Scandal Becomes Her

by Shirlee Busbee

  Julian’s touch on her hand broke into her thoughts. “A word with you?”

  Her silly heart leaped beneath the fabric of her gown at the expression in his eyes. And there was a note in his voice…“O-o-of c-c-course,” she stammered.

  Julian grinned and, pulling Nell after him, made for his study. Shutting the door behind them, he leaned back and dragged Nell up against him. “My sweet,” he murmured as he rained soft, teasing kisses over her face, “Dr. Coleman has told me. Are you happy with the news?”

  Nell met his ardent gaze shyly. “Yes. Very. Are you?”

  He laughed and catching her up in his arms swung her around the room until she was dizzy. “Happy?” he questioned, when he finally stopped. “Happy seems a weak, pitiful word to describe what I feel at the moment. I am, I think, drunk with joy. Ecstatic. And that you are happy only adds to my delight.”

  With Nell still in his arms, he sank down into one of the big overstuffed leather chairs near the fire. Her head rested on his shoulder and he caressed the tawny ringlets that tickled his chin. “I cannot remember a more rapturous time in my life,” he confessed. “You could have bowled me over with a feather this morning when Dr. Coleman told me that I was to become a father. It took me a moment to understand what he was telling me and then, when I realized what he was saying, I was ablaze with joy.” He kissed the top of her head. “You have made me an extremely happy man, my dear, and I am grateful to you for it.”

  At least one of her fears had been put to rest: he was thrilled with the news of her pregnancy. But Nell didn’t want his gratitude, she wanted his love, and a little of the glow that suffused her ebbed away. Though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she pushed away from him and stood up. Catherine’s ghost hung over her like a blade, slicing at her joy, and Nell was determined not to wear her heart on her sleeve—especially for a man who loved another. “I am pleased,” she said primly, “that the prospect of our child makes you so happy.”

  It wasn’t quite the reaction he had hoped for, but remembering their parting last night, he stood up next to her and caressing her cheek with a finger, he asked, “Are you still angry with me for last night?”

  She hunched a shoulder, turning away. “Not angry,” she admitted, “disappointed, perhaps.” Walking to the fire, she glanced back over her shoulder. “You doubted my word.” A spark kindled in her fine eyes. “Julian you cannot believe that I encouraged Tynedale yesterday! I loathe him! I was only polite to him because I had no choice. Would you rather I’d caused a scene and ordered him from my sight?”

  “You are right to be cross with me,” he admitted handsomely, “and you did exactly as you should. It is I who was at fault. I acted like a dolt, a blockhead.” Wryly, he added, “You must forgive me—I was jealous and let jealously blind me to the truth.”

  Nell’s mouth fell open. “Jealous?” she squeaked, delight spearing through her. “How could you possibly be jealous of a pompous blackguard like Tynedale?” She hurried over to him and, grasping the lapels of his claret jacket, shook him. “You are a good, kind, generous, honorable man—he is everything that you are not. You have no cause to be jealous of the likes of Tynedale!”

  He grasped her hand and pressing a kiss on her fingers, he said huskily, “I was a fool last night in more ways than one. Will you forgive me?”

  Despite her best intentions to hold him at a distance, Nell’s heart melted. Forgive him? How could she not? Gruffly, she said, “Only because you are the father of my child—and if you promise not to act like such a dunderhead again.”

  He gave a shout of laughter and pulled her into his arms, kissing her soundly. “I cannot swear that I shall not act the fool in the future, I am, after all, only a mere man, but I shall try, my darling, I shall try.”

  Playing with a gold button on his jacket, Nell asked, “And the other?”

  Julian sighed. “Your nightmares? The dungeons?”

  She nodded.

  “I intend to explore them with Dibble and a few stout groomsmen this afternoon,” he said heavily. “Once I have seen that there is no danger to you, I shall walk you through them.” His face grim, he added, “And I hope to God that they bear no resemblance to those in your dreams!”

  On that note they parted.

  Leaving Julian’s study behind her, Nell’s steps were drawn to the gallery. Wandering along its length, watched by the portraits of Julian’s long-dead ancestors, the closer she came to her destination, the slower her tread became. Stopping before the portrait of Lady Catherine, she stared at the lovely face for a long time. There was no denying that Julian’s first wife had been beautiful, but Nell could see nothing in those perfect features, that perfect form, that could explain Catherine’s iron grip on Julian’s heart.

  He’s my husband, she thought furiously, not yours. You’re dead. Let him go. The limpid blue eyes still met hers serenely, the rosebud lips still held their alluring smile, and Nell knew an urge to tear the portrait from the wall and trample it to pieces. Her fingers curved into claws and she actually took a step forward before she caught herself, but the sight of the handsome vase filled with long-stemmed yellow roses from Julian’s greenhouse was her undoing. With something like a snarl, she grabbed the vase and smashed it to the floor, kicking at the roses, scattering them in all directions.

  Staring at the broken porcelain and the ruined roses, Nell was appalled. Good God, what had come over her?

  Ashamed of her outburst, yet strangely elated by it, she cast one more look at Catherine’s portrait. I carry his child and I am his wife. I am alive. You are dead, damn you! Let him go!

  Julian kept his promise and accompanied by the others, he made the trek to the lowest, oldest reaches of the house that very afternoon. They found nothing in the damp, gloomy area not expected and deciding that Nell would come to no harm, the following afternoon, he guided her down the two sets of stairs to the remains of the dungeons.

  Clinging to her husband’s arm, in the flickering light from the torch he held, Nell glanced around. The dungeons consisted of two small cells that opened onto a larger room that still showed signs of its former use; a pair of manacles with chains and some terrifying objects hung from hooks driven deep into the walls. There was a large fire pit, and noticing the rusted, corroded items lying on the edge of the blackened hole, she shrank closer to Julian’s comforting bulk. Everywhere she looked she was met with the thick, rough-hewn stone walls, signs of their age obvious, as were the dampness and soot stains from old torches, old fires…Staring at that depressing space, she noted the green scum on the floor, undoubtedly due to the flooding from time to time. She shuddered, it was an awful place…But it was not the dungeon of her nightmares and she didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry that this dungeon was not her dungeon. It was a relief to know that the dungeons of Wyndham Manor bore only a superficial resemblance to that horrible place that appeared in her dreams. But she was conscious of disappointment, too. If only she could find where the demon of her dreams did his terrible work, then he could be caught and no more women would die screaming and writhing beneath his hands.

  She glanced at Julian’s grim face and shook her head. Relief flashed in his eyes and without another word, he hustled her away from the place.

  Upstairs in his study, Julian paced the floor as Nell sat by the fire and sipped a steaming cup of strong tea. Noting the paleness of her features, he demanded, “Are you certain that you are all right? I can have Dr. Coleman here in an instant. I never should have let you talk me into letting you tour those blasted dungeons. I must have been mad!”

  She sent him a wan smile. “Do not fuss. I am not sick. I am pregnant and it is your child who causes my discomfort, not the trip through the dungeons.” An impish twinkle in her eyes she added, “Besides, if you hadn’t gone with me, I’d have gone by myself and think how you would feel about that.”

  He closed his eyes in despair. “Has anyone ever told you that you are decidedly stubborn and headstrong in the bargain?
”

  “Frequently,” she admitted with a laugh. Putting down her cup, she said, “I know that you didn’t want me down there, but aren’t you the least pleased that your dungeons are not the ones in my nightmares?”

  “Thank God for little favors,” he said piously and made her laugh again.

  Her moment of lightheartedness vanished. “But today’s discovery doesn’t change anything,” she muttered. “Those dungeons are still out there, somewhere…And we must find them if he is to be stopped.” She glanced away. “If my nightmares are to be stopped.”

  Julian crossed to her and knelt on one knee before her. Taking her cold hands in his, he swore fiercely, “We will find them. And him—I swear it to you.”

  How much happier his words would have made her, she thought wistfully, as she left the room, if instead of swearing to find a madman, he’d sworn to love her…

  Chapter 14

  News that the countess was expecting a child come summer spread rapidly through the neighborhood and beyond. Nell was both flattered and amused at the profuse congratulations that poured in on her and Julian. Everyone it seemed was delighted with her pregnancy, from the lowliest scullery maid to the highest members of the peerage in England. Even the Prince of Wales had sent along a very nice note expressing his congratulations on their impending parenthood and Nell couldn’t help be flattered. But the note she treasured most was the one from her father. She’d known that Sir Edward would be delighted and his simple pride and pleasure at the news came through in every word he wrote to her. He mentioned planning a trip to visit with her in early spring and Nell’s heart leapt at the idea of seeing her father again.

  Lady Diana was delighted with the news. When Nell told her of the pregnancy, she exclaimed, “Oh, my dear! How happy I am for you, for you both.” A shadow crossed her pretty face. “My late lord and I had so hoped that we would have a child of our own but fate did not smile upon us.” She shook off the melancholy memory and, beaming at Nell, added, “I know that he’d be over the moon with joy at the news. Why I remember how often he talked of Catherine and the child she carried, how ecstatic he said he’d been when he’d learned of the pregnancy and when she died how he mourned for her and the unborn child.” Realizing she’d let her tongue run away with her, she flushed. “Forgive me! I did not mean to bring up the past.” Earnestly, she added, “He would have been just thrilled, thrilled I tell you, by your pregnancy.”

  Smoothing over her mother’s prattle, Elizabeth gave Nell a warm hug. Her eyes shining, she said, “You are so good for my stepbrother, and now you are to have his child. It is so exciting. And to think that Mama and I shall be only as far away as the Dower House.” She grinned. “I warn you: we shall spoil your child in the worst possible manner.”

  Charles’s dinner party, as Nell thought of it, went off without a hitch. To round out the numbers, and because she enjoyed them, she added a member of the local gentry, Squire Chadbourne, his plump, jovial wife, Blanche, and his heir, Pierce, a tall, handsome man, some thirty years of age. It was a most pleasant evening and Nell and Julian were again showered with good wishes and several toasts were drunk to their health and to that of their unborn child.

  By the time the meal ended and the ladies withdrew to the gold salon, leaving the gentlemen to their port and wine, she was well satisfied with her first dinner party as the Countess of Wyndham. Everything had gone just as it ought and the food—from the Mushroom Fritters, Crimped Cod, Pullets with Chestnuts, Veal Galantine, and Roast Loin of Beef to the melt-in-your-mouth perfection of the Gooseberry Cream, a Florendine of Oranges and Apples and a Duke of Cumberland’s Pudding—was superb.

  While she could take no credit for it, the apparent healing of the breech between Julian and his cousins gratified Nell. No one watching the three men would ever guess that until just a short time ago, there had been a long-standing estrangement between them.

  Naturally as the ladies enjoyed their tea and nibbled from a tray of sweets that Dibble had served before leaving the room, the conversation centered on Nell’s pregnancy.

  “Oh, my, how well I remember my first,” said Mrs. Chadbourne, her blue eyes warm and friendly as they rested on Nell. “It is such an exciting time. And a summer birth is the best. I know—my last was born in December and I swear she had nothing but the croup and colds and sniffles from the moment she was laid in my arms until the following June.”

  “Ma foi! I prefer a spring birth, like my Raoul,” chimed in Mrs. Weston. “I felt so heavy and clumsy those last weeks.” She gave a delicate shudder. “Carrying a child into summer will not be pleasant—I do not envy you, ma belle. Your back will ache and your feet will swell—if you can see them—and the July heat will make you miserable.”

  Lady Diana, sitting beside Nell on a gold brocade sofa, patted her on the arm and said, “Oh, pooh, don’t pay any attention to her, none of it will matter when your child is laid in your arms.” She smiled at Elizabeth sitting in a chair across from them. “I know the moment that my dear daughter was placed in my arms, I forgot everything that had gone before except the joy of actually holding her.” She patted Nell’s arm once more. “You’ll see that I am right.”

  “Indeed she is,” added Mrs. Chadbourne cheerfully. “There is nothing to compare to that first sight of your own child.” She beamed at her. “It has been a long time since these halls have rung with the laughter of a child—I’m sure that his lordship is overjoyed by the news.”

  “Yes, he is,” Nell agreed. Julian might not love her, but she couldn’t deny that he was thrilled at the prospect of becoming a father. This past week or so his sheer exuberance and open pleasure had done much to soothe her heart. He might never love her, but he would adore their child and she could forgive him much because of that. A small, private smile curved her mouth. There was an added pleasure to her state: Julian’s lovemaking had been so exquisitely tender these past days that her body quivered with delight just thinking of it.

  Her black eyes fixed on Nell’s face, Mrs. Weston murmured, “But one must remember, that this is not the first time his lordship has had his hopes buoyed by such news. Enfin, let us hope that he is not disappointed as he was the last time.”

  “What a ghastly thing to say!” Lady Diana burst out, looking at Mrs. Weston as if she’d turned into a viper.

  “Now, now, I’m sure she didn’t mean that like it sounded,” said the squire’s wife sharply, her amiable features marred by an expression of disapproval. She glared at Mrs. Weston. “I’m sure she has an explanation that will make it all clear.”

  “Then perhaps,” Nell said quietly, her eyes steadily meeting the Frenchwoman’s, “Mrs. Weston would like to explain what she did mean?”

  “Why I meant nothing by it,” protested Mrs. Weston. “But it is true, is it not, that this is not the first time that his lordship has been expecting a child? And that the child and, alas, his poor wife died? He cannot help but think of it.”

  “But that tragedy has nothing to do with my child, does it?” Nell replied. “I am sure that you did not mean to alarm me, but how else am I to interpret your comments?”

  “Je vous demande pardon! You have misunderstood me,” Mrs. Weston said stiffly. “I meant no harm—let us talk of other things.”

  Mrs. Chadbourne and Lady Diana were amenable to that suggestion and in a few minutes the conversation had veered to Lady Diana’s plans for the renovation of the Dower House. Elizabeth, sitting quietly as befitted a proper young lady in the midst of matrons, smiled warmly at Nell and joined the discussion. Mrs. Weston was quick to follow their lead and in no time the ladies were deep into debating the use of various fabrics and the other changes Lady Diana planned for the house.

  Nell listened with half an ear, her thoughts on Mrs. Weston. She was trying very hard to like Julian’s relatives but there was something about this Frenchwoman that didn’t sit well. Perhaps, she shouldn’t have been so prickly about Mrs. Weston’s comments? If Lady Diana had said such a thing, she would
have lightly dismissed it as merely Lady Diana’s artless chatter, but with Mrs. Weston, she could not. One thing Nell was certain of: Mrs. Weston’s words had been deliberate—and there was nothing innocent about them.

  When Lady Diana moved to a chair by Mrs. Weston to explain in greater detail some of the remodeling that was under way at the Dower House, Mrs. Chadbourne took the seat she had vacated.

  “Don’t pay Sofie any mind,” Mrs. Chadbourne said in a low voice. “She can be a proud, disagreeable woman, but I don’t believe she means any harm. She doesn’t care a fig what people think and speaks without stopping to consider other people’s feelings.”

  “Have you known her a long time?”

  “Oh, Lord, yes! Ever since she married his lordship’s uncle, thirty years or more ago.” Mrs. Chadbourne sighed. “Not that there haven’t been times I’d wished he’d married someone a trifle more comfortable, I can tell you that! But there was nothing for it: she had a fortune and Weston needed it.” She looked thoughtful. “I think they had a good marriage, though. There was never any question about it being a love match. Harlan adored John and Charles’s mother, Letty, and when she died…” A sad expression flitted across her face. “It was a bad time for all of us. We’d all grown up together and when Letty died…Well, when she died something died within Harlan.”

  She shook herself and continued briskly. “Sofie was what Stonegate needed and Weston knew it. He was, I think, content with the bargain he’d made.” She smiled. “He was thrilled to be a father again and certainly happy to let her lavish her money on the place. Believe me, if it hadn’t been for Sofie’s fortune, he’d have been in desperate straits. She saved him from ruin and Stonegate, too. Her son is nicely fixed thanks to Sofie’s fortune and I’ll give Charles his due—he’s never held it against his younger brother that he’s the one who will inherit a handsome fortune someday and not Charles. Charles, for all his wild, arrogant ways, has always watched out for Raoul.” She shook her head. “Lord, the scrapes he’s pulled that boy out of. Sofie has spoiled Raoul almost beyond bearing. And the tales of his women—” She stopped and looked a little flustered. “Er, you do know about the Old Earl, don’t you?” she asked.