Hungerwood sighed, and Marion discovered that she was holding her breath. For if what he was about to speak of was what she thought it to be, then the next few minutes mattered as deeply to her as they did to Lady Faith.
“I had not thought of it like that before. I am sorry – sorry that you must bear the burden of this, through no fault of your own – you and Mother both.”
“It will be easier to bear if I understand it.”
“Then yes, I will tell you. But you must promise me not to reveal this to anyone else – for if you do, then everything I have done, everything I have sacrificed this last six years, will have been for nothing.”
“I… I promise – I will not reveal it to anyone, unless you give me explicit permission to do so.”
Hungerwood sighed, a sound full of such deep sadness that Marion felt the urge to comfort him, somehow.
“Six years ago, a night shortly before I left the country, Hugh and I were out with the crowd of men we called friends then. Of them all, when I look at them, both as they are now and as they were then, really only one or two were truly friends – but I was too young and foolish to understand that then. Hugh was in his cups, and was arguing, baiting another of the group, about the woman he had taken up with. Hugh claimed that she was nothing but a lightskirt, and that Martin should share her favours with the rest of us. Martin kept telling Hugh that he had married the woman, that she was his Countess, and not to be trifled with. None of us believed him, for we had heard and seen nothing of a wedding. Hugh kept at him, being crude and obnoxious, as did Lord Jasper Sinclair, even more so.”
“What happened? Who was the woman?”
“Patience, sister – I will tell you the whole sordid tale. Sinclair was a man who liked to duel, and Hugh knew it – he was intentionally rousing Sinclair to speak ill of her, enjoying watching Sinclair and Martin at each other’s throats. In the end, Martin challenged Sinclair to a duel, and Hugh instantly agreed to be his Second, in a whispered conversation with the man. I was close enough to hear, but I doubt anyone else was. Martin accepted – what else could he honourably do? – and the time was set for the following dawn. Most of us attended the duel, although not as many as had been out drinking that night. I stayed close to Hugh, for he was still half-foxed from the night before.”
“And? What did Hugh do? What was the result of the duel?”
“Hugh encouraged Sinclair to duel to the death, not just first blood. I think that Sinclair might have hesitated, if it was not for Hugh’s encouraging him. They duelled. They were well matched, but Sinclair became wilder and wilder with his blows. I thought then that Martin would manage to disarm him, and that the duel would be done with, for I doubted that Martin would kill. But fate was cruel. Martin slipped on the dewy grass, just as Sinclair slashed wildly, and Sinclair’s point went home. There was so much blood. Even though Martin’s Second tried desperately to staunch the flow, it was already too late. Martin spoke some whispered words, thrust something into his Second’s hands, and was gone from this world. In an instant, everything changed. For Sinclair could be tried for murder, and Hugh for assisting him, which would destroy our family. Hugh looked at me, and I made a decision. I pushed Hugh behind me, and pretended that it was I who had been Second to Sinclair.”
“But… why would you do such a thing?”
“Because the only recourse was for both Sinclair and his Second to leave the country. The dishonour of a younger son, especially one who had fled England, might be whispered about, but would not completely destroy the family, whereas the heir admitting to such a thing would have been a monumental scandal. I could not allow that to happen to you, or to Mother, or Father. So I chose to take on Hugh’s dishonour, that you might suffer less. I never expected to see England again, certainly never expected to bear the title. I had prayed that Hugh might value my sacrifice, might curb his wildness, and marry, might settle, and get an heir. But, as you know all too well, those hopes were in vain.”
“What did you do when our letter finally reached you?”
“I laughed like a madman, and cried at the same time. And I was glad that I had amassed a fortune from my share of the privateer’s prizes, for I knew then that I would likely need it.”
“So you came home, knowing that they would all treat you like this, for something that you did not even do? I cannot imagine the depth of courage it takes to face them every day. But… you did not tell me – who was the woman that this Martin found worth losing his life for, in defence of her honour?”
“Ah, that is the most difficult part of all. For it seems that he had told the truth, no matter what Hugh believed – Martin had married his commoner love. And she is now well accepted in society, as is her son, Martin’s child. That woman is Marion Stafford, Countess of Scartwick.”
Chapter Nine
Marion felt faint, dizzy, the world going grey as she struggled to assimilate all that she had just heard. She did not truly hear what was said after that, did not hear them leave the room. She sat, drifting in and out of darkness, as grief besieged her again – grief not just for Martin, for all that she had lost, but grief also for Hungerwood – a man honourable far beyond the average, who had allowed his life to be destroyed for the sake of his family.
A man she had foolishly been hating, trusting the rumours of the ton, rather than investigating further. And now that she knew the truth, hating his brother was pointless, for Hugh St. John was more than a year in the grave.
She did not know what to do. She could not simply change her public behaviour towards him overnight, for that would most certainly occasion notice and comment – and more gossip was not something that either of them, or Lady Faith, needed. Yet she could not continue to treat him so icily, not now that she knew. And she could not admit that she knew.
All over again, she was filled with shame at her eavesdropping, however unintentional it had been. Yet she could not regret it. The knowledge she had gained had changed fundamental parts of her life. It would take some time for her to truly absorb it all – she would likely think of nothing else for the next few days, as she struggled to decide how to deal with it, how to go on, from now forward.
Eventually, she rose from the chair, and quietly made her way back to the ballroom, and straight to the Duke and Duchess – she could not risk having Cardston approach her, and the Ball was drawing to a close anyway. The sooner she could leave, the better. The Duchess looked at her closely as she reached them, no doubt seeing far more than Marion would have wished, but she did not ask any difficult questions.
“You look very tired, my dear – perhaps we should take our leave now?”
“Thank you. I think that would be for the best.”
~~~~~
The following morning, as Marion sat on the picnic blanket in the Park, the conversation she had overheard replayed itself, endlessly, in her mind. Daniel ran about, chasing his ball, pulling leaves from a nearby bush to fashion into boats to float on the Serpentine, dragging his Nanny with him to see his achievements. Marion was deeply grateful for the woman’s patience, for it allowed her to simply sit and think.
She was still as shocked and confused as she had been the night before, and no further towards a way forward.
Her hatred of Hungerwood had been transformed to respect, and she was left with an abiding sense of regret, a sense that she had done the man a great disservice by willingly believing him dishonourable, when everything she had seen of him had spoken to the opposite. The idea began to grow in her, that she needed, in some way, to provide recompense – for, undoubtedly, her harsh coldness to him had been noted, and had encouraged others to treat him similarly.
She did not know how to go about doing such a thing, but she resolved, then and there, to at least begin to be less cold to him each time they met, and to no longer flee his presence, as Lady Faith had described it.
Exhausted from little sleep and too much thinking – for her mind had also replayed, over and over, the description of Marti
n’s death which had been given in a level of detail which she had never been provided before, but which brought some closure to her emotions – she lay back on the blanket, and allowed the morning sun to warm her, and drifted towards sleep. The Duchess watched her, with a gentle smile on her face.
~~~~~
Lord Frederick Cardston was once again leaning against a tree, attempting to look negligently at ease doing so, whilst his whole body almost vibrated with tension. The child was running wildly about, and the Nanny was barely able to keep up. Lady Scartwick appeared to have fallen asleep on the blanket, and was not watching him.
This might, finally, be the chance he sought.
His plan was simple, and therefore most likely to succeed. Lady Scartwick appeared to love her son. The Duke appeared to care greatly for the boy, also, as he was his heir. So, surely, if the price of the boy’s continued freedom was Lady Scartwick’s agreement to marry him, then she would agree.
He watched the child run, with that boundless energy that the young brought to everything, outpacing the Nanny again and again. Cardston edged forward, from tree to tree, until he was close to the grass where the child played. The boy was running towards him, and he tensed, ready to move.
He took one step, almost out into the sunlight – another few quick steps and he would collide with the boy, could scoop him up as he ran, and make off with him, before the Nanny saw him. He took a second step, his arms out and ready to grab, but, somehow, the Nanny appeared beside the boy, out of breath, but there. Cardston shifted his weight, desperately turning himself back into the shadows under the trees, cursing the woman under his breath. She did not see him. She was focussed on the child.
“Master Daniel, you really must not run off so far! I’m quite breathless and my poor heart is pounding. Please be good, and stay closer to the blankets!”
“Yes Nanny. I’m sorry Nanny. But running is fun! Why can’t you run as fast as me?”
The Nanny sighed.
“Because I am older, Master Daniel, and I haven’t had to run for years, until I started looking after you. I’m out of practice.”
The boy laughed as she led him away.
Cardston gritted his teeth, and slipped back through the trees towards his carriage. Another day. Another chance would come, and he would make sure that it was soon.
~~~~~
More and more, when riding in the Park in the morning, Sin found himself taking the path which would bring him to the point where he could see Lady Scartwick and her son, with whoever had accompanied them that day. He could not explain to himself why he did so, but day after day, he ended up there, regardless. He sat each time, letting his horse rest, and watched. It was almost a punishment for him, to see the child which looked so like Martin, to see the happiness he would almost certainly never have, to understand, day after day, what damage his fool of a brother had wrought in the world.
And to admire Lady Scartwick. For he could no longer deny that he did so. She was becoming more beautiful as the spring wore on, as she became more settled amongst the ton. If he could in any way protect her, or provide any service to her, he would. Nothing could bring Martin Stafford back, but every day of his life, Sin could work towards undoing some of the damage that Hugh had done. He refused to consider his feelings about Lady Scartwick, beyond a need to provide reparation for his brother’s deeds – anything deeper than that was too painful to contemplate.
This day, as all the others, he sighed, and turned away, never making his presence known, having drunk his fill of the picture of innocent happiness again, having refilled the sense of hope in his soul, just a little more.
~~~~~
The Season continued, and the endless whirl of social events occupied more and more time. Marion was torn between a desire to avoid them all, so that she need not face Cardston and the others of that group, who watched Cardston’s attempts to seduce her to his wishes with amusement, and a desire to attend, so that, she ruefully admitted to herself, she might see Hungerwood, and have the chance to speak to him more kindly.
The first event at which she had not removed herself from his presence, he had looked at her with shock – a shock which was quickly hidden behind his usual charming expression. But his eyes had followed her, their dark blue depths filled with an emotion she did not understand. It had intrigued her, and she had seemed helpless to stop herself from watching him. Their eyes had met, multiple times throughout the evening, and each time a shiver had run through her.
At each event, it had become easier to be less cold in manner towards him, easier to allow herself to be present when he conversed with his sister, and, slowly, easier to let herself be a part of those conversations too. She had the oddest feeling that he had begun to intentionally seek such conversations, to put himself in her way. But surely that was madness on her part – for why would he do such a thing, especially given the way that she had treated him at first?
Now that she viewed him more kindly, she had also become acutely aware of how others treated him. They were, she could see, in many cases intentionally hurtful, vicious in their indirect castigation of one of their own who had strayed.
The ton had high expectations of behaviour – or at least of the behaviour which one let become known to the world. And accepting, admitting to, dishonourable acts and fleeing the country as a result, was far beyond the pale. Now that she saw him for the deeply honourable man that he was, the way that others treated him roused her anger, and her protective instinct.
Perhaps that was foolish in the extreme, but it happened, no matter her resolve to be unaffected.
On this particular evening, the mid-April weather was magnificent, the warmth of Spring leading couples to wander on the terrace outside the ballroom, and the entire place filled with great mounded bouquets of richly scented spring flowers. The scent was such that it was almost intoxicating. She stood with Lady Faith, discussing the beauty of the blooms around them, as well as the people in attendance. Lord Hungerwood approached them, having just finished dancing, his face a little flushed from the exertion, and his eyes alight with what Marion was startled to find could be described as mischief.
“Why Faith, how can this be? You did not dance that last set. I thought that the queue of your admirers made such a thing improbable in the extreme.”
“There are, my dear brother, occasional moments in which I manage to rest. And indulge in delightful conversation with my friend.”
He looked at Marion for a moment, and everything stilled. There was nothing but the deep pools of his eyes, the curve of his lip as he smiled at her. She discovered that she was smiling in return.
His voice, when he spoke, resonated within her.
“And Lady Scartwick’s conversation is, I will admit, far superior to that of every other friend of yours whom I have met. I do believe that your taste in friends has improved, dear sister.”
Marion felt herself blush at his words, and cast her eyes down, suddenly completely unsure. A flash of memory came to her then, of when Martin had been alive, of the few times then that she had met his ‘friends’. This man had, even then, been more polite, more honourable, than the others. There had even been a day, she now remembered, when he had apologised to her for the behaviour of another man in the group. She also remembered, now that it was so clear in her mind, how very horribly different his brother had been. A shiver ran through her.
A gentleman arrived beside them.
“Lady Faith, I do believe that this is my dance?”
“Why yes, Lord Haleford, you are quite correct.”
She placed her hand on his arm, and allowed him to lead her to the floor. Silence seemed to surround Marion and Hungerwood, as Lady Faith and Lord Haleford walked away. Their eyes met, and held, and all capacity for speech seemed to have deserted Marion. Between them, the air almost crackled with a tension that was by no means unpleasant, a tension that Marion almost dared to describe as tinged with desire.
His eyes were not simply deep blue,
but, like the ocean he had spent so long sailing, held tones of dark green, and small flashes of silvery light. His lips curved into a wider smile, and she watched them, drawn by the shape and the movement.
Slowly, as if afraid that the moment was as fragile as glass, and would shatter, he spoke, his voice low, a vibration barely heard, but felt deep within her.
“Lady Scartwick, would you do me the honour of granting me this dance?”
Marion felt light headed, knowing that refusing would be wise, yet she discovered that her lips had already formed the word.
“Yes, my Lord.”
He offered his arm, and she placed her hand upon it, acutely aware of the eyes which followed them as he led her to the floor. Only then, as the orchestra struck up, did she realise that it was a waltz. Heat flooded her as he took her hand, and brought his other hand to rest low on her back. Everything else ceased to exist as he swept her into movement, and the music became something that she floated on, safe in his arms.
Distantly, she wondered at that thought – why would she feel safe, with this man, of all men – yet she did. Neither of them noticed those around them, or the whispers which ran through the ballroom like wind through the trees, a shimmer of sound filled with speculation and shock. The ton had noticed that the two who should, by all things righteous, be enemies, were dancing – and dancing in a manner which made it quite clear that enmity was no longer a possibility.
When the music finally drew to a close, the spell was broken, and Marion blushed with embarrassment as she noted, as he escorted her to the Duke and Duchess, that everyone was watching them. What had she done?
~~~~~
What had he done?
And why had she accepted his request for a dance?
Sin did not know, but even if she never spoke to him again, it would have been worth it. Whilst he held her, everything else had disappeared. For that magical time, he had forgotten all about his dishonour, about the past and the terrible things that his brother had done, and their effect on this woman. There had only been the feel of her in his arms, and the depths of her green eyes for him to drown in.
Restoring the Earl's Honour: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 17) Page 7
