Rumors That Ruined a Lady

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘Why, it was your own wife who delivered my invitation,’ Sebastian said. ‘She was however, quite unaware that I would ask your daughter to do me the honour of accompanying me,’ he added hastily, seeing Lady Armstrong’s horrified look.

  ‘I so wanted to meet my new sister.’ Caro was unable to keep the tremble from her voice.

  ‘And now you have achieved your objective, you are free to go. I bid you good day.’

  ‘Papa!’ She took a step towards him, and froze as he recoiled. ‘Father, I would be obliged if you would grant me a word in private.’ Seeing that he was about to refuse her, Caro garnered her courage. ‘I know you would not wish me to say what I have to in front of your assembled guests,’ she said, relieved that her voice sounded firmer.

  He gave a curt nod. ‘I will give you precisely five minutes. Let me make myself clear, I do this not because I wish to hear what you have to say, but because I do not wish you to spoil my wife’s day. She has waited a long time for the gratification of a daughter. Not that daughters are, in my painful experience, remotely gratifying. Let us get this over with.’

  * * *

  Watching Caro follow in her father’s wake, Sebastian had to force himself not to follow suit. Much as he was desperate to be by her side, a small shake of her head told him that she wished to manage the interview unaided. Knowing how much she had dreaded this encounter, he was filled with admiration at her courage.

  Beside him, Lady Armstrong cleared her throat. ‘I must thank you for your discretion,’ she said sotto voce, ‘my husband would have viewed my failure to inform him of Caroline’s presence at Crag Hall very dimly indeed. He is a man who values loyalty above almost everything else.’

  Sebastian raised a brow. ‘Does he then consider Caro has been disloyal?’

  Lady Armstrong grimaced. ‘She is the only one of his daughters to marry the man he had chosen for her, apart from Celia, and that hardly counts as her husband had the ill manners to get himself killed after a matter of months. My husband views Caroline’s desertion of Sir Grahame as a personal insult. I don’t know what it is she expects from this interview, but believe me, reconciliation is absolutely out of the question at present.’

  ‘And in the future?’

  Lady Armstrong shrugged. ‘That is not for me to say, but it is unlikely unless Caroline does the decent thing.’

  It was the answer he had expected, but it was a blow none the less. ‘Return to her husband. He is aware of the reasons for her leaving, I take it?’ Sebastian asked carefully, trying to disguise the anger in his voice.

  ‘The circumstances are of no concern to my husband, Lord Ardhallow. What matters to my husband is the fact of her leaving.’

  Lady Armstrong leaned over the cradle to pick up the swathed bundle of lace which was her baby daughter. ‘My little Isabella.’ Her expression softened. ‘A very easy confinement, if you will forgive the indelicacy of my mentioning it. I had a midwife to attend me this time, a most sensible woman, I must say, who believed firmly in allowing nature to take its course, and had none of Sir Gilbert Mountjoy’s more intrusive methods.’ She shuddered. ‘Sir Gilbert attended when I had my boys, Lord Ardhallow, at my husband’s insistence. Though he is the most respected physician in the country, I must say that I think in these matters, a woman always knows best. My husband would have been very much against it, but fortunately my husband was abroad at the time.’

  She put the baby gently back into the cradle, and turned back to Sebastian, her smile fading. ‘You are no doubt wondering what my point is. Let me enlighten you. Caroline has quite publicly flaunted her father’s authority. She has, by leaving her husband, declared to the world that she believes her marriage a mistake, and that is what my husband has taken so personally. What he does not know, Lord Ardhallow, cannot harm him. But when one rubs his nose in it, he will neither forgive nor forget. I trust I am making myself clear?’

  ‘Extremely.’

  ‘Then let me be even more clear. When he finds out that Caroline has not only fled her marital home but is living under your roof, my husband is likely to take offence so great that she will be for ever beyond the pale. An errant wife is one thing, a woman who publicly flaunts her lack of morals quite another.’

  Bella sighed. ‘You do not like what you hear but you would do well to heed my advice upon this matter, my lord. You are a man of excellent sense, excellent title and ample means. In short, you are the most eligible bachelor in the county, and could, if you chose, hold a position of some considerable influence. But if you continue to allow my stepdaughter to taint Crag Hall with her presence, you will find yourself ostracised along with her. Society will close ranks against you both, which is like to make your life very uncomfortable. The hiring of servants and tradesmen for example, you could find most—taxing.’

  ‘Are you threatening me, Lady Armstrong?’

  ‘I am, I hope, merely putting you straight for your own good, Lord Ardhallow. We would hate to lose you as a neighbour just as you have rejoined society.’

  He was acutely aware that the eyes and ears of the entire drawing room were discreetly upon them. ‘I am grateful for your concern for my welfare,’ Sebastian said icily, ‘but be assured, my lady, that until Lady Caroline is given the welcome here she deserves, I will never again darken your doorstep, nor any of these other spineless sheep.’ Taking a purse of gold coins from his coat pocket, he bent over the cradle to tuck it behind the baby’s pillow. ‘I believe it is traditional to make a wish,’ he said. ‘Mine shall be that this daughter, unlike the others, is blessed with her father’s love. And that she will be the one to break his heart.’

  Nodding curtly, he left the drawing room and waited, pacing anxiously up and down the gravel driveway, for Caro to emerge.

  * * *

  Lord Armstrong’s study was on the ground floor. A room redolent with childhood memories for Caro, few of them pleasant, it was small and dominated by the enormous desk which faced out from the window bay. The walls were lined with ledgers, quarter books and dockets of scrolls tied with red ribbon. In this austere space, Lord Armstrong administered his estate and meted out his punishments. It was here that he had informed Caro and her sisters that Mama had died, and here too he had announced his betrothal to Bella. Defiantly, she pulled a chair over and sat down, refusing to stand shame-faced before the desk as she had as a child. ‘Papa, do not think ill of Lord Ardhallow. He has merely been providing me with—sanctuary—while I decide what course of action to take.’

  ‘Sanctuary.’ Now that they were alone, her father dropped his icy reserve. ‘Do not be melodramatic daughter, you make it sound as if you live in fear of your life.’

  She stiffened. ‘My husband was very careful to ensure that the injuries he inflicted upon me were not life-threatening.’

  Her father looked distinctly uncomfortable. ‘Sir Grahame has given me his assurance that you will be perfectly safe if you return to him. I insisted I had his word on that. I would not have you think me utterly indifferent to your well-being.’

  ‘Sir Grahame,’ Caro said, ‘assured me each time he assaulted me that it would be the last time.’

  ‘Then you must have provoked him, Caroline. As indeed, you provoke me with your intransigence.’

  ‘You have many faults as a parent, Papa, but you have never once raised a hand to me.’

  Had she been in the mood to be amused, she would have found his astonished expression comical. ‘You dare criticise me,’ Lord Armstrong exclaimed, ‘you actually dare criticise me, when you have been cast out by your husband, when the most scurrilous of rumours pertaining to your behaviour are being bandied about, and rather than hide your head in shame, you are positively flaunting your new-found aptitude for scandal by setting up home with one of the most notorious rakes in England.’

  ‘I have not set up home with Sebastian, and he is not a rake,�
� Caro riposted. ‘He is the kindest, most honourable man I have ever met. In fact he’s the only person of my entire acquaintance to take my side in this affair.’

  ‘And more fool him for doing so.’ Her father shook his head impatiently. ‘Conway is bringing shame on one of the oldest titles in the county, to say nothing of the fact that he’s laying himself wide open to a crim. con. suit.’

  ‘Sir Grahame would not dare.’

  ‘You really are extraordinarily naïve for an adulteress, Caroline,’ Lord Armstrong said with a condescending smile.

  The word stung like the lash of a whip. Adulteress. It cheapened what she and Sebastian had shared, but Caro realised now, with jolting clarity, that it was nonetheless accurate. In the eyes of the world her behaviour was not scandalous but sordid.

  ‘Your husband has most generously offered to forgive you,’ Lord Armstrong continued, oblivious, ‘an exceedingly generous offer in the circumstances, when your behaviour is already proving detrimental to Rider’s political career, which I may add is something in which I have invested a significant amount of effort. I strongly advocate your return to the marital home. The consequences of your failure to do so will be dire indeed. However, you need not take my word for it. I suggest you take the matter up with your husband.’

  Her father was a diplomat, Caro reminded herself, and an extremely skilled one. There was no one more adept at turning circumstances to his own advantage. She would not allow him to manoeuvre her into doing what she knew was wrong. Not again. Anger came to her rescue, staving off the hurt. ‘What a—a damned hypocrite the law is. No one could doubt that it was written by men, for men! To put it crudely—for us fallen women have no need to respect the proprieties, you know, Papa—if I fail to return to the man who beats me—the man you chose for me—you will punish me by disowning me.’

  ‘You must take responsibility for your own actions, Caroline, I have made my position very clear.’

  ‘Extremely. All my life I have tried to please you, but nothing I’ve ever done has been good enough. I’m done with it, Father. No more. I have a right to be happy.’

  Lord Armstrong drummed his fingers on the blotter. It was one of the few tell-tale signs that he was angry, Caro remembered of old. ‘I have often wondered if it was a misjudgement on my part,’ he said, ‘sabotaging your youthful dalliance with Lord Ardhallow—the Earl of Mosteyn as Conway was then—but notwithstanding his excellent pedigree his reputation was, frankly, appalling. I had other, more circumspect irons in the fire for you.’

  ‘Sebastian told me that you and his father were in cahoots. May I know whether it was yourself or Lord Ardhallow who was most set against our acquaintance?’

  Her father shrugged. ‘I would say on balance it was I. Ardhallow was of the opinion that marriage might encourage his son to mend his ways, but I was not prepared to take the risk.’

  ‘Had you taken the trouble to consult me you would have discovered there was no risk. Sebastian had no intentions of marrying me.’

  ‘As I suspected. I am relieved to know that my judgement was as sound as ever,’ Lord Armstrong said with a thin smile. ‘It is still sound, Caroline. You are married, whatever your feelings for Ardhallow—and you need not trouble to deny that you have feelings, for I know you better than you think. Regardless of the gossip, I am perfectly well aware that you are not of loose morals,’ he continued in a more mollifying tone. ‘Only feelings of a sentimental nature can explain your consorting so publicly with that man. You will no doubt tell me that you are following in the footsteps of your sisters by considering the world well sacrificed for love. But you are not like your sisters, Caroline. Despite recent evidence to the contrary, I have every faith in the sense of duty which I have been at pains to inculcate in you. You will return to your husband because it pleases me, and because it is the right thing to do.’

  ‘Even though it will make me miserable?’

  Lord Armstrong sighed. ‘Why must you girls always be so dramatic? Of course you will be miserable if you set your mind to it, just as you will be perfectly content if you choose to be so. Society will never acknowledge an unrepentant sinner. Do you have any idea what life will be like for you on the fringes of society? Misery does not even begin to describe it. Why stubbornly choose that path? Repent and everything can be put to rights. What do you say?’

  Caro got to her feet. ‘The only thing I repent is marrying Sir Grahame in the first place. I won’t go back to him. I can’t believe you expect it of me. If you loved me...’

  The pencil which Lord Armstrong had been toying with snapped in two. ‘Enough. I have been more than patient, I have even taken the trouble to point out the reality of the situation to you, but I will not listen to any more of your hysterical outpourings. I do not know why you chose to flaunt your disgrace in my face by coming here with your paramour...’

  ‘Don’t call him that,’ Caro interrupted indignantly.

  Her father held up his hand. ‘That is precisely what he is in the eyes of the world, and will be in the eyes of the law too, if you do not extricate yourself from his company with immediate effect.’ Lord Armstrong paused, closing his eyes in silent meditation, then leaned forwards over the desk, fixing his daughter with a stern and most determined eye. ‘Return to your husband and no more will be said of the matter. If you decide, after searching your conscience, that you are unable to do as I ask, then I entreat you to at least agree terms with Rider. Heaven knows, a separation will be a slur enough, but in time—a great deal of time—and with exemplary behaviour on your part, we too may be able to come to some sort of compromise.’

  Caro narrowed her eyes, for she could almost see the workings of her father’s devious diplomatic brain. ‘What sort of compromise?’

  ‘I make no promises, but it may be that relations between yourself and your siblings could be resumed. Not in public, you understand, we can never again acknowledge you, but perhaps visits—letters—we will have to see.’

  ‘And when you say exemplary behaviour, what precisely do you mean?’

  His lordship sighed heavily. ‘You know perfectly well what I mean.’

  ‘I wonder that you do not demand I wear a chastity belt! What about my husband?’ Caro demanded. ‘Is he too required to live the celibate life?’

  ‘Your husband is not the one at fault.’

  ‘Have you discussed any of this with him?’

  ‘I have not, but if you are imagining he will remain long in ignorance of your liaison with Ardhallow, then you are very much mistaken. If he does not already know, I will inform him myself rather than allow him the indignity of being informed of the affaire by some gossip-monger. As I have already suggested several times now, you must resolve matters with him yourself.’

  Caro’s fists were clenching and unclenching, but she was far too angry to be anywhere near tears. ‘My sisters will not follow your line in disowning me.’

  ‘Two of your sisters live at the other ends of the earth in Arabia. One is roaming the Continent with a dissolute artist. And the other’s whereabouts have been unknown for two years. Your sisters are hardly in a position to be of much comfort to you.’

  ‘What about my brothers? You cannot mean to prevent me...’

  Lord Armstrong got to his feet. ‘I was under the impression that I had made myself very clear,’ he said, pointedly holding open the door.

  It was with an extraordinary effort that she bit back her words. She would not allow him to see how much he had hurt her and she would certainly not beg. ‘I would have you know that if ever you softened your stance I would be happy to renew our—acquaintance, my lord.’

  She held out her hand. Lord Armstrong ignored it. ‘I never change my mind. You will oblige me by leaving without further contact with my guests. I have had your brothers removed to the nursery until you have vacated the premises.’

  She wa
s not even to be permitted to say farewell. Tears welled in her eyes at this cruel act, but she held them from falling with a supreme act of will. ‘Please inform Lord Ardhallow I shall await him at the front door. Goodbye, Lord Armstrong.’ Caro made her way across the marble reception hall and through the gatehouse without looking back. She was surprised to see Sebastian already waiting for her, his expression stormy. He had obviously found the whole experience just as unrewarding as she.

  * * *

  ‘I knew that there was little prospect of my father having changed his mind, but I couldn’t help hoping all the same. It was stupid of me.’

  They were sitting in the sunshine, on the steps of the ruined orangery. Sebastian watched as Caro dabbed frantically at her eyes. Aside from a few stray tears in the gig on the return journey to Crag Hall, she had stoically refused to cry. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach made him realise that he too had hoped against the odds. But for what? ‘It is so damned unfair,’ he exclaimed.

  Caro smiled tremulously. ‘My feelings exactly. My father made it clear that unless I did as he bade me I had burnt my boats with him. I doubt he cares, but his unfeeling behaviour towards me, his singular determination not to see my side of things, has rather burnt his boats with me.’

  ‘I wish I could say that is heartening, but I fear he has hurt you more than you care to admit,’ Sebastian said. ‘I know how much your family means to you. You may not like him, but you cannot help loving your father. And your brothers too, to deprive you of their company—I know, Caro, how deeply that must pain you.’

  She shrugged, but Sebastian was not fooled. Secluded from society as they had been, caught up in their own private little idyll, it had been easy to pretend to be indifferent to the outside world, but today had demonstrated all too clearly the damage her presence here had already caused. To remain together at Crag Hall would undoubtedly court further outrage. He didn’t give a damn for himself, he was accustomed to scandal, but Caro was another matter. She would bear the brunt of the notoriety and she would also bear the brunt of the consequences. ‘I fear that our escapade has backfired somewhat,’ he said morosely.