Lady Joy and the Earl: A Regency Christmas Novella

by Regina Jeffers

  “Or what?” Andrew rose quickly to his feet. “Is this,” he pointed to the portrait, “the reason you befriended me in London? The reason you wished to woo my mother? How many others know, my lord? Is all of Yorkshire laughing at me? I am not Lathrop, after all.” He turned to her as she rose to her feet. “Is Michael a Lathrop or does he also belong to another?”

  James pointedly closed the door. “You will not speak to your mother thusly. If you wish to blacken someone’s name, then blacken mine.”

  Andrew ignored Lord Hough’s posturing. “Did you know of my birth when we met in London?” he demanded.

  His lordship shot a glance to her before responding. His eyes spoke of his wonder and his concern. “I suppose, upon meeting you the first time, I knew on some level. I felt as if I had known you for years, but my interest in you was genuine. I wish to assist you because I have always loved your mother. I told you so when you asked of my intentions. And, other than your eyes, which are definitely from your mother, you do not display the hard features of your father, but lineage does not always follow from father to son. Sometimes generations are ignored for another. Moreover, Lady Jocelyn and I came together but one time, and I attempted to make certain I would not leave her with child. Obviously, I failed.”

  “You were both married to another,” Andrew accused.

  “We were,” Lord Hough said with a lift of his shoulders. “Miserably so, but we were.”

  “Did my father know?” Her son’s accusations had lost their sting. It was as if Andrew pleaded for her to make things right.

  “I was never certain,” she admitted shamefully. “As I was in Yorkshire a month after my father died, your father was eager to consummate our reunion upon my return.”

  Andrew turned to the portrait. “You said it was not here last evening.”

  “I had the portrait removed more than a dozen years prior. I could no longer look upon Captain Lord Highcliffe. His image reminded me of the happy years I spent with your Uncle Emerson and your mother, and my countess wished me to remove all sentiment from this house. As this alcove was where we played soldiers or hid from our tutors, I could not bear to look upon the image and then justify my memories with what was going on at Hough Hall. My wife was a disconsolate woman, and while she lived there was no pleasure in any of our lives. I sent my dearest Meredith off to school too early, not because I wished to be rid of her, but so my countess could not poison my daughter against me. God help me, I never wished Louisa dead, but I did not grieve for her leaving this life.

  “My mother recently ordered the portrait reframed and returned to its place of honor in my home. In anticipation of our hosting a supper party, she had it replaced earlier today.”

  “Then others will be permitted to know my shame?” Andrew accused.

  “They will not,” his lordship insisted. “I will see the portrait is returned to the attic. Another can take its place. I will not disclose what has occurred here today to anyone.”

  “But I am not Lathrop,” Andrew said testily. “I am a second son. Your second son.”

  Jocelyn watched as James’s eyes softened when he looked upon Andrew. It was the look she had forever wished her son to know. “Your father accepted you as his son,” she argued. “You earned the position by the pain you endured at Lathrop’s hand. I believe Harrison suspected your birthright, but he was never certain, and, despite what he did to me, I never confessed the truth. If Harrison had known, he would have pitched you over the cliff long before his attempt to do so.”

  “Do you believe his suspicions were the reason for his despising me?” Andrew asked in what appeared to be wretchedness. The idea tore at her heart.

  Jocelyn shook off the idea. “Your countenance was not the part of you Lathrop disliked so thoroughly. It was the idea you would not surrender to him. I have always said you were ‘my’ son. My doing so had nothing to do with your parenthood, but rather to your somewhat recalcitrant attitude. Lathrop could not mold me into the woman he thought I should be—into an image of his mistress. He wanted a woman who would welcome his perversions, while sporting a proper lineage to make him feel clean afterward. Nor could he mold you into a replica of himself. Harrison’s dislike for both of us rested in his need for control and our basic need for justice.

  “True. Your features favor Lord Hough, but they are not his, nor are his features that of the 6th Earl Hough. It was not until a visit from your grandmother when you were fifteen that I was reminded of Captain Jackson Highcliffe. A simple remark about how you favored the former earl. Your father was dead by that time. The point was moot. You were baptized as Harrison’s son. You are his son. Such is the law.”

  “But Michael? Should he not be Lathrop?” Andrew argued.

  “Your brother has not the temperament to be the viscount,” Jocelyn stated firmly. “But if you insist, we will consult him. I doubt there is much we can do to displace you as Lathrop without throwing the viscountcy into abeyance or to watch your father’s brother assume the role by claiming if you are a bastard, then so is Michael.” It pleased her when Andrew shuddered his disapproval of The Honorable, or not so honorable, Justice Lathrop taking over the reins of the estate. “But we will discuss all our options thoroughly, and I will accept whatever decision you make. That is my solemn promise.”

  “And mine,” Hough added his assurances.

  “I suppose I have few choices,” Andrew grumbled.

  “About as many as did your mother in accepting Lathrop or me in marrying Lady Louisa Connick,” Hough said as he clapped his son on the back. “Such is the way of family.”

  Chapter Nine

  And here’s rue for you—it symbolizes repentance. We can call it the merciful Sunday flower. You should wear it for a different reason. And here’s a daisy, for unhappy love. I’d give you some violets, flowers of faithfulness, but they all dried up when my father died. They say he looked good when he died. For good sweet Robin is all my joy.

  William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act IV, scene v

  Even in her dreams, Jocelyn could never have imagined Andrew’s learning something of his parentage could be handled as smoothly as it was. Her family, whom she had shunned after her father’s betrayal, had swooped in to cradle Andrew’s bruised pride with caring gestures and with facts that could allay any criticisms he might encounter.

  “As you can observe,” Emerson explained as he pointed to the Powell family Bible, “although, Hough and Jocelyn have admitted to a brief encounter, there is proof you are directly related to Captain Jackson Highcliffe. The 6th Earl Hough is the current earl’s great-great-grandfather. Thus, people may note some shared features between the two. But the 6th Earl Hough is also your mother’s great-great-grandfather, for Jackson Highcliffe’s second wife, Lady Anne Powell, was the second daughter of Lord Percival Powell, 3rd Marquess Powell, and mother to two of Lord Jackson’s children, and more importantly, to his only son. Captain Highcliffe’s son Peregrine survived the earl but three years, but Peregrine’s son Marcus became the 8th Earl Hough, the current lord’s grandfather. If anyone should question, which I will guarantee no one would dare ask such a gauche question of a viscount, of your likeness to James Highcliffe, you will have a ready explanation.”

  Andrew’s frown lines drew together as he studied the page. “Then it is possible my features could be as such even if Lord Lathrop was my father.”

  Although Jocelyn knew better, for she knew how her husband preferred to spend himself elsewhere after he had taken his pleasure in abusing her, she said, “My sin is not yours. Lord Hough and I should never have lain together. We stubbornly wished to claim what our parents denied us.”

  Emerson reasoned, “None of us know how these things work. My features are courtesy of your grandmother’s family, not my father’s. I do not think there has ever been a Powell with dark auburn hair, but you can find many from Lady Susannah’s family with a similar coloring.”

  Michael had adamantly refused the idea that Andrew should reject th
e role of Lathrop. “I will not have it. We have spent countless hours in proving you a better man than was our father. You cannot abandon all we have accomplished. I want the Lathrop name to speak of kindness and service to our fellows, not the depravation our Uncle Justice would purport. Someday I wish to run for the Commons, where I can make a difference in England’s future, but who would elect a Lathrop after father’s reign as the viscount. I am counting on you to set a more welcoming tone.”

  “You speak of we,” Andrew argued. “Why can I not be the one running for the Commons and you be the viscount?”

  “Because we have stood together against unfair accusations, just as your being born on the wrong side of the blanket is an unfair accusation. Do you not realize what will become of our mother’s reputation if you insist on this madness? You have always been my hero, Andrew. You placed yourself between me and the outside world. Please do not permit them to injure those you love and admire. Your admission would harm many: mother, Lord Hough, grandmother, Uncle Emerson, Constance, Edward, and his lordship’s children and his mother—people who have embraced you as one of their own. And what difference does it make if you are Lord Hough’s son? You have said so yourself: The man is a caring and loving father. You will have what you always desired from Harrison Lathrop.

  “And as to the peerage, we both know you are better suited to run the viscountcy. My nature demands I stand against injustices. I will be quite content when I reach my majority and claim the estate promised to me from Father’s will as part of Mother’s settlements. And although I would prefer to experiment with agriculture and sheep and how best to feed the poor, I will know how properly to run my estate because you and mother saw to my education and to my well-being. I am quite happy being The Honorable Mr. Lathrop. Please do not destroy your legacy because you wish to be righteous. Our father never thought either of us would succeed. I mean to prove him in error. So should you.”

  Even Lord Hough’s children found no fault. “The more I have learned of my family’s so-called ‘secrets,’ the more I realize how there was no culpability,” Lord Bluffton declared. “The facts are not ideal, and I would not want the information bandied about, but I shan’t die of shame if it were. I am well aware of my mother’s limitations, and father has spoken honestly of his great affection for Lady Lathrop.”

  “Does it matter?” Lady Meredith reasoned. “If Papa marries Lady Lathrop, Lord Andrew would be my step brother. I would recognize him as ‘brother’ in my speech. He would be in my life whether Andrew Lathrop is a ‘step’ brother or a ‘half’ brother. No one, other than the immediate family, would know the difference.”

  * * *

  “There you are,” James said from the open library door.

  “Did you require my assistance?” she asked half-heartedly. In reality, after two days of making explanations to everyone involved regarding her one afternoon with Jame Highcliffe, Jocelyn was feeling more vulnerable than ever. Although she appreciated how her family and his had rallied around Andrew, she felt adrift once again. Being forced to admit what happened when she returned to Kent and Harrison demanded his husbandly privileges made her feel exposed, as if she were some sort of deviant, whereas she considered herself quite proper.

  Moreover, having to admit to both Emerson and her mother the conditions under which she had lived for the twelve years of her marriage was disheartening. Her mother had sobbed, while Emerson had ranted in absolute ire. Surprisingly, through the whole ordeal, James had stood beside her, offering his quiet strength, a private embrace, a squeeze of her hand, or a rapid defense when necessary. Yet, despite his kindness, she was again having second thoughts to their future. Would the nightmare of Harrison Lathrop never end for her? She had come to think it would not.

  * * *

  “I always require you, Joy,” he responded simply.

  He could not help noting Jocelyn’s reluctance. More than once over the past two days, she had commented on how everything had changed, but James was under the persuasion everything had changed for all concerned, except them. Most assuredly, nothing had changed when it came to her reluctance. All her secrets had been exposed to those who were in a position to know them; yet, his dearest Jocelyn knew no peace. Was it still her intention to refuse him?

  Requiring an answer to his many questions, James stepped further into the room. He cocked his head to look upon her. “Jocelyn, we must speak honestly of our future.”

  An endless pause followed. Her silence was to be his answer, and in that moment, he despised her. Resentment filled his chest, as a ringing stillness continued. Hers was the dismissal of the hope he had cherished over the years. He knew he would never be able to persuade her to marry him. He wished a future, while Jocelyn still lived only for the past.

  “I see I am not to be afforded an opportunity to persuade you to believe in my continued affection.” James could not disguise his bitterness. “What does your vacillation say to our son?”

  “My son,” she corrected. “There is no proof Andrew is a product of our indiscretion.”

  “Do not repeat your brother’s explanation. You do not believe his account any more than do I. We both are aware of Emerson’s purpose in providing Andrew a reason to claim what the boy most wants to acknowledge. Ready excuse or not, Andrew is our son. Whether you wish to admit it or not, we did not consider a possibility of siring a child, not once, but twice.”

  Red crept along her neck in embarrassment. “Must you be so crass?” she accused.

  James stepped closer still. “I have felt you tremble with desire beneath me, Joy. For years, you have denied our love, even to yourself. I understand. Your circumstances were truly extraordinary. The impossible always loomed before you, but that is no longer true.”

  Her lips compressed into a straight line, and she took a step back, but James would have none of it. He deliberately crowded her. “Speak to me, Jocelyn. Tell me what still lies between us. What keeps us apart?”

  “There is nothing to tell. I simply wish to return to Kent and enjoy my days without any more turmoil. Moreover, just because our families know our sordid history, it does not mean Andrew will not encounter more chaos.”

  “Andrew is a man, Jocelyn. He must negotiate life’s trials on his own. Our son is no longer in leading strings.”

  A cry broke from her lips. “Why must you do this, James? How can you speak so casually about what has occurred? Our lives have known such sorrow. How can you simply place all that has happened aside and expect to go on? Do you not think others would find a marriage between us suspect?”

  “In truth, I do not care what others think of my choices. I am quite exhausted by the idea of pleasing everyone except myself.”

  “That is where we differ,” she said stubbornly. “In my world, what others think of me and my sons is important. My reputation was tarnished by the circumstances of Harrison’s death; I shall not see Andrew and Michael suffer because of the actions of their parents.”

  “Do you love me, Jocelyn?” he demanded.

  Her fingers curled into her palms, and tears filled her eyes. “You know I do, but sometimes love is not enough to justify a person’s actions. Our fathers supposedly loved us, but they denied our happiness for the good of their purse strings.” She dashed her tears away with the heels of her hands. “Our day has passed, my lord.” With a brief curtsey, she ran from the room. James could have prevented her retreat, but he permitted Jocelyn her pride. Her pain had reared its head again, and he had lost the sword to slay her dragons.

  * * *

  She claimed a headache and refused to go down for Christmas supper. Jocelyn knew her actions irrational, but she was weary of the ordeal, known as her marriage. Weary from hiding from society’s strictures. From fearing discovery. Slowly, she crawled into the bed and brought the blanket up over her shoulder. Her brother had sent word earlier in the day that her family could return to Powell Manor on Wednesday, the day after the hunt. Once removed from Hough House, she was convinced s
he could forget James. Squeezing her eyes closed, she willed the tears from her eyes.

  However, the soft click of a door and a scuff of a footfall had her catching her breath. Without opening her eyes, she knew Lord Hough watched her from the end of the bed. She thought she could hear the beat of his heart in time with hers.

  The edge of the mattress sank with his weight, and she felt his hand upon her shoulder. Warm. Strong. Caressing. Slowly, he rolled her to her back. “Open your eyes, Joy. I do not want you to mistake who means to share your bed.”

  “We cannot,” she protested.

  Ignoring her words, his mouth came down on hers, first tender and caressing, but quickly turning to one of need. Although her mind screamed she should stop him, her body welcomed his possession. Kissing the man was like returning home. Only with this man had she ever known the exquisite feeling of being protected.

  Despite the soul-rendering idea of forbidding herself his love, Jocelyn placed her hand on his chest to push him away. “Even if we seek our pleasure, it will change nothing,” she rasped.

  “I do not care,” he growled. “I need you,” he whispered in a strained voice.

  “James, I am not a young woman. I have borne two children,” she began.

  “Jocelyn, I do not expect the girl I once knew. I expect the woman I still desire,” he stated in firm tones.

  Her stomach clenched in anguish. He would not relent until he possessed all her secrets. “I am hideous. Scarred. Lathrop only knew pleasure when he took me physically.”

  He went perfectly still. “How often did Lathrop strike you?” he demanded.

  “Every occasion.” She buried her face into the fine fawn of his shirt.

  “Dearest God, we have all failed you,” he moaned. “You have never known the tenderness of a man who cherishes you.”

  “Only once. When we conceived Andrew,” she whispered.

  “But there were no scars when we were together. We had each been married for some two years before your father passed,” he stated in questioning tones.