The Earl's Secret Passion (Scandals of Scarcliffe Hall Book 1)

by Gemma Blackwood

  "A pity, then, that the law does not allow it."

  "But it is my good fortune that the law says nothing about second sons." The Marquess's eyes flickered briefly to Hart. There was more malice in them than Robert had ever dreamed to see in his father. "You may one day inherit my lands and money, Robert, and there is nothing that I can do about that. Hart is another matter. His inheritance is entirely in my gift."

  "Don't let him bully you, Robert," said Hart calmly. "I am not afraid."

  "I would rather see you both turned out onto the streets and cut off from society than have you defy me," snapped the Marquess. "That, at least, is in my power to do. You will have no money, no social standing – not so much as a kind thought from me until I leave this earth. Is that what you want?" His eyes darted from one son to the other, glittering with an anger that came close to madness. "And furthermore, do not forget that I still have in my possession a letter addressed to you in Lady Cecily's hand. Most imprudent of her, to write to you before a formal betrothal. We shall see what the ton makes of that!"

  Robert knew his father was elderly, in pain, and unused to disobedience. It was only these considerations that prevented him knocking the old man off his stuffed sofa to the ground.

  "You go too far, father!"

  "There is no limit to the lengths I will go to protect our family's honour."

  "What honour is there in punishing Hart and Cecily for my crimes?"

  "You have proven that you will not listen to reason, Robert." For a moment, the Marquess's anger drained from his face, and he ceased to be the furious lord. He was no more than an elderly man, sick and weary, faced with troubles he was too old to manage. "If I cannot persuade you rationally, I must mete out whatever punishment I can find to affect you."

  "Well, I've had quite enough of this, pleasant as it is to chat," said Hart airily. "Robert, let's step outside for some air."

  Robert was loth to abandon the conversation at such an impasse, but, remembering that the Duke still waited outside, he allowed Hart to lead him away.

  "What am I to do?" he asked, in a low voice, as they made their way downstairs. "I cannot let him hurt you. Still less, Cecily."

  "Don't worry about me, brother," said Hart, maintaining that laconic carelessness Robert knew he worked extremely hard to perfect. "I can always join the Navy. I've often rather fancied myself a naval man."

  Robert stopped on the staircase and gripped his brother's arm. "I will not see you fling yourself off to war in foreign climes on my account, Hart. That's an end to it."

  Hart's mouth quirked at the corner; the only indication he would give that he was at all affected. "I rather think father is more likely to end it than you, Robert, but I would not abandon you to him for all the world. Now, get along with you. Dukes are not accustomed to waiting."

  Robert took Hart's advice and hurried outside, where he was relieved to find the Duke's carriage waiting in the wide driveway.

  This was his first meeting with his future father-in-law – a thought which only struck him as he approached the carriage window. Robert was not a man usually cowed by those with greater titles than his own. The fact that Loxwell was a Duke meant little.

  The fact that he was Cecily's father, on the other hand – now that was a fearsome prospect.

  Robert nodded to the footmen and knocked on the window, trying to rap the glass in a way which spoke of respect. The inner curtain was jerked aside and, though Robert could not make out the occupant, he imagined he was being carefully inspected from within.

  The door opened.

  Robert made a low bow. "Your Grace," he said. "Please allow me to introduce myself."

  "I know who you are," came a crusty voice from the gloom. "At least, I can guess. Sent your brother out first, did you?"

  "My apologies, Your Grace," said Robert. "I was attempting to reason with my father. Unfortunately –"

  "The old goat does not wish to see me."

  Robert swallowed the insult with good grace. "My father is presently indisposed."

  "And I am not to be permitted into the house!" the Duke barked. "As though I were a beggar at the gates, not Duke of Loxwell!"

  "Again, Your Grace, I can only offer my most sincere apologies –"

  "Apologies, apologies! Tush! Am I to understand that my Cecily has given her heart to a craven apologist?" The Duke pushed the door open a little wider. A shaft of light entered the carriage, revealing a bewhiskered face and a pair of kind eyes beneath a craggy brow. Robert was amused to discover traces of Cecily about the Duke's elegant nose and firm chin. Clearwell was right – the Balfour features ran strong.

  "Come in, my lord Scarcliffe," the Duke invited him. "If you are going to apologise for anything, it ought to be that you have been most remiss in asking me for my daughter's hand. Really, I would have expected you to speak to me sooner."

  "Forgive me, Your Grace." Robert was painfully aware that he was apologising yet again. "I did not know exactly how I would be received."

  "Quite right!" The Duke let out a wheeze of laughter. "Quite right, too! Before yesterday, I would not have allowed you into my daughter's presence at all. But let us not dwell on the past. There's been too much of that done already. Step inside and let us talk here, if your father will not see me. I wish to get to know you a little before I make my decision."

  Robert got into the carriage and took a seat opposite the Duke. "Your decision, Your Grace?"

  The Duke lowered his impressive eyebrows. "I take it you still mean to ask for my daughter, Scarcliffe."

  "With regards to that…" Robert's eyes drifted to the carriage door. Beyond it, at the window to Scarcliffe Hall's lower drawing room, he saw Hart watching him closely.

  His brother would give up anything to see him happy. He knew that. Hart had long ago given up all hope of happiness for himself. A war ship, a battlefield, the comforts of Scarcliffe Hall – Hart would likely claim it was all the same to him.

  But Robert could not allow his brother to be cast out. And he could not risk Cecily's reputation.

  "Go on," the Duke urged him. Robert could not meet the old man's eyes.

  "I am afraid that it will be impossible for me to make your daughter a serious offer until I am my own man, Your Grace," he said.

  The Duke was silent for a long while. "That is not what I expected to hear," he said, finally.

  "It was not what I expected to tell you, Your Grace. Nevertheless. The happiness of more than myself depends upon it." He raised his head. "That is not to say that I have entirely given up hope. If Cecily will wait for me, we will be married as soon after my father's death as propriety allows. If she will not wait for me…" He paused for breath, the words tasting too bitter in his mouth to continue. "I will not hold her to any promise she has made me."

  "If you are trying to be noble, this is a grim way to go about it," said the Duke. "Cecily led me to believe that you had cast aside the old enmity between us."

  "And I have done, Your Grace, believe me. I know you are no enemy of mine, and I wish you nothing but good."

  "Then why are you behaving in this way?" The Duke glanced towards the house. "If your father intends to cut you out, you must know that money will be no object –"

  "It is not only money, Your Grace. It is a family matter. For my brother's sake – for the sake of our mother, who would take the loss of us most sorely…" Robert found for perhaps the first time in his life that he had no clever answer to give. No degree of wit or courage would alter his situation at all. "I cannot be the instrument of my own family's destruction. Not when, by waiting, I might keep us all together. My father is an old man. His health is poor."

  "It does you no credit to wish your own father dead, Scarcliffe."

  "And yet it is the only comfort I have left to me."

  The Duke's face creased with sorrow. "My daughter will take this news very ill, I fear. And yet the fault is not yours, Scarcliffe. No. It is your father and I who should have seen sense and put the feu
d to rest years ago. The shame of it! That our own children should have to teach us how to behave!" He leaned forward and fixed Robert with a stern blue stare. "Since your father will not relent, let me take the first step. I issue an open invitation to you and yours to visit Loxwell Park. You will all be made most welcome."

  "I am grateful, Your Grace." Gratitude was the least of Robert's emotions in that moment, and the Duke seemed to know it. He nodded sympathetically as Robert took his leave and left the carriage. The driver called briskly to the horses, and Loxwell's carriage disappeared down the long driveway.

  Pain had dampened Robert's usually acute senses. As he walked back up the wide front steps to the Hall, he barely registered that Hart was no longer at the window. The four burly footmen who accosted him in the doorway went wholly unnoticed until Robert walked straight into an unmoving body.

  Robert was tall, but his father had a penchant for strength and power in his servants, and these men were at least his equal in height and vigour. There was no question of what they were doing there. All four were grim-faced. None had been chosen from among the servants of Scarcliffe Hall; they were his father's men.

  "Where is it I am to be taken?" Robert asked, his voice a dangerous growl. The footmen held their ground, though one or two of them looked as though they had much rather take a step away.

  "My lord, the Marquess has decided that it is time for you to pay a visit to your sister and her husband in Larksley," said the tallest footman.

  Robert shrugged first one shoulder, then the other, squaring up slowly, and letting his muscles play visibly in his arms. "And if I choose not to go?"

  "I beg you, my lord, do not refuse." The footman swallowed. "If you say you will not go, we are to make you."

  Robert caught sight of Hart standing in the halflight of a part-open doorway, watching the proceedings with an impassive face. As their eyes met, Hart gave a firm nod and disappeared.

  Robert let his choice hang in the air a few moments more. Was this the moment to fight? Or was he to let himself be parcelled up and sent away under guard, trusting in Hart to come up with a scheme to help him?

  The enormity of what Robert had just given up for his brother's sake struck him like a blow to the chest. Cecily. Would she wait for him? Would she understand that he had not left willingly?

  He took a last look at the solid oak doorway of Scarcliffe Hall, and wondered when he would see it again.

  "Very well, gentlemen," he said. "I have no wish to fight you. Let us depart for Larksley."

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  "Do you really have your heart set on this, Ceci?" asked Jemima doubtfully, peering through the veil of evening drizzle at the imposing façade of Scarcliffe Hall. "We did not enjoy the warmest reception the last time we called here."

  "But is it not an absolute treat to be visiting Scarcliffe Hall with Papa's permission?" asked Cecily brightly, toying with the package propped against the carriage seat beside her.

  "He gave you permission," Jemima allowed. "What he did not give you was any hope."

  The prospect of leaving the carriage in the worsening weather was not enticing to either girl. Cecily waited patiently as her footmen came round with umbrellas to escort them up the steps.

  Patience had never been Cecily's strong point. Yet she had discovered that, when she needed to, she could summon it up in endless reserves.

  She met Jemima's anxious gaze with a cheerful smile. She knew that Jemima was worried about her. There was probably good reason to be worried. Hearing that Robert wanted to put off their wedding was a disappointment which ought to have cut deeply.

  But Cecily refused to give up until all avenues had been explored. This might be her last chance at convincing the Marquess, but she was determined to face it bravely and in good spirits.

  A footman carried the paper-wrapped painting for her through into the echoing hallway. Cecily took a good look around, with a more proprietorial eye than she had first given it. One day, this would be her home. If everything went to plan, that day would come soon.

  "Please tell the Marquess that Miss Jane and Miss Harriet Somerville are here to see him on a mission of great importance," she asked the butler.

  Mr Peters shook his head mournfully. If he recognised Cecily from her previous stay at Scarcliffe Hall, he did not show it. "I'm afraid the Marquess is indisposed, Miss Somerville."

  "He cannot be indisposed," said Cecily imperiously, forgetting that she was playing the part of a simple Miss, rather than the Duke's daughter. "This is a very urgent matter."

  "Nevertheless, his lordship is not well enough to receive visitors at present."

  "Then we will wait until he is feeling better," Cecily declared, and swept past the astonished butler into what she remembered was the drawing room. The footman with the painting marched smartly behind her, and Jemima brought up the rear, doubtless rolling her eyes.

  Cecily was surprised to find the drawing room was not empty. Lord Jonathan Hartley was standing by the fireplace, dressed to go riding, and running a large white handkerchief through his fingers. When Cecily barged in, he turned around as though expecting someone else, and spent a moment simply staring at her in astonishment.

  "That will be all, Peters," he said to the spluttering butler. "Thank you."

  "Do excuse us, Lord Jonathan," said Jemima immediately, thrusting a hand through Cecily's arm. "We will not bother you any more. We were just leaving."

  "We were certainly not leaving!" said Cecily. "Lord Jonathan, we wish to see your father. I have brought him a peace offering to demonstrate how serious my family is about resolving our troubles." She waved a hand to the footman and, as he stepped forward, ripped the packaging from the portrait dramatically.

  "What is that?" asked Hart, perplexed.

  "The portrait of Lady Letitia Hartley, which once hung in the drawing room at Loxwell Park, bringing more discredit to my family name than it did yours," said Cecily. "It was once the symbol of enmity between us. Now that it is returned…"

  Hart thrust his hands into his pockets and walked around the painting, examining it from every angle. "You really believe that this will change my father's mind?"

  "It is worth a try," said Cecily, refusing to falter. Hart fixed her with mournful eyes.

  "It is not. Let me assure you, Robert did everything he could to persuade him. Why should you succeed, where he failed?" Hart adjusted his riding gloves absently. "You don't know my father. If he knew you were here, he would have his footmen pick you both up by the scruff of your necks and thrown back out into the rain."

  "Where is Robert?" asked Cecily. Hart's expression closed over.

  "Not here. Father has sent him to Larksley."

  Cecily almost laughed. "And you mean to tell me he agreed to go?"

  "Under duress." Hart glanced quickly at Jemima and the footman, as though debating whether to continue. "Do not be alarmed," he said quietly. "Robert would not have left if he did not know I would do all I could to retrieve him. Father caught us off guard this morning, but we are prepared now."

  "We?"

  "The three of us together," came a deep voice behind her. The Duke of Beaumont and the Baron Northmere were waiting for Hart, dressed in riding clothes. They each carried a large white handkerchief.

  "What do you intend to do?" asked Cecily. "It's too late to ride out, surely."

  "We must have a hope of catching the carriage. You know as well as I do that the road south is in a state of great disrepair – we will easily outpace them on horseback."

  "Then let me come with you," said Cecily.

  "Ceci!" Jemima gasped. "Have you lost your mind?"

  Hart stood thoughtfully for a moment, then took Cecily's hand and kissed it before she could make a move in response. "You and I have not had much cause for friendship. But you are promised to Robert, and that makes you as dear to me as my own sister. I would sooner abandon Robert entirely than drag you into the dangerous task we undertake tonight. Go home, and wait for
news. It will not be long in coming."

  Cecily kept her hand in his. "My father told me that it was for your sake that Robert has asked me to wait."

  "Yes, and I am sorry for it."

  "Don't apologise. I only meant to say that I can see now why Robert values you so highly."

  Hart dropped her hand as though it had burned him. "I cannot see it for the life of me. But we will discuss these things when time is less pressing. Gentlemen?" He gave Beaumont and Northmere a swift nod. "Let us be on our way."

  Cecily and Jemima followed the three men out onto the driveway, where they watched them mount the horses and ride off at a pace which, however great, Cecily knew she could easily match.

  "Jemima," she said, in an urgent whisper. "Do you love me?"

  "As dearly as I loved my poor brother." Jemima's eyes narrowed. "You are up to something."

  "If you love me truly, you will not breathe a word of what I am about to do." Cecily lifted her skirts and made to get into the carriage. "Now, I am going inside, where I will sit down and wait patiently as we drive back to Scarcliffe Hall. Do you understand me?"

  "Ceci –"

  "Do you understand?"

  Jemima sighed heavily, but gave a reluctant nod.

  Cecily got into the carriage.

  She heard Jemima shriek as she tripped on her way in and fell to the ground. The footmen all hastened to her aid.

  Cecily pushed open the door on the other side of the carriage, closed it quietly behind her, and ran to the stables while all eyes were occupied with the wailing Jemima.

  She opened the stable door and was hit with the familiar warm scent of hay and horses. She fancied she even heard a whicker of welcome.

  "Hello, Thunder," she said, as she took the saddle from the rack.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The road south of Scarcliffe Hall and Loxwell Park was a long-disputed territory. The Hartleys claimed it fell under the jurisdiction of the Balfours, and had maps drawn up to prove it. The Balfours claimed it was not on their land, and had maps of their own.

  The end result was that both families had abandoned their duty, and the road was in a state of wildness and near-ruin. It made the yearly visits to the London Season a difficult endeavour, one which each family naturally blamed on the incompetence of the other.