The Notorious Widow

by Allison Lane

  “Yet Colonel Bangor believes the tale.”

  “Colonel Bangor suffered an accident there many years ago. He found it easier to blame the Frenchman’s ghost than his own poor driving. It soothed his pride, which was the only real casualty.”

  “And now he has suffered another accident.”

  “Happenstance. He slipped on a patch of moss and fell from his roof while verifying his housekeeper’s claim that some slates needed repair – he has always insisted on checking everything personally. There were half a dozen witnesses. The doctor believes he will recover, but at the moment he remains confused.”

  “Squire Hawkins should recall that night.” He rose to leave. “I will speak with him in the morning.”

  She still had misgivings. If no one had suspected Jasper at the time, raising the subject now had a better chance of hurting the Wests than of finding evidence against Jasper, but Rockhurst was in no mood to listen, so she nodded.

  Once he was gone, she rose to pace the room. This news eliminated any hope of convincing him to leave. On the other hand, she now wondered if he might actually succeed. Could there really be enough evidence to force a confession?

  She wanted to believe. Dear Lord, how she wanted to believe. The alternative was so painful. But there was more than hope behind her decision to continue this fight a little longer. Curiosity played a role – what had really happened on the coast road that night? And even stronger was a burning need for revenge.

  Shuddering, she paced faster. She hated to admit that she was reacting even a little like Jasper, though this situation was very different from his petty quarrels. He must pay for his crimes. In her family alone, there were two dead, one ruined, three besmirched, and no end in sight.

  Poor Harold. Another innocent bystander cut down to serve Jasper’s arrogance. Tears pricked her eyes. He had been a good man – sweet, kind, and genuinely caring. Love had come gently during their years of marriage, turning friendship into something deeper that sharpened her grief when she lost him.

  She blinked back tears. Two years should have put this behind her, but he had not deserved such a fate. Dying because Jasper attacked another man made it worse.

  Her father had been very different from Harold, though both had embraced justice and fair play. He was stubborn – a trait she had inherited – which had caused many an argument between them. She recalled the exhilaration that had accompanied her few victories. But even his stubbornness had had a certain charm. She missed their confrontations almost as much as she missed Harold’s concern. Rockhurst reminded her of both men.

  She sighed. She had never questioned the accident. One of her last arguments with her father had been over that team. He’d doted on that pair, though she’d considered them fractious. Flashy, certainly, but difficult to hold. She’d even predicted that they would bolt on the coast road after dark, which had raised guilt after his death. A storm had broken up that night, producing unexpected shifts in light as the full moon dodged in and out of clouds. When added to the eerie rock stacks and patches of fog endemic to that road, it was no surprise that a driver who had spent some time in a taproom would come to grief. Mixed with her remorse for not fighting harder had been the fear that he’d set his team at the road to prove her wrong.

  But she had never understood Harold’s presence. They had been finishing dinner when he’d received a summons from the ailing widow Green. She’d assumed the widow was near death – the woman died a week later. Now she had to wonder what the widow had wanted.

  Harold had gone from Mrs. Green’s to the White Hart, then accompanied her father home, leaving his horse behind.

  She shook her head. Nothing made sense. Mrs. Green had lived only half a mile from the vicarage, so Harold would have walked. Only after speaking to her had he saddled his horse and gone to Exeter. He must have intended to fetch her father to the widow’s bedside, then return to town.

  Which brought her back to the widow Green. Since her father had been the area’s leading magistrate, the widow must have been reporting a crime. But what could a dying woman say that would demand a night journey in foul weather?

  Even as her curiosity stirred, she realized that she was creating a mystery so she could forget Jasper’s plots for a time. But she needed a break from her own problems, and maybe it was not too late to address the widow’s concern. Mrs. Green’s housekeeper might know what she had wanted. She was presently employed by Miss Mott.

  But that must wait until morning. In the meantime, she would check on Sarah, then find Laura. If Squire Hawkins agreed with this tale, Rockhurst would leave soon. Time was running out to attach him.

  * * * *

  Laura was in the drawing room, seemingly blue-deviled because Rockhurst had again spent the day in Exeter. Catherine stifled her memory of that morning kiss, reciting the familiar litany under her breath: Laura deserved a good husband, and Rockhurst was the best. It wasn’t his fault that she’d tempted him into forgetting his scruples. Even a saint could suffer an occasional lapse.

  “Wear the blue gown this evening,” she said, noting that the fire was nearly burned out. Laura should have summoned Rob to replenish it. “Blue shows your coloring to advantage and makes your eyes glow. Rockhurst has found evidence that might force Jasper to recant his lies, but that means he will soon leave us.”

  “I won’t be coming down for dinner.” Laura stared at her hands.

  “Is something wrong?” Catherine joined her sister on the couch. Laura’s eyes were still puffed from her night of tears, but brooding on the assembly would do her no good. “I know last night was difficult, but everything will be all right soon.”

  “It will never be all right.” Her voice trembled.

  “Of course it will. People will soon recognize Jasper for the villain he is.”

  “It won’t matter.” Breaking into sobs, she dropped her face into her hands.

  “Shush,” Catherine urged soothingly as the sobbing increased. “Nothing is worth such distress.” Laura did not deal well with crises. No matter what happened – a cut finger, a shattered vase, the childhood prank that had broken Mary’s leg – Laura’s reaction was the same. To her credit, she rarely repeated an error, but her inability to talk until her own distress had been relieved by lengthy tears irritated her family no end.

  Catherine let her cry on her shoulder, stifling a heartfelt sigh. If Laura didn’t control herself soon, Rockhurst would find them.

  “I’ve made a hash of everything,” Laura sobbed.

  Catherine patted her back and made soothing noises, though curses paraded through her mind. The last thing Rockhurst needed was to see Laura in the throes of tears. That contretemps at the ball was bad enough. But she had no hope of moving upstairs until the storm was past.

  It took longer than usual, hinting that the problem was serious. She took a firm grip on her composure. She could not afford to lose her temper, for that would send Laura into another outburst.

  “Calm yourself,” she murmured as the sobs turned to hiccups. “It cannot be this bad.”

  “It is,” mumbled Laura, keeping her face pressed into Catherine’s shoulder and her arms wound tightly around her neck.

  “Did you kill someone?”

  Laura shook her head.

  “Did you destroy someone’s livelihood?”

  Another shake.

  “Have you burned down a house or sold a child into slavery as a sweep?”

  “No.” Laura’s arms relaxed.

  “Then things could be much worse. I doubt you’ve done anything that cannot be rectified, so tell me the tale.”

  Laura sniffed, but sat up. Catherine pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it over, then waited while Laura wiped her nose and dried her eyes. She waited as Laura folded the handkerchief into a neat square, smoothed every wrinkle from the damp linen, set it on her lap, moved it to a table, moved it back to her lap, licked her lips, returned the handkerchief to the table, arranged her hands into three different
positions, and sighed.

  “I cannot help until I know the story,” Catherine reminded her. “It will not improve with keeping.”

  “I know.” She moved the handkerchief to the couch, crossed her arms, pulled her knees nearly to her chin, then burst out with, “ItriedtocompromiseRockhurst.”

  Catherine’s heart stopped. “What exactly did you do?” Keeping her voice steady was the hardest thing she’d done in her life.

  Laura returned her feet to the floor and relaxed now that the truth was out and no one was screaming. “I sent him a message to meet William in the library, then sent William a message to meet Rockhurst there. Since William was in the stables, I knew Rockhurst would arrive first. I messed up my hair and gown and planned to hide behind the draperies until I heard William in the hall, then throw myself on Rockhurst so William would find us.”

  “My God.” Her hand shook. “How could you abuse the hospitality of this house so badly?”

  Laura’s face turned red. “I was desperate, Catherine. You saw how people looked at me last night. I needed to settle things, but Jasper’s affairs kept distracting him. I thought a little push would remind him to declare himself.”

  “A little push? Forcing him to choose between an arrogant, unscrupulous wife and his place in society?” Her voice was rising.

  “I’m not—”

  “You are arrogant, Laura,” she snapped. “You assume that beauty will bring you anything you want, but beauty alone won’t hold a man, especially one like Rockhurst. He has his pick of beauties every time he visits London, most of them with large dowries. But he wants more. What did he do when you leaped out at him?”

  “I didn’t.”

  Catherine exhaled. Had Laura come to her senses in time? But she had barely formed the thought when Laura dashed it.

  “He must have reached the library sooner than I had expected,” she explained. “Apparently he saw me and understood my intention, though I did not know that until William arrived half an hour later. He was furious.”

  “Then he must have talked to Rockhurst.”

  She flinched. “Rockhurst not only complained, but charged William with condoning my plot.”

  “How often have I warned you to consider how your actions affect others?” Catherine demanded fiercely. Laura recoiled, but Catherine no longer cared. This was beyond heedless, ranking with Jasper’s plots for unscrupulous manipulation. “By summoning William, you involved him as surely as if he’d planned it. Rockhurst could blacken his name with a word.”

  “He won’t. William was so furious with me that Rockhurst must believe him innocent.”

  “We can only hope. But it is no thanks to you if he refrains from destroying us. And you’ve forfeited any chance to attract the man.”

  “I never had a chance,” said Laura in a small voice. “William says Rockhurst despises me, comparing me to London fortune hunters. He thinks me forward and obnoxious, and accused me of validating the rumors that you taught me to be a wanton.” Again she burst into tears.

  Catherine stalked to the window. It was the only way to keep from slapping Laura’s face.

  Damn the girl for ignoring her advice. If only she had behaved as usual – but it was too late for regrets. Rockhurst was probably disgusted with the entire family. No wonder he thought George’s tale would force Jasper’s confession. He was so desperate to escape Seabrook, he would exaggerate every bit of evidence. Even his vow would not keep him here much longer. He could not risk another attempt to trap him.

  Returning to the couch, she forced Laura to face her. “I am disappointed in you, Laura. No matter how much you like a man, forcing him into marriage will guarantee a life of misery. He would never forgive such dishonor.”

  “I know.” She rubbed away tears with the backs of her hands. “And I am more dishonorable than you know. William forced me to admit that I don’t even like Rockhurst. I know very little about him and don’t care for what I do know.” She continued, but Catherine was no longer listening.

  “You don’t like Rockhurst?” she gasped, shocked at the unthinkable admission. How could anyone not want him? He was the ultimate gentleman, the embodiment of everything good in the world. But beyond his fairness, his intelligence, and his impeccable manners burned more passion that she’d ever encountered. Her cheeks blazed at the memory of that kiss.

  Her heart took flight, lighter than it had been in months. Relief, she assured herself briskly. Relief that Laura’s melancholy arose only from embarrassment and not a deep tendre for a man who had rejected her. She would not bear the pain of unrequited love.

  “I don’t,” confirmed Laura, trying to laugh, though the sound was nearer a sob. “I have had little to do today but examine my feelings. Admitting that I don’t want him makes my plot even more shameful. I wasn’t seeking a husband but an escape from Seabrook. I cannot endure the cuts and rumors. I don’t know how you remain so calm.”

  “One of the lessons that comes with age is that you can control no one but yourself. Weeping and wailing only turns others against you. And in my case, retaliation hurts Sarah.”

  Laura wiped another tear from each eye. “If only Jasper had left us alone. I was happy before this started.”

  Another fantasy, thought Catherine. Laura had long complained of boring days and provincial suitors. But she held her tongue. “Rockhurst believes he can force Jasper to confess his lies. I pray that he is right and is not rushing his fences to escape you.” She felt a measure of satisfaction when Laura’s face turned white.

  “Make him understand that he is safe,” begged Laura.

  “I doubt he would believe me. Nor will he slow his efforts now. He has already set his plan in motion. You had best pray that he is not acting hastily. If he fails, the situation will be worse than ever – and impossible to overcome.”

  “What did he discover?”

  She was angry enough not to care whether Laura was braced for the truth. “Jasper caused Papa’s accident.”

  Horror drove away Laura’s embarrassment. “Jasper killed Papa?”

  “Not intentionally, but yes. He did.” She repeated the main points of Rockhurst’s report.

  “We owe him so much,” murmured Laura. “It makes my scheme even worse. How can I face him?”

  “You will face him before dinner.” She met Laura’s eyes. “You will admit that you sought to attach his title and wealth. You will admit that you have no personal interest in him. You will vow to avoid him for the remainder of his stay. Then you will go to your room, where you will take all meals until he leaves.”

  Laura nodded. “William said the same thing. You will be with me?”

  “I will remain in the room to protect him from further insult, but I will neither support you nor prompt you. Only Rockhurst will hear your apology, but if you do not confess everything, including your motives, you will know that your dishonor remains. Do you wish to live with that?”

  “No. I will do what needs to be done.” She picked up the handkerchief and left the drawing room. Catherine was pleased to note that her back was straight and her shoulders square. Maybe she had finally grown up.

  Memory of Rockhurst’s kiss drove Laura from her mind. Had it meant anything? He had seemed as horrified as she. Except for his touching her hand, their talk in the morning room had been aloof. But his touch had offered only comfort, she reminded herself. The doctor had done the same thing when informing her that Harold was dead.

  Yet she sometimes suspected interest. Warmth often flashed through his eyes. She had ignored it, for amber eyes were naturally warm, and his turned a compelling gold when anything interested him. But it was harder to explain his stare the first time he’d spotted her in Exeter. And what about that blatant arousal in the rose garden?

  Hope revived, spinning fantasies she had never dared entertain – Rockhurst kissing her, touching her, even undressing her; Rockhurst sweeping her away to become his countess; Rockhurst falling madly in love with her…

  “Id
iot!” she said, berating herself more strongly than ever. The most she could expect was to become his mistress. Earls wed young ladies of impeccable breeding, ladies with large dowries, ladies who were accustomed to moving in the highest circles. She would fail miserably if thrust into a London drawing room.

  But you are in love with the man, whispered her conscience.

  “No!” She forced the thought aside. Granted, it would be perilously easy to take that final step, but she was not stupid. Loving him would cast a pall over her life worse than Jasper’s insinuations. He couldn’t reciprocate. Especially now. He would never trust a Seabrook again.

  Thrusting thought of him out of her mind, she hurried upstairs to dress for a dinner she could no longer skip.

  * * * *

  Blake had never endured such an uncomfortable evening. When he reached the drawing room, only Catherine and Laura were there. He nearly retreated, but Catherine’s eyes promised safety.

  He shouldn’t have believed them. She retreated to the window, leaving him to endure a halting, tear-filled apology that managed to insult him several times over. The high point of the evening was when Laura departed and he realized that she’d been confined to her room for the duration of his visit. Unfortunately, that left him alone with Catherine.

  She was more aloof than he’d ever seen her, though he doubted that Laura’s failed scheme was responsible. His revelations would have revived her grief and added anger over Jasper’s attack. But the effect was worse than he had expected, casting doubts on his dreams.

  His frustrations mounted as they conducted stilted conversation for the next half hour. Mary had unaccountably chosen to eat with Sarah. Even William’s appearance as dinner was called did little to lighten the mood. Embarrassment blanketed the cavernous dining room in a gloom that candles could not penetrate.