Light to Valhalla

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  Fourteen

  Accusations of murder and impropriety raced through London on an ever escalating scale, successfully killing any lingering magic from Charley and Alex’s blissful respite in the country or the coming holiday season. As predicted, a parade of callers streamed through Coverstone House each with the sole purpose of dropping snide remarks and gleaning bits of razor sharp gossip to lavish on London society. Numb, Charley perched on the edge of her chair, clenching the teacup saucer in a white knuckled grip, and doing her damndest to drum up the courage to face the next round of visitors with a face of serenity and good breeding.

  “In light of the circumstances I certainly see why you disappeared to the country for two weeks.” Lady Carmichael clicked her tongue and looked down at Charley from her sharply angled nose. “Don’t you agree, Marisol?”

  “Yes, of course,” the Countess’s mousy daughter rejoined haughtily. The two made quite a picture in their frocks of excess lace and pink frill, and while the ridiculous garb was expected of Lady Carmichael the clothes did little to enhance the bony features, and sallow coloring of Lady Marisol. The young woman quirked a thin brow. “I’d sooner die a spinster than find myself wed to a philandering murderer.”

  That can be arranged, Charley thought peevishly. At three and twenty Marisol was dangerously close to being ‘on the shelf’ whatever haughty air she adopted. Biting the inside of her cheek Charley lifted her cup, feigning a sip.

  “We had a long conversation with General Witherspoon today,” Marisol continued slowly, building suspense for the next cut. “Such a wonderful man, though it seems his wife is yet to recover from the death of their son.” Gray eyes speared Charley with a superior leer. The Carmichaels had little regard for rank. “But of course your ladyship would already know all about that.”

  “No. No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Charley bit out. The nerve of these women. She’d done nothing to deserve such ill treatment except be a faithful wife. Fat lot of good that had done her. Alex should be the one sitting here, defending his honor, but that was impossible seeing as he’d rather conveniently disappeared. The hot sting of tears nipped the back of her eyes. She opened her mouth to let fly a scathing retort, but Regina shot her a warning glare and Charley clamped her mouth shut with such force her teeth hurt. To the dowagers credit she’d remained unwaveringly at Charley’s side for each and every of the thirteen callers in the last seven hours. And that number had waned considerably over the last week. Perhaps by next Wednesday the stream of visitors would peter out…

  Dear God, next Wednesday? She couldn’t take another moment of this madness much less several days!

  Charley took a steadying sip of tea, smiled—or rather attempted to smile—at the peacock pair and said, “I do hate to be rude, but I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  Lady Carmichael’s eyes widened to saucers.

  “The hour is past five and I’m afraid we’ve a very busy evening planned.” Charley rose, gesturing broadly toward the door. “Thank you for the visit. As always the company was very…” She took in the tower of dyed feathers displayed in the countess’s hat. “Interesting.”

  Lady Carmichael’s jaw dropped nearly to the floor. “A-are you insulting me? Of all the nerve. I—”

  “No more than you have insulted me.” Charley tugged the silver bell cord behind her chair. “I’ll have Hastings show you out. Good day.”

  Marisol’s eyes narrowed shrewishly, but the younger woman stood, the cloud of pink silk billowing around her, and bustled to the door without a word. Lady Carmichael followed at a considerably slower pace, red faced as the fires of hell.

  When the women finally exited the room, Charley collapsed back in her chair, wrinkling her nose at the overwhelming stench of their lingering perfume. Vanilla, and lilac… a hideous combination. Her stomach rolled.

  “I need a drink,” Regina muttered, stomping to the sideboard cabinet situated on the far end of the parlor. She flung open the cupboard door and plucked a bottle of whiskey from the top shelf. Without bothering to find a tumbler she popped the cork and tipped the nozzle to her lips, taking a very un-marchioness gulp.

  Wide eyed Charley could do little more than stare as her mother-in-law shuddered, clutched the bottle to her chest, and finally took another swig.

  Regina shook her head and grimaced. “Would you care for a nip as well?” She held the bottle out to Charley.

  “Uh, no.” Charley quickly shook her head, stomach rolling at the mere thought of quaffing such potent liquor. She’d once drunk a little brandy and the burn had scalded her throat for two days.

  “What a pair.” Regina shook her head, poured a draught of whiskey into a tumbler and finally replaced the bottle to it’s resting place on the uppermost shelf. “As if Prudence has any room to bandy insults about, everyone knows her second son, Andrew, is not her husband’s.”

  Charley blinked dumbly, unsure what she was supposed to do with the information, though in some perverse way it made her feel better to know she was among many cuckolded members of the aristocracy. Perhaps they could create their own club. Gentleman had clubs for everything—drinking, gambling—why couldn’t she create a club for humiliated spouses.

  “You handled them very well,” Regina continued. “You’re handling this entire situation with more poise than I’d ever imagined you capable of.”

  Normally Charley would have grimaced, but after the last weeks Regina’s insults paled in comparison to the scandalous remarks of callers, not to mention Jack’s surprise arrival. Her entire chest tightened with the memory of the little boy—at that very moment he was probably sitting in the nursery directly above her head, playing with the wooden toys passed down by Alex and his brothers. Charley did what she could to protect him from the turmoil pervading each and every corner of the household, but children were sensitive, and she worried he wouldn’t adjust well being caught squarely in the middle.

  The cupboard door closed with a gentle click, yanking Charley from the disparaging trail of her thoughts. Regina turned to her, moving slowly forward, cradling the drink in a bony grasp. “Believe it or not, I know exactly what you’re going through. I’ve been there myself.” A tear winked from the corner of her ice blue eye, and for a moment the witch façade faded, leaving the broken, bleeding soul of a human being in it’s wake. “Twice. Keep your chin up, Charlotte. Hold your head up and no one can hurt you.” She stopped before Charley and grasped her chin in claw like fingers, Regina’s eyes remained intent and yet surprisingly soft at the same time. “Not even your husband.”

  A glimpse of Regina Charley had never seen before, glimmered beneath a harsh exterior, and for a moment her heart softened just a bit. “Twice?”

  “Yes, twice.” Regina sighed, taking a seat beside Charley. “Richard is no—was not my son.”

  Charley’s jaw hit the floor.

  Regina chuckled. “Best kept secret in London I daresay, but do the math, you’ll see the dates don’t match by three months. One week after our wedding a chambermaid came forward, claiming to be carrying Reginald’s child. I was horrified, completely devastated, and the worst was that he didn’t even try to deny it. I wanted to leave him then and there, but my duty was to my title and my husband, and moreover I was terrified of what would become of me. The scandal… Anyhow, Reginald convinced me it was a single indiscretion before we married and swore it would never happen again.” She smiled wistfully, twirling the tumbler in her hands. “Lord but I was a fool for that man, so charming and handsome, it was beyond me to deny him anything. So Reginald, I, and that damned chambermaid packed up and headed to the country for the better part of a year. We devised a grand scheme, living as recluses with only a handful of trusted servants. The maid, Elizabeth, gave birth and went to Scotland with a fat living, while Reginald and I took Richard back to London claiming he was our child.”

  “My god,” was all Charley managed.

  “He became my son, I loved him as any of the others, and for many ye
ars we were very happy. If Reginald was unfaithful I never knew it.”

  Charley leaned forward, divesting every detail.

  “I had only just learned I was carrying Alex when Reginald’s brother, Leopold, stormed into our house in a drunken rage. It was a sight I’ll never forget. Apparently his wife was pregnant, which wouldn’t be suspicious except that he’d been out of the country for the last four months. Beatrice admitted to an affair with Reginald, and once again my husband didn’t even try to deny the fact. To avoid scandal Reginald paid Leopold to give the child his name, but soon I learned my husband had been cuckolding me our entire marriage. Women of the ton… servants… my own sister…” She fell silent, lost in the past for a long while. “Soon our relationship dissolved into miserable fighting. He became a drunk.” She lifted the tumbler still rested in her hand. “I’m not much better. In any case, I wanted you to know that you’re not alone in this. Men are incapable of fidelity, and we women must hold to our honor and keep our name in good standing.”

  Poor Alex. Her heart bled for him. As a child, he’d never had a chance… “Thank you,” Charley murmured, mind abuzz with this new insight. “I would not have survived the last two days without your presence.”

  “Yes, well, we must salvage the family name. Once my worthless son is through ransacking the title it will be up to us and us alone to save face.” She tossed back her liquor, quaffing it in one long gulp. “Well, I’m retiring for the night. Nerves and all that.”

  “Of course.”

  Regina stole from the room, leaving Charley to puzzle over their bizarre moment of kinship. Was the dowager truly seeing her in a new light or merely creating a temporary alliance until Alex managed to heave his good name out of the mire? Most likely the later, Regina simply hated Alex more than Charley at this particular moment in time. That would change with the next tide. Charley sighed, plucking the cinnamon stick out of her tea and rolling it between her teeth. She bit down just hard enough for the tang of raw cinnamon to leech onto her tongue.

  Impatiently she glanced about the room. Her eyes fell to the clock and she sighed. Would waiting for Alex ever cease? She’d spent her entire life waiting for him—for him to see her as more than a childhood friend, six years on the continent with the Army… three of those as his estranged wife—and once again she found herself in the cyclical pattern of waiting because he hadn’t come home last night or the night before. A weighty sigh wheezed from her lips. In light of the horrendous rumors circulating she wasn’t exactly surprised, but couldn’t help but be worried.

  “Not that he deserves it,” she muttered, shoving to her feet. Infidelity… murder… more infidelity… She ticked the offenses off on her fingers, growing angrier as the seconds slipped past. Oh, but who was she kidding? Anger was the wrong word to describe the emotions plaguing her heart and soul. She was devastated. The moment Alex had walked out the door yesterday her bottom had fallen out, leaving her adrift on the breeze, completely without direction. And after Regina’s tale of woe Charley had little hope for the salvation of her marriage.

  Charley had no idea what to do or believe, and the parade of callers snubbing their crooked noses at her did little to aide her distress. She had no choice but to blindly defend her husband even though she herself had been the first to condemn him.

  “Regina!” A commotion from the hall drew Charley’s attention.

  “Veronica, dear,” Regina replied. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  Charley tensed, quickly searching for escape. She had no desire to encounter Lady Veronica. Too many reminders of Alex’s infidelity existed in the house as it was.

  “Yes, well, I came through the back door. I do hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” Regina returned, invitation clear in her voice. “You’re practically family. Come let me offer you something to drink.”

  Panic rose in Charley’s throat. She leapt to her feet, praying the women would choose a different drawing room for their visit. As it was the formal parlor had but one door and Veronica and Reina were blocking it.

  “I am so sorry I didn’t come sooner,” Veronica gushed. “How are you faring?”

  “As well as can be expected.”

  “And Alex?”

  “Took off early this week.”

  There was a brief quiet. “Well, I came to offer both of you my support in any way possible,” Veronica said softly. The concern evident in her tone grated Charley’s nerves. Something about the woman rubbed her the wrong way.

  A moment later the women entered the formal parlor. Veronica stopped dead in her tracks, cool gaze slicing through Charley.

  Squelching her discomfort, Charley clasped her hands in front of her and smiled politely. “Good afternoon, Lady Veronica. I trust you’re well.”

  “Quite.”

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you ladies to visit.” Charley curtsied and hurried toward the door.

  “Nonsense,” Regina protested. “Sit. Have a drink with us.”

  “I’m sorry, but I must decline. I was just on my way to see to some matters in the kitchen,” she lied. “Another time perhaps.” Chin held high—as per Regina’s advice—she swept out of the room.

  Veronica’s judging snort followed Charley’s exit. “She is certainly handling this well. If Alex was my husband I’d never be able to act as though nothing was wrong.”

  Barring her ears—and her pride—Charley kicked up the pace. Women like Veronica and Lady Carmichael were all the same. Best not to heed them any mind… or so her mother would say. Charley sighed. It was much easier said than done to turn the other cheek.

  Mounting the stairs she made her way to the nursery. She’d promised Jack a story after his supper. Right now she would focus on that and banish gossiping biddies from her thoughts.

  She supposed most women would resent the boy’s presence in their home, but not Charley. No. She’d been raised to leave blame where it lay. The moment she entered the room and laid eyes on Jack she smiled, the sour taste left by Veronica’s visit washed away. Only a monster could lay blame to an innocent child. The boy looked up to her and beamed, his little round face filled with such joy her heart melted. He was a truly beautiful child, blessed with the signature Coverstone blue eyes and soft blond curls.

  Jack leapt down from his miniature wooden chair and scampered to the bookshelf lining the far wall, tugging free his favorite picture book. Arms extended he held the volume up, and jumped excitedly. “Read!”

  Charley and Mrs. Floreck, the nursemaid, laughed.

  “Come along then.” Charley crossed to the wooden rocker and held her arms out. Jack wasted no time in hurrying to her. “Mrs. Floreck you’re welcome to take a break. I’ll ring when you’re needed back,” she said, snuggling Jack up onto her lap.

  “Thank you, milady.” Mrs. Floreck curtsied, but hesitated before leaving. “And if I may say, Lady Coverstone, what you’re doing for this boy, showing him so much love… Well, you’re truly an angel sent from heaven.”

  Charley didn’t know what to say. The words brought unexpected tears to her eyes and for some reason, it was exactly what she’d needed to hear. “Th-thank you,” she stammered, forcing back sniffles.

  The woman flushed. “Forgive me speaking out of turn. I’ll leave you two be.” She bobbed a second harried curtsy and bolted through the door.

  Jack squirmed impatiently, tugging at the book clutched in Charley’s hands.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Where were we?” She swallowed against the lump in her throat, and opened to the book, dropping a kiss on his downy curls. Jack pointed a chubby finger at the fairytale castle on the first page. “Once upon a time,” Charley began, “there lived a prince…”

  Three stories and two songs later, Jack cuddled in her lap, gazing up at her with sleep heavy eyes. “Are you my mama?” he asked in what was undoubtedly the most complete sentence she’d heard him speak.

  Her stomach flopped and her heart swelled with a newly disc
overed level of emotion. With gentle fingers Charley swept a curl from his brow. “Yes,” she murmured, without a second thought. “Yes, I am.”

  Jack smiled contentedly as his eyes drifted closed.

  * * *

  White’s. Alex hadn’t visited the club in an age. His father had forced him to lunch a time or two, but in all, the establishment was not part of Alex’s usual scene. He approached the door, puffs of breath leading the way, and ground his teeth. He did not want to go in there and face the cream of London society, every one of which was likely gossiping madly about him, but if Mancroft was in London he’d almost surely be here for the dinner hour.

  Exhausted after the wasted day and a half ride to the Earl’s estate and additional day and a half back, Alex shook off the chill November air, and strode into the Gentleman’s club. A hush fell over the room and every eye fell to him. Alex beat back the roiling irritation edging it’s way up and along his nerves. He was a bloody Marquis for Christ sake, he was damn near the highest ranking peer in attendance; none of these fops would be fool enough to snub him directly. Assuming an air of regal indifference, Alex sauntered deeper into the club.

  Immediately a waiter hastened to take his jacket and escort him to a nearby table. Many a curious gaze roved over Alex as he weaved through the tastefully arranged tables and sitting areas. Most he did not recognize though a few familiar faces leapt out at him. He nodded to a few acquaintances, keeping his eyes peeled for Lord Mancroft. Alex would get to the bottom of this Jack business if it drove him to the grave.

  From across the way General Witherspoon caught his eye, sneered, and then deliberately showed his back. The cut direct. Bastard.

  Alex glared at the man’s balding head, resisting the urge to march across the room and call the bastard out. He may have done it too if another gentleman garbed in charcoal gray hadn’t jumped to his feet and scrambled for the door. With lightening reflexes Alex stepped back and caught the man beneath the arm. “Good evening, Lord Mancroft.”