Countess of Scandal

by Laurel McKee

  "I am ready to depart, General Hardwick," Will said. A day was not much time at all, but surely it was enough to persuade Eliza to take her family and leave the country. One way or another.

  "Well, that is the thing, Major Denton. I have a different request for you."

  "A different request? Am I not to go to Wexford with my regiment?" Will asked, puzzled.

  "Of course, eventually. They could hardly do without you. But for now, Lord Camden asks you to go home."

  "Home?" Will was thoroughly confused now and angry, too. Was his loyalty now being called into question? Was he being shunted away to keep him out of trouble—and to keep from doing Eliza any good?

  "You are from Kildare, are you not?" the general said.

  "Yes, sir. My family is at Moreton Manor."

  General Hardwick shook his head. "A most dangerous place, Kildare. Full of Foxite families with strange liberal ideas. And the terrain is as dangerous as the populace. The Bog of Allen is the perfect place for rebels to lurk and ambush our soldiers who do not know the land."

  Will laughed humorlessly. "I am certainly aware of the bog, General. But my own family is scarcely Foxite."

  "Indeed not. Lord Camden has received a request from Prime Minister Pitt himself that Lady Moreton be given a passport to England and a berth on a ship immediately."

  "No doubt my mother wishes to join my father in London."

  "And be away before trouble starts. Very wise of her. In fact, I am sending my own wife and daughter to England before the week is out"

  "I am sure Dublin will greatly miss their presence."

  General Hardwick smiled. "As will I. But I am sure they will return very soon, and Ireland will be peaceful and loyal once more. With your help."

  "My help, sir?"

  "Kildare is quiet enough for the present, but that will surely not last long. We need you to go there for a time to keep an eye on events."

  'To spy?" Will said tightly. "I fear that is not my way, General"

  "Nay, not spy, Major. Alert us to danger. It will be for only a short time, and then you must rejoin your regiment"

  "Where am I to be lodged? In a barracks?"

  "We thought you might stay at Moreton Manor. Such a strategic location, it should not be left empty when Lady Moreton has departed."

  "And what precisely am I to . . . keep an eye on, General?"

  "Whatever seems suspicious, I believe." General Hardwick reached inside a leather pouch, drawing out a thick bundle of papers. "For instance, our soldiers recently raided a home near Kilrush and found an illegal United Irish printing press. They broke up the press and seized these."

  He handed them to Will, who quickly rifled through them. Among the leaflets and pages from Paine and Rousseau was a smudged pamphlet Proposals for the Prosperity and Independence of Ireland, written By A Lady Patriot

  "The proprietors of the press were arrested, of course," the general said. "Respectable merchants of the town, no one had suspected them. They claim they do not know the authors of these works. Perhaps a time in Kilmainham Gaol and the threat of execution will sharpen their memories. In the meantime, Kildare can no longer be neglected."

  "And so I am the one to remedy this neglect?" Will said, carefully placing the pamphlet on the table.

  "You will hardly be alone, Major. Regiments are being posted there as we speak. But none of our other officers know the country as you do."

  "I have been away from there a long time."

  "Yet they will surely be more likely to trust you than someone like myself." General Hardwick leaned closer. "And it will be a chance for you to take care of your own family and friends, Major Denton. To keep them safe, assure them of their best interests."

  Will thought of his mother, no doubt frightened out of her wits. Of the Blacknalls at Killinan Castle. The houses and lands he loved. Of Eliza and her damnable seditious pamphlets that could get her killed. "Then I shall go, of course."

  "Very good, Major," the general said, handing him a rolled document "Here are your orders. You can leave on the morrow with your escort. And now, if you will excuse me, I must go and bid farewell to my own family."

  "I hope you will send my best wishes to Mrs. and Miss Hardwick for a safe journey," Will said. "And a swift homecoming."

  General Hardwick smiled sadly. "I'm sure they will appreciate it, Major Denton, especially Lydia. Safe voyage to you as well."

  Will made his way slowly from the council room, his fist wrapped around the orders. Tomorrow—it did not leave much time at all. But he had to persuade Eliza to give up her work now, to leave Ireland, or at least go back to Kildare with him and stay with her family.

  Or he would have to learn to say good-bye to her all over again.

  Chapter 14

  When do you go?" Eliza said quietly. She stared out her chamber window at the darkened street below, but she did not see it, not really. She only knew Will's words.

  He was leaving Dublin.

  She had known it was coming, of course, when he left the card party. But she still felt the cold, wintry chill of loneliness.

  "Tomorrow," he answered.

  She looked back over her shoulder to find him by the fireplace, his arm braced on the mantel as he watched the crackling flames. She could not read his face at all, the angles of it thrown into sharp, harsh relief by the glow. Yet his back and shoulders were rigid, his hands curled into fists. It was as if he was already gone from her.

  "So soon?" she said.

  "I have my orders. Events proceed apace, it seems."

  "Where are you going?"

  He did glance at her then, but the smile on his lips held no humor. "Why, Eliza? Do you want to tell your friends of our movements?"

  Was that truly what he thought of her? Eliza flattened her palms on the windowsill, feeling the painted wood pressing roughly on her skin. If only physical pain would take away that blasted ache in her heart!

  "I am not a spy," she said.

  "Nor am I," he muttered. "But these are strange days we live in. Who knows what we will be forced to do?"

  Eliza shook her head, her throat tight and aching. "Are you going far away?"

  "I am first to travel to Moreton Manor. My mother is leaving for England and requires my assistance. Then ... who knows."

  "Moreton?" She pushed back from the window, joining him by the fire. They stood merely feet away, yet it felt like miles. "Will you be able to look in on my family, too? I worry about them."

  "Of course I will. I'll do all I can for them. But perhaps you could come with me, take care of them yourself."

  "Go with you?" Eliza stared at him in astonishment "To Kildare?"

  He nodded solemnly. "It would be safer for you if you had an escort, and I know you must miss them. It would be safer, too, if you were with your family. Your mother is above any suspicion."

  "I do miss my family, very much. They are much on my mind of late," she said. She did miss them, even her mother, who she had so often quarreled with in the past Missed them and worried about them.

  "Then you will come?"

  She shook her head. "I cannot go with you."

  "Eliza!" He suddenly cracked his palm against the mantel, making her jump. The books and ornaments rattled. His eyes were dark with frustration, anger, and worry. "I am trying to help you. To see you safe."

  "Safe? Surely none of us are that, not now."

  "But you refuse to see the truth of this situation. You refuse to even try to take care of yourself."

  Eliza covered her face with her hands, a fire of her own anger bubbling inside of her. "I have been taking care of myself for a long time, Will. Ever since you left, as a matter of fact."

  He laughed bitterly. "And you are doing a marvelous job of it, Lady Democratical." She heard him shove away from the mantel and lowered her hands to watch him stride across the room to where he had dropped a valise on the floor. He pulled out a crumpled, smudged sheet of paper.

  "What is that?" she said waril
y.

  "Do you not recognize it?" As she stared at him, he seized her arm and held up the paper before her eyes.

  Oh yes, she certainly recognized it. It was a page from her pamphlet. And it could only be an ill omen that he had it.

  "Is this not your work?" he said, not letting her go. "I remember your writings from when we were young, your fine satirical style."

  "Where did you get that?" she whispered.

  "I got it at Dublin Castle," he answered. "A United Irish printing press was raided, and this was among the works."

  "No!" Eliza cried out She reached instinctively for the paper, shocked by the terrible news of yet more arrests. But he tossed it into the fire and seized her by the shoulders, holding her close.

  "Eliza," he said roughly. "Look at me, damn it all!"

  She raised her eyes to his face, and what she saw there frightened her. Her Will, her beautiful, lighthearted lover, was filled with fury—and dark desperation.

  "Eliza," he said, suddenly terribly, terribly gentle. "Matters are about to become very serious. We can no longer escape it."

  "I know," she whispered.

  "If you are found to be the author of that pamphlet, you will be hanged. If you won't think of yourself, for God's sake think of me. Of your family."

  She closed her eyes, swallowing hard as if she could already feel the rough hemp of the rope. "I do think of them." And of him—too much.

  'Then let me see you to Killinan."

  "I'm sorry, Will. But I can't go. I am too deeply pledged."

  Will's lips tightened, as if he held back a spasm of pain. Or was it an angry curse?

  She ached, too. Something precious and vital was breaking inside of her, falling into dust and blowing away in the cold wind as if it had never been.

  "I am pledged as well. To my family, my work," he said. He raised her hands to his lips, kissing one, then the other, warm and lingering. "I will leave tomorrow. If you change your mind, send me word."

  She nodded, but they both knew the truth. Neither of them could change their minds, abandon their course. They had to part, even as what they might have had, might have been, fell into ruin.

  "Wait," she said. She hurried to her dressing table, taking a small portrait out of the drawer. It was not new; it had been painted when she married Mount Clare, a miniature of her young self framed in pearls. Maybe if Will had it, he would sometimes think of her, sometimes remember.

  She pressed it into his hand, closing his fingers over it. 'Take this with you, and... don't forget."

  He gazed down at it for a long, silent moment before he kissed her lips, hard and desperate. She kissed him back, trying to memorize his taste, the way he felt in her arms. Remember everything. And then he was gone, vanishing out the window for what she knew in her heart was the last time.

  Her knees suddenly felt too weak to hold her up, and she collapsed to the floor. She wanted to cry, but it seemed her tears were used up.

  Will had been a precious gift in a dark time; she had always known he could not be hers forever. But now she saw that she had become greedy, because his loss broke her heart. It felt as if a part of her own body were torn away, leaving her cold and aching.

  "I'm sorry, Will," she whispered.

  Slowly, slowly, she took a deep breath and pulled back into herself again. She had chosen her path, rocky as it was, and she had to stay on it, moving forward one step at a time.

  She rose to her feet, hurrying over to the window to close it against the night The street was deserted again, silent in a deceptive peace. She drew the curtains shut and turned back to her room.

  The pamphlet was mere bits of charcoal in the grate, but she well knew that other problems could never be made to disappear so easily.

  Chapter 15

  Will's home at Moreton Manor was a handsome, respectable house, only a few decades old. Built of redbrick faced with gray stone, it would not have been out of place in London or Brighton. It was not as large as Killinan Castle, nor nearly as grand as Carton or Castletown. But Will had always liked it and remembered it as welcoming—despite the people inside its walls.

  Today, though, welcoming was not quite the right word for Moreton. Chaotic was more like it

  The front doors were wide open, servants carrying boxes and trunks down the stone front steps to the carts waiting in the drive. Even the windows were agape, maids leaning out to shout new instructions to those below.

  It seemed his mother was in a great hurry to decamp, Will thought as he swung down from his horse. He was weary after the journey from Dublin, but there would obviously be no rest here today.

  He left the horse with one of the grooms, striding past the harried servants and into the foyer. The marble floor was nearly covered by crates, with family portraits stacked along the walls. Even the draperies were gone from the windows.

  "No, no! Do not place the box of silver on top of the china; it will be utterly crushed," he heard his mother cry, her panicked voice floating out of the drawing room.

  Will peeled off his leather riding gloves, slapping them against his palm as he contemplated the shambles of his home. Surely General Hardwick was quite wrong—there was nothing he could do from here. The populace was in flight from a menace that was as yet invisible and thus even more fearsome.

  He dodged around the crates, his spurs jangling as he entered the drawing room to find even more confusion. The pastel-green chamber, usually lined with glass-fronted cases full of china figurines, bits of antquities, and miniature portraits, was stripped. Maids were taking down the pale yellow draperies at the windows. The only thing still in place was the painting over the fireplace, a portrait of his mother seated on a bench in the More-ton Manor park, Will and his brother's childhood selves clinging to her silk skirts.

  The real lady stood just beneath the painted one, directing the packing. Her blond hair was mostly gray now, strands of it escaping from her cap. Beneath its ruffles, her face was pale and strained, except for two bright spots of red in her cheeks.

  "Not like that!" she cried, rushing across the room to grab the offending crate. "Must I do everything myself?"

  Will strode across the wooden floor, bare of its carpets, to help the beleaguered footmen slide their burdens into place.

  "William," his mother said, pushing back her loose hair as she stared at her long-gone son. "You have returned."

  "So I have, Mother," he answered. "And just in time, it would seem. Are you going somewhere?"

  Lady Moreton frowned at him. "You are as teasing as ever! Of course I am going somewhere; you are meant to bring my passports. I hope you did not forget them."

  "It is lovely to see you, too, Mother," he said, kissing her cheek. "And, yes, I brought you your papers."

  "There is not a moment to lose." She cast a suspicious glance at the servants hurrying around them. "Come with me."

  She grabbed his hand, leading him out of the drawing room by a side door and along a back corridor. Will followed, curious as to what she was about His mother had always been a nervous sort, prone to see the worst in situations. As the daughter and wife of staunch Tories, she disliked being in a county of Whig families and seemed to resent Will's father for running off to London without her so often and forcing her to stay behind.

  Not that Will could entirely blame his father. He himself had always liked escaping to Killinan when he was young. Eliza and her family, despite their quarrels and disagreements, loved each other so much. Their teasing affection was a balm to a lonely young man's heart

  And when he fell in love with Eliza...

  Eliza. The memory of their parting burned in his heart When would he see her again? How could he keep her safe?

  His mother led him into the library. Like the drawing room, it was denuded of its possessions, the books gone from the shelves, the paneled walls bare of his father's hunting prints. Canvas covers muffled the carved furniture too heavy to move.

  And two of the tall windows were broken, the wall
below them marred with black scorch marks.

  "You see, William," she said, her voice trembling, "I must get away from here before they kill me."

  Will knelt by the dark marks, examining the damage. It still smelled of smoke, the paneling buckled by flames and water. "What happened here?"

  "They tried to burn us out, of course. Luckily, I was sleeping in here with some of the maids, and we managed to put out the fire."

  Will looked back at her, trying to imagine his fragile mother putting out a fire. "Why were you sleeping in here?"

  "There were rumors in the village of unrest. Lady Louisa Conolly and Lady Killinan went there to try talking to the tenants, to reason with them, the great fools. You cannot reason with animals!" Her voice rose. "I have always hated this loathsome place. I knew something like this would happen eventually."

  He ran his fingertips over the wall, trying to fathom it. Someone had tried to burn Moreton Manor. Someone hated the Dentons that much.

  "I could not sleep in my own chamber," his mother went on, twisting a handkerchief in her hands. "Just lying there in bed like some sacrificial victim. So I stayed down here, watching, and thank God I did or this house would be a ruin. Your brother's legacy, such as it is, would be gone."

  Will laughed. He was quite certain his brother Henry would not have cared. He would have just built himself a villa in Italy and stayed there with his mistress forever. But

  178 he... he was furious someone would frighten his mother, threaten this house.

  "I am glad you are home, William," his mother said. "You will find those villains and make them pay for their crimes."

  Will took her in his arms, feeling her thin shoulders tremble as she sobbed against his chest

  "I was so frightened," she gasped. "They... they broke the windows with stones, shouting horrible things. Then they threw in the torches. So much smoke—I was sure we would all be killed."

  "Shh, Mother," he said gently, even as his anger grew. "You are safe now. And soon you will be in England."

  It was the crystalline crash of broken glass that tore Will out of his shallow sleep.