by Tarah Scott
“I gather he is a local farmer. She spoke of life in his cottage, raising his children.”
“Most women of her rank aspire to such a life,” he murmured. “But not Jeanine.”
“Are you certain?” his cousin asked.
“She was very clear on that point,” he said.
Peigi shrugged. “I suppose it is of no consequence. I suspect she can’t return home.”
Valan frowned. “What do you mean?”
“She told me she couldn’t return home because her mother has just remarried.”
Memory slammed into him of their conversation that night in the garden. “…my mother decided to remarry, two years ago,” she’d said. “They only just married last year, which is why I knew I had to take action.”
“Did your mother teach you not to trust strange men?” he’d asked.
She replied, “Oh, I learned that on my own—and you usually can’t trust those you know, either.”
“Her stepfather,” he whispered. If the man had— His teacup shattered. The remaining tea spotted his breeches. He straightened.
“Valan!” Peigi cried. “What in the world?” She snapped her eyes up to his face as he picked up the pieces of the cup. “Are you hurt?” she demanded.
“Nae.” He set the pieces of china on the tray, snatched up a napkin, and dabbed at the wet spot on his breeches.
She picked up two pieces of broken china from the floor and set them on the tray beside the others. “I see the idea disturbs you as much as it does me.”
He didn’t have to ask what she meant. “Aye.”
“Do you plan to find her a match?” Peigi asked. “The notion of an elderly gentleman is out of the question.”
“I am ashamed to admit that I have given the matter little thought.” He tossed the napkin onto the table, then crossed his legs.
“So, you intend to have your revenge on Lord Gordon, then send her on her merry way?” Peigi asked with uncharacteristic perceptiveness.
He hadn’t thought about that, either. It would seem he hadn’t quite considered this plan as well as he thought he had. Aye, a truly singular day in more ways than he cared to admit.
“It is best you make her a match before it’s too late. Do you not agree?” Peigi asked.
“Too late?” he repeated. “Peigi, her reputation is as safe with me as it would be with you.”
She gave a frustrated humph. “It isn’t that. I heard the whispers behind her back at the party.”
He stilled. “What sorts of whispers?”
“You cannot be surprised, Valan. She is a country girl. The ladies in town are not kind to girls of her ilk.”
“If, by ‘her ilk,’ you mean girls who are not obsessed with wearing a new dress to every party and throwing themselves into the path of any eligible man, then, aye, you are right.”
Her gaze sharpened on him. “Hmm,” she hummed.
The door abruptly swung open and Miss Stone hurried in. Strands of hair had fallen loose of her chignon, making her look younger, and a shadow troubled her usually tranquil eyes. She scanned the room, then stilled when her gaze fell on them. Valan had never seen Miss Stone look anything but serene and well-maintained.
“You have returned from the card party, Miss Stone,” he said. “Where is Miss Matheson?”
She hesitated. He’d never seen her hesitate. “I must speak with you, my lord—alone.”
“You may speak freely in front of Lady Guilford,” he said.
“As you wish, sir. I fear you will turn me out without a reference. I only ask that, once you find Miss Matheson, that you let me know that she is safe.”
Valan dropped both feet to the floor and leaned forward. “You alarm me, Miss Stone. What do you mean by ‘once you find her’? Is she lost?”
“Not lost, sir. Kidnapped.”
When Miss Stone finished her story, Valan again stared at the emerald ring he wore. “When I said today was a singular day, little did I know how right I was.”
“We must go at once to Lord Gordon’s home and demand that he return Jeanine to us,” Peigi exclaimed.
“That is exactly what he would expect us to do,” Valan said grimly.
“You don’t mean to leave her with him?” Peigi cried.
“I do not.” Valan looked at Miss Stone, who sat on the chair to his left, her hands clasped on her lap more tightly than usual. “You searched for half an hour with no sign of her?” he asked. “Gordon was with you that entire time?”
She nodded. “At least for that time, he could not have been aware of her whereabouts.”
Valan nodded. “I wonder that my carriage has not returned. You instructed them to stay there until they saw Jeanine?”
“Aye, my lord.” She met his gaze squarely. “Despite her command not to tell you, I should have come directly to you.”
“On that point, we are in agreement,” he said. “We will leave that for later. First, I would like to know if my carriage is still there. If it is, then Gordon will expect a visit from me.” He rose and crossed to the door, then pulled the bell pull.
A moment later, Baldwin appeared. “Please have my bay saddled immediately,” Valan instructed. “I shall be ready to leave in fifteen minutes.”
Baldwin bowed and left.
“You cannot go alone,” Peigi said. “Lord Gordon would love nothing better than to finish what he started twenty years ago.”
Valan lifted a brow. “Only an hour ago, you told me that I should have forgotten that incident.”
She tsked. “An hour ago, he hadn’t kidnapped Jeanine. Oh, how I would like to shoot him myself.”
He looked at her in surprise. “Peigi, I have never seen you roused to such passions.”
Her brow knit in a deep frown. “You’re awfully blasé for a man whose ward has been kidnapped.”
“Quite the contrary,” he said. “But I plan to save my passions for Gordon.”
“Do hurry, sir,” Miss Stone said. “I am very afraid that he will hurt her.”
“That is unlikely,” Valan said. “It is me he wants to hurt.”
“Would he go so far as to try and force her to marry him?” Peigi asked, but before he could answer, she added, “I am going with you. My presence will hamper him.”
“You surprise me, Peigi.”
She gave him a haughty look. “Why? You think I don’t have a brain.”
“Nae, my dear. I simply seldom see you use it.” He started toward the door.
“Should I come, as well, sir?” Miss Stone asked.
“If Peigi comes, you come.”
A commotion sounded in the hallway and he reached the door as it was flung open. Jeanine entered, accompanied by Mr. Potts and Baldwin.
“I am sorry, sir,” Baldwin said. “Mr. Potts insisted on escorting Miss Matheson to you.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” Mr. Potts said, “but the young miss was not agreeable to returning home. Miss Stone was very clear that we should see her home if she came out of Lord Gordon’s mansion.”
Valan took in the hair that had come loose from Jeanine’s soft chignon, her torn sleeve, and a handful of envelopes wrapped in a bow that she gripped. Her mouth was set in a mutinous line.
“When she came out of the alley behind Lord Gordon’s house we hurried to pick her up, but she didn’t want to come with us,” Mr. Potts went on. “We had to force her into the carriage.”
Valan looked sharply at him. “Is that when her dress was torn?”
Mr. Potts drew himself up. “We would never harm a hair on the lass’ head. She came out of Lord Gordon’s home looking like this.”
Valan looked at Jeanine. “Is that so?”
“Mr. Potts kidnapped me,” she said.
“I was under the impression it was Gordon who kidnapped you,” Valan said.
Her lower lip trembled, then fury flashed in her eyes. “He tried to kidnap me. But I brained him with a poker and escaped.”
“Brained him with a poker?” Valan repeated in
shock.
She nodded.
“Am I to assume you killed him?”
“Unfortunately, his head was too hard for me to kill him that easily.”
“I must admit, I am much relieved,” Valan said.
“He deserved to be killed,” she said with heat.
“I quite agree,” Valan said. “Only, you shouldn’t be the one to kill him.”
Her eyes lit. “Will you kill him, Grey?”
He frowned. Your love of violence concerns me, my dear.” He looked at Baldwin and said, “I will not need my bay, Baldwin.” Then, to the driver, “I owe you a great debt, Mr. Potts”.
“Harry deserves as much credit as I do, my lord.”
“Harry?” Valan asked.
“Aye, sir, Harry MacLean, the footman who was with me.”
Valan nodded. “It seems I am in both your debts.”
“Think nothing of it, my lord.” The man bowed and left with Baldwin.
Valan turned to Miss Stone. “I owe you thanks as well, Miss Stone.”
“I cannot see how, sir, as it is my fault that Miss Matheson was kidnapped.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “I will ask, however, that the next time you two decide upon a scheme, that you speak with me first.”
“It isn’t her fault,” Jeanine said. “I told her not to tell you.”
Valan nodded. “The blame lays at your feet, never fear, my dear. But we will discuss that later. For now, I would like you and Miss Stone to go upstairs and rest. We shall have dinner, then go to the opera.”
“I don’t want to go to the opera,” she said.
“I understand you’ve had trying day,” he said. “But I ask that you do me this favor.” He looked at Miss Stone. “I would like you to accompany us—and Peigi, if Richard can spare you, I require your presence, as well.”
Miss Stone rose and walked to where Jeanine stood. “You are unharmed, Miss Matheson?”
“Aye, he didn’t hurt me at all.”
Valan’s attention caught on the envelopes she held. “What are those?”
She looked down at them as if having forgotten them. “You will no’ like it.”
“Does that mean they have something to do with Gordon’s plot to ostracize me from Society?”
Jeanine looked at Miss Stone, hurt in her eyes. “You told.”
“Don’t blame her,” Valan said. “She believed you had been kidnapped. May I have them, please?”
She hesitated. “On one condition.”
He waited.
“You will promise not to take action.”
“Only a moment ago you wanted me to commit murder.”
She looked at the floor. “Aye, but if you did that it would be calculated. After reading these letters, you will be so angry that you might make a mistake.” She lifted her eyes to his face. “You…cannot be killed and you cannot be involved in another scandal, if you are to marry Lady Claire.”
“Marry Lady Claire?” he blurted. “Where did you get that idea?”
Her eyes widened. “I heard it.”
“I have no intention of marrying Lady Claire,” he said.
“Her brother isn’t in negotiations with you for marriage with her?”
“Her brother has been trying to talk me into marrying her for two years,” Valan said.
“You see,” Miss Stone said, “I told you he didn’t want to marry her.”
“But I—”
“Up to your rooms,” he cut off Jeanine. She sighed, then started to turn toward the door. “Jeanine.” She stopped. “The letters, please.”
Fear flickered in her eyes, but she handed them to him and left the room like a woman walking the gallows.
The door clicked closed behind them and Valan returned to his seat on the divan. He pulled the ribbon from the envelopes. “Peigi, I prefer you do not discuss my personal affairs with anyone, Jeanine in particular.”
“I am sorry,” she said. “It is true, the earl did send you a contract.”
“Which I promptly returned unopened—for the third time.”
“She cares for you, Valan.”
He laughed as he pulled a paper from the first envelope. “Lady Claire cares for herself only.”
“I meant Jeanine.
He looked up at her.
“She is protecting your reputation.”
“Can you imagine?” he said. “An innocent wants to protect The Morning Star. I will likely never experience another day like today.”
He withdrew the letter from within the first envelope and began reading.
Chapter Thirteen
When they entered the opera house, the furtive glances and low murmurs told Valan the gossip that Jeanine had rejected Lord Gordon’s suit had spread through Edinburgh more quickly and thoroughly than he’d hoped. He would have to thank Peigi. Her network of gossipmongers was impressive.
He kept Jeanine close. Between himself, Miss Stone and Peigi, she would remain safe. Valan had to admit, he’d never enjoyed the opera more, and intermission came all too soon. He ordered refreshments and stood. He was getting to old to sit for so long without stretching. A knock came to the box door. The women all looked at him.
He started toward the door.
“Please do not get angry,” Jeanine begged.
“What have I to be angry about, my dear?” He opened the door.
Young Martin Hayes stood outside their box in the dimly lit walkway. Valan had a good idea what the lad wanted. An unexpected sadness stabbed.
“My lord,” Martin began.
Valan held up a hand, palm out, and looked over his shoulder at the women. His attention caught on Jeanine’s midnight blue satin dress. The fabric hugged her curves and almost gleamed in the candlelight. Her met her gaze. Fear shone in her eyes.
He smiled gently. “Ladies, excuse me. I will be just outside the door, speaking with Mr. Hayes.” He stepped from the room and closed the door.
“My lord, forgive the intrusion,” Martin began, then waited as a man and woman passed. When they were out of earshot, he said, “What is this nonsense about my grandfather wedding a young woman?”
“Perhaps you should speak with your grandfather,” Valan said.
“I have, but he refuses to give me any details other than you know the lady. Is that true?”
“It is,” Valan said.
“Sir, surely you realize my grandfather is quite elderly. What can he possibly want with any wife, much less a young one?”
“Perhaps when you are an old man you will understand,” Valan said.
The lad stiffened. “I am a man of the world, and not ignorant of a lady’s charms. But my grandfather—bloody hell, sir, she can be of no good use to him, and he certainly cannot be of any use to her.”
“You might underestimate your grandfather,” he replied mildly, and was startled to realize the thought bothered him.
Martin frowned as if Valan were insane. “I demand that you cease interfering in my grandfather’s affairs.”
“I would say it is you who are interfering.”
“The young lady will not be welcome in our house,” Martin snapped.
Valan looked at him through shuttered eyes. “Do you refer to Whitmore House or perhaps Howton Castle?”
The lad’s mouth fell open. “Are you saying we, his family, would not be welcome in our grandfather’s home?”
“I believe that is what you are saying.”
A manservant arrived with the refreshments Valan had ordered. He stepped aside and allowed the man entrance, then said to Martin, “You will excuse me. I hope you enjoy the remainder of the opera.” Valan angled his head in a slight bow, then returned to the opera box and closed the door.
* * *
When they finally arrived home, Jeanine wasn’t surprised when Grey insisted that Peigi stay the night, as her home was nearly an hour away. She took the Gold guest chambers.
Despite Miss Stone’s insistence that she needed to help Jeanine with her evening t
oilet, Jeanine sent Miss Stone to her chambers. Jeanine sat on the bench at her vanity, her heart filled with a mixture of relief and apprehension. The half dozen prayers she’d sent up during the opera had been answered. Lord Gordon hadn’t made an appearance. But she knew too well he wasn’t finished with the marquess. Grey said he wasn’t to marry Lady Claire, but what if that had been a lie so that she wouldn’t feel responsible for the trouble she’d caused?
Either way, Lord Gordon could—and would—ruin him on account of her. Not to mention, Grey was certain to exact revenge for the awful letters Lord Gordon had written. Grey hadn’t said a word to her about the letters, but he wouldn’t. Lady Guildford was right; Grey was an intensely private man.
Her heart squeezed. She had to leave Finley Hall.
Tomorrow morning, before Grey and Miss Stone arose, she would slip away. Tears pricked. Grey could find some respectable lady to marry. Maybe even Lady Claire. Lady Claire certainly would not want to marry a man who had a full-grown woman as his ward. Jeanine’s heart began to beat fast. This meant that when she’d bid Grey good night ten minutes ago, that would be the last time she would see him. Had she known that would be their final goodbye, she would have lingered a moment longer. Would have memorized his face a little better, the cool look in his eyes. She might even have squeezed his hand to feel the warmth of his touch one final time.
Jeanine jumped to her feet and began pacing. Could she really leave without seeing him at least once more? She shook her head. She was simply trying to talk herself out of leaving tomorrow. She had to leave before Lord Gordon had the opportunity to put another plan into action. She swiped at tears and crossed to the small secretary near the bay window. She sat down, pulled out a pen and paper, and penned a short note explaining to Grey that she had returned home and he need not worry.
She hesitated over the signature. Should she say ‘Yours, Jeanine?’ Or ‘Your Friend, Jeanine?’ Maybe that was too personal. Maybe she should sign, ‘Miss Matheson.’ She glanced at her salutation. Dear Grey. She couldn’t call him Grey then sign as ‘Miss Matheson.’ She had to sign her Christian name. She considered for another moment, then wrote, Your Friend, Jeanine. She folded the note, then stared at it. All that remained was for her to slip away tomorrow morning.
