Scandalous Scions One

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  1825 Raymond, Viscount Marblethorpe (stepson)

  1839 William Vaughn Wardell

  1839 John (Jack) Gladwin Lochlann Mayes (fostered in 1846)

  1842 Sarah Louise Wardell (D)

  1843 Peter Lovell Wardell

  1844 Gwendolyn (Jenny) Violet Moore Wardell (adopted in 1848)

  1844 Patricia Sharla Victoria Mayes (fostered in 1846)

  1849 Blanche Brigitte Colombe Bonnay (adopted in 1851)

  1853 Emma Jane Wardell (adopted at birth)

  Natasha and Seth Williams

  Earl of Innesford, Baron Harrow (Ire.)

  1839 Lillian Mary Harrow

  1840 Richard Cian Seth Williams

  1841 Neil Vaughn Williams

  1843 Daniel Rhys Williams

  1846 Bridget Bronte Williams & Mairin May Williams

  1849 Annalies Grace Williams

  Annalies and Rhys Davies

  Princess Annalies Benedickta of Saxe-Weiden, of the royal house Saxe-Coburg-Weiden, Formerly of the Principality of Saxe-Weiden.

  1835 Benjamin Hedley Davies (adopted in 1845)

  1842 Iefan William Davies

  1843 Morgan Harrow Davies

  1843 Sadie Hedley Davies (adopted in 1845)

  1846 Bronwen Natasha Davies

  1848 Alice Thomasina Davies (adopted at birth)

  1849 Catrin Elise Davies

  Chapter One

  London, England, 1858.

  There was always a handful of people visiting West of London and Westminster Cemetery, every time Natasha returned there herself. If it were not for their black crepe and bombazine, it would be easy to lapse into thinking the visitors were strolling through a park, for the cemetery was garden-like in its appointments, with shady arbors, elaborate family crypts and well-clipped lawns.

  No one spoke to anyone. That was the other difference. They were all strangers, there for a common purpose, yet still quite alone. Not even the civil nod of acknowledgement that strangers would exchange in Hyde Park was used here.

  Natasha missed the path to the Innesford family crypt and lost her way. It had been so long since she had last visited, she could not remember how to find the building. Her discomfort rose.

  When she found the crypt, her cheeks were hot with mortification and she was breathless from hurrying. She used the big iron key to unlock the gate and stepped into the cool, dim stillness of the hexagonal structure. Her boots crunched on the tiles, as grit shifted beneath her feet. It sounded loud in the small, marble-lined room and she flinched. She was disturbing the dead.

  Seth was at the back, in the new wall. She slipped off her glove and pressed her hand against the carved plate.

  Richard Seth Williams

  18th Earl of Innesford.

  1804 A.D.—1854 A.D.

  “Oh, Seth,” she whispered, her eyes stinging with tears. “Four years since you were taken from me. It has been a year since I came to see you. I meant to come sooner. I miss you every day. I still forget sometimes that you are gone. I find myself starting to speak to you. Then I remember you are not there and it makes my chest ache.”

  There was no answer, of course. She wished for a moment she was spiritual enough to believe Seth watched over her and if she prayed hard enough and listened with a pure heart, he would speak to her. Other widows often claimed they had entire conversations with their departed husbands. They would consult with them on all major decisions in their life. The shades of their loved ones would continue to direct their lives from beyond the grave. It would be wonderful to be able to visit Seth eagerly and return to her life filled with the contentment and peace other widows derived from standing at the foot of their husbands’ graves.

  Instead, Natasha always stood here in the silence and felt confusion and a roil of emotions that all seemed wicked and inappropriate. Anger was one of the strongest. She sometimes wanted to beat her fist against the silent headstone and rage at the Fates for doing this to her and to Seth. Despair and grief and sadness were always there.

  Yet more often, lately, what she felt was a terrible, fear-inducing loneliness.

  Seth had been a pragmatic man. Seven years a convict had stripped from him any belief in divine justice and he would have laughed at those widows who talked to their dead husbands. Natasha, though, was beginning to understand why they might. It was comforting to think Seth might be lingering in some other plane and watching over her. Although if that were true, then Seth would be caustically advising her to give up such nonsensical ideas and go put on that blue dress he liked so much….

  Her tears spilled. She hung her head.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “I’m so busy, Seth. There are never enough hours in the day. The twins are turning into ladies right in front of me. Lisa Grace is nine…nine, Seth. She is going to be tall. She is already up to my shoulder. And Daniel’s voice has broken. He’s a baritone. I know you would laugh about that. You’d have given him brandy to celebrate and perhaps a cigar. Neil is in his last year at Eton. Lilly…” She sighed. “Lilly seems content. Oh, and Cian starts at Cambridge this year. I decided…I hope you don’t mind, but I thought he should finish his education, even though he’s already taking over the management of his titles and the estates…”

  She reached under the lace veil and wiped her cheeks. “Every time someone calls me the Dowager Countess, I look over my shoulder to see who it is they’re addressing. Then I realize it is me they are talking to.” She laid her hand back on the stone, her damp fingers marking it. “I don’t feel like a dowager anything.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the stone. “I just feel so alone.”

  The silence was her answer. No ghost whispered. Nor did the wind stir to shift leaves over the paths outside.

  Natasha listened. She heard her heart beat and that was all. It was a strong beat. Healthy. She had turned forty years old in March yet she still felt as strong and alive as she had at twenty, when she had met Seth. She stayed silent when friends gently pointed out that as she was getting on in years, it was time to let go of the ribbons and frivolities of a younger woman and graciously linger in the darker corners of parlors. In the mirror, her face had not changed all that much. Her waist was only an inch wider after bearing seven children—thanks to daily walking and working in the garden, horse riding and energetic games of tennis with Annalies when no one was looking.

  She was not an old woman, yet the world thought she should be. To dispute them would heap shame and scorn and notoriety upon her head. If Seth were still here, she might have had the courage to look everyone in the eye and do what she wanted. Only, Seth was no longer here to protect her.

  Natasha sighed. “I suppose I must sort it out for myself. I always looked to you to help me understand matters. You were so good at understanding how people worked. You were forced to it by circumstances. Now I will have to do it for myself. I suppose these are my circumstances, aren’t they?” She patted the inscription plate one more time. “I’ll try to visit sooner, next time,” she promised him.

  She stepped out into the warm June morning, glad of the veil to hide her tear-stained cheeks. She locked the gate on the crypt, dropped the key into her reticule and moved slowly along the path. It seemed wrong that the sun was shining and the air held not a breath of chill. She could smell musky lavender and tea roses and the pleasant green smell of freshly cut grass. A bee buzzed past her veil. Doves twittered and cooed in the long arbor. Even here among the dead, the world was vitally alive.

  On the path, ahead, a man was standing in front of a large, new headstone. The carved lettering on the black marble had been painted with gold leaf. He stood very still in front of it, his hands at his sides, his soft brimmed hat held in one of them. He was not speaking to the interred, as so many people did here.

  The sun gleamed in his black hair as he turned his head at her approach.

  Natasha had been on the point of apologizing for her intrusion, for this was the only way back to the gate of the cem
etery, where her carriage was waiting. Then she realized she knew the man.

  It was Raymond Devlin, Elisa’s son.

  Surprised skittered through her. “Lord Marblethorpe,” she said and fell silent. All the usual polite social phrases seemed inappropriate in this place. All the family matters she might have asked about were just as wrong. She cast about for something to say.

  “Countess Innesford,” Raymond replied, with a small nod of acknowledgement. He glanced at the headstone he was standing before. A tiny frown grew between his dark brows.

  “I interrupted you,” Natasha said quickly. “I can find another—”

  “I was about to leave, anyway,” he said, just as quickly. “Let me see you back to your carriage.”

  Natasha pressed her lips together. She didn’t want to deal with company right now. Only, standing awkwardly in the middle of the path was even more uncomfortable, so she nodded and moved down the footpath again.

  Raymond fell in next to her. He didn’t offer his elbow, which would have felt just as wrong. He didn’t speak either, which was a relief to her. He settled his hat back in place and kept his gaze on his feet.

  It was even more of a relief to move through the big stone arch and over to the waiting carriages. It put the other world behind her. The chitter of larks seemed natural and right once more. The clop of horses and whizz of carriage wheels on Brompton Road pulled her attention back to the normal day.

  Raymond straightened and seemed to grow even taller. He glanced at her. “I do apologize for not conversing. It didn’t seem right, to chat about the living, in there.”

  Natasha let out her breath. “Yes, exactly,” she admitted. “You were…visiting Rose?” She surreptitiously wiped her cheeks dry, then lifted the veil up and pinned it to the back of her bonnet.

  Raymond’s dark-eyed gaze slid away from her. “It will be a year in August. I felt it would be delinquent to only visit on the anniversary, as if I had been neglecting her, I suppose.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I thought if I visited sooner, then it would demonstrate I was not…a bad man.”

  His confession, so awkwardly admitted, let something inside her relax. “I wish I had thought of that,” she said candidly. “I feel guilty because it has been a year since I last was here. I mean, I miss Seth. Dreadfully. Yet the days keep rolling past, faster and faster and then, suddenly, a year has gone by.” It didn’t seem wrong to speak of it to Raymond. He was Elisa’s oldest son, a part of the greater family. He had seen Natasha romping on the croquet court. He had lost his wife, too. Also, he had known Seth.

  Raymond drew in a breath that made his chest lift. “I know exactly what you mean,” he said quietly. He glanced at the two carriages. “This might seem odd. May I send your carriage away and take you home in mine? I would like to talk.”

  “It doesn’t seem odd at all,” Natasha admitted. “Besides,” she added. “We’re family. Inside the family—”

  “—we do as we please.” He smiled. It was a small expression. “I will talk to your driver. Stay right there.”

  He strode down the petunia-lined path, his long boots gleaming as he moved. He stopped at Barny’s side and spoke to him. Raymond was tall enough that he didn’t have to strain to speak to him as Natasha would have. He merely raised his chin.

  Barny tugged at his bowler brim, picked up the whip and tapped the back of the horses. The carriage moved off, sliding past Raymond’s smart cabriolet. Raymond’s driver soothed the gray with murmurs and clicks of his tongue.

  Raymond opened the little door for her and held out his hand. Natasha gripped her crinolines with her right and took his hand with her left, then stepped up into the carriage. She made sure to sit as far to the left as she could, so Raymond would have room on the seat. She tucked the folds of gray and green plaid underneath her hip to make more room. These little cabriolets the younger men favored did not have the space of a full coach and four.

  Raymond stepped up into the carriage, his weight making it dip to one side, the springs compressing. He paused, looking at the bench. She had taken up just over half of it with her skirts. She held them aside. “Twenty yards of plaid and linen. In my first season a dress with this much yardage would have been considered extravagant. Now, it is barely enough if one wants to be considered fashionable.”

  Raymond settled on the seat next to her and knocked on the roof. The gray stepped smartly forward, without jarring the carriage into motion. “Nevertheless, you have left me more than enough room,” he said. “If my hips really are as wide as the bench you’ve supplied, I am badly in need of exercise.”

  Natasha could feel a smile pulling at her mouth. “I would advise filling in more dance cards, then. Three waltzes, back to back, will quickly reduce your waistline.”

  “And my wind,” Raymond replied dryly. “Is that why you dance so often?”

  “I like dancing,” Natasha admitted. “I always have. I met Seth at the Sweet Pea Ball…” She bit her lip.

  Raymond looked at her, his brow lifting just a little. “Why do you stop?”

  “I suppose…” She looked at her gloved hands, the chain of her reticule wrapped around the satin.

  “We’re family, remember?” Raymond said quietly. “Even though we’re not related, we’re closer than kin. You can speak your mind.” His mouth lifted a little. “That will leave me free to speak mine, too.”

  Natasha hesitated, then plunged. “I shouldn’t care to dance, anymore, only I do. I shouldn’t care to do a great many things, now Seth has gone. I should care for nothing, I’m told. Yet I…still do.” She let out a shaky breath.

  Raymond nodded. “You’re still young. Of course you still care about things.”

  She laughed. It was a weak sound. It was so odd hearing one of the children of the family dispense advice and opinions to one of the adults. “I’m not young by any definition, Raymond. I am your mother’s friend. I watched you grow up.”

  “I am thirty-three,” Raymond said, his voice low. “I won’t presume to guess how old you are, Natasha, although I know you are not much older than I. You are my mother’s friend, yes, but friendship crosses all barriers and years.”

  Natasha fell silent, confused by the strange tightness in her chest and the uncomfortable sensations it was creating. It was true. She was only seven years older than him. How had she not noticed that before? Was it because she had always separated the family into two distinct strata? The adults and the children and never the twain shall meet? Or had it been because Seth had been thirteen years older than her and she had elevated her perspective to match his?

  “It is because of the closeness of our ages that I feel safe telling you what I am about to say,” Raymond added.

  Natasha rested her hand on his wrist, for a brief moment. “Are you about to tell me you didn’t love Rose? I can save you the agony of confession, Raymond. It is a secret only to a very few of the family anymore.”

  Raymond hesitated. “I have never hidden that the marriage was purely one of duty to me,” he said evenly. “My father’s family insisted. I could put it off no longer. I complied. The Devlin family have their heir. I have done my duty.” He shrugged.

  The harshness of his voice, the inflexibility of his jaw, surprised her. The depth of his feelings were also shocking. “You are angry,” she said. “I’m sorry, that was not my intention, to make you angry.”

  He shook his head, frowning. “I am not angry at you. If I am angry at all, it is at myself, for…oh, all manner of things. I didn’t love Rose. It has been nearly a year and yet this morning, I still looked up expecting to see her sitting at the other end of the breakfast table, buttering her toast.” His gloved hand curled into a hard fist. “Why do I keep doing that?” He ground out the question, pain in his voice.

  “You may not have loved her in the way you think you ought to have, but there was affection there, Raymond. Respect, at the very least, or you would not have made an heir. You are not the sort to…to…” Natasha took
a deep breath. “You are not the sort of man to bed a woman with whom you have no relationship whatsoever. I do not believe that is in your nature. You cared for Rose on some level and you lived with her for five years—”

  “Four,” he corrected softly.

  “It was long enough for the relationship to leave its mark on your heart, Raymond.”

  “Then why do I feel guilty all the time?” he asked flatly. “I feel guilty for not loving her enough, for not giving her all the affection I could. If I had known she would live so few years, I would have…” He shook his head.

  Natasha jumped. Guilt. Yes, that was it. That was the ache in the middle of her chest. “I don’t think it matters what the type or quality the relationship may have been,” she said slowly. “What matters is that they have gone and we remain and we feel guilty for it.”

  Raymond considered her, his gaze steady. The pain in his eyes faded. “Yes,” he said. “That’s it, exactly.” He sat back in the corner, almost relaxing into it. “We are a wretched pair, are we not?”

  The air of free confession still lingered, which allowed Natasha to say, “I do not feel as wretched as I should, knowing someone else feels as I do.”

  Raymond didn’t move or speak for a long moment. The carriage rounded the long curve into Knightsbridge. The tall trees of Hyde Park were visible over the buildings lining the wide road. They would be in Mayfair soon enough.

  “My marriage was doomed from the start,” Raymond said. “I knew that, yet I married her anyway.” His gaze shifted from Natasha’s. “I loved someone else. I think I have loved her forever.”

  Natasha nodded.

  “You knew?” he asked, shock making his voice rise.

  “Not for certain. Everyone has wondered for years if there was a woman you could not speak of. You never seemed to get into mischief the way Benjamin does, or that other single men are supposed to.” Natasha hesitated, then threw caution away. This frankness was helping ease aches and torments that had lived in her for a long time. It must surely be helping Raymond, too. “Did she…is the woman you love still unavailable, Raymond? I mean, you are a widower. It has been nearly a year. You are free to pursue whomever you wish, now.”