Lord Haven's Deception

by Donna Lea Simpson

  His grandmother clapped. “Very good, Haven. Spoken like a sensible man. Not like some I could name who would engage in theatrics at the cost of shocking bacon-brained half-wits.” She cast Varens a venomous look, letting it slew around to include Lady Mortimer.

  “Grand—” Haven said, warning in his voice.

  Giving a good imitation of one chastened, she meekly said, “I will apologize for disparaging the intentions or wit of anyone present.” Laughter quavered in her voice. “I did not think anyone would take offense to an old woman’s maunderings.” She rose and started out of the room. “Grandson, when you have a moment for a poor, old, witless woman, I would have a word with you.”

  Haven shook his head. His grandmother was both a trial and a delight to him. He briefly said good-bye to the others, leaving the dratted pearls in the possession of the baroness, and followed the dowager to her suite. It had been a long day so far and he still had things to do. In the hours since walking and talking with Jenny his mind had become firm on one subject. No matter what his grandmother felt, he was going to ask his Jenny to marry him. He felt faintly guilty about doing it while Miss Dresden was still missing, but his own life must go on. His postulation on her disappearance had become almost certainty in his own mind; she had a lover and they had eloped. It would explain much, though he supposed it would leave almost as much unexplained.

  “Bartlett, bring tea for myself and the viscount. And some of cook’s excellent biscuits, I think.” The elderly woman tapped into her suite as the butler opened the door for her and then disappeared toward the kitchen. In a building as large as the priory, it would take a while.

  Haven followed his grandmother, still conning over in his mind the possibilities. He paced to the window and stared out at the high fell, over which Jenny beckoned to his heart. Such a short time ago he had been looking forward to an arranged marriage to a young lady of good birth and lineage. He had not made his mind up about it completely, but was succumbing to the pressure he felt, at the age of thirty-one, to provide an heir for his title and a mistress for Haven Court.

  But now he had tumbled headlong into love. What an odd event for someone as unromantical and stolid as he! But the mere presence of Jenny, the smell of her hair, the touch of her skin, the sound of her voice, inspired him. His whole physical being thrummed to life in her presence, but the connection ran deeper than passion to a mating of their souls, a marriage of their minds. Besides Pammy and Grand there was not another female in the world to whom he could speak his mind, and yet as new as the acquaintance was, he knew he could do so with Jenny.

  There were hurdles to overcome. Would she marry him once she knew who he was? He felt capable of talking her into it. It would not be easy for her, but if necessary he would banish his mother to the dower house rather than see her bully the woman he loved. He felt a momentary pang of worry. He had ever valued a peaceful household and it would not be peaceful for some time. Perhaps he had allowed his mother too free a reign. But she was his mother and he loved her. That she disparaged him constantly and in public was a source of pain to him, but he had learned to ignore it most of the time. Perhaps, in hindsight, that had been a mistake. It was possible that he should have silenced her in some way, though his father had never found the key to that difficult riddle.

  He turned from the window to see Grand watching him, love and knowledge in her watery old eyes. He crossed the floor and caressed her cheek before sitting down opposite her at her favorite table, the French gilt Cressent, presented to her by her husband as a special gift on the birth of her son, Haven’s father, many, many decades before. “So what do you think, Grand?” he asked. “Do you think Miss Dresden may have a lover?”

  “Oh, yes, I think that she likely does,” the old lady said, a twinkle in her eye that Haven did not quite understand.

  “It would explain much, including what no one else has seemed to grasp from the hidden reticule and jewel sack, that she must have taken the pearls and money down the stairs with her. I do not want to ignore any avenues, though. I must be sure she has eloped before I call off the search. For if she has truly been kidnapped, I would not have the young lady left on her own.”

  “What is your reasoning, then, grandson?”

  He thanked whatever deity was responsible that his grandmother had the kind of calm, rational mind that made conversation possible without hysteria or posturing. “My theory is this: Miss Dresden, harassed and prodded into this trip north to meet me,” he said with a grimace, thinking he understood only too well how a person could finally give in to pressure even against better judgment, “begins the trip with her aunt. She has left behind a beau, an ardent suitor, perhaps, but one whose lineage or position in life is not suitable in the eyes of those around her.” He stopped, thinking that he and Miss Dresden might have much more in common than he would have ever thought possible.

  “Go on,” Grand said, laughter in her voice for some unfathomable reason.

  Haven cast her an uneasy look. Why did he so often feel that his grandmother was watching the rest of them live their lives and laughing at them all? “Suppose Miss Dresden’s mother has asked her to do this and the young lady acquiesced, only to realize somewhere on the journey that love—” He paused and stared at the fireplace, not even seeing the familiar magnificent carvings and mirrored panels. “Love is not to be abandoned,” he continued, his voice quiet. “It has stolen into her heart and will not allow any conclusion but one: marriage to the one she loves. After all, it is the only logical, decent, moral choice, to marry where your heart is engaged.” He cleared his throat and sat up straighter as the butler returned, ushering into the room a footman who carried a tray laden with tea, cups, and a plate of buttery biscuits, so hot the steam still rose from them.

  “Ah, wonderful,” the old lady said, eyeing the plate with appreciation. The serving staff departed and she poured tea and began on the biscuits, layering butter and currant preserves on one. She offered one to Haven but he turned it down for perhaps the first time since he was ailing as a very small child.

  “We know, now,” he said, frowning down at his booted feet, “that she received a letter at the inn stating that her mother, the moment Miss Dresden had gone from Bath, it seemed, has remarried. I would think if the young lady only submitted to this trip north for her mother’s sake, she might well be hurt by her mother’s rushed marriage.” He stood and paced to the window again, hands clenched behind his back while he talked out his theory.

  “That is only a surmise on my part, and may or may not be true, but it seems to be supported by Lady Mortimer’s behavior. She clearly was surprised and dismayed by her sister’s actions, and they did not directly affect her. How much more upset would Miss Dresden be? Regardless, what I think might have happened is this: a gentleman followed her and convinced her to elope with him. I have found no evidence of such a man—though I have not explored all of the possibilities there, that she received a note, or met someone outside of the inn—but it would explain her disappearance, for one thing, and its timing. Not to mention the missing money and pearls. I can find absolutely no indication that a young lady was kidnapped! The only alternative is that she left voluntarily, but dropped the pearls in her haste to escape the inn.

  “I would like Lady Mortimer to go through Miss Dresden’s trunk to see if there was any other clothing missing. We have not yet had her do that, since we believed, at first, the kidnap story. But she could have changed her clothes and then abandoned the carriage dress outside the inn, which would explain the serving girl’s finding it bundled into a hedge.” He paused and pondered for a moment. “It would explain, too, the too-legible note. If she wanted to mislead her aunt as to her whereabouts to give her time to effect her elopement, she—or her beau, perhaps—could have written the note and left it in the stable.”

  He turned from the window to find his grandmother contentedly munching on the biscuit. “Do you think it possible, Grand? Does it sound likely to you?”

&
nbsp; She chuckled around her mouthful and swallowed. “Anything is possible, Haven. Why, it could be possible that the girl is hiding right under our own noses.”

  He frowned. It was not the answer he had been hoping for. There was something odd about her demeanor. He had never ascribed to the notion his mother had, that Grand’s wits were finally wandering, but she did not seem overly concerned with poor Miss Dresden’s actions or lack thereof.

  “Do you really think that is possible? That she and her beau are hiding somewhere in the neighborhood?”

  His grandmother shrugged, visibly straining to contain her mirth. She coughed and swallowed, then took a long draught of tea.

  Doggedly he pursued his line of reasoning, trying to ignore the niggling worry that was gnawing at his brain, that his grandmother was beginning to mentally decline. “It would explain, too, why the reticule and jewel sack were in her room, under the mattress. She perhaps did not want to take them with her in such recognizable form. As I said, she could have dropped the pearls, I suppose.”

  Grand frowned and nodded, her movement arrested in the act of taking another biscuit. “I do believe you are right about that, Gerry. I wonder what she was thinking? I find Lady Mortimer a thoroughly unpleasant woman, but to leave her so worried . . . were the reticule and sack left as indication that the kidnapping was false? Was it a double bluff intended to reassure, just as the note was intended to confuse? Perhaps the girl is even more clever than I take her for. Why a note at all? Did she only want enough time to get away?”

  “Exactly!” Haven said, glad to see his grandmother back to her sharp-witted self. “I must continue the search. I’ll have some of my men search the countryside for information. With this new theory the questions they will ask must, perforce, be considerably different. They will want to see if any man was seen outside of the inn, or if someone delivered a note to the young lady. Or perhaps if a strange carriage was seen anywhere. A closed carriage, most likely.”

  “Stop! Haven, sit for one minute and drink your tea. Everything will surely wait until you can take some sustenance.”

  He sighed, but submitted. Grand was right, he supposed. His stomach was growling, for he had not taken luncheon, his guilt over his long morning walk with Jenny making him leap into action and spend the time between then and now riding the countryside and asking questions.

  He accepted a biscuit from his grandmother and nodded his thanks as she poured him tea.

  “You have been to see that girl again.”

  It was not a question, it was a statement, and Haven steeled himself to answer. “I have.”

  “And? Tell me more about her, Haven. What is she like? Her voice, her person, her manners.”

  He was reluctant to discuss her with anyone, even his beloved grandmother. “She’s beautiful.”

  “You’ve said that,” the dowager said sharply. “Tell me more.”

  How could he? He shrugged. “Her voice is lovely, nice tone, like a coloratura’s speaking voice, I think. Mmm, she’s very pretty, lovely dark hair, curling around her face, gray eyes, beautiful, soft skin. And intelligent.” He frowned. “Don’t know where she learned half the things she knows. Not good at farming chores, though,” he said with a chuckle, remembering her faltering attempt to milk Esther.

  The dowager leaned forward and looked her grandson in the eyes. “You sound to me very much like a young man in love. Why don’t you marry her, Haven?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Evening shadows were long outside the cottage door, but inside was bathed in mellow golden light cast from the fire. Jane watched Mary wearily rock Molly’s cradle and felt a tenderness for the kind woman and her tiny baby. Mary surely must wonder who she was and what she was running from, but though she had asked a couple of times, she had not pressed too hard. The woman had shared everything she owned—her food, her bed, her home—and it just was not right to be taking her time and energy the way she was, for even though Jane tried to help Mary, there was so little she really knew. As Miss Jane Dresden, she had never needed to know how butter was made, or how long to knead bread, or how hard to scrub clothes to get them clean but not wear holes into them. In all her daydreams of a tidy little cottage with rose gardens by the door and ivy creeping up the chimney, she had never gotten beyond the idyllic life of sitting by the hearth as the fire crackled, or walking in the fragrant woods collecting berries, or picking daisies in a sun-dappled meadow, or drinking tea on the doorstep while neat villagers strolled by and engaged her in conversation. Never had she imagined how much work there was in living when one had no servants.

  Every morning the fire must be stirred to life and breakfast made. The cow must be milked, chickens fed and eggs gathered, wood for the fire chopped, cooking, laundering, gardening, baking, sewing . . . . the list went on and on. Mary’s daily routine was staggering in the amount of labor involved, but she still found time to tend to her baby and spin wool to make some extra money. And she did it all with a smile and a song. Jane so far had mastered the simple tasks of feeding the chickens and gathering eggs, but milking Esther remained beyond her abilities. Butter churning had been a failure, for her arm strength had been inadequate for the job; the result had been a watery mess. And her attempt at bread-making was dismal, the loaf as heavy and dense as pudding. It would take years to learn it all, she was sure.

  Staring into the fire, watching the flames dance and tangle, she knew that she should be leaving and there was no more delaying it, no more waiting until she had some perfect plan. It was time, and she could no longer mislead herself that there was any reason to stay. Already it was going to make things awkward for Mary when she must tell Gerry that her cousin had just left, without a word. But it was how it must be. Gerry was attracted to her and she to him, but what future did they have?

  Just the day before she and Gerry had walked the hills—for only the second time; she could not fathom that she had known him such a short time!—and yet the way he had left her had made her think he was coming back with a question for her. And over the course of the rest of the long day and evening she had tried to tell herself she could make everything come out right in the end, that if Gerry’s intention was marriage she would say yes and find a way to make it work. But it was hopeless; even in her rosiest imaginings she had known that Viscount Haven would not look favorably on one in his employ marrying his betrothed bride. It would be the height of awkwardness and she would not—could not—put Gerry in that position, imperiling his livelihood like that. This had to stop before they were entangled any more than they already were. She had never wanted to hurt anyone, but a man with as tender a heart as Gerry . . . She had to leave, and the time was now.

  “I have enjoyed this time, Mary. You will never know how much this has meant to me.”

  Mary, sitting on the settle by her baby’s cradle, looked up with a sad smile. “That almost sound like good-bye, lass. You know yer welcome to bide here for as long as you need. I’ll not ask questions.”

  “Why not?” Jane asked. She moved to sit on the brick hearth and gazed up into Mary’s honest eyes. “Don’t mistake me, I have appreciated your forbearance. I have secrets that, while not shameful, are not something I really want to talk about at this time. But why have you been so good to me, and without knowing a thing about me?”

  Mary stared down at Molly in her painted cradle, the baby gurgling happily and waving her tiny fists. “I go on me guts, Jenny. I learned long ago that if there be one thing I can do, it be to judge folk. I have ne’er been wrong, an’ I think you have yer reasons. It be none o’ my business what they are. I was that worrit that you might mislead Gerry, but I see you fixin’ to leave now, and I think it might well be that yer doin’ so, so as not to hurt ’im.” She looked up, her eyes sad. “I trust you,” she finished simply. “And I’ll miss you.”

  There was a light tap at the door just then and Mary frowned. “Who could that be this late?” It was early evening, but already the weak April sun was descending, ca
sting long shadows over the moors. She stood and plodded across the floor, kicking a small mat back into place. She opened the door and said, “Ah, Gerry, we were just talkin’ about you.”

  Jane felt her heart thump. She had hoped to leave before seeing him again because it only got harder when he was near. They had only known each other a couple of days, but when he was close to her she could imagine a life where she was accepted for who she was inside, not based on whom society said she was. She could imagine a lifetime of sharing and love with a gentle, quiet man like Gerry. It was illusion, a sweet madness that overtook her in his company. But alone with her thoughts she knew that there were too many reasons why it would never work and she was only going to hurt them both. As much as she tried to lie to herself, tried to deny the knowledge that had stolen into her heart in the night, honesty was inescapable.

  She must be circumspect. She must stay away from him as much as possible in this next hour or so. And she must leave. She would have to work out a plan that very night and leave on the morrow.

  Mary ushered her friend in and he took a seat on the hearth, setting aside the unlit lantern he had brought to light his way home with. Jane moved to sit up on the settle, away from the disturbing heat he radiated. He gazed up at both women as Mary sat down beside her. “What lovely ladies,” he said. “You can certainly see the family resemblance between you. What branch of the family are you from, Miss Jenny?”