerated, more than one rumor questions her morals.”

  “All false,” snapped Harry. “Amelia easily refuted the one about an affair with Sir Richard, for he was in London when it supposedly took place – as I know from personal observation. Not a shred of evidence has ever supported the tales. They would have died years ago if judgmental harridans like that prune-faced Mrs. Bridwell didn’t keep them alive.”

  “You sound like you are smitten,” observed James.

  “Perhaps. Amelia is the sweetest girl I’ve ever met. But despite that delicate appearance, she is neither helpless nor gullible. I intend to see more of her.”

  “Be careful about raising expectations you cannot meet,” warned James. “Whatever my suspicions about her family, I do not want her hurt.”

  “I will keep an eye on him,” offered Edwin. “It will be no hardship. Caroline is a delightful young lady.”

  Harry choked. “Surely you jest. One cannot understand one word in ten that she says. What would you want with a pea-brained widgeon?”

  “Excitable, certainly. But never pea-brained. You probably rattled her,” said Edwin. “All that sparkling charm. But once she slows down so her tongue stops tripping over itself, she is quite knowing.”

  “Are you saying she thinks faster than she talks?” asked James, frowning.

  “It would seem so. Whether that is usual with her, I cannot say. But she was clearly wrought-up tonight. I promised to call on her tomorrow.”

  James turned his thoughts inward as his friends compared impressions of the Northrup sisters. He did not like this development at all. Mary was clearly plotting to marry off her sisters-in-law and would grab the first gentlemen to show interest. She might even stoop to compromising them.

  But they were determined – moonstruck, both of them. All he could do was accompany them whenever they called at Northfield and make sure that neither of the girls tried to draw her escort off alone. Which would complement his own plans nicely, he realized in satisfaction. He had not yet convinced Mary to look for John’s killer.

  A burst of heat at the prospect of seeing Mary again made him grimace. What was wrong with him? No matter how delectable she was, he could not afford to lose control. If she suspected his motives, she would never agree to help.

  Down, he ordered his raging body, but it ignored him.

  Again he shifted his position.

  Their confrontation had not gone as he had expected – starting with her vehement denial of an affair with John. He had believed her – and not because his heart had leaped with joy at her words. She had to have heard the rumors. They were t
oo ubiquitous for her to remain ignorant. So the white face could only have been from fury that a former friend had turned on her. Or perhaps pain?

  But he thrust that thought aside. Pain would indicate stronger feelings than friendship – unless she was upset because he had accepted that she was dishonorable, while she had dismissed more dastardly tales against him.

  Yet she was far from the sweet innocent he remembered. Now that he was removed from proximity to that delectable body, he could think more clearly. She had succored John’s victims before her marriage. What had her father been thinking?

  He remembered Vicar Layton as a devoted parent and dedicated servant of the parish. Neither role was served by discussing sexual encounters with an innocent, especially involuntary ones – which cast new suspicions on her virtue. She might not have met with John, but he had heard tales of a suitor crying off.

  He stiffened. Consider all the facts. Was Mary a better actress than he had thought? John had not merely claimed an affair. He had offered evidence – a mark visible only to a lover. He would never have mentioned something that might be easily disproved. So he must have seen her naked.

  Pain clenched his stomach.

  He twisted facts. Mary’s voice reverberated in his head. There must be another explanation for John’s knowledge. If only he could think of it.

  His expression was growing grimmer, but this was not an appropriate place for serious thought. When they arrived at Ridgeway, the light would expose his face. Glancing across at his friends, he forced his mind back to the conversation.

  “Lady Northrup is the only mother Amelia remembers,” Harry was saying. “Her own died when Caroline was born, and their father never remarried. Their governess was an ancient crone who disdained anything frivolous. Fortunately, Mary replaced her with a younger woman and took the girls under her own wing.”

  “Caroline mentioned that. They were shocked when Frederick married within a month of their father’s death – and to a vicar’s daughter of little breeding – but they soon learned to love Mary. Without her, Caroline fears she would have been judged insane. It was Mary who realized that her problem was excess energy, and who taught her to control herself.”

  “And they rejoiced that Frederick rarely returned home. He was a brutal man when crossed.”

  “How?” asked James, though it was hardly surprising in one of John’s friends.

  “He broke Amelia’s arm knocking her across the room one day. She had interrupted him to ask a favor despite his orders that he not be disturbed. The servant who let her in was summarily dismissed.”

  Which sounded exactly like something John would have done, he had to admit.

  The carriage pulled up before Ridgeway.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mary rode along the rim of the abandoned quarry, keeping her horse as far from the edge as possible – which wasn’t very far. Trees crowned the crumbling cliff that rose on her right. Piles of rock had accumulated at its base. Wind and rain had gouged out the quarry walls until the road was only twelve feet wide in spots.

  People had talked for years about moving the road to the other side of the hill, but so far nothing had happened. She hoped James would consider it. The decision would ultimately be his since the proposed right-of-way would cross his land. In the meantime, she shuddered every time she passed this spot. Frederick had tumbled to his death here.

  Not that she missed him.

  As she rounded the sharpest corner, a hawk exploded out of the pit, clutching a squirrel in its talons. Acorn shied, swinging dangerously close to the edge and kicking loose a rock that bounced twice before landing twenty feet below.

  The Ridgeway gentlemen had called at Northfield the morning after her dinner. Justin had been out with the steward, so she had been the girls’ sole chaperon. But the job had been surprisingly easy.

  Mr. Crenshaw had entertained them with humorous tales of the London Season, drawing giggles from the usually sedate Amelia.

  A very proper couple walking in Hyde Park had been thrown into hysterics when two boys and a dog raced past in a game of tag, knocking them into the Serpentine and ruining their clothes. Though Mary rarely laughed at anyone’s misfortune, his narrative had been so witty that she hadn’t been able to help herself. And the tale of the climbing-boy-turned-burglar was even funnier. The lad had been released by his master, who deemed him too old to work. The master had been right. When oaths awakened Lady Benchley, she had discovered his head dangling in her fireplace, his shoulders firmly stuck in the chimney. Nothing could dislodge him. They had finally sent a smaller boy down to tie a rope around his ankles so they could haul him out the top.

  Mary sighed. She could see why Amelia found Mr. Crenshaw so fascinating.

  Sir Edwin was not a sparkling entertainer, but his conversation was just as interesting. He had described why he believed the remains of a Roman villa were buried on his estate, painting such vivid word pictures of the Roman invasion that she could see the legions marching across Britain. Caroline had hung on every word, and she had stayed in control for the entire visit with hardly a clenched fist to help.

  Neither of the gentlemen had said or done anything to justify her suspicions. The only surprise had been the way James had studied every move and analyzed every word. Had he feared his friends would reveal some secret? Or were her earlier suspicions correct? If he were like John, then his friends would be like Frederick. Hiding their faults could be a ploy to inflict pain by winning their regard before crushing their spirits.

  She didn’t want to believe it, but ignoring the possibility could be dangerous. Somehow, she must discover his ultimate intentions. Their conversation during that morning call had merely raised new questions.

  They had retired to a corner of the drawing room. He had still been harping on John’s recent visits, demanding a detailed list of who his brother had met.

  “How should I know?” she’d finally burst out, though she managed to keep her voice pitched low so the others would not hear. “I avoided him as much as possible, for I despised the man.”

  “But he was your husband’s closest friend. You must have seen him often.”

  She glared at him. “Yes, he was Frederick’s friend and led him into trouble more often than not. But even when Frederick was home, John never visited here.”

  “Why? Was your husband afraid you preferred him?”

  She wanted to strike him, but a lady could not do so. And drawing attention to them would raise questions she did not want to answer. Her relationship with her husband was no one’s business.

  James still believed she had succumbed to John’s wiles, despite his soothing words at their last meeting. Frederick would never have jumped to such an unwarranted conclusion. If he had considered the question at all, he would have feared that she might slip a knife into John’s back if he visited Northfield. She had warned him against John too often for him to mistake her feelings.

  “Frederick was understandably concerned for his sisters’ reputations,” she finally claimed, though she doubted he had cared one way or the other. “Allowing John near them would have courted disaster.”

  “Yet he left them in your charge.”

  Red haze pulsed before her eyes. “Do you practice being offensive or does it come naturally? I rue the day I ever considered you superior to your brother.”

  “How dare you?” he snapped.

  “At least I base my judgments on the evidence of my own eyes instead of proving my gullibility by accepting the unsubstantiated claims of chronic liars.” She immediately regretted the outburst, but it was too late to recall the words.

  “Chronic liars?” He seemed on the verge of losing his temper.

  She forced control on her voice, but something prodded her to continue. For years, she and every other person in the district had avoided talking about John. Though he was gone, the fear remained. Why else had she softened her condemnation when James had cornered her the first time? But it was time to lay the past to
rest. If James wanted the unvarnished truth, she must provide it.

  “John never spoke an honest word in his life, even when telling the truth would have been easier. But he was your family, so of course you believed him. Just as you accept every sensationalized tale Mrs. Bridwell spouts. After all, she is a vicar’s wife, so why would she lie?”

  “I am aware that John frequently exaggerated,” he protested. “And I know very well that Mrs. Bridwell is overly judgmental, but those are not my only sources.”

  “What you don’t accept is that John was an unconscionable bully who would employ any tactic to achieve his goals. And one of his goals was to inflict as much pain as possible. Not only was he a liar who frequently fabricated stories out of whole cloth, but he intimidated everyone he met. No one dared counter him. If he’d said the sky was green, people would have rushed to spread the word lest he destroy them for daring to oppose him. If a lie is repeated often enough, people accept it as truth. Even if they doubt the details, the core remains viable – where there is smoke, there must be fire,” she quoted bitterly.

  He let out a long sigh. “I am not as gullible as you imply, and I know that John preyed on most of you. But that is not what I wish to discuss just now. In addition to your husband, who did John usually see when he was here?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  His eyes bore into hers, raising odd prickles on the back of her neck – quite different from those John and Frederick had incited. Not now, she chided herself, stifling the warmth even as his voice softened into that soothing velvet that stroked across her skin, caressing her, enticing her.

  “Surely gossip included talk of who John saw when he was in the area.”

  “You still don’t understand, do you?” To hide her emotional confusion, she glared at him. “Anyone with an ounce of intelligence ignored him – they didn’t see him, didn’t hear him, didn’t discuss him. They certainly uttered no word against him, for attracting his attention guaranteed reprisals. Even when he was away in London, no one spoke of him. When commiserating with his victims over their bad fortune, a look or nod toward Ridgeway might hint that John was responsible. But that was the most anyone dared.”