by Cheryl Holt
Perhaps he should head to London and put the navy out of its misery. Perhaps it was time to retire. Plus, London was the last place Jo and Daisy had been. Why not proceed to town? What other choice was there?
* * * *
“Where will you be?”
“In London.”
“When will you be back?”
“Never?”
Mr. Townsend whirled on Maud so rapidly that she stumbled away, being terrified he might strike her.
“I don’t want you to go to town,” she said.
“I don’t care.”
They were in his bedchamber, and he was throwing clothes into a portmanteau. She was anxious to stop him, but didn’t know how. They’d only been wed a few weeks, and all of them had been dreadful. She didn’t like how he bossed her, how he was so imperious and dictatorial.
Before the ceremony, he’d been charming and courteous, but once it was over, he’d grown surly and vulgar. He didn’t like the country, and he complained about every pesky detail. The house was too small and the furnishings outdated. The servants were lazy and disrespectful, and the meals Maud had the cook prepare were disgusting. She couldn’t do anything right.
Mostly, she loathed the behaviors he forced her to perform in the bedchamber. During her affair with Neville Prescott, they’d been endurable, but her husband enjoyed conduct that was vile and revolting, and he wouldn’t allow her to refuse to oblige him.
She’d been so proud to be a bride. She’d assumed it would render the perfect existence. Now, she ceaselessly found herself yearning for the tedious days when she and Jo had limped along together with no issues or problems.
She was quickly discovering that there were many facets to being a wife that she hadn’t considered. Here was one occurring in full view! He could pack a bag and leave, and she couldn’t prevent him.
“Lord Benton was lying,” she claimed.
“Oh, Maud, shut up. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“I don’t have a daughter.”
“You must think I’m an idiot—or a fool.”
He peered at her so scathingly that she felt young and ridiculous, and her fury with Jo spiraled. Jo had pushed Daisy front and center where no one had ever wanted her to be.
Wasn’t it bad enough that Neville Prescott had seduced Maud? It had been a month of temporary insanity when she was sixteen, and she’d paid a very steep price for her sin. Couldn’t a woman move beyond a single, pathetic mistake? Was there no forgiveness in the world?
“You’re my husband,” she loyally stated, “and I hold you in the highest regard. I could never deem you an idiot or a fool.”
“Neville Prescott, Maud? Seriously? He was a rutting dog. Everybody knew it.”
“I didn’t know,” she quietly said.
“You’ve concealed a humiliating secret from me, and I had to learn about it from that prick, Peyton Prescott. In my book, it indicates you married me under false pretenses.”
She glanced down at the floor. “I was afraid to tell you. I’m ashamed of what happened.”
“As you should be. You seem like such a prude. Who could have guessed you’re actually a harlot?”
He’d finished filling his portmanteau. He buckled the straps, yanked it off the bed, and marched out. She chased after him, following him down the stairs and outside. The carriage had been brought round, and it was parked in front of the house, their footman his driver. He was in the box, waiting for Mr. Townsend to arrive.
“Please don’t let this matter,” Maud begged. “It doesn’t matter to me. It never has, and I’ve spent the last decade trying to forget it.”
He tossed his bag on the seat. “You have a child, Maud. She’s nine years old. That’s a little hard to forget.”
“You have to stay here with me. You can’t depart.”
“After this dire news, how could you presume I’d remain?”
“This doesn’t have to change anything.”
“You truly are a dunce, aren’t you? It changes everything, and I’m glad it has. There’s no reason to continue hiding my activities from you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I married you for your money.”
“Well, of course you did. From the start, you recognized I was quite an heiress.”
“No, I married you so I’d have the funds to support Prudence.”
“Who is Prudence?”
His smile was very smug. “Who would you suppose?”
Maud remembered Jo’s warnings about his special friend, but Maud had been too alarmed by the possibility to believe her.
She couldn’t bear to pose the question. “Are you planning to…to…betray me with another woman?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“I don’t give you my permission.”
“You’re my wife, Maud. You have no rights.” He snorted with disgust. “I swear, you are the stupidest female I’ve ever met.”
“There’s no need for insults.”
“Yes, there is. You’re a liar and a fornicator who wasn’t in a pristine condition when we wed. I’ve been cheated, Mrs. Townsend. I’ve been duped. I will talk to my brother, Charles, about an annulment. Perhaps I’ll sue you for damages. I’m certain I could collect a substantial amount due to your prior infidelity.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Maud huffed.
“Oh, but I would. I’d have your money, maybe your house too, but I wouldn’t have to have you.”
It was the most vicious comment ever uttered in her presence. If she hadn’t been so stunned, she might have slapped him or at least verbally defended herself. But the footman was glaring down at her, his expression condemning, as if her husband deserved to be offended.
She was rooted to her spot—as if she’d been turned to stone. Mr. Townsend jumped into the carriage and slammed the door in her face, and she managed to ask, “What if I have to contact you? Where will you be?”
“Weren’t you listening? I will be with Prudence.”
“What if I need funds or other help? What then?”
“Write to Charles. He’ll know where I am.” He studied her derisively, then he studied the house, and he wrinkled up his nose as if Maud emitted a bad smell. “I can’t figure out how Charles convinced me to wed you. I must have been mad.”
“I was a good catch!” she hotly insisted. “You were lucky to get me!”
“Only in your deranged mind is that statement true.”
He banged on the roof, and the footman clicked the reins. The horse raced off like a shot. In the blink of an eye, the vehicle disappeared down the road.
She stood forever, watching the dust settle. Then she went inside. To her quiet home. To her quiet life.
She staggered to the parlor and sat in the chair by the window. It was where Jo used to sit when she sewed. If Jo had still lived with Maud, her sister would have commiserated, would have sympathized over Maud’s plight, but Jo was gone, and Maud was glad of it. She was glad! And she wouldn’t pretend otherwise.
She dawdled, unmoving, unseeing. She yearned to visit friends, to tell them what had transpired or to seek their advice. But she didn’t have any friends.
She just had her small staff of servants. She thought one of them might peek in to check on her, but no one came, and no one checked.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jo trudged down the street, her mood at its lowest point. She couldn’t remember ever being so tired or afraid. A cold blast of wind whipped past, and she tugged on her cloak, wishing she had one constructed from a thicker fabric.
Autumn had arrived with a vengeance, and winter would follow much too soon. Where would she be then? The likely answer to that question was scary.
It was getting harder to hide her predicament. So far, she’d been modifying her gowns so her belly wasn’t obvious, but she was slender and willowy. She wouldn’t be able to continue her furtive concealment.
She w
as still living at the women’s boarding house Barbara Prescott had sent her to. It was clean and quiet, but the owner was a Christian female who demanded stellar moral conduct from her tenants. Jo wouldn’t be allowed to remain once the truth was revealed.
Fortunately, she’d been hired as a seamstress at a dress shop. She worked twelve hours a day, six days a week, in dingy, cramped conditions. Her fingers and back ached, and she’d developed a constant headache from straining to see the needle and fabric.
As with her rented room, she wouldn’t be permitted to keep her job after her shame was noted. What would she do then?
Luck had deserted her. Fate had abandoned her to her own devices. She didn’t dare court trouble, for she was certain it would find her.
She halted at the officer’s club where Lord Benton used to stay when he was in London. She often loitered outside until a footman would come out and chase her away. People thought she was a prostitute soliciting customers, and she’d be deluged with salacious offers, but she ignored them. A coarse comment couldn’t affect her.
She didn’t imagine she’d bump into Lord Benton. He’d sailed to the Caribbean and was out of the country, but she hoped she’d meet an acquaintance who might have an address for him.
She’d relentlessly debated if she should try to locate him. Yes, he’d tricked her. Yes, he’d pretended to be smitten so she’d ruin herself. Yes, he’d insisted he’d wed her to rectify the damage, but he hadn’t been serious. She comprehended that now, but she had been left in the lurch, and she was very, very angry.
A man couldn’t blithely fornicate with a woman, sire a bastard on her, then walk away. If Jo had had any money, she’d have hired a lawyer to confront him. There were laws to prevent a cad from acting as he’d acted. There were rules and obligations to prevent it.
Jo needed help—both to have a roof over her head, but also so she could quit working after the baby was born. London was enormously expensive, and currently, she didn’t earn enough to support herself. How was she to support a child too?
Did Lord Benton expect her to starve in the gutter? Did he expect his child to starve?
She simply couldn’t believe he’d want that, but when she’d been so blind, wasn’t it time to admit she’d been wrong as to what sort of person he was deep down? She only had to look at her ridiculous debacle with Holden Cartwright to be reminded that she had no ability to judge a man’s character.
Most of all, she was terrified about Daisy. Barbara and Richard Slater had removed Daisy from Jo’s custody and control. Was Lord Benton aware of their perfidy? Had he sanctioned it? He’d seemed to be fond of Daisy, so why would he let Richard Slater take her?
Jo was a fool in many ways, but not with regard to Mr. Slater and his sister. They’d claimed Daisy had been delivered to a more decent setting, but Jo didn’t trust them and was alarmed over what type of alternative they might have arranged.
Had Daisy been placed in an orphanage after all? There were hundreds of those facilities in London, and whenever Jo heard about one, she’d visit and inquire about Daisy, but it was futile to search in such a large sea of anonymous urchins. How could she ever find one little girl? Yet she would never stop hunting.
Since dawn, she’d toiled away at the dress shop, and she was exhausted. Supper was served at her boarding house at nine. If she didn’t leave soon, she’d miss the meal which would mean she’d go to bed hungry. She had to hurry.
A group of sailors strolled by, and they whistled and hurled risqué remarks.
“Do any of you know Commander Peyton Prescott?” she calmly asked.
“Why, you brazen trollop? Is he your best customer?”
The query ignited ribald laughter, and they kept on into the building. They must have complained about her because, shortly, a footman emerged. He had a broom—as if he could sweep her away.
“We’ve told you not to loiter,” he fumed. “You can’t lurk on our stoop. Get off with you!”
He shook the broom menacingly, but she stood firm. “If you’d just provide the information I seek about Commander Prescott, I wouldn’t tarry. I swear.”
“We have no information, and even if we did, we wouldn’t share it with the likes of you.”
“He’s inherited his family’s title, so he’s Lord Benton now. Surely there must be someone in your establishment who can assist me.”
“How many times will you make me say it? We have no information!”
She stared at him with her most beseeching expression. It had no effect, but she hadn’t supposed it would.
“Get!” he seethed. “If you dawdle again, we’ll call for the law. If you spend a few months in jail for trespassing, I’m betting you won’t be quite so cocky.”
He aimed the broom at her ankles, and he whacked her shin.
“Ouch!” she protested.
She leapt away, but her feet tangled in her skirt, and she tripped and fell, landing on her hip and elbow. Her bonnet flew off, and her reticule slid away. She huddled on the dirty bricks, feeling small and pathetic and very, very incensed.
Why was life so difficult? Why was she being pummeled by misfortune? She’d always been kind and compassionate. Her sole moral lapse had been her amour with Peyton Prescott, but she’d loved him! She’d believed he would marry her!
Of course she’d been completely deluded, but nevertheless, she’d proceeded with pure motives.
Tears welled into her eyes, and the man scoffed.
“Don’t think tears will generate any sympathy. Be gone!”
He swung the broom as if he’d strike her, and suddenly, another man rushed up and jerked it away, furiously saying, “That’s enough!”
“She’s a whore, sir,” the footman explained. “She bothers our customers.”
“I’m not a whore,” Jo mulishly stated, simply wishing she could vanish. “I don’t care how virulently you accuse me. I’m not.”
The man froze and glared down at her. There was a peculiar charge in the air, and she glanced up to discover what had caused it. When he saw her face, he gasped.
“Miss Bates?” Evan Boyle said. “Is it really you?”
“Yes, Mr. Boyle. It is I, Josephine Bates.”
He reached down and lifted her to her feet, and he scooped up her bonnet and reticule and put them in her hand.
“My goodness,” he murmured, “are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. A tad rattled but fine.”
“It’s dark and cold. Why are you out and all alone in this part of town?”
“I’m anxious to contact Lord Benton. I have been for weeks, and I can’t figure out how. I…I…” She couldn’t finish her sentence, and she started to cry in earnest. Eventually, she caught her breath and forced out the words, “I’ve been having the worst time, Mr. Boyle.”
“You look positively bedraggled.” He turned to the footman. “This is Lord Benton’s most devoted friend. How dare you treat her so shabbily!”
The footman blanched. “She claimed to be, but we didn’t…that is she seemed to be…well…”
Mr. Boyle silenced him with a glower, then whispered quick commands that had the footman jumping to obey, and Jo never ceased to be amazed at how easily a man could exert influence.
Mr. Boyle ushered her into the lobby of the officer’s club, and he hustled her down a quiet hall. They entered a small room that appeared to be an office. There was a desk and filing cabinets. A fire burned in the grate. The footman was hovering, and Mr. Boyle ordered hot tea for her, then shooed him out.
He guided Jo to a chair, and she was shivering. He frowned and clasped her hands.
“Gad, your skin is like ice.”
There was a coat hanging on a hook by the door, and he draped it over her shoulders, then he scooted her next to the fire.
The footman bustled in with a tray and set it down. He hovered again, no doubt hoping to eavesdrop, and Mr. Boyle shoved him out, then poured her a cup of tea. There w
as a decanter of brandy on the desk, and he added a dollop to the tea, then he offered it to her.
She was so cold she could barely grab the cup. He had to wrap her fingers around it and hold them in place. After a bit, he asked, “Better?”
“Yes, much better.”
He stepped back and pulled up a chair. “I haven’t seen you in months.”
“Not since July—at Benton House.”
“You’ve suffered numerous calamities since then.”
“You have no idea, Mr. Boyle.”
He tsked with offense. “What did Peyton do to you? Let it all out, then we’ll decide how I can fix it.”
Jo didn’t have to ponder whether or not she should unburden herself. From the moment Lord Benton had jilted her at the altar, she’d been dying to confide in someone, but she’d also been desperate for advice and assistance. She had no resources and scant experience out in the larger world.
She felt as if she was dangling from a rope and was gradually losing her grip. Any second, she would plummet to the ground, and it was a very long fall. Where would she be when she hit bottom?
She began talking, and he was a good listener. If he interrupted at all, it was to clarify a detail. She told him every embarrassing fact, even confessing about the babe in her belly. It was why Lord Benton had agreed to wed her, and it was the root of all her problems.
It was her shame and disgrace too, but she’d tumbled so far down society’s ladder that it was silly to conceal the worst aspect of her predicament.
“I have to contact Lord Benton,” she said as her tale of woe wound to an end. “How would I?”
“I’ll take care of all of this for you. Don’t fret over it.”
“What about my niece, Daisy? I’m so afraid for her.”
“With valid reason. Richard Slater is a cretin, and his sister is a shrew. I’ll deal with that issue too.”
“I’m so glad I ran into you, Mr. Boyle.”
“So am I. I merely wish you’d located me sooner.”
“I didn’t know how to find you.”
He patted her hand. “Everything will be all right.”
