At his mother’s gentle cough, he realized he had just committed a major social gaffe, so he tried to look nonchalant. His desire to race downstairs and warn Theodora warred with an equally strong wish to call the man out. His indecision must have shown on his face, for his mother cast him a furious look. Instead of doing either, he gestured Ravensdale to a chair and then sat next to his mother on the settee. He was not letting the blackguard near her again.
He ignored his mother’s now curious regard and said, “So what brings you to our little corner of the empire?”
Ravensdale tucked his coat tails behind him and sat, fastidiously brushing an invisible piece of lint off his trousers. Jonathan only barely managed to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.
“I am traveling to Northumberland to visit my late wife’s family. On the recommendation of a colleague, I decided to stop in Durham. I am quite taken with the place and may decide to stay. I understand there is a university here?”
Jonathan almost snarled. “Indeed. It is a fine institution. I attended it myself.”
“Not Cambridge, like your father? How curious.” Ravensdale’s expression was an odd combination of a smile and a sneer, and Jonathan decided that even if the man were not married to the woman he loved, he would dislike him.
“What is it that you do for employment, Mr. Ravensdale?” he said, his every word dripping with his seldom employed but innately superior, aristocratic tone.
Ravensdale was clearly no fool and must have realized that he was unwelcome, although Jonathan knew he had no idea why. The man assumed the humble stance that any good barrister could muster. “I am simply a barrister, my lord, like my father and grandfather before me.” Jonathan liked him even less, if that were possible.
“You mentioned your late wife. Were you recently bereaved?” Jonathan’s mother kicked him on the ankle. He winced, but otherwise ignored her. He expected he would pay dearly for it later, but he forged ahead. “I am terribly sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, my lord. Yes, it was quite sudden. A fire. Her body was never found.”
“Oh, my goodness! How dreadful,” his mother exclaimed, and then her eyes widened. “Why, you must be the man that everyone is talking about!”
Ravensdale turned his serpent-like gaze on the countess. “Indeed? I was unaware that I was the subject of idle conversation among the ton.”
Jonathan’s mother, of course, had the grace to blush, but it did serve to demonstrate to Jon he didn’t inherit his tendency toward faux pas exclusively from his father. That esteemed gentleman was watching the proceedings with an amused grin, which he quickly hid behind his whisky glass when the countess turned a withering glare on him.
Jonathan decided to rescue his mother, if only because it might reduce his penalty when the time came. “My mother has apparently only just recollected she recently heard your name. My parents were in London earlier this week, and they heard a story from one of your esteemed colleagues, about how your wife died in the fire and you subsequently went missing.”
Ravensdale laughed, a humorless, unpleasant sound. “There is nothing mysterious about it, I assure you. I simply decided to pay a visit to my wife’s relations, as I do not believe they were ever made aware of her death. It seemed...kinder...to tell them in person, don’t you agree?”
Given that Theodora did not have any relations other than the swine sipping sherry in front of him, Jonathan was unable to fashion a reply. Fortunately he was saved from an awkward silence by the appearance of Fairfax, who begged their pardon and asked to have a word with the countess. His mother excused herself and went to the corner with the butler. Jonathan ignored the man sitting across from him and watched the rather urgent, whispered conversation with some interest.
“Is everything all right, Mother?”
This was proving to be an unusual evening for his normally implacable mater. She looked decidedly uncomfortable.
“Jonathan, dear, may I speak to you outside? Please do excuse me, Mr. Ravensdale. I shall return in a moment. Darling,” she said to the earl, “please get Mr. Ravensdale another drink.” She waved absently and then tugged on Jonathan’s arm to make him stand and leave the room.
When they were in the hall, Jonathan regarded his mother with some concern. “Is it Julia, Mother?”
She looked confused. “Julia? Yes, as far as I know. She has a bit of toothache, so she remained in her room. No, Jonathan,” she said in a loud whisper, “the problem is that Mrs. Milsom has disappeared.”
“What?”
“She retired early with a headache, but Millie had a question about dinner, so she went upstairs to ask, and Mrs. Milsom was gone.”
“She’s gone?”
“Shh! I don’t want Mr. Ravensdale to know.”
“Why on earth not? It is a wonderful excuse to send him packing.”
“Jon! Why don’t you like the man? He seems perfectly nice, and we should have some compassion. His wife just died, after all.”
“No, she didn’t,” he muttered.
“What? What do you mean?”
“Nothing. I just don’t like the man, Mother, that’s all. I can’t think why Father invited him.”
“Because your father is always inviting strays to dine with us, as you well know.” His mother rolled her eyes, but her expression was fond. “Now, what are we going to do about Mrs. Milsom?”
“Well, I shall have to find her, of course,” Jonathan said matter-of-factly, as if it were a perfectly normal thing for a viscount to go traipsing off after a cook. Before his mother could say a word, he raced upstairs to his rooms to grab a coat.
****
Jonathan found his coat in his wardrobe and began to leave the room when something on the bed caught his eye. He moved closer and discovered it was a note, peeking from beneath the pillow. He tugged it out and opened it. It was written in a neat hand he immediately recognized from the slate Theodora was always writing on. He sat on the bed and began to read.
My dearest Jonathan,
I am sorry to have to say goodbye in this cowardly way, but I have no choice. I will always cherish the memory of our single night together, even though it ended as it did, but anything more is not possible. Because I will always cherish it, indeed you, I feel I owe it to you to tell you the truth. No one in this world knows my entire story, and I do hope you will think no less of me when you read it. That I could not bear.
As you may already know, given how quickly you left for London after hearing the strange tale about the barrister and his wife, I am that wife. My true name is Theodora Mason Ravensdale. My father was a baron from Northumberland. I was an innocent, raised with my younger brother Edward in the country by our doting parents. My parents were reluctant to have me leave them, as was I, so I did not make my debut in society until my nineteenth year.
Lucien Ravensdale was a dashing young barrister whom I met at my first London ball. He was so charming and terribly handsome, and he swept me off my feet. When he proposed within a week of our first meeting, he told me he believed I would help him to tame the beast within him. I did not know what he meant, but it was terribly romantic, and so we were married before the Season ended.
We went to the Continent for our honeymoon, and I was deliriously happy. A state of perfect bliss, however, cannot long be maintained. As soon as we returned to London, I learned several things which forever changed me. First, I received word that my parents had died in a house fire upon returning home a few days after my wedding. They were buried weeks before I learned they were gone. My brother had left the day after my wedding to take one of my father’s ships to America, but the ship never reached its destination. I have had no news of Edward since then.
But the most startling revelation came when I discovered Lucien was not the man I thought he was—there was indeed a beast that dwelled within him, and I was quite incapable of taming it. The transition from romantic bride to prisoner was so gradual I barely noticed until it was too late. Although I had
freely visited my friends in London, Lucien soon restricted my outings. Eventually, I was permitted to leave the house only when Lucien was with me, and that happened less and less as time went on. He made arrangements for all food and other household supplies to be delivered, so I was never required to leave the house.
Within a month after our return to London, he let all of the servants go, with the exception of a maid who came to the house once per week. He instructed me to do the cooking, and became very particular about how the dishes were cooked. When his food was not prepared to his liking, he began to hit me. He was excited by this, and invariably took me into his bed afterward. The pleasure I had once taken there turned to utter shame.
One day I snuck out and sold some of my jewelry. I did not run, because I no longer had family or friends who might take me in, so I saved the money. I tried to sell the rest of it, but Lucien caught me and took the rest of my jewels. I occasionally paid one of the neighborhood boys to run an errand for me. I began to fantasize about leaving him, taking a ship to America to look for Edward. On Lucien’s most brutal days, I simply imagined ways to kill myself.
Jonathan’s gut clenched with every word, but he could not stop reading.
One morning I was ironing the newspaper for Lucien when I saw an advertisement in The Times, for a cook at Longley Hall. I took the paper after Lucien read it and hid it in a hole in the kitchen wall. The next day I read it over and over again, and I decided to reply. Milsom was my grandmother’s name, and Matilda her dog. The likelihood of my ever being able to leave and undertake such a position was so terribly remote, but I spent a few shillings on writing paper, a seal, and a quill. My funds were nearly exhausted, and I still had to pay for the post, so I stole ink from Lucien and told him that I had broken his inkwell.
I wrote myself a letter of reference...
“I knew it!” Jonathan muttered.
...and gave the boy my last few shillings to hire a post office box and to post a reply to the advertisement. In the meantime, I widened the hole in the kitchen wall to make room for a small satchel which held a change of clothes and my writing supplies.
I was astonished when her ladyship wrote a few days later to offer me the position. I have since learned, of course, that Mrs. Appleton’s cooking really is bad enough to warrant drastic action.
Jonathan chuckled, even as he wanted to race downstairs and kill Theodora’s tormentor.
I sent a reply to your mother with my acceptance, but begged for a fortnight to travel, and gave the letter to the boy to post. Lucien had plans to spend the night in Surrey a fortnight hence, and I planned to throw myself in the Thames. Lucien was unaware I am a strong swimmer, so I knew he would believe I had drowned. But then I was so engrossed in the notion that I would be able to flee my prison of a marriage that I neglected dinner that evening. The resulting roast was burned and so dry as to be nearly inedible. Lucien punished me, of course, and apologized in his usual way. He fell into his customary post-coital sleep, while I remained awake, my resolve to leave him stronger than ever.
Some hours later I smelled smoke and ran downstairs to discover the kitchen was aflame. I thought for a minute of waking Lucien to alert him to the fire, but you know by now that I did not. In one corner of my mind I knew Lucien would wake and flee, if not because he smelled the smoke, then because he sensed I was not lying beside him. I grabbed my satchel and my cookery book, and fled. Your mother’s last letter had contained just enough money for the fare, so I waited all night in King’s Cross, and took the next train.
His lordship told me yesterday he had invited a gentleman for dinner. His description of the man and his circumstances led me to conclude Lucien had arrived, even if he might not have known exactly where I was. He had not believed that I had perished in the fire. Nor, I suspect, would I have believed it had the situation been reversed. Lucien loves me, in his way, and I suppose I always knew he would find me eventually.
The story of my time here at Longley Hall need not be told, as you know most of it already. You also know that I did try very hard to resist you. I could not risk losing my heart again, as I know better than most what men can be. But you, my darling, are different, and you gave me hope. It is an exquisite irony that our time together ended just when I relinquished fear only to have it rush back in.
I am being foolish, perhaps, in writing this account, but I could not leave without your knowing the truth. I beg you to destroy this letter and not to look for me. I plan to leave England entirely and to go somewhere Lucien will never find me.
Please apologize to her ladyship on my behalf. I shall be sorry to lose her good opinion.
Ever yours,
Theodora
Jonathan sat back, the note crumpling in his hand. She had confirmed everything he had learned in London, but his trip had cost him. She was gone, and Ravensdale was on her trail. He had to find her. He smoothed out the note and stuffed it into his waistcoat pocket, then he grabbed his coat again and rushed out the door. Within moments he had saddled his horse. There were no horses missing—not that she would steal one anyway—so he knew she must have gone on foot. The only reasonable destination was the train station, so he pointed his mount north and took off at a gallop.
****
“Forgive me, my lady,” Lucien said, as his hostess resumed her seat in the drawing room twenty minutes later, bringing an end to a slightly awkward conversation alone with the earl. “Is something amiss?”
He had been straining to hear the conversation between the countess and her butler. Unfortunately, they were too quiet for him to hear more than a few words—cook and disappeared chief among them, which did not bode well for dinner. Then the woman had gone into the hall with her astonishingly rude offspring, and he had vanished without taking his leave of their guest. The experience only reinforced his bad opinion of anywhere outside of London, even among the ton.
Lady Longley exchanged a worried glance with her husband, who came to sit beside her on the settee and tenderly took her hand in his own.
“Oh, no,” she said with a quavering smile. “Everything is fine. Forgive me for my absence; I was needed in the kitchen.”
Lucien arched a skeptical brow at this obvious falsehood. “Are you quite certain all is well? I could come back at a more convenient time.”
Another exchanged glance, and the earl said, “When are you planning to leave for Northumberland, Ravensdale?”
“I shall be here another day, at least. Perhaps we could try again tomorrow?”
“Perhaps that would be best. I think my wife is feeling a trifle unwell.”
“She does seem a bit pale, my lord. By all means, do tend to her ladyship.”
“You are kindness itself, sir. Please forgive us, and we do hope you will return tomorrow. Come, I will ring for Fairfax to show you out.”
Lucien bowed to the earl and his countess and took his leave. The butler began to show him out, but he told the man he’d forgotten his gloves and returned to the door of the drawing room. As he leaned toward the door to open it, he heard the countess’ voice.
“Mrs. Milsom is gone, darling. Fled in the dead of night just like she arrived. Jonathan’s gone after her. He said something about Ravensdale’s wife not being dead. I can’t think what’s gotten into him. How on earth would he know such a thing?”
He turned away from the door, as he heard the butler approach, and held up his gloves, which had been in his hand the entire time. “I’ve got them.” The butler directed him out the front door, where his hired mount waited in the drive with a stable boy.
As he directed the horse toward town, his lawyer’s mind turned over what he had heard. Their cook had arrived in the dead of night and had left the same way. The viscount had said his wife wasn’t dead. Ravensdale had never seen the man before, didn’t even know of his existence until this evening, and yet he had made such an outrageous statement.
Lucien was never one to jump to conclusions, but he could feel it in his gut. Theodora
was alive, and she was on the run.
Chapter Nineteen
Theodora was profoundly grateful that her unorthodox departure from Longley Hall was drier than her unorthodox arrival. She was not, however, particularly happy with the full moon, which bathed the countryside in brilliant light. In other circumstances she might find a moonlit stroll wonderfully romantic, but tonight it was dangerous. Should Lucien leave the house before dinner, he would easily see her on the road. Theodora had given strict instructions to Millie and Bess before she went upstairs, claiming yet another headache. She was reasonably certain dinner would be prepared to her standards, and no one would miss her until tomorrow morning. Even if there were problems with dinner, she was also relying heavily on the countess’ adherence to social mores; it would never occur to her ladyship to turn away a guest without feeding him first, by which time she would be on the train to Liverpool, and then on a ship to America.
She had been informed when Jonathan had returned home, then had waited in the hall until Jonathan had dressed for dinner. It took every bit of strength she possessed not to call to him as she watched him race down the stairs to the drawing room. Sneaking into his room and leaving her letter on his pillow was the last thing she did before fleeing the house. She hoped he would not see it until much later this evening, too late for him to come looking for her. That was, of course, if he still wanted to have anything to do with her after he read it. What she had to say was bad enough, but Heaven knew what tales he had heard in London.
She had about a mile left until she reached the station when she heard the sound of galloping hooves on the road behind her. Fearing the worst, she quickly moved to the side of the road and was jumping behind a tree when a horse and rider came around the bend. The rider stopped. Theodora willed herself invisible and prayed that it was not Lucien. She feared she had not been fast enough to hide; the rider must have seen her.
“Theodora!” A loud whisper. Jonathan.
She peeked around the tree, only to come face to face with him. She wanted to leap into his arms, but she did not know what he would do. He looked at her warily, relief plainly etched on his face. He did not touch her, but his eyes ran down the entire length of her body, as if to reassure himself she was unharmed.
Stirring Up the Viscount Page 16