He hadn’t said anything about love, or passion, or even friendship. To him, she was merely an obligation. A burden.
“Since she helped gain your release from prison, you can’t just turn her out,” Wrexham agreed. “You can afford to be generous. A settlement of two thousand pounds a year will make her a rich woman. She can go to London and collect as many lovers as she wants. You weren’t the first, and you certainly won’t be the last.”
As she buried her burning face in her hands, Kyle said in a voice of pure ice, “Troth’s honor and virtue are irreproachable, and I will not allow her to be insulted by you or any man. Do I make myself clear?”
Numbly Troth supposed she should be grateful for that, at least. But once more he spoke from duty, not caring.
Unable to bear any more, she rose and left the quarreling voices behind as she escaped into the front hall. Mercifully, no one was around to see her flight up to her room. There she folded onto the bed and wrapped herself into a tight, trembling ball.
Her marriage was over. Marriage? Not even that—though she’d felt he was her husband, he’d obviously never really thought of her as his wife. She was merely an inconvenient souvenir he’d acquired in his travels.
Even if he’d still wanted her, there could be no marriage in the face of Wrexham’s adamant disapproval. Kyle might chafe, but ultimately he would surrender because a son must obey his father. There was no place for Troth at Dornleigh, and since they had never truly been married, there was no reason to stay.
Moreover, she didn’t want to. Be damned to Wrexham and Maxwell both! She was a daughter of the Celestial Kingdom, and their rejection proved that Fan-qui truly were barbarians. She would rather die than stay here. She didn’t need the Renbournes, nor any man’s pity.
With a rage unlike any she’d ever known, she rang for her maid, then began to pack. The trunk was too large to carry, but she had a pair of carpetbags. One she packed with a basic wardrobe of practical clothing, and the other with the most cherished of her Chinese possessions. Perhaps she’d send for the rest of her things later—the Renbournes would be so glad to be rid of her that shipping a trunk would be a pleasure.
No, she would simply vanish. Free of his inconvenient not-quite wife, Kyle could marry one of those bland blond girls who’d ogled him after church services at Warfield, and become fat and boring, as an English country gentleman should.
When Bessy arrived, Troth ordered, “Help me out of this habit, then summon a carriage.”
The maid stared wide-eyed at the half-packed carpetbags. “My lady?”
“Not a word to anyone!”
Biting her lip, the girl unfastened the complicated habit, then left to call the carriage. Troth changed into a simple day dress, the sort of garment she could manage without a maid. The habit she left in a crumpled heap on the floor, where it could add to the bad feng shui of Dornleigh.
Courtesy demanded a note, and she was certainly more courteous than these foreign devils. Swiftly she scrawled, Lord Maxwell—you and your family wish to be rid of me. Your wish is granted. She signed with the Chinese characters for Mei-Lian.
A bag in each hand, she stalked into the upstairs hall and looked out a side window to see if the carriage had been brought around. To her relief, it was already waiting. She hastened down the steps unseen. Outside, she said to the driver, “Take me to the nearest coaching inn, please.”
Like Bessy, he gaped at her baggage. “My lady?”
She gave him the flat stare of a tai-tai who was displeased. Hastily he stowed her bags away, then helped her into the carriage.
Once the vehicle lurched into motion, she leaned back against the velvet squabs and allowed herself to shake. It was over. She was a mistress leaving her former lover, and she should have done it sooner.
Between the money Kyle had given her before they left on their journey and the funds from Gavin Elliott, she had enough to survive for many months. She’d go to Scotland. Perhaps there would be an Edinburgh trading company that could use a clerk who spoke and wrote Chinese. If not, surely she could find use for her skills in London. Would Gavin Elliott still want her services now that she was his partner’s former mistress rather than his widow? If not, no matter. She would find some kind of work.
Stony eyed, she gave Dornleigh a last glance. She’d wanted Lord Maxwell’s aid in getting to Britain, and she’d received that, along with enough money to last her until she was established. They had fulfilled their obligations to each other, and now there was nothing left between them.
Nothing.
Chapter 32
Kyle had been doing his best to ignore his father’s words, but he snapped into full awareness when the earl went too far. Kyle clenched his hands against a desire to commit physical violence against his own father. “Troth’s honor and virtue are irreproachable, and I will not allow her to be insulted by you or any man. Do I make myself clear?”
Wrexham’s jaw dropped. “How dare you speak to your father that way!”
“The duty a man owes his wife takes precedence over that which he owes his father,” Kyle said flatly. “You act as if Troth isn’t good enough for me. In fact, the reverse is true. I’m not good enough for her.”
The earl made an exasperated gesture. “If you insist, she’s pure as the driven snow and a credit to her sex. But she’s still no wife.”
“If you will not accept her as my wife, then I am not your son! Feel free to disinherit me.”
Wrexham’s face turned an unhealthy shade of red. “You know perfectly well I can’t do that! The title and almost all of the property are entailed to you. Everything passes from eldest son to eldest son—that’s the way it should be.”
Kyle glared. “Which means I can do any damned thing I want, and you have no recourse.”
“Yes. Is it too much to hope that you’ll behave with wisdom and honor?”
Kyle rose and paced angrily across the room, his temples pounding. He had avoided being alone with his father because he’d known they would have this argument, and he’d felt unable to resolve the conflict between what he owed Troth and what Wrexham thought his heir owed the family name. But the issue could be sidestepped no longer. How the devil could this fight be ended before he and his father damaged each other irrevocably?
Kyle’s relationship with the earl had always been a complex blend of affection, duty, and tension. The older man had inherited an estate on the verge of financial collapse and pulled it back to prosperity with grindingly hard work. He’d become a just and innovative landowner and a conscientious member of the House of Lords. But where his family was concerned, he was fiercely protective and suffocatingly rigid.
Reminding himself of the earl’s more admirable qualities, he said more quietly, “I missed you when I was away, Father. I didn’t come back to resume fighting again.”
Wrexham’s face worked. “You never call me ‘Father.’ ”
“Perhaps it’s time I did. Your opinion matters a great deal to me, but you can no longer control my life the way you did when Dominic and I were children.”
“I don’t want to control your life! I just…just don’t want you to make disastrous mistakes.”
Kyle smiled ruefully. Though his father was a tyrant, he was a well-intentioned one. “Good judgment is a fine thing, but it’s mistakes that give us an education.”
His father’s mouth quirked in an unwilling smile. “I know you’re right, but it’s hard to stand by and watch one’s children ruin themselves.”
“Just as in your own childhood, you had to stand by and watch your father ruin the whole Renbourne family?”
“I…I suppose so.” Wrexham rubbed his chin, expression baffled. “Never thought of it that way.”
During the months in Wu Chong’s dungeon, Kyle had thought of many things, seen connections that had never occurred to him before. Suffering, like bad judgment, was educational. It was time he used some of the insight he’d gained to improve his relationship with his father.
/> “I doubt that Troth and I can build a real marriage between us, but the choice belongs to her. If she freely decides that she will be happier without me, I will bid her farewell and give her my blessing.” He fought the wrenching pain produced by the thought of losing her. “If she prefers to stay as Lady Maxwell—and I can’t imagine that she’d want to—I will marry her again in the Church of England so no one will ever question the legality of our union. But the choice is hers.”
“Don’t let your sense of obligation lead you astray, Maxwell,” his father said sadly. “You’ll both be better off without each other. If she’s the paragon you claim, she can find a doting husband, and when you’re ready, you can choose a suitable wife. One who will know what it means to be a countess.”
“Why do you dislike Troth? Is it simply because she’s half-Chinese? The world is changing, Father. Lord Liverpool was a quarter Indian, and he was prime minister for fifteen years. The British royal family has African blood going back through Portuguese royalty. As the empire grows, there will be more and more marriages between different peoples. Shouldn’t the Renbournes be leaders?”
“I don’t precisely dislike her, but I don’t want Chinese blood in the family.” Wrexham frowned. “More than that, the blasted chit makes me nervous. She’s…too meek. Too bland. Too sly and secretive. I feel there are things going on in her mind that I’ll never understand, and that makes me uneasy.”
“Troth, bland?” Startled, Kyle thought back over the previous weeks. It was true that she’d been quiet to the point of invisibility, but so had he. “I suppose that’s because she’s on her best behavior, and in an uncertain situation. But I assure you, she is neither bland nor secretive. She is unique, and it is her background that makes her so special.”
After a long silence, his father said, “You really care for her.”
“Yes.” An understatement, but he wasn’t about to admit to the deep, complicated feelings she aroused. “Fate brought Troth and I together. If she leaves me, so be it, but if you are hoping for grandchildren from me, they will be with Troth, or no one.” He smiled without humor. “You’d better pray that she leaves me.”
His father rose heavily. “I will pray that you find contentment. Though maybe that’s too much to ask.”
Kyle stared at the door into the hall after it closed on Wrexham. Just like the old boy to end an argument by saying something insightful. Had he always realized how restless his heir was?
Kyle sat in the study for a long time, thinking about his life. He’d been in a black swamp ever since his imprisonment, haunted by nightmares and paralyzed by indecision. He must pull himself together for the sake of his family.
And for Troth, of course, who had been endlessly patient and undemanding. He needed to summon the strength and resolution to set her free rather than let his silence keep her trapped at Dornleigh. He would miss her as a soldier missed a severed limb, but he had no right to cage her here when he couldn’t offer the whole heart she deserved.
He opened his eyes and noticed that it was a perfect spring day. Maybe he and Troth could go for a ride. Dominic had said that she’d become quite competent on horseback, and maybe riding would make it easier to talk.
The thought of riding made him wonder what had happened to the donkey, Sheng. He’d become rather attached to the beast despite its bony spine.
Feeling a tingle of anticipation, he rang for the butler. When Hawking appeared, he asked, “Do you know where Lady Maxwell is? I thought she might be interested in going for a ride.”
Hawking’s brows rose. “Her ladyship didn’t find you? She had the same thought and was looking for you here earlier.”
“Really? I haven’t seen her this morning.” A horrifying thought occurred to Kyle. If she’d sought him in the study, she might have approached during his argument with Wrexham. If she’d overheard some of the things that had been said…
Alarmed, he swiftly ascended to Troth’s room, hoping he wouldn’t find her there weeping. The knowledge that Kyle’s father despised her mixed blood would be crushing.
When he knocked on her door, there was no response. After a second knock went unanswered, he cautiously turned the knob.
What he found was worse than tears. The bedroom had been ransacked, with drawers and wardrobe gaping, garments tossed across the bed and left crumpled on the floor. It was hard to believe that meticulous Troth lived here. In fact, she didn’t—the condition of the room was an open declaration that she’d left. He crossed the room and rang for her maid. Perhaps the girl—Bessy?—would know where her mistress had gone.
As he waited, he saw a note propped on the mantel. Girding himself, he unfolded the paper and read, Lord Maxwell—you and your family wish to be rid of me. Your wish is granted.
As he crushed the note in his hand, the young maid entered and curtsied nervously. “My lord.”
“Do you know where Lady Maxwell has gone?” He was amazed how steady his voice sounded.
“I’m not sure, sir, but she asked me to call a carriage for her.”
“The travel coach, or one of the smaller carriages?”
“A smaller one.”
Rapidly he considered the possibilities. Knowing she couldn’t set off on a long journey without the coachman questioning her order, she’d probably gone to the nearby market town of Northampton, where she could catch a coach that would take her to London. No, not London—she’d go to Scotland. He’d meant to take her there, but as with everything else, he hadn’t had the energy to follow through on his intentions.
Well, he’d better find some energy now. He strode to his room and swiftly changed to riding clothes. Downstairs he came across his father. “You’re in luck,” he said acidly. “Troth overheard part of our conversation and has left. I hope to persuade her to come back, but I wouldn’t blame her if she refuses.”
“Damnation. I didn’t want that.” Wrexham frowned. “She may be more willing to return if I leave. Parliament is in session and I should be in London. I can’t go until after the reception in your honor tomorrow night, but I’ll be off the next morning. Give you and the girl time to work things out, if you’re ever going to.”
Kyle blinked, startled at his father’s offer. “I don’t know if that will help, but it’s very thoughtful. Thank you.”
Wrexham smiled satirically. “I suppose part-Chinese grandchildren are better than none at all.” Turning, he marched down the hall, bellowing for his secretary.
In the stable Kyle saddled a dark bay that reminded him of Pegasus. The head groom, Malloy, who’d taught the twins to ride more than thirty years earlier, emerged as Kyle was tightening the cinches. “In the mood for a rare handful of horse, my lord?”
That didn’t sound promising. “Does this one have homicidal traits?”
The groom chuckled. “Nay, lad, just high spirits. You’ll like Nelson fine.”
Malloy was right about the high spirits. When Kyle mounted, Nelson burst into a series of bucks that sent Kyle flying across the yard to land with bruising force. As a stableboy caught Nelson, Malloy rushed up, alarmed. “Are you hurt, my lord?”
Swearing under his breath, Kyle waved the groom away. “I’m fine.”
He brushed himself off, then approached Nelson with steely determination. Stupid of him to forget that it had been over a year since he’d been on horseback. Sheng didn’t count. With a spirited beast like Nelson, it was essential to prove who was in charge from the beginning. For most of his life authority had been second nature, but in China he’d lost the habit.
Standing and moving like a man who knew he was the master, he collected the reins and spent a couple of minutes petting the horse, not allowing it to push him back. When he thought he’d made his point, he mounted again. This time he was prepared for Nelson’s tests and managed to counter every challenge.
When Kyle brought Nelson to a well-behaved standstill, Malloy said, “I see you haven’t lost your touch.”
“Rusty, but not wholly incompetent.
” Kyle trotted out of the yard, then released the horse into an exhilarating gallop across the hills toward Northampton.
He didn’t doubt that he could find Troth—but then what?
Chapter 33
Kyle’s pleasure in the ride was grayed from exhaustion by the time he entered Northampton. Malaria had undermined his strength and stamina as badly as the prison in Feng-tang had battered his emotions and spirit.
Since he’d come cross-country, Troth’s carriage couldn’t have arrived here much before he had. With luck he’d find her at a coaching inn. If she’d already left—well, her distinctive appearance would make her easy to follow.
But what the devil should he say when he found her? Just as he’d tried to avoid talking with his father, he had avoided Troth for the same reason. He’d known that any discussion would be harrowing, and he hadn’t felt equal to that. Inevitably, delay had made the situation worse. From the state of Troth’s bedroom, he guessed that she’d left Dornleigh in a fury, and surely deeply hurt as well.
The hell of it was that she should leave so she could begin the life she’d dreamed of. Loyalty and courtesy were what had kept her at Dornleigh even though she obviously disliked the place. Yet he couldn’t bear for them to part like this, in pain and anger.
Praying she was here, he rode into the coaching yard of the George, turned Nelson over to an ostler, and went inside to find the innkeeper. When the man appeared, Kyle said, “I’m Maxwell. Has a tall, beautiful, foreign-looking woman come in recently?”
“Aye,” the innkeeper said, professionally cautious but responding to Kyle’s air of authority. “Would you be having business with her, sir?”
“I’m her husband.”
“Ah. Then she’s not Miss Montgomery, but Mrs. Maxwell. The lady is in a private parlor, waiting for the northbound coach. This way, sir.”
Grateful to have found her so easily, Kyle followed the innkeeper. The private parlor contained a dining table and a half dozen worn but comfortable chairs. Troth sat at the table, picking at a platter of bread, cheese, and onions. When Kyle entered she glanced up, the color draining from her face.
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