Surely Matthew can’t be right about James? No! I will not believe it.
Her stomach started to churn and she clenched her hands, digging her nails into her palms. ‘You must have been aware we were to arrive on Saturday.’ She squared her shoulders, steeling herself to keep her voice steady. ‘It was you, after all, who made the arrangements for the journey. For which, by the by, I thank you.’
James frowned. ‘I am sorry, Eleanor. I left the arrangements to my man and I seem to have lost track of the days somewhat.’
It is up to me to bridge this divide between us.
‘Well, never mind now. It is not so very far to come. Oh, it is so very good to see you again, James.’ Eleanor determinedly quashed her doubts as she clasped his hands again. ‘We have become virtual strangers since you left Ashby. I do so wish it could be otherwise.’
James’s face darkened at the mention of the Manor. ‘There is nothing for me there, Eleanor, as you very well know. We are better off in town.’
Again, an underlying wariness. ‘Is there anything amiss, James? You do not seem completely happy to see us and you have not even invited us to take a seat. Have we called at an inconvenient time?’
He had the grace to look ashamed, casting a fleeting glance at the door as he said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid I have an appointment in half an hour, one I cannot cancel. May I arrange to call upon you tomorrow instead?’
The door opened and Ruth—a slight woman with wispy, fair hair—entered the room. On seeing Eleanor, she stopped abruptly, her pale face set in its customary peeved expression.
‘You did not tell me we were expecting visitors, James,’ she said.
‘I am sorry, my dear.’ He hurried to her side, placing one hand under her elbow. ‘Come and say hello to Cousin Eleanor. Her aunt Lady Rothley is here, too. And this is Mr Thomas. I was just explaining to Eleanor about our appointment.’
‘I am sure they can have no interest in that,’ Ruth said, as James urged her forward.
Reflecting that uncivil behaviour in another did not mean one should forget one’s own manners, Eleanor smiled at Ruth, extending her hand.
‘Cousin Ruth, how do you do? I hope we find you in good health?’
Ruth touched Eleanor’s hand fleetingly. ‘I am well enough, thank you.’
She dropped a brief curtsy to Aunt Lucy, ‘Lady Rothley,’ and nodded unsmilingly at Matthew, ‘Mr Thomas.’ After a brief pause, she added, ‘I am sorry, Cousin Eleanor, but we must leave now if we are not to miss our appointment. I hope you will forgive us.’
Aunt Lucy caught Eleanor’s eye and raised an elegant brow.
‘There is no need to apologise, Ruth,’ Eleanor said. ‘We took a chance in calling upon you uninvited and I understand you cannot tarry if you have an appointment. I hope you will both call upon us soon so we can have a proper catch up with all the news.’
Ruth smiled again and inclined her head. ‘We shall bid you goodbye, then.’ She tugged her arm free from James’s grip and moved to stand by the open door, leaving the visitors no choice but to leave.
Chapter Sixteen
‘Well! How very peculiar.’
Lady Rothley shook her head as she gazed back at the firmly closed front door. Eleanor tucked her hand through her aunt’s arm and turned her in the direction of home and Matthew fell into step beside them. The two footmen followed behind.
‘Indeed,’ she said. ‘I thought James very ill at ease and Ruth looked...unwell.’
Probably the result of being married to a man like James Weare. Matthew was wise enough not to voice that opinion. Eleanor had been so happy to see her cousin again. She would be devastated if he did turn out to be responsible for the attacks. Matthew vowed to keep a sharp eye on Cousin James.
His quest to prove his innocence of cheating had not started well. Not one of the other players in that long-ago game were currently in town and Henson—that lying bastard who had accused him of cheating—had long been in exile, forced abroad by unpaid gambling debts. The irony would have amused Matthew had the matter not become—suddenly—of the utmost importance.
He had discovered, however, that his brother Stephen was in town. Two years Matthew’s senior, they had always been closer than either of them had been with their eldest brother, Roger, Viscount Claverley—the heir and their father’s son through and through. Stephen would be Matthew’s next port of call. He would find out exactly how the rest of the family felt about him. Unanswered letters were one thing; if Stephen rejected him face to face...
He switched his attention back to Eleanor’s words.
‘I must talk to James on his own when they come to call and try to discover what is wrong. I cannot believe his coolness is solely due to my inheriting the title, although he did react badly to my mention of the Manor. It makes no sense, though—he has always known he would not inherit, even if Ruth did not. I can only think that she has turned him against me.’
‘He was not happy at our calling in like that, Ellie.’
‘I know, but that does not mean he was behind the fire or the accident.’
‘Don’t forget injuring that girl,’ Matthew said.
Eleanor speared him with a glare. ‘In fact,’ she continued, her nose firmly in the air, ‘if anything, it makes me believe he knows nothing about any of the incidents, for would he not have better concealed his feelings if he were responsible?’
‘I was hoping you would tell your cousin about those incidents,’ Matthew said. ‘I should have liked to see his reaction.’
‘There was no time to discuss anything of note. You saw what he was like. Besides, he already knows of the fire.’ Eleanor’s voice was strained.
Matthew sympathised. He knew how hard it was to accept your own family turning against you.
‘I will tell James about them when he calls upon us. Surely he will now come tomorrow? It is not his fault they had a prior engagement today.’
‘It will do us no harm to be on our guard with him, Ellie,’ Aunt Lucy said, as they crossed over South Audley Street. ‘Mayhap it isn’t about the title after all, but the money? Ashby is a wealthy estate and that house of James’s looks in sad need of refurbishment. Ruth, I noticed, was dressed in the height of fashion and I’ll wager she is a demanding spouse. I almost feel sorry for him—being wed to that sour-faced madam is enough to turn anyone peculiar.’
‘I would not argue with that,’ Matthew said. ‘In fact, I—’ He slammed to a halt. Two gentlemen were strolling along the pavement towards them. His heart pounded in his ears.
Stephen.
‘Is something wrong, Mr Thomas?’ Eleanor asked, stopping and looking back at him.
‘I... I beg your pardon, ladies. I have this minute recalled a matter of the utmost urgency. I regret, but I must attend to it right away. You have the footmen for protection and it is not so very far to Upper Brook Street.’ Stephen and his companion were getting closer. ‘I will call on you very soon, to enquire how you go on. Goodbye.’
He doffed his hat and walked rapidly back the way they had come, angling across the road. He intended to face Stephen. But not here. Not now. Not in front of others and, most particularly, not in front of Eleanor.
‘Well! How very abrupt,’ Aunt Lucy said. ‘I wonder what can have been of such importance?’
‘I do not know,’ Eleanor said, watching as Matthew paused to speak to a stranger on the other side of the road. He pointed back along South Audley Street, then glanced in Eleanor’s direction before disappearing round the corner, back into Hill Street. ‘It cannot matter to us,’ she continued, determined not to reveal any hint of disappointment. ‘Mr Thomas has his business to run, and we, dear Aunt, have a ball to attend.’
They resumed walking and Eleanor recognised, with a lurch of nerves in her stomach, two acquaintances from her come-out. Would they remember her? Would they snub her because of her mother?
Aunt Lucy had no such qualms. ‘Lord Derham,’ she said, smiling up at the taller man of the two. �
��And Mr Damerel...’ she nodded her head at the other ‘...how delightful to see you both.’
The two halted and bowed.
‘Good afternoon, Lady Rothley. It is entirely too long since you have graced us with your presence for the Season,’ Lord Derham said.
‘It is indeed. I am here to chaperon my niece, Lady Ashby. Are you acquainted with his lordship and Mr Damerel, Eleanor, my dear?’
Eleanor smiled at them and dipped a curtsy. ‘We have met, Aunt, but—like you—it is some years since I have been in London. I cannot be so bold as to hope the gentlemen might remember me.’
There was an immediate flurry of protest from the two men, with no hint that either recalled her mother’s scandal.
‘Do you go to the Barringtons’ ball tonight?’ Mr Damerel asked.
Upon being told they would be there, each gentleman immediately engaged Eleanor’s hand for two dances. They parted company and Eleanor and Aunt Lucy continued towards home.
‘I am pleased Mr Damerel has engaged me for the first,’ Eleanor said. ‘It will save me from the lowering prospect of sitting with the chaperons and attempting to look happy.’
The memories of her come-out still had the power to make her shudder. This time, surely, was going to be very different. She had even conversed with the two gentlemen without blushing. But...her surge of confidence dwindled as her self-doubts threatened to overwhelm her again. Mr Damerel and Lord Derham had been pleasant and polite, but they didn’t know the real her—her mother had abandoned her; neither her father, before his death, nor Aunt Phyllis seemed to notice her unless it was to criticise; James had completely withdrawn from her; and, as for Donald and any other would-be suitors, they were only ever interested in her fortune.
‘Have you heard from Hugo?’ she asked, in an attempt to distract her thoughts from her own shortcomings.
‘I sent one of the footmen to his lodgings. Evidently he is out of town and no one knows when he is likely to return,’ Aunt Lucy replied. ‘Really, it is too bad of him...’
Aunt Lucy happily grumbled about her younger son all the way to their front door, distracting Eleanor from her newly resurrected worries about the ball that evening.
* * *
Knowing Stephen was in town was one thing, tracking him down quite another. No good revealing himself in a public place—who knew how his brother might react? Matthew pulled the collar of his greatcoat around his ears and settled down to wait outside the house in Jermyn Street, where Stephen had bachelor rooms.
He had called at the house several times since he had seen his brother on South Audley Street, only to be informed Mr Damerel was not home. A coin pressed into the porter’s palm had elicited the information that Stephen was expected to return home before going out again that evening.
It was two days since he had first seen Stephen. Two days in which he had not spoken to Eleanor, although he had watched over her from a discreet distance, alert to anyone behaving suspiciously.
He had already decided to revert to his family name even if Stephen rejected him. He had nothing to be ashamed of, but he did not want to reveal his true identity to Eleanor until he knew Stephen’s reaction. He wanted to be prepared. If Eleanor rejected him...if she believed he would ruin her efforts to be accepted by the ton...then he must continue to protect her from afar, as best he could. He was more determined than ever to roust out whoever had put her in such danger, cousin or not.
The wind gusted, battering his hat and fingering his coat, looking for gaps.
Splat.
Hell, that’s all I need.
Splat, splat. Huge raindrops burst on to the pavement, scattering the dust and tapping on the brim of his beaver hat.
Why am I skulking outside in the rain instead of waiting in Stephen’s rooms?
He knew why, though. If Stephen had the same valet—Pring—he would recognise Matthew in a flash. He would forewarn Stephen and the news he was back in the country would wing its way to Rushock, the family’s estate, and to his father and that he most definitely did not want. When he faced his father again, it would be on his terms.
The clip-clop of hooves on the cobbles grabbed his attention. A curricle drew up outside the house opposite. The gentleman driver leapt down and hurried to the front door whilst his tiger scurried round to climb into the vehicle and drive the horses away.
‘Nine o’clock on the nose, Col.’
Stephen’s voice. No mistaking it, even after all these years.
‘Nine of the clock it is, guv.’ The voice floated back as the curricle and pair clattered away.
Stomach on a mission to climb into his throat, Matthew strode across the road.
‘Stephen.’
His brother froze on the threshold. He turned. Older, of course, but otherwise unchanged. Tall, rangy build, hawk-like nose—he got that from Father—keen grey eyes.
Ignoring the now-persistent rain, Matthew removed his hat. His brother’s only reaction was a blink and the firming of his lips.
‘You’d better come in,’ he said and opened the door. ‘First floor.’
Matthew led the way upstairs, thrusting down the nervous questions crowding his mind. Stephen would do what he would do. The die was now cast. On the landing, Stephen indicated a door.
‘Sitting room,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell Pring to bring some wine.’
Matthew shrugged out of his greatcoat and, after a second’s hesitation, draped it over a ladderback chair set before a writing desk. The room was masculine—to be expected in this popular area for bachelor lodgings—all dark-green damask, polished wood panelling and leather seats. The fire was lit, as were the candles, dispersing the gloom of the murky late afternoon and Matthew used the poker to stir the coals. At the sound of the door closing, he turned.
Stephen’s eyes narrowed. ‘Defence or attack, little brother?’
‘I doubt I would need a weapon in either case.’ Matthew placed the poker back on the hearth.
‘That I can believe. You have the look of a man who knows how to handle himself. How long have you been back in England?’
‘A month or so.’
‘And I owe the pleasure of this visit to...?’
‘Courtesy call only.’
‘It is usual to leave a card.’
‘I have forgotten the niceties. You will have to forgive me.’
Like a pair of dogs, hackles raised, walking stiff-legged around each other.
The door opened and Stephen—who had not yet moved away from it—turned. There was a murmured exchange. When Stephen toed the door shut, he had a tray with a bottle and two glasses in his hands.
‘You’d better sit down.’ He put the tray on a table by the window and poured two glasses of rich red wine.
Matthew took a chair by the fire. Stephen remained standing.
Never mind—allow him the upper hand for now. My decision to come here; my responsibility to come to the point.
‘I intend to make my home in England,’ Matthew said. ‘I had no intention of making contact with anyone from my past—’
‘Not even your family?’
‘My family—’ Matthew placed his glass on a nearby table ‘—have made it abundantly clear they want nothing more to do with me.’
Stephen frowned. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Since I returned?’
‘Since you left!’ Stephen strode to the window and stared through the glass. His tailored coat clung to the contours of his shoulders and back, revealing every breath he took. They were many and deep. ‘We did not know if you were alive or dead.’ A crack of emotion in his voice.
‘But...Stephen...Father knew. And Claverley. They sent me to India. To Great-Uncle Percy.’
Stephen turned, frowning. ‘You’d better tell me all of it.’
Matthew told Stephen about that night. As he talked, Stephen sat down opposite, his attention never wavering from Matthew’s face. When he had finished, Stephen leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled.
&
nbsp; ‘So, Father sent you off to India. Why did you not write?’
The past had begun to reform into a coherent picture. Father and Claverley had not told the rest of the family where he had gone. He had been bundled on board ship and dismissed from their minds. Disowned.
‘I wrote. Many times. No one—none of you—replied.’
Stephen’s grey eyes searched Matthew’s face.
‘They never arrived,’ he growled. ‘Father must have made sure of it.’
‘He was too ashamed to acknowledge I even existed after he disowned me.’ Matthew could hear the sharp bitterness in his own voice. ‘I did not do those things—cheat, or attack Henson.’
‘He did try to clear your name. After you left.’
‘I did not leave willingly.’
‘I know that now. At the time, it seemed as though you had run away. It seemed like an admission of guilt.’
‘You said he tried to clear my name. Did he discover the truth?’ Knowing Father had at least tried kindled a tiny glow in his heart.
Stephen rose to pace the room. ‘About the cheating, no. About the attack and the robbery, yes.’
‘I already have the proof about the attack, thanks to Uncle Percy...although I suppose he and Father must have been in contact about that, which is how he knew. But the cheating...’ Matthew had relived that night so many times, wondering what had happened, what he might have done differently. ‘I know that extra card did not come from me. I have long thought about it. Henson was next to me and losing deep. He was already on the rocks before that night, according to the gossip. I think he meant to palm that king and he fumbled it. When the card fell on the floor, he immediately accused me. I’d been winning—it was an easy accusation to make stick. Have the other men at the game never said anything about that night?’
Stephen stopped pacing. ‘I was never even told who was present that night. Father made certain it was all hushed up and forbade any of us to discuss it—or you—again. You know his views on codes of honour and gentlemanly behaviour. Of course, Claverley would never go against Father’s decree, but Mother, Sarah and I—and Caro, now she is older—have talked about you and what had become of you. I’ve never heard the slightest whisper to suggest the accusation of cheating is common knowledge.’
Return of Scandal's Son Page 11