“Don’t you see that whoever wrote that despicable breach of promise letter did so to make certain Jane did not seek me out?” Salt replied with great patience. “Believe me, Tom, had I been made aware of her predicament I would have done everything in my power to save her from such ignominy.”
Tom eyed him with resentment. His voice was very flat. “You should have thought about the potential for a-a predicament before you-you deflowered her, my lord.” When the nobleman blushed scarlet, Tom had his answer. “No one told me. I worked it out for myself. It wasn’t difficult, because I know Jane. And Jane being Jane, she would never have surrendered her virtue to just any man, only to the man she loved above all others.”
“Listen, Tom… What happened in the summerhouse—It may present to you, to-to others, to most people, as a lascivious nobleman’s calculated seduction of an innocent girl; a quick tawdry rut by the lake. But it wasn’t like that… Nothing could be further from the truth. When—when two people are in love—when they are caught up in the moment, it’s as if… They forget everything else; they forget there may be consequences to their actions… They… They—God, this is difficult to explain!”
He scowled self-consciously and covered his face with his hands before drawing his fingers up through his damp tussled hair. Despite the searing burn of shame to his ears, the dry throat and the abject chagrin of trying to explain himself to a skeptical audience of one, he met Tom’s steady gaze openly and continued,
“You sitting there looking like a stunned trout, worse, like a son being delivered a lecture on the birds and the bees, when you know full well how honey is made, doesn’t help one’s heartfelt confession. I have nothing to say in my defense that won’t make you think me the veriest cad. But I ask you, no, I implore you to believe me when I say that I have castigated myself a thousand times over for not having the willpower to wait until we had been up before a parson. All I can offer in my defense is that I was so in love with your sister that I did not think; I allowed my heart to rule my head. I do not ask your forgiveness, just your understanding… Tom? Tom, what is it?”
Tom did not doubt the Earl’s sincerity; that he was speaking from the heart. What astounded him and drained the color from his face was the fact that the nobleman had no idea, indeed remained blissfully ignorant of Jane’s appalling predicament and the paramount reason why her father had disowned her. He was so surprised he just blurted it out with no thought to the effect such brutal honesty would have on his noble brother-in-law.
“You didn’t know Jane was pregnant with your child?”
SEVENTEEN
‘PREGNANT? Jane?”
Tom nodded dumbly in response to the Earl’s disbelieving and explosive exclamation.
“My Jane, pregnant? Jane. Pregnant.”
Bewildered and disorientated and still muttering to himself, Salt glanced around: from high-racked ceiling to polished tiled floor, to the netting shielding the gallery boxes and out across the expanse of court to the sloping tabor wall. It was as if he had no idea where he was. He stood up; Tom did likewise. He blinked, motionless, as Jane’s accusatory words earlier that day screamed in his head… you allowed lust to rule good sense… you impregnated a gently bred girl from the counties… He now understood what she meant and the reason for her tearful distress. Such was the enormity of this new and powerful knowledge that he was seized with an overwhelming panic. He forgot how to breathe.
Tom was transfixed by the intensity in the nobleman’s handsome face. It was evident he was experiencing a range of emotions while trying to make sense of such a profound revelation. Yet, Tom was determined, he owed it to his stepsister; no matter how disordered the Earl’s state of mind, he would hear the whole sordid story of Jane’s fall from grace.
“You ruined her virtue, but to Sir Felix’s way of thinking the far greater crime was his daughter had been impregnated by an unnamed seducer. Jane would not name you. She kept quiet—has kept quiet all these years. Because of her refusal, Sir Felix said he had no use for her. He treated Jane as if she was a used, worthless thing: a-a whore. But he treated her unborn babe far, far worse.”
Tom’s voice broke on the last word and he took a deep breath before continuing, following close on the Earl’s heels. The nobleman lurched forward, as if drunk, and staggered up the court, breathing short and quick, shoulder pressed to the wall to prop himself up. It was as if he was trying to escape from Tom’s revelations, but Tom would not let him go. He was far from finished with his lordship.
“Sir Felix said no daughter of his was going to give birth to a bastard. I asked my mother how Sir Felix discovered Jane was pregnant.” Tom gave a bark of incredulous laughter. “An unsigned letter! Can you believe it? I hardly credit it possible that some fiend could betray Jane in that cowardly way. It’s wicked! Sir Felix waved the letter under Jane’s nose. She did not lie to her father. Poor Jane had struggled to keep her condition a secret for as long as possible. She was waiting for you, you to come and fetch her away and you never did. Your letter breaking off the engagement had sealed her fate and the fate of her unborn child.”
“T-tom, for pity’s sake.”
But Tom was so overwrought he did not hear the Earl’s plea nor did it register that the words were rasped out between shallow breaths. He was blind to the sheen of cold sweat on the nobleman’s forehead. He watched without seeing as the nobleman slid down the wall, legs buckling under him, as if they were no longer able support him. All Tom cared about was making the Earl aware of what Jane had suffered, and that he blamed him just as much as he blamed Sir Felix and Jacob Allenby for the loss of her baby.
“She was given a herbal concocted by a squalid apothecary, tricked into believing it was a medicinal that would help her morning sickness,” he continued, squatting beside the Earl, who was slumped against the wall. “Poor Jane! She was so trusting of her nurse that she drank it without complaint, unaware that the foul tasting brew would quicken her babe before its time. She was four months pregnant with your child and the next day that child was dead. She could’ve died too. God knows what agony and anguish she endured and all because you abandoned her! You promised her everything and gave her nothing. You… you…”
Tom surrendered to his emotions. Anger spent, and with nothing left to say, he dropped to the tiles beside the traumatized nobleman and hung his head in his hands, oblivious to the Earl’s distressed and deteriorated state.
Salt had a fist clenched to his chest where sharp pain would not abate. His breathing was shallow and ragged; as if air had been punched from his lungs, leaving him gasping, making it impossible for him to take in air without great effort. Hot and dizzy of mind, heart pounding in his ears, and with his body shivering uncontrollably, day suddenly became night and he lost consciousness.
“My lord? Mr. Allenby?”
The shout came from the other end of the tennis court.
It was Arthur Ellis. He and a liveried footman had entered the Royal Tennis Court at the far end where abandoned on a bench were a couple of empty ale glasses, two tennis rackets, numerous leather balls and the gentlemen’s discarded frock coats. The secretary and servant strode towards the curious sight of Tom Allenby and the Earl slumped against the wall under the high set windows that allowed sunlight to stream across the court. Their stride broke into a trot when it became apparent their master was having difficulty breathing, and then into a run when he passed out.
“Tom? My God, what’s happened to his lordship? Tom?”
The secretary fell to his stockinged knees beside the Earl and frantically tugged at his master’s cravat, unraveling the intricate folds of linen, before moving on to undoing the horned buttons of the damp linen shirtfront.
“Sweet Jesus, Tom, what did you do to him?”
Tom lifted his head, red-faced and glassy-eyed. With a blink slowly regarded his friend as he ministered to his noble brother-in-law who was out cold next to him. He made no comment and dropped his head.
“Fetch a bottle of brandy and send
for a physician!” Arthur Ellis barked out over his shoulder at the hovering footman, who was off running down the court before the secretary had turned to continue his assessment of the Earl’s condition.
He reasoned that his master had suffered some sort of paralysis of the heart and if something wasn’t done immediately to wake him up there was every chance he would not make a recover. Arthur knew his employer had had very little sleep the two preceding nights, called out to the bedside of his godson, had spent hours in conference in the French tongue with the Russian Ambassador before a grueling session of Royal Tennis with a young man thirteen years his junior. In Arthur’s opinion, a recipe for a heart attack if ever there was one.
The secretary glanced at Tom as he took the nobleman’s pulse. “His heart is still working, thank God,” he said with an audible sigh. “He may well have just passed out from exhaustion. Tom, what happened, damn it!”
“He suffered a shock,” Tom muttered, “and fainted.”
“I can bloody well see that! But how—”
“Magnus? Magnus?”
The two men turned.
It was the Countess.
She rushed across the tennis court as fast as she could manage in a confection of embroidered petticoats and satin slippers, dropping to the tiles in a billow of layered silk beside her unconscious husband. Ignoring her brother and the secretary, who began to offer garbled explanations, she gathered the Earl up in her embrace, his head in her lap, a hand to his hot damp forehead, then to his flushed cheek, and finally to his cold wrist to feel his pulse, all the time speaking soothing words she hoped would see him open his eyes and look at her.
“Breathe, Magnus. Please breathe,” she whispered, smoothing the damp hair off his face and dropping a kiss on his mouth. “Slow, deep breaths. One breath at a time.” When his eyelids flickered she glanced up and stuck out a hand for the tumbler of brandy the footman was nervously pouring out under the secretary’s direction. “I have some brandy for you. Just open your eyes and look at me. Good. Keep breathing, slowly. No. Don’t try and move; a sip of brandy first. That’s good. Slowly. Sip it.” She smiled down at him and kissed him again when he smiled up at her. She was not smiling when she looked up at her brother and Arthur Ellis and thrust the tumbler back at them. “Tom? Mr. Ellis? What did you do to him? Couldn’t you see he is exhausted? He’s been up all night. Mr. Ellis! You should have sent the Ambassador away early,” she threw at Arthur, and then glared at Tom and then back at the secretary before addressing them both. “He needs rest. He needs sleep. You should not have played him at tennis, Tom! You’re not blind! You could see how he was. You should have declined the invitation. Why are you both standing there gaping at me? Mr. Ellis! Where is his lordship’s physician? Tom! Be useful and find Willis and Mr. Jenkins. You,” she said, addressing the footman, “find Andrews and have him prepare his lordship’s bath. We must get Salt to his rooms where he can be comfortable.”
The footman turned and fled. Arthur Ellis stared at Tom. Both men flushed up with guilt, opened their mouths to protest, threw each other a meaningful glance, before staring dumbly down at the engaging sight of the small ferocious kitten-like Countess with the bear-sized Earl in her silken lap. They could find nothing to say in their defense, nor was Tom prepared to elaborate on his discussion with the nobleman. He was about to follow the footman’s example and turn tail and flee to do his stepsister’s bidding when the Earl spoke.
“Jane?” he said wonderingly, as if seeing her for the first time. “Jane.” He lifted a hand to her cheek. “My Jane… Tom isn’t to blame. The fault lies with—”
“Oh, hush!” Jane pouted. Seeing a natural even color return to his clean-shaven cheeks she vented her relief as she and Tom helped him to sit up, propping him against the wall. “No, it is not Tom’s fault, and it is not the fault of Mr. Ellis. It is your fault, bloody obstinate man! You knew you were worn-out when you came home this morning after being with Ron all night, but you foolishly insisted on seeing the Russian Ambassador. Tony and His Excellency would have understood and come another day if they knew of your exhaustion. Better they have the hope of seeing you again than for you to-to drop—to drop dead on me! You should have gone back to bed. Instead, your stubborn idiotic pride to do your duty—No!” she said with a sniff and quickly forced the tears to the back of her eyes. “I am not crying! I am angry. So—so very, very angry with you, Magnus, I could—”
“I love you, Jane.”
It was a simple sentence, said simply. She wasn’t at all sure he was in his right mind, or that he was restful of body but it was all she had ever wanted to hear him say in the cold light of day since her eighteenth birthday. She smiled into his tired brown eyes and unconsciously sighed her contentment. Tears ran down her flushed face and she kissed his hand and pressed it to her cheek.
“I love you so very much I hate you for frightening me in this way!”
Salt pulled her onto his lap and kissed her, then could not resist rubbing the tip of his long nose against hers. It was a natural, intimate gesture he used when they were alone together and it never failed to make her heart swell with joy. Yet, Jane saw that he was still not entirely himself and his grave expression gave her pause for thought. Her smile faded.
“Are you perfectly well? Would you care for another drop of brandy?”
He shook his head, distracted, a frown between his brows as he traced her full lower lip with his thumb. “What manner of man must you think me? I’ve been so manifestly self-absorbed, and you… When I think what you…”
He swallowed hard, closed his eyes and looked away, unable to complete the sentence.
Jane realized that whatever he might say to the contrary what he needed was rest. She glanced up at her stepbrother whose gaze had shot to the ceiling rafters the moment the noble couple embraced, while the secretary had turned to the sound of hurried footfall coming across the tennis court. It seemed as if a regiment had been summonsed, but in fact it was his lordship’s valet Andrews, followed by the butler, followed by the under-butler, and behind Willis, the Earl’s physician, and breathing down Dr. Barlow’s back, three burly footmen. All were brought up short by the sight of the Earl seated on the floor with the Countess on his lap. When the physician began rummaging in his doctor’s bag, Salt put up a hand to forestall him, and the portly gentleman stepped back in line to wait.
“Ron and Merry will be here on the hour,” Salt was saying to Jane, tucking a loose strand of black hair behind her ear. “I want you to keep them with you while I speak to—to their mother. On no account are Ron and Merry to leave this house.”
“You are taking the children from her?”
“Yes. It is necessary.”
Despite the decision being the right one, Jane was distressed at the thought of Ron and Merry being separated from their mother. “Will they—will they be permitted to see her again?”
“If and when I deem the time is right. And then only under close supervision.” When Jane frowned, he added reassuringly, “It is for the best. Ron won’t pull through another episode like last night if he remains in her care.”
“Her obsession with you has unhinged her I think.”
Salt swallowed, Tom’s revelations still painfully raw. “Yes,” he said quietly. “More than I could ever possibly have imagined.” He kissed her hand and rallied himself sufficiently to force a smile. “I have so much to say to you, but I must put my affairs in order first. They will be resolved today, that I promise you.” He flicked her cheek. “Now you must leave me and see to the children.”
She nodded, though she was reluctant to leave him. He appeared recovered from his faint, but there was a hardness to his face which still lacked color, and a look in his eye, something akin to sadness, that she could not fathom. He was certainly preoccupied with something or someone. Perhaps it was with Lady St. John and the task of separating her from Ron and Merry. She so wanted to tell him about their baby but again sensed this was not the moment. She would wait until
the evening. Such momentous news deserved to be announced when all other considerations had been dealt with, and it would surely give the children and the family a happier focus.
“What is it, Jane?”
“Nothing that won’t keep until this evening.”
He helped her to stand.
“Keep? A secret, Jane?”
She shook out her petticoats and smoothed down the sit of her bodice. “Not a secret, a surprise.”
He frowned. “I do not like surprises.”
She went up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Then you had best be sitting down with a good cup of tea when I tell you.”
“Tea, Jane? If I need to be seated, perhaps cognac would better suit the occasion?”
“Yes. Cognac or Champagne. Either would be perfect. Now I will go and make ready for Ron and Merry.” She glanced over at the huddle of men who were pretending an interest in their shoe buckles, then looked back at her husband. “You must allow Dr. Barlow to examine you. Play nice. Promise.”
At that he laughed and pinched her chin. “Promise.”
At the Gallery door she blew him a kiss.
The Countess was barely gone from the tennis court when the Earl turned on Tom.
“I need those documents at once. Don’t send a servant. Fetch them yourself. Show no one. Tell no one. Arthur! After you have dealt with the correspondence left on my desk, make yourself useful to her ladyship. On no account is Lady St. John to be admitted to the Countess’s sitting room.” He waved a finger at the three burly footmen. “Take those three with you. Andrews! Why are you here and not readying my bath? No! Don’t speak. Go. Jenkins! Show Dr. Barlow the street.
“My lord! I protest! I must examine you!”
“Don’t be absurd. Jenkins?”
The butler had the physician by the elbow.
“But her ladyship entreated that you play ni—”
The Earl took his shoulders off the wall to stand tall. His nostrils quivered. “This is playing nice, Barlow. Good day. Why are you smiling?” he demanded of the under-butler whose gaze immediately dropped to his shoe leather. Salt glanced over the servant’s bowed head. Satisfied the dismissed servants were out of hearing range he returned his attention to Willis. “I have a commission for you. It must be carried out at once and in the utmost secrecy.”
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