Jilted by a Scoundrel

by Cheryl Holt

  “Do you know where Bobby and Miss Watson went?” she asked him.

  “No, but they didn’t want to leave. There was a big quarrel, and Mr. Townsend tied their hands with a rope and everything!”

  “Were they under arrest?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I have to talk to Lord John.”

  “I have to talk to him too!” Huntly was practically wailing. “But I can’t guess when he’ll be back.”

  “You have to help me, Huntly. You have to hide me.”

  “Can’t you hide in here? Wouldn’t that be best?”

  “No. Mistress Dunn is being very wicked, and I can’t predict what else she’s planned. I have to wait somewhere where she won’t find me, where she won’t think to look.”

  He could be slow, but deep down, he was kind. He was desperate to be liked. Ultimately, he nodded. “I can hide you. There’s a very good spot. I use it myself when people are being mean to me.”

  “Are you certain? You’ll have to keep it a secret.”

  “I can keep it a secret.”

  “You’ll have to sneak me food and protect me until Lord John is home.”

  “I can do it, Jane. I promise.”

  “Don’t promise. You have to swear.”

  “I swear.”

  “Let’s go then. When Mistress Dunn returns, this room will be empty, and she’ll wonder if I vanished into thin air.”

  They walked out and closed the door, then Jane spun the key and left it in place so it would appear that she was still trapped inside. But she wouldn’t be there, and—if Huntly could shut his mouth—no one would be able to figure out how she’d escaped.

  They whirled and tiptoed down the hall, and when Huntly giggled as if it was a game, she shushed him. She wasn’t positive what had occurred, but it wasn’t a game. Not at all.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Well?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “And…?”

  “I should have listened to you.”

  “And…?”

  “I could just die!”

  John glared at Ellen. He wanted to be furious with her, but she was so miserable that rage would be a waste of breath. If he railed at her for her stupidity, he’d simply reinforce what she’d already discovered.

  It hadn’t been that difficult to locate her. He’d headed north on the fastest road out of Dunworthy, and he’d stumbled on her at the first coaching inn where he’d bothered to stop. She’d been sitting in the taproom, with the proprietor in an agitated state as he’d peppered her with questions as to the identity of her parents and her home town.

  She wasn’t the first girl to travel through as she was eloping to Scotland, so her ruse had been foiled, but they hadn’t been able to pry any facts out of her either. She’d continued to claim she was Mrs. Smith and her husband would return shortly.

  As John had marched in, she’d nearly fainted—from embarrassment, but with relief too.

  They were crossing onto Dunworthy Island, and he could see the castle up on the promontory. Usually, the sight filled him with dread, but for once, he was excited to arrive. Winnie would be waiting for him, and he was anxious to tell her about his journey.

  He’d found Ellen, but he hadn’t found Holden who’d vanished like a slippery eel. When Holden had hired his horse, he’d specifically and loudly announced that he was proceeding to Manchester, but John couldn’t guess if he was or not. It was likely a lie to send John scurrying in the wrong direction.

  He’d deposit Ellen with her mother, spend an hour or two letting Winnie soothe his temper, then he’d depart again. If Holden was really on his way to Manchester, maybe John would get lucky as he had with Ellen.

  “What did he promise you?” he asked her.

  “He made no promises to me. We planned to marry in Gretna Green, then we were going to London.”

  “To live there?”

  “Part of the time. He has a town house in the city, but his main property is in the country.”

  John snorted with disgust. “He doesn’t own any property, Ellen. He doesn’t own any item of value but for the clothes on his back, and I’m not even sure about those.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  So far, John had barely interviewed her. The few comments he’d managed to illicit had been mulish and snotty, and he wasn’t in the mood for her juvenile attitude. She kept insisting there had been a mistake, that if John had allowed her to tarry, Holden would have come back to fetch her.

  John couldn’t persuade her otherwise, but then, he didn’t have to. She would dawdle for weeks and months, watching for Holden, and eventually, reality would settle in.

  “Are you ruined?” He hadn’t previously raised the topic, but he imagined he ought to be apprised before they faced Melvina’s wrath.

  She shuddered with dread. “Can I not tell you?”

  “No. Your reply will help me to decide the penalty I’ll extract from Holden.”

  She appeared stricken. “If anything happened between us—and I’m not saying it did—it was all my fault.”

  “You’re sixteen, Ellen. None of this was your fault. I’m certain he honed in on you like a hawk circling its prey.”

  “No, no, it was my idea to run away. You can’t hurt him because I was an idiot.”

  “Yes, I can, and I assume—from your failure to answer me—that the answer is yes. He ruined you.”

  Her cheeks flamed bright red. “It wasn’t a…a…ruination. I was eager for it to occur.”

  “Oh, Ellen, look where it’s left you. What if you’re increasing? Then what?”

  She was aghast. “Can a babe catch from just one night together?”

  Lord, save me from innocent maidens!

  This was not a subject he was prepared to discuss with her. He wasn’t about to explain fornication and procreation and illicit children. Her mother’s situation with Huntly should have furnished plenty of evidence of how a swift coupling could bring on disaster.

  “Holden must have wanted something from you,” John said. “What was it?”

  “Why would you think he wanted something?”

  “I know him, Ellen. What was it you gave him? For clearly—whatever it was—once he had it, he deserted you.”

  She stared defiantly, then her gaze shifted to the castle. Suddenly, she wasn’t quite so obstinate. She was young and naïve and out of her element. Was that a bit of shame sneaking into her expression?

  He could only hope.

  “It was money,” she finally murmured.

  He scoffed with derision. “You don’t have any money.”

  “Mother had some.”

  “From where?”

  “From you.” She peeked up at him. “She steals small amounts from various accounts. She always has.”

  He was floored by the accusation. “Why would she need to? Doesn’t she have everything she’s ever desired?”

  Ellen shrugged. “Don’t people constantly crave more than what they have?”

  “I suppose.”

  “She hides it in a box, behind a loose brick in the chimney in her bedchamber.”

  “How did you find out about it?”

  “There are no secrets in the castle, Uncle John.”

  “No, there aren’t,” he agreed.

  A spark of fury ignited in his belly as he wondered how much Melvina had pilfered over the years. Was it the reason the family’s finances had been in such dire shape when he’d arrived home from the army? What had she done with it? It was obvious she hadn’t spent it on herself.

  She didn’t travel, didn’t wear fancy gowns or dine on exotic foods. She drank good wine at supper, but that was because John retained some of what he smuggled.

  Perhaps she was simply a miser who enjoyed having covert riches. Or perhaps she was a hoarder and enjoyed how her loot piled higher and higher. Or perhaps she saw it as a hedge against a rainy day and was desperate to
enhance its size.

  “How much did you take from her?” he asked.

  “All of it. It was a little over four hundred pounds.”

  “Four hundred!” He nearly fell off his horse. “You gave it to Holden Cartwright?”

  “Yes.”

  She ducked as if worried John might backhand her, and she was right to be afraid. He could barely prevent himself from lashing out. He’d been working like a fiend to accumulate the funds to keep his kin fed and clothed and sheltered. He’d been breaking the law and risking his neck to help her, her mother, and his other ungrateful relatives.

  The whole time, Melvina had been stealing his money, and Ellen had blithely offered it to a duplicitous, cheating fraud.

  Did his cousins realize Melvina was a thief? Were they all embezzling from him? Were they slyly laughing at him as he struggled to provide for them? If so, what was the point of his effort? Why supply any assistance?

  She yanked her horse to a halt, and she burst into tears. Her irritating bravado had fled, and she looked like the girl she was.

  “Don’t make me go home,” she wailed.

  “Of course you’ll go there. Where else would I take you?”

  “I can’t face anyone—especially my mother.”

  “When you behave outrageously, there’s a price to pay. In your case, it’s a huge dose of public humiliation.”

  “My mother will kill me.”

  “You deserve it.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t understand. She won’t care that I’m ruined. She’ll just care about her money.”

  “Are you guessing she’s discovered it missing by now?”

  “I’m sure she would have. She checks it every morning, so please don’t force me inside. I can’t bear to hear how she’ll scold me or to learn what punishment she’ll impose.”

  He blew out a heavy breath. “Here’s the problem for you, Ellen. If you commit a sin like this, everyone is watching. God, your mother, me. You can’t conceal it, and you can’t escape the consequences.”

  She cried even harder, and he merely continued on without her. If he’d been a kinder uncle, he’d have tarried and calmed her fears, but she’d been a brat the entire journey, and he wasn’t her father. If he had been, he’d have taken a switch to her.

  He simply wanted the dastardly trip to end so he could march into the hall and wrap his arms around Winnie. He thought he’d escort her directly to his bedchamber, and it didn’t matter if his cousins clucked their tongues with disapproval.

  Why was he dithering with regard to her? She’d been squawking about how she ought to leave Dunworthy. He’d told her she couldn’t, but he wasn’t her father either. He had no right to boss her, and if she decided to depart, he couldn’t stop her.

  She was stubborn and precisely the type who might pick up and go, despite his insistence that she not. Why was he so willing to chance it? Why not bind her so she couldn’t flit off without him?

  He kept telling himself he couldn’t marry her because she’d never be happy at Dunworthy, but why was he content to accept that fate? Why couldn’t he see it in a different light? What if he wed her, and she was happy at Dunworthy?

  He’d treated her as if she was insignificant, a passing fancy. He’d convinced himself he didn’t need her, that it would be fine if she left. But if she left…

  Oh, he’d be miserable forever.

  She couldn’t traipse off. It was a conclusion he couldn’t envision and that he would never allow.

  * * * *

  Melvina was in her boudoir, having an afternoon whiskey and privately celebrating her victory over Winifred Watson. She’d vanquished that smart-mouthed Bobby Prescott, too, and it had been so easy.

  She’d warned Miss Watson to stay away from John, but the annoying shrew hadn’t listened. Well, she was listening now. Melvina would hate to have Freddie as an enemy.

  He was usually viewed as a bumbling fool, but not by Melvina. He didn’t have a conscience, and he would pursue any course to achieve his goals. His chief obstacle was that he never had any luck, so he often failed to succeed. Yet he never quit trying to attain the result he sought.

  Poor Miss Watson was about to discover that Freddie had an intriguing imagination, and he would use it to repay her for her many slights and insults. Melvina was betting Miss Watson wouldn’t like Freddie’s choices at all.

  Suddenly, a housemaid rushed in, and she appeared frantic. “Mistress Dunn! You won’t believe it!”

  “What? There better not be an emergency. It’s been a perfect day, and you’re much too alarmed to suit my mood.”

  “Lord John is riding up the hill.”

  Melvina blanched. “Already?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Ellen with him?”

  “Yes,” the woman said again.

  “I’ll be right down.

  She shooed the maid out as her mind whirred with agitation. Freddie had just departed with Miss Watson and Bobby. Melvina was surprised John hadn’t passed them on the road, and wouldn’t that have been a disaster?

  She’d expected John to be away for ages so she’d have had plenty of time to tamp down any fires and quash any gossip among those who might not be overly keen as to her actions toward Bobby and Miss Watson.

  The bothersome pair had had a few supporters in the castle. John had a few too, and some folks supposed their loyalty to him should supersede their loyalty to her. They forgot how long John had been away from Dunworthy, how long Melvina had been in charge. She might have been a female, but she was the true lord of Dunworthy, and her kin had to be constantly bribed and coaxed to remember it.

  More importantly, she’d needed an extended period to bully Jane so the pompous child would begin to act as Melvina bid her. For the moment, Jane was recalcitrant and sassy, but Melvina would rapidly grind her down and teach her to obey. A week or two of being locked in her room would do the trick, but if John was home, Melvina would have to release her immediately.

  What might she tattle to John? How could Melvina persuade him to ignore her complaints?

  She downed her whiskey, irked that she wouldn’t be able to continue gloating. Instead, she had to get her story straight, get her conspirators in line, and go on the offensive.

  She couldn’t figure out how John had found Ellen so quickly, but Ellen had best watch out. Melvina was angry over the theft of her money, angrier than she’d ever been. If Ellen’s cad had absconded with it, Melvina thought she might kill her daughter. She was that incensed.

  She marched out and stomped down to the main hall, arriving as John entered. A forlorn, humiliated Ellen trudged in behind him. She was pathetic, a girl who’d behaved as she shouldn’t and who’d been caught.

  There were numerous cousins milling, mostly those who’d participated in the judicial court. Melvina had opened an ale keg for them, and they’d been celebrating the defeat of Miss Watson too.

  All of them observed as the duo strolled in, their curiosity piqued, as if they were in the middle of a theatrical play.

  “Is she ruined, Lord John?” Melvina bellowed from across the room so the crowd would hear the terrible question.

  “I’m afraid so,” John replied.

  “Where is her fancy beau? Let me guess. He took what he wanted from her, then he ran off and left her in the lurch.”

  John nodded. “That about describes it.”

  Melvina advanced on her daughter, approaching until they were toe to toe. “Are you even sorry?”

  “Yes, Mother, I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t look like it. To me, you look as stubborn and willful as ever.”

  “I am sorry,” Ellen insisted.

  “Have you apologized to your uncle?” Melvina asked. “Have you begged his pardon?”

  Ellen stared at the floor. “No.”

  “He refused to chase after you, but I pleaded with him.” Miss Watson had actually convinced him, but why quibble? “H
e wasted significant energy on you, and none of us think you were worth it.”

  Ellen peeked up at John. “I apologize, Uncle John.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment, Ellen,” John said, “but it doesn’t change anything, and it certainly doesn’t fix anything. You’re still in a pile of trouble with your mother, and I can’t dig you out of it.”

  Melvina was upset about Ellen’s carnal mischief, but it was the loss of her money that had her most enraged. She pilfered small amounts from the castle coffers—everyone stole from John—amounts that wouldn’t be noticed, and she would need an eternity to rebuild her nest egg.

  “Whore!” Melvina seethed, and she slapped Ellen as hard as she could.

  Ellen staggered and nearly fell, and John jumped between them so Melvina couldn’t hit her again.

  “Whoa, Melvina!” he scolded. “Take it easy.”

  “I won’t. She’s disgraced us all, and she deserves whatever punishment I choose to inflict.”

  “You can dispense it after you’ve calmed down. She knows what she did was wrong.”

  “She does not!” Melvina spat. “She’s proud over how she shamed herself. She’s happy about it.”

  He gestured to Ellen. “Go to your room and stay there until I tell you you can come out.”

  Ellen gaped at him, then flitted by Melvina and raced for the stairs. Melvina called over her shoulder, “I’ll be up in a few minutes. You and I have some important issues to discuss—and don’t pretend to be confused about what they are.”

  Ellen blanched, then hurried on.

  Once it was quiet again, John asked, “Where’s Miss Watson? I have to speak to her, then I’ll head out.”

  Melvina scowled. “To do what?”

  “To try and catch Ellen’s scoundrel. Apparently, he’s on his way to Manchester. I’m not sure if that’s true, but I ought to at least attempt to capture him before he completely vanishes.”

  She tamped down a grin of relief. “It might take days or weeks.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll get lucky. I found Ellen right away. Maybe I’ll find him too.” He tugged off his riding gloves and tossed them to a footman, then he studied the faces in the crowd. “Where’s Winnie? I have to talk to her.”