Scandal Becomes Her

by Shirlee Busbee

  Admiring her command of the situation, Dibble bowed and murmured, “Absolutely, my lady.”

  “Excellent! But first will you have tea and some biscuits served in the green salon?”

  Dibble bowed again. “I shall see to it immediately.”

  Nell beamed at Diana. “You see? Everything is taken care of. Now, if you and Elizabeth will come with me, we shall retire to the green salon where you can tell me all about your journey.”

  Left standing in the entry hall surrounded by a mountain of trunks and valises, Julian watched the trio walk away. A smile lurked at the corners of his mouth as his eyes rested on Nell’s slender form. By Jupiter! That had been a near thing! If Nell hadn’t come to his rescue, he’d probably still be standing here looking like a wide-eyed hare pursued by hounds.

  Feeling almost sanguine about having his wife and his stepmother under the same roof, he set off for his study. In any battle of wills between the two women, he rather thought he’d put his money on Nell. Recalling the masterful way Nell had cut the ground from underneath his stepmother, he grinned. Poor Diana! She had been bowled over before she knew what hit her.

  Lady Diana and Elizabeth integrated into the household at Wyndham Manor without major incident. It helped that Nell kept her head about her and that Lady Diana, while silly and at times vexing, had no malice in her. There were a few tussles, but in the main, the addition of Lady Diana and Elizabeth proved to be a pleasant occurrence.

  As the days passed winter increased its grip on the countryside and though they did not suffer the severe ice and snow that racked other less salubrious parts of England, there were many days that the weather made it impossible as well as impractical to be abroad. With Nell happily enmeshed in Lady Diana’s planned renovation of the Dower House Julian was able to lock himself away in his study with his man of business and farm manager and concentrate on estate matters, of which there were a multitude. Most were routine, easily delegated and planned for spring when the weather broke—the marling of some fields felt to be deficient in lime, discussion of rotation of crops for better yields and some overdue improvements to certain of his tenants’ houses. But the meeting with his gamekeeper was troublesome.

  “What do you mean ‘unusual depredations’?” Julian demanded.

  Appropriately named, John Hunter, the Wyndham gamekeeper, bore the stamp of the Old Earl on his harsh features and Julian had often wondered how his father had felt about having a half brother in service to him. He knew he felt dashed odd ordering about a man who was technically his uncle…another on the wrong side of the blanket.

  John Hunter was a massively built man with a mane of shaggy black hair and with the family’s piercing green eyes set beneath heavy black brows. He usually carried a stout staff in one hand and had no compunction about thrashing anyone caught trespassing on the earl’s lands. With his height and size and that punishing staff held ever ready, he was a formidable figure. Just the sight of him tramping through the woods was known to strike terror in the hearts of any poacher foolhardy enough to step one foot on the earl’s lands. Older than Julian by twenty-five years, he’d been gamekeeper at Wyndham Manor for almost as long as Julian could remember and his reputation for dealing swiftly and mercilessly with poachers was legendary and widespread in the neighborhood.

  At Julian’s question, John drew himself up and said with doleful satisfaction, “It’s as I’ve warned you time and again, my lord. Your hand has been too light and now you are paying the price—your lordship’s game is being slaughtered at will.”

  “Oh, come now, it can’t be that bad. And you know I don’t begrudge the occasional deer or leveret taken by poachers.”

  “Indeed, I do,” said John regretfully, his expression making it clear what he thought of that sort of folly. “But this is not that sort of thing. In the north woods recently I’ve been finding places of the most wanton butchery.” He shook his head in disgust. “I tell you, my lord, this is not some hungry poacher seeking to feed his family, this is a devil! A monster! The animals look…as if they’ve been torn apart and then discarded and left to rot.”

  “The game’s not been taken?” Julian asked, shocked.

  John shook his head. “None that I can tell, and there’s been no attempt to hide his deeds—it is as if he wants his foul handiwork found.”

  Julian stared hard at John’s weather-ravaged face. Leaving the game behind was unheard of…No poacher would do so. And no poacher with any sense would brave running into John by returning time and again. Yet, someone, Julian admitted, was entering his land at will, and if John was to be believed, senselessly slaughtering his game.

  Rising to his feet, Julian said, “Take me to the most recent site.”

  Julian had hoped that John had exaggerated the situation, but riding home after accompanying John to the latest kill, he knew that his gamekeeper had not exaggerated. The deer had been savaged as if by a wild beast. A wild beast armed with a knife…Julian felt the bile rise in his throat. Good God! What sort of monster could be responsible for the carnage? And how, he wondered, was he to find him and stop him?

  Lady Diana might very well be a silly woman, but she was not a stupid one and it had only taken her a matter of days to realize that while Nell was everything that was kind, this was the younger woman’s home now. Of a docile nature and never one to pout or repine long on events unchangeable, Lady Diana had instantly turned her attention into making the Dower House into an elegant home for herself and her daughter.

  The Dower House, situated a scant mile from Wyndham Manor in the middle of its own pretty park, had sat empty for the past twenty years or so, ever since Julian’s great-grandmother had died. The sprawling house, built on the site of a much older building, was two storied, with a steep tiled roof and tall, arched windows, and surrounded by several terraces adorned with shrubbery that was overgrown. The entire place had received only a minimum of upkeep over the years and the renovations, both inside and out, would be extensive. Nell, after walking through the shadowy, echoing house with Lady Diana and Elizabeth, and seeing the changes that needed to be wrought, resigned herself to having Lady Diana and Elizabeth living at the manor for the foreseeable future.

  Julian had promptly hired local builders and craftsmen for the project but the weather delayed many things. Though the physical renovations were progressing slowly, there was much the ladies could do to help things along and Nell threw herself into the agreeable task of helping select fabrics and furnishings.

  Gratified by Nell’s interest in the project and discovering that her new stepdaughter-in-law had a good eye for color and style, Lady Diana was delighted to include her, and along with Elizabeth, they were deep into the changes that she had planned. Swatches of fabric, catalogs of furniture styles and advertisements for carpets filled Lady Diana’s sitting room and, as winter deepened and the rain beat itself against the windows, seated near the cozy fire, there were intense discussions about wall coverings and fabric and color schemes for the Dower House.

  Remembering Lady Diana’s coolness to her the few times they’d met prior to the wedding, Nell had not been certain how she and Lady Diana would coexist in the same household together. It took Nell less than twenty-four hours to discover that though Lady Diana could be annoying and bird-witted, there was not a mean bone in her body. And as for Elizabeth…Elizabeth was a poppet and made Nell think that if she’d ever had a younger sister, she’d have wanted her to be like Elizabeth.

  At Julian’s invitation, Marcus came to dine one evening not long after Lady Diana and Elizabeth had arrived. The meal completed amid much lively talk, the ladies departed, leaving the two gentlemen in the dining room to enjoy their port.

  Having noted the ease among the women, Marcus raised his glass in a toast. “You always were a lucky devil and if I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would not believe how easily you drive a unicorn. Congratulations!” He grinned over his glass at Julian. “I was certain that you would have been torn to pieces by
now and I came, in pity, to dine over your corpse.”

  “It is my wife you should congratulate,” Julian admitted wryly. “When they first arrived all I could do was stand there wild-eyed and wind-broken like a bayed stag at a cliff’s edge. It was Nell who saved the situation. She keeps a cool head about her.”

  “Delightful though the subject is,” Marcus murmured, “I have the feeling that she is not the reason for my invitation to dine. Don’t tell me that Tynedale is causing trouble?”

  Julian shook his head. “No. In fact, the neighborhood has been very quiet. I have neither seen nor heard anything of Tynedale or my cousins’ activities. I suppose I should be worried but there is nothing that I can do until they make a move…if they make a move.”

  “Then if not Tynedale or Cousin Charles, what has you in a fret?”

  His expression becoming grim, Julian set down his glass and leaning forward asked, “Have you ever had any troubles with poachers?”

  Marcus looked surprised. “None other than the usual incursions one would expect. Nothing serious.”

  “Never any senseless slaughter? The game left behind?”

  “Never,” Marcus said, frowning. “And I can’t imagine with John Hunter prowling your grounds that there would be a poacher so lost to saving his own neck that he’d risk falling into John’s hands.”

  “Well, you’re wrong there,” Julian muttered and proceeded to explain the situation.

  “An ugly business,” Marcus said when Julian had finished speaking.

  Julian nodded. “I’ve given John permission to hire some extra men to help him patrol the grounds at night. He wants to set traps, but I’ll not have the maiming and possible killing of any man on my conscience just because he poached some of my game.”

  “Doesn’t sound like he’s poaching,” objected Marcus.

  “You’re right there. And damn if I know what to do! My hope is that John can catch the fellow and we can put it behind us.” He stared at his glass. “I haven’t told the ladies—don’t want to worry them and there’s no reason they should know. Not hunters.”

  Marcus grinned. “Now are you so sure? I wouldn’t put it past that wife of yours to turn out to be a great huntress.”

  “Very possibly,” Julian admitted with a smile. “She has surprised me more than once.”

  “But not unpleasantly?”

  Julian shook his head. “No. You see before you a grateful married man.”

  “And a happy one?”

  Julian hesitated. “Yes. And a happy one.”

  Marcus accepted Julian’s claim to happiness, but in truth Julian was vaguely troubled, not exactly happy and yet not unhappy in his marriage. The state of his marriage had occupied his mind of late and he could not figure out why there lingered within him a disquieting feeling of dissatisfaction. He had a lovely, responsive wife, one who ran his household with skill and aplomb and whose eager, yielding body filled him with delight and yet…Something was missing. When he entered Nell’s bedchamber she greeted him as passionately as any man could wish, yet he sensed that there was a part of her that she held back, a part of her hidden from him. There was, he admitted uneasily to himself, a barrier between them. It was not an obvious one, but it was there. It was there in the way Nell sometimes studied him, as if she was looking for something, as if she found something lacking in him. It was there in the way, with a smile and light comment, she would slip away from him whenever he paid her compliments or attempted to flirt with her. He snorted. It was a sad day when a husband was reduced to flirting with his own wife and his wife would have none of it. She was…elusive…yes, that was it. Elusive, that was the word. He could not explain it, but he felt it, was aware of it and more aware of it with every growing day.

  The fear that Julian still loved his first wife had taken a strong hold of Nell. He was everything one could wish for in a husband, but that mattered little if there was no chance for her to ever win his heart. Admittedly she was halfway in love with him, but Lady Catherine’s unseen presence haunted her and helped her keep a firm rein on her emotions. She would not wear the willow for a man who could not love her, nor pine over a man whose heart had been buried in a grave. She would be his wife in all ways and take pleasure in his company, but she would not allow herself to love him. Nell saw no advantage in loving a man who loved another, especially a man who loved a dead woman.

  Lady Diana and Elizabeth’s company made it easier for her to show the world, her husband included, an untroubled face. It was only at night, after Julian had left her and she was alone in her magnificent bedroom that her heart ached and tears clogged her throat. Julian’s lovemaking banished her misery for a while and she could lose herself in his embrace, revel in the joy he brought her body, but when he was gone…When he was gone from her bed, she felt empty, used. What they did was no different from a stallion breeding a mare in heat, she told herself fiercely, scrubbing away the trace of tears. Lust brought him to her. A primitive instinct. The drive to procreate. That was all that existed between them.

  It did no good to remind herself how fortunate she was. That disastrous night Tynedale had kidnapped her could have turned out very differently. Tynedale might have succeeded in his wicked plans. Another man, one far less desirable than Julian, might have happened across her. Instead of disgrace and misery, she had a wealthy, aristocratic husband. She was a countess. She had an elegant home. Her husband was handsome, attentive, kind. But it wasn’t enough. No, not nearly enough.

  Her emotions dragged her down; behind the façade she kept for the world, she felt tired and out of sorts and though she kept them hidden, tears were never far away.

  With the holiday season fast approaching, despite the delicious scents of evergreens and spices in the air, Nell’s spirits drooped even further. She tried to take pleasure in the holly and mistletoe scattered throughout the house, in the fresh garlands draped along the banisters and over the mantels, but it was no use. This would be her first Christmas without her family and she was horribly homesick.

  One morning a few days before Christmas, sensing that Nell’s mind was not on the builder’s plans they’d been looking at, Lady Diana pushed the paper away and said, “Oh, fiddle! I am sick to death of worrying about the changes to my house. Let us do something different today.”

  Nell, looking charming in a gown of olive green cashmere, glanced out the window at the spattering of rain against the windows. “Well, a walk, ride or drive is out of the question. The weather is frightful.”

  Elizabeth lifted her head from the swatches of silk she’d been studying and said, “I certainly agree with Nell. What shall we do?”

  Lady Diana pouted for a moment, then brightened. “We can go explore the conservatory. It will be almost as nice as walking outside on a summer day.”

  “We did that yesterday,” Elizabeth pointed out. “Don’t you remember?”

  Lady Diana made a face. “So we did. Surely there is something we can do besides pour over these boring plans and books?”

  “I haven’t explored all of the house yet,” Nell began uncertainly, “perhaps there’s some feature that is unusual you’d like to show me?”

  Lady Diana and Elizabeth exchanged impish glances. “Have you seen the dungeons?” Lady Diana asked.

  “D-d-dungeons?” Nell repeated, a chill blowing through her body.

  “You mean Julian hasn’t told you about them yet?” exclaimed Lady Diana. “Oh, it is too bad of him.”

  Just as if he’d withheld some great treat from her, Nell thought hollowly.

  Leaning forward, Elizabeth asked, “Didn’t you know that the manor is built on the site of an ancient castle? And that there is a secret passage leading to some old dungeons beneath us?” She gave a delicious shudder. “It is the most wonderfully terrifying place. Cousin Charles gave us a tour once and told us gruesome tales. We enjoyed it immensely, although Mama had nightmares for a week, and Lord Wyndham, Julian’s father, was cross with Cousin Charles for scaring us so.”
She looked regretful. “Lord Wyndham said that all that talk of torture and murder was nonsense and that Cousin Charles made it up.”

  Nell frowned. “I thought that there was an estrangement between, er, Cousin Charles and Lord Wyndham.”

  “Well, there is no denying that the rift has gotten wider, but this was just after the late earl and I had married,” explained Lady Diana, “and things were not so bad at that time. Charles was here often, although not so much after that.”

  Tapping a finger to her lip, Elizabeth said, “You know, exploring the dungeons might not be such a good idea. It was summertime when Cousin Charles showed them to us and I vaguely remember him saying something about them being damp, parts of them sometimes flooding in winter.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” agreed Lady Diana. “Oh, pooh! We shall have to think of something else.”

  “What about the gallery?” suggested Elizabeth.

  “I think Dibble has shown me that,” Nell replied apologetically. “Although it was only a quick tour—I didn’t really have a chance to look at all those family portraits—”

  Elizabeth jumped up. “Then you shall. It will be great fun. Wait until you see the portrait of the first earl—he looks a villain of the first order.”

  The first earl did indeed look like a villain, but Nell could see where Julian had gotten his green eyes and black swooping eyebrows. They started in the oldest part of the gallery and spent an enjoyable time viewing the portraits and commenting and laughing over the style of clothing and hair. As they came into the section that held portraits of more recent members of the family, one of them caught Nell’s attention and held her spellbound.