A Secret Passion

by Sophia Nash

  “You won’t ever leave here, will you?” she asked.

  “No. Never fear, miss.”

  “Do you promise? I couldn’t bear the idea of this place going to wrack and ruin.”

  “I won’t break the promise I made to you, nor the one I made to your mother. This place was her world, just as it is now yours. I would have done anything for her, as I would for you.”

  They reached the wooden gate leading into the pasture and leaned against it. Her heart started pounding as she worked up the courage to ask the question she had tried to push to the subconscious depths of her brain without success.

  “George, I know I can depend on you to tell me the truth if you know it.” She paused to pick up a rock and worked its edge with her gloved fingers as she concentrated her attention on it. “Theo has some far flung notion that… that the gamekeeper didn’t accidentally kill my mother, that it was my father,” she finished in a rush. “Is it true? Please, I beg of you, tell me the truth.”

  George looked at her through kindly old eyes and sighed. “It is a bit of a story, really. But I guess it is time for you to know the whole of it.” He looked away, and his expression became distant. Jane was aware of his discomfort. “You see, I loved her and she loved me. I would not tell you, as I abhor distressing you, but she asked me to tell you when you were ready to hear it. She left me a letter explaining why she would do what she did, but I’m afraid it did not console me, nor will it help you. In it she explained that she just could not live anymore. She had begun to let fears of your father’s rages seep into her bones, and the guilt of our secret was eating her alive. She thought all of us would be better off without her. She thought it would calm your father, and she thought you and Theodore were old enough to be able to continue on without her. How very wrong she was.”

  “What are you saying? She didn’t kill herself, did she? Good God! She would never do that.” Jane could see that George’s face was filled with the same grief that was consuming her soul. “She wouldn’t do it, I tell you. She loved us all too much. She wouldn’t have left the farm, her animals, and all of us,” cried Jane. A great sob escaped from her throat, and she reached for George. He took her in his arms, and she drew comfort from the familiar, musty warmth of her companion. When he did not respond, she continued to wallow in the jangling shock of it all. Long minutes passed before she could raise her eyes to George’s face. “You are quite, quite sure my father didn’t do it?”

  George nodded his assent. “Your father hushed it up. Even threw the pistol she used into the sea, or so I believe. He hid the truth more for his own lofty aspirations than for you and your brother, I am sure. But I will give him credit for not telling you. I think he feared that you and young master Theodore would blame him if you knew the truth.”

  “But how did it all start? She loved my father at one point, I think. She had everything to live for.”

  “It was my fault. I fell in love with her after her father sent me to watch over the estate when the old steward died. I remember the time well.” His eyes seemed to glaze over a bit. “It was just before your brother was born. I was bowled over by her beauty, and her spirit. She insisted on getting on and backing the new batch of one-year-olds, laughing off the doctor’s warnings a week after Theodore arrived.

  “She was filled with joy and light, until the day your father returned from his fortnight in town. He had missed the birth. It seemed as if all the happiness and light were extinguished when he returned. He delighted in antagonizing her, stooping to call her a simple country miss, who couldn’t hide her obsession with horses. Said most girls gave up that passion when a husband entered their lives. She never fought back. But over the years she turned to me more for comfort—comfort I was too eager to offer. Until finally, a decade later, she confided her love for me.”

  “Well, of course she fell in love with you,” Jane responded with feeling. “I was blind not to have guessed.”

  “No, no. Your mother’s moral strength and character forbade her to ever indulge in her dreams with me. And so we were stuck. We could never imagine going off together, leaving you and Theodore and her familial home. And we knew we could not take you with us, as he would have followed in a murderous rage until we would have been found. It was an impossible situation.” He looked past Jane to the field of horses grazing. “And your father’s temper… he never knew I had your mother’s heart, but he knew it did not belong to him anymore. And so he made her life a misery—with accusations of adultery, even questioning your paternity and sometimes even your brother’s! All this, when your dear mother refused to even kiss me. I tell you this not to turn you against him, but for you to be able to understand your mother’s state of mind at the end.”

  Jane straightened George’s neckcloth, which she had disturbed in her distress. “I wish you were my father. I think I always did long for it. Maybe that is why I so calmly accepted my first marriage to Cutty. He and you embodied everything I craved in a father.”

  “I am so happy to hear you realize that now. I was very concerned when you departed with Mr. Harry. He is a fun-loving young buck, but not at all for you, I think. Are you unhappy with the choices you have made?”

  “Oh, George, I’m afraid I have made a muddle of things, just as Harry says. Almost as bad as my mother, really. But at least I did not follow through with it. Now all I must face is the shame of it. But Aunt Clarissa will stand by me, as will Sir Thomas. My despair rests in leaving here, and you. At least I will take comfort in knowing you are here to manage everything.” She paused before continuing, “And Theo has sworn off gaming, which assures that eventually we will be able to pay off all the debts, even the one to Lord Graystock.”

  Jane could see concern etched in his wrinkled old face. “Are you quite, quite sure he won’t return for you?”

  “George, it is an impossibility. I told you earlier I refused him two—no, three—times. No man returns for more abuse of that kind, least of all Lord Graystock.”

  “And what if you went to him?”

  “I could not. Not after all that has happened. And I cannot allow the ugly smear of my past to spread to his name. He has enough demons to contend with. George, really, we would be the most notorious couple in all of England.”

  “Would that matter to you? You are spouting words so familiar to me. The ones your mother shouted at me all of a decade ago. Learn from her mistakes, Jane.”

  Jane knew when George dropped the formality of her title that he was as serious as he ever got, which was as rare as a display of his anger. “I couldn’t bear for him to be ostracized further. Moreover, he detests the very sight of me, I assure you. After all the ridiculous things I have done, and the people’s lives I have disrupted—his being a prime example—you really can’t expect the man to have me. He has lost whatever regard he might have held dear, long ago,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

  “Maybe, but perhaps not.”

  “I shall never know. It is a fruitless question. I shall not see him again. It would make both of us wretchedly unhappy.”

  Jane pushed open the gate, signaling her desire to end the conversation. She looked up and took his hands again in her own. “Thank you for telling me about Mother. It is a relief to know my father did not kill her. But I don’t know how I will ever reconcile the anguish of her final action.”

  “Give it time, my dear. Peace will come as it did for me, years later. I take joy now in the simple things—the turning of the seasons, my circle of friends, and, of course, watching over her home and her children.”

  Jane smiled and began walking toward a group of young horses nickering and kicking up their heels. “I am certain I have caused you nothing but sleepless nights rather than joy!”

  Jane took the small but significant step of instructing her maid to begin packing her things. With a smile, she left her chamber, thinking she really could qualify for a traveling player, given her extensive “here and thereian” habits of late. She entered the small salon co
ntent with new resolve.

  She was glad to see Clarissa already there, dressed in a lovely soft blue gown that matched her eyes, a gift forwarded to her from her besotted bridegroom, no doubt! Her aunt’s attention was focused on a letter as Jane continued toward her. The small measure of comfort she had taken in her resolution left upon spying Clarissa’s troubled expression.

  “Whatever is it?” Jane asked as she closed the door.

  “It seems we are to be detained from leaving. My brother has discovered your whereabouts from Reverend Thompson. I believe his conscience provided only a very small part of the impetus necessary for revealing our little secret. My guess is the reverend truly is anxious about losing the living or, at the very least, a recommendation.”

  “We must leave at once, then.”

  “No. There is more. There was a missive for you within my letter.” She handed it to Jane, who sank into the small yellow brocade chair next to the empty fireplace. A dark foreboding made the hairs on her neck prickle as she began reading the letter.

  Jane,

  I am most displeased with your behavior, as well you can imagine. The latest evidence of your vile perversity has exceeded all prior incidences of willful disobedience on your part. I am most heartily ashamed of you. However, that shall be dealt with when I see you.

  I absolutely forbid you to leave Pembroke. Girl, your impetuous manner has caused me all sorts of trials and tribulations, and you at least owe me the courtesy of an interview. I shall ride down to Cornwall on the morrow to discuss your future. Should you dare to depart sans leave-taking this time, I shall horsewhip out of your hide the contrariness you display so righteously, should I find you. Dare not provoke me further, Daughter. We have much to discuss, some of which will make you think twice about choosing an alternative course with your ninny-hammered aunt.

  —Yours, &c.

  Jane squeezed her eyes shut and placed her hand on her face, deep in thought. Her first impulse was to leave without delay. But really, what did she have to fear? He wanted to talk to her and likely shower recriminations on her. But she had naught to fear, as George would be near enough to intervene should events get out of hand. And she had much to gain. She could bid good-bye to her father, who had brought more pain than pleasure to her life. And she could try and uncover any remaining ghosts and lies from her parents’ past. All in all, it was better for her to confront him than to flee like a coward.

  Jane lowered the letter. “I think I had better stay—although you must not feel as if you ought to stay with me. You must want to see Sir Thomas very much. And I shall very likely tread upon your heels shortly after your departure.”

  “No, Jane. I will not leave you alone to face the wrath of my brother. We shall pack our trunks and be ready to leave on an instant’s notice should he turn ugly. After you speak with him, we shall not spend another night under his roof.”

  Jane thought for a moment and sighed. “Very well. I will not belabor the point, as I am too selfish by half. I will take comfort knowing you are here to bolster my courage.”

  “Jane, you have more courage than any other female I know. Come, let us go in to dinner now. I daresay we need to fortify ourselves for the next few days that face us.”

  Jane forced herself to consume the meal. Her appetite had been failing her over the course of the last few months, given the strain. She knew George had been contriving for Cook to prepare Jane’s favorite meals. She smiled grimly and thought that at least for tonight she would endeavor to bring him a small degree of joy by doggedly consuming the feast before her.

  After checking on the condition of three broodmares, and discussing with George possible candidates for the newly vacant head groom position, Jane rode one of her favorite young horses past the fields that separated Pembroke from the manse. She urged her mount into a canter and soared over a stile near the dairy. A sense of exhilaration assailed her as she moved into a gallop and jumped a stone wall followed by a simple post and rail in quick succession. She brought the horse down to a walk as she patted its neck.

  Oh, it would be quite, quite difficult to leave this all behind with so little to look forward to. The last time it had been different. She had been planning a life with a husband whose very nature had promised fun and adventure, albeit with more than a modicum of poverty. Now she tried, with little success, to see a silver lining to her future.

  And how was he feeling? And thinking? Without a doubt, he did not think of her at all. With his military background and orderly mind, he had put her from his thoughts and was glad to be rid of the acquaintance. His mind was likely occupied with the vast affairs of his holdings, certainly not with a woman who had refused him and humiliated him on numerous occasions.

  She had lost the secret hope she had nursed in the smallest corner of her heart when she had received a letter from Frederick mentioning not a word of his brother. He related to her only his joy in his reconciliation with his wife, as well as his wish for Jane’s happiness. Every empty line screamed that the elder brother had forgotten her.

  Peals of laughter rang in Jane’s ears as she rounded the corner of the manse. The tired maid-of-all-work took the reins of Jane’s horse and muttered her greeting. Five or six of the Thompsons, and the ever present petulant houseguest, Miss Dodderidge, poured through the front door at an alarming rate.

  “Jane, Jane, come, you simply must join us!” Harry shouted.

  “To where, dare I ask?”

  “We’re off to go fishing. The ladies refused to let William and me go off alone. And now they have had the audacity to make a wager that they will catch more than us. A boastful bunch, to be sure, when at least one of them has never fished in all her life!” he said while eyeing the coy Miss Dodderidge.

  “How can you expect us to sit with our embroidery on a beautiful autumn day like today?” Miss Dodderidge responded.

  “Will you join us, Jane? It will be like the old days.”

  “No, no. I must go back and work some of the other horses today.” Jane lowered her voice, as the others had moved a few steps away and were sorting through the tackle in the shed-house. “Harry, I came to warn you that my father is expected in two or three days’ time. You should consider making yourself scarce, as he is like to do you harm!”

  “Hmmm. Yes, well. As I told you before, we do not need to avoid him any longer. The Honorable Frederick St. James, that is, our good friend Freddie, put his offer into writing in a letter I had from him yesterday. He promised the living at Seaton to my father should yours cut up nasty. So I shall not run away, as we are having far too much fun here. I leave soon enough for the post at university, really, in less than a week. And you? When do you leave with your aunt?”

  “Soon, very soon,” she said. “As soon as I make one appearance before my father.”

  “Jane, you can’t be serious! Shall I be at your side when he comes? I fear for your safety, Duck.”

  “No. I have Saint George, who will be standing by to slay the dragon if need be!” Jane whispered the last as Miss Dodderidge appeared behind Harry’s shoulder.

  “Slaying dragons? I say, Harry, would you do that for me should the need arise?” inquired Miss Dodderidge with cloying sweetness.

  Harry took her arm through his and patted her hand. “My dear, you know I am your most ardent admirer and protector. Know that I would save you from all the wild beasts, great and small, to be found in Cornwall’s formidable wilderness.”

  Jane rolled her eyes as Harry grinned. Honestly, how he could stand being in the presence of such a determined flirt she would never know. And when had they discarded formality in favor of their Christian names? Harry shrugged when Jane’s eyes met his.

  Chapter Fifteen

  LORD Fairchild was in no mood to see anyone the day of his arrival at Pembroke. His bones felt jarred from their very joints, given the dry, rutted roads of September. Head pounding, he descended from his plain carriage and waved away the addresses of the servants. He went straight to his li
brary and poured himself a large brandy to wash away the dirt of the roads. He sank into the brown leather chair and cursed at the piles of papers stacked neatly on the nearby desk, no doubt by his redoubtable daughter or that infernal George. How he hated the country, the dirt, the quiet, and the wretched loneliness of it all. It infuriated him to be back just when he had been settling into the hustle-bustle of town. He adored London. Mornings at White’s, afternoons spent plotting advances for the reopening of Parliament, evenings at salons full of important personages, and after midnight, everything imaginable for the male palate. It was glorious. It was what he craved. Looking at his dusty boots and creased clothes, he frowned in disgust and rang for a hip bath to be brought to his chambers. He finished the brandy with one long last swallow and hoped that his head would stop aching after a short repose. He was not up to facing Jane yet or, for that matter, his own sister. Females were the bane of his existence. He rubbed his eyes before striding out of the library toward the sanctity of his rooms above.

  All in all, he felt a good deal better the following morning, although the early air was never something he coveted. It seemed the household had avoided him at all costs. Both ladies were absent from the breakfast room. So he toasted himself and settled into his ham and eggs with a good deal more relish than the last evening’s supper.

  “Excuse me, my lord, Miss Jane has requested I inform you she awaits your lordship’s presence in the front salon, at your leisure,” George said upon entering. The butler bowed and exited as Fairchild acknowledged his words with a slight nod and a wave of his hand. Looking down at his plate, Edward Fairchild thought his breakfast had lost most of its appeal now. He took one last bite, and with a grimace rose to face his task.