by Allison Lane
Lord Hartford laughed, then addressed Jack in a conspiratorial whisper. “She doesn’t eat for two when in this condition. She eats for a regiment.”
Jack set down his plates so he could offer congratulations, then asked about the Hartfords’ two-year-old son.
That set both proud parents to bragging. Young Robbie hadn’t stopped running since he’d taken his second step. He’d escaped his nurse more than once – finding a nest of kittens in the stable, hauling a turtle from the pond, wriggling into an attic everyone had thought was locked. The Hartfords had hired a second nurse to help keep track of him and protect him from harm.
The boy’s escapades reminded Marianne sharply of Nigel, who had also been a charming scapegrace as a toddler. But she forced her memories aside, turning the subject to the Hartfords themselves. Within moments she learned that Lady Hartford was a renowned musician in her own right, and Hartford bred the most sought-after hunters in England. But despite their accomplishments, neither seemed the least haughty.
Jack smiled.
She was learning to read his expression. He had arranged for the Hartfords to join them, knowing that they were another couple who would befriend her. He thought that buttressing her with people who cared would keep her from retreating into solitude after he died.
How little he knew her. She could not imagine life without him. Already he had become too important.
You love him, don’t you?
Her mind blanked, blinding her to Lady Potherby’s musicale, her companions, and even the taste of her food.
She had described her feelings many ways in the past month – Jack was safe, they were friends, she was grateful for his help and feared for his life – but she had never examined them.
Now she did. Every waking moment – and most of her sleeping ones – were attuned to him. Fears for him overshadowed all others. His touch raised heat and a longing for something she could not describe. That kiss still haunted her nights. If he died, she would truly go mad.
Hutch was right. She loved him. The attachment grew deeper and richer each day. Every new insight into his character made him more appealing. She wanted a lifetime together, children, grandchildren…
So she must work harder to save him. Barnett’s lies were pushing him closer to the edge.
Half an hour later, Marianne stepped out of the retiring room and spotted Lord Devlin. Hoping he had news, she joined him.
“How fares your quest?” she asked once they had withdrawn into a corner away from curious ears.
“I am making progress. I ran into Mrs. Morrison yesterday – she had just returned to England.”
“That nurse you mentioned?”
“Yes. She remained in Belgium after Waterloo, returning with the last of the wounded.”
“It must have been difficult for her, having just lost her husband.”
“I suspect the work helped her through the grief. She asked if I’d seen Jack, for he’d been quite ill when she last saw him. She also mentioned that Captain Lord Hardcastle had asked about him – apparently Jack once extracted him from a bit of a muddle, so he was upset to hear of his injuries.”
“Where was the muddle?”
“I’ve no idea. It could have been anywhere, and not even in battle. Jack has rescued more than one subordinate from drunken brawls, including me – begging your pardon, ma’am.” He looked as if he wanted to kick himself. “War isn’t pretty, and military service in general isn’t much better.”
“I expect not,” she said easily.
He relaxed. “It’s possible Hardcastle knows more about Jack’s movements at Waterloo than I do – I was engaged around Hougoumont all day and know little about the rest of the battle. But I think Hardcastle’s unit was out toward the 95th. I will leave in the morning to visit him. Even if he didn’t see Jack, he might know someone who did. Eventually, I will track down someone who saw him at the end.”
“Where is Lord Hardcastle now?”
“At his father’s estate in Lincolnshire – he is heir to the Duke of Streaford. Mrs. Morrison doesn’t know how he is faring – he is another who left her care while still quite ill – so it is better that I interview him in person. It is too easy to ignore a letter if one is feeling poorly.”
She thought of Jack’s pile of unanswered letters and nodded. “Thank you. Is there anyone I can interview? I feel helpless and more than a little guilty for asking you to do all the work."
“I can’t think of anyone. Most injured or retired officers are away from town. The common soldiers are not fit company for a lady.”
“How about Mrs. Morrison?”
“She did not give me her direction. I assume she is returning home, but in all the years I knew Morrison, he never mentioned where home was.”
“But—”
“Concentrate on your own problems, Mrs. Caldwell,” he said firmly, making it clear that he knew about Barnett’s petitions – stupid of her to think anyone in town remained ignorant. “If I discover anyone you should talk to, I will let you know. It is no imposition,” he added when she tried again to protest. “I have long wanted to repay Jack for saving my sanity. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t help him now.”
* * * *
Jack sat in Devall’s empty drawing room, staring at the fire. With luck, intense concentration on the glowing coals would mitigate his lust. He should never have wed someone he found so tempting – or anyone at all, given his background – but it had been the only way to stop Barnett.
Marriage was unhinging his mind. He couldn’t risk bedding his wife, yet he couldn’t look at her without drowning in desire. The only solution was to avoid her, but that was difficult. Living in a friend’s house meant few rooms were open for his use, none of them private. Going to White’s meant ducking cuts or answering endless questions. And he had to accompany her every night, feeling her heat and smelling her lilac perfume. Mademoiselle Jeanette was a witch. Marianne’s new clothes cunningly drew attention to her perfect body. Her growing confidence exposed new sides of her character – witty, teasing, sensual… He wanted to throw her down and taste every inch of her.
Which was a dangerous thought to entertain five minutes before he was supposed to escort her on another shopping expedition. If her hearing at Bishop’s Court did not conclude soon, he would do the unthinkable.
The hearing.
He might already have irreparably harmed her, he admitted grimly. Marriage had won a battle against Barnett, but it might yet lose the war. The very fact that he was a Caldwell had pushed Barnett beyond greed into obsession.
Lady Debenham’s careless words had knocked him on his ass, raising shock, horror, and desolation. He hadn’t known that Barnett was one of Wilcox’s victims, though he should have suspected it when Marianne described her uncle’s youthful losses. Barnett had already been desperate because Marianne possessed the fortune he needed. Faced with another Caldwell making off with his prize had added to his fury. No wonder he was raking up every Caldwell scandal in history.
Jack suppressed a groan. It was too late to change course. And even if he’d known about Wilcox’s swindle, marriage would have remained Marianne’s only weapon. But he could have been prepared.
Guilt intensified. Guilt that his family had harmed Barnett. Guilt that protecting Marianne would hurt the man worse. Guilt that the old scandal would redound upon Marianne, harming her, too.
But at least guilt cooled his lust.
Angela poked her head into the drawing room. “There you are, Jack. The mail just arrived.” She crossed the room, a letter in her outstretched hand. “Are you congratulating yourself on Marianne’s success last night? Even Lady Debenham was singing her praises.”
Jack grimaced at the frank on the letter. “I did nothing but escort her.”
“Nonsense. No one but you could have turned so terrified a duckling into an elegant swan in only ten days. I wouldn’t have believed it possible if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”
�
�I agree, but the credit is all Marianne’s.”
“Not all. Without you, she wouldn’t have tried.”
“What do you mean?”
Angela scorched him with pity for being such a nodcock. “She’s done it for you, Jack. She was content at Halworth. But you asked her to rejoin the world, so she did. She must love you very much.”
Jack’s jaw hit his chest.
“I’m surprised you didn’t recognize it, for you watched Dev make the same transformation. How many times had you urged him to tell the truth and redeem his reputation? A hundred? A thousand?”
At least, but shock kept him silent.
“He was content enough, so he did nothing. Not until he fell in love did he make the effort.” Angela smiled. “Marianne is the same.” With another of those seductive smiles, she left.
She must love you very much.
“No!” His voice squeaked. She couldn’t – and didn’t. Her situation was nothing like Devall’s. Blackthorn had deliberately courted ostracism to mask his war against those who abused their positions. It had been a calculated campaign that he’d abandoned solely to protect Angela. She was right that love was the primary factor in Devall’s change of direction, but Marianne’s case was different.
Marianne was driven by terror, not love. Unless she joined society, she would be incarcerated. Jack had nothing to do with it. She would have made the same choices no matter who had released her from the asylum. Freedom was the goal.
Yet he had to admit that Marianne was in danger of becoming infatuated. Her eyes brightened whenever he appeared. She trusted him to keep her safe, relaxing only when he was near. He had become her crutch, he admitted, frowning. A necessity at first, but it was time she stood alone. Proud. Fierce. Independent. She would be very much alone before long.
Removing that crutch would also guard against attaching her affections. So he would not accompany her to Hatchard’s today. She could take her maid.
Stifling a pang of regret, he broke the seal on the letter, then scowled. Some things never changed, though at least the bad was tempered by good news this time.
He was again staring into the fire when Marianne arrived.
“The carriage is here,” she announced.
“I can’t go after all.” He gestured toward the letter. “I must deal with this. But you will be fine without me. Take Daisy. Hatchard’s has benches outside the door where maids sit while their mistresses shop. I have a subscription, so you need only give your name to get anything you want.”
“What happened?” Ignoring the change of plans, she pointed to the letter. “Did Barnett devise a new plot?”
“No. It’s from Deerchester.” He couldn’t prevent his disgust from showing.
“He is unhappy about me, isn’t he?” Her face paled.
“He is unhappy” —furious was more accurate— “but it has nothing to do with you, Marianne.” Pacing to the window, he pondered how much to say. Now that he’d involved her in his life, she must understand his family if she was to escape their manipulation. “I notified him of our wedding – strictly as a courtesy; I knew he wouldn’t approve.”
“Because I’m mad.”
“No. It wouldn’t matter if you were a princess or a prostitute. He has been after me for more than a year to wed Miss Somerson. I refused, but he never gives up. Every letter urges me to do my duty. He is furious that I wed elsewhere.”
“Why would he want you to wed someone you didn’t like?” The moment she heard the words, she grimaced, for their wedding had hardly been a love match.
But he ignored the undercurrents. “He gave up on Wilcox long ago – even Miss Somerson refused to consider him. So it is up to me to secure the family future.”
“By getting an heir.” She blushed.
“Actually, he doesn’t care about heirs. It is his own future that matters. His fortune is disappearing faster than ice in a fire – vices are expensive, and mismanaging his estate has diminished his income. He needs money. Somerson promised him fifty thousand guineas if I would take her.”
“My God! What is wrong with her?”
“Who knows? Needless to say, I refused, and the subject is now closed. But you need to understand his goals. The moment he discovers your fortune, he will try to talk you into a loan.”
“You can handle him, Jack.”
He cursed his slip. He’d as good as told her that he wouldn’t be there to protect her from Deerchester.
Marianne frowned. “If he wants the money so badly, why doesn’t he wed Miss Somerson himself?”
“He can’t. My mother is still alive.”
“I thought you said she died birthing you.”
“No. I said I hadn’t seen her since then – a big difference. She and Deerchester had a blazing row when I was a week old. Some claim he threw her out. Others say she ran away. Whatever the truth, we never saw or heard from her again.” He shrugged.
“Didn’t you wonder about her?”
“Sometimes.” Often, actually. He’d dreamed of her in childhood, imagining her as beautiful, loving, honorable – all those things his father and brother weren’t. Reeves had encouraged the dreams as part of his campaign to turn Jack into an honorable gentleman. And it had worked to a point. The image had sustained him through Wilcox’s worst abuse. But because the image was so powerful, he’d wondered if she had truly been a helpless victim. Had she provoked that fight to escape a man she despised, even if that meant abandoning her infant son? Or was the tale a lie to cover graver crimes?
Waving Marianne off to Hatchard’s, he reread the letter. Deerchester’s vitriol was worse than ever now that the fifty thousand was beyond reach. He was even more furious because he’d just learned that Wilcox was dead.
Emotion tightened Jack’s chest, surprising him. Wilcox had been the bane of his existence from the day of his birth. Brutal, hateful, author of endless scandal. So why should news of his death raise any sense of loss? It was an ending devoutly to be wished. The family curse would now truly die with Jack.
Dropping the letter on the fire, he watched it turn to ash. He would leave a letter asking Devall to protect Marianne from Deerchester – the formality wasn’t necessary, for Devall would do so anyway, but it would add a measure of legality if one was ever needed. Deerchester would be livid when Marianne inherited Seacliff. It was too much to expect him to suffer a fatal apoplexy when he heard about Jack’s will.
Thank God there would be no more wicked Caldwells. The world would be a better place without them.
* * * *
Marianne steadied her pulse and climbed out of the carriage. She had left Jack brooding over his father’s letter. Everything she learned about his family increased her awe at the strength of will it had taken to be different, a strength that made her present task more difficult.
But that was for later. Today she faced shopping alone – Daisy hardly counted. The girl was so awed at becoming a lady’s maid that she was oblivious to everything else. Angela had agreed to let Marianne hire Daisy, then had assigned her own maid to teach the girl the finer points of personal service. Angela had even offered to hire Daisy’s unhappy cousin Kate.
At least Hatchard’s was a good place for her first solitary expedition. She was at home among books. And since today was her birthday, she deserved a treat.
Hatchard’s held more books than she had ever imagined in one spot. The range of subjects awed her. Within minutes, she was so caught up in choosing what to buy, that she forgot her nerves. She even forgot that other people occupied the store. Thus she jumped when a voice greeted her.
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you,” said Lady Hartford as Marianne whirled to face her.
“It is entirely my fault,” said Marianne with a smile. “I was so engrossed in a traveler’s account of the Americas that I forgot this was a public place – I spent much of the past twelve years in my father’s library.”
“I knew you were special,” said Lady Hartford. “My father is a
scholarly vicar, so I grew up surrounded by books. You must accompany me to Lady Chartleigh’s soiree next week. Her guest is Mr. Donovan, who will describe the wonders that he saw on his recent trip to Egypt.”
“It sounds delightful. But I should ask Colonel Caldwell if he has plans for that night.”
“Of course.” She smiled. “Enjoy his escort while you have it. As soon as you are established, he will return to his own interests.”
“I know. Living in his pocket is bound to raise eyebrows.” But her voice rang hollow, for Jack’s only interest was to do away with himself – which reminded her of the letter from Deerchester. “There is something I’ve been puzzling over, but I don’t know where to find answers.”
“What is the problem?” Lady Hartford added a book to the stack in her arms, then checked to see that no one was nearby.
“Colonel Caldwell’s mother.” She’d heard the yearning in his voice when he mentioned her – and also the pain. “His father banished her when he was born. He has no idea why or even where she is. It is a question that has long plagued him.”
“Deerchester is a frightful man. I’ve never understood how Colonel Caldwell managed to become so … so … respectable,” she finally finished.
“Force of will and a dedication to honor.”
“I could ask Lady Beatrice for the tale,” said Lady Hartford. “She must know.”
“I’d rather not,” countered Marianne. “If she learns of my interest, the story will become common knowledge in a trice. I do not think he will appreciate having his personal affairs bandied about town. Nor do I wish to tell him of my interest if it turns out that his mother deserved to be tossed out in the cold.” Suspecting that his mother had deliberately abandoned him – especially if she’d run off with another man – might explain his pain.
“True. It would hardly do to produce yet another relative who could shame him. He has too many already. I am at a loss, then, but if I think of anything, I will let you know. Only a few aged gossips are likely to remember anything about the matter – if indeed, they ever knew. Even Lady Beatrice doesn’t know everything, especially about country affairs.”
