Jenny sank to the floor, her worn cotton dress billowing around her. Her legs would no longer hold her up. She watched with mindless horror as he bent and pulled the thick journal from the back of the cupboard. The stamped and embossed leather book had been a gift from her mother, just after her wedding. At the time Jenny had marveled at the excessive number of blank pages it contained. She had decided it would take a lifetime of events to fill so many pages.
Four years later, most of the pages were used, despite containing her writing and minimizing the margins.
Burscough fanned the pages. Then, with another mirthless grimace, he strode out of the room, clutching the leather volume.
The worst had happened.
* * * * *
Present day: The Wardell house, Grosvenor Square, London. February 1867.
Jack came to a sliding halt on the floorboards, three steps inside the drawing room doors, when he spotted the lady sitting on the front edge of the claw-foot chair next to the round table.
“Mother!” he said. Shock stole all other words. The enormity of finding his mother upon a chair in Elisa’s drawing room at three in the afternoon, when he thought her to be in Bombay, tending his father’s affairs, was simply too large to encompass.
Lady Victoria Laceby rose to her feet. She showed none of the exhaustion a journey from India would normally impart. “Good afternoon, John.”
Jack looked behind him. Paulson was nowhere in sight. The butler had suggested he use the drawing room, knowing his mother was here waiting for him.
“Do you seek escape?” his mother asked.
“What are you doing here in London, Mother?”
“No enquiries about the comfort of my journey?”
“Was it a pleasant trip?” His tone emerged stiff. He moved over to the sideboard where the other brandy decanter was kept topped up and poured himself a glass. It was only four in the afternoon, but hell and damnation…his mother was here!
He tossed back the slug and hissed as it burned the back of his throat.
“Thank you, I will have a madeira,” his mother said.
Guilt prodded him. Jack poured a decent amount of the dark liquor into a glass and handed it to Lady Victoria. “This is a surprise,” he told her and grimaced at the enormous understatement.
“Which is exactly what I intended it to be. I swore Elisa to silence. Paulson, too.”
“Why on earth would you do such a thing?”
Victoria speared him with a direct glance. Jack had forgotten that unforgiving gaze of hers. His chest tightened.
“If you had known I was coming to London, you would have discovered you had business to tend on the northern edges of Scotland.” She sipped the madeira and put it aside, then settled back on the chair and rearranged her skirts. Then she put her hands on her lap, neatly on top of one another.
Her hands were work-worn and thin, with thick blue veins over the back of them. Jack focused on the brown spots between the veins and the frail look of her flesh and realized with a start that his mother was aging.
“You are suggesting I would have run away?” he asked, his heart thudding hard, for if he had known of her impending arrival, he would have been tempted to find any legitimate excuse to leave London.
“Your letters stopped,” Victoria said. “The last one was a year ago.”
“I’m sure everyone has kept you apprised of the news.” Guilt stirred, for Jack had been putting off writing to her for so long that the effort of writing had become insurmountable. It was far easier to not write at all. “I have been busy,” he added. “As it happens, I was commissioned for a project in Inverness. Not quite the northern edges of Scotland, but very nearly.”
“They have postal services in Inverness,” his mother replied. She raised her hand. “That is not why I am here. Let us not mire ourselves in specious arguments about letters. You are right. Everyone has been very good about keeping us informed, most especially Lady Elisa. However, there was one glaring omission in the reports, and that omission brought me here.”
Jack turned and reached for the decanter once more. It gave him an excuse not to look at her. He poured and stopped the decanter, fitting the glass stopper carefully.
“You are not yet married, John,” his mother said, from behind him.
Jack took a mouthful of brandy, then decided he needed more and fussed with topping the glass.
“You have been engaged for over four years. Nearly five.”
Jack whirled. “There has never been a formal promise!” His heart hurt with each heavy beat.
Victoria nodded. “The engagement has been implied and understood by everyone, including your intended. How much longer do you think you can make Mary wait, John?”
He turned away. It was easier than answering.
“You cannot avoid your duties for much longer,” his mother continued with implacable steadiness. “I intend to see you married before the end of this year’s season. That is why I am here.”
Jack curled his fingers into a fist. “I have no intention of marrying.”
There, he had finally said it. Relief touched him. Why had he not said it years ago? Instead, he had put aside letter-writing, then put it off a little longer, until days had become years.
His mother laughed.
Jack stared at her, bewildered.
“Of course you will marry,” she said. “It is your responsibility to see the titles secured—”
“Sharla has sons,” Jack shot back.
For the first time, his mother looked anything other than completely certain. She hesitated. “Patricia’s son already stands to inherit a dukedom.”
“Then he can add the title of Marquess to his belt.” Jack shook his head. “I will not marry. Especially, I will not marry that little…Mary.” He diverted himself from revealing his true feelings about Lady Mary. To speak of his abhorrence, and the tedium of her company, the loathing that crawled through him when he saw the insipid, pale, lifeless and stupid woman, would serve no purpose. Mary was the daughter of the Marquess of Bedford and all his mother cared about was the appropriateness of the match.
Besides, Jack’s judgment of Mary was not impartial. It was not her fault that her hair was not ebony black, or that her face was freckled and not as pale as the finest china. She was a plump girl with ginger hair, pale blue, lashless eyes that protruded and betrayed her ignorance. Her lack of education was not her fault, either. However, when a simple observation about elevation and perspective made her blink, conversations became exhaustingly one-sided.
Jenny understands without explanation. The treacherous whisper passed through Jack’s mind almost unheard, while the guilt bloomed larger and made his throat close down. He thrust the brandy glass aside.
His mother studied him with sharp scrutiny.
Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “You haven’t met Mary…” he began.
“She is young and eligible and her antecedents are impeccable. I have no need to learn more than that.”
Jack settled himself on the arm of the sofa. He could not bring himself to sit properly. The urge to escape the room was too strong. Perching would have to do. “You do not understand, Mother. There is…someone else.”
“I don’t care. There could be a dozen others. It is immaterial, John. You are single and in need of an heir. You will marry the girl you have kept dangling for five years and you will do it before I return to India.”
Jack swallowed. “No.” He wanted it to emerge firmly, yet it sounded weak.
Victoria tilted her head. The sun coming through the tall window made the waves in her blonde hair gleam. Jack realized with another start of surprise that the blonde was nearly all silver, now.
She studied him, taking her time. Then she stirred. “Perhaps you could call for Paulson? I would very much like a cup of tea. I have grown unused to the chill of England.”
The very mild response raised Jack’s wariness. He got up and tugged on the bell pull. They waited for Paulson to arrive. The wizened ma
n nodded at Jack’s request. He closed the drawing room door behind him. Perhaps he had sensed the tension and was being discreet.
Jack’s mother cleared her throat. “John…” she began. Then she gathered herself once more. “Jack,” she said. “Far be it from me to promote indecency. However, there are ways to circumvent formalities.”
Jack stared at her, astonished. “You are advising me to marry, then promptly betray the girl?”
His mother flushed a deep red. She said evenly, “If there really is someone else…” Her voice faded, as if that was all the courage she had to speak of such indelicacies.
“I do not believe you said such a thing, mother.”
“For goodness’ sake! It is how such matters are arranged!” his mother flared. “You have lived in the bosom of society your entire life. It is why we left you here with Vaughn and Elisa, to learn your place among these people. You cannot play innocent with me now, Jack. You are twenty-eight years old and you have had ample opportunity to sow your oats. It is time to settle and see to the responsibilities of your station.”
Horror gripped him and made it hard to breathe. His mother would force his hand. Finally, the misdeeds of his past were calling for their dues.
How much of his soul would be left when they were done?
* * * * *
Present day: The Wakefield Residence, St. James Square, London. February 1867.
Sharla had been married for six years, yet it was the first time Jenny had stepped inside the enormous red brick house on St. James’ Square. The butler offered to take Jenny’s things, but she shook her head. “I only want to see Sharla…Lady Wakefield. Would you let her know I am here?”
The trembling had worsened the closer the carriage had drawn to the house. Jenny had instructed the nurse to stay in the carriage with Jackson and Stuart, while she had stepped onto the footpath and looked up at the imposing building.
Now she was inside it, Jenny could barely control the shuddering. She clutched the crumpled paper in her hands. “Please hurry,” she added.
The butler moved away. Before he took three steps, Sharla’s voice sounded from the big doors on the right of the foyer. “Mayerick, who is it?”
The door opened and Sharla stepped out. Over her shoulder, Jenny saw shelves of books, before the door closed once more.
Sharla’s blue eyes opened wide when she saw her. “Jenny!”
Jenny’s shuddering increased. “I know it’s been years.” Her voice wavered. “I know I’ve treated you badly…you and Ben and…oh, everyone in the family.”
Sharla swept up to her, the satin of her dress gleaming in the filtered light of the foyer. Delicate tatted lace sat at her neck, finishing the dark blue gown. Unlike Jenny’s wide, round hoops, Sharla wore the new style of gown that was nearly flat at the front.
“Why, Jenny, what is wrong? Quickly, darling, tell me!”
Her warmth, her concern, made it worse. Jenny could barely hold up the folded sheet in her hand. “I need your help. Ben’s help.”
Sharla gripped her other arm.
“Oh, Sharla, Burscough is divorcing me!” Jenny cried.
Sharla gathered her in her arms and supported her. “Ben! Dane! Come quickly!” Then she squeezed Jenny. “Shh, shh, no, everything is all right, Jenny. You did the right thing. Ben can help.”
“My life is ruined…” Jenny moaned. “It’s all my fault.”
Chapter Two
Present day: The Wardell house, Grosvenor Square, London. February 1867
“Oh, dear…” Elisa said. She glanced at Jack.
Jack put down his knife and fork. The kippers had not been holding his attention to begin. The look in Elisa’s eyes evaporated all remaining appeal. “What is it?”
Vaughn picked up the paper that Elisa had been reading and handed his Times to Elisa. “Where?”
Elisa leaned and pointed at something on the big page and Vaughn’s brow lifted. “Why on earth are we reading about this in the paper? Why didn’t she tell us?”
“You know how it has been for Jenny since…” Elisa said. Again, her glance shifted to Jack.
Jack’s gut tightened. “What has happened to Jenny?” he demanded.
Vaughn lowered the paper. “Burscough is suing for divorce.”
The breath pushed out of Jack, leaving him winded. His heart thudded in his head, making it hurt. Sound grew muffled.
He fought to breathe normally and not show any of his reaction. He thanked fate that there was only the three of them at the breakfast table. Blanche and Emma were late sleepers and Will was already abroad for the day. His mother, Victoria, never rose before noon. Peter, as usual, had found a pillow in some other location for the night.
“Divorce…” Jack muttered, shock making his voice hoarse.
“People don’t divorce each other,” Elisa murmured, bewilderment coloring her voice. “Only the sensational, most extreme sorts, that are written about in the papers.”
“They’re sensational because they’re written about in the papers,” Vaughn pointed out, scanning the article. He grimaced and thrust the paper toward Jack. “The legal papers were filed only yesterday. The Times must have someone hanging about the courts with nothing better to do than monitor briefs as they come in.”
“Jenny’s affairs are not sensational,” Elisa said. “Are they?” she asked Vaughn, doubt making her voice rise.
Vaughn didn’t answer.
Jack looked at the headline.
DUKE OF BURSCOUGH SUES WIFE FOR DIVORCE. CITES ADULTERY.
The sickness grabbed the back of Jack’s throat. “Of course they will write about Jenny, Mama. She is a Duchess and beautiful and young.”
“While Burscough is wrapped in sensation all by himself, with that tragic past of his,” Vaughn added. He picked up Elisa’s hand and held it. His gaze met Jack’s. “Until this blows over, it might be a good idea for you to spend your summer in Kirkaldy.”
Jack’s heart stopped. For a breathless moment, he stared at Vaughn and Elisa, a slew of hot, shocking emotions holding him in thrall. How much did they know? Or did they only suspect? They were both watching him. If they knew all the truth, would they still look that way?
Then Jack found the wherewithal to speak. “Going to Kirkaldy…it would be running away.”
Vaughn cleared his throat. “This could get bad, Jack. Divorces are very public affairs. Every secret is revealed and pawed over by the entire country.”
Jack’s heart sank even farther. There had been a divorce only two years ago, and he remembered reading accounts of every legal blow and response in the papers with prurient interest. The articles had speculated over the wife’s sexual appetites, the husband’s bedroom mastery and more. The divorce had made the fortunes of more than one paper that summer.
That was what all of England would do with Jenny’s life, now.
Jack swallowed. “Jenny will need all of us,” he said. “She will need our support.” He added carefully, “No matter what is written in the papers, regardless of what they say, going to Kirkaldy would be…a type of confirmation, wouldn’t it?”
Elisa looked as though she might cry with little more encouragement. Her face worked.
Vaughn stroked her hand, his gaze on Jack. “I suppose we’ve yet to learn of what Burscough is accusing her.”
“Not that it makes any difference what the man says,” Jack replied.
“Yes, of course, you’re right.” Vaughn looked uncomfortable.
“You’ve never liked him,” Jack added.
Vaughn glanced at Elisa and away. “Yes, well…” He sounded strained.
Elisa sat up straight and put Vaughn’s hand back on the table and patted it. “Enough,” she said and rested her palm against the side of the teapot. “Another pot of tea, then we will go about our day as if this…thing, has no bearing upon it. Which it does not, except that our darling daughter is caught up in a nasty man’s spiteful schemes.”
“Mama, that doesn’t sound like you,�
�� Jack said, for Elisa never said anything mean about anyone.
Vaughn shook his head, looking amused. “One of her children is threatened,” he reminded Jack. “Let’s do what she says and kept our hides intact.”
* * * * *
Jack had nothing with which to occupy himself, that day. He was between assignments, which was the most unfortunate timing, for his mother, Lady Victoria, found him in the library after lunch, where he was using Vaughn’s desk to write letters. She slapped the folded Herald down on the desk in front of Jack.
“This family is embroiled in the most vile scandal of the decade,” she hissed. “I knew that woman’s past would taint the family sooner or later.”
“If you are referring to the Lady Elisa, I would advise you to use her name,” Jack said coldly. “I would also suggest you speak civilly about your hostess and the woman who raised Sharla and I purely as a favor to you.”
Victoria shook her head, dismissing the suggestion. “Don’t you see?” she pressed. “Regardless of the truth, this family will be wrapped in rumors and embarrassment for weeks! Their reputation may never recover from the scandal. You must marry Mary at once, Jack, before her family has time to reconsider and get her engaged to someone else. You must propose today. This morning. I insist upon it.”
Jack shook his head. “No one knows yet the details of Burscough’s accusations.”
“Adultery, the papers say.”
“And even if that is true,” Jack said as evenly as he could manage, “it is not the first time a member of the peerage has strayed. You suggested something remarkably similar to me only yesterday.”
Victoria swallowed. “This is different.”
“Why?” Jack demanded.
“Because…because it is public!”
“How superbly hypocritical of you, Mother.”
Victoria flushed. “I will not have you twist this out of proportion. You know how these things work…how they are supposed to work. You must move ahead of any scandal and marry the Bedford girl as soon as possible.”
For a moment Jack wondered if his mother, too, suspected the truth. His chest ached at the tension that had squeezed it since breakfast. It felt as if a mountainous weight was dangling over him, waiting for the final snip of the chain to drop and grind him into the earth.
Scandalous Scions Two Page 18
