NOTHING HAD CHANGED. Jason gazed across the ballroom with a jaded eye. Not the dances, not the refreshment, not the people. No, he was wrong in that. He had changed. He was no longer a poor relation but a man who’d built a fortune out of little more than the sweat of his brow and a shrewd mind. And he was now the Earl of Lyndhurst.
He smiled wryly. He’d returned to England less than a week ago and already it seemed all the hostesses and matchmaking mothers in the city had noted the arrival of an eminently eligible unmarried man with a sizable fortune and a respectable title.
The number of invitations delivered to the suite of rooms he occupied at the Clarendon Hotel was impressive given the time of year, and a source of great amusement to him. Now that he was back in England for good, it was perhaps time to give the selection of a wife serious consideration. After all, one did not have to engage one’s heart along with one’s hand. Especially when one’s heart had been given long ago.
Would she be here tonight? It little mattered, he supposed. There was so much between them, so many years, so much pain. Still, he couldn’t suppress the glimmer of hope born with the reading of George’s last letter. Ironic that their reunion could well be on this particular night at this particular ball. Ironic as well how life had come full circle.
He was prepared to see her again, of course. Given his position as her husband’s heir, it could not be avoided entirely. He’d planned a cordial but aloof encounter, with most of the discussion conducted through a solicitor. Now George’s letter and its accompanying revelations made an impersonal meeting impossible.
God knew he’d tried to put her out of his mind. And thought he’d succeeded too. Thought it twice, in fact. Once when he’d come to grips with her death and then again when he’d realized how very much she hated him…
1812
Jason stared up at the grand London house and steeled himself against a flood of memories. It was as much a home to him as Lyndhurst Hall in the country. Perhaps more. It was here George had first brought him after his parents died. Jason had not seen it since the night he left for America seven long years ago.
That night was as vivid in his mind as yesterday. He’d been beside himself with grief and guilt at the knowledge that Rachael had taken her own life. It made no difference that his failure to meet her was not of his doing. She was gone and nothing else mattered. So he’d fled. Too much of a coward to face the anguish of a life here without her. And very much a fool to have ever believed her father’s lies.
Lord Gresham. His jaw tightened at the thought of the man. He’d gone immediately to Gresham’s London home upon his arrival in the city, only to find the man was dead and the house sold. The footman who’d answered his inquiries had said he had no knowledge of the whereabouts of the home’s previous residents.
But George would know where to find Rachael. After all, George had written to tell him of Gresham’s deceit, although his cousin failed to mention why he’d waited so long to reveal the truth.
Jason had returned to England at once, not an easy task given the continuing war with France and the uneasy state of relations with America. George’s disclosure of his illness alone was enough to bring Jason home. He owed George a great deal, not the least of which was the funding he’d sent to enable Jason to start his life in America and build a sizable fortune in the process. Beyond that, the earl was Jason’s only living relative, and the younger man cared for him deeply. George’s revelation that Rachael was alive only added to the necessity of returning home at once.
Jason climbed the short steps to the front entry and rapped on the imposing door. It swung open within moments and Jason bit back a smile: George’s servants had always been remarkably well trained.
“May I help you?” The imperious tones of Mayfield, George’s butler, rang out in the crisp morning air.
“I should hope so, Mayfield.”
Suspicion washed across the man’s dignified expression, then his eyes widened. “Master Jason?”
Jason laughed. “None other.”
“Do come in, sir.” What passed for a smile curved the servant’s lips. It had always been a point of great satisfaction for Jason to achieve the honor of a Mayfield smile. “We were not expecting, that is, we had no idea…” Mayfield stepped aside to let him enter. “His lordship will be very pleased indeed.”
Jason stepped into the foyer, for a moment reveling in the well-remembered scents of oils and waxes that spoke of a home cared for and loved. He handed the butler his hat and gloves. “How is Lord Lyndhurst?”
Mayfield’s expression sobered. “Not well, sir, not at all. We are all quite concerned. Lady Lyndhurst is—”
“Lady Lyndhurst?” Jason drew his brow together in confusion. “Who is Lady Lyndhurst?”
Mayfield stared at him in obvious surprise. “Why, Lady Lyndhurst is his lordship’s wife.”
“His wife?” Jason gasped. “Good Lord, George is married? I know we have not corresponded as regularly as we should have. Still, I should think he would have mentioned such a thing as marriage. When did this happen?”
“Shortly after you left England, sir.”
“And he never wrote a word.” Jason shook his head. Perhaps he shouldn’t be quite so surprised. George was never one for long rambling missives. His letters were routinely sparse and tended to ask more questions about Jason’s life than reveal much of his own. Still, one would think marriage would be worth confiding. Jason leaned toward Mayfield in a confidential manner. “So what do you think of her, Mayfield? Did George choose well?”
“Oh, that he did, sir.” Mayfield’s restrained enthusiasm was the highest praise the butler could bestow. “Since his illness, she has taken charge of matters regarding the estate and other affairs in a way that could be considered most improper for a lady were it not for the grace of her manner. And she has always treated us fairly. Indeed, sir, we care for her as deeply as we care for his lordship.”
“I see,” Jason murmured, and thoughtfully stepped past Mayfield and into the parlor. George’s failure to disclose the existence of a wife was disquieting. Perhaps his cousin thought Jason would be upset by the possibility of disinheritance should George have a son. No, George would know better than that. Besides, Jason had no need for George’s fortune or his title. There was something about George’s omission that made no sense. Indeed, George’s silence on a number of matters was disturbing and not at all like his candid cousin.
“My lady,” Mayfield said in the hall behind him. “His lordship has a visitor.”
“Thank you, Mayfield,” a feminine voice answered, firm and pleasant in tone and oddly familiar.
“Good day, sir. I understand you are here to see Lord Lyndhurst. My—”
He turned with a smile and froze.
Rachael?
“—husband…” Her eyes widened in shock and the color drained from her face. “Jason?”
“Rachael!” Time itself seemed to stop and he stared, unable to believe his eyes. She was as lovely as he remembered, but his memories were of a girl. This was a woman with an air of maturity about her that could only come from the experiences of life. And she was very much alive. His heart swelled with emotion and he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms.
“Mayfield.” Her voice shook slightly. Her gaze fixed on Jason, but she directed her words to the butler behind her. “Please see if his lordship needs anything and close the doors when you leave. Mr. Norcross and I have some matters to discuss in private.”
Mayfield’s gaze shifted from Rachael to Jason and back. Obviously he was aware of the razor-sharp tension that hung in the room, although he’d never comment on it aloud. He nodded silently and left. The quiet closing of the doors behind him was the only sound for a long moment.
“Rachael.” He moved toward her, joy sweeping aside caution.
“No!” She stepped back, thrusting her hands out to ward him away. “Don’t come near me!”
“Rachael, I—”
I unde
rstand you are here to see Lord Lyndhurst.
The import of her words struck him like a fist to the chest and he sucked in a hard breath.
My husband.
“You’re Lady Lyndhurst? You’re George’s wife?”
Her chin rose and her eyes flashed. “Does that surprise you?”
“Surprise me? Surprise is far too mild a word.” He stared stunned, his mind, his heart, grappling to comprehend what she was saying. “How? Why?”
“What did you expect me to do?” Cold anger colored her words.
The look in her eye chilled his blood. Was there more beyond her marriage that he didn’t know? Jason chose his words with care. “What do you mean?”
“What do I mean?” She stared in disbelief. “How can you ask me that? What choices did I have? I was alone. Ruined. Left to whatever fate my father had in store for me.” Her voice rose. “You never came for me!”
Good God, she still didn’t know why he hadn’t met her! Why hadn’t George told her years ago? What other secrets had George kept from her? From them both? Anger, deep and unremitting, rushed through him. “You must let me explain.”
“You forfeited the right to explain seven years ago when you left me without so much as a note. Left me to wait for hours on a cold night in a dark garden like a pathetic, unwanted dog from the streets. I have no need for your explanations now.” She wrapped her arms around herself and stalked across the room. “I no longer wish to know the reasons why you abandoned me.” She turned and glared. “I did once. I did for a very long time.”
“Please, Rachael, I tried to come. You must allow me to—”
“I must allow you nothing! Nothing you can say will change the past.” A shadow of pain so intense it tore at his soul flashed through her eyes. She turned her gaze away as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. “Regardless of why you didn’t come that night, I never heard from you again. Never! Not a message, not a letter, nothing. It was as if I no longer existed! As if I were dead!”
He caught his breath. “I thought you—”
“I don’t care what you thought!” She whirled to face him. “Don’t you understand? It no longer matters! I have put all of this in the past and it shall stay in the past. I have gone on with my life. And you have no place in it.”
“And you married George,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” she hissed. “I married George because George wanted me. Wanted me for his wife and not merely a moment’s pleasure—”
“No, Rachael.” Her words stabbed him like a sword. “It was never—”
“Wasn’t it?” The accusation rang in the room. “I don’t believe you. I never should have believed anything you said then and I am far too wise to believe you now.
“George wanted more from me. And wanted it in spite of knowing what you and I had been to each other. In spite of knowing you could have left me with child—”
“Were you?” he said, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“No!” Rachael spat the word and it echoed in the room.
He stared at her for a long, tense moment. She doesn’t know! She didn’t know any of it. Not why he hadn’t come that night. Or why he’d never contacted her. He clenched his fists at the fury swelling within him.
No wonder she hated him. And hate, it was. He could see it in her eyes, hear in it her voice. Hate born from the despair of betrayal. All she knew of the events of seven years ago was her own pain.
She didn’t know the anguish and grief he’d suffered thinking she was dead. And thinking he was to blame. Surely when she knew…
She bit her bottom lip in an obvious effort to regain her composure and stared at the carpet between them. Her voice was soft. “I couldn’t wait for you, you see. Not forever. I know I promised, but…” She shook her head. “How could I? You had left for America without me…” She shrugged and met his gaze. “And so I married George. I really had no other choice, but I have never regretted my decision. He is dearer to me than I could ever have imagined.”
An odd ache spread from his heart to his throat and he had to force a steady note to his voice. “Do you love him?”
“He loves me,” she said simply. Her gaze locked with his and endless moments ticked by.
There were so many things he should say. So many lies and half-truths to dispel. So much misunderstood between them. Yet not a single word came to his lips.
“Why did you come back?” Her voice was weary.
“George wrote that he was ill.” And you’re alive.
“George writes to you?” she said sharply.
He studied her carefully. “You didn’t know?”
“We don’t speak of you.” Abruptly her manner was cool and remote.
“I see.” He drew a deep breath. “How is George?”
“Not well at the moment, but there was no need for you to come.” She brushed an errant strand of dark hair away from her face. “I have no doubt that he will recover.”
Even as she said the words, he knew it was a lie. Knew from the touch of fear in her blue eyes and the determined set of her shoulders. Did she know it as well?
“I imagine you wish to see him.” She crossed the room to a bellpull and tugged sharply. “Mayfield will see you up.”
“Rachael, I—” Again he stepped toward her.
“Our interview is at an end.” Her gaze was as unyielding as her voice. “We have nothing further to discuss.”
A discreet knock sounded at the doors.
“Please go.” She turned away in dismissal.
He hesitated; they had a great deal yet to discuss. But now was not the moment. He needed to confront George first. “Very well.”
He strode to the doors, opened them, and joined Mayfield in the foyer. The butler greeted him with a curious glance, then led the way toward the stairs.
Jason glanced over his shoulder. Rachael stood unmoving where he had left her, as rigid as a marble statue, her shoulders slightly slumped. In what? Resignation? Then she straightened, and lifted her chin as if she were once again ready to face whatever life had in store.
There was a strength about her he’d never suspected she could possess. A strength forged in the fires of loss and heartbreak. Once more he ached to return to her side and take her in his arms and refuse to let her go.
His heart twisted with the realization that that may well be the one thing he could never do.
Five
“MY LORD, YOU have a visitor.” Mayfield’s voice sounded from George’s chamber. Jason stood in the hall waiting impatiently for admittance.
A moment later Mayfield opened the door wide and indicated for the younger man to enter. Jason stepped past him and the butler exited, closing the door gently in his wake.
The room was dim, although the curtains were drawn open. The day was overcast, the light from the windows weak. Jason moved toward the massive bed, its four posts like giant corkscrews, at once reminding him, as they always had, of wooden snakes crawling toward the heavens. George had occupied this bed and these rooms for as long as Jason could remember.
“Jason?” George’s voice sounded from the shadowed figure on the bed. Delight rang in his tone. “Is that you?”
“Indeed it is.” Jason forced a level note to his voice. He strode to the bed but was hard pressed to keep his expression impassive.
With every step, Jason could more clearly see what the faint light had concealed from the doorway. And with every inch closer, his anger faded. Regardless of what had happened in his absence, he loved George as he would a brother or a father. The figure before him now was not the man Jason remembered.
George reclined on the bed, propped up with pillows. His face was gaunt and Jason could not help but notice the sallow, unhealthy look of his complexion. His cousin’s once broad chest and shoulders were thin, and the outline of his body beneath the bedclothes seemed shrunken.
“What a wonderful surprise. My dear boy, I was not expecting you so soon.” George held out his hand and Jason grip
ped it, trying not to notice George’s once powerful grasp was as weak as a child’s. “Why didn’t you let us know you were coming?”
“There was no time. And given the precarious political situation, I booked passage as soon as I received your letter.” Jason pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down, his anger forgotten. “How are you?”
“Far better than I look, I assure you.” George raised a brow. “You needn’t try to hide your reactions, you know. I am well aware of the state of my appearance.”
“Come now. You look a bit pale perhaps, but other than that—”
George snorted. “You never did lie well.” He paused and studied Jason thoughtfully, then drew a deep breath. “They tell me I’m dying.”
“Surely not, George. You are far too obstinate to die.” Jason adopted a lighthearted grin.
“The forces of fate may be more stubborn than even I.” George grimaced and turned his gaze toward the window, obviously lost in his own thoughts.
A heavy weight settled in the pit of Jason’s stomach. Regardless of his words to the contrary or Rachael’s confident assertion, no one who saw George could fail to see the reaper’s hand hovering nearby.
How hard was all this for her as well? Jason had been in George’s presence for only a few moments, yet already the beginnings of the grief to come stirred within him. How much more difficult would it be to see George growing weaker every day?
George turned to meet Jason’s gaze, the look in his eyes intense. “Have you seen Rachael yet?”
“We spoke downstairs.”
“And?”
“And she despises me,” Jason said shortly.
“I am sorry.” George sighed. “I should have told you both everything long ago.”
All the questions Jason wanted to ask, had fully intended demanding George answer, crowded his mind. But faced with the shocking reality of George’s state of health, they paled next to issues of life and death.
Secrets of a Perfect Night Page 16