She was speechless in her rage. She’d never hit a person before, but her hands quivered with anger at his callousness.
“Geoffrey talked me into taking you, even in your condition.”
She met his eyes and saw only cold disdain. “My condition?”
“You’re barren,” he said casually as if reacquainting her with the obvious, “but I need no heirs. My brother wants the title for my nephew, Henry.”
She resumed her seat with a soft thud and muttered, “Geoffrey was sterile.”
Percival snickered. “Had you fooled, did he?”
She glared at him. “He had no issue in his first marriage either.”
“Amelia was a sickly thing,” he said dismissively. “I’m talking about that chit Molly.”
“My maid?” How utterly ridiculous, the girl was only sixteen and had been twelve when Geoffrey took ill.
“Bloody ironic, isn’t it? Your stepdaughter does your laundry.”
Molly was her stepdaughter? Edna Lewin and Geoffrey had been lovers? Was it possible Molly was their child? Her stomach churned at the disloyal thoughts.
No. Geoffrey was a good man who loved her. “This is preposterous.”
Percival sneered, clearly enjoying delivering the bad news. “My mother told me the story herself. Old Geoff couldn’t keep his hands off the wench. They were caught going at it in the stables, and him with a wife on her deathbed. Nine months later, Molly was born.”
Mrs. Lewin, a wench? Cathryn started to defend her. “Edna Lewin—”
“Yes, that’s her name. Edna.” He cut her off and gloated as if this was the ultimate proof. “He made me swear she’d be cared for, and her children, too, so don’t you go discharging them over this.”
Before she could respond, a serving girl entered with their wine. Cathryn’s mind throbbed with this unwelcome knowledge.
Geoffrey had betrayed her, and he’d seemed the kindest man in the world.
And then the import of Percival’s disclosure struck her like a bucket of ice water. If he told the truth, she was proven barren. A chill crept into her bones and she pulled her cloak tight. Julian needed an heir. She resisted the urge to curl up into a ball and hide beneath the soft wool fabric.
Every dream she cherished was shattered. She couldn’t marry Julian—or any respectable man in need of an heir. She would never have the children she’d prayed for; she would never be free of the dreadful man who stood before her. Even her past was a shambles. Her esteemed husband had been shagging the housekeeper.
“You didn’t know, then?” Hedges came over to pick up his glass.
She shook her head and reached for her own glass. As she lifted it to her lips, she glanced at Percival and the scorn on his face made her doubt him. Perhaps this was all a concoction, meant to keep her in her place. A flicker of hope took hold.
She drained half her glass but kept her eyes on him. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“I hadn’t intended to, but you should know your value.” He glanced at her fully for the first time and she was glad for the thick cloak, although his look was filled with contempt rather than desire. “I dislike women who think themselves the equals of men.”
If she’d had a weapon, she would have used it on him.
The innkeeper interrupted them as he entered carrying a large tray. Soon the platter of rib roast was on the table, followed by the vegetable pie and some creamed peas. “Would you like me to serve, my lord?” he inquired as he set plates and utensils before them.
Percival examined his silverware critically. “Bring me a clean fork. This one is filthy.”
Cathryn glanced at hers and found it spotless.
The innkeeper left hastily, and Cathryn wished she’d chosen a more public venue for this discussion. Percival was a Neanderthal. She should exit while she still had her wits about her, but her curiosity kept her seated.
He stared at Cathryn and then down at his plate. He expected her to serve him. She wanted to rail at him, to make a scene that would bring Victor and Molly running to her defense, but she sensed Hedges was not yet done explaining himself and she needed to know his mind.
Silently, she picked up the carving knife, tempted for one second to plunge it into his chest and end this charade. Instead, she calmly sliced two thick pieces of meat and placed one on his plate, then hers. He watched her intently, but she kept her face carefully devoid of emotion as she set the knife back down on the platter. Let him think her a simpleton; perhaps he would reveal more of his motives, and she could find a way out of her contract.
The vegetable pie released a cloud of fragrant steam as she broke through the crust and spooned a large serving onto his plate. Her appetite had left her, so she placed a smaller portion on her own. She detested peas and gave him several spoonfuls.
His booming voice startled her as he began Sunday grace, “O God our King.” She thought he must be used to saying grace in the large dining halls he shared with the Oxford students and tutors. Surely, his tone was meant to intimidate her here in this small dining area. He continued as if he were a minister preaching to his flock, “A…and steel us to wait for the consummation of your kingdom on the last great Day; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
“Amen.” And please let his accusations about Geoffrey be untrue, she added silently before she opened her eyes.
The innkeeper hovered nearby with the new silverware, which passed the baron’s inspection.
Cathryn toyed with the crust of her onion pie and watched Hedges cut his meat. He did not speak and she nibbled on an onion without tasting it. Only two days before she’d shared a similar meal with Julian, and her lost appetite then was because she was enthralled by the earl. His flirtatious manner lightened a room, his exceptional good looks made being near him a delight, and his generosity made her smile. She wanted to know his deepest thoughts, to share his desires and dreams, to have him by her side day and night.
Percival ate his entire meal in silence and never glanced at her or her food. When he’d cleaned his plate, he moved it closer to the meat platter. “Give me an end piece.”
His bitter tone ended her reverie about Julian, and reminded her of the cruel twist of fate she’d just been delivered. Coming back to the sparse room with a deep sigh, she complied woodenly with the rudely spoken command.
He glanced at her plate. “I’m paying for this meal, and I want you to eat.” He applied himself to his beef.
“That reminds me,” she said as she picked up her fork. “I’ve had no word from the Sibley steward for several months.”
“I let him go.” The baron took a long drink of wine and continued, “I have my own man there now.”
Mr. Smithers had been the highly capable Sibley steward for thirty years, but Percival knew that and there was no sense stating the obvious.
“I’ll see you keep getting your checks. We had a bad crop and Robbie’s been overwhelmed.”
“Robbie?”
“Robert Juslow, the new Hedges’ steward. He’s a former student of mine.”
“I see.” Doubtless Robbie’s fair hair had been tousled by Hedges at some point.
“He’s still learning the ropes, but he’ll be fine.”
He finished his beef and moved his plate towards the pie. “I gave Smithers a fine reference; he’s found a new position in Scotland.”
“Thank you.” It was very odd that Mr. Smithers had not communicated with her or the Lewins about this arrangement.
She spooned more vegetables onto his plate and sought for some neutral ground. “How are your studies progressing?”
He warmed immediately. “Exceptionally well. I have some fine new students, and the translation has moved forward more in a term than in the last two years.”
“You’re working on the Acritic Songs, aren’t you?” She poured him more wine, and then refilled her own glass.
“Digenis Acritis, yes. I’m surprised you remember.”
“It’s a heroic tale, and was a favorite
of Geoffrey’s.”
“Of course. He introduced me to it when I was just beginning at Eton.”
Eton, Julian had been there at the same time as Percival. Inspiration struck. “I believe Lord Ahlquist mentioned he was also working on it.”
Percival leapt to his feet and bellowed, “Ahlquist is working on the Digenis Acritis?” His face went red with fury.
She wasn’t sure why she’d lied so boldly, but it felt good to speak Julian’s name. His alliance gave her strength in the face of Hedges’ sudden rage. “I believe so, but you know how unreliable women are.”
Hedges strode to the far wall and grabbed his hat and coat, his voice rough. “When did he begin?”
“He didn’t say precisely, some time ago, or perhaps recently. I don’t recall, he only mentioned it in passing.”
He stuffed his arms into his sleeves, and then seemed to have a change of heart as he walked back towards her. “When will you see Ahlquist again?”
“I’m not certain, we have nothing planned.” Lying was coming easier to her now. She hoped to see the earl this very night.
“I want you to find out everything you can about his translation, particularly how far along he is, and who is helping him.”
“I barely know the man.”
Percival strode over to her and yanked her out of her seat by both arms, wrenching her shoulders painfully. Anger seethed out of his pores. “Tumble him if you have to, but get me the damned information soon.” He shook her as if to register his message and then shoved her back into her seat, knocking the air from her lungs.
Three long steps took him to the door, where he turned and hissed, “We marry at Christmas in Christ Church.”
She shook her head violently, but he was gone, slamming the door behind him as she regained her breath. She spoke to the empty room. “How did Geoffrey ever think we were suited?” Her hands shook as she poured herself the rest of the wine and gulped down half a glass. “I may be barren, but I can do better than the likes of you.” Staring into the fire, seething with hatred for the man she was contracted to wed, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Laughter won. “Tumble Julian for you?” She chuckled at the irony. “That’s one order I will gladly obey.” She finished her drink and rose. “The only one.”
The innkeeper knocked gently before entering, “Is everything well, baroness?”
She laughed again, but it felt false this time. “I’m not certain.” Tears threatened to follow, so she busied herself straightening her cloak. “The meal was delicious, thank you. Did the baron pay you?”
“No, milady, but he has a credit.” He lifted her bonnet from its peg and handed it to her. “Will you be staying the night, milady?”
She put on her bonnet and tied the ribbons, anxious to get to the truth. “No, we will return to London immediately.”
I need to speak with my housekeeper.
* * * * *
Violet was in the parlor when Cathryn arrived home, and the details of the Oxford disaster were quickly relayed. Before Violet could even defend her brother, the slender, gray-haired Edna entered and gave a slight curtsy. “You sent for me, milady?”
Cathryn pushed aside the panic and dread she’d wrestled with for five hours. “Yes, Mrs. Lewin.” Her throat thickened and she paused to clear it. “I’m afraid there is no good way to ask this question, and I dearly wish it did not need to be asked, but it must.” She took a deep breath and blurted, “Is Molly Sir Geoffrey’s daughter?”
Edna’s face crumpled and her lean shoulders sank. “I’m so sorry, milady.”
“It’s true, then?” Cathryn’s hands dropped to her belly. She was barren. Julian was lost to her. The air seemed to shudder with her disappointment.
“It might be.” Edna’s hands began shaking, and her voice was a whisper.
The uncertainty took a moment to register through Cathryn’s fog of despair, and it was Violet who asked, “What do you mean?”
Cathryn stood rooted to the floorboards, glad for her friend’s intervention.
Edna looked ready to cry, and Violet took her arm. “Come sit down and tell us what you can.”
“Oh, don’t be kind to me, either of you.” Edna shook Violet away. “I was weak.” She backed towards the door. “I married Nathan, and I lay with another man. I will burn for my sins.” She faced the door and sobbed into her hands.
So. There was no way to know for certain about Molly. Hope flickered and the fog dispersed. A bitter mix of anger, disappointment, and pity took hold, and Cathryn barely recognized her voice when she spoke. “Edna, I need to ask you another question.”
Edna’s sobs stilled as she turned to face her mistress. All three women trembled as they struggled to maintain their composure.
Cathryn simply had to know. “Did you and Geoffrey…continue…after he and I married?”
Edna’s sobs started anew. “Mondays.”
The word hung in the air, and Cathryn turned away to stare out the window.
Geoffrey had come to her bed every Friday evening for four years, unless it was her women’s time. The prospect that he had spent every Monday in Edna’s slim arms was a devastating blow to her pride.
“I’ll pack my things, milady.”
“No.” Somehow, she wasn’t angry with Edna. She was furious with Geoffrey, but Edna seemed more a victim than a temptress. And there were pieces to this puzzle that only Edna could provide. “You had no more children after Molly.”
“She was a hard birth. My monthly cycle ended after…”
Cathryn wanted to ask more personal items—where did you and Geoffrey meet on Mondays? How could Geoffrey betray his vows?
Instead, she stayed with practical matters. “Does Nathan know?”
“We don’t speak of it.”
“Then there’s no need to mention it now.” Cathryn walked over to the window seat and sank down onto the cushion. “I need to consider all of this. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“I’m dreadfully sorry, my lady. I never meant for you to know.”
Cathryn shot her a wry look, not certain how to take the well-intended perfidy. “Sir Percival told me.”
“I hope you don’t marry him, milady.”
“I would move to the colonies before I became his wife.”
There was an awkward silence before Violet spoke confidently. “Lord Ahlquist won’t let that happen.”
As if he’d heard her, three loud knocks echoed up the stairwell.
Julian had arrived.
Chapter Seven
Cathryn filled with panic. “I need a minute, but don’t send him away.”
Violet nodded and ushered a defeated Edna out the door. Both women appeared as devastated as she, their heads hung low, their gaits sluggish. There was some comfort in sharing her misery.
Julian’s booming voice rose up from the foyer as he greeted Lewin, and it stirred Cathryn from her seat. She straightened her skirt as she headed for the looking glass.
She looked positively wretched. She must have been dragging her fingers through her hair, because half her pins were loose. Her eyes were rimmed red from the silent weeping she had done on the ride from Oxford, and the tears that still hovered. She retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes, and then blew her nose. Her hair would have to be redone, she decided, and hastily extracted her pins. After shaking free her heavy mane of brown hair, she looked wild, her troubled eyes haunted by the distressing events of the past six hours. She wished she had an hour to gather herself and consider the ramifications of Edna’s disclosures, but Julian was here, now.
There was a hairbrush in the drawer of the small table beneath the mirror, and her hands shook as she retrieved it. She heard Violet and Julian talking below as she dragged the brush through her unruly locks. What was she going to say? She wanted to be honest, but that might ruin her chances for any attachment between them.
This might be the last time she ever saw him.
Her eyes well
ed anew at that thought. No, she would rather be his mistress than not be with him at all.
Tumble him if you have to…
Rude words that taunted her. If she was barren, she could tumble without consequence, and Julian was the right man for the task. Her barely contained rage at Percival, and Geoffrey, easily trumped her anxiety over her “condition”.
Her fury transformed into another primal emotion. She wanted to lash out at mankind and seek revenge for herself, and for all women misused by men. Her body burned to avenge the wrongs heaped on her this day.
She set down the brush and grasped the edge of the table, starring at her fierce image. She looked more huntress than prey, and the thought appealed to her.
Julian’s voice on the stairs spurred her, and she bit at her lips and pinched her cheeks to redden them. There was no time to dress her hair. He would have to take her as she was.
He must have run up the stairs because his knock on the parlor door came more quickly than she expected.
“Come in.” Her voice sounded wounded and she stiffened her resolve. She wanted him, but she was seething with unwelcome rage.
He hovered in the doorway for a moment, his handsome features clouded by concern. “Are you all right, love?”
He was magnificence itself in his black formal wear, but he was not strutting at the moment. An intense rush of desire coursed through her, but she could not move a muscle to respond. She wanted this man, at all costs.
He seemed transfixed by her appearance as he asked, “Did he hurt you, love?”
She lifted her hand to her left shoulder, which did ache from Percival’s rough treatment. The man had also wounded her with his accusations and remarks, so she couldn’t say he had done her no harm. Her voice came out a breathy murmur. “A bit.”
The full range of negative emotions crossed Julian’s face. Rage to match her own, frustration, regret and sadness. His hands clenched at his sides. He suffered the same deep needs as she did—to rip something to shreds, to avenge wrongs, to make matters right.
He took a deep breath and stepped towards her, wrapping her in his arms. “I’m going to kill him, but it will have to wait.”
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