Return of Scandal's Son

by Janice Preston

  Conscious that Aunt Lucy had stopped talking and was looking over in a none-too-friendly fashion, Eleanor rose to her feet, keen to avoid a repeat of the unpleasantness when James had called into Upper Brook Street.

  ‘I am very well, thank you, James, and Mr Damerel—for I must presume that is to whom you refer—is merely a friend concerned with my well-being.’

  ‘Damerel?’ James’s brow wrinkled. ‘I thought he was called Thomas. You don’t mean to tell me there are two of them?’

  Eleanor inhaled deeply, determined to remain calm. ‘He is the son of Lord Rushock,’ she said. ‘He uses another name for his business.’

  She ignored the disdainful curl of James’s lip. ‘It is delightful to see you both,’ she said, including Ruth—who looked pale and anxious—in her smile. ‘I was about to take a turn around the room. Would you care to join me?’

  They fell into step, with James in the centre, and made their way slowly around the edge of the dance floor.

  ‘Have there been any further incidents?’ James asked quietly.

  ‘Yes.’ Eleanor told him of the man she had seen outside the house, and the man who had accosted and threatened Agnes, and described him to James.

  Rather than further the conversation, James turned monosyllabic, his arm under Eleanor’s hand rigid. What had caused him to clam up? A guilty conscience? Matthew would surely say so if he were here. Eleanor gave up trying to make conversation and spoke across James to Ruth, who clung to her husband’s other arm.

  ‘I trust you are fully recovered now, Cousin Ruth.’

  Ruth shot a nervous glance at James before replying, ‘I am quite well, thank you, Eleanor.’

  James nodded approvingly at Ruth, who smiled tremulously. What did that look mean? The tension that simmered between husband and wife was palpable, but Ruth appeared to gain in confidence and proceeded to chat to Eleanor in an unusually friendly manner. She quizzed Eleanor about the forthcoming parties and events to which Eleanor had received invitations and offered advice as to which were likely to be the most enjoyable and which might prove a bore. Eleanor began to wonder if she had misjudged Ruth at their previous meeting. Perhaps Ruth had simply been on edge due to her imminent visit to the doctor, as James had claimed?

  ‘James,’ Ruth said, fanning herself, ‘it is exceedingly hot in here and I do not see any footmen nearby. Would you be so good as to fetch us some wine?’

  James hesitated. ‘I don’t...are you sure you will be all right?’

  Eleanor stared in puzzlement. As James met her gaze, his jaw clenched. ‘Eleanor?’

  ‘A drink would be most welcome. Thank you.’

  ‘Very well.’ He found them two vacant chairs in an alcove. ‘Do not move from here,’ he said in a warning voice.

  Eleanor raised a brow. James caught her look and reddened. ‘It is very crowded. I am afraid I will not find you easily,’ he said before hurrying away.

  As soon as they were alone, Ruth turned to Eleanor and, taking her hand, regarded her earnestly.

  ‘I am pleased to have this opportunity to apologise to you, Cousin Eleanor, for I fear I might have appeared unfriendly when last we met.’

  ‘Think nothing of it, Ruth, for it is quite forgotten.’

  Ruth’s intensity unnerved Eleanor. She leant so close as she spoke that Eleanor had to force herself not to recoil. She could not help but look around for reassurance that her guardians were in view. They were. She relaxed.

  ‘I was anxious about the appointment with my doctor.’

  ‘Yes. James did explain.’

  ‘Oh, James.’ Ruth chewed at her lip, momentarily silent. ‘He has changed, Eleanor. I do not know... Oh, it is nothing really.’ She swayed closer and Eleanor, despite her best efforts, drew back. Ruth tightened her grip on Eleanor’s hand and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I know I can unburden my heart to you, dearest Eleanor. If only things had been different, we would be sisters now and I know my beloved Donald would urge me to trust you. I know that you love James and will not allow my worries to alter your regard for him, but I have no one else I can talk to.’

  Eleanor swallowed hard. Where was James with their wine? What was Ruth implying? She had never liked Eleanor and had blamed her for her brother’s death, yet here she was, introducing Donald into the conversation without a blink of emotion or blame.

  ‘It is a sensitive subject—’ Ruth continued.

  ‘Then I implore you to say nothing,’ Eleanor said, pulling her hands free. ‘To be honest, Ruth, if you and James have problems, they should be resolved between the two of you. Do not forget I have loved James from childhood— I am unlikely to take your side in any marital squabble.’

  ‘No, no! You misunderstand me.’ Ruth grabbed Eleanor’s hands again. ‘I do not seek to drive a wedge between you, but I need to talk of this, in case...in case...the worst comes to pass.’ She gave a low sob and held a handkerchief to her lips. ‘I am sorry. I am a little overwrought.’

  ‘Very well.’ Eleanor saw that she was unlikely to escape Ruth’s confidences. ‘What is the matter?’

  ‘James is desperate for a son. But...but...I have been unable to get with child. Oh, Eleanor, he blames me, I know he does. Our appointment the other day was to determine whether anything can be done to help, but the doctor offered no hope. And now...I am so afraid... What if he should...what if he decides he wants a new wife? Mayhap you can understand the strain I have been under and forgive my unwelcoming attitude?’

  ‘I am so sorry to hear that, Ruth, and of course I forgive you.’ Eleanor buried her instinctive dislike for the other woman under her very real sympathy and patted Ruth’s hand. The woman was so brittle it felt as though she might shatter into a thousand pieces and there was still a fervent glitter in her eye that made Eleanor uneasy. ‘I am always available, if you should feel the need to confide in someone, but I am convinced your worries are without foundation. James is an honourable man. He would never cast you aside.’

  ‘It is not being cast aside that I fear,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Then—?’

  Ruth turned her head away and Eleanor strained to hear her words. What she said made Eleanor’s blood run cold.

  ‘It is James.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Matthew cursed—with fluent inventiveness—under his breath as he watched a succession of wealthy, handsome, titled men dancing with Eleanor. A lead weight anchored in his chest as yet another of her self-appointed guardians led her from the dance floor. He was reconciled—most of the time—to never being worthy of Eleanor, but it was agony to watch her with these men, any one of whom would be a perfect match for her.

  ‘You’re back.’

  Matthew whipped round at the sound of that familiar voice. Every muscle tensed and his chest swelled as he drew in a seemingly never-ending breath. Familiar hard grey eyes assessed him and it was as though the last eight years had dissolved, leaving his eighteen-year-old self facing the man whose love and approval he had craved above all else. He held his father’s gaze as his brain battled for control of both his body and his speech. The colourful, noisy ballroom receded until there was just Matthew, facing his father.

  Breathe out. Now.

  He willed his voice into the open. ‘You got my letter, then.’

  ‘What are your plans?’

  No welcome. No softening of those stern features. No pleasure in seeing his youngest son—now a man grown—after eight long years.

  ‘I’m back for good.’

  Matthew swung away, but...suddenly, Eleanor was by his side, with a swish of satin and the scent of jasmine. She grabbed his arm, pushed him back round to face his father.

  ‘Mr Damerel,’ she said. ‘Would you do me the honour of introducing us?’

  No! The silent roar reverberated around his head. He scanned the nearby guests; curious faces had turned in their direction. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached as he looked his father in the eye again. He stilled, momentarily breathless. Was that un
certainty in those familiar grey orbs?

  Not out-and-out rejection, then.

  Maybe? Possibly? Hopefully?

  ‘Eleanor, Lady Ashby, this is my father, Lord Rushock.’

  Eleanor dipped into a curtsy. ‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance, my lord. Your son has proved such an invaluable support to me over the past few weeks. He is, if I may say, a son of whom any father would be proud.’

  Matthew fought his inclination to close his eyes in despair. What on earth was she thinking?

  His father inclined his head. ‘Good evening, Lady Ashby.’

  He said no more. The silence loomed around them, prodding Matthew to say something...anything...to fill that void.

  ‘I am sorry to speak to you of such things in company, but you must know that I intend to pay the debts I owe you.’

  A frown creased his father’s brow. ‘That is not necessary.’

  ‘It is more than necessary to me—it is essential. I...you need not fear I shall ask anything of you, but I should like to see my mother and sisters.’

  ‘I have not told them you are back.’

  ‘You did not tell them where I went. You allowed them...all of them...to believe I would leave without a word. They did not even know if I was alive or dead.’ His voice shook; the words near choked him. He swallowed convulsively, and drew strength from Eleanor as she—under cover of her skirts—feathered his hand with warm fingers.

  ‘No doubt Stephen told you that.’

  ‘Why would he not? He was as shocked at your actions as, no doubt, Mama will be. You should know, sir, that I have written to Sarah, so it will do you no good to try to prevent Stephen from telling Mama the truth. Besides—’ Matthew gestured at the onlookers ‘—you know how fast news travels.’

  ‘I did my best for you. If Henson had died—’

  ‘But he did not. And...I...was...innocent.’

  ‘But not of cheating.’

  Eleanor’s gasp soothed the wound to his heart. As did the sudden realisation that his father had the look and the sound of a man who suspected he was in the wrong, but was desperate to justify his actions.

  Matthew reached a decision: this should not, could not, be resolved in a crowded ballroom.

  ‘I will call on you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘With the money. And we can discuss how we move on from there.’

  His father opened his mouth, then snapped it shut.

  ‘Very well,’ he said, after a pause. ‘I shall await your visit.’

  Matthew watched his father walk away, the tightness in his chest relaxing as his galloping heart eased to a trot.

  ‘I am sorry you had to witness that, my lady,’ he said, without looking at Eleanor.

  ‘Are you angry with me?’

  She did not sound particularly contrite. More...interested. Was he angry? Yes...and no. He felt a reluctant smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

  ‘What made you imagine it was your business?’

  ‘I was interes—’

  ‘Interested. Yes. I gathered that. Interested; or interfering, depending on your perspective. Or...’ he glanced at her, and her expression dispelled the remaining shards of any anger he had felt, ‘...or a friend, trying to help.’

  She smiled. ‘Thank you. One question.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘How shall you repay your father?’

  His spine stiffened. This, surely, was a step too far, even for her.

  ‘Do you have enough funds readily available? If not, I can—’

  ‘No!’

  She recoiled, a wounded look on her face. ‘You do not know what I was going to say.’

  ‘I can guess.’ He gripped her arm and steered her into an empty alcove nearby. ‘Do not insult me by offering me money. I am no pauper. I can pay my own debts.’

  But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until Benedict arrived with those two ships and their cargoes were sold. After that, he would have the wherewithal to pay his debts, invest in further imports and to live comfortably. Until then, however...

  ‘I was only offering a loan,’ Eleanor said, in a hurt voice.

  Matthew groaned inwardly. He must raise the money somehow. His pride would never allow him to admit to his father he was not yet able to pay his full due, but neither would it allow him to accept money from Eleanor, loan or not. It would have to be the bank. Or, if the bank failed him...he had always thought of moneylenders as the last possible resort but, now, Eleanor had supplanted them.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I will not accept money from you, even as a loan.’

  ‘Very well. I cannot force you to accept, but the offer is there if you have need.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Lady Ashby? I believe this is our dance?’

  Matthew fought the burning jealousy that scorched his gut again as he watched Eleanor walk away on the arm of yet another self-assured, titled and no doubt wealthy member of the St James’s set.

  His mistake had been to secure her hand for the first two dances. He could not dance with her again without causing gossip. It was bad enough they had spent so much time already in one another’s company, although the continued attentions of the cream of society’s most eligible bachelors would no doubt preclude any criticism. No one would risk upsetting them.

  He was now condemned to spend the rest of the evening either watching Eleanor from the edge of the ballroom or dancing with another lady. Neither option particularly appealed. With a muttered oath, he spun on his heel and headed for the card room.

  In the hallway he passed two jaded-looking elderly gentlemen, making their slow way to the ballroom. The name ‘Baroness Ashby’ caught his attention and he slowed.

  ‘I only said that I don’t know as I should care for a wife who is mistress of her own property,’ said the one, as he availed himself of a liberal helping of snuff. ‘An independent wife? Goes against the natural order of things, don’t you know. How’s a man to keep his pride?’

  ‘You’d be too lily-livered to stand up to her, anyway,’ his companion retorted. ‘Why, she must be six inches taller than you for a start. Besides, you wouldn’t get a look in, old fellow. With her wealth, she can look as high as she pleases for a husband. I doubt she’d settle for a paltry baronet like you, not with all the rich blood in town at the moment.’

  They moved out of earshot and Matthew entered the card room with a heavy heart.

  * * *

  ‘Milady!’

  Eleanor jerked awake, heart clambering into her throat, mind groping to identify that voice. Her maid’s anxious face was lit by the wavering flame of a candle, the shadows casting her normally unremarkable features into a macabre mask.

  ‘Lizzie. What is it?’ Eleanor pushed herself into a sitting position and gathered the bedcovers to her chest. ‘You frightened me. What time is it?’

  ‘Nigh on four. Mr Pacey told me to come in here and not to leave the room no matter what.’ The urgency in her whisper set Eleanor’s scalp prickling. ‘Peter’s standing guard outside the door.’

  ‘Standing...?’ Panic clutched at Eleanor. ‘Is everyone all right? Aunt Lucy?’

  ‘Matilda is with her.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Peter heard a noise in the dining room.’ One or other of the footmen were always on duty in the hall during the night. ‘He went to look and there was a window open.’

  The sound of Lizzie’s chattering teeth broke the silence of the night. And it was silent, Eleanor realised. The servants must be searching very quietly.

  ‘Come here and get under the covers, Lizzie,’ Eleanor said, not sure if the maid’s violent shivers were from cold or fear or a combination of both.

  Lizzie scrambled into the bed. ‘Oooh, milady. Everyone is up now and searching for him. Mr Pacey said I was to come to you and I was that pleased...what if I’d happened to come across that monster?’

  ‘Surely the maids aren’t searching? Why, what if—?’

  ‘Not on their own, milady. They’ve pair
ed up with the men, to carry the candles. Ooh, milady, the men have all got weapons and everything.’

  ‘Weapons? What weapons? I did not know we had any.’

  ‘’Twere Mr Matthew, milady. He made sure there were enough stout clubs for us all to hide under our beds.’

  Everyone except me. And, I presume, Aunt Lucy. Hmmph. The sooner I get that pistol the better.

  ‘Just in case, he said. And wasn’t it lucky he did that, milady?’

  ‘Indeed. Was Peter certain that window had been closed before?’

  ‘Oh, yes. And Mr Pacey—he always does a last round after everyone has gone to bed.’

  Eleanor had the sensation of thousands of ants swarming through her veins. The urge to get up...to take action...battered at her, but she ignored it. She would only make it worse if she left her room. At least in here she was easier to protect. It was difficult, though, as the seconds stretched into minutes. From time to time they heard the muffled thud of a door closing, or the creak of a floorboard, and at each noise Lizzie squeaked and huddled closer, comforting Eleanor and helping her to conceal her own terror.

  ‘Did Peter see anyone?’ she asked. Had anyone got inside? Was he, even now, in the house—hiding...biding his time? Or had Peter frightened him off?

  ‘No. There was no one in the room. But he could have gone through into the parlour, couldn’t he, milady? Peter came upstairs to wake Mr Pacey. Mr Pacey was very cross. He said as how Peter should have stood his ground and shouted. Now, Mr Pacey says, we don’t know where he might have gone while Peter—’

  A yell followed by the thud of running feet silenced Lizzie, who huddled even closer to Eleanor. Shouts echoed through the house. Doors slammed. Glass shattered. Then silence reigned once more. Eleanor pushed back the bedcovers and swung her feet to the floor. Lizzie grabbed at her, tried to tug her back into bed.