Scandalous Love

by Brenda Joyce

  Knowing the Countess now as she did, Isobel was more certain than ever that her daughter was the perfect mate for her son.

  Planning such a grand, elaborate wedding had been a distraction for Isobel from the fear that had haunted her for nearly thirty years, and which continued to haunt her now. Daily she tried not to confront that fear. Daily it worsened. Now she no longer had wedding preparations to be consumed by. Now she no longer could avoid what was in her heart.

  The last time she had really spoken with Hadrian, the encounter had ended in anger. He had been angry with her, and rightly so, she knew, for denying him his father all of these years. She had been afraid of his disdain for her behavior, just as she had been afraid that he would be angry with her for concealing the truth. Her worst fears had been realized. He had been furious with her. Was he still angry with her? She could not continue to tolerate the unknown. Facing each day had become a chore filled with anguish.

  Hadrian rose from behind his desk as Isobel entered. She could not smile, although he did. “How are you, Mother? What a strange request. You ask me for an audience?”

  Nothing seemed to have changed. Isobel dared to hope. Tears suddenly filled her eyes, blurring her vision. “I did not want to intrude.”

  “You are not intruding,” he said, somewhat sharply. He came around his desk. “Something is the matter. What is it?”

  She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief and gazed up at her son. “Hadrian,” she asked softly. “From your demeanor, can I conclude that you are no longer angry with me?”

  “Maybe you had better sit down,” he said, guiding her to a chair.

  “Are you still angry?”

  He stared. “Mother, it was wrong of you not to tell me the truth about Francis and Hadrian Stone as soon as I was old enough to understand. But I have been trying to empathize with you. I can see how you would not want to admit to having an affair. Yet I would have understood. And admitting to a long ago, forgotten affair is insignificant in comparison to a man knowing his father’s identity. How could you not see that?”

  “I knew I was wrong,” Isobel whispered.

  “Then why?” Hadrian demanded. “Why did you not tell me sooner? I understand why you did not tell Hadrian Stone, after all, he was no longer a part of your life. But I am your son. I needed to know. It has been the greatest relief knowing that Francis is not my real father.”

  “I was afraid.”

  “Of what? The secret becoming public? That will never happen, Mother. I will guard your reputation zealously.”

  “I was not worried about my reputation,” Isobel said, twisting her handkerchief relentlessly in her hands.

  “Then what? My inheritance is secure even should the truth be found out. After all, grandfather Jonathan made you his heir after Francis. You are the rightful heiress of Clayborough, and me after you. I have many cousins who would love to dispute my ownership, but their claims would be jettisoned from court.”

  “I was afraid you would never forgive me for my actions and for not telling you.”

  Hadrian blinked. Then he smiled softly. “Mother, that is ridiculous.”

  “You do forgive me?” she asked incredulously.

  “Mother, I was angry, but that is in the past. Nothing has changed. Although I am somewhat insulted that you would think me capable of condemning you for finding love with a man other than Francis. I am glad, terribly glad, that you had some small amount of happiness in your lifetime. God knows Francis did his best to make you miserable.”

  Isobel covered her face with her hands. Relief swamped her. She trembled and wanted to weep. She should have known that her son, her beautiful son, would never turn from her. Yet how could she have known? Hadrian was so straight-laced, sometimes even a prude. He was so honorable. He was the most honorable person she knew. And what she had done was nothing but dishonorable, even though it had been for love.

  Hadrian patted her shoulder awkwardly. “Don’t cry, Mother. The past is past. We have the future ahead of us now.”

  Isobel managed to smile.

  “I have put investigators into the field. One should have arrived in Boston two weeks ago. If my father is there, if he is alive, he should have received my letter. I know it is too optimistic, but I cannot help but hope that even now a response is on its way back across the Atlantic.”

  Isobel stood very still. She also should have known that Hadrian would have instigated the search for his father immediately.

  “When I hear something, I will let you know.”

  “No.” Isobel shook her head vehemently. “No. I do not want to know. I do not want to know if he is alive or dead. Or married. No.”

  He stared at her.

  Isobel’s heart was pounding. After all these years, it was unthinkable that he might be alive, a bachelor, and still in love with her. Unthinkable. The pain of seeing him if he were happily married, or indifferent to her, would be unbearable. Just as it would be if he were dead.

  “All right, Mother,” Hadrian said softly. To change the subject, he asked her if she would like stay and have supper with him and his wife.

  Isobel smiled tearily. She was about to decline. She knew very well that the newlyweds deserved more time alone to sort out their relationship, even though she was eager to know what was transpiring between her son and his bride. Before she could respond, the doors to the study burst open.

  Both Isobel and Hadrian were startled as Nicole flew into the room, panting and wild-eyed. “Hadrian!”

  At the sight of his wife, rather disheveled and clearly distressed, in muddy breeches and boots, Hadrian leapt forward. But Nicole skidded instantly to a stop, her frantic gaze darting to the Dowager Duchess, who watched her calmly enough. Nicole’s pale countenance instantly turned a dull shade of red. “Oh, no!” she moaned.

  Hadrian had already grabbed her, turning her abruptly to face him. “What’s the matter? What has happened? Are you all right?”

  Nicole tried to regain her breath so she could respond. She glanced desperately again at the Dowager Duchess, barely aware that her husband was shaking her. It was just her luck that her mother-in-law would have to glimpse her for the first time in her new role as a duchess dressed like a stableboy!

  Hadrian continued to shake her. “Nicole! What has happened? Are you all right?” he repeated anxiously.

  Her attention was jerked back to her husband. “Hadrian! You must come quickly! There has been a terrible accident! The stablemaster was set upon by ruffians and they beat him up! It took me forever to get him on my horse—he was unconscious—and get back to Clayborough! Woodward has sent someone for the doctor, but I am so afraid!” These last words turned sob-like.

  He still gripped both her arms. “Were you hurt?”

  She managed to shake her head no.

  Hadrian abruptly released her and strode across the room. “Stay with her, Mother,” he ordered, and then he was gone.

  Nicole covered her mouth with her hands, which were trembling. O’Henry had still been unconscious when she had finally returned to Clayborough with him lying prone and face-down across her stallion, as Nicole led the horse on foot. She was afraid he was dead.

  “Here, dear, take a sip of this. It will calm your nerves.”

  Nicole started, realizing again that the Dowager Duchess was a witness to her most unseemly manner and dress, which in itself constituted behavior too sordid to be acceptable. She wanted to burst into tears, instead she accepted the glass and took several jerky sips. The Dowager Duchess patted her back soothingly.

  Nicole stared at her. The woman was being kind—not condemning.

  “How badly was Mr. O’Henry hurt?” she asked.

  “I don’t know!” Nicole moaned. “And it was all my fault!”

  “I’m sure you are exaggerating, just as I am sure everything will be all right.”

  “I am afraid he is dying—or dead!”

  The Dowager Duchess patted her again. “Do you want to talk about it?”
/>
  Nicole knew she should not. The incident was beyond the pale for any lady, much less a duchess. Then Nicole looked at her. Isobel’s eyes were warm and kind and concerned. Nicole’s resistance crumbled, and before she could stop herself, she was babbling the whole story. “I insisted we ride alone. One of the men attacked me! I’m sure I could have ridden away, but Mr. O’Henry immediately began hitting him with his crop! There were two others and they dragged him from his saddle and jumped upon him. I was afraid they were going to kill him then and there! I beat them the best I could with my crop, and thank God, my stallion went berserk. He injured their leader, nearly trampling him, and they all ran away.”

  “Oh dear,” the Dowager Duchess said.

  Nicole gazed at her miserably. Her tone was so kind that it invited further intimacy. “I have made a terrible mess of things, haven’t I? I am not a very good duchess, and I so wanted to be!”

  Isobel rubbed her back. “Well,” she sighed, “your husband will most likely be furious with you, but thank the Lord you were not hurt.”

  “I’m so sorry you must learn of this—and see me like this,” Nicole whispered despondently.

  Isobel did smile. “It doesn’t change my opinion of you, if that is what is worrying you.”

  Nicole groaned. “I am sure it only confirms it!”

  Isobel blinked. Then she led the distraught Nicole to the sofa and they both sat down. “My dear, do you think I am disposed unfavorably towards you?”

  “You’re not?”

  “Not at all.”

  Nicole was shocked.

  Isobel smiled. “To the contrary, I approve of this match. In fact, I am positive you are the best possible choice of a wife for my son.”

  Nicole would have choked if she had been sipping the sherry. “You do! But, why?”

  “You are an independent woman, my dear, that’s why. You are daring and unconventional. In some ways, you and my son have a lot in common. In others, nothing at all. And it is that precise balance that I am counting on.”

  Nicole was now truly dazed. “You are?”

  Isobel patted her hand. “You both love the country and a simple life. Common interests are important. Yet Hadrian is much too prudish and self-contained for his own good. You are not. He needs to be set on his ear now and then. Yes, the two of you shall do just fine.”

  Nicole could not believe what she was hearing. “I am afraid I have more than set him on his ear today!”

  “Well, it was a bit reckless to participate in the fistfight,” Isobel said cheerfully. “But I will not tell a soul.”

  Hadrian did not think he had ever been angrier in his life. Will O’Henry was no longer unconscious, and he had related every detail of what had happened that afternoon. His strides deadly, the Duke returned to the library.

  He paused before Isobel and Nicole, towering above them as they sat together on the sofa. “Mother, tonight would not be a good time for you to join us for supper.”

  Isobel got to her feet. “I understand. Be gentle with her, Hadrian. She has suffered a great deal today.”

  “That is nothing in comparison to what she is about to suffer.”

  Nicole stiffened.

  “Be brave,” Isobel said, leaning down to kiss Nicole’s cheek. She again gave her son a warning glance before departing.

  Silence filled the room. The grandfather clock standing on one wall ticked away the seconds loudly. “Can you explain yourself?” Hadrian finally asked.

  “I am sorry,” Nicole tried.

  “You are sorry?!” Hadrian was incredulous. “Madam—you were about to be raped and you tell me you are sorry?”

  Fearfully, she said, “We won’t ride on the public roads again.”

  Hadrian exploded. “Damn if you will ride anywhere again!”

  Nicole jumped to her feet. “Hadrian, be reasonable!”

  “Be reasonable! Why should I be reasonable while you are nothing but unreasonable!”

  “I did not seek this adventure out.”

  “Adventure!” he shouted, beyond control now. “Only you, Madam Wife, would refer to a near rape as an adventure!”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she cried.

  He wanted to tear at his hair. His fists clenched. “I have done everything that I could—from the very beginning—to protect you from mishap of your own making. Yet every time I turn my back, you are at mischief again. But this is beyond belief! Your welfare—your life—could have been seriously jeopardized!”

  “And I’m sorry!” Nicole shouted back. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Hadrian was beyond stopping. “Look at you!” he raged. He shook her, ignoring her attempts to twist free. “You look like some stableboy—except clearly you are no boy! Good god! You might as well be naked! Did you ever think of how I might feel, having my wife run around in clothing so tight that every man can easily imagine her nude?”

  Anger flared. “Now you are exaggerating.”

  “Oh I am? William told me everything, Madam. You attracted those men’s worst intentions. Had you been dressed in a proper riding habit—had you had a proper escort—they would have never dared to attack you—the Duchess of Clayborough!” It was a roar. “Or need I remind you of whom you are?”

  Nicole wrenched free of his grip. “No, you do not need to remind me of whom—and what—I now am! I know damned well that I am now your duchess! How could I forget?”

  “Ahh, so we do have regrets!”

  “Yes! I mean, no!”

  “Clearly you have no idea what you mean,” he shouted. “Just as you clearly have no idea of the kind of havoc your thoughtless behavior continually wreaks.”

  How his words hurt. “Now I suppose you are going to tell me that I must never ride astride, I must, at all costs, at the cost of my own pleasure, maintain appearances.”

  “Yes, damn it!”

  Nicole was aghast. “Surely you jest!”

  “Believe me, Madam, there is nothing to jest about right now.”

  “Then you lied!” Nicole cried hysterically. “You told me I could do as I chose. You told me many times. I chose to ride like this, I always ride at Dragmore like this.”

  “This is not Dragmore, and in case you have forgotten, as you so obviously have, you are my duchess now. Damn it, Madam, I am sure it’s all over town that you have an inclination to dress like a boy. The gossips must be having a field day. Do you eternally want to be the focus of malicious gossip?”

  “No,” she admitted tearfully. “But…”

  “There are no buts.” Hadrian released her and wheeled away from her, breathing deeply. He was still shaken to the core by how close she had come to being raped, or even killed. He was still shaking and in the worst kind of fear, an overwhelming fear for his wife. If something had happened to Nicole he would have never forgiven O’Henry or himself, when it was Nicole herself to blame. He ran trembling hands through his hair, seeking control which he could barely summon up. He was afraid he might do something unthinkable—like turn her over his knee and beat her until she metamorphosed into a rational being and a lady of decorum.

  It was a long time before he finally turned to face her again.

  “Is—is Mr. O’Henry going to be all right?”

  “He will undoubtedly be confined to his bed for a week or two, but he is not at death’s door. Although he could have been.” He ignored her increased pallor. He could not shake the image from his mind of Nicole riding directly into the fray and striking at O’Henry’s three assailants with her crop. “Go upstairs. Get out of those clothes. Immediately.”

  Nicole hugged herself. “What are you going to do?”

  He grimaced. “For one, I want those breeches burned.” He ignored her protest. “Secondly, you, Madam, shall stay away from the stables indefinitely.”

  Nicole was outraged.

  “Thirdly, I intend to apprehend those outlaws and have them thrown into Newgate.”

  “Hadrian,” Nicole gritted, “you are not being fa
ir.”

  He whirled. “Do not ever dare to accuse me of being unfair! I have your best interests at heart! Clearly someone has to when you do not! I suggest you leave me immediately!”

  “When you calm down,” she managed, “we can continue this discussion.”

  “Go upstairs, Madam. I mean now. I mean this instant. Before you make me behave in a manner I shall regret.”

  Nicole no longer hesitated, she fled.

  It was a long time before Nicole managed to stop trembling.

  It was a combination of all the circumstances that beset her so. She had been accosted with violent intent, and the kindly stablemaster had almost been killed defending her. Those circumstances alone would have been enough to keep her nerves quivering uncontrollably, but her husband’s reaction to it all and their furious fight was the coup de grace. Nicole had run to him for comfort more than anything else. Instead she had received a scalding setdown.

  And perhaps, what made it unbearable, was that Hadrian was right. She was wrong. She had acted more than recklessly, she had been foolish. Had she at least been on the public roads with a proper escort, the three vagrants would have never dared approach her. But not only had she not had an escort, she had not even been attired as the Duchess of Clayborough should be. In any case, Nicole could not deny that it was her fault. Because of her nitwit behavior, a man had almost been killed.

  She sat on the sumptuous pink velvet bedspread in her dirty clothes and hugged herself. She had to sadly admit that she was botching up being a duchess in full form—as well as ruining her chances for a happy relationship with her husband.

  She heard riders galloping away from the front of the house. Nicole ran to the window. She could make out her husband in the lead on his raw-boned black hunter. Her stomach clenched. He was going after her assailants.