Hiding her anger, frustration, and intense jealousy, behind a mask of indifference, she bided her time. She waited for the maid to tell her the inevitable news she dreaded to hear, and yet desperately wanted to know, so she could finally do something to put an end to her misery. The anticipation was almost worse than the news. After three months of being told there was no news to tell, Diana St. John was beginning to suspect the maid was holding out on her.
“Are you absolutely certain?” she demanded fiercely, backing the maid into the Countess’s closet and shutting over the door. “You’re not mistaken? She’s not keeping the news from you?”
Anne sniffed loudly, feeling wretched at abusing the young Countess’s trust for the umpteenth time, yet so afraid of this woman, who stood so menacingly close that her legs wobbled with fear, that she did her bidding without question. “Her ladyship hasn’t said a word to me.”
“That doesn’t mean she isn’t breeding, nitwit! You’re supposed to look for signs, anything that might give me a clue.”
“Yes, my lady,” Anne replied meekly and cast her gaze to the floorboards.
Diana St. John frowned and tapped the closed sticks of her fan in the palm of her hand as she took a thoughtful turn about Jane’s dimly lit closet. She came back to the maid, who was too scared to look her in the eye. “But from what you’ve been telling me he’s been mounting her every night,” she added silkily. “Sometimes twice in a night. So it stands to reason that such a healthy, vigorous male as his lordship would’ve planted enough seed to start a garden of brats by now… God, one wonders where he gets the stamina, what with parliamentary sittings and debates and those long late hours spent alone in his bookroom poring over sinecure paperwork…”
“Not alone, my lady,” Anne interrupted, latching on to mention of the bookroom and prepared to confide an interesting turn of events, if it meant diverting this woman from what was more momentous news. When Diana glared at her and waved her fan to and fro, for her to continue, she said with a swallow, “Her ladyship has taken to spending an hour before bed in the bookroom—”
“What?”
“—the bookroom with his lordship.”
“No.”
Anne recoiled at the ferocity of the denial and backed away as Diana St. John began to pace again.
“That’s my room, our room!” she growled, and such was her caged fury that she snapped the delicate latticed carved sticks of her fan with thumb and forefinger. “That’s where we spend our time. What’s she doing in there?”
“Mr. Willis tells me his lordship is teaching her ladyship to play at chess.”
Diana St. John blinked. “Chess? Why would he spend his time playing at chess with that simpleton?”
Anne bit back a retort about kindness not being an indication of idiocy.
“What else can you tell me?”
“Her ladyship sometimes takes her embroidery with her to the bookroom to—”
“Not that, you ridiculous creature! What else can you tell me about her besides the fact she opens her legs and is playing chess?”
Anne winced at such crudity and racked her mind for some other piece of news.
“They-they talk in bed…”
“Talk? Talk? In bed?”
“Yes, my lady. When his lordship first comes to the bedchamber they talk; sometimes they talk for well over an hour.”
Diana St. John was bewildered and she voiced her bemusement aloud. “But what could they possibly have to talk about? Why would he want to talk to her?”
“I am sorry, my lady, but I cannot hear what they talk about, I just hear them talking.”
Diana St. John’s brow was still furrowed, as if this piece of information was so incredible as to be disbelieved. So much so that Anne rattled on for fear the woman would turn on her with violence.
“One night last week his lordship didn’t come to her ladyship’s bed, my lady,” she said in a rush, hating herself for being such a telltale.
This pronouncement ended Diana St. John’s preoccupation and she stopped her pacing and looked the maid up and down with interest. “Did he not? Now that is a very interesting piece of news indeed,” she purred with satisfaction. “Do you remember the precise night?”
“It was two nights, my lady. Wednesday night and Thursday night.”
Diana St. John’s brow cleared and her eyes shone. She looked past the maid’s shoulder at some distant point. “Wednesday and Thursday night! Well! Well! Better still! Two nights left all alone. Two nights he was with someone else…”
“Oh, I don’t think so, my la—”
“What would you know to the contrary?”
Anne felt the sting before she realized she’d been struck. She crumpled against a dresser drawer, a hand to her smarting cheek. “Andrews—Andrews is his lordship’s valet and he said on one of those nights his lordship came home in the early hours of the morning and not wanting to disturb her ladyship, stayed in his own bed and—”
“And? And? That’s only one of the two nights accounted for! And? Speak up! Speak up! I haven’t got all night.”
“The-the second night, my father Mr. Springer, he’s the butler at the Arlington townhouse, said his lordship dined with Sir Antony Templestowe and then stayed the night in his old suite of rooms on account of the very late hour.”
Diana St. John clucked and cooed and smiled. “Well, little Anne. You have managed to engage two households in spying upon their lord and master; every servant with their beady little eyes to the keyholes! Well done!” Almost instantly her face darkened. “The servants know this, but I presume her ladyship has been too timid to enquire of her husband’s servants as to their master’s whereabouts on those nights?” When the maid nodded she sighed her satisfaction. “Good. Her reticence will serve me well.” She stuck the end of her broken fan under Anne’s chin. “You still have not told me what I want to know.”
“My lady?”
“Tell me what I want to know or I will return downstairs this instant and inform his lordship in front of his guests that I found the Countess’s personal maid on her knees for the under-butler!”
Anne curbed the desire to burst into tears to reply haltingly, “Her ladyship—her ladyship hasn’t had her womanly courses since-since marrying his lordship.” She prattled on because Diana St. John’s face had taken on a deathly hue, “And she is off her food, my lady. And this past week she’s been feeling queasy and faint, more so in the mornings. She’s more herself after she’s nibbled on a dry biscuit and taken a cup of weak black tea, though she hardly sips more than a mouthful at best…”
“His lordship doesn’t suspect does he?” she added anxiously, giving the maid’s arm a shake. “She hasn’t told him?”
“No, my lady.”
Diana St. John breathed an audible sigh, “That’s something to be thankful for in the creature’s reticence! No doubt waiting for just the right moment to give him the good news,” she said sarcastically and laughed. “Fool!” She stared at Anne, saying matter-of-factly, “Tomorrow morning I will send a lackey with a small package. Inside the package you will find a blue bottle of medicinal syrup. You are to put a teaspoon of this medicine in the dish of black tea you prepare for the Countess. Make certain you stir it thoroughly. You may have to give her another dose the following morning. All being well, the medicine will do its job to everyone’s satisfaction.” She looked the maid up and down with a haughty frown. “You don’t have any questions, do you?”
Anne shook her head and dropped her chin. “No, my lady,” she answered obediently and curtseyed. “I understand you perfectly.”
Diana St. John gave the girl’s reddened cheek a perfunctory pat and swept out of the Countess’s apartments and down the wide staircase to rejoin the dinner guests in the Long Gallery, wretched that her worst fears had been confirmed, that the Countess of Salt Hendon was with child, yet relieved that the wait was over and she was now able to do something about it.
No sooner had Anne closed over
the door to the closet than she rushed across to the darkest corner of the room where out into the candlelight stepped Mr. Rufus Willis, grim-faced and determined. He had wedged himself in the space between two mahogany tall boys, out of sight, yet well able to hear the conversation between his betrothed and the Lady St. John. It was the first time he had ever eavesdropped on his betters, but he had put aside his principles, deciding that the seriousness of the allegations Anne had brought against the Earl’s cousin called for drastic measures.
He gathered the weeping Anne to him and after a few moments of holding her, stepped back and handed her his handkerchief.
“Wipe your tears, my dear,” he said calmly. “We don’t want her ladyship to suspect.”
“I can’t take much more of that horrid woman, Rufus.” Anne sniffed. “I know you have cautioned me not to talk about his lordship’s cousin in such a fashion but do you not now see what a horrid, nasty creature she truly is? I wish I could tell her to her face. I wish I wasn’t such a coward. She knows now about the babe and that’s what we wanted to avoid all along!” She gripped the under-butler’s sleeve convulsively. “Now do you believe me, Rufus? Now do you see that she means her ladyship harm.”
“Yes, my dear. I believe you,” confessed a grim-faced Willis. “And you are not a coward. It took great courage to tell me about Lady St. John. Now I must return to my duties before I am missed. On no account are you to administer the medicinal syrup to her ladyship. As soon as the opportunity arises bring the package to me.”
Anne followed her betrothed to the servant door. “You mean to give it to his lordship?”
“Yes, my dear. Have no fear, when the time is right, his lordship will be provided with all the evidence required to know his cousin is an extremely wicked and treacherous woman.” He lightly kissed Anne’s reddened cheek. “Be brave, dearest Anne. The Countess needs our support now more than ever.”
Anne smiled shyly but said fearfully, “Be careful, Rufus. Lady St. John is capable of harming whoever stands in her way; she is so blinded with love for his lordship.”
“Yes,” Willis agreed. “But Lady St. John is not in love with his lordship, my dear. She is obsessed with him. That makes the situation far more perilous for those he cares about, and even more dangerous for Lady Salt now she is with child.”
~ ~ ~
JANE WOULD HAVE been greatly surprised but oddly comforted to know Willis’ opinion of the Lady St. John because it so matched her own feelings of apprehension, for herself, her husband and most importantly for the new life she was now carrying. She dared not confide to a soul that she was with child. Not until she had told the Earl. She was so happy to think they were to have a child, but the fear of losing this baby as she had the first, and of her husband’s incredulous reaction to the news, made her wary and hesitant. First she had to break him of the stubborn belief that he was infertile.
She had considered confiding in Sir Antony to whom she had become close since he had been appointed to watch over her. She had teased him several times about his new role and he had insisted that he much preferred to be in her company than return to Paris. If the truth be told, shopping in Oxford Street and attending readings of Hilary Wraxton’s absurdly odd poetry, while sporting an iron wig, were vastly more entertaining than listening to the monologues of the parsimonious Duke of Bedford. Besides, the longer he remained in London the more likely the chance he would be invited to Salt Hall for the Easter break, and there see the Lady Caroline Sinclair. Of course, this hope he kept secret until he found himself confiding his muddled feelings for Salt’s sister to Jane.
“Salt doesn’t want Caroline to have her come out until next Season,” explained Sir Antony, stretched out on the chaise longue in Jane’s pretty sitting room. He was watching her seated in the window seat, head bent over her needlepoint. “That’s understandable given she don’t turn eighteen until the summer. He thinks her too young.”
“What do you think?”
Sir Antony gave an involuntary laugh. He still found Jane’s blunt questions disconcerting, though refreshing. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”
Jane glanced up at that, needle and thread suspended. “But if you love Lady Caroline it matters a great deal, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not that simple, my dear,” said Sir Antony and sat up, dropping his stockinged legs to the floor and disrupting Viscount Fourpaws in the process, who had been curled up asleep on a cushion at his feet. When Jane smiled he confessed hesitantly, “I am in love with Caroline. But I don’t know if she is in love with me. She thinks she is but she is young and lived a sheltered life at Salt Hall. I cannot be certain that her feelings are fixed. Salt’s very protective; treats her like a daughter. Well, that’s to be expected given old Salt up and died when Caroline was still in swaddling. She was barely six years old when her mother passed away. So Salt’s the only parent she’s ever had.”
Sir Antony was suddenly bashful and scooped up Viscount Fourpaws, who had been brushing up against his stockinged leg, and absently scratched its ears. “Salt’s in the right, regardless of Caroline’s protests to the contrary. She should have her Season in London, go out in Society, meet gentlemen, dance at assemblies and balls and have young bucks falling at her feet. She needs to discover where her true heart lies.”
“And while she is having her Season, you will wait in the wings hoping she will grow up a little and, in the end, choose you?”
“Yes. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? I think I will go away. Take a posting to the Hague or St. Petersburg.”
“Will I like Caroline?”
Sir Antony smiled. “I hope so. In many ways she’s much like her peers. Loves a party, adores clothes, knows how to use her feminine charm to wrap a gentleman round her little finger; Salt in particular. But in other respects she different from other females, but that may be a consequence of her sheltered upbringing. She loves nothing better than to have her dogs to heel and go mucking about on the estate or galloping off around the countryside with her brother. Between you and me, I believe Salt encourages her boyish pursuits. Wants to keep her reined in for as long as possible before he unleashes her on the unsuspecting male populace.”
He smiled at a memory, adding “No two siblings could be so different and yet have greater affection for each other. Whereas Salt is serious and hard working, one would think on first meeting Caroline that she is feather-headed and indolent. But they do share a quick brain and she’s just as conscientious as Salt about the tenants’ welfare, and those who rely on the Sinclair largesse. And they both have kind hearts.”
He put Viscount Fourpaws back on the chaise longue and leaned forward, still rapt in his topic.
“She informed me only last summer that she wants to travel and that my chosen career as a diplomat will suit us both perfectly; the managing baggage!” he added lovingly and sat back with a huff of laughter. “Hasn’t stepped outside Wiltshire but already has our passage booked for the Bosphorus! Have you ever heard the like?”
Jane had not and if Sir Antony’s extolling of the Lady Caroline’s virtues were to the life then Jane couldn’t wait to meet this fascinating girl. She finished a stitch and wove her needle lightly into the fabric to hold it in place for another day.
“So Salt is prepared to allow Caroline to choose her husband?” she asked with practiced indifference. “I thought, perhaps, she being a great heiress, he might consider an arranged marriage. One of those political matches between two wealthy noble houses.”
“Ha! Now that’s the sort of cold-blooded union Diana encourages Salt to make for his sister. But not Salt. Deep beneath our Earl’s noble chest beats the heart of a hopeless romantic. Not that he lets on. Besides,” added Sir Antony, oblivious to the ready blush to Jane’s cheeks, “Caroline wouldn’t be party to such a union, even if Salt threatened to beat her into submission. Not that he ever would; but you get my meaning.”
“Does—does Salt know about Caroline’s plans to marry her diplomat?”
&n
bsp; “Know? He has a fair notion of my feelings,” Sir Antony confessed. “But as to knowing Caroline’s wishes… I dread Caroline falling in love with someone else, but in many respects I dread the day I ask Salt for Caroline’s hand in marriage. He and Caroline are as close as father and daughter, and like the stern, protective father, he’ll be reluctant to give her hand to me, despite me being one of his closest friends.”
“Every father is apprehensive about giving his daughter into the care of another man. That’s to be expected. But he’ll recover.”
“I’m eight years her senior, my dear.”
Jane laid aside her needlepoint.
“Twelve years separate Salt and me, and never once did I contemplate age as a barrier to falling in love with him. Neither should it bother you, if you truly love Caroline, and she you.”
Sir Antony threw up a lace-ruffled wrist with a huff of disbelief. “That’s all very easy for you to say, but I vividly recall Salt citing the age difference between the two of you, and the fact you lived a sheltered existence at Despard Park and never had a London Season, as prime examples of why you baulked at marrying him all those years ago. That’s why he is determined Caroline must have a London Season. He will not permit her to marry until she is one and twenty, and thus is old enough to know her mind well and truly. I’m prepared to wait out those three years, if it means she has well and truly settled her affections on me.”
“For a gentleman who professes to being a diplomat, you are woefully tactless. By the by, even at eighteen years of age I well and truly knew Salt was the only man for me. So the argument about age does not wash.”
Scandalous Brides Page 66
