Not Always a Saint

by Mary Jo Putney

  “Because you’re a wicked woman?”

  “Exactly.” She shrugged and turned a corner, the oyster shells crunching softly under her evening slippers. “I’ve never even met the woman who was denouncing me, yet she was quite sure what I am.”

  “I need to know just how wicked you are, Jessie. Assuming you are wicked. So far, that’s only hearsay.” Strange how directly he could speak to her. Was that an aspect of the physical attraction between them, or something else entirely? “We must take this time to learn about each other. I need the truth about you, just as you need it about me.”

  They’d walked half a dozen more steps before she said soberly, “There are things I will not discuss, but I swear I won’t lie. Where do you want me to start?”

  Learning about her past might remove some of her tantalizing aura of mystery, he thought, allowing reason to return. “Where are you from?”

  “Like you, I’m from the West Country. I’ve been in Bristol, so if you think I look familiar, that’s why.” She glanced up at him, her heart-shaped face ivory pale in the moonlight. “I didn’t live in Kent until I married Philip. You would have been long gone from the Westerfield Academy by then.”

  He nodded at the confirmation of his guesses. “What about your family? You said your father was a vicar. Was that true?”

  “Yes,” she said reluctantly. “Apart from Philip, you’re the only person I’ve ever told. I wonder why I did? I try not to think of my father. Ever.”

  “People tend to talk to me,” he replied. “It’s a function of both my callings, I suppose.”

  “I think it has more to do with you personally than the fact that you’re an ordained clergyman. My father was revered for his public piety, but a meaner, more intolerant representative of the Church would be impossible to find,” she said bluntly. “He gave God a very bad name. My mother died when I was young. I have few memories of her, but my father told me often how much I looked like her, and that was proof of my wicked nature.”

  He winced at the vivid pain in her voice. “No wonder you despise vicars. Most are not like him.”

  “They can’t be, or no one would ever set foot in a church,” she said tartly.

  “Did you run away and become an actress to get away from him?”

  She hesitated, and he guessed she was deciding how much to tell him. “It wasn’t a direct path. I ran away from home to marry my lover.”

  So Philip wasn’t her first husband. “Was that an improvement on living under your father’s roof?”

  “Not really. I was glad to be away from my father, but the marriage was a great mistake. I was much too young and innocent.” She bent and picked a pale flower beside the path, twirling the stem gently. “My husband was young, and . . . not innocent. After his death, I was penniless and I had to find a way to support myself. In desperation, I walked into the Theatre Royal in York and asked for work. Because of my looks, I was taken on and given minor parts, particularly ones that showed off my legs.”

  Daniel’s gaze dropped involuntarily to her legs, which were completely covered by heavy folds of black fabric. But he suspected that they were as perfect as the rest of her. “I’m sure you were good for the theater’s business, and you received the kind of offers actresses routinely receive.”

  “Oh, yes. But I was fortunate because the theater owner put me under his personal protection.”

  His mouth tightened. Well, he’d wanted the truth. “I see.”

  “Actually, you don’t.” Their path opened into a hedged square with a fountain splashing softly in the center. Jessie sat on one of the benches facing the fountain, her skirts drifting gracefully around her ankles. “The owner preferred men to women. It was an open secret among theater people, but as you know, such behavior is against the law.”

  “A hanging offense,” Daniel said as he sat beside her, as far from her as the bench would allow. Darkness was good for speaking truths, and it also paradoxically made him even more aware of her intoxicating physical presence. “Though mercifully that’s seldom invoked. So he flaunted you as his mistress to conceal his true preferences.”

  “He was kind and amusing, so the arrangement worked well for some time.”

  Darkness might encourage truth, but there was also dangerous intimacy in the night air. Unable to see her clearly, he’d become acutely aware of her scent, of the richness of her low voice. “What happened then?”

  “I met Frederick Kelham at the theater,” she said in a flat voice. “He was a charming, handsome young gentleman, owner of a manor near York, heir to a barony, and he seemed to dote on me. I . . . I very much wanted a man to dote on me.”

  “So you became his mistress.” Daniel’s voice was quiet, without condemnation.

  “He asked me to marry him, and I accepted.” Her voice was bitter. “I was older, I should have been wiser, but once again, passion scrambled my wits. We were betrothed and I was a widow, not a young maiden. I behaved . . . foolishly.”

  “So you anticipated your vows. That’s not terribly wicked.”

  “It was wickedly stupid!” she retorted. “He said he was going to take me to meet his uncle. I thought Frederick wanted Philip’s blessing on our marriage. Instead then . . .” Her voice choked off.

  He wanted to draw her into his arms to soothe that raw pain, but that would shatter his fragile control. He settled for taking her hand, warming her cold fingers in his clasp. “Frederick did something unforgivable?”

  In a low, strained voice, she whispered, “He ordered me to seduce Philip.”

  Chapter 15

  Daniel stared at Jessie’s bent head, appalled that she’d been treated like a whore by a man she trusted and wanted to marry. “Why did he ask you to do such a thing?”

  “He hoped his uncle would increase his allowance,” she said wearily. “Frederick was extravagant, and the income from his estate and a modest quarterly allowance from Philip weren’t enough for him. I realized then that he’d never really wanted to marry me. He just wanted to use me to get more money from his uncle.”

  Daniel shook his head. “Frederick sounds incredibly stupid. Lord Kelham had the reputation of an honorable man. Surely he would be appalled if his nephew’s betrothed tried to seduce him.”

  “Frederick claimed no man could resist me, so of course I’d succeed.” Her hand tightened on Daniel’s. “His thinking was very muddled, but I think he planned to cast me as a wicked, faithless woman in the hopes that his uncle would pay him to end the engagement or buy me off or some such. He didn’t know Philip at all.”

  “Those without integrity don’t usually understand those who have it,” Daniel observed. “Obviously his plan didn’t succeed.”

  “I was horrified when Frederick told me what he wanted to do. Philip was so kind and dignified, and he’d welcomed me as his future niece even though I was an actress with no background. He was a gentleman, and Frederick was a pimp.”

  “You ended your betrothal then?”

  She nodded. “I told him he disgusted me and I ran away. Philip found me sobbing in the garden. One rather like this, actually. Strange how life works.”

  “Did you tell him what Frederick had planned?”

  “I was tempted, but . . . Philip loved his nephew almost like a son. I didn’t want him to know how vile Frederick could be. Assuming he believed me, which he might not have since I was just a wicked woman.” Her fingers clenched Daniel’s hand. “So I just said Frederick had come to believe we wouldn’t suit, and I’d released him from our betrothal because I knew he was right, but naturally I was sad. It was the best explanation I could come up with on a moment’s notice.”

  She’d been wise not to slander Frederick to his uncle. Had she realized how her dignified behavior would appeal to a man like Philip Kelham? “So Philip comforted you, and it turned out to be true that no man could resist you.”

  Her head shot up. “Do you think I planned that?” she asked, anger in her voice.

  “No, though perhaps that
’s more proof of your magical power over men,” he said wryly. “But from what I’ve heard about Frederick Kelham, it’s easy to believe he was both stupid and venal. Did you know he’s been going around London telling people that he’s the father of your daughter as well as the true heir to the barony?”

  Jessie made a sound like a hiss. “He has been claiming that since Philip’s will was read. He’s another guest at this ball, and earlier in the evening he cornered me on the balcony and said that if I didn’t marry him, he’d file suit to get himself declared Beth’s father and her guardian.” Her voice broke. “He wants to take Beth away from me!”

  Daniel gave a low whistle. “I think I understand the events of this evening a good deal better now. Is this why you sought me out and asked me to renew my courtship offer?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I hope you don’t hate me. I came to London to find a husband who will love Beth like she was his own, and who has the power to protect her from Frederick.”

  “And surely to protect you as well?”

  “Beth matters much more. She is the joy of my life, as she was of Philip’s. I would do anything to protect her.”

  “Including marry a man you don’t care for?” Daniel said dryly. This conversation was straining his tolerance and understanding to the limit.

  “Of course it must be a man I care for, and one who cares for Beth, but I wanted a husband who is older and wiser. Less prone to anger and jealousy,” she said, her tone wry. “My experiences with younger men haven’t been good. That’s why I wouldn’t consider you as a possibility before.”

  “But tonight you were desperate enough to reconsider.” His mouth curved. “I don’t think of myself as overly proud, which is good, because what pride I have is taking a beating.”

  “You wanted the truth,” she reminded him. “When I escaped Frederick’s clutches back into the ballroom, I saw you and realized that you were the right man in all ways. I also realized that you probably despised me, but . . . I had to see if I could change your mind. Which brings us here.”

  “Your claiming we were betrothed was an interesting surprise,” he remarked. “Though I suppose it was the only thing that could save us both from scandal when we were caught kissing.”

  “I was terrified because Frederick was in the group that gathered at the door. He was gloating because I’d just given him ammunition to gain custody of Beth.”

  “Is he her father?”

  Jessie hesitated. “Almost certainly not.”

  He tried to see her face more clearly in the darkness. “That’s an interesting answer. I would expect a flat denial.”

  “I promised you honesty.” She drew a shuddering breath. “When I broke things off with Frederick, he . . . he raped me before I could get away. Since it was unexpected, I hadn’t taken any precautions to prevent pregnancy. I suppose that gives him some grounds for thinking he might be Beth’s father.”

  Daniel sucked in his breath, hating the thought of Jessie being assaulted by a vicious brute. “The devil you say! And you didn’t tell his uncle?”

  “I could see no point to it. If Philip believed me, he would have been devastated, and if he didn’t believe me, everything would have become much, much worse. Instead, he said that Frederick was a fool not to marry me, but Philip was no fool, and he’d be greatly honored if I would consider an offer from him. I’d liked him from the moment I met him, and he seemed like a . . . a safe harbor.” She drew a shuddering breath. “I wanted so much to be safe.”

  “You married very quickly?”

  “A week later, by special license.” She looked away, embarrassed. “But I had my courses in that week, so I don’t think it’s possible that Frederick could be Beth’s father. She was born a little early, though, which clouds the issue. She looks like Philip, but he and Frederick share a family resemblance.” Her hand knotted around Daniel’s.

  “She is surely Philip’s daughter,” he said firmly. “Born in wedlock a reasonable interval after your marriage, and fully acknowledged by Lord Kelham. It sounds as if Frederick was trying to intimidate you into marriage because he knows he can’t win on the facts. Particularly since you’ve demonstrated that you have powerful friends.”

  “I hope to heaven you’re right,” she whispered. “I daren’t take risks with Beth.”

  “I’m right.” He squeezed her hand, again controlling the impulse to draw her into a comforting embrace. “I’m sorry to have asked you so many painful questions. What I see here in the darkness is not a wicked woman, but a brave woman and a passionately devoted mother.”

  “More desperate than brave. But enough about me. You came to London in search of a wife, you said. What sort of woman are you seeking?”

  He tried to remember what he’d said to Laurel. That seemed a lifetime ago. Now Jessie filled his imagination. “I wanted a mature woman, not a giggling girl. Sense is more important than beauty. In fact, I specifically did not want a beauty since such women can be demanding.”

  “Well, I’m no giggling girl. That’s something,” she observed. “And I don’t believe I’m particularly demanding. What other requirements do you have?”

  “A woman capable of overseeing my properties, since I’m more interested in being a surgeon than in breeding sheep or raising crops.” He studied her pure, pale profile. “I don’t suppose you’ve had experience as a land steward.”

  “Actually, I have,” Jessie replied. “I’m interested in everything, and because Philip loved Kelham Hall, he was happy to teach me about estate management. As his health failed, I took over more and more of the work. I don’t claim to be an expert, but I know what needs to be done and what questions to ask.”

  “That would be really helpful,” he said, surprised and pleased. “Would you object to a husband who continued in the low, ungentlemanly profession of surgery?”

  “Why would I object to a husband who helps people? Such behavior should be encouraged.” She chuckled. “Plus, if you’re busy, it keeps you out from underfoot. But what of you, my lord Romayne? I’ve done most of the talking, Now it’s your turn. What has shaped you into a saint?”

  He frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that. I’m no saint. Helping those in need is very rewarding. I don’t deserve special credit.”

  “Careful,” she warned. “You’re adding humility to your other virtues.”

  He had to laugh. “That wasn’t my intention. My life has been mercifully less dramatic than yours. I was born with an interest in medicine and healing, and I spent as much time as I could with the area physicians and bonesetters and surgeons. My father was the local squire, so they were willing to let me trail around behind them.”

  “The doctors and midwives I’ve known seem to share that early passion,” Jessie said thoughtfully. “Born to heal.”

  “I’ve found the same. Doctoring is hard work, sometimes heartbreaking, and occasionally dangerous,” Daniel mused. “It’s a calling, not a mere job. It’s also quite unfashionable. My parents were appalled when I said at quite a tender age that I wanted to go to Edinburgh to study surgery.”

  “Is that how you came to attend the Westerfield Academy?”

  “Oh, no,” he said with amusement. “They didn’t believe I was seriously interested in medicine. They were far more worried by my interest in religion. Naturally my parents encouraged a proper belief in the Church of England, with regular attendance and donations to the deserving poor.

  “But there was a Methodist chapel in the village, and I liked the congregation there much better. They improved lives in practical ways, like teaching reading and writing, and they didn’t worry about whether the poor were deserving or undeserving. I taught some classes myself, though I don’t think my parents ever learned that. It’s a pleasure to teach those who hunger to learn.”

  “So you were packed off to Lady Agnes to be turned into a proper, boring English gentleman.” There was a smile in her voice. “I’m glad it didn’t work.”

  “So am I.” At
first he’d resented being sent there instead of a larger school, but it hadn’t taken him long to realize how well Lady Agnes and her students suited him.

  “Now it’s your turn to answer painful questions, my lord,” Jessie said, her amusement vanishing. “What should I know about you? What joys and tragedies have shaped you into the man you are today?”

  He owed her the kind of honesty she’d given him. “Though I’m an ordained minister, I’ve never been a proper cleric. To please my parents, I was willing to go to Oxford to study for the Church since philosophy and theology interested me. They thought that would keep me busy and respectable until it was time to take over my father’s duties at Belmond Manor.” He’d drifted along comfortably for several years. He hadn’t even realized he was drifting. “Then everything changed.”

  “In what ways?”

  “I brought my good friend Kirkland home for a visit and he and my little sister went mad and married, which was unsettling in several ways.” He fell silent, battling old pain. “And . . . not long after, my fiancée, Rose, died suddenly when I was up at Oxford.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Jessie said with genuine sympathy. “That must have been devastating. What was she like?”

  “Sweet and golden and sunny-natured.” Her image seared through his mind, a laughing young girl who would never grow old. “Our family estates adjoined and we grew up together. It was the most natural thing in the world to imagine that we’d marry and live the same comfortable country life of our parents. But then she died.”

  He fell silent so long that Jessie prompted, “And?”

  “I’ve never told this to anyone, even Laurel,” he said slowly, “but I’ve always wondered if I could have saved Rose if I’d been there. She died of a fierce, sudden fever. There are things that could have been done that weren’t. Perhaps . . .” His voice ran down.