Then she spotted the bold, ugly headline and her heart sluiced down into the toes of her shoes.
Chapter Eighteen
“Who Chaperones The Chaperone?” Will Carmont made a face as he read the headline aloud. He and young Duckworth huddled in Sir Robert’s study perusing the newspapers. “Bloody hell! Where did the London Gazette get such rubbish?”
Sir Robert glanced up from an editorial in The Spectator. “Keep reading and you’ll soon discover the source.”
“It’s that Sykes creature!” Duckworth slapped down a copy of The Herald on Sir Robert’s desk with violent force. “My Lily told me all about her. I’ll wager you’d find more honest women in the gin dens of Barrack Street! No doubt she made up this pile of slander to revenge herself against Mrs. Finch for sending her back to England.”
Will Carmont looked bilious. “What I cannot fathom is why the papers would print such stuff.”
“You must admit, the story has all the elements that make for titillating reading.” Sir Robert bunched the newspaper he was holding in his fist. “A lecherous colonial governor. The beautiful chaperone to a shipload of brides—who just happens to be the estranged daughter of a marquess. A near riot on the property where a royal duke once resided with his mistress. Innocent girls being seduced by the soldiers set to guard them. What does a trifle like the truth matter compared to all that?”
“I see what you mean.” Will exchanged papers with Duckworth. “The stories do not tally very well with one another do they? This one claims you demanded…er…romantic favors…from Mrs. Finch in exchange for your support. The Gazette says she seduced you into cooperating. Both bloody rot, of course, but I reckon it does make for more salacious reading than her winning your cooperation in a chess match.”
Sir Robert gave a grim nod. “I’ll wager you anything that Sykes woman caught the ear of someone in England with his own ax to grind.”
“Enemies?” Will’s brows shot up. “Of yours?”
“My appointment as governor was not universally popular in Whitehall.” Sir Robert leaned back in his chair as he expelled a long sigh. “You must have heard the grumbling about ‘Wellington’s Waterloo Warriors’ getting so many colonial appointments. I reckon someone seized upon this scandal to discredit the duke as much as anything.”
All he’d ever wanted was to do a little good for the people of Nova Scotia and to make his old commander proud.
“Blackguards!” Will began to pace the study. “You must mount a counteroffensive. The press may reckon the truth a trifling matter, but the High Court will take a different view. There are laws against libel, written to protect innocent people from this brand of irresponsible—”
“I am not taking anyone to court, Will.”
The colonel stopped in his tracks. “A strongly worded letter of denial, then, with supporting testimony from me and others who know the truth of the matter.”
Sir Robert shook his head. “I cannot refute these charges. And you know why.”
“Yes, but…” Will sputtered. “I mean, it’s nobody’s business. You must… Damn!”
Damn, indeed. Any effort to rebut the stories in these newspapers would only drag his reputation and Jocelyn’s deeper into the mud. Neither of them could stand up in court and swear they had never been intimate. The true circumstances of their liaison hardly mattered.
Sir Robert recalled a pithy saying of his mother’s. It’s better to stay silent and be thought a fool, laddie, than open yer mouth and prove you are. In this case, better to stay silent and be presumed sinful than to launch a protest that would expose his scandalous secret.
The study door flew open and Jocelyn rushed in. “I came as soon as I heard—”
She started at the sight of the colonel and Mr. Duckworth.
“I beg your pardon!” She began to back out of the room. “I can see you are busy. I never would have… Only, I was so distressed by what I read in the papers.”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. The full, sweet lower lip he had suckled on last night while fondling her breasts. His body roused at the memory. Sir Robert cursed himself. Were these lies in the press really so much more shameful than the truth?
“Please don’t leave on my account.” Will Carmont headed for the door. “I must be going at once. A…an…an inspection…at the Grand Parade!” He caught the governor’s eye. “We’ll talk over the matter tonight at dinner. Sally’s sure to know what to do. A good head on her pretty shoulders, that woman.”
“Will.”
“Eh?” The colonel paused in his hasty exit.
“Please give Mrs. Carmont my regrets.” Sir Robert tried to bring some order to the pile of newspapers strewn over his desk. “As matters stand, I had better not dine with you tonight. I do not want your reputation tainted by association.”
Will Carmont had barely gotten out the door when Duckworth suddenly remembered urgent duties elsewhere and hurried off. A brittle silence settled over Sir Robert’s study.
Jocelyn shattered it with a quivering sigh that broke off in a choked sob. “You said I would be the ruin of you.” Her face crumpled like a child’s. “Can you ever forgive me?”
“Forgive?” He nearly tripped in his haste to circle his desk and fold her in his embrace. “My dear Jocelyn, don’t talk such foolishness! You have no reason to reproach yourself. I am a grown man and I made my own choices. In spite of all this, I do not repent them. I can only hope you will not either.”
His political reputation might end up in tatters, but society tended to forgive a man’s romantic misadventures as long as they did not involve adultery. A woman’s reputation was far more easily tainted. And that taint could have grievous consequences. There might still be one way to salvage Jocelyn’s reputation, however.
He leaned forward and canted his head so her hair whispered against his cheek. “We must marry now.” If this whole shameful business gave her reason to agree, then he could live with the humiliation. “It will be for the best. Surely you must see that?”
“No, I do not see it!” Struggling free of his embrace, Jocelyn wrapped her arms around herself, one hand rubbing against the opposite arm in a gesture of agitation…or self-comfort. “For us to wed under these circumstances would only confirm our guilt in the eyes of anyone whose opinion we value.”
He did not want to heed her, but reason compelled him.
“In that case, I must resign my post.” Under the circumstances, what other honorable course was open to him?
“No!” cried Jocelyn. “You must not. I could not bear to have cost you your position. Those reports are false. We became lovers long after everything with the bride ship was settled. I did not seduce you to gain your cooperation, any more than you used your power to coerce me. Like a hasty marriage, your resignation would only be taken as a sign of guilt.”
“What are we to do, then?” Robert kneaded his throbbing temples. “It will only be a matter of time before Mr. Wye gets wind of this rubbish and circulates it throughout the colony.”
Jocelyn flinched at his words.
He knew what that meant. “Wye already knows, doesn’t he?”
She gave a rueful nod. “He was the one who broke the news to me. As for what we are to do, I confess I do not know. I only know what we must not do, on any account.”
Had she meant to accept Sir Robert if he proposed marriage a second time? Under other circumstances perhaps. But the arrival of the London newspapers had altered circumstances beyond repair.
Jocelyn stared at the copies of the Spectator and the Gazette littering the governor’s desk. They covered up official papers such as the assembly bills he must sign into law, petitions from new settlers for grants of land, the survey for a proposed system of canals to run from Halifax to the Bay of Fundy. In the same way, Jocelyn feared this scandal would overshadow all the worthwhile work Sir Robert had done for the colony. And it would be her fault.
She must find some way to salvage the situation. Whatever it took,
she would do it.
She backed away from the governor, each step a wrenching effort. “Promise me you will take no hasty action in this matter. Give me a little time.”
His shoulders sagged. “Time to do what, Jocelyn?”
The unfairness of the whole situation riled her temper. “I don’t know! But it is not in my nature to give up without a fight.”
He nodded and the grim set of his features softened. “Did I not say you would make a fine general?”
If she were a general and this her toughest battle, the tenderness she felt for him was a traitorous ally at best. She must retreat before it betrayed her. Even a word of farewell might sabotage her resolve. So she jammed her lips together, turned away from him and fled.
Only when she had reached the street did she pause to gasp for breath. When a man stepped out from the shadow of the governor’s stable and walked toward her, she scarcely noticed him until he spoke.
“Mrs. J. Finch was seen departing Government House in some haste at nine minutes past four o’clock on the afternoon of Tuesday instant,” said Mr. Wye. “She was unaccompanied.”
For a moment Jocelyn puzzled his strange greeting. Then she realized he was quoting from a report he meant to publish in the Gazette. Her initial dismay evaporated in a flash of rage. Here was an enemy she could engage in open battle.
Perhaps the editor mistook her instant of stunned silence for weakness. “Do you have an explanation for your presence here, ma’am? Perhaps you have a statement you wish to make about the allegations against you and Governor Kerr?”
Jocelyn fixed the man with a haughty glare that would have done her father proud. “Naturally I came here as soon as you informed me of these vile slanders. I offered His Excellency whatever assistance I can provide in clearing his name. The London papers have printed a pack of lies spread by a malicious person of dubious character, who wished to revenge herself upon me. I deeply regret that in doing so she stooped to blacken your governor’s good name, and, by association, the character of this fine colony.”
The glitter in Mr. Wye’s granite eyes dimmed a little. For the first time since Jocelyn had met him, he appeared at a loss for words.
Certain that loss would be temporary, she took advantage while it lasted. “I am certain you must be offended by the tone of those reports, sir, and anxious to defend Nova Scotia against such intolerable defamation.”
What could he say to that? She had summarily drafted him to her side, whether he wanted to be there or not. Whatever her opinion of the man in other respects, she could not deny his ferocious loyalty to the colony.
She left him muttering dark condemnation of “London scandal mongers” and “sensation seekers.” But any satisfaction she drew from the encounter had dissipated by the time she reached the Carmonts’.
One look at Sally’s face told her no explanations were necessary. She was grateful for that much at least.
“Come and sit down, my dear!” Sally pulled her toward a chair. “Will told me what happened. How awful for you both! Let me call for tea, or would you prefer something stronger?”
“Tea will be fine.” Jocelyn sank onto the chair, allowing herself a momentary lapse into despair. “I need to keep all my wits about me just now. And I would not want to give the newspapers grounds for claiming I have taken to drink.”
“By the way,” said Sally as she rang for a servant, “a letter came for you while you were out. A boy from the Hestia brought it.”
“The Hestia?” Jocelyn grimaced. “It must be from Mrs. Beamish, demanding an explanation. Or perhaps my head.”
She had been so worried about how this scandal would affect the governor, she’d given no thought to how badly it might reflect upon the bride-ship scheme. In a selfish quest to satisfy her own desires, she had jeopardized the two things she cared about most. How could she ever hope to make things right?
Sally crossed to the hearth and retrieved a sealed letter from the mantel. “Would you rather wait to read it? Until you’ve had a nice cup of tea, perhaps? Or a good night’s sleep.”
“Or hell freezes?” Jocelyn held out her hand for the letter. “If I thought any of those events would make the contents more palatable, I would wait. But I am certain they will not, so I might as well get the worst over with. Hmm? The writing does not look like Mrs. Beamish’s.”
Yet there was something familiar about the spiky script. When Jocelyn turned the folded packet over to break the seal, she understood why. Impressed in the wax was the Breckland crest. The letter must have come from her father.
“No doubt writing to scold me for bringing further shame on the family.” Perhaps she should wait to read it. Or perhaps she should tell Sally to toss it in the fire. Then again, could her father say any worse of her than she’d already thought about herself? Before her nerve failed, she broke the seal, unfolded the paper and began to read.
My dear daughter. The opening salutation surprised Jocelyn after what she had been expecting. No doubt her father considered it the proper form of address even if he no longer truly held her dear.
I have read with dismay some accounts in the London newspapers of your troubles abroad. This was more in keeping with the tone Jocelyn had expected. What came next was not.
Rest assured I give no credence to reports of wrong-doing on your part. If, however, this Kerr fellow has imposed upon you, send word and I will exert all my influence on your behalf with the Colonial Office to have him swiftly removed from his position.
“Jocelyn,” cried Sally, “whatever is wrong?”
She tried to reply, but a sudden tightening of her throat would not permit it. Her father’s offer was quite the opposite of what she wanted. But the fact that he had offered, after all that had passed between them, moved her.
Though I deplore your present situation, I must confess my gratitude to the newspapers for informing me of your whereabouts. I regret I have some unhappy news to convey.
“There is something wrong.” After a brief word to the serving girl, Sally rushed back to her friend’s side. “Do tell me how I can help?”
A tear slid down Jocelyn’s cheek, but she recovered her voice. “My brother. Do you remember him? Lord Thetford. I had rather hoped he and your sister Caroline might make a match of it. The poor fellow has been dead these two months and I knew nothing of it.”
The full consequences of her decision to cut herself off from her family suddenly struck her. “His wife died three years ago, giving birth to their younger son. My father now has charge of the two little boys. He writes to ask if I might return to England to supervise their upbringing.”
I am an old man, broken in spirit over the loss of my sons and the estrangement of my daughter. The latter I regret most, for it is a misfortune of my own making, one I might have prevented. Was he trying to flatter her so she would do his bidding? Impossible! The marquess had never been one to flatter or plead when he could order or demand. But he was pleading now.
I know I have no right to ask, but for the sake of your young nephews, I must.
“Will you do it?” asked Sally.
Slowly Jocelyn lowered her father’s letter to her lap. A hundred conflicting thoughts raced round and round in her mind. Yet, in the eye of that tempest she discovered a center of calm certainty. Perhaps the time had come for her to embrace what she had resisted for so long. “I think it is my duty.”
“Will!” Robert sprang from behind his desk and seized his friend’s hand, wringing it until poor Carmont winced. “What news? I have been at my wit’s end!”
“You look it.” The colonel extracted his hand from Robert’s grasp then flexed it gingerly. “I do not think I have ever seen you as rough as this. Not even on that miserable forced march to Corona. Have you slept at all? When did you eat last?”
Robert shook his head. “It does not matter. Tell me of Jocelyn? Is she well? Has she changed her mind and decided to marry me after all?”
Will Carmont winced harder than when Robert had s
haken his hand. “I did not know you’d asked her.”
“Twice.”
Unable to abide his friend’s pitying expression, Robert spun about and strode back to his chair, dropping onto it with a sigh. “I have been waiting for news of this scandal to break in the Gazette, but Wye has printed nothing. I do not understand. What is he waiting for? I have never known him to keep silent about anything that might stir up controversy and sell more papers.”
“Jocelyn had a word with Mr. Wye, I gather,” said Will. “Convinced him all the reports from London amounted to a defamation of Nova Scotia, as well as you and her.”
For the first time since those newspapers had landed on his desk, Robert smiled. “She is a remarkable woman. I must speak with her and try to convince her—”
“No!” Will began to pace the width of the study. “That would not be wise. I’m almost certain my house is being watched. And this place, too, no doubt. Wye could be holding his fire until he feels he has proof of his own about an improper connection between you and Jocelyn. That is why she sent me with a message for you.”
“Well, spit it out, man! Why did you not tell me before? What does she say?”
“She is going back to England. Sailing on the Hestia tomorrow morning.”
He had expected as much. So why did this confirmation of what he had foreseen come as such a blow?
“Will she come back in the spring with another bride ship?” Or would the scandal make that impossible?
After a moment’s hesitation, Will Carmont shook his head. “She has had bad news from home.” Briefly he relayed the facts—the death of Jocelyn’s brother, her two young nephews orphaned, the marquess’s appeal for her help, Jocelyn’s decision.
“I am sorry to be the bearer of such news,” Will concluded. “Jocelyn begs you to stand firm and not dignify these accusations with a response. She is convinced this will all blow over once she leaves Nova Scotia.”
Robert surged out of his chair and strode to the window, staring out toward the harbor where a ship waited to take Jocelyn away from him…forever. “I am convinced of quite the opposite.”
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