Winthrop Trilogy Box Set

by Burnett, May

  “You can call upon him, as the former Viscount’s heir, but his widow cannot?” Abigail said.

  “I was provably at sea, somewhere between Port-of-Spain and Tenerife, when that duel took place. Though I may have benefited, my motives are not suspect, and unlike his widow I owe my late cousin no personal loyalty.”

  Such a visit would only create additional complications; it was getting difficult to remember who had been told how much. “What do you expect Lord Barton to say or do, anyway? This is not like the ordinary kind of scandal that can be obliterated by a marriage.”

  He looked struck by the notion. “Not between Barton and Milla, obviously. But maybe he has another prospect? His engagement to any other respectable lady would quickly scotch these rumours.”

  “He was supposed to be courting a debutante, according to the society pages,” Abigail said slowly. Somehow the notion did not sit well with her. But if the girl Lord Barton was going to marry truly loved him, this was her chance to stand by him and prove her loyalty. He had not mentioned this courtship when they had seen him, but then it had not exactly been a social call. They had all focused on the issue of the mysterious B. Chatteris.

  Heavens! Abigail had almost forgotten about that menace still hanging over them like the sword of Damocles. Not only had they made no progress in recovering the iniquitous will, they had inadvertently created new problems. Some social adviser she was, flattering herself she could steer Milla safely through the shoals of the ton! Not yet a week in town, and already they were in the suds.

  “Don’t look so unhappy, Miss Trevelyan, at least you are not directly involved in the scandal,” Rob said with an encouraging smile.

  She could not meet his gaze, and turned towards Milla, whose blue eyes were fixed on the mantelpiece in fierce calculation. “I am sorry that I did not foresee this. I really should have.”

  Milla shrugged, with what Abigail suspected was pretended indifference. “If it had not been this, it would have been something else. From what I can tell, these people live and breathe scandal all day long.”

  “Yes,” Abigail admitted. “Living in the countryside I had forgotten just how quick they are to invent evil motives.”

  Rob frowned, clearly remembering his earlier grievance. “I still do not know why you are staying in this hotel, when you had told me you were going to succour Mrs. Trevelyan.”

  “After meeting her, can you wonder that I prefer not to return to her household?” Abigail said. “I was utterly miserable from the moment my father married her and then sailed away, leaving me to her authority.”

  “Mrs. Trevelyan is not the most likeable person I have ever met, though she was polite enough,” Rob allowed. “I had wondered why you were living as Milla’s companion, when your father should be well able to maintain and dress you.” He cast a critical look at Abigail’s simple gown.

  Abigail had never discussed her financial straits with him, out of pride, but right now she welcomed any subject that could distract him. “My stepmother has not given me a single penny of pin money since my father left England over three years ago. While I lived with her she bought me dresses that suited her taste, and looked dreadful on me. I have been subsisting on the salary Milla gives me for my secretarial and other duties.”

  “I had no idea. Is your father aware of this?” Rob looked shocked, as well he might.

  “I doubt my step-mother has fully confided in him. I have not mentioned money in my own letters,” Abigail said stiffly. She had not quite forgiven her father for leaving her with his second wife. “When I am twenty-one, the sum left to me by my mother and maternal grandfather, some eight thousand pounds, will come under my control. It is not worth making any bother about now.”

  “The Captain should have been told you were without funds – if you will not write to him, I will,” Rob said reproachfully.

  Abigail suppressed a groan, but consoled herself with the reflection that it would take several months till any answer could arrive from the West Indies.

  Chapter 9

  Jeremy and Barnaby also learned of the newspaper article over breakfast, in Branscombe House. Unfortunately so did their father, the Earl. The decision not to involve him in the affair of the scurrilous will had spectacularly backfired. Jeremy listened to his father’s furious reproaches in stoic silence, but found he had completely lost his appetite. His eggs congealed on the plate while he let expressions like, “addlepated blockhead” and “irresponsible fool” pass over his head. He was nearly twenty-eight, dammit, too old for such language. But from experience he knew it was best to let Lord Branscombe shout himself out. Attempts at rational discussion or explanation were useless before that.

  Barnaby threw him sympathetic glances from the other side of the table as he continued to wolf down a large portion of kippers with undiminished relish. Jeremy wondered briefly how their other brother, currently in St. Petersburg as an attaché, or their sister Susan would have reacted to this affair. Just as well that his two youngest siblings were at a safe distance from this mess.

  At last his patience snapped, and he said “Enough!” so loudly that his father fell into a startled silence and Buldring, the butler, nearly dropped the fresh tea pot he had been about to place on the table.

  Jeremy waited for the butler to leave the room. “I have listened to as many insults as I can stomach so early in the day,” he said, “and might draw to your attention to the fact that you do not know the whole story. So far from having the slightest romantic interest in the widowed Lady Fenton – who is Susan’s sister-in-law, in case you had forgotten – I was merely discussing a matter of business with her and her companion, Miss Trevelyan.”

  “That is the Miss T. the paper mentions?” Barnaby asked. “Susan’s timid bosom friend? How is she mixed up in this affair?”

  “She isn’t, except that she has been staying with Lady Fenton in Dorset, as her companion.”

  “Not a terribly convincing chaperone, but better than nothing, I suppose,” Barnaby said. “You never met Lady Fenton alone?”

  “Of course not. I tell you, as lovely as she may be, I have absolutely no designs of any kind on the woman.”

  “Thank God for small mercies,” Lord Branscombe muttered. “Even so, you had no business to approach Fenton’s widow, or she to even talk to you. It looks bad. And what will Sibury say!”

  “Lord Sibury? I am not aware that he has anything to say to the matter,” Jeremy said coldly.

  “You were courting his daughter Muriel until Lady Fenton came to town,” Barnaby pointed out. “Against my advice, if you’ll recall.”

  “Not officially – I have not declared myself, and had already half decided not to do so at all. Lady Fenton’s arrival in London has nothing whatsoever to do with Lord Sibury or Miss Rowan.”

  “From your point of view that may be true, but society will see it otherwise. And so will Lord and Lady Sibury,” Barnaby predicted. Jeremy knew in his heart that he was right.

  “It might be best if you got engaged to Miss Rowan right away,” Lord Branscombe said. “Your betrothal will give the lie to this slanderous article.”

  Jeremy and Barnaby exchanged looks. “No,” Jeremy said decisively. “I am not going to offer for Miss Rowan because some journalist invented a scandalous story.”

  “I agree, it would hardly be the best start to a marriage,” Barnaby seconded him. “Always supposing that Miss Rowan would have you at all, after this. She will feel angry and humiliated. If you marry her to get out of a scandal, she would make you pay for it for the rest of your life.”

  “You owe her an explanation,” his father urged.

  “What could Jer say that would not make matters worse?” Barnaby asked. “I only visited Lady Fenton to discuss a business matter? Muriel would laugh in his face, and not believe a word.”

  “What business matter, anyway?” Lord Branscombe asked suspiciously.

  “Lady Fenton warned me about a document that her late husband had entrusted to
some associate, which contains scurrilous, untrue accusations about Susan as well as herself,” Jeremy explained reluctantly. “We were co-operating in the effort to get hold of it, before it became public and could hurt my sister’s reputation. In an entirely business-like fashion, I assure you.”

  “What! Why did you not tell me?”

  “You were busy, and I did not want to worry you unnecessarily. I was confident we could get hold of this paper before it did actual harm. I still hope so.”

  “So not only are you enmeshed in one scandal, yet another is threatening our family?” The earl sounded more tired than angry, not a good sign.

  “I’m afraid so. Barnaby and I were doing our best to prevent the potential scandal from Fenton’s memoir, but I was blindsided by this other bizarre accusation.”

  His father harrumphed. “It is all you own fault, you know, for not being respectably married already. Had you not delayed all this time, you would be far less vulnerable.”

  “You cannot be sure of that,” Barnaby objected. “If Jer were married and this scandal broke, his innocent wife would suffer too. I believe you should unbind him from that promise to marry soon, Father. It was understandable when you were so sick, but it is only going to force Jeremy into some hasty ill-assorted match, when he is not ready.”

  “Not ready at his age? If I don’t insist on the promise, he may never be ready,” Lord Branscombe maintained.

  “Remember you have three sons, Father. The family is in no immediate danger of dying out.”

  “That is what my friend Lord Lussing thought, too. Four strapping sons, one more than I have. They all died within two years of each other, and in his seventies he is without an heir. Without a single grandson except from his daughters.”

  “What an extraordinary series of unfortunate coincidences,” Barnaby said. “Yet if he had had grandsons in the direct line, they might have died just as easily as his grown sons.”

  Jeremy shook his head at him – he was wasting his time.

  “Be that as it may,” Lord Branscombe’s voice left no doubt that the subject was closed, “what are you going to do about Muriel Rowan, Jeremy?”

  “What can I do? If I call upon her she’s likely to show me the door. And that would only make me a laughing-stock, and add to the scandal. I shall keep well away from her. Maybe at some future stage, after this is all forgotten and we are both married to other people, I can explain to her that it was all a hum.” Catching Barnaby’s ironic eye, he added glumly, “Or maybe not. I have already done enough, I fear.”

  “If you like,” Barnaby offered, “I can talk to Muriel at some ball, tell her you are sorry for the misunderstanding, and wish her well.”

  The butler interrupted their discussion.

  “Lord Fenton to see Lord Barton,” he said expressionlessly, though his eyes gleamed. “Are you at home, my lord?”

  “Fenton? Talk of the devil,” Barnaby exclaimed. Lord Branscombe stared at the servant.

  “It must be the seventh Viscount, the cousin who inherited,” Jeremy said. “If he has read that article, I suppose he wants satisfaction, or at least an explanation. I shall see him in the Green Room, Buldring.”

  “Don’t see him alone,” his father warned. “And promise me not to accept any challenge. Killing one Lord Fenton is more than enough.”

  “From all accounts this man is very different, but whatever he wants, I am determined not to engage in another duel for the rest of my life,” Jeremy reassured him. As he moved towards the Green Room, Barnaby followed on his heels.

  The gentleman waiting there, his hands clasped behind his back, was brown-haired, tall and slim. Keen blue eyes fixed on Jeremy without any of the murderous anger he had half expected, given his experiences with the man’s predecessor.

  “Lord Fenton,” he said neutrally, “this is a surprise. My brother, Barnaby Winthrop. I am Barton.”

  Barnaby minutely inclined his head, watching the visitor mistrustfully. “If you want to challenge my brother, by any chance, you are wasting your time. He has foresworn duels. I, on the other hand – “

  “Please!” Fenton exclaimed with a chuckle. “Do I look like a man tired of life? No, no, I come in peace. This morning, when I first saw that stupid article, I confess I was very angry with you, Lord Barton; but I have seen the young ladies since, and Miss Trevelyan has explained everything.”

  “She has?” Jeremy ignored Barnaby’s perplexed expression. “I am glad to hear it. Have a seat, by the way.” He gestured at the chesterfield and after Lord Fenton sat, his long legs stretched out before him, he and Barnaby followed suit on the matching armchairs. “If you were satisfied with Miss Trevelyan’s explanation – though I fail to see why she owes you any explanations – then what brings you to our house?”

  “Even if the article has the circumstances wrong, and you are not romantically interested in Milla, I mean, Lady Fenton – I am concerned at the vulnerability of her position and the inevitable gossip. My concern extends to Miss Trevelyan, a lady I greatly esteem. That article mentions her as well. She certainly does not deserve to be drawn into a sordid scandal.”

  “You know Miss Trevelyan well?” Barnaby asked, brows furrowed. “I haven’t seen her since my sister Susan’s wedding. She and Susan were inseparable at one time, but then she vanished from London … two years ago, it must be.”

  “She was staying in Dorset, in the Dower House on my estate, as companion to Lady Fenton.” Now the Viscount looked suspicious. “She said that you were an old friend of the family, Lord Barton; that is why she had summoned you to discuss a problem affecting your sister.”

  Barnaby raised his brows, but subsided. He had already blabbed enough, and undermined the excuse Miss Trevelyan had offered Fenton.

  “That is indeed the case,” Jeremy said calmly. “I am better acquainted with Miss Trevelyan than my brother. She was staying at my sister’s house in Cornwall during the same weeks I visited there.” No need to mention that he had escorted her and what had happened on the road. “I should have realised that my calling upon her at the Bonnard Hotel, innocent as it was, might be misinterpreted by society’s gossips. Perhaps naïvely, I had not expected the scandal sheets to take an interest in the matter.”

  “Anything concerning a duel between noble families, and the slightest whiff of illicit romance, is like catnip to them,” Barnaby said. “But it seems the harm is done. What do you expect my brother to do, Lord Fenton?”

  “First of all, stay away from my cousin’s widow. It will be hard enough for her to overcome these rumours. Any contact between the two of you would only do further harm.”

  “I can promise that easily enough, but the problem Miss Trevelyan brought to my attention is not yet resolved. I may have to talk to her again.”

  “Then find some neutral place for your consultation, and leave Lady Fenton out of it. In fact, if you have any influence on Miss Trevelyan, try to persuade her to return to her stepmother’s abode. She is an innocent, too idealistic to take proper care of her own reputation. And they had to go to a hotel! Had I had the least idea that is what they intended, I would have done my best to stop them.”

  “Lady Fenton is strong-willed,” Jeremy said drily. “If you could put a stop to her plans you are a better man than I, or her brother Lord Northcote. And Miss Trevelyan, in her own way, can be very stubborn. Forgive me if the question is indiscreet, but do you have the romantic interest in the young widow, that the paper imputes to me?”

  “No,” the Viscount immediately replied. “She is too strong-willed, as you say, to make a conformable wife, but we are friendly and I admire her – the way one admires a beautiful falcon. But that is neither here nor there. She bears the name I inherited, and I owe her protection, since she seems to have nobody else to look out for her interests.”

  “There are her brother and his wife, my sister Susan,” Jeremy said, “but they are fixed in Cornwall for the present, and even if they were here they could hardly get that paper to recant
, and admit that its sly insinuations were a malicious invention. As for persuading Miss Trevelyan to return to her stepmother, from what I remember of that lady I would not entrust a goldfish to her care, much less a young lady I also admire.”

  “Well then, maybe some other respectable lady… but whatever we might wish, she is too loyal a soul to abandon Milla in the current situation. I only hope that she does not take irreparable social harm from this. A hotel!”

  After extracting Jeremy’s promise not to expose the ladies to any additional gossip, Fenton made his adieux, cordially enough. Jeremy breathed out in relief when he was gone, though he had liked the young man and could easily imagine him becoming a friend after this imbroglio was over.

  “So,” Barnaby said. “You and Miss Trevelyan are old friends? I don’t remember that. You hardly noticed her existence during her one Season.”

  “Not so,” Jeremy said, “I danced with her at Almack’s.” He had only done it once, as a favour to Susan and out of pity, he remembered with a twinge of guilt. What a coxcomb he had been. No wonder she had not wanted to accept him.

  “This new Lord Fenton, who is a great improvement on the previous model, sounded almost épris of Miss Trevelyan,” Barnaby mused. “But if she is the girl I remember – timid and chubby – that seems unlikely. Perhaps standards are lower in the countryside.”

  “She has improved,” Jeremy said curtly, irked by this assessment that he would have shared at one time. “Between Milla and her, though the former is incomparably prettier, I would also prefer Abigail.”

  “Abigail?”

  “Miss Trevelyan.” He cursed the slip of the tongue. “I heard Susan call her Abigail so often that the name stuck in my mind.”

  “Hmm.”

  “We are wasting time,” Jeremy said impatiently. “There is work to be done, and we still have to find this fellow Chatteris, or had you forgotten? Let’s get to it.”

  Barnaby said nothing more, but Jeremy was uneasily conscious of his speculative gaze. Sometimes he wished his brother did not know him quite so well.