by Liz Carlyle
“Which is all of the time,” Cole had firmly responded.
And so she had ceased to argue. By heaven, let him go rail at David if he wished. Perhaps that was the best solution of all. Let those bold, brash men unbutton their breeches, whip out their cocks, and measure them against one another. Then, they could simply settle it—whatever it was—between themselves.
Oh, she loved David dearly, and yet she spared him precious little pity, either. He had brought much of Cole’s antagonism upon himself, by means of his usual high- handed arrogance and deliberate provocation. And now that it had come to this, what would David tell him? One never knew what he might do. Perhaps he would tell Cole to go to the devil. Or perhaps he would merely laugh, and spill the whole ugly truth. Certainly, it was his to spill. As usual, she was little more than a hapless bystander in this farce which seemed to constitute her life.
Soon, Jonet found herself standing in the circular drive of Elmwood, her arms crossed resolutely over her chest, one toe tapping furiously in the gravel. Mr. Moseby had brought around a sleek, long-legged chestnut, which looked as if it might well eat up the ground from Cambridgeshire to London. With a little grunt of displeasure, Cole hefted over the saddlebag and deftly secured it They were alone in the drive. He really was going to leave her. Suddenly, Jonet’s resolve melted, and she started toward him. “Cole,” she said softly, “if you must go, you will travel safely, will you not?”
Cole looped his reins loosely over the saddle and turned to face her, placing the palms of his hands lightly upon her shoulders. “Yes, I will travel safely,” he promised. But his voice was weary, his face lined with fatigue, and Jonet was left to recall how willingly and unselfishly he had taken on the responsibility of her children’s welfare. And how very much she needed him.
For a moment, she considered forswearing David altogether, if Cole would just stay with her and not go to London. Twice, Jonet opened her mouth to speak, and could not find the words. “Cole,” she finally managed to say, “you must understand that David would never do anything to harm me or my children. He has no reason to do so.”
“I suppose that I must pray that you are right,” Cole grimly responded.
“Oh, Cole,” she said despairingly, her hands going up to cup his face. “I know that David has been rash, perhaps outright rude to you. But he is young, and his burdens are many. If there is something which must be settled between you, then by all means, go. Just be mindful of the fact that you are both older and wiser, and so it is left to you to be reasonable. And above all, you must remember that David would never hurt me.”
Cole looked at her sadly. “Perhaps that is so, Jonet,” he softly admitted. “But what might he do to protect you? Or to protect his honor? Or the honor of someone else?”
Steadily, Jonet held his gaze. “Do you not think, Cole, that I have considered such a thing? Do you believe me such a blind fool as all that? But when all is said and done, David would never hurt my children. And that is why this whole thing makes no sense.”
Cole opened his mouth to tell Jonet that at the least they did agree on one thing. It did indeed make no sense. But further debate was forestalled by the sound of a carriage rumbling across Elmwood’s moat. He stepped from behind the chestnut to watch as the coachman drew around the circle and stopped. At once, the door flew open, and Nanna’s round, wrinkled face popped out Eagerly, Jonet hastened toward the carriage, both hands extended as if to help the old woman down.
It was only then that Cole realized the carriage was driven by Charlie Donaldson. Thank God. In short order, the steps were down, and Nanna and Ellen Cameron were standing in the driveway. The old nurse looked to be her usual acerbic self, but Donaldson looked measurably thinner and more pale, while Miss Cameron looked even worse. Clearly, the illness had taken a toll on them. As the ladies greeted one another, Donaldson secured the team, then motioned Cole to the far side of the carriage.
Discreetly, the butler returned to Cole the engraved breastplate of the First Royal Dragoons. “Verra quick of you, Capt’n, to send that along with your messenger,” he whispered, cocking one dark brow. “And I came wi’ all haste, but as you see, Miss Cameron is no’ verra well.”
Grimly, Cole looked at Ellen, then back to Donaldson. “No, she isn’t, is she? Nor, by the look of it, had you any business driving them here. But tell me, what caused the illness? Does Dr. Greaves know?”
Donaldson looked chagrined. “Aye, sir, it must ha’ been the cream,” he confessed, lifting one shoulder apologetically. “There was a footman and tweeny laid low across the street”
“So... not poison after all?” Cole murmured. “Perhaps I overreacted.”
Donaldson shook his head. “Ye canna be too careful, sir. You did what was best”
His eyes drifted down Cole’s riding gear, and over to the horse’s saddlebag. “But where d’you go now, Capt’n?”
Cole’s eyes had drifted toward Jonet. “To London,” he said quickly, his attention snapping back to the butler. “And I don’t mind saying I’m relieved to see you. But listen, Donaldson—you did not by chance tell Lord Delacourt of our whereabouts, did you?”
“Indeed not, sir!” He drew himself sharply erect. “I told no one, as you ordered. Why?”
“Because I mean to have a few answers from him,” answered Cole grimly, watching as Nanna picked up the cat to stroke her sagging belly. “If he should come here, Donaldson, tell him that I have said he is not welcome. Under no circumstances should you let him in.”
Jonet’s butler shifted uneasily. “Have ye some cause to think ill of him, sir? I mean, I daresay her ladyship might take exception to his new mistress an’ all—but I do na’ think he means any harm.”
Cole studied Donaldson appraisingly, realizing once again that not much got past old soldiers. He realized, too, that there was little he could say to Donaldson regarding his uncertainties about Delacourt. They were too nebulous, and potentially too damaging.
Moreover, he was beginning to understand that Jonet might well know, and probably did not care, about Delacourt’s mistress. Perhaps he should have been relieved, but he was far from it. The tangle of truth and suspicion, heightened by Jonet’s reticence, had conspired to give Cole a splitting headache, and that grave feeling of unease which had lessened since leaving London was back in full measure.
On top of that, he wanted to strangle Delacourt, but a long, tiresome journey lay between Cole and his quarry. In exasperation, he lashed his riding crop ruthlessly across the shank of his boot. Damn it, he could not hope to lay hands on Delacourt before midmorning at the earliest, and would probably have to roust the insolent bastard from his bed at such an early hour. For the nonce, he must console himself with the fact that Donaldson had arrived at Elmwood to help ensure the safety of Jonet and the boys in his absence.
Chapter 14
In Which Lady Delacourt Tells All
Cole arrived in Curzon Street the following morning, still burning with a righteous indignation. But underneath his ire, there was now a measure of fear, and it had grown incrementally with each passing mile. Throughout the long ride from Cambridgeshire, he had thought of nothing but Jonet and their argument. And he prayed to God that he had not dashed all hope for their future by his rash, and admittedly obstinate, behavior. At every posting inn, he had considered returning to her side.
And yet, he had not. Driven furiously toward London by a force he did not understand, he had pushed both himself and his horse to the edge. He knew only that he needed to see Delacourt, and hear the truth from his lips. Only then would he be able to fairly judge the viscount’s intentions toward Jonet. Perhaps, as Jonet said, Delacourt meant her no harm. Cole could only hope that that was true. He had no wish to see Jonet hurt by another man to whom she was so clearly devoted, no matter how much that devotion disturbed him.
But in truth, it now seemed as if no one had had a better motive than Lord Delacourt for wishing the Marquis of Mercer dead. And that motive, Cole now understood
, was something far darker than a desire to protect or befriend Jonet Mercer’s threat, if Cole had guessed correctly, would have cost the arrogant viscount his pride, and quite possibly, a great deal more.
In the back of Cole’s mind, he kept reliving his conversations with Jack Lauderwood. It seemed as if it had been years, instead of mere days, since Lauderwood had recounted his story of Delacourt’s father, and of his quarrel with Kildermore and Mercer. A duel amongst friends was an ugly business, and Cole was beginning to suspect it had had little to do with anything as mundane as ill-tempered hounds.
Cole was greeted at the door by the same haughty footman he’d met the previous week. Coolly, he stated his wish to see Delacourt, and deposited his card onto the salver. Without comment, he was shown into a small salon to wait But when the footman returned, he escorted Cole not to one of the formal rooms hi the house but to a small parlor in the rear. The footman threw open the door, and Cole stepped inside to see that it was not Lord Delacourt but his mother and his sister who awaited him.
Today, the old lady sat in a wheelchair alongside a bank of French windows. Through the glass beyond her stooped shoulders, Cole could see a small, carefully landscaped garden with a fountain. The pale, elegant decor made it obvious that this was Lady Delacourt’s private morning room. No doubt the windows and the gardens were arranged just for her benefit Her ladyship was very fragile, and given the withered look of her arms and legs, she appeared to have been so for quite some time.
As Cole suppressed his foreboding and made his bow, Lady Delacourt lifted a gold lorgnette and studied him in some detail. And then abruptly, she turned to the middle-aged woman at her elbow. “Charlotte, my dear, leave us if you please.”
With a look of mild surprise, Miss Branthwaite rose, set aside her needlework, and quit the room, bidding Cole a very pleasant morning as she passed him to go out the door.
Lady Delacourt returned her assessing gaze to Cole. “I am told,” she said rather coolly, “that you have come to see my son. I should very much like to know why.”
Gripping his hands behind his back, Cole nodded respectfully, for her ladyship had a voice that unquestionably commanded it. “I regret, my lady, that my business with Lord Delacourt is of a personal nature. Might I wait and speak with him, if he is not presently at home?”
Her brows went up at that. “Indeed, you may.” Reaching to one side of her chair, Lady Delacourt took up a small, gold-knobbed walking stick and jabbed it toward a chair. “But in the interim, you will sit there, sir, if you please.”
The old-fashioned English schoolboy in Cole would not allow him to refuse. Obediently, he sat. She put down the cane and studied him. “Did Lady Mercer send you here?” she challenged.
“No, ma’am, she did not.”
Lady Delacourt nodded in satisfaction. “No, I did not think that she would do so ... but I daresay she has been the cause of your coming. Indirectly, of course.”
Cole sat very rigidly in his chair. “I can assure you, madam, that Lady Mercer had nothing whatsoever to do with it.”
“Indeed?” The old lady’s eyes narrowed. “I wonder, young man, just what the two of you are up to. Jonet has been very different of late, and the affection with which she greeted you here last week seemed particularly telling. Perhaps you would be so kind as to explain your intentions toward her? As you may know, she is very dear to me, and so I do not ask this question lightly.”
Feeling more and more like an errant schoolboy, Cole clasped his hands in his lap. He hoped most sincerely that Lady Delacourt could not guess what he and Jonet had been ‘up to,’ but she possessed both the tone and perspicacity of a steely-eyed governess.
“My intentions toward Lady Mercer are honorable,” he answered quietly. “Since you are her friend, I may tell you in confidence that I have asked her to be my wife, once her mourning has ended.”
“Oh?” Lady Delacourt’s pale brows went up. “And she has said—?”
Cole felt himself blush. “At first, I believe she was inclined to accept my suit. But now I am not entirely certain. We will, I daresay, work something out.”
The old lady nodded, and rolled her chair a little to the left, in order to face him square on. “You have quarreled over David, have you not? I suppose animosity is to be expected between two such forceful young men under these circumstances. Jonet has told you, I take it, that David is her brother?”
It was just what Cole had expected to hear; confirmation of the appalling suspicion that had tormented him all the way to London. And yet, he was stunned. “No, ma’am. Not in those precise words. But I was left to draw my own conclusions, and that is why I wish to speak with your son.”
Lady Delacourt shook her head sadly. “I daresay I can obviate the need for such a meeting, Captain Amherst. Do you truly mean to marry Jonet?”
“Most assuredly, ma’am, if she will have me.”
For a moment, she nodded quietly to herself. “Well, I have always known it eventually would come to this, I suppose,” Lady Delacourt finally said.
Cole looked at her in some confusion. “Come to what, ma’am?”
The old woman did not answer, choosing instead to change the subject. “I believe, Captain Amherst, that you have taken orders, have you not?” she said lightly. “Indeed, Jonet said so just last week. So I’ll ask you to consider my words as a sort of confession. You will honor such a request, I daresay?”
Cole was growing increasingly uncomfortable. “Ma’am, I can assure you that you need tell me nothing at all. I have come to see Delacourt, and I fully intend to do so.”
“Oh, and see him you surely shall,” she said grimly. “No doubt my coxcomb of a son will insist upon it. But this story is mine, and so I shall tell it.”
Cole did not know what to say. “If you insist,” he answered softly. But it was clear that Lady Delacourt intended to have her say, and already, her gaze had turned inward.
“Many years ago, Captain Amherst,” she quietly began, “I made my way in this cold world as a governess. My blood was a rather rural shade of pale blue—I daresay you know the color I mean—and I was accounted fortunate when I achieved every governess’s fairy tale of marrying her employer. But in my case, my employer was the late Lord Delacourt, and he wed me out of guilt, not love.”
“Guilt?” asked Cole softly. He really did not want to have this conversation.
The old woman’s gaze was strong and certain, yet Cole could see her knuckles, white against the chair arm. “You see, I had been employed for some years as governess to his only child, dear Charlotte. We lived quietly at the family seat in Derbyshire, and his lordship often visited, bringing his friends for hunting parties. All went well until one autumn night when I made the dreadful misjudgement of going down to the kitchen for a mug of milk.”
Cole was beginning to feel side “Milk, ma’am?” he echoed softly.
Lady Delacourt squeezed shut her eyes. “Why, yes. I do believe it was milk,” she whispered weakly, but then, her voice took on a bitter strength that Cole had not expected from such a delicate woman. “In any event, I went down the servant’s stairs—a regrettable choice, I confess—and whilst doing so, I was accosted and raped by a drunken houseguest. It was, as I am sure you have guessed, Jonet’s father, Kildermore. Accompanied by his cohort Lord Mercer, who was kind enough to stand guard to”—the old woman paused to laugh bitterly —”why, to ensure my modesty, I do not doubt.”
Cole could bear it no longer. He jerked from his chair and went, to her, lightly placing his hand over hers, and Lady Delacourt’s eyes flew open wide. “My lady, I beg you will not continue. This is most assuredly not what I came here for.”
The old woman blinked once. “Oh, but I believe that it is, Captain Amherst.”
Cole took her slender, wrinkled hand in his hand and knelt by the wheelchair. “Lady Delacourt, I would never wish you to distress yourself on my behalf.”
“Yes,” she said softly. “That has always been David’s concern, an
d Jonet’s, too. But I find that this story distresses you young people far more than it does me nowadays. My life has not been without joy, sir. And the late Lord Delacourt attempted to defend my honor as best he could, given the circumstances. Moreover, when it became apparent that I was with child, he married me.”
“That was—that was very honorable,” Cole admitted, his throat constricting.
“Yes, and something few men of his rank would have done,” she added, her voice soft and introspective. “And so, Captain Amherst, my son has inherited a fortune and title he now believes is not his by rights. And Jonet has one she feels is rightfully his. For as you may know, the Scottish earldom of Kildermore can convey to a female —but only if the titleholder leaves no male heirs. Legitimate ones, of course.”
She looked at him quizzically. “You did understand that, did you not?”
“Yes, I suppose that I did,” he said weakly. Suddenly, the room seemed hot and far too small. There was something ... something troubling him ...but what the devil was it? Absently, he rubbed one palm against his temple, trying to answer Lady Delacourt’s question. “In truth, ma’am, I am but a soldier and a scholar. I think very little about such things as rank and title. I recall, however, that at the time of her marriage there was talk of Lady Jonet’s title being nearly the equal of Mercer’s.”
“And both of them grander than my son’s viscountcy,” she quietly returned.
Suddenly, Lady Delacourt’s other hand came up to cover Cole’s. “But I do hope you understand, sir, that David displaced no one. My husband had no heir, for unlike Kildermore’s, Delacourt’s title could not convey through the female line. Had he died without a son, my stepdaughter Charlotte would have been left nearly destitute, whilst the title would simply have gone into abeyance.”
“That seems ... terribly unfair.”
The old lady nodded. “It is. So my husband deprived no one of anything which was rightfully theirs, and provided for his daughter in the bargain. But confidentiality is essential, sir. Charlotte knows nothing of this. And regrettably, David’s bitterness has caused him to make enemies, many of whom would be well pleased to see his name and title challenged. And yet, were it not for that devil Kildermore, my son would never have had to know the truth of his conception.”