The Orchid Hunter

by Jill Marie Landis

  She sniffed.

  “Janelle, do you believe in love at first sight? I fell in love with you the night we met at your grandmother’s party. But you don’t believe me, do you?”

  When she suddenly realized that deep within her heart she desperately wanted to believe him, she almost frightened herself to death.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Like a madman, Trevor rode through the countryside to Bristol. Intermittent downpours had turned the roads into muddy quagmires. He had hoped that he would come upon Joshua and his carriage on the way, but luck was with Joya. He did not pass them anywhere.

  When he reached the wharf, he went from ship to ship, combing the docks. Frantic, angry, belligerent to ships’ captains and innkeepers and anyone else who crossed his path, he got nowhere. No one had seen Joya. If they had, they would not admit it.

  As the gray light of dawn crept over the sodden landscape, he walked into a grog shop and caught sight of himself in a mirror on the wall.

  No wonder I can get no cooperation from anyone, he thought. He looked beyond despicable, with wild eyes and a night’s growth of beard. Spattered with road mud, his clothes were rumpled and damp. Somewhere along the way he had lost his hat, and his hair stuck out in matted clumps. Why would anyone trust a man in such a sorry state? Who would turn a woman over to him?

  He ordered a mug of ale, drank it without pause, and, fortified for the long ride home, threw his coin on the bar and walked out. There was nothing he could do now but return to London and send back a search party of stevedores as soon as he reached the city. If his men could not find Joya, he would take his already-outfitted ship and sail to Africa.

  For once in his life, he had no plan for his future save one—to get Joya back. During the long, desperate hours of his search, when reason and control had entirely deserted him, he had clung to one single hope—that he would find her again. When he did, he would never let her go.

  * * *

  It was nearly noon before he walked into the breakfast room at Mandeville House, right into the midst of an argument between his sister and his grandmother. They were so involved that they did not notice him standing there in the doorway.

  “You, like your sister, are nothing but a little whore.” His grandmother’s face was florid, her lips tight, almost as if she were in pain as she glared at Janelle.

  He had never heard Adelaide use such a venomous tone in his life. When he stepped over the threshold and made his presence known, his grandmother started, then stared at him in shocked surprise.

  “I didn’t know you were here,” she said, cornered.

  “Obviously not. You have slandered my wife and my sister in one breath. I would like to know why.”

  Janelle was pale and silent as a stone. Even her spectacles could not hide shadows the color of old bruises beneath her eyes. She looked exhausted and at the same time furious. When she realized he was alone, her disappointment brought tears to her eyes.

  “You did not find Joya?”

  He shook his head. “No. But I sent my men back to Bristol. If they can’t find her, I will leave for Africa. Where were you last night?”

  “At Cecily’s. I will explain later.”

  His grandmother snorted. “Why bother? None of it is the least believable.”

  “Grandmama told me some of what happened last night at the reception, Trevor,” Janelle said. “I take it Joya left without knowing the queen did not take offense?”

  “She came home, packed, and left me a note.”

  “Did she leave one for me?”

  Janelle looked crestfallen when he told her that Joya did not.

  “Trevor, eat something,” Adelaide encouraged.

  He pulled out a chair, sat down wearily, and stared across a sea of china and silver and a tall epergne filled with fresh flowers.

  “Do you seriously think I could eat anything right now?”

  His grandmother had often been stem, but never, ever had she sounded so cold and heartless before. Adelaide kept pressing her fingertips against her cheek.

  “You must eat,” she said again.

  “I’ll have coffee.”

  “You should rest. You need a bath.”

  “What I need is the truth, Grandmother. Joya did her best to fit in, but obviously you made her feel inadequate. Last night you told her she was an embarrassment.”

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” His grandmother’s hand fluttered to her breast.

  “I am beginning to think I don’t really know you at all.”

  Janelle went to the sideboard, poured him a cup of coffee, and dished up a plate of eggs. He was thankful that breakfast was always a casual affair without servants present. He would not have to put off questioning his grandmother for the sake of privacy.

  “Tell me about the combs, Grandmother.”

  “I told you all I know last night. Please, do not continually badger me over a silly piece of silver.”

  “What combs?” Janelle looked at each of them in turn.

  Trevor reached into his coat pocket and withdrew both silver pieces.

  “That is your mother’s comb, isn’t it? I thought you had but one,” she said.

  “I did, until last night.” He quickly explained Joya’s having left the matching comb with her note.

  He had had hours on horseback to ponder why his grandmother had never fully accepted Joya, why she continually doubted his wife’s ability to adapt. He had also tried to unravel the mystery of the two combs and could not shake the feeling that somehow everything was connected.

  “I have the feeling you were lying to me last night and that you’re lying now, Grandmother. Why?”

  The look in her eyes reminded him of that of an old fox caught in a snare. Ever since the floodgates opened last night and his emotions had begun to run wild, he had experienced a full spectrum of feeling he never knew he was capable of.

  As he looked across the table at the woman who had raised him, nurtured him, and instilled pride in the Mandeville name and a sense of responsibility to all that name meant, he became desperate to understand why she would lie to him now.

  He took a sip of black coffee, then carefully placed the cup on the saucer. Then he looked at his grandmother and held his silence until she met his eyes.

  “Please, Trevor.” She was trembling. “I am not feeling well.”

  “You are strong as an ox.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I am not. Not anymore.”

  “Tell me the truth, Grandmother.”

  She was obviously very afraid of whatever it was that she was hiding. Did he really want the truth, after the long night had left him feeling so raw? His heart had taken one beating; it did not need another.

  He needed to find the right words. He had to discover the one thing he could say that would move her enough to tell the truth. He had to reach her heart. He glanced over at Janelle, who nodded in encouragement.

  Trevor took a deep breath. “Grandmother, whatever you are not telling me cannot be as bad as a lie left between us. You are the only mother I have ever known.” He looked down at his hand, then forced Adelaide to look him in the eyes. “I love you, Grandmother.” As he spoke the words that were never heard uttered aloud in this house, words as foreign on his tongue as Chinese, he knew he had reached her at last. “Please, if you love me at all, tell me the truth,” he urged.

  “The truth will ruin you,” she whispered.

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  She closed her eyes and spoke in such a low voice that he could barely hear her.

  “When your father was very young, barely eighteen, he had an affair with one of our upstairs maids. When she became pregnant by him, he moved her into a room of her own somewhere in London. She had the child, but could not afford to even feed the newborn on her own. She gave him up, into my care.”

  “Me,” Trevor whispered.

  He looked down at the twin combs in his hands, thinking of all the times he had tri
ed to picture his mother, the Italian aristocrat. The beautiful, dark-eyed, exotic woman was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, a fabrication his father had invented for him. He could barely swallow.

  Adelaide drew a ragged breath. “James found a position for your mother as housekeeper for the Oateses. He felt obligated to place her with his friends. Even though she had sworn never to contact you or tell anyone about you, I was terrified that somehow, someday, you would find out, or worse yet, that someone else would discover that you were the son of a servant and use it against you.”

  Trevor traced the C with his thumb. “Clara Hayworth. Clara Penn. She kept her bargain.”

  “Yes, apparently.” Adelaide turned to Janelle. “She worked for your mother, Stephanie Oates. It was Clara who handed you over to James the night you were born.”

  “And then she stole my sister,” Janelle whispered.

  Adelaide nodded. “Clara disappeared that night. We never knew where she went or why. I tried to discourage James, but he scoured London for her. Of course, I was relieved that he never found her, but always, always I feared that she would come forward one day and try to ruin us. Thus my aversion to Joya. At first I was afraid Joya knew that Clara was your mother. As time went by, it became apparent that if the girl did know, she was not telling Trevor. I feared that she or her father might use the information against us somehow.”

  Trevor thought of the day he had stood over Clara Penn’s grave on Matarenga and wondered how a housekeeper could have had the nerve to steal someone’s child. He had looked down upon his own mother’s grave and condemned the very woman who had given him up to save him from starvation.

  Then Clara had taken Joya to raise and love as her own. She taught Joya everything about life and love that he should have learned from her. He knew of honor and loyalty to a business and a family name. He knew how to make money. But what did he know of the kind of love his mother had for him? The kind that Joya had offered him?

  Janelle was wiping tears off her cheeks. “Do you think Dustin Penn has any idea?”

  Trevor shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “I need to lie down,” Adelaide said, pushing away from the table.

  Of course, Trevor thought. His grandmother would try to avoid any more of such an emotional scene at all costs.

  Placing one hand on the table to steady herself, Adelaide looked up at him. Her lower lip trembled. “I cared more for you than I ever cared for my own son. I hope someday you will understand and forgive me.”

  Before he could respond, his grandmother pushed away from the table and stood up. She took three steps in the direction of the door and collapsed in a heap on the breakfast room floor.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Janelle slipped out of Adelaide’s room and found Trevor sound asleep on a chair in the hall outside the bedroom door. Gently, she touched his shoulder. He immediately awakened and rubbed his tired, bloodshot eyes.

  “How is she?”

  “Not good. The doctor says she had an apoplectic fit. Even if she lives, she will never fully recover.”

  He rested his elbows on his knees, propping his forehead on his hands. “I caused this.”

  “You cannot blame yourself, Trevor. The doctor said that she has been failing for a long time. I just thank God that she told you the truth before this happened. If Dustin Penn doesn’t know that you were Clara’s son, then Grandmama would have taken the truth to her grave.”

  The doctor, a thin young man who appeared far too fresh-faced to be credible, stepped out of Adelaide’s room and closed the door silently behind him.

  He nodded as Trevor stood and introduced himself. “Mr. Mandeville, has your sister given you my prognosis?”

  “She has.”

  “I don’t expect your grandmother to survive.”

  “How long does she have?”

  “That’s hard to say. I’ve made her comfortable and given instructions to your housekeeper. If you’ll excuse me, I have to leave now, but I will try to come back later this afternoon. I can see myself out.” He bowed politely and made his way down the hall.

  Janelle put her hand on Trevor’s sleeve. “You look exhausted. I want my sister back, too, but you won’t find her if you kill yourself trying.”

  She was waiting for Trevor to respond when the sound of voices raised in argument echoed up the stairwell.

  “What now?” Trevor was already hurrying down the hall.

  Janelle ran after him, her heart pounding, for she recognized Garr’s voice above the others. By the time they reached the foyer, Joshua, the coachman, was nursing a bleeding lip. Cook was brandishing a rolling pin and Sims was waving the ancient Saxon sword over his head. The three of them had Garr pinned against the wall.

  “What’s going on here?” Trevor demanded. “Sims, put that sword down before you kill Cook with it. Joshua, take Cook back to the kitchen. I can handle this.”

  “He’s a madman, sir,” Sims warned. “The scoundrel brought your sister home at quite a shameful hour this morning. Now he demands to speak to you.”

  Janelle was tempted to grab Cook’s rolling pin and clobber Sims for his revelation and then bash Garr for showing up. Before she could say or do anything, Trevor was closing in on Garr.

  “You had better explain yourself, sir, or I’ll unleash all of them on you after I’ve finished with you myself.” Trevor was already shrugging out of his rumpled jacket.

  Janelle grabbed his arm. “Please, don’t hit him, Trevor. If anyone deserves the honor, it should be me.”

  “I would prefer we all sit down and discuss everything in private,” Garr suggested.

  “Five minutes,” Trevor snapped.

  Janelle had never seen her brother so unhinged when he said, “Show him into the drawing room. Now.”

  She hurried Garr through the doors and showed him to the settee, but he would not sit.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered frantically, while Trevor calmed the servants lingering in the foyer.

  “I came to make things right.”

  “I will not marry you, even if Trevor tries to march us to the altar. I refuse.”

  He reached for her. She took a step back and held up her hands. “Stop it, Garr. Don’t touch me.”

  “I want you, Janelle. I love you.”

  “You do not even know me.”

  “I know what I want and I know that you want me.”

  She crossed her arms and tried to deny the truth. “Oh, that’s a fine basis for a marriage. I have seen what happens to a union founded on desire. My sister ran away last night.”

  “Our marriage will be different,” Garr countered.

  Trevor chose that moment to walk in. When he slammed the door, Janelle winced. Perhaps Garr would not sit down, but she could no longer stand. Her knees were wobbling.

  Trevor was in a fine fury. He bore down on Garr, who surprisingly, was not cowed. “Isn’t it enough that our grandmother is upstairs dying, that my wife has run away, or that you have dishonored my sister’s name, Remington? How dare you have the nerve to show up here unannounced, demanding to speak to me when you should be running for your life?”

  “I’m not a coward. All I ask is that you both hear me out.” Garr spoke in a low, evenly measured tone that only seemed to rile Trevor.

  Trevor ran his hand through his wild, matted hair and sighed. “Four minutes.”

  “I have come to ask for your sister’s hand.”

  “No!” Janelle was on her feet, looking from one to the other.

  “Obviously she objects,” Trevor said. “And so do I. Good-bye, Mr. Remington. I’m sure that Sims is loitering in the foyer, waiting to see you to the door.”

  “We spent the night alone in a carriage. Your servants all know now that I delivered her home early this morning. Doesn’t her good name mean anything to you?”

  “Of course it does. That’s why I wouldn’t let her marry you, even if you were the last man on earth and she got down on he
r knees and begged me. You are down to two minutes, Remington. Give up and leave.”

  “I only have two things left to say.”

  “One minute each, then.”

  Janelle clasped her hands and closed her eyes. Surely Garr would not tell Trevor what had passed between them in the carriage. Surely he would not be so cruel.

  “First, I am far from impoverished. Secondly, I am in love with your sister.”

  Janelle shook her head. Impossible. All of it.

  “What are you saying?” Trevor demanded.

  “It’s true that I came to London to find a wife. Whether she was rich or not, it did not matter to me. I have recently inherited not only a title, but a very sizable estate from a distant cousin in Cornwall. The only stipulation in his will was that I marry and beget heirs so as not to end up childless as he did. Viscount Arthur and Lady Cecily both agreed to keep the truth a secret and helped me fabricate the story that I was penniless in order to save me from any fortune-hunting young misses and their families.”

  Trevor shook his head as if to clear it. “You are saying you are wealthy and titled?”

  Garr spread his hands and shrugged. “There are far worse fates. I am also an incurable romantic.” He turned to Janelle. “I told Lady Cecily and my uncle that I was not going to marry anyone unless I loved her and she loved me. My future wife had to take me without money and overlook my soiled reputation. I wanted to marry a woman who loved me despite any shortcomings, real or imagined.

  “I did not plan last night’s little escapade, Janelle, but I am not unhappy it happened. Now I know that you love me, even if you won’t admit it to yourself or your brother. Will you marry me?”

  “Well, Janelle?” Trevor glared, impatiently awaiting an answer.

  She looked over at Garr, who was smiling his devastatingly handsome smile, looking every inch the scoundrel that he supposedly was not.

  “Life with me will never be boring, darling,” he promised.