Whatever could he be saying to her? And why would she agree to admit him, and no one else? Their conversation was muted by the thick, oaken door, but occasionally a snippet escaped. She distinctly made out the words ‘Amelia’ and ‘Isabel,’ but then Emily’s sobs muffled her words.
A pang of guilt shot through her for eavesdropping on what was obviously a personal conversation. Yet she was angry, too–angry at Lord Westfield for so blatantly disregarding propriety. Good lord, he was a bachelor, ensconced in a married woman’s bedchamber! She could barely believe it. Even so, she was certain that nothing untoward was happening on the far side of the door. But what if Cecil should arrive home? Would Cecil be so certain?
Maybe I should knock on the door, she thought, and ask that they take their counsel to a more respectable location. She shook her head. No, she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t very well leave, either. Overwhelmed with indecisiveness, she remained there, wringing her hands before the door for what felt like hours.
At last the door opened and Lord Westfield appeared. “Mrs. Tolland has agreed to take a meal in her room.”
“Very good,” Jane answered, then hurried down to summon Mrs. Smythe. When she returned, the door was ajar and she entered to find Emily sitting on a chaise longue by the window, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Lord Westfield stood by her side, one hand resting on her shoulder. Mrs. Smythe bustled in and silently placed a tray on a side table before exiting.
At last, Emily looked up at Jane and smiled weakly. “I’m so sorry, Jane dearest. I don’t know what came over me. Please don’t be angry at Lord Westfield.”
“I’m only glad to see you well, Emily.” Jane looked up to Lord Westfield with grateful eyes. Whatever he had said to her, it had done wonders. Emily was back again. Jane smiled at him, relief coursing through her.
He averted his gaze. Clearing his throat, he moved toward the door. “I’ll leave you in Miss Rosemoor’s care.”
“Thank you, Lord Westfield,” Emily said with a sniffle. “I’ll not soon forget your kindness.”
“Nonsense, Em–Mrs. Tolland. You’ve shown me equal kindness when I was in need of it myself. I owe you much. I only hope that if you find yourself in such a state again, you will send word to me at once. I’ll do everything in my power to help you, in any way I can.”
“I know that you will, Lord Westfield. Thank you again.”
He bowed, then strode out, closing the door softly as he went.
Jane turned back to Emily, who held out one hand to her. “I’m so sorry, Jane. Can you ever forgive such silly behavior?”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Jane sat down beside her on the chaise. “I only wish I could bring you such comfort as Lord Westfield managed to.” Jane shook her head in amazement.
“I was so overtaken by melancholy. It was terrifying, Jane. I was all but paralyzed. It’s difficult to explain.”
“You don’t have to, Emily. I know from my own experience. I suffer from bouts of melancholy myself.”
“Do you? Then you know. It’s gotten so much worse since Amelia’s birth. Lately I have to force myself from bed each morning, so gripped am I with fear.”
“Can you tell me what you fear?” Jane probed tentatively.
Emily shrugged. “So many things. That I’m a terrible mother, a terrible wife. That when faced with my shortcomings, I’ll lose all hope.” Emily squeezed her eyes shut, and a tear trickled down one cheek. “That I might suffer my mother’s fate.”
Not again, Jane thought with a shudder. She squeezed Emily’s hand reassuringly. “You’re not your mother, Emily. You can either choose to give up, to give into your dark thoughts, or you can choose to challenge them, to fight them with all your might.”
“I’m not as strong as you, Jane. Sometimes I cannot fight it.” She blew her nose into her handkerchief. “Lord Westfield thinks I’m strong, but he’s mistaken. If he only knew...” her voice broke as she trailed off. “He gives me such comfort, but still, I could not tell him.”
Jane’s heart thumped so hard against her ribs that she feared it might burst. “Could not tell him what?”
“If I tell you, will you promise not to tell a soul? Not Cecil, not Lord Westfield. No one.”
“Of course, Emily. You have my word.” Jane’s palms dampened in anticipation of what dreadful thing Emily might divulge.
“Yesterday afternoon I had the nursemaid bring the baby to me. Amelia was so happy, so cheerful, so I thought to spend some time alone with her in the garden. She started to fuss right away.” Emily dabbed at her eyes. “I tried everything I could; I refused to give up. I brought her inside and tried to calm her, to get her to sleep. The nurse came and I sent her away, determined to prove to myself that I could do it, that I could soothe my own child. I rocked her, I held her–I did everything possible. When I could take no more, I laid her on my bed and sat beside her, covering my ears, as she wailed on and on. I picked up the pillow and held it in my hands, and I actually thought to cover her with it, to silence her, if just for a moment.”
A terror filled Jane’s heart. No, her mind cried. “You wouldn’t do it, Emily. I know you wouldn’t.”
“No, but I did have the thought.” Emily looked up at her with pleading eyes as she twisted the square of embroidered linen in her hands.
“Still, I don’t believe you’d ever do such a thing.” Dear God, she hoped not!
“Oh, Jane, I don’t deserve to be a mother. I’m sure Cecil knows it and that’s why he won’t...” Emily’s voice trailed off miserably, her tears renewed.
“He won’t what?” Jane said, then immediately wished she could withdraw the words.
“He won’t...he doesn’t...he hasn’t come to my bed once since Amelia’s birth.” Emily smoothed her hands across her abdomen. “I’m as plump as a Jersey–look at me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Emily. Your figure is lovely. Come now, you’re just exhausted and overwrought; you try to do too much. The nursemaid is here to care for Amelia; just take care of yourself. I know how it feels to despair, to have terror grip your heart. Let me help you,” Jane pleaded.
“I know you’re right. It’s just so very difficult.”
“I know. Shall we go to London, as we discussed before? Cecil is at his solicitor’s office now, but as soon as he returns, I will speak with him about it.”
“It won’t do any good.” Emily shook her head with a frown. “He wishes to go alone.”
“I’ll tell him that it’s necessary to your health. Surely he won’t refuse. We’ll bring Amelia and the nurse, and you’ll be able to meet my dear friend Lucy, Lady Mandeville. Why, she has a daughter not much older than Amelia, her third child. It will be lovely.”
Emily nodded solemnly. “If you can convince him, it will be lovely indeed.”
Oh, Jane would convince him, all right. She wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, not with Emily’s well-being at stake.
“Oh, and Lord Westfield has asked us to dinner at Richmond tomorrow night. I’m to remind you that you promised Madeline.”
Indeed she had. “Will it please you to go, Emily?”
Emily nodded in reply. “Certainly. I’ll be sorry to see him leave for Town.”
As will I, Jane added silently, surprised by the thought.
***
“Mrs. Tolland, Jane!” Madeline ran into the drawing room, barreling toward them with her ribbons streaming out behind her.
“Miss Rosemoor,” Hayden corrected.
“It’s perfectly all right, Lord Westfield. I gave her leave to address me as ‘Jane,’ did I not, Madeline?”
“She did,” the child answered before wrapping her arms about Jane’s legs. “I’m so glad to see you again.”
Jane knelt and gave the girl a proper embrace. “I’m glad, too. It was kind of your uncle to invite us.” As she stroked Madeline’s hair, she looked up and met Lord Westfield’s penetrating eyes.
He held her gaze but a moment before clearing his throat
and looking away. “Just a few moments more, Madeline, and then you must allow Miss Crosley to take you upstairs to bed.”
“Must I?”
“I’m afraid so,” he answered with a shrug, then turned his attention to Cecil. The men moved toward the sideboard and the pleasures of their brandy.
Madeline turned her attention to Emily. “Mrs. Tolland, I’ve missed you dreadfully. Why haven’t you come to call?”
“Didn’t your uncle tell you that I’ve a babe at home now?”
“I suppose he did,” Madeline said with a sigh, sounding bored.
“Her name is Amelia and she’s still quite small,” Emily offered. “She keeps me very busy these days, but soon I’ll be able to call more regularly.”
Madeline frowned. “Jane, you’re not going to have any babies, are you?”
Jane looked up in surprise and saw Lord Westfield freeze, his drink midway to his mouth. She spoke quickly before he had the chance to chastise the child. “Most definitely not, Madeline. I haven’t even a husband, you see.” She smiled brightly at the child as the sound of Cecil’s guffaws reached her ears.
“I’m glad. I hope you never get a husband.” Madeline planted her small fists on her hips. At once, her face lit and her lips parted with a small gasp. “I’ve an idea! You could marry Uncle–”
As if he’d anticipated her words, Lord Westfield was at her side in an instant. “Enough, Madeline. It is time for you to scamper off to bed. Come now, take Miss Crosley’s hand.” He steered her toward her governess who appeared in the doorway almost magically. “Off you go.”
The heat in Jane’s cheeks subsided and she recovered her voice. “Lord Westfield, if you don’t mind, might I see Madeline upstairs?”
“Yes, can she?” Madeline pleaded, tugging on his hand.
“I suppose so,” he answered uneasily–as if he feared that the girl might continue with the same train of thought once out of his earshot.
“You can tell me more about your pony,” Jane supplied, hoping to put his mind at ease.
The plan worked well. Madeline took Jane’s hand and led her away toward the great stairs, chattering on enthusiastically about her beloved Mary Ann.
Halfway up the stairs, Jane flinched as Cecil’s hearty laugh reached her ears. “You should’ve let the poppet speak her mind, old boy. Perhaps she has the right idea.”
With a sigh of exasperation, Jane hurried her step.
***
For the third time in the past few minutes, Hayden glanced toward the drawing room’s empty doorway, wondering what was keeping Jane. He set down his glass and took out his watch, flipping open the lid with a scowl. How long had she been gone? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? He snapped the lid closed again. Bloody hell, there was no telling what the child might be saying to her at this very moment. Clearly, the governess needed to have a talk with Madeline about appropriate topics of conversation with a lady.
“Don’t you agree, Westfield?”
He realized Tolland was speaking to him. “Of course,” he replied distractedly, having no idea what he’d agreed to.
“It’s no use, Westfield. It’s obvious you haven’t heard a word I’ve said. Why don’t you go upstairs yourself and fetch her back down here. I can’t bear to watch you stare at the doorway another minute.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Hayden brushed away a speck of lint from his sleeve. “It’s well past eight o’clock. I’m going to see what’s delaying dinner.” He strode out without waiting for a response.
No doubt his guests knew exactly where he was headed. He stormed up the stairs, feeling like a fool. This was madness. He hadn’t the slightest idea what had induced him to extend the dinner invitation yesterday. He wanted to think it was concern over Emily’s well-being; that he wanted to assure himself that her mood had improved before he left for London. But he knew it was more than that. He’d wanted to see Jane again. He should have known better.
Halfway up, he paused. He thought he saw a flash of pale- blue silk on the landing above, moving toward the gallery, yet the nursery was one floor up. Curious, he took the remaining stairs two at a time. What was she doing, creeping through the house alone? Perhaps his initial impression had been correct, after all. Perhaps she was measuring windows for drapes. A sharp sense of disappointment startled him. He’d thought better of her.
Silently, he rounded the bend of the first floor landing and turned into the wide gallery, stopping mid-stride as he saw her standing there, gazing up at a portrait on the wall.
“My grandfather,” he called out, and she spun around sharply to face him.
“Oh, Lord Westfield.” One slender hand rose to her throat. “You startled me.” A flush stained her cheeks strawberry red.
“I suppose I did.”
“I saw the gallery on my way back down and I’m afraid my curiosity got the best of me.”
“You look lovely tonight.” Would she simper at the compliment, as most ladies would? He spoke the truth, however. She was a vision in blue silk the color of the morning sky. “That color suits you.”
She didn’t respond. Instead, she turned back to his grandfather’s portrait. “He looks just like you.”
“Does he?” he asked. “I’ve never seen the resemblance.”
“Well, the hair color is different, of course. But the eyes are the same.” She turned to peer at him curiously. “Madeline’s are the same unusual shade. Not quite green, but not really gray, either.”
“Perhaps.” Hayden shrugged, wondering at her sudden interest in familial resemblance.
“In fact, it’s amazing how much she favors you,” she said boldly, turning back to the portrait.
“Is it?” he asked in growing annoyance. “If it will put your mind at ease, Miss Rosemoor, allow me to assure you that Madeline’s father has the same eyes, just as my father did, and his father before him. She is my niece, and it should not surprise you that we favor one another is some respect.”
“I didn’t mean to imply–”
“Of course you did. If you like, I’ll tell you how she came to be my ward.”
She turned to face him, shaking her head. “No, it’s none of my concern. Please forgive me, Lord Westfield. We must go down to dinner at once.”
He held up one hand to stop her. It didn’t signify, but he wanted to tell her–needed to tell her. “Dinner can wait. Madeline’s mother was dying, and she brought her here when she was just a babe. Sophia was an opera singer, and she had been my brother’s mistress for many years. They lived together openly in London, until Madeline was born. By then Sophia was already quite sick, and he had tired of her. Thomas certainly had no interest in the child. He put them both out on the street, and she turned to me in desperation. She begged me to take Madeline, and against everyone’s advice, I agreed. What else could I do? She stood there on my front step, clutching the babe to her breast while she retched pitifully into a bloody handkerchief.”
“You did a very noble thing, Lord Westfield,” Jane murmured, her blue eyes luminous.
He did not desire her approval. “There was nothing noble about it. I did not offer Sophia my protection. I took her child and sent her off to die. I never thought what it would mean to Madeline. I’ve raised her into a world that will never accept her. Who will marry her, the bastard child of my wastrel brother and his lover? How will she feel when society rejects her, after being raised in such privilege, shielded from her true position in this world? I’ve done her no favors.”
“That’s untrue.” Jane laid a gentle hand on his sleeve. “Of course you have. You’ve given her a safe home, a secure bed to sleep in each night, the hope of an education.”
“Yet I’ve denied her the one thing a child needs most.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Her eyes narrowed perceptibly.
“Love, Miss Rosemoor,” he answered softly.
She shook her head so hard that one chestnut tendril escaped its binding and fell across her alabaster cheek. “I don’t believe
that. I’ve seen you with her. Your love for her is evident.”
“What you see is an illusion you’ve created in your own mind. You see what you want to see. I’m fond of her, yes, but I am no longer capable of loving anyone”
“That’s nonsense, Lord Westfield. I do not believe it.”
His chest tightened painfully. “What do you know of me, Miss Rosemoor?”
“I know that you care for Madeline, regardless of what you think,” she entreated him. “You care for Emily, too. A kind heart beats in your chest, a generous heart.”
“That’s where you are mistaken.” He offered his arm and nodded toward the stairs as the dinner bell sounded below. “In fact, I think you’ll find I haven’t a heart at all.”
Chapter 9
Jane balanced a wicker basket in the crook of her arm and set off across the park toward the wood, humming a tune as she walked. She tipped her chin in the air, allowing the sun past her bonnet’s brim to warm her face. It was a fine day for a walk, and she’d come to love the dramatic Derbyshire landscape. Emily had sent her off with tales of an enchanting pool fed by a waterfall deep in the woods. She’d brought along the basket, as Emily had specifically mentioned that wood lilies often bloomed in abundance in a glade beside the pool, even as early as late spring when the winter had been as mild as the one they’d just had.
She took the path leading toward the right, just past the standing boulders as Emily had instructed, and hurried her step in anticipation. The sound of rushing water grew louder as she walked on into the dense brush, and Jane knew the falls that emptied into the pool must be close by.
As she walked, her thoughts inevitably turned to Lord Westfield. “I haven’t a heart at all,” he’d said, and Jane could only wonder at those words. Odd words, especially spoken by a man who had so gallantly taken in a dying woman’s child, a child who was his brother’s illegitimate offspring. A foolish thing to do, perhaps, but certainly not heartless. Madeline would never be accepted into society, but she’d have a good life, nonetheless, far better than the lot she’d have on London’s streets. He’d no doubt send her off to a fine school, and then perhaps she’d find a position as a lady’s companion or governess. A marriage into the gentry could still be accomplished, even for a girl with Madeline’s dubious origins. No, despite his words, Lord Westfield loved his niece. Jane was certain of it. He had his faults, the arrogant man. But heartlessness was not one of them.
Unveiled (Undone by Love Book 3) Page 10