Scandalous Scions Two

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  She didn’t have to look to know what he meant. She had sensed the difference as soon as he had walked back into the drawing room in his fine suit and elegant appointments.

  Bronwen wore one of her oldest muslin dresses, with stains about the hem from walking across muddy fields. The cloth was thin from too many washings and the green sprigs faded.

  It wasn’t just clothes that separated them, though. They were from two different worlds.

  “If I speak, if I say anything, then I would condemn you to the same empty life that Jasper’s mother lived,” Tor said. “I would not wish that upon you, Bronwen. I will not be the one to cut short your wonderful freedom and restrict you to a hollow, loveless existence, waiting in hope for a return that will never happen. So I will end this now. Here. You must live your life as fully as you planned.”

  “What if I don’t want that life anymore?” she whispered. Her heart was breaking. She could dispute nothing he said.

  “Find another man who will give you his love,” Tor ground out. “Mine will only destroy you.”

  He walked to the door, moving stiffly.

  Bronwen could not leave it there. She caught at his fist. “Tor…”

  He caught her head in his hands and kissed her.

  Bronwen clung to him, soaking up every last sensation of the deep, wonderful kiss, for she knew it was the last.

  Then, Tor plucked her hands from his jacket and put them by her sides. For a moment, his blue eyes looked into hers.

  Then he turned and left, closing the door behind him.

  Bronwen stood where she was for a long time after he left, her lips still tingling with the touch of his. She didn’t think. She stood, wishing the ground would swallow her whole.

  When carriage wheels and horse shoes crunched on the gravel outside, Bronwen stirred.

  She ascended the iron stairs to the second floor, where the high windows were. She pushed the rolling ladder over to the closest window and climbed it. The library cases that stood beneath the window provided a two-foot wide ledge she climbed onto and kneeled to peer at the front of the house.

  There were three carriages standing there. Two of them were broughams, with a pair each. The carriage between them was a grand coach with a coat of arms on the black varnished door and four horses to pull it.

  Warrick’s footmen stood at attention in front of the house, while liveried footmen climbed from the carriages. They even wore wigs.

  One of the liveried footmen helped a woman climb from the big coach. The woman was slender and blonde and wrapped in a blue velvet traveling cloak with white fur trimming. At the front opening of the cloak, silver silk peeped. She wore the same elongated hoops that Sharla was wearing and insisting were the latest in French fashion. The hem of the dress was embroidered with dark gray flourishes and curlicues. There was not a spot of mud or dirt anywhere on her.

  The woman stepped on to the gravel and put the hood back up over her glowing blonde hair. She pushed her hands into a fur muff and turned her head to examine Northallerton with a critical eye.

  There was a sound of voices from the big front door and light spilled onto the gravel. Warrick came out, carrying the big lamp.

  Then Jasper and Tor emerged onto the gravel in front of the coach.

  The woman pulled her hands from the muff and hurried forward, lifting them toward Tor. Bronwen heard her speak, although the words made no sense. Danish, she reminded herself.

  The woman hurried to Tor and reached up and kissed his cheeks, both of them, still talking, her voice soft as honey.

  Bronwen gripped the iron clasp of the window until it bit into her palm.

  Tor had spoken of the parade of suitable women being presented to him. This was another, except her familiarity with him said she was related. Another cousin, for Tor had no sisters or brothers, except for Jasper.

  The footmen snapped to attention at Tor’s appearance. The one who had helped the lady to the ground stood back with the coach door held open.

  Tor stopped at the door and turned to speak to Jasper. Quiet words that Bronwen could not hear.

  Jasper nodded. Then he stepped back and bowed.

  Of course. Tor was the Archeduke Edvard Christoffer.

  Tor shook his head with an impatient movement. He closed the distance between them and hugged Jasper, in front of everyone.

  Bronwen pressed her fingers to the cold glass, her heart hurting.

  Jasper clapped Tor on the shoulder, then Tor climbed into the coach.

  The woman was helped up into it behind him, then Baumgärtner stepped up with difficulty, his cane working.

  The door was dogged shut and with a cry of command, the three carriages rolled into motion. They turned in a big circle and headed for the road to the village.

  Did he watch the house to glimpse her? Bronwen didn’t know, for she couldn’t see. Her tears blinded her.

  * * * * *

  Lilly waited by the fire until Jasper returned from outside. She held her hand out to him. “Poor Bronwen!” she breathed, as he took it. His hand was cold, telling her the chill of winter was here. She pulled Jasper closer to the fire.

  “Tor was right,” Jasper said, holding his hands out to the flames. “There is no possible future for them. It’s better to make the cut now. Although…there may yet be long term consequences we must deal with.”

  Lilly stared at him. “A child?” she breathed. “Surely, Bronwen would not be so foolish—”

  Jasper laughed and pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “My love, you were that foolish, remember?”

  Lilly rested her head on his shoulder. “That was different.”

  “Was it?” His voice rumbled against her cheek in a very agreeable way. “Neither of them are in a position to reveal their true feelings.”

  “Oh dear.” Lilly lifted her head. “We must be kind to Bronwen, now.”

  “Yes, we must.” He pulled her back against him. “Although this whole affair and Rhys’ misery, too…it has reminded me of how very lucky I am to have you.”

  She rested her hand on his chest. “And I, you, my love.”

  Jasper lifted her chin. “We should not forget the lesson,” he said, his voice low. “I think we should try again.”

  “For another baby?” The faded memory of tiny George lying still in his crib, the last sight she’d had of him, flickered through her mind and stirred her heart.

  “Yes, another baby,” Jasper said. “Life goes on. Let’s not waste it. Let’s give another baby a chance for a full life that only we can give them.”

  Lilly’s heart filled. “Yes,” she breathed. “To share all we are so very lucky to have. Yes, we must.”

  “I love you, Lady Lillian,” he murmured and kissed her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rhys had grown to hate the sight of snow falling upon London’s streets. It was a sign of mushy, muddy days ahead and a coldness in the air that chilled the bones. Now, though, as he sat watching snow fall through the window of the upstairs sitting room, he decided he had never seen anything so wonderful in his life.

  It was wonderful because he was watching it fall.

  “It’s snowing,” he whispered.

  Anna put down her book and took off her spectacles and looked through the window. “How lovely! I do like the first snowfall of the year.” She reached and picked up his hand where it rested on the arm of the chair and squeezed it.

  Rhys was able to squeeze back, a massive milestone in his recovery. For weeks, he had been unable to hold anything and had to be helped to sit up in the bed. Now he could shuffle a few steps by himself into the sitting room, to fall exhausted into the chair by the fire.

  Benjamin reported to him every day, there by the fire. He would summarize the business affairs of Davies, Baker & Sutcliffe, Rhys’ law firm on Middle Temple Lane, before returning to the Wakefield townhouse in Grosvenor Square for the evening. It had taken Rhys many months to understand the domestic arrangements in the Wakefield house
, for Ben had been closed-mouthed about it. When Rhys had arrived at the truth, he had been astonished and mildly offended.

  Anna snapped him out of his squeamish distaste. “If I had been married off to a prince in Europe, you would be in the same position as Benjamin, Rhys. Do not turn your nose up at his happiness. All three of them are blissfully happy with the arrangement. You cannot judge. They are not flouting it about London and they are preserving their reputations.”

  “Except all of London will eventually know,” Rhys pointed out, perplexed at his wife’s far more forgiving nature in this matter.

  “All of London may suspect, only no one will know for certain, except the family and none of us will say anything to outsiders. You know how it goes.”

  Benjamin’s supreme contentedness had confirmed to Rhys that the unconventional arrangement did seem to work for them. From observing Sharla and her husband, the Duke, Rhys was finally able to put the matter to rest in his own mind. No one was suffering. No one was unhappy. If that was so then, indeed, who was he to judge?

  He instead enjoyed being able to squeeze his wife’s fingers, even a little and be glad for the snow falling.

  “It will soon be time for afternoon tea,” Anna observed, glancing at the clock on the mantel shelf. “Would you like to stay up after tea? Maybe see if you have the strength to last to dinner, tonight?”

  “I do feel stronger, today,” Rhys admitted. He sighed and glanced through the window. “I am trying, at least.”

  “There is no rush,” Anna replied. “You can take as much time as you need.”

  Rhys laughed. It came out wheezy. “I can’t take forever,” he pointed out. “The offices will not run unattended for long.”

  Anna froze.

  “What did I say?” Rhys asked, alarmed.

  Anna got to her feet, her blonde locks, that she had let down in the privacy of their own sitting room, swung with her movement. With stiff motions she stepped to the door, then back again.

  “Anna?”

  She dropped in front of his knees and rested her hands on the blanket covering them. “Rhys, my darling…you cannot go back to work. Not ever.”

  Rhys stared at her. His heart stirred, which added to his fright. Mortenson insisted upon avoiding shocks and efforts, of pacing himself. “Not work?” he repeated, his lips numb.

  “Benjamin is more than capable of running the business now,” Anna said. “I’ve listened to his daily reports. They’re boring, because he is managing things perfectly well. The office can run without you now, Rhys.”

  “What would I do?” he asked, flummoxed.

  “Whatever you want,” Anna said swiftly. “How often have you spoken of traveling? Europe? Even America. Sadie is there.” Her eyes glittered. “Let me take you and Alice away from here. Somewhere warm, where we can be together for…a while.”

  Rhys closed his eyes, wretchedness pulling at him. “Alice…”

  Anna shook his hands. “You must retire, Rhys. Leave your affairs to Ben and the others. It’s their turn now.”

  Rhys shook his head. “Old men retire,” he whispered.

  Anna got to her feet. “I love you, Rhys Davies. I will not sit idly by and watch you work yourself into an early grave. I insist you retire, so I can love you when you are an old man!”

  Her tears welled and fell, yet she did not make a sound.

  Rhys held his hand out to her. “Shh…shh…my love, yes, if that is what it takes to make you happy, then I will retire.”

  Anna did sob, then. She rested her head on his knee and wept while he soothed her. To be able to stroke the faded gold locks of her hair made him profoundly grateful. He would do whatever she asked to keep doing so for many years to come.

  That was how Stamp found them, when he delivered the letter from Lilly, about Bronwen.

  * * * * *

  After the flurry of the Princess’ arrival, greetings, inspection of children and hugs and kisses, Warrick poured Lilly and Annalies tea and left them in the morning room.

  The Princess got up from her elegant pose on the chair and stood in front of the fire. She pushed her hoops aside and put her foot on the guardrail, like a man, with her elbow on the mantelshelf.

  Lilly smiled at the display. It was just what Bronwen would do, if she were here.

  “Where is Bronwen?” Annalies asked, rubbing her brow.

  “She is either out walking, or in her room,” Lilly said. “Since the Archeduke left, she has not once stepped inside the library, when she would spend all her days there.”

  Annalies winced. “To cut herself off from books…this is bad, Lilly. Tell me about their association. Tell me everything.”

  Lilly sighed. “I would be guessing at most,” she confessed. “They were both more discreet than the grave.”

  “Then speculate,” Annalies said. “I cannot help her if I do not know what ails her. Tell me about…Tor, did you say he calls himself?”

  “What he asked we call him,” Lilly replied. “Apparently, only his father ever used the name.”

  Annalies’ direct gaze met Lilly’s. “That is interesting, isn’t it?”

  Lilly sighed. “He is an interesting man…” she began.

  * * * * *

  “Bronwen. Wake up. Bronwen, sweetheart. Time to wake and speak to me.”

  The voice was familiar. Bronwen roused reluctantly, for sleep was such a pleasant retreat. She preferred the long moments before sleep took her, when the weight of the world slipped away and she floated, unfeeling, drowsy and warm.

  She could hear Tor’s voice in such moments. She could remember his hands upon her with a clarity that was denied her upon waking.

  “Bronwen!” Sharper this time.

  A hand on her arm. Shaking her.

  There was no defense against the physical assault that would let her stay asleep. Bronwen opened her eyes with grudging slowness.

  Her mother stood over her. It was her mother who shook her so forcefully.

  Bronwen blinked at her. “Mother? What are you doing in Yorkshire?”

  “I came to see you,” Anna said briskly. “Lilly wrote and said you were in need of assistance.”

  “I don’t need help, thank you,” Bronwen whispered and closed her eyes.

  Bitingly cold water splashed against her ear and cascaded down her arm, running beneath the warm cocoon of blankets.

  Bronwen gasped and sat up, staring down at the puddle of water soaking through the fabric of her nightgown and wetting her thighs.

  Annalies stood over her, the water pitcher held up high over her head.

  “Mother!” Bronwen cried. “What on earth…!”

  “That’s better,” Annalies said, putting the pitcher back on the washstand next to the bowl. She brushed her hands. “Dress yourself and meet me in the library. We have things to discuss.”

  “No, not the library,” Bronwen said, her heart twisting.

  Her mother paused at the door. “Very well, then. I am sure Lilly will spare us her morning room for a while. If you do not present yourself there in ten minutes, then I will beg the cook for a bucket of her slops and dowse you in that, instead.”

  Annalies shut the door behind her and Bronwen shuddered. She did not doubt for a moment that her mother would do what she threatened if Bronwen did not appear downstairs within the stated time limit.

  She threw the sodden blankets aside and stripped off the soaked nightgown. Her underthings would not slide over her damp skin. She cast them aside with an impatient hiss, aware of time ticking away. Her dress, the faded muslin, was too thin to wear over nothing. Instead, she pulled the traveling suit from the wardrobe and struggled into it. It was a wrapper style dress, which she could fasten at the front, only the worsted wool was prickly against her skin. There was no time to select another. She tugged her hair out of the collar, pulled up the fronts out of the way and pinned them without consulting mirror and tugged her sleeves into place. She didn’t bother with shoes, despite the deep cold gripping Yorkshire
. There was no time.

  Her heart racing, Bronwen hurried down the stairs and into the morning room.

  Lilly sat behind her desk. She put the pen down and capped the inkpot.

  Annalies stood with her hand upon the chair in front of the desk, her other fist against her waist. If she had not been wearing hoops, Bronwen suspected her mother would have her fist planted on her hip, instead.

  “I will give you the room,” Lilly murmured, stepping out around the desk.

  “You are family, Lilly,” Annalies said. “You do not have to leave if you do not wish to.”

  Lilly cleared her throat, then looked at Bronwen. “Would you like me to stay?”

  Bronwen struggled to care one way or another. She gave a small shrug. “If you wish.”

  Troubled, Lilly returned to her desk. “Perhaps a neutral witness may help,” she said, pushing a curl back into place behind her head with an awkward movement.

  Annalies patted the chair. “Sit if you wish. I understand you have not been active lately. Perhaps standing will strain you.”

  Bronwen could feel her cheeks heating. She stayed just inside the door.

  Annalies let her hand drop from the back of the chair. “First things first. Are you with child?”

  The bald question, asked aloud, with Lilly watching, should have filled Bronwen with mortification. Her mother, asking such a question?

  However, no humiliation arrived. Instead, a soft little cry sounded in her mind. Her eyes ached. Blurred. “I hoped I was,” she whispered. “Yet I cannot have even that much of him.”

  Silence sounded. Bronwen did not care if she had shocked them. She had spoken the truth. It was not her fault if they chose to be offended by it.

  She felt her mother’s hands on her arms. “Come along, my dear,” Annalies said softly. “Come and sit. I had not realized how deeply this ran. Come.” She guided Bronwen to the chaise longe and settled next to her.

  Bronwen wiped her cheeks, trying to clear her vision once more.

  Her mother picked up her hand. “You are in love with him, yes?”

  Bronwen looked down at the scratch wool over her knees. “Is that what I am? It hurts to be awake and now he isn’t here and will never be.”