Saved by Scandal's Heir

by Janice Preston

‘But I am concerned.’

  His voice had grown husky, triggering a tug of need deep inside her.

  ‘There is no need. I have managed perfectly well these past eleven years without your concern. I am unlikely to disintegrate now that you have returned.

  ‘However, our conversation earlier was unfinished,’ she continued. ‘I asked you what it is you want. Your reply was that you wanted us to be able to meet and socialise without the past coming between us. That is what I want, too. As we both want the same thing, our meetings henceforth will be that of casual acquaintances.’

  ‘But...’

  Harriet inhaled, and raised her chin. ‘If you are about to suggest some kind of liaison, sir, then I would urge you to resist the temptation to do so, for I shall only refuse and it can only cause more tension and discomfiture between us. I am a respectable widow and I guard my reputation with care, not because my stepson demands it but because I wish it.’

  Benedict stiffened, his jaw muscles bunching as his brows lowered. He bowed. ‘Pardon me for taking up your valuable time.’

  Harriet waited until he had gone, then sat numbly on the sofa. She should be relieved. His reaction proved he was, once again, only interested in bedding her. She’d had a lucky escape.

  Long-suppressed despair stirred, deep down inside the hollow shell she presented to the outside world. It welled up, invading her constricted throat, stinging her nose and eyes.

  She. Would. Not. Cry.

  Never again. Not over him. She slapped her hands over her eyes, rubbing furiously as she swallowed down the swell of misery.

  Hide your feelings. Don’t give in. He’ll hurt you all over again.

  Gradually, she brought her emotions under control. She stood, smoothed her hair back and crossed the room to the door. It was done. Look to the future.

  But my baby... She paused, shuddering. Why did he have to return, bringing all those unwanted memories with him? She could still feel the fragile weight of her daughter in her arms before she had been whisked away, never to be spoken of again, as though she had never existed.

  Harriet squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing down her pain. Only when she was certain she could maintain her poise in the face of her servants did she leave the salon and climb the stairs to prepare for the dinner and ball she was due to attend that evening.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘I do not understand.’ It was the following day, and Harriet gazed at Mr Drake, the Brierley family solicitor, with dawning horror. ‘My stepson... Lord Brierley... I... Surely he cannot stop paying my allowance?’

  The little man sighed and shuffled the papers on his desk. ‘I am sorry, my lady, but I fear he can, if he so chooses.’

  ‘You say there was a sum of money invested in funds at the time of my marriage—was the income not meant for my use? Is that not how it usually works?’

  ‘Usually, yes, but there was an additional condition stated in this particular deed and Lord Brierley, as the primary beneficiary, has the right to withhold the dividends if he so chooses.’

  ‘The primary beneficiary? Please explain.’

  The solicitor’s cheeks turned the colour of brick. He cleared his throat. ‘I recall these were not the usual circumstances.’ He selected a scroll and unrolled it, smoothing it flat. ‘This is the deed in question—it is not a standard form of settlement deed but I was present at the meeting where the details were agreed and I can assure you your father raised no objection.’

  Harriet’s stomach churned. How humiliating, to sit here in the full knowledge that this man knew about her sordid past. ‘Pray continue,’ she said, gripping her reticule tightly on her lap.

  She listened as Mr Drake explained that Harriet’s father, desperate to get his pregnant daughter a husband, had agreed she would forgo her dower rights over the Brierley estates, which were entailed for Edward, Brierley’s eldest son by his first marriage. The sum of ten thousand pounds was settled on her as compensation, with the income intended to provide her with pin money during her marriage, and a jointure in the event she was widowed.

  Pin money? Brierley had never paid her as much as a farthing. If she had needed anything, she’d had to go to him and ask. And there would always be conditions attached.

  Always.

  Harriet tamped down her disgust at those memories—her reluctance to ask him; her despair when she had no choice—and concentrated as Mr Drake continued to explain how her late husband had reserved the right to withhold the income from the funds—which was to be paid to Harriet, for life, through him and his successors in title—if Harriet did anything to bring the Brierley name into disrepute. A condition, Mr Drake said, that Lord Brierley insisted upon in view of—here he gave a delicate cough—Harriet’s proved loose morals.

  ‘And my house in Sackville Street?’ A part of her thought, Why ask? You know the answer. But she needed to hear it spelled out in all its gruesome reality.

  ‘It belongs to his lordship.’ Sympathy gleamed in the little man’s eyes. ‘I am afraid he is correct. He can shut it up anytime he pleases. At least, from what you have said, he would offer you a cottage on the estate. You would not be homeless.’

  Scant comfort. Harriet’s world tilted on its axis. Nothing was as it seemed. She had—stupidly, blindly—believed she was safe. She had congratulated herself on being an independent widow. But now... Brierley was still controlling her from beyond the grave, she realised with a shudder that vibrated through her very bones. Her security and her much-valued independence had been a complete illusion. Edward could stop her allowance anytime he chose, and she would have no recourse whatsoever. What would her options be then? Sick despair rolled through her. Marriage. That would be her only option—to put herself, once more, at the mercy of a man.

  ‘Why was I never informed of either the allowance or that condition?’ Her throat had thickened and she had to strain to speak those words without breaking down in front of the solicitor.

  Drake shrugged as he re-rolled the deed and placed it with the other documents at one side of his desk. ‘I suggest you speak to Lord Brierley, my lady. It was he who made the decision not to apprise you of them after his father’s death.’

  Edward... The clock on the mantelshelf read half past twelve. Edward had said he would call at two for her decision.

  ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Drake. Good day to you.’

  Harriet stood and blindly headed to the door of Drake’s office. How stupid had she been? How blind? Why had she never questioned any of this?

  You were only sixteen. It was Papa’s responsibility to get you a just settlement.

  Her father had let her down, yes, but she was a girl no longer. She should have asked. She should have questioned her position instead of merely trusting the existing state of affairs. Had she learned nothing? She was as naive now as that sixteen-year-old who had succumbed to a handsome youth’s charms. As she walked through the outer office she could feel the curious gazes of the clerks burning into her, and she imagined what they must know about her, how they must despise her and laugh at her—a brainless female without a clue as to the ways of the world. She reached the door and stumbled into the street, where she stopped and sucked in several deep breaths.

  Her mind would not stop spinning. She could not hold a single steady thought. Could not...could not... She felt her knees sag. Her vision greyed, and then turned black.

  * * *

  ‘Congratulations, partner.’ Benedict clapped Matthew Damerel on the back as they emerged from the offices of Granville and Pettifer in the city.

  They had spent a productive morning, first viewing the ship that they intended to purchase—the first of many, they hoped—and, second, instructing their solicitor to draft a partnership agreement for their new business venture.

  ‘Let us go to the club and have a drink to celebr
ate,’ Matthew said. ‘I—’ His mouth snapped shut.

  Benedict turned to see what had caught Matthew’s attention, and his insides turned a somersault. Harriet. Pale and trembling, standing on the pavement’s edge, looking for all the world... He darted forward and caught her as her legs gave way. Her eyelids fluttered as a soft sigh escaped her lips.

  ‘That is Lady Brierley,’ Matthew said, peering under the rim of her bonnet. ‘I wonder what—’

  ‘I’ll take her home,’ Benedict interrupted. He hailed a passing hackney. ‘I’ll see you later at White’s, Matt. We will celebrate then.’

  ‘Shall I come with—?’

  ‘No need,’ Benedict said as he swung Harriet into his arms and carried her up the steps into the carriage.

  ‘Do you know where she lives?’

  ‘I know.’ Benedict smarted as he caught Matthew’s raised brow. ‘I escorted her home from your house yesterday, if you recall.’

  ‘Ah...yesterday. Of course. How could I forget?’

  Matthew’s knowing smirk provoked a swell of irritation in Benedict. ‘Sackville Street,’ he shouted to the driver, then slammed the door, leaving a laughing Matthew standing on the pavement.

  Benedict kept his arm around Harriet and manoeuvred her so that she leaned against him and he could steady her against the sway of the hackney. She felt frail. She looked so vulnerable. A wave of protectiveness swept through him, leaving his resolve to stay away from her floundering in its wake.

  He studied her... In comparison to her bloom when she had called at Tenterfield Court, she almost looked like a different woman. How had he missed the signs of strain when he had seen her yesterday? Was it, somehow, his fault for reappearing in her life and causing problems with that damned prig of a stepson of hers? Or... He recalled that she had come from a solicitor’s office. Perhaps something had happened there to upset her?

  The hackney turned into Sackville Street, and Benedict banged his cane against the roof as they reached Harriet’s house. He tossed the driver a coin and carried Harriet to her front door, ignoring the curious stares of the few passers-by in the street. Harriet began to stir as he knocked on the door. The footman who opened it blanched when he saw his mistress cradled in a stranger’s arms.

  ‘What happened?’ He flung the door wide and ushered Benedict through, shutting it quickly behind him.

  ‘Send for her ladyship’s maid immediately.’ Benedict flung the words over his shoulder as he strode into the salon, where he carefully laid Harriet on the sofa, then perched on the edge, by her side, facing her.

  Within minutes Harriet’s butler, followed more slowly by a hobbling Janet, joined him. Janet reached into her pocket, withdrew a small bottle, removed the stopper and waved the bottle under Harriet’s nose.

  Benedict rubbed Harriet’s hand as she coughed, thrashing her head from side to side, dislodging her bonnet. Janet bent to untie the ribbons and remove it.

  ‘Steady,’ he whispered, stroking her hair back from her forehead. ‘You’re safe. You’re at home.’

  Her lids slowly lifted to reveal eyes of violet blue, dazed and confused.

  ‘What...?’

  ‘Hush. It’s all right.’ Benedict glanced round at the butler. ‘Stevens, I think her ladyship would appreciate some tea.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Stevens hurried from the room.

  Harriet’s eyes widened. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘You fainted in the street. In Gray’s Inn. I brought you home. What the blazes were you doing in a place like that, without even a maid or a footman in attendance?’

  ‘I... Gray’s...? Oh!’ She hauled in a ragged breath. ‘Oh!’ She struggled to sit and Benedict gently pushed her back. ‘The solicitor... He told me... He owns me,’ she continued disjointedly. ‘He controls everything.’

  ‘He...? Who owns you, Harry? The solicitor? You are making no sense.’

  ‘Edward!’ Her lips quivered as she clutched at Benedict’s hand, despair in her eyes. ‘Don’t you see? Everything. And he can take it away at any time.’

  ‘Edward? You told me his threats were all bluster.’

  ‘I was wr—’ Harriet stiffened, then struggled to a sitting position. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘It is half past one. Why?’

  She almost threw his hand aside. ‘You must not be here! You must go, before Edward comes. If he finds you here, he will stop my—’

  She stilled, catching her lower lip in her teeth. Then, before his eyes, her expression blanked and she was the serene society lady he had encountered at Matthew’s house the day before.

  ‘I must apologise,’ she said blandly. ‘I am not quite myself. Thank you for seeing me home. I shall be quite all right now.’

  Benedict felt his eyes narrow as he held Harriet’s gaze. ‘Tell me. Let me help.’

  ‘Help? Why, sir, I have no need of help. It is merely an inconsequential family matter that I foolishly allowed to overcome me. Now I can think more clearly, I can see I have overreacted.’

  Her tone was overly bright and, even as he watched, her hand crept up to play with a lock of her hair. ‘Janet. Please show Sir Benedict out.’

  He had forgotten the maid was present. He stood—now was not the time to probe deeper and, really, why should he care? She had made it clear yesterday that she viewed him as nothing more than a casual acquaintance. Any issues between Harriet and Brierley were entirely of her own making. He had offered his help and she had refused.

  Despite those harsh thoughts, however, he found himself handing her his card and saying, ‘You know where I am if you have need of me. I hope you will soon recover from your...from your inconsequential family matter. Good day to you.’

  He bowed, thrusting aside the voice in his head that insisted Harriet was in trouble. Outside, he walked a short way down the street then, just as he was about to turn the corner into Piccadilly, he hesitated. Cursing beneath his breath, he looked back along Sackville Street. What was she hiding? And what was she scared of? Was Brierley, in some way, misusing her? But then, why would she defend him? It made little sense. That was twice—no, three times now—he had seen her afraid. He propped his shoulders against some railings and settled down to wait, his attention fixed on Harriet’s house. He did not have long to wait. A carriage drew up at the kerb and a familiar stout figure trod up the steps to Harriet’s front door.

  Brierley.

  Benedict roundly castigated himself for a fool, but he could not help himself—for all her betrayal of him, he still felt a sense of responsibility towards her. He wanted to protect her. He vowed to keep a close eye on Brierley. The man had taken an instant dislike to him for some reason that Benedict couldn’t quite fathom. Was it merely that Harriet had been forced to stay unchaperoned at Tenterfield? That made no sense—the snowstorm had hardly been his fault. It hadn’t helped that Brierley had caught that intimate moment between himself and Harriet in St George Street, but even that could not explain the extreme threat of cutting off his support of his stepmother. Besides, he recalled Cooper, the footman, telling him that Brierley had threatened the same thing when he had collected Harriet from Tenterfield Court.

  With a muttered oath, Benedict spun on his heel, crossed over Piccadilly and headed in the direction of St James’s Street.

  * * *

  Harriet turned Benedict’s card over and over in her hands.

  Why is it always me who suffers? He left me without a backward glance eleven years ago, never caring what might become of me or our baby, and now he is back and stirring up trouble for me whilst he struts around, guilt-free, with a new title and untold wealth.

  A maid came in with the tea tray, snapping her from her resentful thoughts. She thrust the card into her reticule and stood up to remove the spencer she still wore, handing both to Janet, who tidied and re-pinned Harriet’s
hair before taking her discarded outer clothing upstairs, leaving Harriet to settle on the sofa with her cup of tea to await Edward.

  As the clock struck two, Stevens opened the salon door and announced Lord Brierley. Harriet placed her cup in her saucer and put them on the table, taking deep breaths as she strove to remain calm. She had made her decision or, rather, she had accepted that she had no choice. Being under Edward’s control was surely preferable to another marriage, where the control would be of an entirely different kind. She stood to greet her stepson.

  Edward strode into the salon, halted and bowed. ‘Good afternoon.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Edward. Thank you for being so prompt,’ Harriet said. ‘Stevens, a glass of Madeira for his lordship, if you please.’ Her stepson’s scowling expression prompted her to add, ‘And bring a glass for me, too.’ She might need a little fortification.

  She sat again on the sofa and settled her skirts around her. Edward took a chair.

  ‘Well, madam?’

  ‘Goodness, Edward, you do come straight to the point. Are you in so much haste? Might we wait until Stevens has served our drinks?’

  ‘You have reached a decision?’

  Harriet inclined her head, watching Edward carefully. He did not quite meet her eyes and was fidgeting with his watch chain—something he often did when agitated.

  ‘Good. Then we will wait until Stevens returns,’ he said.

  Their Madeira was served and Stevens left the salon, closing the door behind him. Harriet braced herself, but Edward now appeared content to take his time, sipping at his wine as he studied her over the rim of his glass. His hesitation, rather than providing reassurance, shook her. Had he already decided to do his worst, whatever her answer might be? The fear that thought generated strengthened her confidence that she had made the right decision. She did not want to be cast adrift from Fanny and the children. They were her family, and she loved them all dearly. She was also now more certain than ever that she did not want to be forced to marry again simply in order to survive.

  ‘I have decided I will comply with your wishes, Edward,’ she said, unable to bear the silence a moment longer.