The Wicked Heir (Blackhaven Brides Book 12)

by Mary Lancaster

  Her eyes widened. In silence, she went inside, watched him collect his hat and coat, and take casual leave of his father and Crabby before he came back to her. Impulsively, she gave him her hand, more to halt his speedy exit that anything else.

  “Would you do that?” she asked intensely. “Did you do such a thing to Izlan?”

  He stared down into her eyes. A faint quirk curved his lips. “No. But then, I’ve always had difficulty separating such matters. For me, my wife would have to be my lover. My only lover, as I would have to be hers.”

  Her body thrilled into awareness as she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have Jon Tallon as one’s lover. One’s only lover, as he would be hers… It felt wicked, and yet at the same time, something eased within her, a massive relief that could have no real reason.

  He bent and kissed her hand and then vanished through the doorway, closing it behind him.

  Ignoring the speculative glances of both Crabby and his lordship, she went into her bedchamber. Her fingers tingled where he had kissed them, and as she sank onto the bed, she held them to her cheek and let the strange, pleasurable ache rise up through her bones.

  Chapter Ten

  After the usual trip to take the waters the following morning, Jess left her guardian to rest while she and Crabby sallied forth to the art gallery where, many people informed them, there were beautiful paintings and sculptures to be found. Having extracted a small amount of money from Lord Viscral for the purpose, Jess hoped to be able to buy a gift for Jon. Not a wedding gift, as Crabby seemed to think, but a parting gift that she hoped would please him as well as ease her own heart.

  And there were indeed a wide variety of paintings in the gallery–of wildly differing quality, too, as Crabby pointed out.

  “This,” she said suddenly, staring at a small painting of Braithwaite Castle glowering over the sea at dusk. The light was amazingly well achieved and the overall impression of age and power of both the stone and the sea was fascinating.

  “That is beautiful,” Jess agreed. “I do believe he would love this. And it is quite small, so perhaps I can afford it.”

  “Small,” said a voice behind her. “But the name is rather large.”

  Jess turned to see de Rizzo, the young violinist, gazing over her shoulder. “Good morning! What name is that?”

  “Tamar. He’s become quite the rage in London, I hear. Married to one of the castle daughters.”

  A painter and an earl’s daughter did not sound very likely to Jess, but Crabby didn’t bat an eyelid. She nodded. “The Marquis of Tamar,” she explained to Jess. “Had an… unusual life, and took to painting to pay his creditors. Worked out rather well for him. But I doubt we can afford him.”

  “Better prices in Blackhaven than in London,” de Rizzo said cheerfully. “In fact, if you don’t buy it, I will, just as soon as the theatre pays me.”

  “You’re playing at the theatre?” Jess said.

  “At the end of the week. They had an hour free, and Mrs. P. persuaded them I would fit perfectly.”

  “Then we must come and hear you,” Jess said enthusiastically.

  “Jess?” exclaimed a woman’s voice from further along the wall. “Jessica Fordyce, that is you, is it not?”

  Jess’s searching gaze finally landed on a young lady of around her own age, with raven curls and a very fetching pink bonnet of exactly the same shade as the front of her redingote. At first, despite the surge of familiarity, Jess could not place her. She smiled, desperately searching, and found the answer just as the young lady held out both her hands, laughing.

  “Jess, it is I. Mary! Do you really not know me?”

  “Of course I do!” Jess said, taking her hands. “Forgive me, my head is full of paintings and ridiculously slow! How are you? And what on earth are you doing in Blackhaven?”

  “I am very well as you see!” She looked Jess up and down. “You also look well! My mother and I arrived only last night. We hope to surprise Claud, who is here already.”

  Oh, I think he will be surprised! Fortunately, Jess managed not to speak the words aloud.

  “But have you met him already?” Mary asked, with just a shade of anxiety. She searched Jess’s face. “I have something particular to tell you about—”

  “Oh, if you mean your engagement to Claud, he told me already,” Jess said dismissively. “And, of course, I wish you both every happiness!”

  Mary lowered her voice. “You are not hurt or angry?”

  It was the oddest thing, but Jess almost imagined Mary was disappointed. She kept her smile in place. “Of course I am not! If you’re thinking of our childish imaginings all those years ago, I believe we have both grown up and realized a long time ago that we would not suit.”

  “In fact,” Crabby interjected. “Miss Fordyce is also engaged. To Lord Viscral’s son, Captain Tallon.”

  Mary blinked at this interruption, looking the unimpressive figure of the governess up and down.

  “How rude of me!” Jess said hastily. “Allow me to present Miss Francis. Mary, this is Miss Crabtree who kindly chaperones me.”

  For some reason, she was reluctant to use the terms governess or companion. She had the feeling Mary would then show poor Crabby no respect. Eccentricity, after all, was only acceptable in the very well born and the very wealthy. And she remembered again that she had never really cared for Mary when they were children.

  “How do you do,” Mary said doubtfully.

  Miss Crabtree nodded, her eyes darting to Jess.

  “Is your mother here?” Jess asked, to change the subject.

  Mary laughed. “Why, of course she is. Mama!” The proud figure of Mrs. Francis turned from her deep contemplation of a large painting, and came toward them at once. “Look, I have found Jess, whom you must remember.”

  “Why of course! How are you, Jess? And Lord Viscral?”

  “We are both well, I thank you. Though his lordship is trying a course of the waters. This is Miss Crabtree. Are you staying at the hotel?”

  “Indeed, there seemed to be nowhere else, unless one takes a whole house, which seemed too much for just Mary, George, and me.”

  “We are at the hotel, too. I hope you find it comfortable. Come to our rooms for tea,” she added recklessly. “We have to go now, or his lordship will scold. Goodbye!”

  She tried hard not to rush as she all but dragged Crabby out of the gallery.

  “What on earth…?” Crabby began. “Jess, slow down for the Lord’s sake! Or at least for mine.”

  “Can’t,” Jess said grimly. She had to get word hastily to Claud that his betrothed was in town. Otherwise, Mary was very likely to surprise him at the inn or anywhere else in town with Antonia Bliss on his arm. Or his lap.

  On returning to their rooms, she seized paper and ink and sat down at the escritoire to scribble a note.

  My dear Claude,

  The devil is in it, now, for Mary is in Blackhaven. PLEASE be sensible.

  Yours,

  Jess.

  She folded the paper and sealed it before directing it to Claud at the King’s Head Inn.

  “Where are you off to?” his lordship demanded as she jumped up and all but ran across the sitting room.

  “Only down to the desk to ask them to have this note sent round to the King’s Head.”

  Lord Viscral scowled. “Note to whom?”

  “Just Claud Darcy.”

  “And do you think my son will approve of your writing to other men? For I don’t!”

  “It’s not other men,” she protested. “It’s only Claud, whom I’ve known forever. He is almost like my brother.”

  His lordship snorted.

  “Truly, Jon will not mind in the slightest,” Jess said desperately. “He understands how it is.”

  Lord Viscral peered at her. “There’s something havey-cavey going on with you. Don’t think I don’t know the signs.”

  “Havey-cavey!” she repeated indignantly. “I have always been perfectly o
pen with you!” Apart from pretending to be engaged to your son… And planning to be a milliner, but perhaps that doesn’t count since I’ve never done anything about it? Oh dear…

  “Ha! You’re up to tricks.”

  “No, really, I’m not.” She took a deep breath. “It’s only that I have just met Claud’s betrothed. She is staying at the hotel and thinks to surprise him. It is not always a good thing to surprise Claud. I feel he would behave better, and they would both be happier if he was expecting to be surprised.”

  “We did meet her,” Crabby confirmed in her gruff way. “In the art gallery. Very proud and proper, both the young lady and her mother.”

  “Bah.” Lord Viscral waved one hand in the air, signifying dismissal as he stalked into his own chamber. “Very well, then, but just ring for the boy. There’s no need to run all over the hotel like a hoyden.”

  Jess waited until his door closed, then turned to Crabby, a finger to her lips before slipping out of the room and hurrying down to the foyer.

  Here she was kept waiting by another very demanding guest. But, at last, she laid the letter on the desk. “Please have this sent around to the King’s Head immediately.”

  “Of course, ma’am.”

  With a quick smile of thanks, relieved she had done all duty required of her, Jess spun around and came face to face with Mary and her mother. Mary’s gaze lifted from the letter to Jess’s face.

  As Mrs. Francis began to speak to the clerk, Jess stepped away, her smile still fixed.

  Mary stepped with her. “Why are you writing to Claud?”

  “Why wouldn’t I write to Claude?” Jess said lightly. “I have been doing so for as long as I can remember. I’ll see you for tea later on.” And she hurried quickly upstairs, wishing now she’d followed her guardian’s advice and rung for the boy. If she had, Mary would never have seen the letter and never have looked at her with such suspicion.

  *

  Jon had told himself that it would be better for everyone, including his father and Jess, if they didn’t see him again before the assembly room ball. He didn’t want their dependency, emotional or otherwise, and in truth, he, too, was in danger of becoming just a little too comfortable around his family. Around Jess.

  It was only another day to wait for the ball. And yet, he found himself striding into the hotel in time for tea. Savagely, he hoped everyone was out, taking tea with new friends and acquaintances. Then he could ride back to Whalen as he should have as soon as he’d received the reports of his new employees.

  At first, he thought his wish had come true, for when Holmes opened the door, the sitting room was empty. He didn’t like the wave of disappointment that surged over him. He didn’t like it at all.

  “Nobody here, Holmes?” he asked cheerfully.

  “Oh, yes, sir. We are expecting guests for tea, friends of Miss Jess, I believe. His lordship will be out directly.”

  He tried to pretend he didn’t really care as he shrugged into the room and paced up to the window, gazing down on the street below without really seeing it. Turning away abruptly, he knocked against the escritoire and some papers fell to the floor. He picked them up, laying them back down when a few heavily underscored words caught his attention. Misery, flood, urgent, ruin…

  He frowned. “Holmes, what is this?” he asked, holding up the letter.

  “It came this morning, sir. From the one-time steward at Viscral.”

  “Old Matthews?”

  “No, sir. Young Matthews, his son.”

  “You said one-time,” Jon pointed out.

  “Yes, I did, sir. It is young Mr. Matthews belief that the estate has been neglected and needs a lot of improvement, to prevent the ruin of not only his lordship’s tenants but his lordship himself.”

  Startled, Jon walked toward him. “Is that your belief?”

  “It is not my place to say, sir.”

  “It is if I ask you,” Jon retorted.

  Holmes bowed. Clearly, this was all the permission he needed. “Then yes, sir, I believe young Matthews to be largely correct, but his lordship is reluctant to give credence to anyone so youthful, especially when it is liable to cost him money.”

  Jon scowled. “What the devil is he saving it for?”

  “You, sir,” Holmes said mildly.

  Jon met his gaze and realized after several moments that he was holding his breath. He let it out in a rush. “Ridiculous,” he muttered. “Is he planning to reply to this?”

  “No, sir. He says the estate is no longer Matthews’s business. And, of course, he’s right. But no one else is brave enough to tell him the truth of what this latest flood across the lower fields means for everyone.”

  Jon closed his eyes. This was exactly what he didn’t need—a wave of memories, of visions of people he grew up among, decent, good, hard-working people, many of them with very little. It wouldn’t take much to sweep away that very little and leave them with nothing. Because his father was a stubborn, penny-pinching fool. Because he was equally stubborn. Because he’d walked away and wouldn’t go back.

  He opened his eyes, then strode back to the desk. He snatched up the letter, stuffing it into his pocket. “I’ll deal with it.”

  Holmes smiled, one of his rare, rather beautiful smiles. “I hoped you would, sir. You will also have to deal with his lordship.”

  “I know.”

  One of the bedchamber doors opened, and Jess tripped out, looking so fresh and beautiful that his breath caught.

  “I thought I heard your voice,” she said with a quick smile. “What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t think you planned to call today.”

  “I didn’t. But I hear you have other guests for tea, so I can easily clear off.”

  “Oh, no, please don’t,” she said at once. “You’ll never guess who these guests are. Mrs. Francis and Mary.”

  Clearly, she expected a reaction. “Er…who?”

  “Mary! Claud’s betrothed!”

  “Ah.”

  “Ah, indeed,” she said fervently. “I tried to warn Claud, but Mary saw I was writing to him and now seems to think I might be her rival!”

  “Do you know, the more I hear about that pair, the more convinced I am that they should have nothing whatever to do with each other?”

  “Mary has done nothing wrong,” Jess pointed out.

  “No, but I doubt jealousy and suspicion are a great beginning to any relationship.”

  “But that was my fault.”

  “Damn it, Jess, you’re not responsible for their folly!”

  “And that, only too clearly, is your entre philosophy of life!”

  He blinked at this sudden attack, and she immediately flushed. “I’m sorry. I had no business to think, let alone say, such a thing. You have been kindness itself to me and—”

  “No, I haven’t,” he all but exploded. He seized her by the shoulders, which were soft and yielding under his fingers, and yet frail, almost like a little bird’s. She didn’t look frightened. He didn’t want to think about how she looked, or he’d back her straight through the door to her bedchamber. “Damn it all, Jess—”

  A knock at the passage door forced him to release her and step back as Holmes went to answer it. She walked away from him at once, leaving him oddly bereft.

  Miss Crabtree, stoically doing her duty in social situations which she hated, bolted out of the bedchamber and greeted him with gruff cheerfulness, just as Holmes admitted two ladies—clearly Mrs. and Miss Francis—and a very young gentleman who was introduced as Mary’s brother.

  “Let’s put on our best smiles, Miss Crabby, and do our worst,” Jon murmured, offering her his arm.

  She giggled before hastily covering the girlish sound with a severe cough as she laid her hand on his sleeve with ironic courtliness. Jon rather liked Crabby. He couldn’t help wondering what would happen to her when Jess finally married. She would have to find a new position, no doubt, unless she had saved enough to retire—which was unlikely, given his father’s skinflint
propensities.

  His lordship emerged from his chamber, going at once to greet the newcomers, who were almost gushingly respectful. Jess, who had stepped slightly back, watched with a faint, wry smile on her lips.

  “Ah, here is my son, Jonathan Tallon. Mrs. Francis, Miss Francis, and Mr. George Francis, old friends of Jess’s from Yorkshire.”

  “How do you do?” Jon said politely.

  Each of them offered their hands—he was, after all, his father’s heir and would be Lord Viscral one day. Miss Francis’s eyes widened as she gazed at him. Young Mr. Francis couldn’t take his eyes off Jess, and as they sat down, parked himself so close to her on the sofa, that Jon itched to yank him up by the cravat. Jess treated him with the same friendliness she accorded everyone, even Hector. She laughed at his jokes, and in all, treated him like an amusing little brother.

  Which, Jon realized with self-deprecating amusement, was the source of his unusual jealousy. Even George Francis had a shared history with her from which Jon was forever excluded. He didn’t just want to know her now. He wanted to know her then. And he was in danger of becoming ridiculous.

  He was actually relieved when Claud Darcy arrived, looking slightly breathless as though he’d run all the way from the inn as soon as he’d read Jess’s warning note. Not that he let on that was why he had come.

  As soon as he entered the room, he allowed himself to catch sight of his betrothed and rush at her with great joy. “Mary, how wonderful! What on earth brings you to Blackhaven?”

  “Why, you do, of course,” Mary laughed.

  Having kissed her hand and her cheek, Claud turned to his future mother-in-law, bravely kissing her cheek, too, and even gave young George a casual handshake before he bowed to the rest of the company.

  “Your servant. Jess,” he said, fervently. “My lord. Captain. Ma’am.”

  “Captain?” Mrs. Francis pounced. “Are you one of Wellington’s officers, sir?”

  “No, ma’am,” Jon replied. “I’m one of Lamont’s—who is better known to you, no doubt, as Captain Alban.”