The Seduction of Lady X

by Julia London

  “It would seem,” Mr. Fish said, as he stretched his hands toward the fire, “that you may be his only true heir.”

  Still, Harrison shrugged. “I am still his bastard son. I fail to see the significance of your call.”

  “In this highly unusual case, being his one true heir would make you the heir to Ashwood.”

  Harrison laughed at that.

  Mr. Fish glanced up at him. “I would not have come all this way if I did not believe it were true, Mr. Tolly.”

  Harrison would have told him he’d come all this way for nothing, but Mrs. Lampley’s young son appeared with the tea service. Harrison met him at the door and took it from him, then returned to the hearth and placed the fine silver service—also his mother’s—on a small table. “Did you come from London, Mr. Fish?” he asked congenially as he poured them tea.

  “I have come directly from Ashwood at the behest of the countess. Except that she is not the countess any longer. The late earl and his wife adopted Miss Lily Boudine, and until very recently, it was believed that she was the sole surviving and rightful heir. However, now that we have discovered your existence, she can no longer assume the title.”

  “Neither can I,” Harrison said calmly. “The laws of primogeniture are quite restrictive and very explicit in the requirement for legitimacy. Honey?”

  Mr. Fish shook his head to the honey. “They are restrictive, indeed . . . unless one has been given a title and an estate by a royal edict, as well as the terms for inheritance.”

  Harrison snorted. “I rather doubt even a royal edict would make an illegitimate offspring worthy of an estate as grand as Ashwood. So let us avoid a lot of discourse, Mr. Fish. Is there some paper I must sign for this countess to have her place? Give it over, and I will sign it.” He sipped his tea and glanced at the mantel clock.

  Mr. Fish did not move.

  “Shocked?” Harrison asked.

  Mr. Fish put his teacup down. “After the year I have spent, sir, I am rarely shocked by anything. Nevertheless, I fear you do not understand me. King Henry VIII bestowed the title and estate on the first earl of Ashwood, and specifically entailed it to the blood offspring of that earl, and the earl’s issue, et cetera and so forth, without regard to legitimacy. The blood offspring. That means, as the only surviving blood male offspring of the last earl, you have inherited the estate. Furthermore, our solicitor in London believes you have legal claim to the title, as well.”

  The meeting suddenly gained Harrison’s full attention. He stared at the man, trying to guess his game. “Forgive me, Mr. Fish, but do you expect me to believe that you have come here to hand me an estate and a title?” He laughed. “I will not believe I have any claim that cannot quickly and easily be dismantled by some enterprising solicitor. I am the bastard son of the late earl, a man I remember meeting once or twice in my life. My blood relation, as you put it, is illegitimate.”

  Mr. Fish nodded. “Lady Ashwood—Lady Eberlin,” he corrected himself, “rather thought you might view things that way.” He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a letter and handed it to Harrison.

  The damp vellum had a wax seal that was the crest of the Duke of Darlington—a revered named in England. The brief letter introduced Mr. Fish as a bona fide and true agent of Ashwood, and declared that the Duke of Darlington vouched for what he was telling Harrison today. The duke ended his endorsement with the word Congratulations scrawled presumably in his own hand across the bottom.

  Harrison supposed he should have been happy to hear this startling news, but he was not. He tossed the vellum back to Mr. Fish as myriad thoughts clouded his brain. There was the problem of Alexa, first and foremost. And there was the personal and private problem of Lady X. “I do not want it,” he said flatly.

  Mr. Fish almost sputtered his tea. “Pardon?”

  “I do not want this,” Harrison said again, directing his gaze at Mr. Fish. “Tell your countess to send me whatever papers are necessary to deliver the estate to her, and I will sign them.”

  Mr. Fish looked stunned. He came to his feet. “Do you realize what you are saying?”

  “Yes, I do,” Harrison said firmly. He pushed his fingers through his hair, trying to absorb this impossible, ill-timed news. His father had never acknowledged him in any way, and now he would have his estate? Harrison was entirely suspicious, certain there was a catch. And Harrison wanted nothing to do with Ashwood and whatever catch that might be for so many reasons that his head began to spin with them.

  “You can’t possibly!” Mr. Fish argued. “No man in his right mind would dismiss this so easily—”

  “Do you think this is easy?” Harrison snapped.

  Mr. Fish caught himself. “I would not presume to know. But I do know that it is a royal edict. And much like any child born to inherit, you may not want the riches that have just fallen into your lap, but they are yours regardless.”

  “Mr. Tolly?”

  Both Harrison and Mr. Fish started at the sound of Miss Hastings’s voice. She was standing at the threshold, her face pale, her eyes swollen, and her hands clasped tightly before her. She looked at Mr. Fish, then at Harrison. “What has happened?” she asked. “Has something happened?”

  “Nothing has happened,” he assured her, walking briskly to the door. “Please go back to your room.”

  But her gaze was fixed on Mr. Fish. “You have inherited,” she said, and turned brown eyes to Harrison. “What have you inherited? What does it mean? Does it mean that—”

  “It means nothing,” he said quickly, and took her by the elbow, turning her around and ushering her out the door. “Please do return to your room, Miss Hastings. I will be with you shortly.”

  She glanced reluctantly over her shoulder at Mr. Fish before turning away.

  Harrison shut the door of the study and chafed at Mr. Fish’s sympathetic smile.

  “I see at least one reason you may be reluctant to welcome this news,” he said slyly.

  Harrison frowned. There was nothing he could say about Miss Hastings until he deciphered what had possessed him to take such a drastic step in offering to marry her. And what the bloody hell was he to do about it now? “Bollocks,” he muttered, and stalked to the windows, wondering how in the blazes he would extract himself from a quagmire that seemed to get deeper and thicker as the day wore on.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Edward made good on his promise to attempt to force Olivia to his will, but as was his trouble of late, he could not force himself. “You do this to me,” he’d said bitterly. “You remove all desire from a man.”

  On Sunday morning, Edward was subdued. He lingered over breakfast, reading aloud to Olivia from the Bible, having decided, what with the rain, that while the servants would make the quarter mile trek to church, the weather was too foul for him and his wife to venture out.

  Olivia sat quietly, pretending to listen to his lesson as he droned on. She was anxious for Alexa. She had not come back to the house last night, and Olivia wondered where Mr. Tolly had taken her. At least she could rest knowing that Alexa was in good hands.

  Olivia thought of Mr. Tolly, too, standing so proud and capable in Edward’s study, prepared to shoulder Alexa’s problem as his own to save her from the fate Edward would have handed her. Olivia tried to imagine how it would feel to have someone make a heroic gesture for her, to have someone gallop into Everdon Court and take her from the hellish marriage she’d suffered for six long years . . .

  She shook her head and absently folded her napkin. No one was going to save her. Save her from what? She was a marchioness, living in the lap of luxury, with all the trappings of wealth and privilege that entailed. She was not the first woman to have suffered a grim marriage.

  Unfortunately, Olivia had sealed her own fate when she’d agreed with her mother that Edward would make a fine husband.

  It was the night her family had dined at Everdon Court for the first time. What a young, inexperienced, silly fool she’d been! Olivia had been so taken by t
he great house, the furnishings, the artwork, and certainly Edward himself. He’d been charming, touching his finger to her cheek, remarking on her beauty. She’d thought him unremarkable in looks, but pleasant. He’d seemed so confident and assured, and Olivia had been enthralled by the idea of marriage and children.

  So had her mother. “Isn’t he lovely!” she’d exclaimed in the coach on the way home.

  “He seems very nice,” Olivia had agreed.

  “Nice! He has twenty thousand a year, Livi. You must think of that. It is so important that you marry well. I’ll not always be here to care for Alexa, so you must. We can scarcely rely on this one to make a suitable match, can we?” she’d asked, and had laughed as she patted Alexa’s knee.

  Alexa, who was twelve at the time, had taken great offense to that. “I shall never marry!” she’d declared. “I’ll not have a gentleman tell me what to do!”

  “I suspect you will marry,” Lord Hastings had said. “But rest assured you will scare off anyone with twenty thousand a year.”

  “Livi, my love, I know that the marquis will offer for you,” her mother had said excitedly. “He seems taken with you and he has just come into his title. He needs to be about the business of producing an heir. Now then, you must always present yourself as demure and obedient,” her mother had counseled. “Mind that you do not argue. Make him feel pleased.”

  Olivia blinked back a burn of tears at the memory. God knew how hard she had tried to please her husband, but it was impossible. Even in the days before he’d grown to despise her, he’d had no use for her. He had never given her the same sort of warm smile that she received from Mr. Tolly each day. Frankly, Edward had never really seemed to see her at all.

  But Mr. Tolly . . . God help her, Olivia wouldn’t have cared if he’d had only five hundred pounds a year, she would still desire him above all others. She’d been seduced by his warmth and kindness, his ready smile. She’d been captivated by his bright light in her otherwise abysmal life.

  She thought back to a few weeks ago, when the icy grip of winter would not let go of Everdon Court. She’d gone to the hothouse to collect some flowers to brighten her sitting room and give her a hint of spring. She was examining the potted flowers when Mr. Tolly had come in search of Mr. Gortman, the groundskeeper.

  “Madam,” he’d said, tipping his hat and flashing a smile that charmed her to the tips of her toes.

  She had been unconscionably thrilled to see him. “You must help me, Mr. Tolly,” she’d said instantly. That was her way of keeping his company as long as she might—she asked for his help. She held up two flowerpots. “Yellow? Or white?”

  He had looked at the flowerpots. “Red.”

  “Red?” She’d laughed and looked around her. “But there is no red.”

  “Ah, but there is,” he’d said with a sly wink. “You are not acquainted with Mr. Gortman as I am. Come.” He’d taken the pots from her and put them aside, then took her hand and laid it on his arm, escorting her outside to a small shed just beside the hothouse. It was warm inside the shed; off to one side, the coals in a small brazier glowed. But it wasn’t the brazier that had made Olivia gasp with delight; it was the red flowers. There were pots and pots of them: geraniums, cockscomb, dahlias, and miniature roses.

  “Mr. Gortman plans to replant the small reflecting garden,” Mr. Tolly explained.

  “It’s beautiful!” Olivia had said appreciatively. It was a small room full of the promise of spring. “Do you not think so, Mr. Tolly?”

  “Yes.” He’d said it instantly, softly, and Olivia had turned around to him. But he was not looking at the flowers—he was looking at her in a way that had sent a shiver deep through her veins.

  But the moment quickly passed as he moved to the door and held it open for her. “I shall inquire of Mr. Gortman for you. I am certain he would be delighted to make an arrangement for you.”

  She’d wondered if perhaps she’d wanted so badly to see something in Mr. Tolly’s expression that she’d imagined it. “Thank you, but I could not possibly impose. He has taken great care to grow them for a particular reason.”

  Nevertheless, the following morning, Olivia had awakened to a vase of red flowers on her vanity. “Where did these come from?” she’d asked her maid.

  “Mr. Gortman sent them up, mu’um,” Nancy replied.

  Olivia had been as pleased as if he’d sent her diamonds, and thinking of it now, she couldn’t help smiling to herself.

  “What are you thinking, Lady Carey?” Edward asked, startling Olivia from her thoughts. She reluctantly turned her attention to her husband. He was seated at the head of the table, holding the Bible in one hand, drumming the fingers of his other on the table.

  “Pardon?” she asked.

  “I cannot imagine that Scripture puts such a lovely smile on your face. You have never struck me as the sort of woman moved to happiness by the good word.”

  Olivia didn’t speak; she hadn’t heard a word he’d said.

  “I should like to know what you think of the passage.”

  He knew very well she’d not paid him any heed. Olivia sighed. “I beg your pardon, but I was not listening.”

  Edward cocked a brow in amusement. “Quite obviously. And why not, Olivia? Do you find me tedious? Am I so uninteresting to you?”

  “Not at all,” she said, and thought quickly how to smooth over his ruffled feathers. “I’m afraid my thoughts have been occupied with concern for my sister these last few days.”

  “I see,” Edward said, nodding thoughtfully. “Your sister holds a place of greater significance than your husband in your thoughts.”

  “On this particular occasion, yes,” Olivia brazenly agreed.

  Edward arched a brow, peering curiously at her, as if surprised that she would admit it. “I am sorry if she causes you distress. But it would seem that your distress is even more reason to banish her from our lives.”

  “She is my sister,” Olivia said. “I want her here with me, as any sister would. She is in an awful predicament, Edward. She will be shunned and ridiculed and disparaging things will be said of her. All she has is her family.”

  Edward sat back, studying her. “That is precisely the reason we cannot have her here, and well you know it. The association with her would taint this family’s reputation.”

  “I understand,” Olivia said carefully. “But I thought perhaps no one would need to know.” It was a slim hope that he might agree, but a hope nonetheless.

  But Edward rolled his eyes and said, “You are either naïve or simple. Frankly, I cannot believe you would even ask this of me. If you were a loving wife, you would seek to remove this blight from our lives by any means possible. If you truly loved me, you would have sent her away instead of bringing her to me. It’s as if you forget who I am.”

  “Of course I haven’t, Edward. I brought her to you because I thought you would be very unhappy to hear of it otherwise.”

  He shook his head. “You have a mountain of excuses at hand. If you won’t send her from us, I shall do it for you. I will make sure that she does not disgrace us ever again.”

  “But Mr. Tolly has offered to give her his name.”

  Edward snorted and turned a page of his Bible. “She is comely, your whore of a sister. I am certain he looks forward to the pleasure he will find in his marital bed.” He glanced up at her. “Pleasure I have been denied in mine.”

  Olivia’s face flamed. She couldn’t look at him.

  “Tolly knows what he is about,” Edward said laughingly.

  “Did I hear my name?” Mr. Tolly asked, striding into the room at the moment with his easy smile.

  Olivia could feel the tension instantly leave her.

  “Ah, Mr. Tolly!” Edward said, his smile brightening. “Thank you for coming. Sit, and allow Lady Carey to do something useful and pour you tea. Olivia?”

  Olivia bit her tongue and obediently rose to pour tea for Mr. Tolly.

  “I was just asking my wife’s opinion
on some Scripture,” Edward said as she moved to the sideboard.

  “I did not mean to interrupt,” Mr. Tolly said.

  “You did not interrupt,” Edward assured him.

  Olivia poured the tea and turned around; Edward’s eyes were locked on her. He chuckled. “In fact, my dear wife confessed that she had paid little heed to my reading. What do you make of a wife who blatantly ignores her husband’s Scripture reading?”

  Olivia set the tea before Mr. Tolly. “Thank you,” he said, and glanced up at her with a ghost of a smile.

  “It is my pleasure.” She took a seat directly across from him; his gray eyes remained intent on her.

  “I was reading from Ephesians, Tolly. Are you familiar with the disciple Paul’s letters to the Ephesians?” Edward asked.

  Mr. Tolly grinned. “Not as familiar as I ought to be, I’m afraid.”

  If he were married to Edward, he would have been exceedingly familiar with the chapter. Edward often selected his readings from the gospel of Paul.

  “If you will indulge a man and his wife a bit of spiritual readings, I shall continue,” Edward said, as if he were the Archbishop. He lifted the Bible and read, “‘Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife.’” He lowered the Bible and smiled coldly at Olivia.

  Mr. Tolly glanced uncomfortably at his teacup and lifted it to his lips.

  But Olivia smiled brightly at her husband. She despised him, but she despised being ridiculed in front of Mr. Tolly even worse. “A fine reading, my lord. You should consider the pulpit.”

  Edward scowled. “Now that you have given me heed, my dear, perhaps you will be so kind as to tell me your interpretation?”

  Olivia knew very well what she risked by challenging him, but she was past the point of caring. Let him banish her, too—it would be a blessing of sorts. Let him hit her—it could be no more painful than his company. “My interpretation?” she asked, as if pondering it. “Oh, I hardly know, my love. But I think you are very eager to tell me what my interpretation should be.”