Rumors That Ruined a Lady

by Marguerite Kaye

  She fled from the room without looking back. He watched her go, and wondered why doing what he knew to be the right and noble thing felt so dreadfully and utterly wrong.

  Chapter Twelve

  Crag Hall—six weeks later

  Sebastian gazed listlessly out of the windows of the Gold Drawing Room. In the weeks since Caro’s departure, he had thrown himself into the massive task of repairing and modernising the Hall in the hope that sheer volume of activity would help him to endure her absence. It did not.

  At first he kept thinking to find her behind every door he opened. The rooms echoed with her voice. Every post brought bitter disappointment when she did not write. She had fled to her aunt’s in London, he knew that from having dispatched her trunk there, but how long she would remain there he did not know. The not knowing was torture. What she was doing. Who she was with. Whether she dreamed as he did every night of their love-making. Whether she reached for him in her sleep, waking with a racing heart and a sinking feeling in the pit of her belly when she encountered only the empty space. She would not weep or wail, she would not sink into a decline, he knew that. But knowing she would be trying, valiantly trying, to get on with her life as he was, only made him miss her the more.

  All the reasons for giving her up, which had seemed so clear at the time, were becoming hazier, less convincing, as the reality of their separation began to sink in. He had done the right thing. How many times would he have to repeat it before he believed it?

  ‘Lady Emma, my lord,’ Mrs Keith announced solemnly.

  Sebastian whirled around. The woman who entered was small and slim, dressed modishly in a gown of russet velvet trimmed with jet beads which glittered in the weak autumn sunshine filtering through the windows. Sebastian, who had been unable to stop himself from pacing nervously while he awaited the appointed hour, found himself frozen to the spot. This complete stranger was his mother.

  The door closed behind the housekeeper, and Lady Ardhallow stood hesitantly just inside the room. She wore a hat with a veil. ‘Sebastian?’

  Her voice had a distinctly nervous quiver which he found vastly reassuring. That she did not actually recognise him however rather confounded him. But then, he thought, finally uprooting himself and making his way towards her, he felt absolutely no pang of recognition himself. ‘My lady,’ he said stiffly, unable to bring himself to address her as mother.

  She put back her veil and smiled up at him. ‘Sebastian. I—you must excuse me, I am a little overcome. I think I need to sit down.’

  He led her to one of the sofas from which the covers had only recently been removed. Under the pretext of pouring her a glass of Madeira, he studied her intently. He had naïvely expected to see the young woman in the portrait. It was a shock to find her aged. Not so aged though, in point of fact. She must be at least fifty and could easily pass for at least ten years younger.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, taking the glass he proffered and sipping daintily at the amber wine.

  Her hair was the same colour as his own, but he had not her rich curls. She was not so slim as in her portrait, and there were lines around her eye, but as she smiled at him he felt a curious pang of recognition. It was like looking at his own face in feminine form.

  ‘I am struck by your strong resemblance to me,’ she said. ‘It is quite remarkable. I’m not sure whether you consider that a good or a bad thing.’

  ‘My father considered it a positive blight.’

  Lady Ardhallow grimaced. ‘I have not offered my commiserations.’

  ‘It was two years ago. The time for commiserations is long past.’

  ‘Better late than never.’ Her smile crumpled. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, searching frantically in her reticule for a handkerchief. ‘I promised myself that I would not get upset, but just seeing you—I am so sorry, I know perfectly well that I have not the right to be sentimental.’ She blew her nose with unexpected force for such a delicate woman. ‘I can’t quite believe that I am here,’ she said. ‘Your letter came so completely out of the blue. I never thought I’d be permitted to cross this threshold again.’

  Her fingers plucked at the lace of her handkerchief, but her smile was pinned brightly in place. Her determined effort to keep control of her emotions aroused his reluctant admiration. He sat down on a chair at right angles to her. ‘I wrote to you because I needed to know why you left. My father would never discuss the matter. He had your rooms locked up and your portrait removed from the gallery.’

  ‘That does not surprise me in the least. He would not permit me to write to you, you know. That was one of the terms of our separation. Not that I am using it as an excuse. I cannot excuse what I did to you, abandoning you like that, and I don’t expect you want me to.’

  Her honesty surprised him. He began to see that he had endowed her with any number of character flaws over the years. ‘When my father died, we were estranged. We were never close—no, truth be told, I thought he hated me. A few weeks ago I discovered your portrait, and I wondered if my resemblance to you may have been at the root of the matter.’

  ‘But he is dead and you cannot ask him, so you wrote to me instead. So this meeting is about you and your father, not you and I. I see.’

  His mother was folding her handkerchief into smaller and smaller squares. ‘You must understand, you have given no indication over the years that you wished to have any contact with me, Lady Ardhallow,’ Sebastian said, realising how defensive this sounded, realising too that he had not until this moment considered her own expectations of this reunion.

  ‘No. I do see how it must have looked. It was foolish of me to expect—for why should you wish to be reconciled to your absent mother? I wish you would call me Emma. I know you cannot call me Mother, but I have not used that title since I left.’

  ‘Emma, I’m sorry if it is painful for you to be here. If you prefer, we can rearrange this meeting for London.’

  ‘No! I beg your pardon for sounding so vehement, but no. I have waited—I would prefer not to leave just yet.’ She frowned down at her handkerchief, then put it away in her reticule before taking another sip of her Madeira. When she looked up, her expression was resolute. ‘Very well, I will give you the unvarnished truth, you deserve that, though I am afraid it shows me in a very poor light. I was nineteen. Your father was a catch, much older, much more sophisticated than my other beaus, and he professed to be in love with me. I didn’t love him, but I was flattered and ambitious, a fatal combination.’

  ‘But it was an arranged marriage?’

  ‘Oh yes, indeed, I would never have considered anything else. Your father was an extremely possessive husband, Sebastian, and a very jealous one. He showered me with gifts but he wouldn’t let me out of his sight. I was suffocated. Then I had you and I hoped he would grant me a little more freedom but he did not and—it sounds inadequate but truly, I felt if I did not escape I would die. I tried to persuade him to give me a little more latitude but that made him worse. Finally, in desperation, I asked for a formal separation but he would not countenance it. So I’m afraid I employed the traditional means of escaping by taking a lover, and of course he found me out because I think that’s what I wanted, to trigger some sort of dénouement.’

  Her explanation had a horribly familiar ring to it. He did not like to think of the parallels between Lady Emma’s story and Caro’s situation, but he could not ignore them. ‘And it did, I presume,’ Sebastian said. ‘My father threw you out?’

  Lady Ardhallow looked surprised. ‘Why no. He did find me out, but he begged me to stay. I simply couldn’t. I know you will not understand, but this place had become a prison.’

  The parallels were so strong as to be almost unbelievable. ‘A prison,’ Sebastian repeated dumbly, his mind only half on what his mother was telling him.

  Lady Emma nodded. ‘I was actually afraid he would literall
y lock me up, so I fled without even packing so much as a change of clothes. I left you, even though it broke my heart, because I knew, in all conscience, you would be better off with your father. I had no money, I knew my family would only send me back to him, and you were only four years old.’

  ‘But what about your lover?’

  ‘He was married. I did not elope. Is that what he told you?’

  Sebastian shook his head in utter confusion. ‘He didn’t tell me anything.’

  ‘Goodness. Well then, it was my father who brokered our arrangement in the end, though it took over a year before your father finally accepted that I was not prepared to go back to him. I was to be allocated a generous fixed allowance provided that I never set foot in England, that I took no other lover, and that I—that I sever all contact with you.’

  He stared at her, wondering if this was some sort of sick joke. Lady Emma finished her Madeira, oblivious to the turmoil she was raising in his mind. ‘I had no option but to obey,’ she continued, every word like a terrible echo of Caro’s ‘My family were insistent that I accept the terms and I had no other means. I am very, very sorry.’

  Though he rarely imbibed, and almost never during the day, Sebastian poured himself a large brandy and drank it in a single draught before pouring another and topping up his mother’s glass. ‘He banished you, like some mediaeval lord. And your family agreed to this. Do you mean you have not been in England since?’

  His mother shook her head. ‘To be honest, that was the least of my worries.’

  ‘And he forced you to live—all these years, you have been alone? Surely there must have been another way. What about divorce?’

  His mother shuddered. ‘The scandal. Your father would have died rather than face it, and my family too—you can have no idea, Sebastian, it would have been a black mark on all of us for generations to come.’

  Just as Caro had insisted. But he did not want Caro to endure his mother’s fate.

  ‘As to my being alone,’ Lady Emma continued, blushing faintly—I simply learned how to be extremely discreet. I will not lie to you, Sebastian. My life has turned out very differently from that I imagined. I have missed you dreadfully, and missed my sisters almost as much, but I have not spent the last twenty-seven years weeping and wailing. That would only serve to add yet another wasted life to the list of those damaged by the whole sorry mess.’

  Caro would neither weep nor wail, but she would be alone, without the comfort of her sisters or her brothers. Alone. Without him. As he was without her. He got to his feet and resumed the path his pacing had taken before his mother’s arrival. ‘I can only apologise on behalf of my father. I had not realised—but Caro was right, I should have written to you sooner.’

  ‘Caro?’

  ‘Lady Caroline. It was she who first pointed out my resemblance to you. She is—she is...’ He stopped, because there was only one way to express what Caro was to him. ‘I’m in love with her,’ he said abruptly.

  Lady Emma crossed the room and put her hand tentatively on his arm. ‘I take it she does not return your affection?’

  ‘It is rather a case of will not. Unfortunately Caro is married.’

  ‘Oh, my dear. I am so sorry.’

  ‘She has left her husband, just as you did. And just as you did, she is to be forced to come to terms which require her to live abroad.’

  Lady Emma nodded. ‘Some things do not change. What an appalling situation for you both to have to endure.’

  She did not condemn him. It was her pity which struck him. She knew what Caro would suffer. He had tried so hard not to think about it, tried so hard to look to the future, but the future he saw now was unbearably bleak.

  They had agreed to part because it was what the world expected of them. The world would condemn them for being together. But being apart was making him miserable and he was pretty damn sure Caro was the same. By being true to convention, they were surely being untrue to themselves.

  * * *

  His mind seething, he spent the afternoon showing his mother around the Hall. Her fondness for the place, now it was no longer her prison, surprised him. In the course of the afternoon, she made light of her life in exile, though he was certain this was done in deference to Caro. She also steadfastly refused to condemn either his father or her family for their treatment of her, saying only that there had been no alternative. She made no attempt to ingratiate herself with him, was careful to avoid any but the most trivial of contact, and her very restraint endeared her to him.

  He could not stop comparing Caro and Lady Emma’s fate. He didn’t want Caro to live the life of an exile. The truth was, he didn’t want Caro to live her life anywhere else but with him. All very well to be principled and noble, but dammit, he was bloody miserable without her and he was sick of pretending otherwise.

  Standing on the steps awaiting her carriage at the end of the day, Lady Emma held out her hand to him. ‘I have very much enjoyed today. It means a great deal to me. I would ask to see you again, but I fear I forfeited that right when I left you.’

  ‘What is it you said earlier—there is no point in regrets?’ Sebastian brushed a kiss on to her glove. ‘If it pleases you, I shall have another agreement drawn up, one without conditions. Then, if you wish to, you may visit England any time you wish.’

  ‘Why, thank you, Sebastian, I should like that very much.’

  ‘I confess, I would like it very much too. I did not think I wished for a grand reconciliation, but now that we have met, I would like to become better acquainted.’

  His mother smiled. ‘Then I shall confess in return that I was quite terrified about meeting you for fear you would be like your father, but you are a very, very pleasant surprise.’

  It was while he was watching his mother’s carriage recede down the drive that it came to him. In their determination each to have a care for the feelings of the other, neither he nor Caro had actually said what they wanted. What a pair of self-sacrificing nincompoops they had been, trying to make the best of being apart when what mattered, all that mattered, was being together.

  London

  ‘A visitor has arrived for you,’ Lady Sophia said.

  Caro looked up frowning from the letter she was transcribing for her aunt. ‘For me?’ Her heart sank. ‘It can only be my father,’ she said, looking at her aunt in dismay. ‘I thought...’

  ‘I have not informed Henry of your presence here, so you can remove that disapproving look from your countenance,’ her aunt said acerbically. ‘Your visitor is in the library. Please assure me, Caroline, that you will not succumb to the urge to do something foolish.’

  ‘Foolish? What do you mean—Aunt! It is not...’

  ‘It is indeed Lord Ardhallow. Looking as if he has just rolled in from the high pampas of South America, judging by the cut of him. Riding boots and leather breeches are not at all proper attire for a morning call. In my day...’

  But Caro had already left the room, smoothing down her frumpy woollen gown. Sebastian was here. He had no reason to be here. She had every reason to wish he was not here but oh, she could not wish him anywhere else. She had missed him so much. Her fingers were inky, she noticed with dismay, and she suspected that her hair was a mess for she had a terrible habit of sticking her pen into it when she was thinking. Should she go and tidy herself?

  But she had already kept him waiting at least five minutes. Caro threw open the library door. He looked exhausted. His coat and breeches were spattered with mud. Had he ridden all the way from the country? ‘Sebastian.’

  ‘Caro!’ He strode towards her, then pulled himself up short with a conscious effort.

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Everything, but I hope—I have something to say to you.’

  ‘What is it?’ His eyes had a glitter that was almost feverish. He looked—nervous
? ‘Sebastian, if it is something dreadful, I beg you not to spare me.’

  ‘It is nothing dreadful. At least I hope you do not view it as such—Caro, sit down.’

  She took a seat on the sofa which was set into the window embrasure. Sebastian dug his hands deep into the pockets of his breeches and began to pace. He was definitely edgy.

  ‘I can think of nothing more painful than the words we exchanged the last time we met,’ Sebastian said, coming to a halt in front of the hearth and leaning his shoulders against it.

  ‘We said goodbye. We agreed it was the right thing to do, for both our sakes.’

  ‘I know, but that was arrant nonsense. No, listen to me. I know it was all right and proper and I know we spoke as we ought, but it was wrong all the same, Caro. When I saw my mother...’

  ‘Your mother!’

  ‘I wrote to her, as I promised I would, and she came to visit me at Crag Hall. I’m so glad I did—not for that reason—well, that one too but mainly because... Look, I’m not here to talk about my mother, except that she made me realise...’ He broke off, giving her a rueful look and came to sit beside her. ‘I’m making a terrible hash of this. Let me put it simply. I miss you like the devil. I think I can put up with anything other than being without you. I thought I had no right to ask you to sacrifice all the things we talked about when we said goodbye, but I realise now that they are nothing compared to what we are really sacrificing.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘Our life together.’

  ‘I have not dared imagine that,’ Caro whispered.

  ‘Nor had I, until the other day when I met Lady Emma—my mother. You would not believe how much you have in common—or would have in common if—Caro, I don’t want you to live her life. In truth, it would not just be you who would be alone. What use will society be to me, when the only society I crave is you?’

  ‘Oh Sebastian, that is one of the most romantic things I’ve ever heard.’

  He smiled his upside-down smile and her heart turned over. ‘I had something rather more romantic planned.’ He dropped on to his knees before her and took her hands in his. ‘“Come live with me and be my love.” They are not my words...’