The Resurrection of Lady Ramsleigh

by Bowlin, Chasity

  He opened his mouth to protest but stopped abruptly as there was a knock at the door. With a resigned sigh and a glower in her direction, he strode toward the door to greet whoever else had arrived.

  Sitting up in bed, wearing a borrowed nightrail and wrapper, she was ill-prepared to have both Lord and Lady Blakemore enter the chamber.

  Lord Blakemore didn’t smile but there was humor in his gaze. “As your conversation could be heard in the dining room, we assumed you must have wanted us to be party to it.”

  Lady Blakemore shushed him. “He’s being facetious, Lady Ramsleigh. We had decided to join you anyway as Lady Agatha was overtired and sought her chamber. Christopher, my brother-in-law, decided to go out with friends for the evening. We thought it best to join you here… and only in the corridor could we hear the obvious disagreement between you and Dr. Warner. Whatever could be the source of such friction?”

  “I was insisting to Dr. Warner, Lady Blakemore, that I cannot remain at Castle Black indefinitely. My reasons for returning home remain, regardless of the somewhat altered nature of my return. Given my late husband’s fabrications, I do not have the luxury of remaining here and avoiding my relatives, regardless of how unpleasant they may be,” Viola explained.

  All the easy affability he’d displayed at his entrance vanished as Lord Blakemore said, “You will not return to that house, Madame. If you must speak with your nephew-in-law, when you are recovered enough, I will accompany you there. Then after the fact, I will return you here to the safety of our home. It is not fit for the habitation of ladies and he is not fit for the company of the human race.”

  “My lord, I thank you for your concern, but Lord Ramsleigh—”

  “Was on the verge of forcing himself upon a chambermaid while the remainder of his servants stood about in the hall, unwilling or unable to help her. Who would help you?” Lord Blakemore demanded. “I have already sent for my solicitor. He will be able to advise you on whatever must be done from a legal standpoint that you may regain control of whatever your inheritance or portion from your late husband’s estate was to be.”

  “It is not so simple as that, my lord… I came here to make preparations for my son to take up his rightful place as the Ramsleigh heir. His nurse is to sail with him from Aberdeen at a later date when the weather is more certain,” she said. “While a journey by water would be quicker and certainly less confining for a child so young, I fear that I may not be able to wait so long. I may need to send for them sooner.”

  She watched as Lord Blakemore’s face darkened even further. His answer was blood chilling. “Then rest assured, Madame, the safest place for you is here with us. Were he to discover that you pose a threat not only to his fortune but his title, neither you nor your child would be safe from him. As to fetching your child and his nurse, we have several carriages and it would be no great difficulty at all to send for them.”

  It was Lady Blakemore who spoke then. “My dear, Lady Ramsleigh, a man who would force himself upon an unwilling woman is, at his heart, a self-serving creature. His wants and needs supersede even the most basic principal of not violating the body of another. Someone far wiser than I wish to admit once asked me if a man is capable of rape, why would he not be capable of murder? Then as now, I cannot formulate an appropriate response to that. Not wanting something to be true does not make it false.”

  “It could take months,” she protested. “I could not be a burden to you for so long!”

  “What burden?” Lady Blakemore said breezily. “I will soon be confined to the castle as I am warned that Blakemore babies tend to be impossibly large. What better time to have another woman present, specifically one who is not my mother-in-law and has gone through the experience of childbirth herself? I will likely pester you with so many questions you will wish me to the devil.”

  Left with little choice and with her own uncertainty of her ability to ensure her safety and the safety of her child in Randall’s presence, Viola nodded her agreement. “I thank you for your hospitality and your assistance. You have all been too kind and generous to me by far.”

  Lord Blakemore took a seat before the fire and Lady Blakemore the one opposite him as servants entered carrying platters of food. The impromptu table was laid and another chair produced from somewhere for Dr. Warner. Viola remained in her bed, buried under the covers and picking at the tray of her dinner while the trio conversed easily. They made every effort to include her and she responded to their conversation as her parents had trained her to do. Her replies were witty, her conversation sparkling, but her mind was elsewhere. Was she putting Tristan in danger by bringing him to England? Would it even be possible to claim the title for him unless he was present?

  *

  Nicholas was aware of her preoccupation. That she was reconsidering her course of action spoke to her wisdom, though he suspected she might term it cowardice. For his part, he saw no valor in recklessly endangering her life, even if it was for her son. The boy would likely be far more grateful to have a mother than a title.

  As dinner ended, Lord and Lady Blakemore said their goodnights and he was once more alone with her. It was highly improper, even in their rustic setting. But the inhabitants of Castle Black had grown used to their isolation in the years that Graham was missing. In turn, they were insulated from the judgement and censure found in society. To that end, he could sit in her chamber, unchaperoned. She was a widow, after all, and he was her physician. Given her current condition, it would hardly be viewed as a romantic assignation by anyone. And yet, sitting there alone with her, the fire flickering behind him, he recognized that it was very so much for him, whether she was in agreement or not.

  “You’ve made a wise choice,” he said. “Ramsleigh is dangerous. More so than you imagined… and if he views you as a threat, it will only get worse.”

  “I cannot remain here indefinitely,” she stated, though the concern was voiced without her previous urgency. “The solicitors will get things in order and once Randall removes himself from Ramsgate Hall, I will take up residence there with Tristan. They will sail in April… it’s only over a month away, but should be much safer.”

  “It should be. But that will not calm your nerves on the score until he is safely here with you, no doubt.”

  Her rueful smile was answer enough. “I miss him dreadfully. I won’t regale you with stories of his accomplishments or gross exaggerations of what a smart, wonderful, well-behaved and thoroughly heaven-sent child he is.”

  “Is he all of those things?”

  Viola’s smile deepened. “Yes, along with being willful, a bit spoiled, and an avid pursuer of every speck of dirt he can manage to locate and place upon his person.”

  Nicholas laughed at that. “Not so different from grown men at all then, is he?”

  “I suppose not. It will be difficult for him… the scandal of having a mother like me and a father like Ramsleigh. That’s all bad enough without the farce of my fraudulent death! If Id’ known—there’s little use in recriminations, I fear.”

  Leaning forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees with his hands clasped loosely in front of him, Nicholas said, “You did not make your decision lightly. I daresay that, for you, leaving your husband was a prospect weighed, measured, and repeated again and again.”

  She didn’t acknowledge that assessment, but grew very quiet. After a long and rather pregnant pause, she admitted softly, “My decision to leave Ramsleigh was more for my son’s safety than my own. The Grantham men have violent tempers. I’d suffered a miscarriage once already as a result of it. When I discovered I was with child—well, I made the only decision that I could in order to protect myself and my son. I fled to my mother’s people in Scotland, an aunt and uncle who were too poor to be of consequence to her or my father.”

  “And your parents were aware of this?” he asked.

  She nodded. “They have not spoken to me since I left him, except to send me one letter urging me to return to my husband a
nd not bring scandal to our family.”

  Nicholas frowned. Were they aware of her suffering? As if she’d read his mind, she continued, “They suggested that I would not have been beaten had I been a better and more obedient wife. My father even went so far as to say that Ramsleigh was within his rights and that it was his moral duty as my husband to discipline me… discipline. It’s laughable now but, at the time, it nearly broke my heart.”

  Had her entire family actually forsaken her? Had her life been so filled with people who were clearly unworthy? “They know you live and said nothing when Ramsleigh buried whatever it was in a coffin under your name?”

  She nodded. “Yes. They must have, I suppose. I’ve little doubt that it was my father’s suggestion. Better to have a dead daughter than an errant one.”

  Nicholas rose and crossed to the window. Drawing back the curtains, he peered out into the darkness. Beyond the cliffs, he could make out the glint of moonlight on the white-capped sea. “Has no one in your life ever fought for you? Defended you?”

  She smiled. “My maid… who is now Tristan’s nurse. She remained behind with him in Aberdeen to see to his care. My mother’s relatives whom I stayed with are quite aged. They never had children of their own and I like to think that my presence there, and Tristan’s, brought some joy into their lives. They are poor people. Simple farmers and I helped them where I could. I sold enough of my jewels to ease their burden somewhat. They have been kind to me. I am not without allies, but those I possess lack the power and social cache that would have been necessary to stand up to my husband and now to my nephew-in-law.”

  “That is no longer true. Lady Blakemore recognized you immediately. She will vouch for your identity, as will the maid who came here from Ramsgate. No doubt, if pressed, your parents would have to. And I daresay, when it comes to his grandson inheriting the title and Ramsgate Hall, your father may become slightly more supportive of your cause.”

  Her expression shifted, her lips turning downward in sour bitterness. “I don’t care if he does. In truth, if I never speak to either of my parents again, I’ll be content. To my father, I was never anything but chattel to be bartered. But he’d made that clear even from my earliest memories of him.”

  “And your mother?” he pressed. “Have you no desire to reconcile with her?”

  It was a subtle alteration, a tightening of the muscles of her face and a tension that settled over her features. He’d found the tender point, the one part of her past that hurt the most. It had been inadvertent, but it was true nonetheless.

  “It is my mother’s unwavering devotion and obedience to my father, even in the face of seeing me battered and bruised, that I find unforgivable. Knowing the love I have for my own son, it makes her behavior even more unconscionable. I am better off without her in my life. And I will not willfully expose my son to such weakness of character.”

  Her quiet resolve was admirable. Her rigidity on the matter was a testament to just how deeply that betrayal had scarred her. Having no real recollection of his own mother, and having had a father who could not have cared less for his by-blows, so long as they stayed well out of the public eye, he understood the loneliness of being without a family. “I’m sorry they hurt you… and disappointed you. But this is hardly a conversation conducive to your recovery and I have allowed my own curiosity about your past to interfere with my actions as your physician. You should rest, Lady Ramsleigh, and think of these distressing things no more tonight.”

  She cocked her eyebrow. “You are not the least bit scandalized by me, are you? That I ran off, left my husband, gave birth to a son that most will call a bastard, and have now returned for the most mercenary of reasons—to claim the money that should be mine at my husband’s demise? None of that puts you off, does it? Yet, talk of my family and the utter lack of sentiment for them, you find distasteful.”

  He sighed in answer, lifted his gaze upward in a thoughtful manner as he formulated a reply. When at last he spoke, his words were not the condemnation she had anticipated. “Not distasteful… but distressing. It bothers me more than I care to admit that you endured such abuse at the hands of your husband and that those who should have cared for you the most did not dare to intervene on your behalf. It infuriates me, actually. And discussing it further will benefit neither of us. As to your leaving him and returning after his death—that was simply pragmatism at work and is an admirable quality.”

  “And my son… the one whose parentage will always be suspect?” She threw the challenging question at him almost as if lobbing a volley of munitions. He had little doubt that she was making every reasonable attempt to create obstacles between them, to disperse the strange sensation of intimacy that existed between them and had almost from the outset. Because she was too drawn to him for her own peace of mind, or because she wished to ease his feelings without bruising his ego? Nicholas wasn’t sure which he preferred to believe.

  Nonetheless, he did smile then. “I’d hardly be the one to cast stones whether he is or is not. As a bastard myself, I have a good deal of empathy on the matter. Goodnight, Lady Ramsleigh.”

  Chapter Six

  On the third day after a ship, unknown to him, had run aground on the Yorkshire coast, The Right Honorable Sir James Daventry was enjoying his evening brandy when a knock interrupted his contemplation of his most recent mistress. The woman was becoming entirely too clingy by far and it was requiring increasingly expensive gifts to mollify her. Those two things combined were reason enough to rid himself of her altogether. But she was remarkably lovely and skilled. Her company was tolerable so long as she wasn’t in one of her moods. She didn’t put on airs of being a greatly intelligent woman, nor did she try to speak to him of things women had no business indulging in. Business, politics and religion were not areas where the feminine brain could easily grasp even the most basic tenants, to his mind.

  Unlike his wife and his errant daughter, he thought. At least his wife—dried up, brittle and so far past her prime he could hardly recall a time when she’d even been pretty much less desirable—had learned her place and no longer dared to question him. Viola had never learned hers. From the very moment of her birth, the girl had been a trial to him. All he’d wanted was a son to carry on his name, but his wife had failed to produce one and the physician had declared her infertile afterward, not that he’d any interest in bedding her again. So he’d been saddled with a useless daughter whom he would have to dower and parade through society.

  It had been a stroke of luck when Percival Grantham had caught sight of the girl and sought him out for a match. Some men might have questioned a man of Percival’s age seeking a match with a girl who was barely out of the schoolroom. For Daventry, it had been nothing short of a godsend. He could avoid the expense of launching Viola into society by marrying her off when she was too young to know any better.

  But, of course, it had not worked out quite that way. She’d shed pitiful tears aplenty, begging him not to sell her off to a man thrice her age. He’d ignored them and even urged Ramsleigh to take a firm hand with her, not that the man had required much urging in that regards. Of course, he’d failed to tame her just as Daventry himself had. If the sudden appearance of the newly-minted Lord Ramsleigh was any indication, that had not changed.

  “What do you want, Randall?” he asked. He refused to address the man by title. He wouldn’t acknowledge the disparity in their station since he certainly didn’t view the younger man as his equal, much less his better.

  “Your bitch of a daughter has inconveniently resurrected herself,” Randall replied, stalking the length of the room and back, over and over again. He was far too agitated and aggressive for the action to be termed pacing. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “Not a thing,” Daventry answered, his tone flippant. Viola was no longer his problem. He and Randall’s uncle had hatched their plan to declare her dead, to split the inheritance left to her by her maternal grandfather and no one was to be the wiser. But he�
�d had an inkling then that Viola might return at some point, and so he had been careful to craft his role as a grieving father in such a way that no one could ever doubt him. The simple truth was, he’d spent the entirety of Viola’s life ignoring her presence. It hadn’t altered his life much at all to have to pretend she had shuffled off the mortal coil. Other than the damned inconvenience of their mourning period and how much it had limited his social opportunities, it had truthfully changed nothing at all. “I did not attend her funeral or see her body. It’s joyous news to me that she survived her abusive husband by whatever means necessary and now that he is gone, has returned to the bosom of her family.”

  Randall stopped his stalking and crossed the expanse of the room. When he was standing just on the other side of the desk, he placed his clenched fists atop it and leaned in, “You’re in this, too, Daventry. You cannot pretend otherwise, at least not with me. You and my uncle devised this scheme together and then split what was to have been her inheritance. If need be, I’ll expose your involvement and then your pristine reputation will be ruined just as mine is!”

  James laughed in incredulity. He would not be threatened by the likes of Randall Grantham. Titled or not, the entire family was beneath him in dignity. “As if you’d be believed! You’re a dissolute rake, a wastrel and ne’er-do-well. The entirety of the ton knows you for what you are, Randall. That’s why they’ve shut their doors to you.”

  Ramsleigh smiled coldly, his eyes gleaming with vengeful delight. “Their drawing rooms may be closed to me, Daventry, but I am still a member of their clubs. I still attend the same hells and brothels as the most esteemed men of our society do. And there are any number of ladies who would refuse me entrance to their parlors but invite me into their boudoirs. And let us not forget to mention how grateful they are for the services I provide there! You think yourself safe from rumor and innuendo? You are not above it, sir, and you’d do well to remember that.”