Law of Attraction

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “You knew something like this would happen, didn’t you?” Elisa said. “When you forbid Jenny to marry the man, four years ago, you knew he would do this.”

  “I had no idea the man would be so vindictive as to consider an extreme measure like divorce,” Vaughn told her. “I simply didn’t like him or trust his motives. His reputation, everything I’d heard about him…well, there was not enough there to call the man immoral, yet what I did know made me uneasy. That is why I would not agree to the marriage.”

  “Now Jenny is learning that truth, too,” Elisa whispered.

  Everyone had arrived after that, even though Elisa had issued no invitations nor sent letters. It seemed as though everyone in the family gravitated toward the center of the trouble, like filings to a magnet—or as close to it as they could get, for Ben had sent a warning to the entire family not to call upon the Wakefield house until the trial had begun.

  Raymond and Natasha had arrived shortly after breakfast, when Elisa was still recovering from the news that Jack was the other party. Natasha hugged her in her usual warm and open way and made Elisa sit down, while Natasha saw to the household arrangements for the day.

  Elisa let Natasha do so, for she was unaccountably tired.

  Shortly before morning tea, Annalies and Rhys appeared upon the doorstep. They did not seem at all perturbed that it was Natasha who greeted them and brought them into the drawing room, and not Elisa.

  After they had settled in chairs in a rough circle, facing Elisa and each other, Annalies had offered her crisp observation about the situation. It was as if everyone was thinking of nothing else, even though no one spoke of the delicate matter aloud.

  Raymond came back from the library, holding one of the precious bottles of port that Vaughn had brought back from the continent, after Bronwen’s wedding to her Archeduke.

  “What does our host think of an early libation?” He held up the port. “It seems to be one of those occasions when drinking before noon is appropriate.” He lowered the bottle. “I know Burscough. I knew him at Eton.”

  “You did?” Vaughn said.

  “What did you think of him, then? Not that all children have the natures they will demonstrate when they are men, yet…”

  “In Burscough’s case, perhaps he did,” Raymond said. He moved over to the trays on the sideboard and stripped the wax from the neck of the bottle with the little knife left there for that purpose. “He was a physical boy—chosen for every sports team, every year. He was very good at wrestling.”

  “You didn’t like him, Raymond?” Rhys asked.

  Raymond grimaced. “It was a bit more than that. I caught him cheating on exams. He had a card up his sleeve, on a string so he could draw it out of sight if a master walked by.”

  Vaughn raised his brow. “That speaks of planning and forethought.”

  “Not the actions of a boy confronted with temptation and overcome by it,” Rhys said. “If he merely leaned closer to his neighbor and read his answers over his shoulder, that would be one thing.”

  “As Burscough was not expelled from Eton, I’m presuming you did not report him to the masters?” Vaughn asked Raymond.

  Raymond grimaced. “I thought taking away his card of answers and making him tackle the exam unaided, with the knowledge that someone knew of his dishonesty, would be enough to straighten him out. He managed to get through the next five years at Eton without a stain. Perhaps it didn’t straighten him out at all, though. Perhaps it merely made him more cautious.”

  The chime of the front door bell made everyone pause.

  “At this time of the morning?” Annalies said, sounding put out.

  “We arrived at this time of the morning, my dear,” Rhys pointed out.

  “Oh, but that is quite different,” Annalies replied.

  Elisa pushed herself to her feet with a tired sigh. Everything in her body seemed to ache. She went to greet the visitor, for she could hear Paulson speaking in soft tones.

  The visitor was tall and spare and clean shaved, with thinning silver hair.

  “Bishop Lincoln!” Elisa hurried forward. “This is most unexpected.”

  “Is it?” Lincoln brushed his fine hair back as Paulson took his hat and resettled his spectacles upon his long nose. “Then you are not aware that his Grace, the Duke of Burscough, has petitioned the church to grant him a divorce?”

  Elisa clutched the narrow hall table, her heart sinking. Words failed her.

  Lincoln tugged his narrow jacket into place and moved to touch her shoulder. “The Archbishop suggested I stop by, Lady Elisa, and see if I may offer the family comfort and guidance in their moment of need.” He hesitated. “Is Baron Guestwick at home?”

  The only reason Lincoln should want to speak to Jack was because he knew Jack was the other party named in the divorce proceedings. Elisa moaned and hung her head.

  Lincoln’s pat on her shoulder was kindly. “There, there, Lady Elisa. There is no shame upon the family yet.”

  She lifted her head. “I barely dare step outside the door anymore,” she admitted.

  “The judge has yet to decide if the Duke’s claims hold any merit,” the bishop replied. “That is the position Archbishop Frederick has taken, at least. Until the judge has spoken, everyone is innocent of the charges…unless…” Lincoln wrung his hands. “In your heart, Lady Elisa, do you believe differently?”

  Elisa swallowed. “No,” she lied, her throat closing over at the lie. “My daughter is not a vicious woman, Bishop Lincoln.” Yet in her heart, she knew that Jenny and Jack were…together.

  Laughter sounded from the drawing room and Lincoln drew himself upright. “You have guests…”

  “Family,” Elisa told him quickly. “My family have arrived here from the corners of Britain.”

  Lincoln smiled. “How nice that your family is united in this testing time.”

  “They are,” Elisa said firmly, “and I am very grateful for their support.”

  The clink of bottles against glasses was distinct and Lincoln frowned.

  Elisa might have quailed at the man’s disapproving grimace, only the bishop himself had reminded her of a fact she had forgotten—when the family worked together, they were far stronger. At this moment, she did not care that the bishop could hear they were drinking at nine o’clock in the morning. It was their business, not his. In the shadow of the scandal hanging over them, a little drinking was barely an offense.

  “I would ask you in, Bishop,” Elisa said, her voice stronger. “However, my family is feeling delicate. Anyone but family among them strains them. Especially visitors who arrive unexpectedly. I do hope you understand?”

  Paulson silently held out the Bishop’s flat brimmed hat for him.

  Lincoln took the hat, his eyes narrowed. “I will content myself with the knowledge that you are finding strength among yourselves.” Yet his tone was flat and unconvincing.

  “We are,” Elisa assured him, as Paulson opened the door once more. “Every shot and arrow aimed at us only makes us more determined,” she added truthfully. “I will call on you after the service on Sunday, if that would suit you?”

  “It would, Lady Elisa.” He hesitated. “It would help the family considerably if they are seen to be taking council from the church at this time.”

  Elisa nodded. “Thank you, Bishop Lincoln. I will bear that in mind.”

  She didn’t wait for the door to close behind the bishop. She hurried back to the drawing room as fast as she could manage, which was slower than she liked, and leaned against the back of Vaughn’s chair. “Burscough has petitioned the church already.”

  Rhys frowned. “He must be sure of winning the trial, to petition before the judgment.”

  “What on earth is all the racket…Jasper!” Will stood in the doorway in shirtsleeves, looking as though he had barely woken, which perhaps he had. He and Jack and Peter tended to sit in the library, drinking until all hours, these days, instead of the clubs they usually preferred.

&nbs
p; Jasper got to his feet and came over to shake Will’s hand. Will thumped his back. “Drinking seems like a fine idea,” he said.

  “Are Jack and Peter planning to appear soon?” Elisa asked Will.

  Will shrugged, as he took the little glass Paulson offered. “I could hear them moving about their rooms as I came downstairs.”

  “I’m here,” Peter said from the doorway, just behind Will. He strolled into the room, looking tall and contained. “I don’t suppose there is anything left over from breakfast? I’m starving.”

  “I can arrange morning tea to be served early, if that would suffice, my lord?” Paulson said.

  “Marvelous! Yes, please,” Peter told him.

  Natasha lifted her voice. “Perhaps you should make the refreshments more robust than usual, Paulson.”

  Paulson glanced at Elisa. She nodded her agreement and he smiled at Natasha. “Very good, my Lady.”

  Vaughn cleared his throat. “Is anyone planning on attending this afternoon’s session?” he asked.

  The men in the room looked at each other.

  “I had quite forgotten the schedule,” Raymond admitted. He glanced at Elisa and she thought there was an apology in his eyes. “It has become quite uncomfortable, with everyone debating the bill.”

  “What bill would that be?” Natasha said.

  “The bill has been filed already?” Rhys said sharply. “My God, the man has confidence!”

  Annalies looked upset.

  “What bill are you speaking of?” Elisa demanded, her heart hurting.

  All of the men in the room, especially those who were members of the House of Lords, looked uncomfortable.

  “If Burscough wins his civil trial,” Annalies said, “and the church follows with a granting of divorce, then a bill of divorce must be passed in Parliament to make the divorce final and legal. There are three readings and three votes, just like any other bill, with public arguments between each reading and vote.”

  Elisa pressed her hand to her chest as sick giddiness gripped her. “They will be discussing my daughter’s life in Parliament?” she whispered.

  Vaughn took her glass from her nerveless fingers. “It may never get that far,” he said, with a lofty tone.

  Elisa shook her head. She knew in her heart that Jack and Jenny were wedded together more closely than the law of the land could ever possibly arrange.

  Only, the law called that a crime and would punish them for it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Present day: The Wakefield Residence, St. James Square, London. March 1867. The same day.

  “Lord Innesford wishes to speak to you, sir,” Mayerick said. “He’s brought along another young man whose name was not provided.”

  Ben looked up from the nest of pages that outlined in iron gall ink the weight of legalities opposing him in Jenny’s case. “Neil is here?” Neil was supposed to be on a ship bound for the Swan River colony.

  “Lord Daniel Innesford,” Mayerick corrected.

  Dane looked up from the case history he was leafing through. In the last few years, he had trained himself to become an excellent legal research assistant, better than any of the clerks that Ben might have employed, and certainly a more trusted one, especially for this case. “Daniel is here?” he asked.

  “At the front door, your Grace,” Mayerick replied.

  “I told the family to stay away from the house.” Ben looked at the window with a baleful glare, for there had been journalists and newspaper runners lingering on the pavement across the road since the news of Jenny’s divorce had appeared in the Times. There were even more of them than ever before, today, because the trial was due to start. Jenny’s residence in the house was apparently common knowledge.

  “Isn’t Daniel a journalist himself? Perhaps that provides a type of immunity,” Dane suggested.

  Ben put his pen down. “Better show him and his companion in, then, Mayerick.” He shuffled the pages into a nearly neat pile and turned them over, then got to his feet.

  Daniel was the first through the door. He was much changed from the young man who had refused to complete his education at Cambridge because he thought it a useless one and had chosen instead to learn from life itself. He looked much older than his twenty-four years, with a quiet, contained air that was new. Perhaps his adventures had forced him to learn patience.

  The pale gray eyes were still the same, though. Daniel’s smile made them shine. “Your Grace,” he said, acknowledging Dane, who nodded back.

  “This is not a social call,” Daniel told Ben. “I wanted you to speak to Blatchford, here. Blatchford, this is Benjamin Hedley Davies Esquire, solicitor and barrister, who will be conducting the case for the Duchess. Ben, meet Tim Blatchford, a fellow journalist. He has something to tell you.”

  Blatchford was very young, in both years and wisdom. He had a pinched look about his dark eyes, and an unnatural pallor. Even his shoulders were hunched. “Mister Davies,” he said. His voice was strained.

  Ben glanced at Dane, reading there the same puzzlement Ben felt.

  Blatchford seemed to twitch. He pinched his hat brim with sharp movements.

  “I found Blatchford in the Lamb & Lion last night,” Daniel said. “He’s been there for nearly two weeks, hiding himself away. The innkeeper wanted me to pay up his bill and take him home.”

  “You work for the Times, as my cousin does, Mr. Blatchford?” Ben asked.

  Blatchford nodded. He licked his lips.

  “That’s part of the reason why this happened,” Daniel said. “Go ahead, Tim. Ben is quite harmless.”

  “He knocked the Liverpool champion out in one blow,” Blatchford replied, his voice rising.

  Dane laughed. “Ah, how the shreds of a clinging reputation trip one up.”

  Ben raised his brow. “If you know that, then you do get about, Mr. Blatchford. So why do you look as though you’re about to keel over?”

  Blatchford cleared his throat again. “It’s all my fault…” he whispered and alarmingly, his face grew even more white, almost translucent. Perspiration appeared at his temples and his throat worked.

  “Here, here, sit,” Dane said, his tone not unkind. He pushed the upright chair that Ben had been using to interview Jenny against the back of the man’s knees. Blatchford tumbled onto the chair, sagging.

  “Perhaps a dram?” Daniel suggested. “He’s been going on naught but rotgut for a week.”

  Ben nodded to Mayerick, who stood just inside the door. Mayerick moved over to the table under the window that held a tray of decanters and glasses. He poured a small portion of brandy and brought it over to Ben’s desk.

  Ben pushed the glass next to Blatchford’s elbow. The man gulped it down noisily and sat back with a sigh.

  Daniel nudged Blatchford’s shoulder, and he nodded. “I write for the Times,” he said. “I mean, I worked for them. I don’t anymore.”

  “You were released, Mr. Blatchford?”

  Blatchford shook his head. “Couldn’t stomach it no more,” he muttered. “Coz of what happened.”

  “What happened, then?” Dane asked, coaxing him.

  “Two weeks ago…” Blatchford’s grip on his glass tightened, even though it was empty. “No, it was three weeks ago, now.”

  “Speak as though you were writing the article,” Daniel suggested.

  Blatchford nodded and sat up. “For a year or more, I’ve been hearing rumors…nay, not even rumors. Hints. Raised brows. Gazes that lingered after obscure comments were made that didn’t make sense…do you understand what I mean by that?”

  Ben thought of the way society could say much with a raised brow, or an observation about one’s failings, while glancing at someone else entirely. “I do know what you mean.”

  “That’s good then. You must understand, I hear things all the time and mostly, I don’t pay any mind to ‘em, because a professional journalist, a man of ethics, doesn’t.”

  “He was well trained,” Daniel added.

  “Som
etimes, if a story has promise, I might investigate, see if there is anything at all worth pursuing.”

  “Three substantiating, independently confirmed facts is the Times’ standard,” Daniel said. “Unfortunately, that rigorous standard is not held by all newspapers.”

  Blatchford nodded. “I heard a rumor, you see. About the Duchess of Burscough and a possible…affair.”

  “I thought you didn’t pay attention to scuttlebutt,” Dane asked, his tone dry.

  “Only, it was the Duchess of Burscough,” Blatchford said. “She’s a beauty, that one, and if the story was true, then readers would be interested to hear about it, depending on who the other party was. So I did a bit of digging around.” He swallowed. “Nothing said I was wrong. Nothing said I was right, either, yet there was enough there to…to…”

  Daniel sighed. “He questioned Burscough about it.”

  Ben drew in a sharp breath. “What?”

  Blatchford lifted a defensive hand. “You must understand! Everyone has known for years about Burscough’s women. Even marriage didn’t stop him.”

  “Why didn’t you write about that, then?” Ben said, his tone vicious. His temper was stirring.

  “Too common a story,” Dane said softly.

  Blatchford nodded. “Yes, yes. That’s it. Too common, too ordinary. Yet a duchess straying, and a pretty one at that, well, it…” He swallowed again.

  “It sells newspapers,” Daniel finished, his tone withering. “Now you know why I went to America when they offered me the post.”

  Ben tapped the desk. “You spoke to Burscough?” he prompted Blatchford.

  The man nodded. “It never occurred to me he wouldn’t know about his wife’s affair. Most men do. The upper class turns a blind eye to it all so they can get on with their own liaisons.”

  “Burscough didn’t know,” Ben concluded.

  “Didn’t know, and didn’t like learning it, either, I’m guessing,” Dane said.

  Blatchford licked his lips. “He got his hands on my neck. He would have throttled me if the long shanks butler hadn’t dragged him off me.” He touched his neck reflexively. “I got the hell—heck out of there and I figured that would be the end of it, right?”