by Ava Stone
***
At White’s, Chet was loudly telling a shocking tale to Brendan. Soon a crowd had formed around the two lords, intently listening to every word. “Honestly, Bren, who would’ve thought ol’ Beckford was capable of it, but apparently love can hit anyone.”
Brendan looked dismayed. “You must be jesting. Lucas Beckford?”
“Rob swears he’s heartbroken.”
Brendan snorted. “I didn’t know he had a heart.”
“Apparently Lady Juliet meant more to him than any of us suspected. When things ended between them, he went to sulk over the situation with Rob and Lydia.” Chet swallowed some whiskey.
Lord Grayden, a stocky, auburn-haired viscount, flashed a rakish grin. “I heard that it was an entirely different kind of comfort Lady Masten gave Beckford.”
The room broke into a tittering of laughter, but no one so loud or booming as Lord Astwick. Chet pounded his whiskey glass onto the table and wiped a tear from his eye. “God, I needed that, Grayden…Whoo, that was rich.”
Grayden frowned. “Really, Astwick, I don’t see why you think it’s so funny.”
Chet had to work to keep his self-congratulatory smile in check. He slapped Brendan on the back. “You want to answer that, Clayworth?”
Bren turned in his chair to face the throng that had assembled behind him and Chet. “Grayden,” Bren began condescendingly, “how is your wife?”
The viscount sputtered. “I don’t really see how that’s pertinent to this conversation.”
Bren continued without missing a beat. “I assume Lady Grayden is fine. So, more importantly, how is her sister—Miss Woodcliff, isn’t it?”
Grayden shrugged and realized that all eyes were now on him. “She’s well, I suppose.”
While he tapped his chin, Brendan started toward the viscount with a wicked grin. “Miss Woodcliff is a pretty little thing. Have you ever considered comforting her?”
The viscount’s face was now aflame with embarrassment. “My wife’s sister? How dare you, sir?”
Brendan shrugged and took a puff of his cheroot. He flicked his hand dismissively toward Grayden. “Save your indignation. It’s more likely that you’re aware, more so than any of us, of just what kind of a harridan resides under Miss Woodcliff’s pretty skin. I know that’s the way I felt about my wife’s family anyway.”
Muttering started throughout the assembled men, each thinking of their own relations, and Clayworth’s point made some sense. Regardless of the face you put on for the outside world, your family always knows the truth about you.
Chet had always liked a big finish and he stepped forward. “I wonder how many of you know Lady Masten. She’s a pretty little wisp of a thing, to be sure, and sharp as a tack. I’d wager she knows even more of the scrapes and scandals Masten has saved his brother from than I do. Perhaps if she wasn’t so dedicated and loyal to her husband, she might seek comfort from someone else. But I’d lay odds that the last man on earth she’d turn to is Lucas Beckford.”
The men seemed to be in agreement. Chet and Bren’s arguments held water. The entire situation had run smoothly, and yet the one question Chet was prepared for hadn’t come. No one even questioned whether or not Luke had compromised Lydia. Perhaps it was just old news. Or perhaps no one cared. But the men returned to their drinks and games and previous conversations. The Mastens just weren’t very interesting anymore. Robert would be thrilled.
***
The scandal had been almost completely squashed. But the battle wasn’t quite over yet, and there was only one lady who could finish the job famously—only one lady who had no motive in helping the young countess. At least not one anyone knew about.
Eugenia Peyton, the widowed Marchioness of Astwick.
Lady Astwick held court in her son’s grand drawing room with several of the most influential Ladies of the ton. She knew what she must do, if she wished to remain in London. What has gotten into Chester? He never demanded anything from her. But the day before he had informed her that unless she wanted to be shipped off to Wiltshire, she would help Masten untangle this trouble he’d gotten himself into.
Quite frankly, she didn’t see how Masten’s problem was her concern, but Chester had made it quite plain that if she didn’t give her help to the cause, her life would be most uncomfortable. Fortunately, she’d held out long enough to get a promise from her son that he’d select a bride within the year. Lady Astwick would have swum across the English Channel for that promise, so helping Masten seemed quite a simple thing to do in the end.
She looked around the drawing room at her friends and, like any good general, set her strategy into motion. “At the moment, I am concerned about young Lady Masten.” She spoke with a sincerity no one would doubt.
“That scandalous countess everyone has been talking about?” inquired the dowager Duchess of Lynton, a tiny woman with an enormous headdress made of red tulips.
Lady Astwick nodded sadly. “I’m not sure how news of her confinement got around so quickly, but—” she leaned in toward her friends and whispered conspiratorially— “poor girl hasn’t had success carrying any other child to term.” That wasn’t a lie as far as Lady Astwick knew. “And you know how badly Masten wants his heir.”
“That’s not what I heard from Agatha,” remarked the prune-faced dowager Viscountess Ainsley, just as Lady Astwick had anticipated.
Lady Astwick furrowed her brow in mock concern. “That’s just what I’m worried about. The poor girl has done nothing wrong, though her husband’s spiteful ex-mistress has set about to destroy her good name. And I’m afraid the whole ordeal will put so much strain on the countess that she’ll lose this child as well.”
“Spiteful ex-mistress?” asked Lady Audley.
Lady Astwick pursed her lips, as if considering whether to tell her friends the whole story. But of course she would. Then she sat forward in her seat. “Mrs. Rigsley.” No one but Lady Astwick noticed that Lady Audley’s face had gone white at the sound of that name. So apparently the rumors about the mistress and Audley were true, Lady Astwick silently noted as she began to tell her story. “Once Masten left her, she was determined to destroy him. And when she found out about Lady Masten’s delicate condition, she decided this was her perfect opportunity.”
“How did she find out?” the duchess asked skeptically. “I mean if he wasn’t seeing her anymore…”
Lady Astwick nodded knowingly. “Astwick tells me that this Rigsley woman, whoever she is, found Mr. Beckford deep in his cups at some gaming hell. He’s impotent, you know?” She glanced around at the fascinated faces around the drawing room and then continued. “Anyway, Mr. Beckford was apparently feeling sorry for himself after hearing the news of his brother’s impeding heir, and, well, the spiteful harlot decided to spin her own tale.” From what she’d learned from her son, that was mostly true.
Lady Audley looked mortified. “What a despicable woman! To cause such heartache to a gently bred girl.”
Lady Astwick smiled to herself, knowing full well that Lady Audley had an entirely different reason for thinking Cecily Riglsey despicable. “But alas, there’s nothing that can be done about it now.”
“Pish posh!” the duchess exclaimed. “I don’t see how we can let a woman of her standing abuse young Lady Masten in such a way.”
So far things were going well. Lydia had gone from that scandalous countess to a gently-bred girl not to be abused by her husband’s ex-mistress. Lady Astwick feigned surprise. “But what can we do about it? The tale is all over Town.”
The viscountess grinned wickedly. “Then we’ll just have to spread the truth even faster. When my dear Edgar was alive, I can’t tell you the heartache he put me through with women of her ilk.”
The duchess nodded her head enthusiastically. “Here, here. We have to protect our own, Eugenia. We certainly can’t trust men to do it for us.”
Lady Astwick smiled at her friends. “If we can squash it, perhaps Lady Masten won’t suffer and she can carr
y this child to term.”
“Then it’s agreed.” Lady Audley clapped her hands together. “We’ll save this girl from that wretched woman’s lies.”
Once the harridans-on-a-mission had left his drawing room, Chet strolled languidly through the doors to see his mother looking much like a cat that ate the cream. “Nicely done, Mama.”
She narrowed her eyes on her son. “Just keep your end of the bargain. I want a daughter-in-law and grandchildren, Chester. And I want them before I’m in my grave.”
Chet smirked. “Within the year, Mama. I’ll have a bride within the year, but it’s my understanding that grandchildren will take a bit longer.”
***
In Robert’s gold parlor, Luke sat with his head in his hands. He was ruined, there simply wasn’t another way to describe what had been done to him. And his siblings were standing in the corner congratulating each other on his premature demise.
“I just don’t understand why it was necessary to un-man me in such a fashion,” Luke complained after the story of his virility, or lack thereof, had swept across Town.
“Because—” Caroline turned her back on Robert to face him, and explained for what must have been the hundredth time— “it made sense. How could you father Robert’s child if you’re impotent. Besides for all I know, you actually suffer from the ailment.”
“Caro!” he exclaimed in shock.
“Well, honestly, Lucas, it’s not as if you’ve been discriminatory over the years. And you have no bastards running around that I’m aware of.”
Luke frowned. “I’m careful is all. And my little sister is the last bloody person I want to discuss this with.”
Robert chuckled from the corner of the room. “I thank you for sacrificing your blackened reputation to protect my child, Lucas. Now, I need to run one last errand before I start back for Gosling Park. I trust you can each show yourselves out.”
Robert strode out the doors and then straightened up and looked his sister in the eyes. “And what will happen when I do marry someday and have a child of my own? What will people say then?”
Then she smiled and swept toward him. “Oh? And have you a candidate in mind? Dare I hope that some lady has finally convinced you to reform your dastardly ways?”
Luke frowned. “Caroline, I’ve not yet said anything to Robert, but would you care to tell me why you’ve installed Juliet at Gosling Park as a governess?”
Caroline pursed her lips, frowned, and turned from him. “She swore me to secrecy.”
“Come now, Caro.” He edged toward her like a stalking lion. “You’ll have to do better than that. After all, you sent me there to find her.”
***
With a bounce to his step, Robert entered the Admiralty office. The clerk he’d spoken to weeks before stood guard at the front desk and smiled when he recognized him. “Ah, Lord Masten, what can we help you with today?”
Good. The man remembered him. “I need to retrieve that letter I left here for Lieutenant Warner. I’ve had second thoughts about it.”
The clerk frowned. “I’m sorry, my Lord, I already delivered that letter to the Lieutenant about a week after you left it.”
But that was weeks ago—almost a month.
What a fool he was. He should have come here first, but he was so focused on the scandal. What if he’d passed the Lieutenant on the road to London? What if the bastard was at Gosling Park this very moment?
He flew out of the Admiralty and hopped on Devil’s Inferno’s back. He stroked the bay kindly. “Sorry, old boy, but we’re going to have to get home even faster than we got to London.”
~ 24 ~
Lydia came down to breakfast with the children in tow. Henry was already there waiting for them. For the last several days, Lydia had begun to feel comfortable around her brother. He was almost like the old Henry she’d adored as a child, not the frightening man who’d hurt her all those years ago, though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t think of that again. How many times had she told Robert the past didn’t matter because it couldn’t be changed?
Lydia started to fill a plate for each of the children from the sideboard. Peter slid into the chair at the head of the table and sat stoically.
Henry smiled at Penny when the little girl rushed toward him. “Uncle Henry, will you tell me the story of Blackbeard again?”
Lydia scrunched up her nose at the distasteful subject and placed a plate in front of Peter. “Really, Penny, not at the breakfast table. Piracy is so unappetizing.”
Penny playfully pouted. “But Uncle Henry has the best stories. Yesterday he told me about your Papa. I didn’t know he was a sailor too.”
Lydia returned to the table with a plate for Penny. She looked at her brother and let go a beleaguered sigh. “Henry, we don’t discuss that man in this house. You’re not to mention him to either me or to the children.”
With a frown Henry nodded his head. “You’re the countess.”
Lydia returned to the sideboard to fill her plate with dry toast and a bit of oatmeal, anything that wouldn’t make her queasy.
“Why don’t we speak of that man?” Penny asked innocently when Lydia returned to the table.
For heaven’s sake, the child was more inquisitive than a Bow Street Runner with a memory to match. Lydia realized that all eyes were focused on her and she took a sip of tea. “We don’t speak of my father in this house because he was a cruel, vile man. And I refuse to reward his memory by speaking of him.”
Penny hung her head and looked down at the plate in front of her. “Sorry, Mama.”
Lydia had a hard time working up her appetite after that, and she simply played with the oatmeal in front of her. Finally, Miss Mitford came for the children, and then Lydia was left alone with Henry.
Her brother was staring at her with a concerned look. “You don’t really think Father was cruel?”
Did he not clearly remember the beast that sired them? Lydia dropped the handle of her spoon in irritation. “If you even think of defending that monster, I swear to you, Henry, I’ll throw you out on your ear.”
A strange look crossed Henry’s face, but he said nothing. He simply finished his meal and then left Lydia alone.
***
Atop Devil’s Inferno, Robert raced through Dorset. Gosling Park was just over the horizon. Soon, very soon he would be home. He was tired and his skin was sore from the whipping of the wind, but he pressed on.
There was probably nothing to worry about. Lieutenant Warner had received his letter weeks ago. If he was intent on seeing Lydia, he would have arrived long before Robert had left for London. Perhaps his despicable brother-in-law had no desire to see Lydia. If so, that was just fine with Robert. But he wouldn’t feel comfortable until he was home and had his wife back in his arms.
They hadn’t left things particularly settled between them when he’d departed. She was hurt and angry with him. He couldn’t really blame her for that. He had been distant—he realized that now. But at the time, the revelations from James MacFadyn were so new that he’d crawled a bit inside himself. Although he’d never stopped loving her. He’d just needed some time alone to sort through things in his mind. He’d had plenty of time to do that on his way to London and now on his way home.
Gosling was getting closer, and he urged his exhausted stallion to pick up the pace. He’d be home soon, and then everything would be fine.
***
Lydia climbed the stairs that led to her room. She felt exhausted, more so lately. Betsy had insisted that her ladyship begin taking late morning naps to preserve her energy, and Lydia was certainly looking forward to today’s.
She’d stopped by the schoolroom to listen in the hallway to Peter and Penny’s lessons. Normally she was fairly interested in history, but today, overhearing about the establishment of the Church of England made her eyes go blurry and nearly put her to sleep in the corridor.
As she rubbed her eyes and yawned, she entered her room. Unfortunately, she was not prepared i
n the least for what met her there.
Henry stood just inside with a furious expression. Before Lydia could react or even scream, he’d clamped a strong hand over her mouth. “Don’t you ever tell me what I can or cannot talk about.”
His light blue eyes were like cold steel and panic wash over Lydia’s body. She knew that look. It still haunted her nightmares. This was not her brother. This was the monster that lay deep inside of him.
She struggled to free herself from his grasp, but Henry was so much stronger than she was. Years of working on a ship at sea had made him powerful.
“Do you think that because you’re a countess you can dictate to me? Threaten to throw me out?” he hissed, just inches from her terrorized face.
Lydia’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. She tried to shake her head, but he was holding her too tightly for that. Henry forced her to step backward and he sneered angrily at her.
“Well, you can’t,” he continued. “I tried to come here and get along with you. I tried to put our past behind us, but you think you’re better than me.”
Lydia felt the bed hit the back of her legs. This was not happening. He wouldn’t do this to her. Not again. She struggled even harder, with all her might to free herself but to no avail. She wished she could kick him, or scratch him, or bite him even, but his hand was so tight that she couldn’t move. She could barely breathe.
What was wrong with him? He’d been so pleasant up until now. God, she was the biggest fool in the world to have let him stay.
She felt his fingers dig into her skin. “Well, you’re not. And that’s a lesson I’ll just have to teach you.”
“Let her go!” Robert’s enraged voice rang out from the now open doorway.
Henry turned toward the sound and Lydia was able to catch a glimpse of her husband. He was furious. In his hand, he held a, pistol which was pointed directly at Henry.
