by Cheryl Holt
Suddenly, the room seemed very cold, very forbidding, and she shivered.
Dread settled in the pit of her stomach, but she pushed it away and rose to face the day.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Whatever it is, I’m busy, so if you’ll excuse me?”
Victoria tried to sweep by Lauretta, but the woman blocked her path. They were next to an empty parlor, and Lauretta urged her in and shut the door.
“There’s something you should know,” Lauretta said, “but you have to swear that you’ll never tell anyone where you heard it.”
“Let’s skip all the intrigue. Say what it is you’re determined to say, and let me be about my business.”
“Not until I have your word. If you’re ever asked, you must pretend that a housemaid told you. No one can ever learn that you received the information from me.”
“Fine. You have my word. Now what is it?”
“Do you recall when I mentioned that Redvers was dabbling with a maid?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve found out who it is.”
“And?”
“It isn’t a servant.”
“Who, then?” Victoria’s mind raced as she tried to deduce what other female it could possibly be. She blanched. “Not Cassandra.”
“No. It’s ... it’s your stepdaughter, Mary Barnes.”
“What is your allegation against her?”
“She and Redvers are having a sexual affair.”
“If this is your idea of a joke, I find it in very bad taste.”
“I saw them with my own two eyes.”
“You swear this to be true?”
“Yes, I swear.”
“They barely fraternize. How could it have happened?”
“He met her the day we arrived, and they had an instant connection. I discounted it, but I shouldn’t have. He can be very charming, very persuasive. A plain spinster like her wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Mary and ... Redvers?”
Victoria was seething with such fury that Lauretta almost felt sorry for Mary Barnes. The poor girl had never done Lauretta any harm—save for snaring Redvers’s attention—yet Lauretta had set a catastrophe in motion for her.
But as fast as Lauretta suffered the compassionate thought, she shook it off.
She knew Jordan well. He was thoroughly smitten—perhaps even in love for the very first time, and the prospect was too dangerous to consider. The spark had to be tamped out before it burned any hotter.
“I assume,” Lauretta said, “that I can trust you to handle this?”
“Yes, you can trust me.”
“And you’ll keep my name out of it?”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Bainbridge. Your precious Redvers will never know it was you.”
“Thank you.”
Lauretta opened the door and slipped away.
JORDAN hurried into his bedroom suite, breathing a sigh of relief that he’d snuck in without being seen.
It was just shy of noon, the house abuzz with activity, yet he’d been rushing down the halls, without coat or shoes, his shirt buttoned wrong and untucked.
If he’d been spotted, rumors would have circulated about his behavior. Gossip would have gotten back to Victoria, causing a big ruckus to ensue.
He’d courted disaster, but had come through unscathed.
His head was pounding, his hangover debilitating, and he needed to bathe, dress, shave, and eat.
He moved to ring for a servant, when Lauretta spoke from over in the corner.
“Hello, Redvers.”
She was seated in a chair by the window, drinking a brandy and smoking a cheroot.
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.” She assessed his disheveled condition. “Rough night?”
“I’ve had better.”
“You look like hell.”
“I feel like hell.”
She offered him her brandy. “Try a little hair of the dog. It will calm your worst symptoms.”
He walked over, took it, and gulped down the contents, shuddering as the liquid scorched a path to his stomach. He gave her the glass, and she placed it on a nearby table.
“Where have you been?” she had the audacity to ask.
“My whereabouts have never been any of your business, and I don’t remember anything occurring that might have changed that fact.”
He spun away and proceeded to the dressing room, dropping his shirt as he went. He poured water in a bowl, dipped a cloth, and stroked it across his face and chest. Behind him, he heard her enter, and he could sense her studying him, her curiosity blatant and annoying.
He glanced over his shoulder and snapped, “What is it? And I must inform you that, with the mood I’m in, you’d best not think to scold me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good. Then what is it? Please be brief. You were supposed to depart for London on Sunday. Why didn’t you?”
“Is that still what you want?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“When will you join me?”
“As soon as I’m married.”
“So the wedding is on?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You tell me.”
He scowled. “My head is hammering like there’s an anvil inside it. Don’t talk in riddles.”
“Victoria knows.”
“Knows what?”
“About you and Mary Barnes. One of the maids saw you at the village dance.”
A wave of panic surged through him, and he struggled to hide it.
If his affair with Mary was revealed, he would suffer no consequences, but for Mary, her life at Barnes Manor had just ended. Since he’d instigated the entire liaison, the result was completely unfair, but that was the way the world worked.
“About what are you babbling?” he said, feigning indifference.
“Victoria is in an uproar. I came to warn you.”
“Well, thank you. Warning received. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.”
He glared at her, being obvious that he wished she’d leave, but she didn’t budge.
“When you’re back in London, what will happen to me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Will we keep on together? Or are you letting me go?”
A muscle ticked in his cheek. His temper flared.
Though much of the prior evening was a drunken blur, he faintly recalled whispering many promises to Mary. He’d thought he was eager to split with Lauretta, but in the clear light of day, everything was jumbled.
In the past few hours, he hadn’t inherited a fortune. He still needed to wed Felicity, and that left him in a bind from which he didn’t know how to extricate himself.
At the moment, there were too many women wanting things from him that he either wouldn’t or couldn’t give.
He hated discord and quarreling. If he was to break with Lauretta, it wouldn’t be while he was a hung-over mess and she looked ready to kill.
“Nothing’s changing,” he insisted, and right that second, he was being truthful.
What might transpire in the next minute, in the next week, in the next month, he couldn’t guess.
“Swear it to me,” she demanded.
“I swear.”
She scoffed. “As if I’d take your word for anything.”
He grabbed a nearby chair and collapsed down onto it.
“What would you have me say, Lauretta?”
“Mary Barnes, Jordan? You were fucking Mary Barnes? Are you insane?”
He stared at her, not indicating by the most miniscule sign that he’d done as she’d accused.
“You’re trying my patience, Lauretta, and I’m too exhausted to fight with you.”
“She’s Felicity’s sister, for pity’s sake. Do you realize the hornet’s nest you’ve stirred? Victoria may refuse the match! We may not get Felicity’s dowry.”
“Then I’ll find another heiress.”
“I could shake you till your teeth rattle.”
“You’ve overstepped your bounds. You’re making me angry.”
“After all our planning, all our preparation, you jeopardize it like this? For what? Just to slip between the thighs of some little country virgin?”
“Lauretta! You go too far.”
“You’re incorrigible, Jordan, but you’re not stupid and you’re not rash. Why did you do this? Tell me!”
There was a terrible silence, as she yearned for an answer he would never give.
Very quietly, she asked, “Are you in love with her?”
Was he in love with Mary?
His connection to her was unusual and thrilling. She fascinated him, and he felt better when he was in her company. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, couldn’t stop wanting to be with her.
Was that love? It had to be, but even if it was, he would never admit it to Lauretta.
Luckily, he was saved from replying by a knock on the door. He stood and went to the outer room. He peeked into the hall, seeing a footman.
“Yes?”
“You have a visitor, Lord Redvers.”
“I have a visitor?”
“Yes, your father.”
“Sunderland is here?”
“He awaits you in the front drawing room—at your convenience.”
What the hell could he want? Could this accursed day get any worse?
“I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
The man left, and Jordan closed the door.
Feeling as if he’d aged ten years, as if he’d been beaten with clubs, he spun around. Lauretta was watching him.
“What is he doing here?” she inquired.
“I haven’t a clue.”
“You’re not going to meet with him, are you?”
“I don’t exactly have a choice.”
He was weary of her, weary of the game her presence forced him to play.
“Go home, Lauretta. Leave for London immediately.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Go anyway.”
“If there’s to be a big eruption—either with Sunderland or Victoria—you need me.”
“No. Leave—and take Paxton with you.”
She dawdled, rage wafting off her. He knew she wanted to scream, she wanted to shout, she wanted to pound him with her fists till he was a bloody heap on the floor.
Ultimately, she nodded, accepting defeat.
“As you wish.” She swept by him. “I’ll see you back in London.”
Chapter 17
“WHAT do you want now, Sunderland?”
Edward gazed at his handsome, indolent, intractable son. The obstinate boy hadn’t even shaved. He looked like he’d just tumbled out of bed, as if he were a criminal, or a poor person living on the street.
Why would Victoria Barnes put up with him? It was a measure of her desperation to snag a title that she’d have him in her house as a guest.
Mr. Thumberton had urged Edward to make a final attempt to speak with Jordan, but on viewing Jordan’s sloppy condition, Edward’s temper boiled.
He didn’t understand Jordan and had never been able to forgive him for being who he was, for refusing to be more like his brother, who’d died so young and so needlessly. As a result, he and Jordan had no common ground upon which to move forward through any dispute.
Edward didn’t know how to talk to Jordan, and Jordan didn’t know how to listen.
“You couldn’t have bothered to shave?”
He hadn’t meant to snap, but he felt so ill-used, and Jordan replied precisely as Edward might have predicted.
“I didn’t see any reason to clean up. It wouldn’t have changed how this meeting will go. So if you traveled all this way merely to criticize my disheveled state, I’m busy. If you’ll excuse me.”
He turned to stomp out.
“I will not be dismissed by you!”
“And I will not be scolded as if I’m a lad in short pants. You didn’t answer my question: Why are you here?”
“I came to try—one last time—to dissuade you from your folly.”
“I’m perfectly happy to proceed with my folly—as you call it—so it’s a wasted trip.”
“You can’t marry that girl.”
“Why can’t I?”
“She’s flighty and immature; she’ll make you miserable.”
“Any woman would.”
“You’re behaving like a madman.”
“Nothing new there.”
Jordan walked to the sideboard, poured himself a whiskey, then flopped down in a chair. He gulped his liquor, appearing wretched and unkempt. He slouched in the seat, almost as if he’d like to slide to the floor and lie down.
“Tell me the truth,” Edward fumed. “Why are you doing this?”
“You know why.”
“Is it to spite me? To wound me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’re succeeding.”
“Good. You treat me like a child, and if I have to wed Felicity to be shed of you, then that is what I shall do.”
“It is a mistake you’ll always regret!” Edward’s voice and wrath were rising. “I can’t let you make it!”
“How can you stop me?”
“I could have you committed to an insane asylum.”
Jordan chortled with merriment. “By all means, please try.”
“You laugh now,” Edward seethed, “but after a few months spent in Bedlam, you won’t think it’s so funny.”
“Go home, Edward. I’m sick of listening to you.”
Jordan stood and went to the sideboard again. He was pouring another drink when the door opened.
Lauretta Bainbridge poked her nose into the room.
“Hello, Eddie,” she said in her usual condescending manner. “What brings you to the country?”
“Mrs. Bainbridge!” Edward gasped. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m entertaining your son. What do you suppose? Paxton is here, too. He’s cheating all the neighborhood wives out of their pin money.”
Edward was so enraged by her presence that little red circles formed on the edges of his vision. He wondered if he was about to have an apoplexy.
“This is a private discussion,” he shouted. “Get out!”
“Gladly, you pompous old nag. I only popped in to mention that the entire house can hear you yelling. Why don’t you put us all out of our misery and drop dead?”
She made a rude gesture and sauntered away, leaving Edward so furious that he began wheezing.
He peered at Jordan, who was loitering by the liquor bottles.
“You brought her here?” Edward was stunned. “You would insult Mrs. Barnes in such a despicable way?”
“I’m just a bundle of offense.”
Edward shook his head in disgust.
What was the point in trying to reason with Jordan? What was the point of hoping he would change?
He was who he was: a lazy, impetuous, vulgar knave who assumed that the world owed him a bloody favor.
“I’ve redrafted my will,” Edward very solemnly announced.
“What took you so long? I thought you’d disinherited me years ago.”
“You will not ever have a penny of my fortune to waste on that ... harlot.”
“That’s all right. I’ll have Felicity’s.” He calmly sipped his whiskey. “Will there be anything else? Are there more invectives you need to hurl? Or are you finished?”
Edward studied him, feeling quite sure it was the last occasion they’d ever see each other.
Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t Jordan behave as was decent and proper?
“Don’t call on me,” Edward gravely said. “Don’t write. Don’t beg for cash. I am posting a notice in the Times that I will pay no more of your bills.”
“My creditors will weep.”
“I will not answer any correspondence, and I will inform the
servants that you are not to be allowed onto any of my properties.”
“First though, I don’t imagine you’d agree to fix Redvers House.”
“Never.”
“Since you let it fall to ruin, that’s not very sporting.”
“If I went to the expense, you’d simply wreck it again. I won’t squander another farthing on you.”
“I bet you’d have repaired it if your beloved son James had asked.”
“For James, yes, I would have.”
“Precisely,” Jordan scoffed.
Edward refused to be embarrassed over his disparate feelings for the two boys. It had never been a secret that he’d liked James best. James had possessed every trait Edward wanted in an heir, while Jordan was the complete antithesis of what was required.
“From this moment on,” Edward warned, “I have no son.”
“So be it.”
At the crushing pronouncement, Edward felt sick with dismay. It wasn’t what he’d planned to say, at all, but pride kept him from retracting the words.
He spun to depart, but as he approached the door, a woman was standing there. He’d seen her on his previous visit. She was one of the Barnes daughters—Mary or Martha or something.
“Are you fighting again?” she asked, entering the room like a petite virago.
“Leave it be, Mary,” Jordan said.
“I won’t. You two can’t go on like this.”
“You can’t mend it for us,” Jordan claimed.
“Miss Barnes,” Edward interjected, “Jordan has been a guest here, and you’ve obviously formed a friendship with him, but that doesn’t imply that you can—”
“Stop it!” she demanded. “Stop it right now. Both of you ought to be ashamed. My mother died when I was born, and my father died when I was a little girl. I hardly remember him.”
“What has that to do with me?” Edward haughtily inquired.
“I would give anything to speak with either of them again—for even a few minutes. Jordan is all you have in the world, yet you treat him so badly.”
“Mary,” Jordan sharply counseled, “don’t defend me to him.”
“And you!” she snapped at Jordan. “Be silent! You deliberately goad him.”
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t try to deny it. I was listening out in the hall.”
“You minx,” Jordan chided, smiling.
He was exhibiting an affection for her that Edward had never seen him display toward anyone.
