The Widow's Scandalous Affair

by Lucy Ashford

  Jacques had been a little more descriptive. ‘The Earl caught sight of me when he arrived and ordered me to look after his horse. He looked to be in a fine old rage. When Surtees told him you weren’t at home, he rode off again, but not before I heard him mutter some interesting things about you, my lord. Want to hear them?’

  ‘Merci. But I think you can safely leave them to my imagination.’

  Jacques grinned.

  Raphael closeted himself in his study and perhaps for the first time in his life sank his head into his hands. He should have heeded George from the very beginning and stayed well away from Serena, but now he feared it was far too late. He guessed she’d fallen in love with him. There would be untold damage from now on, whatever he did, but his path was still unavoidable.

  When Raphael had arrived two years ago at the burning chateau and cradled his dying brother in his arms, Guy’s thoughts had all been of his young wife. He’d seen her carried away by those brutes and Raphael guessed that the fear of what she might suffer at their hands was worse torture to Guy than any wounds he’d received from the mob.

  ‘Find her,’ Guy had begged. ‘And make her safe! She has no parents—they died when she was a child.’

  ‘You told me, though,’ Raphael had said swiftly, ‘that she was brought up by her aunt and uncle in Paris. You said they were like parents to her.’

  ‘Yes. But they sailed to New York, before all this. They wrote to her. Begged her to join them—but I wouldn’t let her go...’ Guy was struggling to speak now. ‘Take her to them, Raphael. Swear to me that you’ll find her and take her there. Keep her safe...’

  Those were Guy’s last words, but he’d heard Raphael swear it, on his life. There was no way Raphael could break that oath to his brother. He had to get Madeleine on board a ship bound for America—and he had to fulfil his promise to go with her.

  Chapter Twenty

  After Raphael had left her house, Serena spent the rest of the morning dealing with her correspondence and in the afternoon her milliner arrived with several new hats for her consideration. Straw or silk? Trimmed with ribbons, or flowers? Serena didn’t care in the slightest. That evening she’d been invited to a dinner party, but she sent her excuses and stayed in, trying to read yet another worthy book that Mary had lent her. But it was hopeless—and the night was worst of all, because she lay awake for hours, missing him. How could she have thrown herself at someone who’d always made it plain that he couldn’t be the man for her?

  ‘But he is,’ she whispered into her pillow, her heart aching with loss. ‘God help me, I’ve fallen in love with a man I can never have.’

  What a fool she had been. She’d been warned against Raphael from the start by her friends, her brother and by the united wrath of the good and worthy, who unanimously declared Raphael to be an arrogant wastrel.

  But he wasn’t. Her rakehell Marquis had proved himself to be kind and deeply considerate; yes, he’d lured her into a false relationship, but that was to quell her downright hostility and he’d always been reluctant to draw her in any deeper. He’d always warned her that their relationship could go no further. Yet it had. And their lovemaking had been miraculous.

  * * *

  She rose the next morning with an aching head and a sorely troubled mind. A message arrived from Mary shortly after breakfast and she opened it warily. Mary had decided to hold a special meeting that very afternoon—a matter of routine business, she’d written. But Serena didn’t believe it. She was pretty sure that the ‘matter of routine business’ would be her and Raphael.

  Her three friends must know by now—as half of London must know—that she and Raphael had patronised a lowly tavern and Raphael had been attacked, after which Serena had, quite shockingly, taken him into her own house to recover from his injuries. Wearily she prepared herself for the interrogation.

  * * *

  Indeed, just as she could have predicted, all conversation stopped as she entered Mary’s drawing room.

  ‘Serena,’ Mary said. ‘We almost expected you not to turn up today.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Serena tried to speak lightly. ‘I wonder why?’

  ‘Well...’ Mary was looking to the others for support. ‘We heard that after your visit to Vauxhall the other night, there was some kind of fracas involving your Marquis. Naturally, we were all rather worried about you.’

  Serena managed to face her friends calmly. ‘It’s true, I’m afraid, that the Marquis was slightly injured by some street robbers. But all’s well now.’

  Mary still looked concerned. ‘I’m glad to hear it, but really, this is the kind of situation we feared. Of course we’re naturally grateful for the help the Marquis has given our school; but even so, my dear, the incident does emphasise that the man leads rather a ramshackle life.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Serena spoke with a nonchalance she was far from feeling. ‘I think we’ve all rather misjudged the Marquis, but I shan’t waste my breath trying to defend him. All I can say is that I am having fun.’

  Mary repeated, ‘Fun?’

  ‘Yes, fun. Just for a short while,’ Serena pointed out. ‘Are those the latest charity accounts you were talking about?’

  She’d been aware that Joanna had been watching her carefully and, while Mary and Beth examined the accounts, Joanna drew closer and whispered, ‘You look different, somehow.’ Suddenly she put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, my! You and the Marquis—he’s become your lover, hasn’t he? I imagine you had a wonderful time! I’ll call on you later, shall I?’

  ‘No, Joanna! There’s absolutely no need—’ Serena broke off because Mary was looking straight at them. As the business of the meeting proceeded, she found it impossible to concentrate. She was anxious and heartsore. Yes, she and Raphael had become lovers, but she shouldn’t have allowed it. She shouldn’t have wanted it—she knew that. The trouble was, her body and her heart told a different story. And Joanna would want to know more—oh, Lord.

  * * *

  She hurried home once the meeting was over, only to discover that George was waiting for her. Her heart sank anew.

  ‘Serena,’ he said as soon as they were alone in her sitting room. ‘I must talk with you about your friendship with that man.’

  She pulled off her bonnet and laid it down with something of a snap on a nearby table. Indeed, her brother meant well, but these days he was trying her patience sorely. ‘George, as I’ve explained before, I have the perfect right to have a male friend if I so wish. It’s not as if the Marquis is married himself, or if either of us had children to consider!’ Tired by now, she felt almost on the brink of tears.

  And she nearly did cry when George came up to her and put his arm around her. He said, ‘Serena, my dear. It’s because I care for you so much that I’m saying this. Wasn’t Lefevre involved in a brawl the other night outside some tavern? And you were there with him? What really concerns me is the fact that he’s just spent some nights under your roof.’

  She eased herself away from him. ‘I brought him here because he was unconscious. And, George, it wasn’t a brawl—Raphael was attacked, by some street thieves! It wasn’t his fault!’

  ‘Yes, but...’ George hesitated and shook his head. ‘Maybe I’m wrong to mistrust him so, though he does attract trouble. I don’t want him to hurt you, do you understand? Be careful. That’s really all I can say.’ He took both her hands. ‘I care for you very much, you know.’

  ‘And I you!’ She hugged him hard. But after George had gone, she sank into her chair and closed her eyes.

  With Raphael, she’d tumbled headlong into something she’d sworn to avoid for the rest of her life. She’d fallen in love—but very soon she’d have to cure herself of it and the prospect not only chilled her heart, it almost broke it in two.

  Now, Raphael had advised her. Live for now. The trouble was, that she didn’t want her time with him to ever end.

&
nbsp; And suddenly, after George had gone, she remembered something else that Raphael had told her, about having to silence her because of her questions about his past. Especially, he’d said, as she moved in the same circles as some men he regarded as his enemies. Who? she’d wondered. And now—oh, goodness. For a moment her heart stopped, then began pounding hard. How stupid she’d been. But now she thought she might have the answer.

  She called for Martha. ‘I need my cloak, Martha, straight away! Yes, I’m going out, so order the town carriage for me. You see, I have an urgent call to make.’

  * * *

  Jeremy Wolverton was sitting at his desk, studying some paperwork, when she arrived at his office in Holborn. He was surprised, naturally, to see her. ‘Lady Serena. To what do I owe this honour?’ He’d risen to his feet and was pointing to a chair, but she didn’t take up the invitation.

  ‘It was you,’ she said. ‘You who ordered those men to attack the Marquis. I should have guessed it the night you came to call, because how else could you have known so swiftly that three men attacked him outside the tavern in King Street? And you knew, too, all about his search for a young French woman, when absolutely nobody else did!’

  ‘My dear Lady Serena!’ He looked as though he was struggling for words. ‘Whatever are you talking about? Ah.’ He nodded. ‘I think I can guess what’s upset you so. You must have heard that your Marquis is planning to leave the country.’

  The floor seemed to shake beneath her, but somehow she held firm. Ignore him. He must be lying. ‘He is not my Marquis,’ she said steadily. ‘And you didn’t answer my question.’

  ‘No, because it’s as irrelevant as it’s ridiculous. I can only say, my lady, that it’s as well for your reputation that the Marquis is about to depart for good. Did you know he’s already booked a coach journey to Liverpool and that there he intends to find a passage to New York?’

  She couldn’t ignore what he was saying now. ‘This must be a jest. Why on earth...?’

  Wolverton shrugged. ‘Seeking new adventures? Who knows? I did hear him once say he was growing bored with London. After all, many of his fellow countrymen have already started a new life in North America. And as a matter of interest, he’s found his French woman and is taking her with him. She’s very lovely, I’ve heard—’

  It took her some moments in which to register those final sentences. A new life? With Madeleine, his dead brother’s widow, for whom he’d searched so ardently? But it couldn’t be what Wolverton had just hinted. She knew Raphael. His quest to find Madeleine was entirely honourable. And as for his leaving London, hadn’t he warned her all along not to let her emotions be engaged? Not to let herself fall for him?

  Her fault, all of it. Yes, Raphael had always been clear that their affair could not last; she’d always known the end was nigh. Only she hadn’t expected it to hurt, so very, very much.

  ‘The woman you mention is his dead brother’s widow,’ she answered. ‘He’s been searching for her ever since he came to London. And, yes, I believe it was you who arranged for him to be attacked, because you hate him, don’t you? Why? Why do you hate him so much?’

  She suddenly realised Wolverton wasn’t listening to her any more, but was staring at the open door behind her. Turning round, she saw that Raphael was there. Her heart bumped to a stop.

  ‘The lady is correct,’ Raphael said softly. Dangerously. ‘Wolverton, those men who attacked me were your hirelings, weren’t they? And you arranged it because I was getting too close to your dirty secrets.’

  ‘I don’t know what—’

  ‘You know very well what I’m talking about. You employ desperate French women in that factory of yours and pay them appallingly. Then you deliberately turn a blind eye—in fact, you’re paid—to allow the younger ones to be drawn into a world of depravity they could never have imagined. But you went too far, Wolverton. One of the women who begged for a job at your factory was my dead brother’s wife. You allowed her to be taken away by a brothel owner, but she escaped. She’s safe now. But you’re not.’

  Wolverton had gone very pale. ‘I deny it utterly. Every word!’

  ‘Really?’ Raphael still stood in the doorway, his arms folded casually across his chest. ‘The game’s up for you. I’m going to report your deliberate betrayal of innocent women to the authorities and to the newspapers; so all I can say is that, if I were you, I’d get out of London before the storm breaks. And break it will, you can be sure.’ He turned to Serena. ‘My lady. Will you permit me to escort you home?’

  * * *

  Raphael noted how she didn’t meet his eyes as he led her to the cab he’d left waiting outside and when he tried to speak she shook her head. ‘Shall we talk once we’re at my house, Raphael? You will come inside, I trust?’

  He said, ‘Of course I will.’ He needed to. His heart was heavy, because he guessed what Wolverton had told her and it was the least he could do to try to explain.

  As the cab rattled along Holborn, he remembered his conversation with Madeleine that morning. Dominic and Amelia had left Raphael alone with his brother’s widow and he’d realised she was calmer, less tense; though the shadows still haunted her face as she’d talked just a little more about the nightmare that had begun for her with Guy’s death.

  ‘I saw what they did to Guy, Raphael. They made me watch, but I could do nothing.’

  Raphael took her hand. ‘I’ve been looking for you ever since. I’m only sorry it took me so long to find you.’

  ‘But you did.’ She clasped his hand in return. ‘You did. And as for your friends who are looking after me, Amelia could not be kinder. And I remember the time Dominic came to visit the chateau with you—I feel he is a truly good man. As are you.’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘No, Madeleine, I’m not.’

  ‘Of course you are. You saved me!’

  But at a cost, he thought to himself now as he followed Serena into her drawing room. At such a cost. He didn’t know what to expect from her. He’d arrived in time to hear Wolverton telling Serena that he was going to America with Madeleine, so she must realise now that this was what he’d always planned. Yet he had allowed her to start believing in him. Allowed them to become lovers. Unforgivable, Raphael. He waited. Whatever she was about to say, he deserved it.

  She sat down, beckoning to him to sit opposite her. She looked pale, but dignified: Lady Serena, sister to an earl and one of the loveliest ladies in London. She’d been treated despicably by her husband and now by him. Yes—unforgivable.

  She spoke at last in a voice that was true and clear. ‘Raphael,’ she said, ‘I must apologise for my foolish defence in the past of Mr Wolverton. I understand now how finding Madeleine has been your life’s mission and how I was endangering it, both with my insulting comments about your past and my apparent friendship with Wolverton.’ Her voice was husky with emotion, but quite steady. She went on, ‘As you may have heard, Wolverton informed me that you have made plans to take Madeleine to America. Is this true?’

  Dieu. He felt as if every calm word of hers racked his very soul. ‘I’m going with her to America, yes. I promised my brother I would take her to New York, because there she has relatives who will welcome her into their home.’

  She still appeared to register no emotion. ‘This is what you said we must talk about when you left my house yesterday. Isn’t it?’

  He bowed his head. ‘Yes. I cannot let her travel on her own, not after what she’s been through. I made a promise and I must keep it.’

  She was sitting very straight, the only sign of emotion being the slightly heightened colour in her cheeks. She said to him quietly at last, ‘Of course. What else could you do?’

  He felt his hands clenching. Heard the hiss of his own indrawn breath. ‘What else could I do? Serena, I could have left you out of all this. I should have left you out of all this!’

  ‘No. You couldn’t, b
ecause as I’ve just said, I was harming your search. For all you knew, I was taking Wolverton’s side against you, when I guess you already suspected he might be your enemy.’

  ‘Even so.’ He’d stood up now, unable to bear this any more. He walked to the window, then swung round to face her again. ‘Even so, there’s no excuse for what I did to you. No excuse for inflicting the humiliation you must have felt on finding yourself forced into my company.’

  ‘Some women wouldn’t call it humiliation to appear at your side.’ She gave that faintly mocking smile of hers. ‘After all, I’m a Wicked Widow, remember? Maybe you’re my conquest, as much as I was yours. And we’ve had fun, haven’t we?’

  He felt as if each one of her calm words was squeezing his heart. He could hardly speak. She’d risen also and she stood there, so proud and so brave. Fun, she’d said. But he knew it was more, so much more for her. As it was for him, too.

  Now she was waiting for him to reply, to tell her that she was right and he’d had no choice but to deceive her, because he’d had a much higher purpose in mind—to find and save his dead brother’s wife. But could he really justify treating Serena as he had?

  Had he truly been obliged to become her lover?

  Of course not. But dear God, he’d found her irresistible. Still did—especially now, as she stood there so steadily, forgiving him. Saying she understood. Ready to let him go without a single word of recrimination, every bit of which he deserved a hundred times over!

  ‘Serena,’ he began, his voice hoarse, ‘believe me, I didn’t intend to cause you any harm.’

  ‘You haven’t,’ she repeated. ‘You’re worried that I’ll miss you? Not at all.’ As she spoke she was moving across the room to hold the door open for him. ‘But, Raphael, I think you had better leave, before you say any more. Besides, I have things to do, as I’m sure you have, too.’