Lady of Sin

by Madeline Hunter

  “Good cause, Mr. Yardley,” she said firmly. “Not some cause. Good cause. You knew of this alliance. I have seen a letter from you that indicates you did.”

  His attempts to retreat into startled ignorance broke down. Mouth tight and brow furrowed, he suddenly looked much older. Old and worried.

  “May I inquire what you think you know?” he tried.

  Nathaniel commanded his attention. “We would prefer if you simply told us what you know.”

  Yardley stared sightlessly at the carpet, then glanced at Charlotte. His face flushed. He looked at Nathaniel helplessly. “Sir, the lady . . .”

  “Mr. Yardley, I regret if my presence unsettles you, but I must hear all,” Charlotte said. “Whatever you reveal can be no worse than my imagination’s fears.”

  “I know very little, actually.”

  Nathaniel’s patience began to ebb. “Mr. Yardley, we can hold these discussions among ourselves, informally, or official inquiries can be initiated. These concerns touch on a title, and if necessary the whole matter can be given over to the House of Lords.”

  The vicar’s face drained of color. He peered over to see if Nathaniel was serious. Nathaniel glared back more resolve than he felt.

  The man shrank, folding into his chair as if half the air had left his body. “It was not a typical grand tour. My fault there. I take full responsibility.” The last was said to Charlotte. “Once we left England, I proposed that we alter the itinerary, and visit some adventurous spots along with the cultural centers. They were both so staid, you see. So . . . boring.” He reddened and his eyes begged Charlotte’s forgiveness. “Philip agreed, and James did not mind, so we circled the Mediterranean. It was wonderful, the colors and contrasts . . .”

  He drifted off into a private reverie. Nathaniel called him back. “You ended in Spain?”

  “Yes. Full circle then. Their civil war was localized. It came and went, so to speak, and we thought to make a quick visit, a few weeks, then sail home. Unfortunately, it flared up while we were there. Not only did it become difficult to find passage out, but there were other . . . developments.” He grimaced at Charlotte again.

  “Do not compromise the truth for my sake,” she said.

  “Who was she?” Nathaniel asked.

  “Her name was Isabella Zafra, the daughter of a middling landowner. Unfortunately, her brother had revolutionary ideas that put her at risk. Philip formed an . . . infatuation for her. He did not want to leave her to an uncertain fate. He devised a plan to get her out.”

  “Marriage?”

  “Not a real one,” Yardley hastened to say. “She was Catholic, and only such unions are legal there. He was not. By being less than forthcoming regarding his station and religion, there could be a ceremony that would permit her to leave as his wife, when in fact she really was not.” He smiled hopefully. “The small deception seemed minor in light of the goal. We truly feared for her life.”

  “Except such a marriage would be legal,” Nathaniel said. “If legal in the locale in which it occurred, even here—”

  “It would not have been legal there. One cannot marry under false pretenses in any Church. He said he was a Catholic, Mr. Knightridge. He did not reveal he was heir to the title. I am not even sure he used his correct family name. A sympathetic country priest did the deed. I do not even know if proper records were made.”

  Nathaniel kept most of his attention on Charlotte, looking for evidence she was convinced. Yardley could spin any tale so long as it did not distress her more.

  “The passage was obtained. We were set to go. The night before our sailing she disappeared, leaving a note saying she was going inland to bring back her mother to accompany us and would return by noon. Philip had taken ill—the first time his later sickness manifested itself—so James went after her. We waited, poised to flee. James returned many hours later, right before the ship was to sail. Alone. There had been fighting at their property. The government was searching for the brother. She had been killed in the gunfire.”

  “James saw this?” Nathaniel asked.

  He shook his head. “He heard the guns. A servant running away told him. We thought her dead. Later, Philip sought confirmation. Like you, he wanted assurance that marriage might not have some legal validity. I assured him not, but . . .”

  “But you are not a canon lawyer, nor qualified to say,” Charlotte noted. “Did this woman think the marriage was valid, Mr. Yardley? Did she understand the plan?”

  “We explained it clearly,” he said.

  “You were asked to make further inquiries some years later.” Nathaniel repositioned himself as he spoke. He moved so that he faced Yardley squarely and could see his face, and his eyes, very clearly.

  “Philip asked it of me when he contemplated marriage. For obvious reasons, he desired discretion. I corresponded with some friends visiting Spain, and asked them to look into her whereabouts. I learned she was indeed dead. That ended it.” His gaze shifted here and there, but finally met Nathaniel’s. His suddenly confident expression almost masked his thoughts. Almost. This actor wasn’t quite good enough, however.

  “She was not dead. She came to England five years ago. Did you know this?”

  The vicar’s face went blank. It was supposed to look like shock and disbelief. “Good heavens! That is impossible.”

  “She came. She is dead now, but she was not when you made your inquiries.”

  “I am truly undone. You astonish me. I am sure you must be wrong.”

  Nathaniel studied Charlotte. She appeared to accept the story as told. She believed there had been a sham marriage to save the life of the young woman. She did not see the dissembling. Perhaps she did not want to.

  “You are satisfied, madam?”

  She rose to her feet. “I am, Mr. Knightridge. Thank you for your time, Mr. Yardley. I am glad to have met my husband’s old friend, who showed him some adventure and helped him attempt to save a damsel in distress.”

  Yardley flustered under her attention and praise. Relaxed now, confidently so, he accompanied them outside and saw them off in their carriage.

  Fifty yards down the lane, Charlotte called for the carriage to stop. She emerged from deep thought. “He was lying, wasn’t he?”

  Nathaniel exhaled a small sigh. Sometimes he wished she were just a little bit dimmer. “He was not lying.”

  “Then he was being careful in the truths he revealed.”

  “Charl—”

  “There was a child. There was a woman who called herself Mrs. Marden, and who thought her child had claims. Mr. Yardley would not want to speak of such in front of me. He would not want to be indelicate when it no longer mattered. She thought she was married, however, even if she was not. I am quite sure of that.”

  “She spoke a different language. At worst, it was a misunderstanding.”

  “Jenny said she spoke English well enough.” Charlotte reached for a book that she kept in the carriage to read on long rides. “I will wait here while you return and ask him about it.”

  She settled in with her book. He experienced a wave of irritation, full of all the provocations she had ever caused.

  “Charlotte, there are times like this when I want nothing more than to turn you over my knee.”

  She did not even look up. “Would that arouse you, Nathaniel?”

  “Jesus, Charl.”

  She shot him a far too knowing look. “I see. You want it for more than excitement. You are vexed with me. Is it because I have told you what to do, or because I know that you intended to speak privately with him at some point anyway? Really, darling, there is no reason to make another journey. You may as well deal with it now.”

  Lord have mercy, the woman was going to drive him mad. He jumped out of the carriage and strode up the lane.

  “He is in the garden, sir.”

  Nathaniel pushed past the housekeeper. “I will go to him. I forgot to give him a message entrusted in my care.”

  He was in no mood for forma
lities and niceties. He had intended to return at some point and have this conversation, damn it. Probably. Most likely. If he was going to have it now, he wanted to be done with it.

  He found his way to the garden. Yardley sat on an iron bench in the midst of naturalistically arranged plantings of bushes and branches aching to bud. His eyes were closed and his face raised to the sky. He did not sleep, Nathaniel was certain. He appeared to be a man composing himself, searching for internal stillness.

  Yardley did not hear the approach until Nathaniel was almost upon him. His eyes flashed open. Awareness. Caution. Fear. It was all there, plainly this time, before the actor could collect himself.

  Nathaniel grabbed the shoulder of his coat and hauled him to his feet. “Come with me. This way.” He pushed Yardley to the far end of the garden, to a wall obscured by a tall hedge.

  He threw Yardley up against the wall. “Now you will tell me the rest.”

  Yardley tried to sink into the stone. He sputtered with indignation and objections. Nathaniel lost his patience.

  “This living was late coming to you. It is a handsome one too. Very handsome for a tutor. You received it near the time that woman came from Spain. Not from Philip, but from his brother.”

  Yardley started crumbling. Shrinking. His fear smelled. He glanced around as if trapped, or worried someone might overhear. Nathaniel did nothing to reassure him. He stepped yet closer, so his size dwarfed the man.

  “Isabella Zafra thought she was truly married. Tell me why.”

  “His honor,” he croaked. The first words made it easier, like a blockage had dislodged. He inhaled deeply. “The night of that Catholic marriage, she went to him. A wedding night. He was an honorable man, but—well, he was young and infatuated and—the next morning, he demanded I perform another ceremony, an Anglican one. His sense of honor demanded it, since he had—they had—”

  “You had taken orders already?”

  He nodded. “I was ordained right after completing my studies. A position as a curate waited for me, but after several years it was given to another. So I took a position as a tutor.”

  “It was a legal ceremony then.”

  Yardley looked miserable. “I do not know! There were two witnesses, but local people and who knows if they even understood what they signed. James refused to witness or be present.”

  Of course he refused. He did not want to be the proof should this marriage ever be repudiated by his brother.

  “I never registered the marriage.” Yardley sounded desperate to make light of it all. “She was dead, the whole matter was full of ambiguities and—even the license was nothing more than a document drawn up by me as best I could, with their signatures.”

  “Where is that document?”

  “I burned it.”

  Nathaniel looked over his shoulder, at the garden and handsome house. He reached over and fingered the edge of Yardley’s silk cravat. “No, you did not. Or if you did, Mardenford does not think so. You have let him believe you still have it. You are blackmailing him.”

  “Blackmail! How dare—I have never demanded a penny—”

  “Then you have a partnership. Or he has seduced your morals. He sees to your welfare and comfort with this living, to ensure your conscience does not lead you to something foolish. If your silence is this expensive, you must know about the boy.”

  “Boy? What boy? I know nothing about—”

  “When I referred to an inquiry by the House of Lords, you knew what I meant. The title could only be in question if Philip had a son, unknown but legitimate.”

  Yardley’s eyes widened in horror. He reddened. Nathaniel let him absorb his position for a ten count, then stepped back, physically untrapping him.

  He did not want this man intimidated and cowering, but instead amenable to interrogation. He altered his stance to one less towering and lowered his voice to a friendlier tone.

  “I will learn all of it. I am close already. You knew about the boy, which means James told you. He could only know because Isabella wrote to him when she arrived in England. It must have been a shock for both of you.”

  Yardley relaxed a little. He closed his eyes and vaguely shook his head. “You cannot imagine the distress. He put her off, of course. Explained how it had been. I suggested he give her a little money, since the boy—it seemed only right. He refused to believe it was his brother’s son. A by-blow of another man, he said. He refused to acknowledge what had happened or that he had any responsibility for her or the boy. He told her to go away.”

  “She did not go away, however. She continued writing for almost a year.”

  “It sounds as if you know more than enough and have nothing else to learn. Leave me in peace. I did nothing wrong. My role was small and long ago. I have told you all I know.”

  Nathaniel doubted that. He looked away, to a distant boxwood hedge along the eastern wall of the garden. Succulent green shoots rowed its bottom, as bulbs pushed up their leaves.

  Did he want to know the rest? This had been enough to appease Charlotte. She could live with this story. Her husband had shown honor in a way, and that old alliance had been formed under extraordinary circumstances.

  He could walk out of this garden now, and leave the final questions unanswered. Or he could ask the questions that might reveal truths that could not be ignored and that would bring Charlotte more pain and massive scandal.

  His need to know had led to a horrible place. All he had to show for it was a history to give Harry, and a dreadful decision.

  Yardley shifted his weight. Nathaniel glanced at the movement. Without choosing to, his gaze landed right on Yardley’s eyes. On them, and in them.

  The truth flickered out at him. It was visible beneath the relief now that Yardley’s guard was down. Unmistakably there.

  In that instant, the choice to walk away still ignorant, to never know, was lost.

  “You met her,” he said. “When he arranged to see her that day near the Thames, he brought you with him. He wanted a man of God to explain why she had no claims. You know what happened there. You saw it all.”

  Desperation replaced relief in Yardley eyes. Masks rose and fell in quick succession. Confusion, then indignation, then anger, then . . . nothing. No mask, and no strength. He looked at Nathaniel with a stricken, beseeching face. His eyes glistened and his mouth trembled.

  He began sinking. His back slid down the stone until he sat on the ground like a big, limp doll. He looked up at Nathaniel with great sorrow, then gazed into the garden.

  “I am ruined by my own weakness. May God forgive me.”

  Nathaniel climbed into the carriage and gave orders for it to move. Charlotte set aside her book. It had been a longer wait than she expected.

  “Did he offer tea? Is that the reason for the delay?”

  “Brandy, actually.”

  “It is early for brandy.”

  “I’ll be damned, so it is. I clear forgot the time of day when I accepted.”

  His tone was not nearly as playful as normal when he pointed out her game. His expression on returning had been very thoughtful and displeased.

  “Are you angry that I asked you to go back?”

  “You did not ask. You demanded it. I am not angry that you did, but I am not happy that I complied.”

  “You would have sought him out again, Nathaniel. You would have gone back eventually.”

  “You do not know that, damn it. I do not know that.”

  She gave his annoyance some time to ebb. She waited several miles before speaking again. “Did you learn anything of significance?”

  His jaw firmed. His gaze speared a warning at her.

  “Are you going to tell me what it was?”

  “It was not significant to you and your inquiries. I learned nothing more about your husband.”

  “I find it hard to believe a clear line can be drawn on significance. It is all a knot, you said. If you are not telling me to protect me, I remind you that I have chosen to hear it all, a
nd can decide for myself—”

  His sudden movement interrupted her. He reached, grasped, lifted. The world spun. Then she was sprawled on his lap, her shoulders supported by his strong arm. He cupped her face with long, firm fingers.

  “I will protect you when I choose, how I choose. I will cut off my arm if I think it necessary. I will kill a man if I conclude I must. Do not dare to interfere with my decisions on that. Do we have a right understanding on that, madam?”

  His lack of humor, his firm command, left her stunned. “Yes, Nathaniel.”

  “Good.” His hold softened. His fingers slid down her jaw to her neck in a sinuous path. “Now, kiss me. We will spend this journey back to London on important things, not arguments about Mr. Yardley.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-ONE

  Nathaniel finished dressing for dinner. He would be attending a private party tonight at Charlotte’s house. A party for two.

  Her move to her sister’s home made their affair much easier. Too easy, perhaps. The inconveniences of a liaison no longer inhibited their meeting. He could call in the afternoon and simply never leave. Or arrive for a late dinner party at which there were no other guests.

  He had done this twice now since their return to town four days ago. She had known better than to quiz him about Yardley, but he knew she wondered what else had been learned. He shut that away when he was with her, but otherwise had spent these last days in a long, internal moral debate. He had needed to make a hard decision, one that involved more than Charlotte and Harry. It weighed on him, and his choice still occupied him now while he fixed his cuffs.

  He took his pocket watch from its case. Beneath it, the edge of a paper showed. He had debated how to handle Mardenford, and that paper would play a crucial role. He had settled on the best course, he believed—one that would protect Charlotte but still achieve some justice. His conscience had not yet accommodated the compromise, however. The final decision to act had not been made.

  Jacobs left to tell the Albany grooms to ready his horse. Nathaniel finished with his neckwear, donned his coats, and walked to the front of the apartment.