A Chance Encounter: A rash decision changes their lives forever.

by Buck, Gayle

  “He ran her down with his phaeton and then took it into his head to abduct her,” Lady Cassandra said baldly. She awaited with lively interest the countess’s reaction.

  Lady Dewesbury did not disappoint her ladyship. She emitted a small howl and pressed her hands against her bosom. Though she had begun to wonder whether her golden son had led a life hidden away from his parents’ eyes, one that was not as exemplary as it had always seemed, it was still a shock to hear her base suspicions put into words.

  “No, no! I cannot possibly believe it! Edward?” she gasped. “Why, he has always been a model of propriety. Surely Miss Chadwick exaggerated the thing to you. I am not saying that Miss Chadwick lied, precisely, but a well-bred girl can be misled by her perceptions of a gentleman’s solicitousness.”

  “I did not have the story from Miss Chadwick,” Lady Cassandra said pointedly. She was rather enjoying herself. She was deliberately laying the stage for such misconception that must certainly prejudice the correct countess in favor of the viscount’s chosen lady. It was quite heady to be able to affect the outcome of the delicious situation.

  “Edward told you this?” asked Lady Dewesbury, quite appalled.

  Lady Cassandra inclined her head. “At the same time, he informed me that he had done the honorable thing by the girl.” She paused. “I am most sorry that I could not forewarn you, Charlotte.”

  Lady Dewesbury waved her hand in dismissal, her thoughts on quite different tracks. The situation was even worse than she had conjectured. Abduction and seduction! It was no wonder at all that Miss Chadwick did not feel able to return to her old life. Already in mourning for her parent and thus deeply vulnerable, she had been torn out of her known sphere and made prey to all manner of humiliation. At least her son had been sensible to the damage he had done her. He had paid heed to the family honor, and for that much at least she could be grateful for.

  It was but small comfort, however, in the face of the disillusion that Lady Dewesbury had suffered. Her son, her own beloved Edward, was a careless libertine and the callous seducer of a vicar’s daughter. Lady Dewesbury shuddered. It was a thought scarcely to be borne.

  “Charlotte? Are you quite all right?” Lady Cassandra asked. She was vaguely concerned, for the countess had accepted without a blink of an eye what she had said. She would have expected Lady Dewesbury, who was vastly fond of all her children, to have at least made a show of protest or tried to excuse her most favored son.

  Lady Cassandra had been poised with a ready barb for puncturing Lady Dewesbury’s defenses, but it did not seem to be needed. On the contrary, Lady Dewesbury had turned white and there was an unusual tightness about her eyes that Lady Cassandra could not like. “Charlotte, my dear?”

  Lady Dewesbury shook herself free of her careening thoughts. She passed a shaking hand across her eyes. “I am sorry, Mama. I was woolgathering. I shall leave you now, I think. The hour is getting on and I suspect that I have outstayed my welcome.” Without another glance or word for her mother, the countess left the bedroom.

  Lady Cassandra was left baffled and angry. She did not like the odd acceptance that Lady Dewesbury had exhibited. It was uncharacteristic of what she knew of her daughter’s character. Lady Cassandra had expected something quite different, and she did not care for the suspicion that she had played her hand rather more ineptly than she had any notion of doing.

  Lady Dewesbury went along to her own rooms. Her brows were knit in concentration and she returned her abigail’s greeting in a vague manner. The inattention was uncharacteristic of her, for she believed it important for her servants to feel themselves personally recognized.

  Lady Dewesbury felt that she was on the brink of a momentous decision, one that could very well put her into direct conflict with her lord the earl.

  But she could not yet accept all that she had heard, for to do so would mean that she must go counter to an understanding that had withstood two decades. It would also mean that she must forever revise her opinion of her son, and that was indeed a difficult thing to face. She must be absolutely certain of her facts, she thought.

  She thought about her dilemma while she allowed her maid to ready her for bed. She did not see how she could go about learning what she felt she needed to know. She could not very well ask her questions outright of Miss Chadwick or her son. That would be both embarrassing and very bad ton. Reluctant as she was to contemplate such, she saw no recourse but to stoop to despicable means that she would have had no hesitation in condemning in another.

  At last coming to a decision, Lady Dewesbury sent her maid to request that Miss Chadwick’s abigail visit her after the girl had settled her mistress for the night.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lady Dewesbury waited impatiently for the abigail’s knock. When the young maid came into her bedroom at last, she smiled and beckoned the girl forward. With an autocratic gesture that, if she had but known it, was quite in Lady Cassandra’s style, Lady Dewesbury dismissed her own maid and turned to the fearful abigail. “My dear, what are you called?”

  “Maisie, my lady.”

  “Maisie, I have asked you here because I am somewhat curious about your mistress.”

  The abigail was instantly on the alert. She had conscientiously kept her mistress’s secret as she had been bidden, and she felt instinctively any inquiry must threaten the trust that had been bestowed upon her. “Yes, my lady?”

  The servant’s air of wariness did not register with Lady Dewesbury, who was discovering it was more difficult than she had assumed it would be to pry into her guest’s concerns. It was one thing to ask Lady Cassandra, but to attempt to pump another’s servant went hard against her nature. As hard as eavesdropping, inquired one part of her mind sarcastically. The countess stiffened her resolve. “Maisie, have you been long with your mistress?”

  The abigail thought about that. She did not wish to lie precisely, but neither did she want to tell more than she should. “One might say that I have been with miss long enough to know things that perhaps I shouldn’t,” she said cautiously.

  Lady Dewesbury sighed in satisfaction. The girl was a reliable source, then. She leaned forward. “Did you have opportunity to observe your mistress in the company of Lord Humphrey?”

  “Yes, my lady,” said the abigail. She smiled to herself. She did not think that she would ever forget the first time that she had seen her lady together with his lordship. It had been such a romantic sight, listening as they pledged themselves to each other, and so proud she had been to put her own hand as witness to the marriage papers. But naturally she could not tell her ladyship of that.

  Lady Dewesbury was stumped as how to proceed. She could not openly ask what she wanted to know; it simply went against every fiber of her being. However, she must know if she was to make up her mind about what she should do.

  The countess rose from her chair and paced restlessly about the room. The abigail watched her, wondering what was to come next. She would never betray her mistress’s trust in her, she thought determinedly. It would not come from her lips that her lady had secretly wed his lordship.

  Lady Dewesbury finally turned. She said diffidently, “I am not certain how best to proceed. But you appear an intelligent girl, Maisie, and so perhaps you might well read my meaning. You must tell me if I am not making myself clear, however.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “What was your mistress’s manner when she was in his lordship’s company?” Lady Dewesbury asked delicately.

  The abigail turned the question over in her mind, examining it for trickery. At last she decided that it was forthright enough, being as how it could easily be answered without betraying her mistress.

  “Miss was proper shy with him, as I recall,” said the abigail. She had always thought it a rum way to spend one’s wedding night, apart from the groom and all, but she had thought at the time that her ladyship was an unworldly sort and perhaps his lordship had not wanted to press her. At the time Maisie had shrugged in u
ncomprehending acceptance. For herself, she would have preferred a bed warmed by a lively tumble. But the gentry were known to have some odd notions.

  Lady Dewesbury expelled her breath. “Thank you, Maisie, that will be all.”

  The abigail was startled, but she was relieved as well. She bobbed a curtsy, silently congratulating herself on a task well done. She had managed to answer all of her ladyship’s questions without once betraying the great secret that she had been entrusted with. Maisie left the countess’s rooms with a light step.

  Lady Dewesbury was not so lighthearted.

  She sat down limply in front of her vanity to begin the task of removing the rouge and powder from her face. She was always careful to clean her skin of the muck as soon as she was able, convinced that to leave it must imprint greater age upon her face. She had observed that raddled complexions came to those who indulged too heavily in artifice. She hoped that cleanliness and a liberal application of lotion would preserve her own countenance.

  As she worked, she thought over all that she had heard that day. All of her worst suspicions and conjectures had been justified. Miss Chadwick was hardly to blame for the mess that things had become, she thought with extreme weariness.

  Abduction, seduction, and the quite probable advent of a child had forced Miss Chadwick out of her own comfortable sphere.

  A child. A grandchild, in fact.

  Her hand froze in mid-motion as Lady Dewesbury blinked at the novel thought. It would be her sixth grandchild. A tiny smile curved her lips. An infant in the house once more! How truly delightful that would be. She never tired of the family additions presented with regularity by her two married daughters.

  The countess’s smile vanished. She abruptly set down the pot of lotion. Yes, and if there was a child in the offing, it would be most scandalously early if the mother was not soon wed.

  “Drat that boy,” she exclaimed, furious with her son. He had done the honorable thing by resigning himself to his duty, but he could hardly have given the matter proper thought. Everyone could add and subtract, and it was a matter of common knowledge that nine months were required for an infant’s triumphant advent into the world.

  Lady Dewesbury thought that she would far rather have been required to deal with a runaway marriage than this hole-in-the-wall betrothal and the subsequent marriage, all perhaps to be followed by a suspiciously early birth. The scandal would be infinitely greater and would always be remembered by the ungenerous, who would have no compunction in visiting the sins of the parents upon the head of an innocent child.

  “Edward shall marry that girl of his, and as soon as is possible,” she said grimly to her reflection in the glass.

  Behind her, a deep voice bellowed, “Have you gone stark raving mad!”

  Lady Dewesbury swiveled quickly. “Hullo, darling. I did not hear you come in,” she said with a smile. She did not realize that with the lotion still streaked across her face the effect was not quite as salubrious as she could have wished.

  The Earl of Dewesbury’s blue eyes pierced his wife. “Do not think to turn me from the point, Charlotte. I heard what you mumbled to yourself. You need not deny it to me.”

  Lady Dewesbury turned around and reached for a towel. “What a perfectly frightful thing to say! I have no intention of denying anything, Greville, so you may simply pull in your horns.”

  Lord Dewesbury was thus robbed of an anticipated squabble, which only served to infuriate him further. “Really, Charlotte! I am not some testy old bull . . . But that is not the issue here. What did you mean that Edward should marry that female? What do we know of her? Yes, and what of the Ratcliffes, I should like to know? What are we to do there?”

  Lady Dewesbury calmly finished cleaning off her face. “Edward has behaved disgracefully toward ‘that female,’ as you so disdainfully call her. He quite rightly offered her the protection of his name.”

  Lord Dewesbury regarded his wife with the beginnings of alarm. “My dearest Charlotte, this whole thing has obviously overset you. You do not realize what you are saying.”

  “I am in my full faculties, Greville.”

  He shook his head. “I beg to differ, wife. You cannot be when you do not recall the humiliation—the anguish—that Edward’s wanton conduct has catapulted all of us into. I have never seen Lord Ratcliffe so affected; no, nor our dear Aurelia. Even in the extremity of my own disbelief, I felt for them. As for poor little Augusta—well, enough said! Mind, I do not hold with hysterics as a rule—frightful to behold and all that—but in this instance, I must admit that the provocation was intolerable.”

  “I shall admit that I was just as affected, and I believed the same as you, darling. Edward simply had no right to cast aside our honor in such a cavalier fashion,” said Lady Dewesbury.

  The earl nodded in satisfaction. “There, you see it exactly right. Why, the agreement is of such long standing that to renounce it now would be unthinkable. The only proper thing to do is to have that female sent away and the notice retracted as a ghastly error.”

  “No, I do not think that the proper course at all,” said Lady Dewesbury. She rose from the vanity and faced her husband, whom she was well aware could be formidable in his convictions. But in this instance she would not give way. “I am sorry for the Ratcliffes. Why, how can I be otherwise, for they are our oldest and our dearest friends. Nevertheless, Edward must go through with this engagement that he has so precipitously entered into with Miss Chadwick.”

  Lord Dewesbury was rendered speechless. His neck and face turned slowly red with his emotions, but he managed to retain enough control over himself so that he did not blast away with unforgivable forcefulness. “I must assume that you have good reason for this unconscionable opinion?” he asked hoarsely.

  Lady Dewesbury regarded her husband anxiously. She could see that he was in a towering rage. Perhaps it was best if he heard it whole and unadulterated. “Our son abducted and seduced her.”

  The earl was caught broadside. His mouth opened, and closed. Lady Dewesbury watched his struggles with interest. She could not recall any time previous that she had so shaken him, except perhaps years before when she had demonstrated her acceptance of his proposal by throwing her arms about his neck.

  The memory curved her lips in a small smile. She felt just the same about his lordship now as she did then, she thought, and she wondered whether this night was to be one during which the earl would be sharing her bed. When the earl came to her room so late, it generally meant just that.

  Lord Dewesbury finally rallied. “I do not believe it,” he said flatly. “Edward would never do such a thing. No, if there was even a whiff of such dishonorable conduct involved, it was undoubtedly on that woman’s part. Somehow she has managed to so hoodwink our son of her innocence that he completely lost sight of his clear duty. She lied to you, m’dear, depend upon it.”

  “I did not hear it from Miss Chadwick,” said Lady Dewesbury.

  Regretfully, she put aside all thoughts of connubial pleasures. She doubted very much that her dear obstinate husband would be in the proper frame of mind after this particular discussion was completed.

  “Then from whom, Charlotte?” Lord Dewesbury saw that his wife hesitated to answer and he asked sarcastically, “Am I not then to be trusted with the source of these marvelous confidences?”

  Lady Dewesbury had hesitated to lay the whole before her husband because it would also mean that she would have to reveal how she had stooped to eavesdropping and to spying upon another through that person’s servant. The earl was a stickler of the highest form. He would be gravely shocked and disapproving of her nefarious action. Lady Dewesbury really could not bring herself to allow him to see her as less than she had always been to him.

  “Do forgive me, Greville. But I cannot say without exposing someone quite close to you to unbearable censure,” she said in all truth.

  Lord Dewesbury was not mollified. Far from it, in fact. He breathed heavily while he regarded his wife from unde
r lowered brows. “What you are telling me with your avoidance, my lady, is that I am surrounded by perfidy and untruths among the members of my own family. I shall not have it, Charlotte. I shall not allow anyone, and least of all you, to whom I long since pledged my love and my life, to cast suspicions upon the tradition of honor that I hold so dear.”

  “Oh, my dear!” Lady Dewesbury understood that she had deeply wounded him by her reluctance to speak freely to him. But still, better that than her own tumble from grace were she to do so. She touched his face gently, sadly.

  The earl glowered at her a moment longer, then swung around and stomped from her bedroom. He slammed the connecting door between their bedrooms with resounding force.

  Really, thought Lady Dewesbury with understandable bitterness, the viscount had much to answer for.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The weekend settled into a state of uneasy truce. It had become obvious that Dewesbury Court was firmly divided into two camps. Ranged upon one side were the Earl of Dewesbury, Lady Ratcliffe, and Miss Ratcliffe; upon the other, Lady Dewesbury and Lord Ratcliffe.

  The turnaround of the countess and Lord Ratcliffe was completely unexpected and inexplicable to the others. Explanations were demanded and spurned, in some instances rather loudly. Indeed, it was whispered about by the servants that there had been shouting heard outside the Ratcliffe’s suite and certainly something must also have transpired between the earl and the countess, for when they met at the breakfast table, they were very cool to each other.

  Lady Cassandra was not looked upon as a reliable ally by either side. She visited her corrosive observations equally and without bias upon everyone’s heads.

  The atmosphere in the house was deadly. Tempers were short, civility was delivered with cold precision. Worsening matters, the weather had turned unseasonably gloomy. Heavy gray clouds masked the summer sun, but the threatened rain had not materialized when Joan escaped from the house into the gardens.