Return of Scandal's Son

by Janice Preston

  That news was welcome. When he began to use his family name there would be no immediate scandal to taint Eleanor, unless any of those men returned to London. He would deal with that problem when it arose. He needed to speak to at least one of them, to try to uncover the truth of that night.

  ‘You said you had no intention of making contact with any of us,’ Stephen said. ‘What changed your mind?’

  ‘I’m a merchant, Stephen. I make my living through trade. This world...the world I grew up in...holds no lure for me.’ That wasn’t entirely true. Not any more. Eleanor’s face materialised in his mind’s eye. Was she safe? He needed to get back to her, to make sure. ‘And neither would that world accept me. I don’t belong any more.’

  ‘You still haven’t told me why you are here.’

  Matthew leaned forward, under the pretence of stoking the fire. ‘I have lived and worked with the name Matthew Thomas since I was eighteen. It is now my intention to revert to my real name. Damerel.’

  Matthew Thomas Damerel. His birth name, his family name. He could not move around in society without acknowledging it. He could not protect Eleanor without using it. He could not clear his name without reclaiming it.

  ‘Why?’

  Matthew shrugged. ‘I will not live my life ashamed of something I did not do. I intend to clear my name. I will find proof.’

  Stephen grinned suddenly, and thrust out his hand. ‘Welcome home, little brother. Let me know how I can help.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Eleanor sat at the table in her first-floor drawing room, writing a guest list for a soirée she was planning. It was difficult to concentrate. Her mind kept wandering to Matthew Thomas. He was annoyingly evasive. It was three days now since he had accompanied them to James’s house and, since then, not a word. Although...she tapped the end of her quill pen absently against her cheek...there had been a time or two she had caught sight of him. Or thought she had.

  In the distance.

  Watching.

  As soon as she noticed him, however, he had melted into the crowd and she was left wondering if it was the product of an over-active imagination. Or wishful thinking. Was it his way of ensuring she was safe, despite her rejection of his offer? Did he feel obligated to watch over her? Some masculine notion of honour...having once taken responsibility for her safety, did he feel unable to walk away?

  If only he would call. She missed him. He had become a friend. One she could talk to. One she felt comfortable with. Unlike the men who had hovered around her like wasps around a ripe plum when she attended her first ball. Since then, there had been a procession of male callers, presenting her with flowers, reciting poetry, generally making cakes of themselves. She had learnt to bite her tongue, but she found herself wishing Matthew was there to share the joke.

  And the others: the prowlers, the dangerous ones, the rakes. She shivered at the memory of some of those looks of dark determination. Thank goodness for Aunt Lucy, who was alert to their wiles and gave them all short shrift. Thoroughly distracted, she gazed from the window, overlooking the street. And frowned. Surely...that man...had she not seen him before? The man in question—medium height, slight build, unremarkable other than a pointed nose—paced slowly past on the opposite pavement. As Eleanor watched, trying to place where she might have seen him, he glanced at the house, perusing the frontage from top to bottom. Then his pace quickened and he soon disappeared from view.

  Had he seen her watching him? Who was he? He was dressed like a clerk, in a nondescript brown suit. Where had she seen him before? She searched her memories.

  The door opened.

  ‘Mr Thomas has called, my lady.’

  Her heart stuttered, then raced.

  ‘Thank you, Pacey. Please show him up and inform Lady Rothley.’

  Matthew...an image flashed into Eleanor’s mind. The last time she had seen him, before he had disappeared around the corner. He had stopped and spoken to someone: the same man Eleanor had just seen outside.

  * * *

  Matthew followed Pacey up the staircase, mentally rehearsing the words to reveal his true identity to Eleanor. She would not be pleased at being misled. He knew her well enough to know that.

  ‘Good morning, Lady Ashby. I trust you are well?’

  He knew she was. He had been watching over her, making certain of it. Timothy, Eleanor’s footman, had been most helpful in keeping him informed both about Eleanor’s outings and her increasing number of gentlemen callers. He had thrust aside his jealousy; whether he was Matthew Thomas or Matthew Damerel could make no difference to his eligibility. He was a third son, making his living in trade. He was proud of his achievements, but that same pride dictated he was not a suitable match for a wealthy peeress.

  ‘That day we visited James,’ Eleanor said.

  Matthew felt his brows shoot up. ‘No greeting? No enquiry after your visitor’s health? Tut-tut, my lady.’

  Eleanor flushed. ‘I apologise. But this is important.’ Her words tumbled out one after the other. ‘You spoke to a man, after you left Aunt Lucy and me. Who was he? Have you set him to watching me?’

  ‘What man?’ Matthew paused; racked his brains. ‘I left you and I walked back to Hill Street. I do not recall speaking to anyone. I had urgent business.’

  Avoiding being seen by my brother.

  Eleanor crossed the room to scrutinise his face. Her scent enveloped him, her tawny-brown eyes huge—and doubtful—in her dear face. Matthew clenched his fists to keep them by his sides, to stop himself cradling her cheeks and kissing those soft lips.

  ‘It was on the corner of Hill Street. Have you set anyone to watch me? A man in a brown suit with a pointed nose?’

  ‘Who is watching you, Ellie?’ Lady Rothley had come in and paled with fright. ‘Oh, do not say you have seen the villain who has tried to harm you.’

  Eleanor’s words had sparked a memory in Matthew. ‘I do recall a man in brown, now you say that, but he was only asking for directions.’

  Eleanor bit her lip. ‘I am sorry, Aunt. It was nothing. I thought I recognised a passer-by just now. I make no doubt I was mistaken.’

  She smiled at her aunt, but it was forced and her eyes were strained. Matthew made a mental note to talk to Eleanor about this again but, for now...the subject was distressing Lady Rothley and he had another, more serious, matter to discuss.

  ‘There is something I need to tell you,’ he said. The change of subject would no doubt drive all thoughts of lurking villains from Lady Rothley’s head.

  As Eleanor and her aunt sat down, Pacey returned.

  ‘Are you at home to Mr Weare, my lady?’

  Eleanor leapt to her feet again. ‘Why, yes, of course, Pacey. Please show him up.’

  Matthew cursed silently. His confession must wait.

  She crossed the room to greet her cousin as he came in wearing a sheepish expression. He kissed Eleanor on the cheek. Their family resemblance was strong—James was tall with an abundance of thick dark-brown hair and the same tawny-coloured eyes—and yet he seemed somehow less vital than Eleanor; faded, almost.

  ‘Before you say anything, Eleanor, allow me to apologise once again for the welcome we gave you the other day. It was a somewhat trying day all told.’

  ‘Oh, James, there’s no need. I told you that I understood. Is Ruth not with you? Is she still unwell?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ he said. ‘It’s the strain, you know. That appointment on Tuesday was with her doctor. She finds these things intolerable, but I’m afraid they are necessary. He has given her a restorative for her nerves, so she’ll soon be her old self again.’

  James walked further into the room and started when he became aware of Matthew, shooting him a suspicious look from beneath bunched eyebrows. ‘Mr Thomas, isn’t it? Good day to you, sir. I didn’t expect you to have a visitor this early in the day, Cousin. Please forgive my intrusion.

  ‘Lady Rothley, your servant.’ He bowed.

  Matthew held James’s gaze as
he stepped forward and gripped the other man’s hand, noting the deep worry lines around his eyes and mouth.

  ‘I had hoped to talk privately with my cousin,’ James said pointedly.

  ‘You have had ample opportunity since we called upon you on Tuesday.’ It was a provocative statement. Matthew knew very well—thanks to Timothy—that James had not called as promised, but had sent a note to Eleanor instead.

  James’s jaw tightened. ‘Eleanor is well aware that my wife has been unwell since then and that I could not leave her. What exactly is your interest in my cousin, sir?’

  ‘James, really, there is no need for such a challenge. Mr Thomas has called in to assure himself that I am still alive.’ Eleanor’s voice wobbled, belying her attempted humorous note.

  ‘Alive? What do you mean?’

  ‘It is time you told James what has been happening,’ Lady Rothley said.

  ‘I know, Aunt, and I intend to. We had an eventful journey to London, James, and Mr Thomas came to our rescue. He appears to think that places him in a position of obligation to me.’

  Matthew watched James closely as he elaborated. ‘Your cousin and her aunt had the misfortune to be involved in a carriage accident just outside Ashton. One of the horses was shot and the carriage overturned.’

  ‘Shot? Good God, Eleanor. Are you all right? Was anyone hurt?’

  His shock was evident. If James had been involved, he was a convincing actor. But who else could be responsible? It was this man who stood to gain from her death.

  ‘Everyone escaped unscathed, James, please don’t worry.’

  ‘And, following that,’ Matthew continued, ‘a young girl was brutally attacked in the very room that you reserved for Lady Ashby in Stockport. Fortunately—although not for that poor girl—I had insisted that the ladies stay in Ashton overnight as they were already shaken by the accident.’

  James blanched and groped blindly for the seat behind him, sinking into it. ‘No...’ he breathed. ‘Oh, my God, Eleanor! And she was in the room I reserved for you, you say? I can’t believe it. What a...what a terrible coincidence. But thank goodness you are all right.’

  ‘You believe it to be a coincidence?’ Matthew glared at James.

  ‘Mr Thomas...please...’ Eleanor said.

  ‘What?’ James looked wildly from one to the other. ‘What? You believe...you mean...you think I had something to do with it?’

  ‘James, of course not. It must have been a coincidence. Mr Thomas has merely taken some wild notion into his head. Of course I don’t believe you had any hand in it.’ Eleanor looked daggers at Matthew, who was unrepentant.

  ‘You must stop denying the gravity of this, my lady. You are the common factor to these incidents. Someone attempted to kill you on three occasions. That—’ he glared at James ‘—is no coincidence, and when I find out who—’

  ‘And who, precisely, are you, sir?’ James snarled, springing to his feet. ‘Matthew Thomas? Where are you from? Can anyone vouch for you? It seems to me that you, also, have been a common factor to these events. I, on the other hand, have been right here in London. And I can produce witnesses to prove it. I repeat—where are you from? My cousin is a wealthy lady; do you hope to win her over by scaring her witless? Is that your game?’

  Matthew’s chest swelled with fury when he recognised the doubt that crept into Eleanor’s expression, her original misgivings about him clearly reignited by her cousin’s words. Now would be the ideal time to reveal his true identity, but he was damned if he would discuss his past and the reason he used a false name in front of this weasel.

  Surely Eleanor can’t believe I am involved in some way?

  He fought to keep his temper under control but, before he could utter a word, Lady Rothley leapt to his defence.

  ‘That is a preposterous slur, James. I am surprised at you.’

  ‘Any more preposterous than your accusations against me?’

  ‘I have no doubt Mr Thomas can prove he was nowhere near Ashby Manor at the time of the fire. And he drove away the man who attacked that poor girl.’

  ‘He was there? At the time? What does that tell you?’ James stared triumphantly at Eleanor. ‘Ellie, have some sense, I beg of you. You cannot, surely, believe me capable of such a thing? You’ve known me all your life.’

  ‘I don’t believe you did anything, James. How could I? I love you.’

  ‘This attack,’ James said slowly, his eyes narrowing as he turned his gaze on to Matthew. ‘How did you hear of it, Ellie, if you were in...Ashton, was it, you said?’

  ‘Mr Thomas told us of it,’ she replied. ‘He caught up with us on the road—’ her gaze flicked to Matthew and a delicate colour stained her cheeks ‘—and then he escorted us the rest of the way to London, as protection.’

  ‘So you take the word of a complete stranger that a girl was attacked as she slept in the bed you were to occupy?’ James said. ‘And you do not think it odd that he conveniently appeared after the carriage overturned, and then weaved this Canterbury tale about an attack. You just believed him? Have you heard of it from any other source?’

  Matthew had heard enough. He had been scarred enough by false accusations in his time. ‘The attempted murder can be verified by the magistrate in Stockport,’ he said brusquely, ‘and, although I do not know precisely when the fire occurred, I have no doubt I can prove my whereabouts if you feel the need for such proof,’ he added, looking at Eleanor.

  Eleanor avoided his gaze and Matthew’s heart sank. Her cousin’s insinuations were feeding her doubts. His behaviour when he had caught up with her at Leek could scarcely have reassured her as to his motives. She had been in shock; he had seized the opportunity and kissed her. It was little comfort that he had been so very frantic, thinking she might be lying injured somewhere. The sight of her safe and well had triggered an eruption of such relief that his common sense had deserted him. He had acted on pure instinct.

  It was even more lowering to view his actions when she had returned to the parlour later that night. He could find all manner of excuses for his behaviour: he was a little foxed, which lowered his resistance; she had seemed to invite his kiss; he had been vulnerable, thinking of his estranged family and craving company and closeness when she had entered the room. Not one of those excuses was worthy.

  ‘I don’t believe Mr Thomas was responsible any more than I think you were, James. I should hope that both Aunt Lucy and I are better judges of character than that.’

  Eleanor’s declaration penetrated his reflections and his heart lifted.

  ‘Indeed we are.’ Lady Rothley’s black eyes glittered as she glared at James. ‘I sympathise with Eleanor’s support for you, James, but I tell you straight that I am not yet convinced of your innocence. Why have you avoided Eleanor these last few years? That alone raises my suspicions. You may rest assured Eleanor will be very well protected from now on.’

  At this, James spun to face Eleanor. ‘I did not come here to be accused in such a vile manner, Eleanor. I shall be pleased to see you again whilst you are in town, but preferably without your companions.’

  ‘I’ll just bet you will,’ Matthew growled.

  ‘And as for you, sir. If I find these wild conjectures have been made public, rest assured that I shall come looking for you. And do not doubt that I shall be making my own enquiries.’

  He strode from the room without a backward glance.

  Eleanor, who had risen to her feet when James left, stared at the door, breasts heaving, eyes brimming.

  ‘I hope you are proud of yourselves,’ she said. ‘I had hoped to rekindle my friendship with James whilst I was in town, but I fear there is no chance of that now. What on earth made you accuse him so blatantly? Could you not see the shock on his face when you told him about the accident? Was that the expression of a guilty man?’

  She rounded on Matthew. ‘And you, Mr Thomas. You appear to believe I am unable to take care of myself. Well, might I inform you, I have been taking very good care of myself
for three years now and I intend to go on doing so for many years to come. I do not need a man to protect me or to guide me and I shall thank you, sir, to stay out of my affairs in future.’

  Her hands were clenched into fists, sparks of fire lighting her tawny eyes. Lady Rothley clucked loudly and rose from her chair to go to Eleanor, taking her arm and leading her to the sofa, where she sat down next to her, taking one of those fists between her two small hands, petting and scolding in equal measures.

  ‘Now, now, Ellie, you must calm down, for you know you don’t mean that. I am sorry for accusing James, but I just couldn’t help myself. You must not blame us for being protective of you, for it is only because we care.’

  Eleanor averted her face. ‘I cannot believe James would hurt me. You have both made up your minds and poor James will be guilty in your eyes until the real culprit is discovered,’ she said, bitterly.

  Matthew ached to take her in his arms and soothe all her troubles away, to murmur in her ear that he understood how it felt to be betrayed by the people who should love you most. Her rigid posture, however, suggested it might not be easy to placate her. He cursed James Weare roundly but silently for driving the wedge of suspicion between them.

  ‘If it helps,’ he said, ‘I do agree that your cousin appeared genuinely shocked when we told him what had happened. All we are asking is that you take your safety seriously.’

  ‘I do,’ Eleanor said. ‘I promise I shall stay alert.’

  She looked exhausted, never mind alert. This was clearly no time to confess his real identity. He would call back this afternoon and tell her the truth. He dare not leave it longer, for he had agreed to attend the Lexingtons’ ball with Stephen that evening and the truth would be out.

  ‘I shall leave you in peace,’ he said.

  Eleanor held out her hand, raising haunted eyes to his.