Scandalous Scions Two

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Jenny rested her hand against his cheek. “That was marvelous, Jack.”

  The corner of his mouth curled up. “Thank you.”

  “Can we…would it be possible to do that again?”

  His smile formed completely. “Once my heart has recovered, yes.”

  “Good.” She glanced at the window, and the broad daylight beyond. “How long can we stay here?”

  He brushed her hair from her face. “As long as we can. Then we must go back to our lives.”

  The sadness came rushing back. Jenny thrust it aside and with her burgeoning experience guiding her, leaned and kissed Jack, pressing her body against his and running her hands over his body. She used the same light strokes and teasing touches he had used on her, to rouse her once more.

  It did not take long at all for Jack to stir and push her back upon the mattress and return the favor.

  * * * * *

  Five Years Ago: The Great Family Gathering, Innesford, Cornwall. October 1862.

  The sun was turning the late afternoon sea silver when Jenny forced herself from the bed, to dress and hide all evidence of her afternoon of pleasure in Jack’s arms. Jack did not merely lay and watch her as she had presumed a man would. He rose and thrust his legs into his trousers, then assisted her with her toilet, fastening buttons and tying strings with a facility that spoke of experience.

  Jenny liked that he was a man of the world and knew such intimate things. Besides, his assistance made dressing much easier and ensured she not overlook a button or other detail that might give others a hint of how she had spent her afternoon.

  When she was fully dressed once more, Jack drew her back into his arms. Jenny rested her cheek against his bare shoulder and closed her eyes. “It is better this way,” she whispered.

  Jack nodded. She could feel the movement through his shoulder. “I hate that you are right. This is the only way.”

  Jenny made herself step back from him.

  Jack stood with his hands by his sides, making no attempt to keep her there.

  Jenny looked toward the door. Her heart thudded. “I can’t make myself leave,” she whispered. “Even though I must, even though we agree on it, still I cannot go.”

  Jack kissed her. His big hands held her face, as he pressed his lips to her nose, her cheeks, her forehead, then her mouth once more. With gentle pressure, he turned her and moved her to the door. His body pressed up behind her, making her hoops sway and bend.

  He reached for the key in the lock. Jenny caught his hand, not to stop him, but to help him, even though she had no strength in her fingers at all.

  The lock turned with a heavy sound that she would hear for the rest of her life.

  The door opened.

  Jack kissed her neck. “Go,” he whispered. “Don’t look back. Just step through the door.”

  Jenny trembled. With a convulsive jerk, she stepped through the doorway.

  Panic gripped her. She whirled back to the door.

  It was already closed. Jenny rested her hand against it. There was a keening sound in her mind and her heart hurt as if a knife had cleaved it in two.

  The sea breeze and the late sun brought every day concerns back to her. People might be looking for them. How late was the hour? How far away was dinner? She must change…and wash, first.

  Jenny gripped the wooden stair railing and stepped down onto the top step.

  Then another.

  One more.

  It did not grow easier, although she was in motion now, which allowed her to continue down the stairs, then round the house to the maze on the other side. Even faster now, to the back of the house and the big French windows.

  Jenny didn’t stop until she reached her room. By then, she was numb from head to toe and knew this was the way it would be from now on. This was what life without Jack felt like.

  Chapter Nine

  Present day: The Williams House, Park Lane, London. February 1867. Two days later.

  Daniel handed Travers his valise and hat and gloves and smoothed his hair self-consciously. Now he was standing upon the elegant marble of home, he wished he had stopped long enough to get his hair cut, first. In America and on the ship, people were less quick to judge by appearances and he had not bothered because he knew his family would not judge, either.

  The headlines in the first fresh newspaper he’d been able to find had made him rush here, all thought of tidying himself and finding a clean shirt evaporating.

  Yet, the quiet splendor of the big white house on Park Lane made him feel like an intruder, with the dust of travel still on his shoes.

  “Everyone is out this afternoon, Master Daniel,” Travers told him. “No one was expecting…”

  Daniel shook his head. “I don’t mind at all,” he assured the man. “It may be better this way. Is my room still where I left it?”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  “Could I bother the kitchen for a kettle of hot water? I should wash—” He cocked his head, as the lilt of feminine conversation reached him. “I thought no one was at home?” he said to Travers.

  Travers nodded. “Everyone is out, my lord, except Lady Annalies. However, Lady Annalies is not At Home today, if you understand my meaning. She had quite a bad upset two days ago and canceled all her engagements.”

  Daniel lifted his brow. “Lisa Grace has come out, already?”

  “Last season, my lord.”

  Daniel rubbed the back of his neck. “Now I know I’ve been away too long. The baby of the family is an adult…” He titled his head. “Wait. If Lisa isn’t at home, and everyone else is out, then who is she talking to?” He headed for the morning room, where the conversation was continuing, through the half-open door.

  “My lord, Lady Annalies was very clear about not wishing to be disturbed,” Travers protested, behind him.

  “She won’t mind me barging in,” Daniel assured him and pushed open the door and stepped into the pleasant, feminine room. It did not look quite the way he remembered it. Framed paintings stacked up against each other, resting against the walls, all around the room.

  There were two women sitting facing each other on the clawfoot sofa pulled up to the fireplace, for the day was a soggy, cold one. Both balanced saucers and teacups on their hands, sipping as they chatted. They had their heads close together as women who were good friends tended to do.

  Annalies was easy to distinguish. Her golden blonde hair had grown brighter and more beautiful as she had grown. Still, it was shocking to see a woman with a full figure when Daniel remembered a tall, colt-like girl with paint on her dress and her nose.

  Annalies looked up, a frown marring her forehead. Then the furrow smoothed out. “Dear lord…Daniel!” She put the cup aside and hurried around the sofa and threw her arms around him.

  Daniel squeezed her, gladness filling him. This was the impulsive, warm Lisa Grace he remembered.

  “You’re home. You’re really home!” she said, shaking him. “Oh, you must tell me about America! About the red men…do they eat people? What is New York like?”

  Daniel laughed, even though her flurry of questions set off a cascade of memories. Images of blood and pain and suffering. Of blue coats and ragged gray-clad soldiers fighting to their last breath. The stench of rotting flesh and screaming. “American was interesting,” he said honestly, even though he had no intention of ever sharing those memories, most especially not with sensitive, empathetic Annalies.

  The other woman on the sofa had put her cup aside, yet had not got to her feet. She had black hair and fair skin, the very opposite of golden Annalies. Her dark eyes examined Daniel with interest.

  Daniel did not intend to meet her gaze, not until they were properly introduced. The ways of society were returning to him at a rapid pace since the ship had tied up at the dock. Yet she was staring openly which made it hard to avoid looking at her.

  Their gazes didn’t meet. They melded.

  Daniel felt the impact travel through his spine, down to his
toes. He put Annalies to one side and cleared his throat, giving himself a moment to recover. His heart was thrumming.

  “Do forgive me,” he told the dark-haired woman. “Annalies, perhaps you should introduce us?”

  Annalies laughed. The woman smiled. The smile revealed high cheek bones and made her eyes dance.

  Daniel swallowed. He had met all manner of women in America, including some of the most graceful, charming southern belles a man might wish for. The women of the south made a man feel like the bravest, strongest man in the world. It was little wonder southern gentlemen fought so fiercely to protect them.

  Yet not a single magnolia-skinned beauty had touched him the way this woman had. He’d traveled around the world and back again, to find her here. How ironic.

  Annalies’ amusement registered. Daniel made himself look away from the woman. “I’m afraid the jest is lost on me,” he told his sister. “Maybe I have been away too long.” In fact, he knew he had been away too long. The disorientation and shocks were piling upon themselves, forming a small mountain of unease in his mind and heart.

  The dark-haired woman stood. She was still smiling that charming, knowing smile.

  “Daniel! Really?” Annalies told him. She laughed again. “You don’t recognize Catrin?”

  “Catrin?” Daniel repeated, floored. “Baby Catrin Davies?” he clarified.

  Catrin’s lips pursed. “I haven’t been a baby for a long time.”

  “Eighteen years at least,” Annalies added.

  Daniel tugged at his crumpled jacket. More than ever, he regretted not stopping at an hotel between the docks and here, to wash and make himself presentable.

  Catrin watched his tell-tale gesture. Unlike most debutantes, who would have mercilessly capitalized upon his momentary vulnerability, she did not preen or flutter around him to drawn him into her snare.

  Instead, she said to Annalies, “Perhaps you should fetch the newspapers from Raymond’s office for Daniel to read. If he has just arrived in London, then he won’t know about the scandal.” Her voice was throaty and low. The sound of it stroked along his spine, reaching deep.

  Daniel did know about the scandal. As a journalist, his first instinct upon landing in England had been to gather the latest news and Jenny’s troubles were faithfully accounted in every newspaper, reputable or not. He remained silent, though, for if Annalies left the room, that would leave him alone with Catrin.

  Pleasure stirred in the pit of his belly. He liked that idea.

  Annalies’ expression grew troubled. She had always been as changeable as the weather. “Oh dear, yes. We’ve been keeping them all…” She picked up her hems at the front of her dress and hurried away.

  Fashions had changed considerably while he was gone. Hoops were no longer wider than any normal doorway could accommodate. Dresses were almost vertical at the front, now, giving a man a hint of a woman’s figure. The new fashions were intriguing.

  Catrin was studying him openly.

  Daniel moved around the round table that separated them. Catrin wore the same style dress as Annalies. It emphasized the narrowness of her waist and the round curve of her hips. “Are you engaged yet, Catrin?”

  “How very direct of you,” she replied. This close, her voice seemed to caress him.

  The perfect society response. Irritation flared in him. “You send Annalies out of the room, then play games. I left England because of such tiresomeness.”

  She threaded her hands together, holding them down low against her abdomen. Was it a natural gesture, or a practiced seduction? He only knew it was effective.

  “You sound like an old man,” Catrin replied. “One for whom everything is irritating.”

  “Compared to you, I am an old man,” Daniel replied. Disappointment touched him. Catrin, for all her beauty and wiles, was just like every other debutante.

  “You’re barely twenty-six. That isn’t old,” she disputed.

  “Sometimes, I feel I have lived a hundred years. Not that you would understand that,” Daniel said dryly.

  Something other than feminine superficiality touched her eyes. “Why do you say that? You know nothing about me. You didn’t even recognize me.”

  “I know you now,” Daniel assured her. “You have spent every waking moment since your debut, calculating how to best ensure a husband. You have no interest in anything else. Even this scandal the family faces merely drives you to tea and gossip on the nearest sofa.”

  Hurt flickered in her eyes, although she had no opportunity to respond, for Annalies sailed back into the room, a large pile of folded newspapers in her arms.

  Daniel wasn’t sure if he was pleased about the interruption or not. Firmly, he settled for pleased. He would not let himself be distracted by a social butterfly the moment he stepped back upon British soil.

  * * * * *

  Four Years Ago: London. January to October 1863.

  Unfortunately, a life without Jack did not mean that Jack was not in it. They lived in the same house. When Jack was not on one of his consulting projects, inspecting the bowels of mines and excavations across Britain, his presence in the house could be felt like the heat from a furnace. Jenny always knew when he was at home. On those days, her sleep was broken and her appetite non-existent.

  They barely spoke to each other, and Jenny tried to avoid being in the same room with him. If circumstances forced them to share the same space, Jenny would ensure that someone else was there with them, or she would leave.

  Home was no longer a comfortable haven.

  It didn’t help that Jack watched her whenever she was in sight. His gaze was steady, touching her flesh like a brand, making her spill tea, drop needles and pins and crush flowers instead of arranging them.

  Reading was impossible, whether he was in the house or not. There was no comfort in the moral observations of novelists, or the esoteric theories of future-thinkers.

  Jack seemed to have no interest in moving on, which made Jenny’s life all the more difficult. She would not talk to him directly about it. To speak intimately, to bare her heart and thoughts, would be far too dangerous.

  After three weeks of the torture, she settled at her secretary and vented upon the innocent page all her thoughts and worries and concerns. She spoke to the page as she would to Jack. Only, the page could not speak back, or argue, or touch her and make her forget everything she wanted to say.

  The sheet quickly filled. Then a second blotchy sheet joined it.

  Jenny sat back and stared at the almost illegible scrawl, as an idea occurred to her.

  She put a clean page on the center of the blotter and cleaned off the nib, then wrote in a far more readable hand.

  Jack:

  You must let go and move on with your life. Court Lady Mary, as your family expects. Stop watching me.

  Jenny.

  She dared not write anything else, even though the note was curt and to the point. To add more detail would give Jack material to argue over and shred with cold reasoning. She had no doubt he would try to dispute her. The way he scrutinized her all the time told her he would.

  She folded and sealed the note, then addressed it as she would any normal letter.

  The next morning, she slipped into the dining room before breakfast was announced and slid the note into the pile sitting by Jack’s plate. Then she asked Paulson to arrange for a plate and tea to be sent to her room and went back upstairs.

  The next morning, Jack replied. His strong, firm hand, denuded of any flourishes or curlicues, was instantly recognizable among the dozen invitations to balls, suppers, at homes and more. Society was determined to draw her out and marry her off, despite her reluctance.

  Jenny pushed her breakfast plate aside and broke the seal on Jack’s note.

  How can I move on, when all I can see, no matter where I go, is you? I hear your voice in the wind, see your face in the clouds. Every rose smells like you. My pillow reminds me of the day my bed was not so lonely.

  He did not s
ign the note. He had put no salutation in there. There was no need for either. Jenny would have known the note was for her and who it was from, even if she had found the sheet crumpled in a gutter on the other side of the world.

  She couldn’t help but look at Jack, at the other end of the dining table and across from her. While everyone else chatted and read their letters, Jack’s gaze was on her just as she had known it would be.

  Only, he was not wearing the implacable, neutral expression he had used for weeks. There was pain in his eyes.

  Jenny lurched to her feet, dropping her napkin and jolting the table. “I…please excuse me,” she said to no one and everyone, as the room became silent. She swept up her letter and hurried up to the sanctuary of her room and slammed the door.

  Shaking, she stood in the middle of the floor, on the thick carpet.

  Jack may have closed the door on her, yet it had been a gesture only. He had not really let go.

  What to do? How could she make him move on? He must find a life for himself, or the lump of cold iron she had exchanged for her heart would be wasted. The pain she had put Jack through would be for naught.

  How could she make him see beyond her?

  Jenny moved over to her secretary and sat before it. The neat stack of stationary beckoned. She pulled down a fresh sheet and wrote.

  Sometime later—she wasn’t sure how long afterward—her mother knocked and came in. Elisa bent and kissed the top of Jenny’s head. “Whatever are you doing?”

  “Thinking,” Jenny said, reluctantly putting the pen aside.

  Elisa laughed, looking at the sheets of paper that Jenny had filled. “What an odd way to do it.”

  “Daniel said, years ago, before he left for America—he said that writing was the only way to know exactly what one was thinking. Writing promotes clarity.”

  “Is that why you left the breakfast table so abruptly?” Elisa asked. “For clarity?”

  Jenny sighed. “Yes,” she said truthfully. “I believe I may have found it now.”

  “Then I am relieved.” Elisa smoothed a stray hair away from her temple. “Is there anything I can do to help, darling?”