Scandal's Daughter

by Christine Wells

  Gemma’s entire body felt numb and cold. She had tried so hard to show everyone she could run Ware, but she had never stood even the slightest chance. She had hoped, but no one, least of all Hugo, had encouraged her in that hope.

  “I understand Charles made you a handsome offer today,” said Sybil.

  “Yes, it was handsome.” Gemma’s voice shook. “But I refused.” She swallowed. “It is best that the estate has only one master. And there will be Bellamy’s heirs to think of, too.”

  “Are you sure, my dear? I thought Charles’ proposal was precisely what you’ve always wanted.”

  Sobs rose in her chest. “I don’t know what I want anymore. Yes, I do. Oh, Mama! I miss him so.”

  “Well, there is only one cure for that, my dear.”

  Feeling immeasurably weary, Gemma dashed a hand across her eyes. “But Sebastian doesn’t really want to marry me. He only asked me out of duty to Hugo.”

  Sybil squeezed Gemma’s shoulder. “Sometimes, it is not easy for gentlemen to express their feelings, my dear. Particularly when they are not sure of the recipient returning their affections. You have always been single-minded about Ware.”

  Gemma remained silent, staring at her pale reflection. She thought back over her time with Sebastian, to the warmth, the laughter, the confidences they had shared. Could it be true? Did Sebastian love her, after all?

  She sighed. No, of course he did not. She would be a fool to hope.

  A knock on the door preceded a parlour maid, with a knowing grin that split her plump features. “Gentleman to see you, miss.”

  Joy broke over Gemma like a sunburst. She jumped from her chair and caught her mother’s hands.

  Sybil returned the pressure of her fingers with a smile. “Now, I wonder who that could be.”

  “Tell him I shall be down in ten minutes,” Gemma instructed the maid. “Send Dorry to me, quickly!”

  She trembled too much to do anything but move about like a rag doll while her maid pulled and prodded her, dressed her body and her hair and sent her with a little push out the door.

  In the gallery, Gemma took a deep breath and smoothed her hands over the cambric of her bodice, wishing she did not look quite so ghostly in black. What should she say? How would he look? Calling on all the restraint she could muster, she made herself walk, rather than run, down to the drawing room.

  Light-headed from nervousness, she paused outside the drawing room to gather her courage. Taking another deep breath, she opened the door and went in.

  But the man who spun around at her approach was not Sebastian.

  It was Alistair Brooke.

  Suffocated with disappointment, Gemma stopped short and stared.

  Brooke cleared his throat and bowed, galvanising her. She started forward and managed some sort of curtsey. Remembering her manners, but still unable to command her voice, she gestured wordlessly for him to sit down.

  His austere features softened with sympathy. “Permit me to offer my condolences, Miss Maitland. I would not have troubled you at this time if I had known.”

  Hoarsely, she managed, “That is quite all right, Mr. Brooke.” With a monumental effort, she dredged a smile from the black pit of despair. “It . . . it is good to see you.”

  Something kindled in his eyes. He leaned forward, his hands clasped lightly between his knees. “You must know why I have come.”

  Sincerely at a loss, Gemma slowly shook her head.

  His brows twitched together. “But surely you must guess? I wished to ask your grandfather’s permission to court you.”

  “Court me?” Gemma blinked at him. The idea that Mr. Brooke harboured serious intentions had never occurred to her. “You mean with a view to m-marriage?”

  Amusement played about his mouth. “That is generally the object of courtship, yes. I understand I must now address myself to your brother instead.”

  He smiled, and Gemma’s stomach lurched. He truly cared for her. She could see it in the softened lines of his face, the warm glow in his usually cold grey eyes. Why had she not noticed when they were together at Laidley? He must have misinterpreted her friendliness as encouragement. What was she to do?

  “You must know how ardently I admire you, Miss Maitland. Did not Carleton tell you of my intentions?”

  She straightened. “You told Sebastian you wished to court me?”

  “Oh, yes. You see, I understood from him that your grandfather had entrusted you to his care. So, naturally I asked Carleton how Sir Hugo might view the match.” His shoulders shook. “I must say, I thought he would murder me on the spot. Carleton is very protective of you.”

  “Is he?” she said vaguely. “Yes, I suppose he is.” Gemma’s mind whirled. If he had known of Brooke’s intentions, why had Sebastian asked her to marry him? Surely his obligation to Hugo was discharged if Brooke paid his addresses. Why not wait until he knew the outcome of Brooke’s proposal?

  Perhaps he did love her! Excitement blazed through her body. Out of consideration for Brooke, she ruthlessly tamped it down and erased all emotion from her voice. “I am very sorry to cause you pain, Mr. Brooke. You do me a great honour, but I must tell you at once that my heart is given to another.”

  Brooke held very still. His eyes flared and his thin lips compressed.

  Gemma cringed inside. “I am so very sorry if I gave you cause to hope. Indeed, I had no intention . . .”

  His mouth spasmed in an effort to smile. Then his fingers gripped the arm of his chair as horrified wonder flooded his face. “It’s Carleton, isn’t it?”

  She hesitated. Compelled by the intensity of his gaze, she nodded.

  Brooke surged to his feet. Dashing a hand through his fair hair, he paced away from her. It was the first time she had ever seen him discomposed. He swung back, his face taut with emotion. “That libertine? That worthless, irresponsible rake?”

  Gemma gasped. Anger burned her chest at the injustice. She opened her mouth to speak in Sebastian’s defence.

  But no, Brooke was right. Worthless, irresponsible, promiscuous, that was exactly how Sebastian appeared to the world, an impression he had done everything in his power to cultivate. Only she knew the truth of his integrity, his loyalty and joy and kindness.

  Elation spread through her, and with it came a calm, anchoring sense of certainty. A smile burst from deep inside. “Yes, but you see, Mr. Brooke, Lord Carleton is my worthless, irresponsible rake.”

  SEBASTIAN yanked the casement window shut before the gusting wind scattered his papers. He squinted up at the sky, and saw the charcoal storm clouds roil overhead like a devil’s brew.

  The house seemed to glower at him, sombre as ever, and he wondered that he’d ever thought the old mausoleum transformed by a few rugs and bits of china. Laidley had lit up because Gemma was there. And now that she was gone, it was as if the sunshine would never return.

  He’d ached for her when they told him Hugo had left Ware to Bellamy, but when he saw Gemma at the funeral, he had not been able to bring himself to speak of it. His own pain made frankness impossible. He had thought the hurt might dull with time, but even now, it knifed him with a blade as sharp and true as the day she left.

  He’d give anything to have her here with him, to share in his small successes, the struggles he faced each day. He had even hoped she was carrying his child, so she would have no choice but to marry him. But he’d squandered his only chance to have her, stumbled over his monumental pride.

  His mother’s words echoed in his mind. Had he really given Gemma a choice? He had invited her to a loveless marriage, allowing her to believe he asked out of duty, out of obligation to Hugo. No word of love, just need and want, which weren’t the same things.

  “My lord?”

  Sebastian looked up. Jameson, his new steward, hovered at the door, his ruddy face a beacon of excitement.

  “Come in. Sit down.” He indicated a chair and waited, repressing a resigned sigh. He did not think any news Jameson might bring could cheer him.
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  “My lord, I have just now received a most handsome offer on your Northumberland property from the current tenant.”

  Sebastian searched his memory. “The East India merchant? He wants to buy Cheynes?”

  Jameson nodded, his stocky frame quivering with anticipation. He passed over the contract, and the sum disclosed made Sebastian purse his lips in a silent whistle.

  “I do not see how you can refuse, my lord. I have reviewed the agreement and the terms are reasonable.”

  Sebastian gave a short laugh and shook his head. “No, I do not believe I can. What is the fellow thinking? This sum would purchase two estates the size of Cheynes. Why, it would—” He stopped.

  It would purchase Ware.

  Sebastian snatched up his pen, dipped it in the inkwell, and drew the contract towards him. He scrawled his name next to the execution clause and thrust it back at Jameson. “Witness that, agree on an early settlement date. Do whatever you have to do. I want those funds in my hands as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, my lord!” Jameson added his signature and the date and hurried from the room.

  Sebastian rang for his valet. “Pack my bag for a few days’ journey. I want to leave within the hour.”

  He must bring her back. Humble his pride into the dust. Beg her, if necessary. He used to write poetry, for pity’s sake, surely there were some words in the English language to express what he felt? And if that did not work, he still had an ace up his sleeve.

  He would buy her Ware.

  Bellamy could have no particular attachment to the place, after all. He had only just arrived. He could buy another property and play at farming to his heart’s content, or he could travel, or set himself up in a house in Mayfair and do the pretty in town.

  It was a brilliant plan! Why had he not thought of it before? Sebastian took the stairs three at a time to find his mother and tell her he was leaving.

  A half hour later, with the household bustling in preparation for his departure, he sat once more in his library, writing a list of instructions to be carried out in his absence. So many things to think of. He had only begun to realise the full enormity of his responsibilities, but now he knew that with or without Gemma, he was ready to shoulder them.

  A light step sounded in the hall. “Abandoning your post already, Scovy? Shame on you! I believe I shall have to take you firmly in hand.”

  He looked up and saw her standing in the doorway.

  “Gemma.” He blinked, to make sure she was real.

  At the old, teasing glint in her eye, hope flamed inside him. He crossed the floor in three bounds and crushed her in his arms, whirling her into the room.

  Sebastian kicked the door shut behind them and framed her face with his hands, scarcely believing she was there. “I was about to come to you. Why aren’t you at Ware?”

  She bit her lip. “I don’t belong there anymore. I don’t want to be anywhere without you.”

  Sincerity underpinned her soft words, but for all that, he could not help wondering. She had lost her dream, the foundation on which she’d built her life. Was he merely the consolation prize? Was that why she had come back? He drew her close, squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in the scent of her hair, fighting the ache in his heart.

  Should he tell her of his plan to buy Ware? No. If he told her now, he might always wonder, just a little. He must know if she cared for him. He must tell her how he felt.

  He drew back, caressing her cheek with his fingertips.

  “Gemma, I love you.”

  As soon as the words left his mouth, he braced himself for a mortal wound. She felt tiny in his arms, such a fragile being to wield so much power. She could destroy him with a word.

  Gemma searched his face, a host of different emotions flitting across hers. Unable to bear the suspense, he attempted a cocksure grin. “Now you say, ‘I love you, too, Scovy.’ ”

  She laughed up at him, radiant with love and sunshine, and on a deep, relieved sigh, he consigned the purchase of Ware to the graveyard of plans best forgotten. He wanted her laughter and her warmth here with him always, at Laidley.

  Gemma tried to speak, but he stopped her reply with his lips, kissing her so fiercely she could not say anything for a very long time.

  GEMMA sat draped across Sebastian’s lap with her arms around him, her head resting against his shoulder. His lips dragged against her temple. Sighing, she nestled closer.

  She had never dreamed she could be so happy. She had ruthlessly excised the possibility of love and a family of her own from her dreams, believing they could never be hers because of her mother’s disgrace. Even when love had stared her in the face she had not been able to recognise it.

  “I’ve been so blind, Scovy. I think I’ve loved you since you first kissed me that day at Ware. But I didn’t know it until . . .” She broke off with a blush, remembering how much she had wanted to have his baby growing in her womb.

  He drew back to gaze into her face, looking ridiculously pleased. Eager and boyish, like the Sebastian she had always known. “When? What made you come back?”

  Blinking away foolish tears, she shook her head. She stared at his top waistcoat button as if her life depended on memorising its shape. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that I wanted . . .”

  He tensed. The faintest breath stirred her hair. “You wanted Ware.” He stroked the nape of her neck. “I know, Gemma. I know it’s not quite the same, but you will have Laidley now, and—”

  “No.” Gemma swallowed against the lump in her throat. She owed it to him to tell him the truth, no matter how shaming it might be. She sensed his uncertainty, as she always had. Sebastian was not quite as sure of her as he appeared.

  With difficulty, she managed the words. “I wanted . . . I wanted there to be a baby. Our baby. So much. It was stupid and irresponsible, completely irrational, but . . .” She met his eyes. “I did.”

  She saw dawning wonder in his face, a special kind of delight that made him so vividly handsome, he took her breath away.

  In a husky voice, he said, “Then . . . you’re not?”

  “No.” She smiled and trailed a finger down his chest. “But if we work very hard at it, perhaps we might do better next time.”

  Sebastian gave that lazy, wicked smile that melted her bones, and lowered her onto the chaise longue.

  “My darling Gemma,” he breathed against her lips. “Your wish is my command.”