by Allison Lane
“Who stopped him?”
“Fate. Mother didn’t want tea that night, so she gave it to her maid. The woman died. I spent the next two months standing guard, fetching her food myself so I could be sure it was safe.”
“Dear God!” How had he managed? She nearly asked why he hadn’t enlisted help from the ship’s captain, but snapped her mouth shut. Who would believe a boy over a military officer and peer of the realm?
“That wasn’t the end, of course.” He sat up, draping his hands between his knees and staring at the floor. “Once we reached Hawthorne Park, he banished me to the schoolroom, then changed tactics yet again. Maybe he feared that the staff would report suspicious behavior. Or maybe he knew I would turn him in if her death raised any questions. Whatever his reasoning, he decided an accident would be easier to explain. We later found a dozen traps he’d set. The one she tripped was the folly. The moment she sat down, the roof collapsed atop her. That was the day she realized that I was a target, too. We usually sat there together, discussing my lessons.”
“But you were his heir!”
“Son of the woman he hated, nemesis in his campaign to kill her. He hated me as much as her by then. When I said he wanted a fresh start, I meant it. He vowed to sweep away all reminders of the past. What he hadn’t counted on was Mother’s devotion. She’d been willing to leave her own life to Fate, but not mine. So she poisoned his wine and coldly watched as he died at her feet, then smashed the glass to remove any evidence. That should have been the end of it, but her conscience could not live with her act. I hardly saw her again, but my few glimpses were of a woman on the verge of insanity. We buried him two days after his death. That night, she slipped into madness and poisoned herself.”
“No.”
He glared. “The doctor tasted the dregs in her glass. There is no doubt—”
“No.” She wanted to howl at the pain he’d suffered for so long. Needless pain. “Listen to me, Jacob. Your mother did not kill your father. If she died of poison, it was another of his traps. And if she seemed mad, he must have left datura where she would use it – a bout of madness after barely surviving an accident would seem normal to uneducated servants. But she would never have poisoned herself. She loved you too much to leave you parentless. And she would have had no reason to kill herself, because she was innocent of any crime.”
Jacob closed his eyes in pain, then rose to pace restlessly around the room. “You can’t know that, Em. You were still in the nursery.”
“But I do know that. Did you see her poison the wine? Did you hear her planning it?”
“No. I was stuck in the schoolroom – new tutor. I hadn’t yet found a way to escape him.”
“Jacob, listen to me. Your mother was innocent. Absolutely innocent. Ask your aunt. She was there.”
He froze, staring. “How do you know?”
“I heard her describe that day to my mother several years later – I think I was about eight. Since I wasn’t supposed to be in the drawing room, I hid the moment I heard footsteps. Then I was stuck there for nearly an hour while they gossiped.”
“Wha–what did she say?”
“Your mother went straight from the folly to your father, storming onto the terrace still covered with debris. Your aunt was in the sitting room with a clear view through the window. They spoke so loudly, she heard every word.”
“The wine?”
“He’d been sipping it while he stood at the balustrade looking out over the garden – perhaps recalling his childhood; your aunt claimed it was his father’s favorite pose.”
“Then what?” His face paled until Emily feared he would faint.
“Your mother thanked God that he was no longer subject to a court-martial panel made up of his friends. This time she would swear out a complaint with a magistrate, then take you to safety until the House of Lords convicted him. They argued. He swore no one would believe a hysterical woman with a history of madness – he could produce a dozen men who would testify that she was an opium eater and habitual liar. She laughed, claiming that she had letters describing his poison plots, signed by the regimental surgeon and the Company representative in Bombay. She also had witnesses to two previous incidents at Hawthorne – a carpet that unaccountably slipped, nearly tossing her down the stairs; a burr that found its way under her saddle, sending her horse into a frenzy when she mounted. He threw the wine in her face, then hurled the glass to the stone floor, smashing it.”
“Threw—” He leaned weakly against the wall.
“Threw. Whatever his faults, your mother never lifted a finger against him. She swept back into the house, calling for a footman. He was alive, but furious, when she left.”
“So how did he die?”
“The butler had just taken delivery of the mail. It contained the letter your father had long awaited. He ripped it open, then screamed in anguish and collapsed. He was dead before he hit the terrace.”
“The letter?”
“From a woman – his mistress, perhaps. I don’t recall the name, but your aunt sounded disdainful of her.”
“Dear God,” murmured Jacob, sinking wearily into a chair.
“She announced that she was tired of waiting for him to redeem his pledge, so she had taken a husband. Then she congratulated him again on his new position. That shock, added to your mother’s threats and the realization that he could no longer hide his plans, killed him.”
Jacob stared, trying to realign twenty years of certainty. “So Mother didn’t kill him to save me from harm.”
“No.” Emily’s expression softened. “She loved you more than anything else in the world, Jacob. But even love does not drive an honorable person to dishonor. I’ve no doubt she would have defended you from direct attack, but she would never stoop to poison. Her solution was to summon a magistrate and press charges, regardless of the scandal. Since you found so many traps after his death, any magistrate would have treated her complaint seriously.”
He wasn’t sure he believed her – his father had always bent people to his will – but this was no time to argue. Voices reminded him where they were. She had already been gone long enough to draw notice. “Thank you for the information,” he said, formally bowing his head. “It eases my mind. You’d best return to the ballroom.”
Something flashed in her eyes, but she left before he could identify it.
The moment he was alone, he rested his head in his hands. Could he really remove part of the stain from his blood? It sounded too good to be true.
Ask your aunt.
Immediately. The ball was nearly over anyway. Slipping out, he headed home to write a letter.
Chapter Nine
“What do you want now?” demanded Jacob the next night when Harriet dragged him onto the terrace outside the Debenham ballroom. He dug in his heels, refusing to move another inch.
Tears sparkled in her eyes. She was an even better actress than her bedamned mother.
“It’s R-Richard,” she choked, producing a sob. “He k-kissed me last night and t-tried to force his way into my r-room. I t-told you he was dangerous. You have to help me.”
Jacob grabbed her shoulders to shake some sense into her, but reined in his temper before he struck her again. He should have expected this after yesterday’s scene, but he’d thought his slap had finally knocked some sense into her head.
This newest lie proved how little she understood society. A lusty man might well seduce a maid – something Mrs. Nichols had known from her brief term as a servant – but he would never touch a girl he’d sworn to protect.
“Please?” Harriet reached up to clutch his arm, wrinkling his sleeve. “You can’t leave me in that house another instant. I barely escaped his attack.”
“Nonsense!” He backed away, brushing her aside. “Stop this idiocy at once. Every word proves what an ungrateful mushroom you are. If Richard did attack – which I don’t for a moment believe – it’s because your behavior marks you as fair game.”
She
gasped.
“It’s time you faced facts,” he continued relentlessly. “Captain Nichols might have connections to several great houses, but the nearest was three generations back, so you have no claim on society.”
“You can’t know that!”
“You forget that I knew him well for ten years. He was closer to me than my own father. Nor do you understand how well society’s ladies know family trees. They also know family scandals. It would need little time and less effort to discover that your mother was the bastard daughter of a whore.”
“How dare—”
“Facts, Miss Nichols. Her father might have been a baron as she claimed – or perhaps not; her mother serviced too many men to know which one actually fathered her. When raising a child interfered with the woman’s business, she left your mother at the workhouse.”
“No! She grew up in her father’s house after her mother died in childbirth!”
“Lies. She had hundreds of them. Every time she described her past, she embellished it further to make herself sound better. But people noticed those changes, especially the women. And Captain Nichols knew the truth.”
“B-but—”
“We let her get away with the first lie – the orphan recently left to the parish tale. It harmed no one. But the truth is a common enough story,” he continued relentlessly. “She’d been in the workhouse for ten years when Captain Nichols’s father died. He asked the parish to find him a wife, because he was the last of his line. The parish leaped at the chance to rid itself of an uncooperative charge who had been turned off within the week from every servant’s post they found her. So they sent your mother to India. Captain Nichols didn’t discover her background until it was too late.” The parish had posted specifics but didn’t wait for a response before sending the girl. Unfortunately the ship carrying the letter didn’t arrive in Bombay until a week after Nichols’s marriage. “In the end, the marriage was for naught. You aren’t the son he wanted.”
“Mother swore—”
“She lied. It was her worst habit. Don’t deny it,” he added when she tried to protest. “We lived next door, so I heard her lies and saw the truths behind them. Quit putting on airs, Miss Nichols. I gave you a chance to improve your station. Many younger sons and members of the gentry will accept a wife of lesser breeding if she meets his other needs. But to attract one, you must drop your arrogance and cease criticizing your betters. Every person at this ball has higher breeding than you. It’s time you admitted it.”
“I’m at least as well-bred as the Gunning sisters,” she spat, eyes snapping. “They made excellent matches. One even wed two dukes.”
“True,” he admitted, shaking his head. “But they came to London in 1751, and the girls had impeccable manners. The men who wed them already had heirs, so the girls’ breeding was less important. But times change, and attitudes change. I doubt they would have such success today.”
“But—”
“No. They may have inspired countless matchmakers and hordes of impecunious or ill-bred maidens, but in sixty-seven years, no one has repeated their feat. Now be a good girl. Listen to Miss Hughes, and follow her instructions to the letter. Don’t bother Lady Hughes—”
“You can’t expect me to stay at Hughes House,” she wailed, interrupting. “They hate me. You cannot imagine all the ways they slight me. Half my gowns are ill pressed because their maids won’t let mine use the irons. My wash water is always cold. They criticize everything I do.”
Exaggerations. Again. If her clothes were pressed last, it was because her maid had less precedence than the others. He made one last try to explain. “If Miss Hughes criticizes, she is trying to help you. Your behavior has already barred you from many events.”
“Help?” she squealed in outrage. “Does she think lying helps me?”
“Enough.” His glare sent Harriet back a step. “When will you admit that this is not India? Maybe no one noticed your antics in Bombay – or maybe they were so desperate for English company that they didn’t care. But here, a dozen people see every breath you take. Half of those are skilled enough to discern your thoughts from the faintest change in your expression. Every lie is obvious. Every arrogant word. Every selfish deed. If you want to manipulate people, go back to Bombay. It won’t work here.”
“I don’t—”
“No more.” He turned her toward the ballroom. “I might remove you from Hughes House, but only because you are hurting my friends.”
Shoving her inside, he headed for the back of the garden, where he could find peace. It was obvious that thrusting Harriet into Hughes House had hurt Richard’s family. Emily had skipped two prestigious balls because Harriet wasn’t included. She’d also passed on an outing to Richmond, Lady Woodvale’s soirée, and an evening at Almack’s. By choosing lesser gatherings, she reduced her chances of making a good match and left herself vulnerable to cawkers like Larkin.
He’d never intended to harm Emily, but he’d done it. Instead of enjoying her come-out, she was stuck chaperoning a bad-tempered, spoiled child whose antics might redound upon her. Harriet turned any attempt to curb her excesses back against Emily.
Stripping the needles from a yew branch, he let them drift downward until his foot crushed them into the gravel path. He would like to do the same to Harriet.
Richard seemed strained lately, which meant he was biting back complaints. Emily had sunk into melancholy, rarely smiling. She never spoke unless he asked a direct question.
No more.
It had been a mistake to place Harriet at Hughes House. Lady Hughes lacked the stamina to cope with a headstrong miss. Richard helped some, but Emily had no help during the day. She was too kind, too sweet, too naïve to control Harriet. He needed someone harsher. Much as he hated acceding to Harriet’s demands, he must move her elsewhere.
Returning to the ballroom, he nearly ran down Sophie and Ashington, who were twirling through a waltz.
Ashington?
Emily’s question about the man suddenly made sense. What the devil was Sophie doing with him? What was he doing at a ball, for that matter? He usually avoided such gatherings, for he hated dodging matchmakers.
Damn Harriet to hell! She had demanded so much attention that he’d ceased watching Sophie altogether. Ward or not, it was time to let her sink. Her megrims were making him ignore his vows to his friends.
He set off in search of Lady Inslip. She could spot trouble a mile away and take immediate steps to prevent it. So could Sophie. Four years on the town had built the confidence that made her as formidable as her mother.
Granted, Harriet would spend many evenings at home while the Inslips attended entertainments that excluded her, but she needed a lesson in humility. He was willing to raise her a little, but she couldn’t expect miracles.
Nor could he. She had already cut enough London gentlemen that she stood little chance of garnering an offer in town – another reason he didn’t care if she stayed home. Her court had dwindled to cubs and a handful of would-be rakes with no interest in marriage. So he must intensify the search for someone desperate enough to accept a wife sight unseen and strong enough to control her once they were wed.
Detaching Lady Inslip from a group of matrons, he led her to an anteroom.
“I have a problem,” he admitted when they were alone. “It was a mistake to bring Harriet out in London, but I have nowhere else to put her. Hawthorne Park will never do. She would drive my aunt to distraction in a week.”
“Agreed,” said Lady Inslip. “She has quite the most vulgar tongue I’ve heard in some time.”
“Which makes my request even more difficult.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “She will not find a husband in town, but it will take time to find someone who will accept her.”
“Inslip can query his stewards.”
“Thank you. But my immediate problem is where to keep Harriet until I find a suitable match. Lady Hughes cannot handle her.”
“You want me to take her.” It w
asn’t a question.
“I know it will be an imposition. She cannot attend half the events you do, and she is likely to annoy Lady Sophie.”
“Sophie would never let a mushroom intimidate her. We will manage. Inslip’s cousin arrived last week. She rarely accompanies us out, but is more than capable of controlling a headstrong miss. She will enjoy the challenge. And if Miss Nichols behaves, I will allow her to accept whatever invitations come her way.”
Jacob sighed in relief. “Thank you, my lady. I will deliver her tomorrow morning.”
A tremendous weight slipped from his shoulders as he returned to the ballroom.
* * * *
“What are you doing?” Emily frowned as Jacob led her outside instead of joining the next set. Not that she was surprised. He never waltzed, so the music had likely startled him.
The real surprise had come when he’d claimed his usual two sets. After yesterday, she’d expected him to avoid her. Men did not enjoy baring their souls. She’d thought embarrassment would keep him away from her – had looked forward to it.
As they moved deeper into the garden, she decided she was glad he’d chosen not to dance. Touching him for an entire waltz would have been painful. He looked grim, though.
“I’m moving Harriet in the morning,” he said without warning, dropping her arm as he half turned away.
“What?” Was this his response to last night’s revelations? It was an excellent way to avoid her.
“Your mother looks on the brink of collapse, Em. She needs peace. Having to chaperon two of you is too much. I should have known better.” He glanced over his shoulder.
Emily gritted her teeth. He was lying. She could see it in his eyes. Citing her mother was a way to dismiss her without condemning her outright for her failure to control his betrothed. Much as she’d wanted Harriet to disappear, she hadn’t wanted it done this way.