by Sandra Heath
Guilt was written large and clear on Summer’s face. Oh, how she wished she and Brand had decided to say something, for if he’d returned to Bevincote last night and told Francis all they knew, things might not have gone like this now. But it was too late, and the worst had happened. “Mr. Lytherby, I—”
“Spare your breath, madam!” he interrupted icily.
Caro looked at them both through a blur of uncomprehending tears. “What is going on? I don’t understand, Francis, truly I don’t! About what should Olivia have warned you? And what insults have been—”
“I will not lower myself to repeat anything! But one thing I will say—no one from this accursed house will ever set foot in Bevincote again, is that clear?” he cried, his voice catching on something close to a sob, although whether it was of anguish or rage, it was impossible to tell,
Caro was devastated. Her whole body shook with uncontrollable sobs as she hid her face in her hands and sank to her knees. “Oh, Francis, F ... Francis ...” she wept.
He continued to address Summer. “And if Brand imagines that my father or I will tolerate his continuing association with you, madam, he is sadly mistaken. Any contact with you will be deemed as disloyalty toward us, and that in turn will lead to his exclusion from all contact with Melinda until she comes of age, which is not for another year.”
“You cannot mean that,” Summer whispered in disbelief.
“Oh, I mean every word, madam!” He gave a harsh laugh that might almost have been his father’s. “We will then very swiftly discover which lady he puts first, will we not? And I doubt if it will be you, madam!”
With that he strode to snatch up his hat and gloves from the entrance hall table. As he went out, the brightness of the snowy park was visible for a moment, then the front door swung violently closed behind him.
Summer caught up her primrose merino skirts to hurry to Caro, whose desolation was piteous to witness. Kneeling, she gathered her sobbing cousin into her arms.
“It is all a terrible misunderstanding, you’ll see,” she said as soothingly as she could, but her anxious glance went to the library door. What on earth had Uncle Merriam said that could drive Francis into such a white-hot fury?
Caro’s eyes swam with tears. “What did Francis mean, Olivia? About what should you have warned him?”
“I just knew that your father was anxious about something, that’s all,” Summer said inadequately, not certain what Brand would consider wise to say at this point.
“Father? But he hasn’t said anything to me!” Caro looked away in confusion, more hot tears welling from her eyes. “Oh, Olivia, I wish I were dead, I wish I were dead ...”
“No you don’t, for you and Francis will still be married!” Summer declared firmly, turning toward a maid who was hovering uneasily at the other end of the hall. “Have Gwenny bring some sugared orange flower water immediately!” she ordered.
As the maid hastened away, Summer smoothed Caro’s hair back from her hot forehead, then held her face in her hands. “Listen to me, Caro Merriam, I don’t care what was said in the library just now, or what Francis said to us before he left; he still loves you, I know he does, so this will all be sorted out, I swear it will.”
Caro shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “It’s all over.”
“Don’t talk like that! I won’t let you!”
Startled by Summer’s vehemence, Caro struggled to collect what she could of her self-control, but then recalled something else Francis had said. She looked up at Summer. “What is between Sir Brand and you, Olivia?”
“I love him, Caro.”
“Does he love you?”
“Yes.”
A fresh whimper slipped from Caro’s lips. “Francis doesn’t love me anymore, he hates me!” Her fingers dug pathetically through Summer’s sleeves as the moment of calm came to an end in more hysterical sobs.
“That isn’t true; Francis does love you,” Summer insisted, looking up thankfully as Gwenny hurried toward them with the orange flower water.
“Cook says it’s her own recipe, madam,” the maid said, as if that ensured its efficacy.
Summer held the glass to Caro’s lips. “Sip this, it will calm you.”
For a moment or so Caro was still too overwrought to obey, but at last she put her shaking hands to the glass and drank a little.
Summer smoothed the disheveled red-gold hair again. “It will be all right, Caro, I cannot and will not believe otherwise. You and Francis were meant for each other, and nothing will change that.”
Caro’s tear-filled eyes shone with unutterable wretchedness. “I want to believe you, Olivia, but I cannot...”
Summer got up and gave the glass to Gwenny. “Take Miss Merriam to her room, and see that she drinks all of this and then rests. Stay with her until I come.”
“Yes, madam.”
Summer assisted Caro to her feet. “Go with Gwenny now. I won’t be long.”
Still choking back sobs, Caro allowed the maid to lead her away toward the staircase, at the top of which there was now no sign at all of George Bradshaw.
Summer waited until Gwenny had ushered Caro out of sight on the next floor, then turned to the library door. She had to speak to Uncle Merriam, to try to find out what had been said. Taking a huge breath to prepare herself for what was bound to be a very awkward and sensitive conversation, she opened the door and went in.
Caro’s father was seated at his desk, his head in his hands, and she saw that he too had tears on his cheeks. “Uncle Merriam?”
He rose swiftly to his feet. “Please leave me, Olivia,” he said, searching his pockets for a handkerchief, then wiping his eyes as he strove to compose himself.
“I can’t leave, Uncle, not without learning what happened.”
“It isn’t something I can speak of to you, my dear.”
“Well, since Francis accuses me of callously allowing him to be lured here so that he could be unspeakably insulted, I think you owe me an explanation.”
“Oh, my dear...”
“You told Sir Brand that all was well when it quite clearly wasn’t.”
“I had to, my dear, for Caro was within earshot, and I wished to protect her from worry. When Sir Brand brought you back last night, I made a spur-of-the-moment decision.”
She faced him across the desk. “What happened, Uncle?” she asked again.
A nerve twitched at the side of her uncle’s mouth, and he ran agitated fingers across the embossed leather surface of the desk. “I cannot speak to a woman of such shocking things, Olivia,” he said again.
“What shocking things?”
He exhaled slowly. “I was obliged to speak to Francis concerning a matter of debauchery,” he said then, being very careful to avoid her eyes.
“Debauchery? Uncle, I’m a widow, not a green girl,” she reminded him.
“Nevertheless, that is all I am prepared to say.”
She searched his face. What on earth had that devious toad of a lawyer been whispering? All manner of other wild possibilities coursed through her mind in those few seconds, but then one in particular stood out from all the rest. Of course. What was the single sexual circumstance that was bound to make a loving father like Henry Merriam feel he had to protect his daughter from marriage to a man she adored? A circumstance he would find too shocking to even discuss?
“Uncle Merriam, has it been suggested to you that Francis has, er... How shall I put it... a less than suitable interest in his own sex?”
A horrid silence fell upon the room, and her uncle’s eyes dropped unhappily to the desk. “You should not even be aware that such preferences exist, Olivia,” he murmured.
Now she understood only too well why Francis had reacted as furiously as he had! “But I am aware, Uncle, just as I am also aware that Francis Lytherby is not of that inclination.”
She couldn’t believe George Bradshaw had chosen this of all ways to carry out Lord Lytherby’s wishes. Did the fool really imagine a man like Lytherb
y would approve of such a thing being said of his only son and heir?
Uncle Merriam looked sadly at her. “But I fear Francis Lytherby is of that persuasion, my dear,” he insisted quietly.
“Who told you he was, Uncle?”
“I would prefer not to say.”
“You don’t have to, because I already know.” She eyed him. “It was Mr. Bradshaw, wasn’t it?”
He met her eyes, but remained stubbornly silent.
“Well, wasn’t it?” she pressed. “Oh, Uncle Merriam, I warned you at the ball not to take his word for anything!”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I know you did, but how can a matter like this be verified other than by confrontation? George told me that before leaving London he came upon some very unsavory rumors, and that after making inquiries he was dismayed to find they were well-founded. He came here knowing he couldn’t shirk the disagreeable task of telling me.
“Olivia, his only thought was of Caro, and so he advised me to break off the match without saying anything of the true reason. He suggested I pretend to have decided that taking on the responsibility of Bevincote would be too much for her, and that is why he said what he did in the carriage on the way to the ball.”
So that was how the lawyer hoped to get away with it, Summer thought.
Her uncle continued. “Once I had been apprised of these singularly unwelcome facts I knew I had to do something, so I went to the ball, intending to observe Francis, but found nothing untoward in his conduct. Then, when he and Sir Brand came here a day or so later, I was again left with the belief that the stories must after all be mischievous, but George insisted they were true, and his arguments finally convinced me to end the match on some invented ground or other.
“But when it came down to it, I knew I couldn’t break off the betrothal unless I had a truly unassailable reason. I felt I owed it to Francis to be honest, just as I also owed it to Caro; nothing less than the truth would do. I said nothing to George of my decision, for it seemed disloyal to go so completely against his advice.”
Summer recalled the lawyer’s uneasy figure at the top of the stairs. What a shock he must have had when he realized his scheme had flown back in his face. No wonder he was nervous, for once news of this got back to Bevincote, he knew that he would bear the full brunt of Lord Lytherby’s fury! At a stroke all hope of regaining his IOU’s had been destroyed, and only ruin lay ahead.
She looked at Uncle Merriam. “He first told you in Berkeley on the day of the ball, didn’t he?”
He nodded. “And I’ve been worrying about it ever since, so much so that when Sir Brand brought you back here last night, I suddenly felt the moment had come to take my courage in both hands. The rest you know.”
“Yes, and I also know that Mr. Bradshaw invented the whole distressing story,” she said bluntly.
“Oh, no, Olivia, I cannot permit you to say that. George was very upset indeed that he had to convey tidings that would break Caro’s heart. She is his niece, and he loves her, so what possible reason could he have for inventing anything?”
“Every reason in the world. Send for him now, and I will prove it.”
“Prove it?”
“Yes,” she said with conviction.
For a moment he hesitated, then nodded. “As you wish.” He picked up the little handbell on the desk and went out into the hall to ring it loudly. The maid who came was dispatched to find George Bradshaw.
Summer was nervous, but determined as she and her uncle waited in silence. In spite of the lawyer’s undoubted state of panic right now, the mere fact that he was a lawyer meant it would be far from easy to extract a confession from him, but she had one trump card—she’d overheard every word in the billiard room at Bevincote.
George Bradshaw’s steps sounded in the hall, then the door opened. “You wished to see me, Henry?”
“Yes, George. Please come in.”
Chapter Twenty-four
The lawyer entered. “I could not help but hear you and Mr. Lytherby arguing, Henry. I confess I’m a little dismayed that you went against my advice,” he said.
Summer almost wanted to laugh. A little dismayed? He was sick to the stomach! She studied him. He was pale, but controlled to the point of tenseness, she decided. This latter observation encouraged her, for it suggested he might not be as difficult to unsettle as she’d feared.
Suddenly, he noticed her. “Why, Mrs. Courtenay, I did not realize you were here.”
“Sir.” She inclined her head and went to sit on a chair by the window.
Her uncle gestured his brother-in-law to another chair. “Please be seated, George, for we may as well be comfortable.”
The lawyer flicked his dark coattails as he sat down. “Before you commence, Henry, I regret I’ve received unexpected word from London and have to leave immediately. I’ve already ordered my carriage to be made ready. I do hope you accept my heartfelt apologies.”
Summer’s lips twitched, for the words were too transparent for belief.
“Of course I do, George,” Uncle Merriam replied, but lowered his glance thoughtfully.
“So what is it you wish to say to me, Henry?”
“Well, it concerns this business with Francis Lytherby. I...” Caro’s father glanced at Summer. “Perhaps you had better proceed, Olivia.”
A new guardedness swept into George Bradshaw’s small eyes. “I, er, fail to see how Mrs. Courtenay and I can have anything to say on such a delicate subject,” he murmured.
She looked at him. “On the contrary, Mr. Bradshaw, I have a great deal to say. To begin with, not one word of your disgraceful charge against Francis Lytherby is true.”
Affecting to be insulted, he leapt to his feet. “I will not be called a liar, madam!”
“But you are a liar, sir,” she replied quietly.
Caro’s father waved him to sit down again. “Please, Henry.”
With an ill grace, the lawyer resumed his place. “As you wish, but I remain here under protest if Mrs. Courtenay intends to impugn my honor.”
Uncle Merriam looked at her. “Proceed, my dear.”
She nodded. “Mr. Bradshaw, you have invented this tale about Francis because in order to avoid debtor’s jail you have to do what Lord Lytherby wishes.”
Uncle Merriam’s jaw dropped, and he stared at her. “Olivia, my dear, I trust you can back up such a shocking assertion?”
“Yes, Uncle, I can,” she replied.
George Bradshaw leapt to his feet again and crashed his fist down upon Uncle Merriam’s desk with such force that the inkstand rattled. “Oh, no, you can’t, madam, for every word is grossly untrue!” he cried.
Meeting his eyes without a single flinch, she repeated verbatim the conversation she’d overheard.
His face went more and more pale, and when she finished, he tried to reply in a level tone. “This is the most preposterous and malicious invention I have ever heard. Lord Lytherby cannot hold IOU’s that do not exist! No, this is just a mischievous female scheme to assist my poor niece to cling to a match upon which she has misguidedly set her heart! Have you no conscience? Does it not concern you that Caro will be made deeply unhappy if she becomes Francis Lytherby’s wife?”
“There is nothing misguided about Caro’s love for Francis, sir.”
His eyes rested hatefully on her. “And since when have you had any real thought for your cousin, Mrs. Courtenay?” he asked softly.
“What do you mean by that?” she demanded, but her heart tightened uneasily as she realized he’d guessed more than she hoped at the Black Lion.
“Oh, I think you know, Mrs. Courtenay. I refer to the questionable scene I happened upon in yard of the Black Lion in Tetbury. Was Sir Brand departing without paying for services rendered?”
Uncle Merriam got up hastily from his seat. “George!”
The lawyer turned to him. “Don’t be fooled by this young woman, Henry, for she is not the lady she pretends to be; far from it, in fact. I arrived at the Black Lion to f
ind her running after Sir Brand Huntingford in a most undignified and shocking manner, so I made one or two inquiries at the inn. Inn servants are very observant, my dear, and most communicative if their palms are crossed with a coin or two. I learned that Mrs. Courtenay had spent the previous night in her room with Sir Brand Huntingford, whom she had met only a few hours before! They were witnessed kissing tenderly as they parted on the gallery at dawn.”
Uncle Merriam looked at Summer, who was now at such a disadvantage that humiliated color flooded into her cheeks. The situation she’d dreaded since the Black Lion had now come about, and she was so stricken she almost lost her nerve, but from nowhere her courage suddenly flooded back, and she raised her chin haughtily.
“If you knew this, Mr. Bradshaw, why did you not tell Lord Lytherby? After all, I’m sure he would prefer the match to be ended due to the scandalous behavior of a member of the unwanted bride’s family, than because of a monstrous calumny against his son!” she cried, silently giving thanks that the lawyer hadn’t also found out about her dinner assignation with Jeremy.
He met her eyes without replying.
His silence made her mind race, for it suggested she had always had a safety net she still couldn’t perceive. What was it? Why hadn’t he used his knowledge? Suddenly, it came to her, and she gave a cry of triumph.
“Of course! You couldn’t say anything because you knew that Sir Brand, being a true gentleman, would promptly protect my reputation by denying every word.” The irony of it made her almost want to laugh, for the lawyer had realized the one thing she herself had not—that Brand was a man of honor!
Fury quivered visibly through him. “Oh, how very sure of yourself you are, madam, but I fear your smug confidence is a little premature. Maybe I could not employ my knowledge where Lord Lytherby was concerned, and maybe Sir Brand would indeed shield your reputation, but after your despicable charges against me today, can you suggest a reason why I should not secretly acquaint London society with every wanton detail? There are many newspapers eager to fill their columns with on dits. I’m sure the beau monde would be immensely titillated to learn how lewdly Major Courtenay’s apparently upstanding widow conducts herself when she stays at country inns! I have nothing to lose; you most certainly do!”