by Cheryl Holt
She and Daisy went into the chapel, and they waited through two more ceremonies, but that was all Jo could abide.
“Let’s go home, Daisy,” she said.
“But…but…what about the wedding? What about Uncle Peyton? What if he arrives, but we’re not here?”
“He knows where we live. He knows how to locate us.”
Jo motioned to the vicar’s wife and whispered that they were leaving. She described Peyton and asked—should he deign to show his face—that the woman tell him they’d departed. They trudged out, and Daisy was stoically morose.
As to Jo, she wasn’t depressed or worried, wasn’t concerned or moping. No, she was more incensed than she’d ever been, and she truly thought—if she’d owned a pistol—she’d have sought him out and shot him right in the middle of his cold, black heart.
She’d told him about Mr. Cartwright and the great disgrace he’d inflicted, yet Peyton had forced her into disgrace again!
She refused to accept that he was ill or had been in an accident. It was much more likely that he’d simply changed his mind. He’d probably spent the night drinking with his officer chums. He had to have confided that he was marrying a girl with no dowry, family, or ancestry, and they’d have laughed until dawn.
They’d have worked valiantly to dissuade him, and they must have finally succeeded.
Hadn’t she been convinced he’d grow to regret his proposal? She’d assumed it would occur down the road after he remembered he could have picked someone richer and better.
The furious, aggrieved musings rocked her. What was his intent? Would he sail away later in the evening without a goodbye? Had he instituted the fiscal arrangements he’d promised? Would the rent be paid? Would an allowance be set up? What if he hadn’t provided for her? What then?
She’d cast her lot with him, had persuaded herself to depend on him, so she’d become lazy and negligent. She’d stopped searching for employment and hadn’t found a job. Instead, she’d let him take charge, and she’d stupidly abandoned all responsibility for her own security.
Look where her foolishness had left her! Hadn’t she learned the hard way from Mr. Cartwright that a woman couldn’t rely on a man? Hadn’t she learned that a woman could only rely on herself?
“I’m sorry there wasn’t a wedding,” Daisy said. “I was so excited.”
Jo snorted with disgust. “Believe me, so was I.”
“Are you sad?”
“No,” Jo calmly lied. “We’ll reschedule it—the minute we discover what happened.”
“Do you suppose Uncle Peyton is all right?” Daisy asked.
“I’m sure he is, and I’m positive he’ll bluster in soon.”
And if he doesn’t?
The question was so terrifying she couldn’t answer it. Discreetly, she tossed her bridal bouquet in the gutter and walked on without glancing back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“You’re awake!”
Alice tiptoed over to the bed, but didn’t lean on the mattress. The doctor had advised that Uncle Peyton would be in a great deal of pain for a long time, and she supposed the slightest movement might be unpleasant.
His broken leg was in a splint, his broken arm too. He had a huge bump on his head which seemed to worry the doctor more than the shattered bones. His skull was wrapped with a thick bandage, so he looked scary, like a monster in a fairytale.
“Where am I?” he inquired.
“You’re in your bedchamber. At Benton Manor? Don’t you remember? You ask me the same question whenever you open your eyes.”
“Yes, I remember.” He was silent for a bit, then he said, “I’m starving.”
She grinned. “Then you must be feeling better. Would you like something to eat? The doctor insists we feed you broth, but I’ll order whatever you’d like. You just have to promise not to tell.”
“Maybe some eggs and toast? And some tea?”
The housemaids were watching over him, and the current woman peered in. On seeing Alice hovering, she frowned.
“Lady Alice, leave him be.”
“He’s awake, Peg. He’s hungry.”
“I’ll get some broth.”
“The Earl has requested eggs, toast, and a pot of tea. Fetch them at once.”
“The doctor won’t like it.”
“I don’t care. You can discuss the issue with him when he returns. In the meantime, we’ll obey the Earl. Hurry to the kitchen for a tray.”
Alice peeked at her uncle, and he winked, their alliance complete.
Peg hesitated, nearly argued, then stomped out.
“For a minute there,” he said, “you sounded just like your mother. Your bossy tone was exactly right.”
“I’ve listened to her often enough. It’s not difficult to imitate her.”
“When will the doctor be back?”
“Not until after supper.”
She pointed to the medicinal jar on the nightstand. “Are you hurting? You can have some laudanum. You’re due for more.”
“Have I been taking a lot of it?”
“Yes. Would you like me to pour some in a glass?”
He wrinkled his nose. “I’ll wait. It’s made me groggy. I should clear my head.”
“The doctor says you should sleep all you can. He says you’ll heal quicker that way.” There was a chair next to the bed, and she pulled it closer and sat down. “Do you recall what happened?”
He paused, pondered. “I had an accident? On my horse?”
“Yes.” Her grin widened. “You are better. The first day or two you couldn’t recollect a single thing.”
“How is my horse? We had a terrible fall.”
“He’s fine,” she fibbed. “The stable master is tending him.”
“Good.”
He shut his eyes, and she breathed an uneasy sigh. His horse had been so badly injured it couldn’t be saved. Her Uncle Richard had fired the shot to put the animal out of its misery. They’d all agreed they wouldn’t tell Uncle Peyton though. Not until he was more hale and could bear to hear the news.
He’d visited her mother on Wednesday, then he’d ridden for London so he could sail away on his ship. But he’d suffered his mishap on a bridge that was a few miles from Benton. He’d lain in the river bottom for hours, until a teamster had crossed the same bridge and noted the ruined railing.
He’d stopped his cart and peered down into the muck, and Uncle Peyton had been there unconscious.
The manor had been in an uproar ever since. The doctor insisted he’d mend eventually, but no one believed him.
Alice would never admit it, but she was delighted that he was trapped at Benton. She didn’t like that an accident was the reason, but she was glad all the same. From the moment he’d been carried up to his bedchamber, she’d been his devoted nurse.
He woke again. “You’ve been here practically every time I’ve roused.”
“I had to be certain you were receiving appropriate attention. I don’t trust that stupid doctor, and it’s not as if I’d let my mother be in charge of you. Her skills as a healer are a bit lacking.”
He chuckled. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Aren’t you weary of dawdling in this sickroom with me? Don’t you have better things to do?”
“Not really.”
“If you’re bored, you can go out and play. I don’t mind.”
“I’m not bored, and I hate to play.”
“Wonderful. I like having you as my companion.”
“There are no children to play with anyway. Uncle Richard sent them all away.”
He glanced out the window. It was gray and cloudy, and it seemed to have been raining all summer. “What day is it?”
“Monday.”
He scowled. “Monday? You’re positive?”
“Yes.”
“When was my accident? Wednesday?”
“Yes.”<
br />
“It’s been six days.”
“Yes,” she said again.
“There are several people who must be missing me. I have to write some letters.”
“Mother contacted the navy for you, so don’t worry about that.”
“That’s a relief, but…ah…I have to write to someone else. Is there a desk in here?”
“Out in the sitting room.”
“Can you bring me a piece of paper and a quill?”
“I’ll be right back with them.”
She was so thrilled to be useful, to provide him with what he couldn’t retrieve himself. Since the day they’d chatted in the woods, she’d been totally obsessed with him.
It was difficult to live with her mother and Uncle Richard. They were so grouchy and unhappy. They’d filled her head with dreadful stories about Uncle Peyton, but after she’d talked to him—without her mother butting in—she’d learned that he was the best person ever.
She wished her mother and Uncle Richard would leave Benton, and her Uncle Peyton would stay instead. It was a horrid wish, and she’d probably go straight to Hell for thinking it, but she couldn’t help it.
No one was ever kind to her. No one ever noticed her or listened to her. Her half-sister, Daisy, had been her only real friend. Their entire relationship had been a secret from the rest of the world, but it had been so special that they’d pretended to be twins. And why shouldn’t they have? They were the same age, and they looked just alike.
Besides Daisy, her Uncle Peyton was the only one who’d ever seemed to like her. She didn’t care how her mother denigrated him. Alice would love him forever, and she’d never stop!
She slid off the chair, and she hurried to the other room. She found a tray, and she grabbed the items he required, then she carried them into the bedchamber. She placed the tray on the mattress, and she had to fuss with everything so he could balance the paper. With all his splints, bandages, and casts, it was hard for him to maneuver.
He contemplated, reflecting on how to craft his message. Finally, he penned a short note, and she struggled not to read it, but she was so curious. She glimpsed a few words like very sorry and accident and wedding.
Was he getting married? Her mother hadn’t mentioned it, but then, he didn’t confide in her, and it drove her mother mad with fury.
If he married, and Alice wasn’t invited to the wedding, she’d just die! He couldn’t proceed without her being there! Who was his bride to be? Was she stunningly beautiful? Was she a princess? Was she a duke’s daughter? Alice couldn’t imagine what sort of female would be perfect enough to be his wife.
He finished the letter, folded and sanded it, and she had to assist him as he swiped on the wax and stuck the Benton seal into it. To her enormous aggravation, she never managed a clearer peek at the text.
“Can you put this into the post for me?” he asked.
“Yes, I’ll take it down right away.”
“It’s very important that it be mailed as soon as possible. I have a…friend who will be fretting over my absence. She has to be apprised of what happened to me.”
So it was a she. He must be betrothed. She was certain of it. She glanced at the name: Miss Josephine Bates. She wasn’t a princess or duke’s daughter after all, and Alice was terribly disappointed. A commoner could never be worthy of him.
“It will go out today,” she told him. “I promise.”
He smiled. “You’re a good girl, Alice.”
“I try to be.”
The small exertion had depleted him. He drooped against the pillows as Peg came in with his breakfast. Cook had prepared precisely what Alice had ordered.
She set it on the nightstand, and she poured the tea and arranged the plate, cutting the toast into tiny pieces so he wouldn’t have to press with the fork.
He’d closed his eyes, but he hadn’t dozed off.
“Is that my food?”
“Yes.”
“It smells delicious.”
“My old nurse used to claim—if you’re hungry—it’s proof you’re on the mend.”
“Let’s hope she was correct.”
“May I help you to eat?” she asked. “Would that make it easier for you?”
“In a minute.”
He dozed then. She and Peg observed him, both of them worried and anxious.
She remembered his letter, and she had to deliver it downstairs, but in case he awakened, she couldn’t bear to be away from his side. She picked it up and motioned to Peg. They stepped into the other room.
“Can you take this down for me?” she inquired. “The Earl wrote it, and we can’t miss the afternoon post.”
“Yes, I’ll take it down.”
Peg left, and Alice returned to the bedchamber, dropped onto her chair, and resumed her vigil.
* * * *
Barbara was seated at her desk in the library, catching up on correspondence, when Newman walked in. He hovered, content to wait until she gave him permission to speak.
He was still in the dog house over his hiding the fact that Daisy had been living with Peyton. He hadn’t entirely wormed his way back into her good graces, but her other butler had resigned on the spur of the moment, so she’d offered the job to Newman. She’d reduced his pay substantially though, so she’d gotten even.
Eventually, she tossed down her pen and glared at him. “What is it?”
“The Earl is feeling better, and he wrote a letter that must be mailed at once. A maid brought it to me.” He peered around to be sure they were alone. “I figured you might like to look at it prior to it being sent.”
Barbara’s initial impulse was to retort, Why would I care about Peyton’s mail? But Newman’s expression silenced the question.
“Let me see.” She waved him over, and he slid it onto the desk. She studied the name on the front. “Josephine Bates. How…interesting.”
“I thought so.”
She pointed to the address. “Do you know this residence?”
“No. When the staff was moving out of the town house, there was a rumor circulating that he’d rented lodging for her, but we never learned if it was true.”
She hesitated, wondering at the ramifications of snooping—but not wondering very long—before she flicked her thumb under the seal. She read the words over and over, and her fury spiked higher with each repetition.
“It appears, Newman, that the gossip about a love nest was accurate.”
“He actually proceeded?”
“Yes, and apparently, he’s planning to marry her.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
Newman was typically very stoic, but this news was shocking by any standard. “Such a disparate match wouldn’t be appropriate for the Earl of Benton.”
“No, it wouldn’t be,” Barbara agreed.
“Miss Bates is very nice, but honestly!”
“My opinion exactly,” Barbara said. “Daisy is there with her, so we’re still supporting her with estate funds.”
“I have no comment to share, my lady. You’ve rendered me speechless.”
“There’s naught to say really.”
“No, I don’t suppose there is.”
They stared, a thousand complicit messages flitting between them. Then Barbara said, “That will be all, Newman. Thank you.”
“As always, I am your most devoted servant.”
The obsequious toad bowed out, and the instant he shut the door, she whirled in her chair and gazed out across the park.
From the day she’d wed Neville Prescott, her life had been a tedious slog of humiliation and disgrace. He was dead and buried, and he was still shaming her.
He’d bequeathed every farthing to his vain, imperious brother. She couldn’t buy a dress or choose a supper menu without begging him first for a few pennies. Yet he was taking money—her money—and spending it on his paramour and Neville’s bastard.
All the while, she, Alice,
and Nancy were expected to restrain themselves and make do with less.
The gall of it! The ignominy!
And now, on top of every other mortification, he intended to wed Miss Bates. He would replace Barbara with a girl who was nothing and who had nothing. Would Barbara blithely allow it to occur? She didn’t think she could.
At the moment, he was upstairs, and his broken leg would have him incapacitated for at least eight weeks. He’d need a cane after that, and he’d likely always limp. In fact, with his arm damaged too, his career in the navy was probably over.
He’d never sail the seas again, would never command a naval vessel. That sort of grueling existence required enormous physical stamina, and he’d squandered it when his horse plunged into that ravine under the bridge.
He’d have to remain in England and devise another way to keep busy. Wouldn’t he move to Benton—with his new, common bride? But Miss Bates would never rule at Benton. She would never lord herself over Barbara and her daughters. She would never bring Daisy to Benton, and Daisy would never reside in the manor.
It would happen over Barbara’s dead body.
She’d warned Miss Bates to be careful, but the foolish ninny hadn’t listened. She hadn’t assumed she had to listen. She’d been living under Peyton’s protection, and she viewed it as a shield that would avert any bad consequences.
Well, Peyton would be bedridden for two months, and during such a lengthy period, a stupid dunce like Miss Bates could vanish. Daisy could vanish too. Why not? Who was there to prevent Barbara from orchestrating that very conclusion?
Although no one realized it, Richard was Daisy’s guardian. When she was born, the role had been dumped on Neville, but he’d shucked off the responsibility to Richard quickly enough. Miss Bates and Peyton weren’t in charge of Daisy and couldn’t act on her behalf if Richard disagreed.
On the afternoon when Miss Bates had left with Daisy, Richard hadn’t signed any paperwork regarding custody. Everything had wrapped up so swiftly that he’d forgotten. Richard was certainly in a position to determine if his ward should be wallowing in immoral conditions with a loose doxy.
