The Notorious Widow

by Allison Lane

  Catherine held her breath as Sarah lifted the heavy pot, but she managed by using both hands. She is growing up so fast.

  She said little as Rockhurst resumed a tale about a boyhood expedition to track down a badger that had ended with him and a friend stuck in a hedgerow. He was remarkably attentive, with no pretense tarnishing his demeanor. Sarah was blossoming before her eyes, showing more animation than she had since Harold’s death.

  The realization sliced her heart. Harold had doted on Sarah and had spent time with her every day, unlike other men, who rarely exchanged more than a few words with their daughters. But since moving to Seabrook, there had been no men in her life. William had been too busy taking control of his inheritance to bother with his niece. If Laura could catch Rockhurst, she would be truly blessed.

  Laura!

  She nearly groaned. Laura had planned an elaborate tea today so she could show off her skills as a hostess. She would not be pleased that Sarah had stolen her guest.

  But she wasn’t about to scold the girl. This impromptu party was too beneficial.

  Yet watching Rockhurst amuse Sarah revived some of her earlier doubts. Had William asked him to spy on her? Courting favor with Sarah might be a way to gather information. Sarah was not shy about showing off her knowledge.

  Sharp pain accompanied the suspicion, for she did not want it to be true. Sarah would be badly hurt if she learned that his attention was feigned.

  So would she.

  “I spoke with Carruthers and Jenkins,” she told him half an hour later as he escorted her downstairs. “Also the blacksmith – he suffered a rash of broken tools after shoeing Jasper’s horse; the beast was so jumpy, it took longer than usual. They are reluctant to discuss the situation, but all eventually agreed to talk to you in private, provided you not repeat their tales to others.”

  “I will adhere to their wishes. But perhaps I can learn something that will make it easier to deal with Jasper. I must understand how his mind works.”

  “So I told them. But they fear your influence will fade once you return home. Jasper will again be the most powerful man around, free to exercise that power as he pleases – and more brutal than ever if he has suffered embarrassment.”

  He nodded. “I spoke with one of your tenants today – Harry Fields. He disclosed an incident involving his friend Jemmy. Jasper lied to the boy’s father, claiming he threw rocks at his carriage when he’d merely peeped through the door to see if it was as elegantly appointed as rumor claimed. Jasper did not appreciate the liberty.”

  She sighed. Another victim, though there was nothing anyone could do. If people refused to believe her, why would they listen to a child? “Do you really expect to prevail?” she asked.

  “It will be difficult,” he admitted. “But I cannot allow him to misuse his position. Lords should look after their dependents, not prey on them. His actions reflect poorly on all of us.” He paused outside the door to her bedchamber. “Do not look too far ahead,” he said quietly. “First I must gather information, being careful not to draw Jasper’s attention. Only then can I decide how best to use that information. In the meantime, hold your head high and go about your business. Acting guilty plays into Jasper’s hands.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  As he emerged from the tailor’s shop, Blake spotted Mrs. Telcor and invited her to tea. Perhaps he could deflect her attention from Catherine. At the very least, he hoped to reduce speculation about his intentions toward Laura, though her avid gaze as he seated her in the confectioner’s shop made that unlikely.

  But she surprised him. “I was shocked to learn that a man of your credit would associate with Mrs. Parrish,” she said, her hand hovering over the sugar bowl as if debating whether to add a third lump to her cup. Her eyes gleamed in anticipation. He suspected her purpose was to confirm the notorious widow’s misdeeds.

  “Seabrook swears the rumors lie, though I wouldn’t know,” he countered mildly. “I’ve seen nothing improper, but the ladies only join us at dinner.”

  She raised a brow, clearly suspicious. Laura’s flirtations must be common knowledge.

  He leaned closer as if sharing confidences. “I am trying to convince Seabrook to take his seat in Parliament. The progressive leadership needs support from the younger lords if they hope to pass reforms.”

  “Politics!” She snorted. “I’ve not heard your name mentioned in that context.”

  “I prefer to work behind the scenes.” He was stretching the truth, though he voted on measures he cared strongly about or on those whose outcome was in doubt. While he favored reform, the time was not right for a determined push for change. The opposition was firmly entrenched, and he harbored no illusions about his credit. Even without his recent excesses, he lacked the power to sway the Tory leadership. Now that Prinny had abandoned the Whigs, they had no choice but to exercise patience.

  Prinny’s change of heart had raised questions in many minds. Had his long support been a way for the government to keep an eye on the opposition? Or maybe Prinny had only embraced Whig ideals because strong-minded friends like Fox and Sheridan had convinced him to. Now that they were gone, he was being led by determined Tories. It was not a comfortable thought. Many problems would grow worse if the Regent bent with every wind.

  Their cakes arrived, interrupting him – and just as well. He had more urgent problems just now than the fate of the reformists. He had only raised the subject to explain his visit to Seabrook. Selecting two small cakes, he smiled.

  “Seabrook is not the only lord I wish to see.” He kept his voice conspiratorial. “What can you tell me of Jasper Rankin? I hear his father’s health is failing, so he will soon step into the title.”

  “Hah!” Mrs. Telcor’s cup rattled as she set it down. “Rankin has imagined himself at death’s door for thirty years. I’ve not seen anyone so convinced he is going to die. That man has drunk enough healing waters to fill a lake and tried nostrums from every village witch in England. When he is not at a spa, he remains in bed, summoning a host of London physicians. Even Miss Mott, who has suffered megrims and spells for sixty years, consults healers less often.”

  He hid his surprise, for he had invented the failing health on the spot, taking a page from Jasper’s book. “Is he well enough to receive callers?”

  “He is in Bath just now, taking the waters, though he should return shortly. But don’t expect him to receive you. His megrims make him short-tempered, and his complaints drive everyone to teeth gnashing, sleeplessness, and drink. Poor Jasper had to move out in the end.”

  “Because his father is ill?” He was comparing her claims with Harry’s assertion that Rankin was visiting a mistress in Plymouth.

  Mrs. Telcor shook her head. “There is not a thing wrong with Rankin beyond a wish to command attention, and Jasper knows it. When he refused to treat his father as an invalid, the man threw him out. He doesn’t want a son, but a slave who will fetch and carry and obey even the pettiest orders without question. But Jasper has other responsibilities.”

  “Surely you exaggerate,” suggested Blake. “Most parents draw comfort from their children’s company.”

  “Not Rankin. He hates Jasper. ’Tis a miracle the boy grew into a sensible, caring man.” When the confectioner frowned, she lowered her voice. “I doubt Jasper has heard anything but demands and complaints from his father since the day he was born. His mother died when he was five, leaving the boy to a series of brutal, incompetent tutors.”

  Blake pretended commiseration, though he had to question her understanding. Most boys considered their tutors brutal – at least until they reached school. It was a rare student who did not long for home. Only later did they understand that discipline was necessary to prepare them for future responsibilities. “It is the price we all pay for the privilege of our positions.”

  “For some the price is too high.” She wiped a crumb from her chin. “Did your parents ignore your very existence? Did they enjoy snubbing you?”

  “No,
” he admitted. His father had been no more aloof than any other lord. His mother had been warmer, but only because she needed someone to lean on. Since his father was away so often, she’d depended on her son from the time he was six.

  “Jasper’s did. He has run tame in my house since he was a child, so I know how Rankin’s rejection hurt. The servants followed Rankin’s lead. It was only my intervention that rescued him from the brutality of two of his tutors. But he is blessed with a great deal of sense and has become a credit to his class. A kinder, more thoughtful lad would be hard to find.”

  Blake nearly bit his tongue trying to remain silent. The woman’s credulity defied description.

  She poured more tea, helping herself to another scone. “Not everyone understands him, of course. Some cause trouble for him because they are jealous of his position. Only last month, Justin Hawkins claimed that Jasper had seduced his sister. I can’t believe he thought such fantasy would work. Helen has been throwing herself at Jasper for months, hoping to marry up. When he refused to smile her way, she concocted this scheme, but she failed. He was in Bath at the time, as I know full well, for he brought me a charming china bird when he returned. It is all the crack in London.” She described it in glowing terms.

  “Thoughtful,” he managed, though the bird sounded like one of the cheap trinkets peddled to the merchant classes.

  “And generous to a fault,” she added. “He uses most of his allowance to aid tenants and villagers. Like the Hadleys. Their barn burned down last year. Jasper helped them rebuild, and they aren’t even Rankin tenants. I would like to think that he learned such kindness from me – he often passes afternoons with me, and I have contributed to many of his causes – but I expect he was born kind. If only his mother had lived. She was a dear woman who should never have wed so uncaring a man. After her death, I tried to offer Jasper the same guidance, but nothing can replace a mother’s love.”

  “You are to be commended for seeing after him.” The words were sincere, though it was a pity she had not bestowed her mothering on a more worthy child. Jasper had been manipulating her for most of his life. Her support protected him from suspicion, allowing him to take increasingly daring chances. And he’d probably been milking her for funds nearly as long.

  “Someone had to do it.” She shook her head, falling into murmured reminiscences. They proved that everyone who tried to exert authority over the boy – servants, tutors, even a vicar – was banished, often with Mrs. Telcor’s unwitting help. Rankin had probably found it easier to replace employees than to withstand her lectures.

  His image of Jasper Rankin was clearer. Something had created a rift between father and son. Jasper’s willfulness might originally have been a bid for his father’s attention. When that failed, he’d lashed out against underlings to elicit the fear he confused with respect. Each victory had increased his arrogance.

  School must have been a shock. Jasper would have met boys whose precedence exceeded his own – not pleasant for someone accustomed to being the most important person around. No wonder he had eschewed time in London. Only at home could he wield power. Jenkins claimed that Jasper had returned more arrogant than ever, despite being sent down in disgrace.

  Since then, Mrs. Telcor had expanded her role as confidante and substitute mother by burnishing his reputation in the upper classes, cutting anyone who criticized him, and dismissing his public excesses as youthful high spirits.

  Like she was doing now, in response to his question about the destruction of Jones’s crops.

  “That was unfortunate, and I scolded him for thoughtlessness,” she said through a bite of cake. “Not that my lecture was necessary. He was appalled at the damage. He and his friends had gone riding after an evening in the Plate and Bottle’s taproom. A race got out of hand.” She shrugged. “He made generous reparation, of course. I would expect no less.”

  He held his tongue, though the minuscule damage payment had been an insult in itself. Jasper had made it clear what would happen if Jones complained. Catherine knew the details only because she had been with Mrs. Jones when the woman collapsed in tears, terrified about how they would survive.

  “I trust he has compensated every victim of his high spirits,” he said, hoping to discover other cases.

  “Of course, and he has sobered with age. Only once did he truly lose control of a situation, and you can be sure I took him firmly to task for it.”

  “What happened?”

  Her mouth tightened in a grim line, and for a moment he feared she would turn the subject. “When some friends damaged the parlor at the White Hart Inn, he did little to stop them. There was no excuse for such laxity, and so I told him. I don’t care what they were celebrating. But he learned a valuable lesson that day and terminated his friendship with the lad who started the fight.”

  “Quite proper,” he murmured, again refusing to challenge her. “He will be a charming addition to Parliament when the time comes.”

  Having barely managed to keep the sarcasm from his voice, he turned the topic to other gossip while they finished their tea, then bade her farewell and headed for the White Hart. He must risk exposing his investigation if he was to discover the details of this latest story.

  The innkeeper smiled when he arrived. “Lord Rockhurst! Will you be needing rooms again this evening?”

  “Not today, Falconer, but I am looking for information if you can spare me a few minutes.”

  “Of course, my lord.” He gestured to a parlor, then sent a servant for ale.

  “I am investigating a complaint against Jasper Rankin,” said Blake when they were alone. “I would prefer to keep it quiet until I discover whether it has merit, you understand – no cause to start rumors if this proves groundless. So far, there is little evidence either for or against the charge.”

  “You will find nothing you can use,” said Falconer stiffly. “Rankin is an exemplary man.”

  “So I’ve been told, but someone mentioned an incident that destroyed this room.” He had already spotted the damage. It would take years before the new paneling matched beams darkened by centuries of smoke, and he would stake his favorite team of horses that the cracked flagstone and chipped fireplace dated to the fight.

  “’Twasn’t the first fight at the White Hart. Nor will it be the last.”

  “What happened?”

  “’Twas a boxing match that day out toward Topsham – Barlow versus Gates. Not as important as the Cribb-Molineaux fights, but it drew a good crowd.” He shrugged. “Rankin and several friends met here before driving out to watch, then returned afterward. A fair amount of money had changed hands, as expected, but they was a jovial bunch. The trouble only started after they’d emptied a few bottles.”

  “Who started it?”

  Falconer shook his head. “Two of the lads were demonstrating what Gates could have done in the final round to win – he’d lost. One struck harder than intended. The other retaliated. Tempers snapped, and before you could say Jack-a-dandy, they was all involved.” He shrugged. “Rankin blamed young Collinsworth, not that it matters. Collinsworth has never returned. Rankin paid for the damage and a bit over. These things happen.”

  Blake drained his ale slowly. Falconer had not suffered from the incident, so either he was not the intended victim, or it had truly been a case of high spirits. “Was anyone injured?”

  “Richard Umber, though not badly, and several lads sported black eyes. Collinsworth took the brunt of it. Rankin called him a fool for losing his temper, and he cut the connection for hurting Umber.”

  “Trouble happens when too many bottles go dry, so why end their friendship?"

  Falconer drained his own ale. “Collinsworth had been looking for a fight all day – insulting the Davies boy’s horses, flirting with another lad’s companion, arguing with anyone who bet against Gates. As they left for the mill, I heard him question Davies’s intelligence for backing Barlow. When Gates lost, Collinsworth turned surly. Maybe he’d wagered more than he could
afford, or maybe meanness was in his nature.”

  “So he started a fight. Which boxer did Jasper support?”

  “Barlow. He has a good eye for horses and fighters. I doubt you’ll find evidence against him. He’s no saint, but he does right by anyone what’s hurt, even if he was not at fault. That’s more’n I can say for many lords.”

  “So it would seem.” He rose. “By the way, how badly was Collinsworth injured?”

  “Broken nose, cracked ribs, and he lost an eye. I hear he stays on his estate these days.”

  Blake nodded and took his leave. The description had jogged his memory, recalling a scrap of conversation at White’s. Collinsworth did more than stay in the country. He’d cut all contact with others, becoming so reclusive that men were already calling him a hermit, though he was barely five-and-twenty. Another victim of Jasper’s spite. He had probably disparaged Jasper’s eye when they placed their bets. So he’d lost one of his own.

  Pondering Jasper’s nature, he hardly noticed the countryside as he rode back to Seabrook. Not until he reached the stables did he take in his surroundings. Catherine was waiting for him.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked, turning his horse over to Ted.

  “I don’t know. Harry Fields turned up an hour ago. He demands speech with you but refuses to say why.”

  He could see Harry lording it over Catherine. “Where is he?”

  “The kitchen.” Curiosity blazed in her eyes, tempered with hurt at being snubbed by a tenant child. After everything else she’d suffered, this was the last straw.

  “He meant no disrespect,” he murmured, offering his arm. Heat flowed from her touch, so fierce he nearly cursed. “He must have heard something about Jasper. I’d asked him to keep my interest secret.”

  She relaxed.

  “You will join us, of course, for this concerns you,” he added. “Where should we talk?”

  “The folly, I think. It is cold enough that even the gardeners are remaining inside.”