“He’s tired or he wouldn’t be like this.”
“You are quite right, Merry,” Salt agreed when he had mastered his emotions, the boy still clinging tightly to him. He lightly brushed her cheek with one finger. “Tomorrow he will be more himself. We all will.”
Sensing a presence loomed over them, he swiveled on a flat heel with Ron still in his arms and found petticoats of gold watered silk brushing up against his leg. It was Diana. Before Salt could disentangle himself and stand up, she lunged for Merry, frightening Viscount Fourpaws, who hissed and swiped his paw and scratched the back of her hand. She shrieked and let out an expletive and tried to pull the kitten by the scruff of the neck up out of her daughter’s arms, but Merry would not let go. She held on tightly to Viscount Fourpaws, who meowed his protests at such rough treatment, and pulled away from her mother, the frightened kitten trying to scramble out of her arms to safety.
“Give me that disgusting little ferret, Magna!” Diana St. John hissed, making another lunge for the kitten. “It should’ve been drowned at birth! It will be drowned.”
“No! No, Mamma! You can’t!” Merry implored, big brown eyes staring up at her mother. Her bottom lip quivered and tears pricked her eyelids. “You frightened him. You can’t drown him! Uncle Salt won’t let you! He belongs to Aunt Jane. He’s just a baby cat!”
“Babies are offensive, vile creations!” Diana St. John spat out before she could stop herself. “No one deserves to have his babies. She doesn’t deserve to have his babies. She mustn’t. She won’t. She isn’t worthy. I won’t allow it! Mamma will be miserable. You don’t want Mamma to be miserable, do you, Magna? Now give me that odious creature!”
Salt caught her wrist before she could grab again for the kitten and her daughter. He had sprung to his feet, as had everyone in the room, and quickly put Ron behind him. Merry darted to join her brother, the kitten meowing in protest as he was hugged tightly to her silk bodice. Both children huddled against the Earl’s broad back, little fingers grabbing on tightly to the silver trimmed short skirts of his frock coat, their faces hidden in the soft cloth, eyes tightly shut, not daring to peer at their seething mother.
Diana St. John swirled about, wild-eyed and panting, to stare up at the Earl, who was ashen faced and thin-lipped, before looking about her uncomprehendingly at the still silent faces gathered around the tea trolley. When she wondered aloud why the Earl had her by the wrist, it was evident she was oblivious to the fact her rage had driven her to reveal her innermost thoughts, thoughts that appalled everyone in the room. Nor could she comprehend their horror or the effect her words had had on the Earl and Countess.
“Let that be your last defiant act, Madam. Had you come to my bookroom as requested your brother would have been spared the humiliation of having his sister’s contemptible and reprehensible behavior aired in public. Apologies, Antony, but now I don’t care. Sit,” he ordered and let go of her wrist with a little push and an opening of his hand, as if he did not want the touch of her. “Caroline, be so good as to come here. The rest of you, sit down. You too, my lady,” he added gently when Jane took a step towards him.
He dared to allow his gaze to focus on his wife for the first time since coming into her sitting room and he wished he had had the will power to refrain from doing so. Jane had been halfway across the room, brow furrowed in concern for the twins, who still clung to either side of his short skirts, and it was only when he addressed her that she brought herself up short and her blue-eyed gaze flickered up to his brown eyes. A mix of emotions crossed her beautiful face and it took all his self-control to turn away and pray that she did as she was told, because his overwhelming desire was to scoop her up in his arms and twirl her round and round and cover her face with kisses for making him the happiest man alive. Instead, he opened the servant door and went into the narrow passage where he gently disentangled Ron and Merry from his frock coat and then spoke to someone out of view. Soothing words and hugs of reassurance and he let the twins go and returned to the sitting room to stand in the open doorway. He beckoned Lady Caroline to him and kissed her hand.
“I want you to go up to the nursery and keep an eye on them. They shouldn’t be left with servants as their only company at this time. I’ll explain later. I can’t do that now. You will have to trust me, Caro. Please. Do this for me.”
Lady Caroline pouted and opened her mouth to protest about being treated as a child and sent away when anything of interest occurred, but something in the Earl’s brown eyes, in the set of his mouth and the tiredness in his face forestalled her. She nodded, obedient and remarkably composed for her seventeen and a half years of age.
“Yes, of course. Will you—will you be all right? Will everything be all right?”
He kissed her forehead and smiled down at her. “Yes. Before the day is out everything will be set to rights. That I promise you.”
Lady Caroline nodded, curtseyed to the room, and was gone.
Salt closed the door on her back and joined the rest of the silent group, all eyes upon him in mute expectation.
Recovered from her extraordinary outburst, Diana St. John had resumed her place in front of the tea trolley and was languidly fanning herself and looking for the world as if nothing was amiss. To everyone’s amazement, she even went so far as to order Arthur Ellis to fetch the Countess’s dolt of a maid to go in search of the butler. The teapot needed replenishing and she couldn’t understand why Jenkins wasn’t in attendance on them for afternoon tea. Completely oblivious to the heavy air of tension in the light-filled sitting room, she began rearranging the tea dishes in anticipation of pouring out more tea when it arrived.
Still in shock, no one bothered to reply, not even Jane. She was preoccupied with watching her husband, whose inscrutable gaze remained fixed on Diana St. John. It was only when Tom squeezed her fingers that Jane reluctantly tore her gaze from the Earl. When Tom winked conspiratorially and smiled warmly she wondered why and what he knew, though his seeming buoyancy helped ease her mind, but it did not dissipate the crescendo of anticipation that something of significance was about to occur here in her sitting room.
The silence was broken by Sir Antony taking snuff.
It was the spur Arthur Ellis needed to come to life and he shot to his feet, unable to take another moment of the suspense and silent forced restraint. Diana St. John thought he had done so at her command, to fetch the Countess’s maid and looked up at the Earl expectantly.
“Shall you take a dish of tea when it comes, Salt?” she asked pleasantly. “Or would you prefer claret? You look tired unto death. Hardly surprising, is it, when we spent another all night vigil at Ron’s bedside. Did you manage to get a few hours sleep? Ellis, when you find that insipid creature have her get Jenkins to fetch up a bottle of claret for his lordship.”
The secretary, instead of doing her bidding, looked to his employer and then at the Countess, seeking direction, completely at a loss to know what he should do, or what he should say.
The Earl came to his rescue.
He was staring at Diana St. John but thinking about the day he had met Jane Despard. He thought about the hollowness of his existence these past four years without her. With his hopes of marrying her so cruelly dashed and caught up in the political machinations of Westminster, the social events of Polite Society and the running of his estates, he had convinced himself that domesticity was unimportant to him, all because of his malaise of the heart. Yet, since marrying Jane he had come to regard his domestic arrangements as vital to his health and happiness. Tom’s astonishing revelations had provided him with proof of his ability to father a child with Jane, but such welcome news had come at a heart-breaking cost; the loss of a much wanted child, maliciously destroyed, and that brought him back to Diana St. John and her interference in his life. The more he had ruminated the more he realized St. John’s wife had meddled in his life more years then he cared to contemplate. That she had interfered where it mattered most to him, with Jane and her happiness
and wellbeing, made him livid.
“I had hoped to make this as painless as possible, and without an audience,” he said with great forbearance, standing by the fireplace. “Never mind. Perhaps this way is for the best. If one is to humbly atone then it is appropriate that those who matter most should bear witness. But I’m afraid, Arthur, that you must leave us. It is not that I do not trust you. I do, implicitly. It is for the sake of her ladyship and my need to have you run a number of important errands without delay that you cannot remain. I have left instructions on my desk for what I need from you. There are also letters that require immediate delivery: One to Rockingham, one to Bute. A third is addressed to His Majesty. Deliver them yourself and do so at once. There are copies of my correspondence, which you are welcome to read and digest. If you then decide to reconsider your present employment, and what ambitious man would not, I will understand and recommend you with a glowing reference.”
Arthur Ellis gave a start, looked swiftly at his friend Tom, who smiled at him, before composing himself and bowing to his lordship. “Yes, of course, my lord. I will see to matters at once,” he replied obediently and deposited his dish and saucer on the silver tray. He hesitated, then crossed to Jane to make her a deep bow. “I am, my lady, your humble and most obedient servant, always.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ellis. Your loyalty means a great deal to me and,” Jane added with a smile at the Earl, “to my husband.”
What her husband said next truly surprised her.
“Oh, and Arthur,” added the Earl, “send her ladyship’s maid to the nursery. Mr. Willis will join her there shortly. I presume Miss Anne Springer is lurking in some nether room?”
“Listening at the keyhole if the truth be told,” Diana St. John grumbled.
As the secretary departed, he left the door ajar, allowing Jane a glimpse into the passageway. To her astonishment and consternation there lingered just outside her sitting room what appeared to be a battalion of liveried footmen kicking their heels in wait, and with them was Mr. Jenkins and Rufus Willis. The butler closing over the door and Lady St. John’s exuberance brought her gaze back into the room, where the woman was holding court.
“So! It’s finally come. You are to be First Lord of the Treasury at last! When do you kiss hands?” Diana St. John asked excitedly, gazing adoringly up at the Earl. “All our hard work has paid off. I knew it would! How could it not? You will make a brilliant first minister. When does Bute resign? Tomorrow? Today? Is it not exciting, Antony? Perhaps Salt will find you a place in his cabinet? What think you, Salt? Is my little brother to have the Foreign Department? Have you decided on the rest of your ministry? Naturally, Rockingham must be given something, Newcastle too. If only those two would cooperate more with one another. No matter. You will keep them both in line. Now, let me see, who else is deserving of your notice—”
“I have declined His Majesty’s offer to form government,” Salt answered matter-of-factly, taking one of the sheets of parchment from the mantle where he had placed them. From his waistcoat pocket he produced his gold-rimmed spectacles. “In fact,” he continued calmly, deftly sitting his eyeglasses on the end of his nose with the paper still in his hand, “I have informed His Majesty that I have decided to rusticate for the foreseeable future. I have also vacated my chair on the Privy Council, effective immediately.”
“Wh-what?” Lady St. John demanded, up out of the wingchair. She was so incredulous that it subdued her enough to ask quietly, “How can you throw away the opportunity of a lifetime? We have spent years working towards this goal. You cannot resign your posts! You cannot vacate the Privy Council. You certainly can’t waste your talents rusticating in a Wiltshire backwater! His Majesty won’t allow it. I won’t allow it! I don’t understand.”
“You have never understood and you never will,” Salt replied evenly. “My own house must be in good order before I can possibly contemplate running the kingdom. To do that I must be true to myself; a gentleman and a family man, the Earl of Salt Hendon a paltry third.”
Sir Antony smiled, completely attune to the Earl’s feelings. “Bravo for you, Salt,” he said quietly, all admiration for his friend’s decision. “Bravo.”
“Don’t be an ass, Antony!” Diana St. John said dismissively and peered keenly at the Earl. “You’re not well. It’s the strain of the past few months. The corridor machinations over Bute’s possible resignation and the Peace negotiations have taken their toll. You’re wearing your eyeglasses. You must be suffering megrims. A few days at Strawberry Hill with Walpole to lift your spirits and you will see that you cannot possibly rusticate. You are needed to lead your country.”
Salt opened out the letter and turned to Lady St. John to stare at her over the rims of his spectacles. “I have made my decision. Sit down, Diana.”
But Lady St. John remained standing. She was too disbelieving to do as commanded. She shut her fan with a snap and put up her chin. “You are in jest. This is a cruel joke. You know very well that a few years, one year, playing sheep farmer on your estate is a-a lifetime in the political wilderness. You may never again have the opportunity to form government. You truly can’t be serious!”
“I have never been more so.” Salt held up the parchment. “This letter bears my seal, but I did not write it. It is a forgery, and not very good copy of my fist. It is a letter you wrote in my name, Diana,” he drawled, an ugly pull to his mouth. “No doubt you were confident that the recipient would presume I had written it in haste and with some emotion, and that this would explain the lack of consistency in the forming of my letters. Or perhaps you rightly predicted that my betrothed would be in such a state of emotional duress upon reading this breach of promise note that she would be unlikely to think beyond the letter’s deplorable content?”
Jane let out an involuntarily gasp, a shaking hand to her mouth, and looked from her husband to Lady St. John and then to her stepbrother. “How did Salt recover—”
“From me, Jane. Uncle Jacob left the letter to me in his will,” Tom explained gently. He smiled and kissed the back of her hand. “I thought the time had come to hand it over.”
“My betrothed would hardly worry about the authenticity of the fist given her deeply distressed state,” the Earl said, gaze remaining on Lady St. John. “Well, Madam. Do you have anything to add?”
Diana St. John’s response was unemotional, but her confidence had slipped to be so coldly addressed by the Earl. She sensed an impenetrable wall of ice was forming between them and yet years of self-delusion convinced her that she was in the right and that he must see that she was in the right. After all, everything she had done, no matter how unpleasant or demeaning, had been done for his benefit and his alone. She loved him unconditionally but with that love came sacrifices, sacrifices he had to be willing to make if she was to help him become First Lord of the Treasury. She would make him understand. She met the Earl’s brown eyes with an air of confidence.
“I am not about to deny it. Why should I? What I did, my actions in all things, have always been governed by my ambition for you. You are destined for political greatness. Everyone says so, from Holland to Rockingham to Bute. All sides of the political pen agree on that, even if they cannot agree on anything else. You have done so much for your country already, and will do more in the future. Sinclairs have been serving king and country since the Plantagenets. I could not allow you to throw away your future and your happiness on some lust-driven whim taken in the summerhouse. I was merely protecting you from yourself.”
“Future? Happiness?” The Earl’s self-control unraveled. He ripped off his eyeglasses. “What the bloody hell would you know about my-my feelings?” He thrust out his velvet arm in Jane’s direction. “She—Jane is my future. Jane is my happiness. Even in her despair, when under the power of a religious lunatic, Jane never gave up hope in me. Jane loves me—me, not because one day I will be First Lord of the Treasury or of this or of that or of any-bloody-thing else! Does that penetrate your skull, Madam? Jane loves me.
”
Diana St. John’s laugh was one of outraged skepticism.
“Good God, Salt! I do despair of you at times,” she said with a sad shake of her perfectly coiffured head as she took a turn from the wingchair by the fireplace to the sofa and back again to stand before the Earl with her chin up. She patted the silver threaded narrow lapel of his frock coat. “You are a brilliant political strategist, to be sure, but the instant you allow the blood to pool between your tree-trunk thighs your mind is reduced to that of a jellyfish! Ah, such are the minds of warm-blooded vigorous men of intellect when they allow lust to override sense. But that’s what I am here for. To ensure you don’t completely come unstuck.” She turned with a swish of her layered gown to address the Countess. “Lord! You didn’t even have the wit or skill to keep your legs closed until you were up before a parson,” she taunted with a menacing wave of her fan. “You’re so pathetically naïve you even allowed him to impreg—”
The Earl dropped his spectacles and had her by the throat.
“Murderess,” he hissed in her face, fingers under her jaw to keep her mouth shut. It took all his self-control not to squeeze the life out of her. “If not for you, my wife would not have suffered the shame of being banished from her own home; of being shunned by her own father who wrongly accused her of being a whore. If not for you, she would not have been forced to accept Jacob Allenby’s protection, and whose obsession with redemption made her life a misery. If not for you, I would not have considered her beneath my contempt for tossing me over so lightly. If not for you, I would not have spent four years wondering what my life could have been.
Scandalous Brides Page 80
