Ellie made no reply. She knew that by refuting the rumor she would only make things worse. No one ever believed her, in any case, and Jane Osborne had witnesses to her tale. Lady Mercy had told her all this while in Hodson’s shop and within the hearing of several village ladies.
Sophie came to visit. “Let them all talk,” she advised. “They do love good gossip, but soon they will find something else to talk about. Nothing is new news for very long. We all have secrets.”
To Ellie, however, the rumors were like stains that could not be removed. Always they would remain, even if they faded slightly over time.
“I only hope Rafe might be shielded from inevitable scandal a little while longer. I want James to tell him in person,” Sophie continued. “My husband agrees that it should be up to James.”
Ellie forced herself to lay aside her own worries and pay attention. “Rafe? Is something the matter with the boy?”
“Nothing that can be cured.” Sophie gave a wry smile. “I don’t believe there is a remedy for inheriting bossy traits from one’s father.”
At first, hearing the word “father,” Ellie thought her friend was talking about Josiah, but then she remembered that Sophie knew nothing about her blood connection to the missing man. “Rafe…Rafe’s father?”
Sophie’s smile faded. “James hasn’t told you? Oh dear, I thought that night at the party when you and he went outside…”
The two friends sat in silence for several moments. Slowly the pieces fell into place. She realized she’d seen Rafe’s resemblance to James almost at once, but the difference in their coloring had confused her. “No, he did not tell me.”
Sophie wrung her hands in distress. “Now I’ve opened my big mouth! James will be furious with me. Again!”
So he had a child. A son of twelve years already. “He kept the boy a secret all these years? Why?”
“Oh no!” Sophie hastened to explain. “He did not know Rafe was alive, until he came back to Sydney Dovedale with you. The fault for the secret lies with me. When I discovered that my husband’s nephew was James Hartley’s illegitimate son, I feared James would leave the child to Lady Hartley’s guardianship. My husband adores his nephew, has looked after him all these years. I didn’t want anyone to part them. But then I realized how selfish, how wrong I’d been to take away James’s right to know his own son, and Rafe’s right to know his father. I am so ashamed.”
Ellie’s heart beat calm and steady. Surprisingly so under the circumstances.
There was no doubt in her mind that James kept this fact from her out of fear. They were both afraid of what the other would think—James for having an illegitimate son, and she for having a scapegrace father.
“I hope James has forgiven me,” Sophie added in a forlorn voice. “I believe we made our peace that night at the party.”
Ellie closed her eyes for a moment and listened to her own breath. She saw her old friend and her new lover embracing in the pantry, and this time she read the gesture for what it was. What a fool she had been. Of course, she told herself at the time that she did not doubt Sophie, but, like the stain of a rumor, jealousy could not be vanquished completely. The heartache had lurked shamefully inside her for seventeen years, because she loved them both.
***
Her aunt’s quiet companionship was a great comfort during those dark days, although, perversely, she found herself missing Lady Mercy’s chatter. The most excitement she could look forward to now was the odd game of cribbage.
On Christmas morning, there was a package delivered. A beautiful pair of soft kidskin gloves for Ellie, with a note attached.
Don’t lose me.
Now what sort of message was that to send to a person who was trying to be good, sensible, and restrained for once? By then the entire village had heard about the money James Hartley once paid for her entertaining company.
“And not for her singing, to be sure,” Mrs. Flick was heard to exclaim.
But Ellie wore her gloves to church that day. A girl could hold her head high amid a great deal of scandal if she wore the right accessories—in this case, lilac ribbons on her bonnet and lavender kid gloves, the like of which a plain, ungainly spinster should never enjoy. Although a notorious one might.
Soon after Christmas she received a letter from the admiral, who was in high spirits, as usual unaware of any struggles she might be going through and concerned only with his own ups and downs. A buyer had been found for Lark Hollow, he informed her. Although he had not planned to sell, apparently the price offered had been most persuasive, and as part of the bargain, he was allowed to remain in a wing of the house and pay a nominal rent. It was all very mysterious.
For once someone else was taking care of things, and Ellie did not know how to feel. If she had no one left to manage, what would she do with herself? Just a month before, she’d been looking forward to her “retirement,” but she was already restless again. Perhaps her father was right, and she was not made for settling in one place.
Chapter 25
December 31, 1822
She was sitting with her aunt in the parlor and had just read the same paragraph of her book four times, when the bell rang. Aunt Lizzie was on the verge of falling asleep, her legs tucked under a quilt, her feet resting on a small stool before the fire.
Ellie set her book down. “I’ll go.” She tried not to sound too excited at the prospect of visitors, especially since she’d insisted this quiet life was exactly what she wanted now. Alas, her book was so very dull that she’d almost become desperate enough to begin work on a needlepoint pillow. Thankfully, here came distraction. As she hurried down the hall, she checked her appearance briefly in the mirror, threw up her hands in despair, and then opened the door.
“Trenton Shale.” The name fell from her lips with a dull thud.
The lanky young man bowed his head. “May I come in, Miss Vyne? I have a confession to make. And an apology.” He was alone today, it seemed.
She restrained a terse sigh and let him in. “Come through to the parlor.”
He followed her down the hall and into the warm room. Aunt Lizzie instantly began clearing away her sewing, but Trenton stopped her. “Please don’t trouble yourself, madam. I do not mean to stay long, but before I leave the county, I wanted to see Miss Vyne.”
Ellie gestured that he should sit, but he remained standing for once, looking uncomfortable, as if his boots pinched. “Miss Vyne, after our walk in your aunt’s garden when I was last here, my father assumed that I took the opportunity to propose—as he wanted me to—and I could not bring myself to tell him that you turned me down. For once he was not disappointed in me, and I had not the heart to tell him the truth.”
“Trenton!”
“I broke the news to him today, and he was not best pleased. Thus I return to London at once. I thought I should call upon you and apologize.”
Bemused, she shook her head. “It matters not. I thank you for the apology, but really it is not necessary. I’m sure your father will soon recover from his disappointment.”
Trenton studied his boots for a moment and then cleared his throat. “I have done many childish, selfish things in my life, but it is never too late to change, so I have learned from Mr. Hartley’s example.”
She wished she had something to do with her hands other than squeeze them together and make the palms sticky. “Mr. Hartley’s example?”
“He does not boast of it, but I have heard about his charitable works. I’d never met him until that night at Hartley House, but I’d heard of him long before.”
She frowned. “Charitable works? Are you sure you have the right Hartley?”
“Indeed. He has funded several homes in London for unwed mothers and contributed vast amounts to charitable institutions.”
Ellie knew her aunt was staring at her in astonishment. She was certain her own countenance must be much the same.
“I hope you will not mention it to him, Miss Vyne. He is, I understand, a very private ma
n when it comes to those matters.”
“Yes. I see.”
“Well, Miss Vyne”—he turned to her aunt and bowed—“Mrs. Cawley, I bid you good day. I have a long journey ahead of me, for I am escorting Lady Ophelia Southwold back to London. We must make a good start before it grows dark.”
She saw him out, wished him well, and returned to her seat by the fire.
“Goodness,” said her aunt.
Ellie smoothed down her skirt, picked up her book, and stared at the print.
“That was a very odd visit,” her aunt observed, bent over her quilt again.
“Very.” She turned the page, though still not focusing on a word.
“Almost as if he came here on some spurious excuse, solely to inform you of Mr. Hartley’s good deeds.”
James Hartley involved in charity work? It seemed unbelievable. Or did it? She had discovered the real James to be a very different person than the one she’d seen out in Society. He had, she recalled, once claimed he was a reformed man. At the time, she’d taken it as part of his routine flirting. She thought she knew him all these years. Really, she hardly knew him at all. It seemed she’d underestimated James.
Trouble was, they were both so wary of each other. They circled and poked, prodded and snapped. Whenever they put aside their weapons and masks, they did not know what to do.
“Will you put some more coal upon the fire, Ellie dear? Stir it up a little. Don’t let it die away.”
Ellie closed her book again and reached for the coal shovel. The clock on the mantel ticked gently onward, marking time.
Oh, James. They had kept so many secrets from each other, afraid to be themselves. And she’d always considered herself strong and brave, yet she had been so fearful of the truth about herself that she’d ended their affair rather than share it with him. All this time, she’d scorned women who used artifice, but she was just as bad, hiding behind a false front, maintaining an act. Pretending not to care.
“And light another candle, Ellie,” her aunt added. “It is awfully grim this afternoon and the dark not far off. I don’t want you hurting your eyes to read.”
Anxious for something to do, Ellie went out to the kitchen, made a pot of tea, and found the shortbread biscuits. They were usually her favorite, and she depended on them to lift her out of any gloomy mood. But not even shortbread could help her this afternoon.
“You are very fidgety, Ellie dear,” her aunt exclaimed. “Perhaps a walk would do you good. Or a game of cards?” The lady sipped tea and chatted to the captain’s parakeet in her usual loving manner. “Let’s see, what can we do to amuse our young guest? How can we entertain her today and lift her spirits?”
The bird talked back at her in breathy gasps, “Small…wick…ooh…Small…wick.”
Her aunt pretended not to hear the name.
“Wicked,” cackled the parakeet, bobbing up and down excitedly on his perch. “Naughty boy, Small…wick. Naughty boy.”
***
She retired early to her room that afternoon with a headache, fearing her aunt’s anxiety about reading in poor light was justified. Perhaps she would soon need spectacles. She had done a great deal of reading over the past few days. There was little else to do until the weather improved. Then she could help her aunt in the garden or go to visit Sophie.
The house was quiet this evening; even the creaky floorboards were unusually mute underfoot as she made her way to her bedroom. It made her heartbeat and her breath seem unnaturally loud.
She opened her door. The small fire had already been lit, and a wasteful preponderance of candles filled the mantel and her small dressing table. Beside the bed stood Molly Robbins and Lady Mercy Danforthe.
Ellie clutched her book to her chest. “What are you girls doing here? Lady Mercy, you are supposed to be in London by now!” Oh dear, had the girl run away again?
They giggled and confessed that her aunt—in on the fun—had left the back door unbolted for them. Clearly they were overcome with merriment over their game. Then she saw the gown laid across her bed.
“I made it for you, Miss Vyne,” Molly said proudly, her cheeks pink in the warm light of all those candles. “I hope you like it. I used bits and pieces of your old dresses, but it looks very new.”
“It’s all her own design,” Lady Mercy added. “And I have new slippers for you to wear, and silk stockings from London. And a very pretty idea for your hair. I cut it out of La Belle Mode.”
The two girls tugged on her arms until she stood in front of the mirror, and before she knew what was happening, she was being disrobed.
“In case you haven’t realized yet,” said Lady Mercy, “we’ve decided you’re going to the Hartley ball tonight.”
“But I can’t go. For pity’s sake!” She tried to stop them, but they pecked at her with their fingers like hungry baby birds, and her layers of winter clothing fell away. “Lady Mercy, does your brother know you’re here?”
“Of course,” the little chit replied as if it was such a foolish question to ask. “He’s waiting for you outside with the carriage. He’s taking you as his guest. I made him do it, and in exchange, I promised not to run away anymore or tell anyone else that he beats me with his shoe. Now if you refuse to go tonight, he will be most annoyed, because I dragged him into the country again, and all for nothing. But Molly said I had to do something to make it up to you. Do step into the new gown, Miss Vyne.”
“Make what up to me?” she muttered doubtfully.
“I told that woman with the big teeth about you and Mr. Hartley, when I was supposed to keep the secret.”
“Yes, you did, young lady, and if you think you can ever make recom—”
The two young ladies had pulled the gown up and helped her arms into the sleeves. Abruptly her image in the mirror was transformed. The material was a soft violet muslin she vaguely remembered, although it looked very different in its current form and had been edged with a new beaded trim of a very similar color. Whenever she moved, the trim glistened and gleamed. It was simple and pretty, with the magical ability of restoring youth. The bodice was silk, perfectly fitted and cut low to show off her cleavage without being too bold about it. The neckline was also trimmed, with the same light-catching beadwork, as were the small puffed sleeves. Ellie stared at the elegant vision in the mirror, and she was tempted to pinch herself hard.
“Molly Robbins, you’re a miracle worker. For once, I don’t look like a stuffed goose.”
“I’m sure you never did look like that, Miss Vyne,” Molly exclaimed, busy with the hooks.
“My sisters would disagree.” She laughed, and her eyes shone back at her from the mirror.
She was still admiring her reflection with a shameful amount of vanity when Lady Mercy advanced with a comb, a handful of seed-pearl hairpins, and a pot of lip rouge. “Now for the next stage of your transformation.” Apparently Ellie had become Lady Mercy’s new project, and like all such victims, she was helpless in the path of that young woman’s determination.
***
Grieves had already expressed his concern, several times, about James being up without his crutches, let alone attending his grandmother’s New Year’s Eve ball.
“You do know, sir, that Lady Hartley has invited a parade of eligible young ladies tonight. I fear a bloody battle will commence when she learns of your plans. Perhaps you should stay in your chamber. I could make some excuse to her ladyship.”
James winced, determined to manage tonight without a sling for his arm. “No. Forward into the fray. I have survived a tavern brawl. I’m sure I can survive a herd of marriageable ladies and my grandmother’s most determined attempt to ruin my life.” He watched in the mirror as Grieves fastened a plain gold pin to his cravat. “I had planned to wear the diamond pin tonight.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, sir.”
“Why?”
“It is not here, sir.”
“Where is it?”
Grieves stepped back to inspect his
master. “In Master Trenton Shale’s possession, sir.”
“What?”
“I gave the diamond pin to him, sir, in exchange for a small favor. Two small favors. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not mind?”
“Lord Shale’s valet assisted me in the exchange. It was for your benefit, sir.” Grieves calmly proceeded to help him into an ivory waistcoat.
“Mine?”
“Sometimes, sir, things need a little nudge in the right direction. When two people find the path too narrow for them to walk side by side, it is necessary to trim the overgrown hedges and clear the way.” He held out the black evening jacket. “All the other arrangements are made, sir. The trap is set. And I wish you the very best of luck.”
“Thank you, Grieves. I think I’m going to need it.”
***
Ellie had never been inside Hartley House, and she wondered whether the roof might cave in when she was admitted within its elegant walls that evening. Indeed, she thought she detected a tremor underfoot as she crossed the gleaming hall tiles on Carver Danforthe’s arm. Looking about keenly, she took in the excess of cold marble, the grand portraits of past Hartleys, and the wide sweep of an ornate staircase, the mahogany banister gleaming with polish, just perfect for sliding down.
They were led into the ballroom by a somber footman with prominent knees and a stiff lurch. As their names were announced, she did her best to hide behind Danforthe. He was tall, excellent cover, but she had no doubt Lady Hartley would soon fly across the room and try to have her escorted out. If she dared. The good thing about Carver Danforthe—and there weren’t many of those, for he was a surly young man with a proud, disdainful manner—was that he was extremely wealthy and powerful. Lady Hartley, always mindful of her place in Society, would not wish to upset him. It was quite a coup for her to have the Earl of Everscham at her ball, since he so rarely attended any, especially outside London.
The Wicked Wedding of Miss Ellie Vyne Page 31