The Shocking Secret of a Guest at the Wedding (Millworth Manor)

by Victoria Alexander

  “Because she never told him about me.”

  “Among other things. Mother is convinced Uncle Basil never married, or rather never married again, because your mother broke his heart.”

  “That’s possible, I suppose,” Jack said slowly. “I suspect there are a lot of unresolved issues between them.”

  “Frankly, I don’t want to be in the room when the past raises its ugly head, even though I am dying to see what happens next. Mark my words, Jack.” An ominous note sounded in her voice. “Between my mother and your mother, we are headed toward a confrontation the likes of which would put the ancient games in the coliseum at Rome to shame.”

  “I’d actually pay to see that.”

  She stared at him. “You really do take after your father.” She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “And if all that wasn’t enough, I am having a devil of a time trying to keep the conversation away from the subject of your engagement.”

  Jack winced. “Good Lord, I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I’m assuming, and do correct me if I’m wrong, that your mother knows nothing about this.”

  “Frankly, I hadn’t considered her one way or the other. It didn’t seem necessary to tell her.”

  “Jack,” Delilah said as if he were a small child and unable to understand even the most fundamental basics of civilized behavior. “It might not have been necessary to mention your engagement when your mother was an ocean away but, at any moment, someone is going to say something. And then, I suspect, there will be hell to pay.”

  “Probably.” He shrugged.

  “You don’t seem overly concerned.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Oh. I didn’t expect that.” Delilah studied him. “It’s an excellent, if perhaps short-sighted, attitude. But if you’re not worried then I suppose I won’t worry either. After all, it’s not my mother or my life. I am nothing more than a spectator. So I shall simply watch and enjoy the upcoming . . .” She smiled in a wicked manner. “Spectacle.”

  “I’m glad you find my life so entertaining.”

  “Oh I do and I am most grateful for it.”

  “Good, because there is a price to pay for your amusement. I need your help.” He drew a deep breath. “It’s Theodosia.”

  “What’s wrong?” Delilah’s eyes widened with concern.

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I saw her last night and she’s not herself.”

  “What exactly do you mean?”

  “She’s preoccupied, she’s terse, and she’s unusually quiet.” He shook his head. “I realize this all sounds minor but—”

  “But it’s not at all like her,” Delilah said thoughtfully.

  “Exactly. She said she wasn’t feeling well but . . .”

  “You don’t believe her?”

  “No, I don’t.” He paused. “I thought she and I had grown quite close. As friends if nothing else.”

  “Friends?” Delilah’s brow arched upward.

  “That’s a subject for another time,” he said firmly. “But whatever is bothering her is too immense or too personal or too awful for her to share with me. It’s obvious, at least to me, that she’s worried and maybe even scared.”

  “You don’t think you’re jumping to conclusions?”

  “No, I don’t. I was thinking that if she won’t tell me what the problem is maybe—”

  “She’d confide in me.” Delilah nodded. “I have an appointment with my solicitor in London tomorrow, I’ll see Teddy as soon as I’m done with that.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, Sam is going to accompany me.”

  “But I—”

  “Jack.” Delilah laid a hand on his arm and met his gaze directly. “If this is indeed something of a serious nature, and she doesn’t want you to know, your presence might do more harm than good.”

  “Possibly, but—”

  “Besides . . .” She nodded toward the closed parlor doors. “I daresay you’re going to have enough on your hands right here.”

  “Probably.”

  “Probably?” She snorted. “Oh, you are a foolish man.”

  The door to the parlor opened and Aunt Bernadette joined them, Camille a step behind.

  “Jack,” his aunt said the moment Camille closed the door. “Your mother would like a word with you.”

  He chuckled. “I’m certain she would.”

  Aunt Bernadette’s eyes narrowed. “I must say, I find her quite—”

  “Interesting,” Camille said quickly. “She’s a very interesting woman, Jack. Don’t you think so, Mother?”

  “Oh my, yes.” The hard tone in his aunt’s voice belied her words. “Although that’s not exactly the word I would use. I would more accurately describe her as—”

  “We needn’t go into that now,” Delilah said with a stern look at her mother. “She is obviously concerned about her son’s future, Mother. You of all people should understand that.”

  “Yes, well I—”

  “Thank you, Aunt Bernadette.” He took his aunt’s hands. “For being so gracious as to welcome her to Millworth.”

  “She is your mother after all.” The older woman’s expression softened. “And it is Christmas.”

  Delilah cast a grateful glance at Jack, then addressed her mother. “We really should leave them to their reunion.”

  “And I do like Miss Merryweather,” Aunt Bernadette said thoughtfully, “although I am a bit confused as to—”

  “Now, Mother.” Delilah took her mother’s arm and attempted to lead her away. “We have a great deal to do, what with new guests and—”

  “Nonsense, everything has been ready for days now.” Aunt Bernadette stood her ground. It was obviously going to take more than a bit of prodding from Delilah to get her to leave. “Perhaps we should stay here in case Jack needs . . . assistance.”

  “I’m sure Jack knows exactly what he’s doing.” Camille took her mother’s other arm. “And we should allow him to greet his mother properly. You would expect no less.”

  “Perhaps.” Aunt Bernadette’s gaze shifted from one daughter to the other. “Not that it appears I have any choice.”

  “It’s for the best, Mother,” Delilah said in a soothing manner.

  “Very well,” His aunt pinned him with a firm look. “Jack, you have my deepest—”

  “Wishes for a happy reunion,” Camille blurted. “Come along now, Mother.” The two sisters fairly pulled the older woman away from the door.

  “It’s going to be an interesting Christmas,” Aunt Bernadette said under her breath.

  “It always is, Mother.” Delilah sighed. “It always is.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jack drew a deep breath and reentered the parlor.

  “I thought perhaps you weren’t planning on returning.” An annoyed frown creased his mother’s forehead.

  “She thought you might have escaped,” Lucy said. The innocent note in her voice did nothing to disguise the laughter in her eyes.

  “I would like to see Jackson alone, Lucinda.” Mother cast Lucy her most imperious look. “So, if you would be so good as to take your leave . . .”

  “Oh, I couldn’t possibly.” Lucy sat down on the sofa, settling back as if she fully intended to stay for a while.

  Jack stared. Defying his mother wasn’t at all like Lucy. But then hadn’t he noted a change in Lucy on the night he had first met his father? He wasn’t sure how or why but then, and now, she seemed, well, stronger. A bit defiant, a touch independent, but certainly not the more docile Lucy his mother had thought so perfect for him. Of course that was before Jack knew the truth about his father. Before Lucy had urged him not to consider himself under any obligation to her. Before their lives had changed irrevocably.

  His mother’s eyes narrowed. “Of course you can, my dear. Simply direct those little feet of yours out the door and close it behind you.”

  “I do know how to exit a room, Mrs. Channing,” Lucy said in a pleasant manner. “Bu
t I have no intention of leaving at the moment as you are about to question Jackson regarding his plans for the future. Which makes this talk my business as well.”

  “I’m certain Jackson would prefer—”

  “Lucy can stay,” Jack said. “I’ve never kept anything from her in the past and I see no reason to do so now.” Lucy was, after all, his dearest friend. Even so, he was not especially eager to tell her about Theodosia.

  “As you wish.” Mother shrugged. “I was simply trying to spare your feelings, Lucinda.”

  “How very thoughtful,” Lucy murmured.

  Mother cast her a sharp look, then turned to her son. “When do you plan to return home?”

  “Straight to the point, Mother? No idle chatter about the weather or your voyage?”

  “No.” She clasped her hands together in front of her. “But I would appreciate an answer.”

  “I’m not sure I have one.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure I know where home is at the moment.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” She sniffed. “Your home is New York. It has been from the day you were born.”

  Jack met his mother’s gaze firmly but didn’t say a word.

  “You needn’t look at me like that. I have already admitted that I made, oh, a mistake by not telling your father about you and you about him.” She drew her gaze from his but not before a flash of guilt showed in her eyes. “But the past is the past, Jackson, and now we should move on from here.”

  “Agreed.”

  Her gaze shot back to his. “Really?”

  He nodded. “I think that’s best, all things considered.”

  “Then you forgive me?”

  “I didn’t say that.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure I can ever forgive you.”

  “But you did agree to put the past behind us?”

  He nodded. “I did.”

  His mother studied him for a long moment. “Very well then. In the spirit of moving forward, I should like to know if you’ve made any decisions about your future.”

  “A few.” He glanced at Lucy and she nodded her encouragement. “I don’t plan on returning to New York anytime soon.”

  “Surely you’re not serious.” Mother scoffed. “You have responsibilities. Obligations. To the bank and your grandfather.”

  “The bank is a well-run institution, manned by gentlemen whose abilities far surpass those of a man whose prime qualification is that he was born to the position. Gentlemen who want to be bankers. As for Grandfather . . .” Jack thought for a moment. “I suspect he already knows what I am finally coming to realize. Banking was never in my blood.”

  “You’re going to stay here? In England?” Mother stared in disbelief. “You’re going to give up everything you’ve ever known to assume an insignificant, antiquated title in a country that is so firmly entrenched in the past that its people refuse to see the benefits of something as elemental as decent plumbing?”

  “Oh, we see the benefits of decent plumbing, Elizabeth.” His father’s voice sounded from the doorway. “But all that past we’re entrenched in prevents us from sacrificing heritage for the sake of comfort.”

  His mother glared at his father. “What are you doing here? I wished to speak to my son alone.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” Father peered around her. “Good day, Miss Merryweather.”

  “Good day, Colonel.” Lucy beamed at the older man. “How very nice to see you again.”

  “You’re looking even more lovely than when last we met.”

  “Oh my, Colonel, you will quite turn my head—”

  “Stop it. Both of you,” Mother snapped. “This is not the appropriate moment for . . . for idle flirtation!”

  His father’s eyes widened innocently. “Was I flirting? I certainly hadn’t intended to flirt.”

  “I didn’t think he was flirting,” Lucy said. “In my opinion, he was simply being charming. Most charming. Didn’t you think so, Jackson?”

  “I thought he was charming.” Jack nodded.

  “Most charming,” Lucy pointed out.

  Father chuckled. “Thank you, my dear.”

  “Yes of course.” Jack grinned. “Most charming and not the least bit flirtatious.”

  “I see what you’re doing.” Mother huffed. “All of you. You’re trying to drive me mad. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t think so.” Jack glanced at his father. “Are we?”

  “Not at all.” His father paused. “It’s just an amusing consequence.”

  She ignored him. “You never used to be like this, Jackson.”

  “Actually, I think I’ve always been like this, whatever that means.” Jack shrugged. “I simply kept it to myself.”

  “It’s your influence, no doubt.” She glared at his father.

  “Do you really think so?” Father asked.

  “You needn’t look so proud about it, Basil. You’re a bad example, you’ve always been a bad example.”

  “I have not.” Indignation rang in his father’s voice.

  “Hah! You’ve never stayed in one place for any length of time at all. You have no roots, no ties, and certainly no stability. All you’ve ever done is wander the world.”

  “I did serve in Her Majesty’s—”

  “And after that your life has been nothing more than one . . . one exploit after another.” Mother’s gaze slid between Lucy and Jack. “The two of you might think this man-of-adventure nonsense is exciting and romantic and heroic. I, however, do not. As for you, Jackson.” Her voice rose and her words came faster. “I did not raise you to follow in your father’s footsteps, to wander the world in an aimless quest for the next thrilling encounter regardless of whom you might leave behind. Nor did I intend for you to disregard those people who have entrusted their faith in you. I did not bring you up to be the kind of man a girl throws away everything sensible and rational and practical for in exchange for the promise of romance and adventure and excitement!”

  “I’d rather like to be the kind of man a girl throws away everything sensible and rational and practical for in exchange for the promise of romance and adventure and excitement,” Jack said mildly. “And I see nothing wrong with following in my father’s footsteps.”

  “Very good, Jackson,” Lucy said under her breath.

  Mother continued as if he hadn’t said a word. “I raised you to face your responsibilities and accept your obligations, unlike your father. You”—she turned back to her husband—“have spent your life with no particular purpose and certainly no responsibilities and—”

  “And whose fault is that?” His father’s voice sharpened. “Had I known about my responsibilities, about my son, about my wife, my entire life would have been different.”

  “Would have, Basil?” His mother stared at his father. “Or might have?”

  “Thanks to you, Elizabeth.” His gaze locked with hers. “We shall never know.”

  A myriad of emotions crossed her face. At last she drew a deep breath. “I have given this a great deal of thought since our last encounter and . . . and I am sorry, Basil. Truly sorry. About all of it.”

  “You can’t undo the past, Elizabeth.” Father shook his head. “You can do no more than make amends for it.”

  “Can I?” His mother’s gaze locked with his father’s for a long silent moment. Questions unasked and unanswered hung in the air. Jack suspected his parents had forgotten they were not alone. “Is that even possible?”

  “Perhaps,” his father said quietly.

  As much as Jack hated to interrupt whatever was going through the minds of his parents it obviously had nothing to do with him and he would prefer not to be a witness to it.

  He cleared his throat. “Why are you here, Mother?”

  “To talk some sense into you, of course. Obviously, in that I am too late.” Resignation sounded in her voice. “Certainly, I knew that was a possibility. I have known since you were a little boy and wanted to be a treasure hunter. I knew then that you were your father’s son
regardless of what I wanted for you. Your grandfather knew. He warned me but . . .” She drew a deep breath. “Of course, I didn’t listen.”

  That was as close as Jack had ever come to hearing his mother admit there was a chance she was wrong.

  “Regardless, there are other matters to attend to at the moment.” She studied him coolly. “Jackson, do you agree that as your mother I have certain rights when it comes to your life?”

  “I don’t know whether I can agree to that, Mother, as I have no idea what you are referring to.”

  “I am referring to . . .” Mother heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Poor, poor Lucinda.”

  Lucy’s sigh echoed his mother’s even if it didn’t strike him as quite as genuine. “Poor, poor me.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “I had hoped to speak privately to you before your mother did but we saw you, Jackson,” Lucy said. “Last night.”

  “Last night?” he said cautiously.

  “Last night,” Mother said firmly. “We were invited to accompany the American ambassador and his wife to a social event. We saw you but you left before we could approach you. You should be aware, Jackson, that you are the center of a fair amount of gossip and quite a bit of speculation.”

  “I’m not surprised.” He chuckled.

  “This is not amusing.” Mother’s eyes flashed. “Grahams have never been the topic of rumor and innuendo.”

  “Pity,” Lucy murmured.

  “Channings tend to be rather frequently.” His father glanced at him and shrugged.

  “While I was not surprised to hear you being hailed as something akin to a prodigal son . . .” Mother rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “I was shocked to learn you were also engaged.”

  Jack considered his mother thoughtfully. This wasn’t how he wanted Lucy to learn about Theodosia but apparently that ship had sailed. At this point, he had several choices. He could deny it, which seemed pointless. He could pretend he had no idea what they were talking about, which also seemed pointless as they had obviously seen him dancing with Theodosia last night. He could tell them the truth about his fake engagement, an option he discarded immediately, or he could admit that he did indeed intend to marry Lady Theodosia Winslow. A truth he hadn’t fully realized until this moment.