Jeanette waited at the foot of the stairs, tapping her foot as she watched the clock. Hopefully he wouldn’t take too long. She was not disappointed. He reappeared almost immediately.
“My lady.” Hartley cast another look over her shoulder into the breakfast room, still hoping, no doubt, to find Miranda, or even Robert. But Jeannette was thorough. She’d worked hard to make sure Hartley would see no one else before his departure. Even the Dowager, old bat that she was, always breakfasted in her chambers and rarely appeared before luncheon. She’d tell them all that Hartley had left in great haste. Miranda especially would be distraught.
“Is Lord Cambourne in his study?”
Lord, he sounded so hopeful.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Hartley, but Lord Cambourne and Miranda ran out for an errand. I will express your regrets that you had to leave without saying goodbye.”
“My lady.” Hartley bent over her hand, his eyes dark with dislike.
“Safe travels, Mr. Hartley. Godspeed.” Jeanette gave him the sincerest smile she could muster, under the circumstances.
Hartley gave her one last look and strode out of Cambourne House.
* * *
“My lady.”
Paul, her most devoted footman, handed her two envelopes. One was addressed to her husband. She put that one aside. The other was addressed to Miranda and bulged at the corner. She eyed the small bump with distaste.
Dear God. He’s given her a token of affection.
“Hartley gave these to you?”
“Yes, my lady. Mr. Hartley was very adamant that I deliver the letters directly to Lord Cambourne and Lady Miranda.” The footman held up a coin. “And gave me this to do so.”
“He wasted what little coin he has.” She smiled as she tore into the note for Miranda. “I’ll have something for you to post tomorrow, for Runshaw Park. The only mail that is to go to Runshaw Park. No matter who writes the letter. That includes Lord Cambourne. Am I understood?”
Another bow. “Yes, my lady. And incoming mail?”
“Bring me anything posted from Hartley or Runshaw Park. That is all.”
The footman stepped back out of the breakfast room. Paul would do as she asked. He didn’t dare not to.
Someday Miranda would thank her, especially once she was safely married to St. Remy, or perhaps the Earl of Kent. Jeanette hadn’t really made up her mind who Miranda should marry, only who her daughter would not marry. Hartley.
20
Gray Covington, 1836
“Perhaps you are wrong.” Alex motioned for the servant to place the tea service on the table separating herself and Donata. “You could be, you know. You are not infallible.”
Donata declined to answer and instead turned towards the long windows that lined the family’s private drawing room at Gray Covington. The sky was rapidly darkening as the clouds again threatened rain. Even now, the servants moved through the room to stoke the fire and light the lamps littered about. She and Alex had fled to the drawing room earlier, seeking a welcome respite from their guests, who all reeked of desperation of one kind or another. That included poor Miss Lainscott who’d incurred her aunt’s wrath by not snaring the Earl of Kilmaire. Donata made herself a mental note to help the girl.
Alex raised a brow at her lack of response, her eyes as stormy gray as the threatening sky outside. The artful coiffure, designed to restrain the mass of curls atop her head, was no match for the dampening air. Several tendrils had already come lose and more would follow. “Perhaps your intuition has finally deserted you.” Absently she swatted a curl off her cheek.
“I am never wrong, Alex. Never.”
“There is a first time for everything, Grandmother.”
Donata snorted. She was beginning to have her doubts, however, that the house party would force Colin to declare himself. He seemed intent on pursuing the obnoxious Lady Helen, even taking the chit and her parents for a bird watching expedition.
Miranda disappeared directly after Miss Lainscott’s slightly scandalous display on the piano and refused to leave her rooms. Even the threat of a physician could not budge her. Nor would she speak to anyone, including Donata. That had been two days ago.
Welles departed, looking vastly relieved that he would return to London on horseback and not share a carriage with Carstairs.
Carstairs remained to wander aimlessly about Gray Covington. She’d found him having tea with Lady Dobson in the conservatory, while Miss Lainscott embroidered and longed for the piano she was forced to look at but not permitted to play.
Agnes Dobson was a spiteful old bitch.
Lord Hamill could not be induced to leave even though he’d surmised that he would not be Miranda’s choice. Instead, the elderly rake seemed intent on consuming the entire contents of Sutton’s liquor cabinet. Last night, the old reprobate had to be carried to his room by two footmen.
Ridley casually asked Sutton for the use of a carriage citing an urgent business matter in the village. The viscount had yet to return. Whatever his “business” matter was, Donata thought it likely consisted of a woman of low morals and a pint of ale.
Unfortunately, she expected him to return at some point.
“She’s not sleeping.” Alex lifted her cup of tea to her lips.
Donata leaned forward hopefully. “You have spoken to her?”
“No.” Alex shook her head. “Her maid has imparted the information to me. Miranda sits in a chair, gazing into the fire. She barely touches the trays that Zander sends up, not even the raisin cakes. Only, tea, it seems.”
Donata pondered that bit of disturbing information. Things were far worse than she’d originally assumed if Miranda refused to touch a raisin cake.
“Something happened after Miss Lainscott’s rather scorching performance on the piano,” Alex informed her. “Miranda walked with Ridley into the garden.”
“Perhaps she found Ridley offensive. I know I do.”
“Followed by the Earl of Kilmaire, Grandmother. Ridley returned to the house, a short time later and retired immediately to his room. Lord Kilmaire, according to Zander, then appeared, asked for whiskey and closeted himself in the library. According to Sutton, Colin could only drink a thimbleful of liquor before becoming foxed while they were at Eton. It appears Colin’s tolerance has improved since then.”
Donata put her finger to her lip. “Well, Lord Kilmaire doesn’t care for wine.”
Alex frowned. “Miranda slipped back into the house and has remained in her rooms ever since. Zander caught sight of her and told me her eyes and cheeks were red. From crying, Grandmother.” A curl popped over her forehead and she puffed it away in annoyance.
Donata mulled that bit of information. “Are we certain Ridley did not say something cruel to her? He’s become quite impatient in his pursuit. He dares not return to London until Miranda accepts him. The duns beating on his door won’t allow him any peace.”
“I do not think Miranda is concerned with Ridley or anything he does. When I mentioned that he’d been seen with an actress from Covent Garden, Miranda didn’t so much as blink. I don’t care for the man. He is garish, boastful and,” Alex wrinkled her nose, “free with his hands.”
Donata lifted a brow in question. “Please tell me he has not made lewd advances.”
“A maid has complained, and Zander has given the girl duties in another part of the house. I believe he has assigned a much older woman to freshen the linens in Ridley’s chambers.”
“He should be horsewhipped. We do not tolerate such behavior at Gray Covington.”
“Indeed not.” Alex nibbled at a scone. “At any rate, I have been adamant with Sutton. Even though,” she hesitated, “I fear that Miranda is determined to marry the dandy anyway.”
Sighing, Donata turned her attention back to the windows. Green, rolling hills tapering off into dense woods filled the panes. How lovely the wildflowers were at this time of year, like a brightly colored blanket. She could still see Robert as the child he’d once been, mar
ching toward the house, his small bag of toy soldiers clutched tightly in his hands. The image faded to be replaced with Robert and Madeline, his beloved first wife, Sutton’s mother. Robert would swing his new bride up in the air, the love he felt for the vicar’s daughter so apparent that Donata’s breath caught as she watched. Having been forced to give up such a love herself for the sake of a suitable marriage, Donata did not want the same for her son. She’d been adamant that her husband, Lord Cambourne, give his blessing to Robert and Madeline’s marriage.
Sutton had followed in his father’s footsteps, marrying for love. Was it so wrong that she wished the same for Miranda? And dear sweet Elizabeth?
How she missed her son. Terribly so. Eyes misting over, she blinked to stay the tears that threatened to fall and brought the steaming cup of tea to her mouth. She had failed Robert, miserably, by not recognizing the danger that Jeanette Runyon Reynolds posed, but she would not fail his children.
Alex, seeing her mood, clasped Donata’s hand, her fingers tightening around Donata’s. “Grandmother, are you well? ”
“Don’t fuss at me so, Alex. I’m quite all right.,” she responded, more curtly than she meant. “Am I not allowed a moment to think?”
A wisp of a smile danced around Alex’s lips. She wasn’t at all put off by Donata’s curt reply.
Donata sipped her tea to keep from smiling in return. How grateful she was for this darling girl that Sutton married. Her grandson, the former rake, brought to heel by one tiny spinster, whom the Marquess of Cambourne adored. Women still threw themselves at Sutton, they probably always would. But, much like his father, Sutton would never stray because he loved his wife. As Robert had loved Madeline.
Alex shifted, putting down the scone she’d been nibbling. One of her hands fluttered down to touch her stomach.
Donata caught the movement but said nothing, even though she was delighted. Alex would make the announcement she was with child again in her own time.
Turning back to the large window Donata spotted a group leaving the woods and enter the path back to the house. . The Cottinghams appeared. Even from this distance Donata could see that Lord Cottingham was puffing and red-faced. Lady Cottingham looked stricken. Lady Helen resembled a small child about to throw a tantrum.
The tall, broad shouldered form of Lord Kilmaire strode out of the woods, his agitation apparent as his large form paced back and forth while speaking to the Cottinghams. His head turned abruptly in the direction of Gray Covington, specifically to a particular row of windows.
“Grandmother, perhaps—”
“Not now, Alex.” Donata sat up taller, her gaze riveted at the sight of Colin who continued to pace while speaking to Lord Cottingham. “How interesting.” She pointed, directing Alex’s attention to the scene unfolding outside.
Colin bowed stiffly and turned away, leaving the Cottinghams open mouthed. They resembled a trio of owls, blinking in confusion.
“Watch closely, Alex. I believe you are about to see just how right I am.”
Colin strode towards the house, his long legs making haste across the manicured grounds. Honey colored hair fluttered about the scar as he moved purposefully towards Gray Covington.
“What in the world are you talking about?” Alex’s eyes widened as she regarded the figure of the Earl of Kilmaire, marching with determination towards the house. “Lord Kilmaire seems in a bit of a hurry. Why—”
Her words were interrupted by the Earl of Kilmaire himself, flinging open the door to the drawing room without being announced.
“My lord,” Zander sputtered. “You cannot just march in.” Zander bowed to Donata and Alex. “My lady, I apologize.”
Colin waved his hand at the butler. “Yes, yes. I’m lacking manners. I must speak to Lady Cambourne.” The chocolate-colored eyes landed on Donata. The scar slashed dark pink across his cheek as he moved closer, like a stalking panther.
Goodness, Colin was very intent on speaking to her, wasn’t he? Well, she had no intention of making this easy for the Earl of Kilmaire. From his manner, Donata surmised that Colin had experienced something of an epiphany during his walk with the Cottinghams.
“My goodness, Lord Kilmaire,” she said, welcoming him, “you look as if your little excursion was most taxing. All that running about in the bush chasing Lady Helen’s ruby throated thrush.”
Big, angry man that he was, Colin scowled at her.
“Would you like some tea? You seem distressed.”
The elegant hands, free of gloves as usual, clenched and unclenched in agitation at his sides. “No, thank you.” A tic appeared in his cheek.
“Perhaps you’d like something stronger? It’s a bit early in the day, however I’m sure we could have some whiskey brought. You certainly look as if you could use it. Perhaps it wasn’t the ruby throated thrush that you found taxing but the company of Lady Helen.”
“If she was once betrothed to St. Remy, why didn’t she marry him?”
My goodness, she’d forgotten how Colin sounded when that carefully controlled upper-class accent slipped. He’d need to be reminded to mind his speech when agitated or angry. No one, including Colin, should ever suspect he wasn’t exactly who he appeared to be. That particular revelation, however, could be saved for another time.
“St. Remy?” Alex sat back on the settee, regarding Colin as if he were a dangerous animal. “Oh, you mean the Duke of Langford. Why should Miranda ever have been interested in him?”
“You are the only person, Lord Kilmaire, to assume my granddaughter ever betrothed herself to Lord St. Remy.”
“The Duke of Langford.” Alex corrected.
Donata nodded. “Just so.”
Pushing back the thick strands of honey-colored hair, Colin scowled a bit more. He was altogether quite handsome, especially when he looked a bit anguished as he did now. While Colin was certainly aware that the female sex found him attractive, he had not a hint of the conceit her grandson did. Any woman seeing him at this moment would do whatever necessary to comfort him.
Except Donata. She felt he needed a stern hand just now.
“Don’t you dare frown at me, Lord Kilmaire. Nor behave in such an impolite manner or I will have you removed.” Donata adored Colin, but she would not tolerate his rude outburst, nor his scowling. She was trying to help him.
“Was she?”
“Tell me why you would think such a thing. Surely, it did not come from Miranda’s lips.”
Colin looked away, refusing to meet Donata’s eyes.
“Miranda never betrothed herself to St. Remy or, for that matter, anyone else. At the end of her first Season, she declined all offers for her hand and her father supported the decision. Her mother was livid as I recall. Jeanette wished her to marry St. Remy, but there was never an agreement of any sort.”
“The Duke of Langford,” Alex muttered into her tea. Her eyes on Colin were not especially kind.
Colin turned to face them. He looked so beautifully distraught. That urge to comfort him rose up in her again and Donata pushed it aside.
“That’s impossible,” he choked. “She wrote me a letter telling me she wished to be a duchess.”
“I don’t believe it. Miranda detested the man.” Calmly, Donata sipped her tea as if Colin weren’t raging about the room. “You’ll forgive me for saying, Lord Kilmaire, but I fail to see who Miranda was or was not betrothed to could possibly be of interest to you. Especially now, when you are about to offer for Lady Helen.”
“I saw it in her own hand.”
“Impossible,” Donata thumped her cane for emphasis. “You say you received a letter. So be it. But are you positive it was Miranda who wrote it?”
“She told me she wished to be a duchess,” he insisted.
“I still do not know why this interests you-”
“Of course, you do.” A stricken look fell over his face. “That’s why we’re all here at this house party, isn’t it?” His lips tightened. “Please. I need to know.”
“Very well.” Donata ignored his accusation knowing that he would forgive her machinations. Eventually. “You are sure that you would recognize Miranda’s hand if you saw it?”
The blonde head nodded. “I should not ever forget it. I remember every flourish.”
“Alex, I believe that Miranda was writing to Arabella just the other day in this very room.” Donata waved a hand towards the small desk hidden discreetly in an alcove. Donata often wrote her correspondence there as well for the position of the desk offered a lovely view of the gardens. “Let Lord Kilmaire see if this letter is written in the same hand he remembers.”
“Of course.” Alex rose and quickly made her way to the delicate mahogany desk and opened the top. The sound of shuffling papers echoed through the room until Alex held up a creamy piece of vellum. She looked down at it and nodded. “Her signature is at the bottom.”
Colin stood frozen as Alex approached Donata and held out the paper.
Donata examined the letter. “It’s to Arabella. That and her signature is all I can decipher.” She sighed and handed the letter to Colin. “You are so incredibly stubborn, Colin. Refusing to see what is before you.”
A mulish expression crossed his face, pulling the scar down in an ugly line. He took the letter from Donata, his expression never changing though his fingers trembled.
“Far from elegant, wouldn’t you say? Barely legible in fact. Miranda is naturally left-handed. Jeanette didn’t care to have a left-handed daughter and forced Miranda to use her right. Did she write to you of her desire to be a duchess in this hand, Colin?”
“No,” he whispered. “It was Jeanette, wasn’t it?” His skin went deathly pale as he shut his eyes. “Jesus.” His voice cracked with emotion. “I always thought she was too good for me. I saw her with St. Remy, dancing. I knew he called on her repeatedly. Miranda was so young and I thought…What have I done?”
“You’ve believed the worst,” Alex snapped, “and not trusted the one person you should have, leaving you both miserable. That’s what you’ve done.”
MY WICKED EARL: The Wickeds Book 3 Page 25