Scandalous Scions Two

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Jack took them and looked down at the first. It was a gossip sheet, one of the more scurrilous newspapers in the city. “The Huxby Herald, Will? Really?”

  “Read,” Will said shortly. “You need to know what happened yesterday.”

  Jack put the newspapers aside. “I’d rather go home, wash and sleep for a week.” And see Jenny.

  “You’ll have to sleep tomorrow,” Will said. “There is a very good chance you’ll be standing in court later today, swearing that Jenny is insane or a liar.”

  Jack stared at him, his heart making a sickening swan dive toward the earth.

  “Read,” Will repeated. “Then we’ll talk.”

  * * * * *

  Present day: The Wakefield Residence, St. James Square, London. March 1867. Friday, half past eight o’clock.

  Mayerick stepped into the morning room and coughed loudly. “I’m dreadfully sorry to disturb you, Master Benjamin, but there is a woman at the door insisting upon speaking to you.”

  Ben scowled as he adjusted his cravat. “We’re about to leave for court, Mayerick. Who is it?”

  “She won’t say, Master Benjamin.”

  Dane slapped Ben’s hand away. “Not like that,” he said and tugged the cravat into a better fold. “Tell the woman to come back later, Mayerick. None of us can cope with civilities right now.”

  Jenny was the only still figure in the room. Even Sharla was fussing with her appointments, smoothing her hair and straightening her folds, while trying to twist herself to see her back hems were straight.

  As Jenny was not required at court, Ben had refused to let her attend. “You would be exposing yourself to the public and to the reporters unnecessarily. Once Jack has played his part, we’ll return to decide what happens next…if there is any decision left to make.”

  Fear choked her at Ben’s implications. Jenny sat upon the sofa and watched them prepare.

  Now this—a strange woman adding tension to an already tense day.

  When Dane told Mayerick to dismiss the woman, the butler hesitated.

  Dane bent his head to look around Ben toward the door. “What is it?” he asked, with more patience.

  “I suggest speaking to the lady, my lord,” Mayerick replied.

  Dane glanced at Ben, startled. Ben raised his brow. “Better send her in, then, Mayerick.”

  Dane turned and stalked toward the window. Sharla caught his hand in hers and gave it a shake. “There’s time yet,” she murmured.

  “I just wish the day were done, and we were at the end of this,” Dane replied.

  Jenny could not resent Dane’s frustration, for she wished for the same thing.

  Mayerick opened the door once more. “In there,” he said.

  The woman who stepped through looked as though she had come straight from the far east end of London. Her hair was a tangled snarl of knots and dirt, with the ends twisted and pinned to her head. She wore no hoops and no corset that Jenny could detect. Her shirt was faded, although it appeared there had once been lace at the neck. Her skirt was a drab green color that might once have been pretty but had long ago lost all brightness. There was no attempt at embellishment, no flounces or frills.

  The woman looked to be ten years older than Jenny. She might have been pretty except for the deep dark shadows beneath her eyes and the pallor of her face. She was slender in the way that the poorest of workers in the slums tended to be.

  The woman stared at Jenny as she came through the door.

  “Please sit,” Ben told the woman, putting the upright chair in front of the sofa that Jenny was sitting upon. He sat next to Jenny, while Sharla hovered at the end. Dane stayed by the window.

  Mayerick shut the door.

  The woman sat, and her gaze returned to Jenny. “You’d be the Duchess, then?”

  “I am the Duchess of Burscough.”

  “So ye think,” the woman replied.

  Jenny drew back, startled.

  “You might tell us who you are,” Ben said, “and explain why we must listen to you.”

  She did.

  * * * * *

  Present day: The Court of Common Pleas, Westminster Hall, Palace of Westminster, London. March 1867. Friday. Twenty minutes past ten o’clock.

  The judge’s private chamber was large, yet barely contained everyone who squeezed into the room. Jenny could see Elisa and Vaughn in the far back corner, with Annalies and Rhys and Raymond and Natasha, although it was difficult to shift her gaze away from Jack, for he stood at the side of the judge’s great desk, his shoulders square and his hands by his sides. He looked calm, although Jenny could see the pulse in his throat beating hard.

  Stephen Spearing stood at the other side of the desk, and Burscough was beside him. Jenny didn’t let her gaze move beyond Spearing, though, once she realized Burscough was there. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the man.

  Dane and Sharla stood on either side of Jenny, in silent support, while Ben moved around the tiny space that had remained open in front of the judge’s desk. In the center of that space was the woman who had called upon them that morning, and everyone in the room, including the judge, watched her closely.

  “Please tell his honor your name,” Ben told her.

  The woman lifted her chin with pride. “Mrs. James Ryder.”

  Everyone swiveled to look at Burscough. Jenny, too. The man she had thought was her husband curled his lip up and looked down his nose at Eileen Ryder. “I’ve never met this woman in my life.”

  Eileen Ryder held up her hand, showing the thin gold band there. “Twelve years, we’ve been married. You let me think you were dead.”

  The judge paddled his hand on his desk, for silence. “Madam, are you claiming that you and the Duke were married twelve years ago?”

  “He wasn’t a duke then. I didn’t even know he was likely to be. He said he was a foundling. He looked mighty fine in his officer’s uniform.” She smiled, her eyes distant as she recalled the memory. “We was wed at the chapel at Saint Paul’s. All proper like and everything. Then he went off …he said to war. Two years later, I got a letter from his superior officer, telling me he was dead.” She pulled a grimy, folded sheet out of her sleeve and unfolded it. “Here.” She put the letter on the judge’s desk, then turned it about so he could read it.

  The judge bent over it. “That is a peculiar hand for an officer,” he murmured. “It is badly composed, too.”

  Jenny’s heart squeezed. The spidery, weak lettering was familiar to her.

  Ben stepped forward, opening the portfolio in his hand. “Your honor, I also would like to provide a sample of the Duke’s handwriting, this one witnessed. This is a note the Duke sent to her Grace, the Duchess, only a few weeks ago. And this—” He laid another sheet down. “—is the marriage certificate from Burscough’s marriage to Gwendolyn Wardell. And this—” He placed the fourth sheet. “—is the certificate of marriage between Burscough and Mrs. Ryder.”

  The judge examined them. “The writing is exactly the same,” he observed and looked up at Burscough.

  Burscough quavered and licked his lips. His gaze darted from Ben to Eileen Ryder, to the Judge. “She’s lying,” he said, his voice high.

  “When I saw the papers, with James’ likeness on the front page, I near died,” Eileen Ryder continued. “Here’s me thinking he was dead these past ten years, while he was off living the high life, pretending he was a lord, with a lady and everything.”

  Burscough closed his eyes and hung his head.

  Stephen Spearing shifted on his feet, increasing the distance between him and Burscough. His mouth was held in a hard line.

  The judge sat back, considering. “This is a pretty state of affairs,” he said. “Mr. Spearing, your thoughts?”

  Stephen Spearing cleared his throat. “The trial does not encompass the actions of my client, your honor. However, if he was already married, then he cannot sue for divorce over a marriage that was never in fact legitimate.”

  The judge nodded
. “That is the way I see it, too. Mr. Davies?”

  “My understanding, your honor, is that not only was the marriage illegitimate, it reduces her Grace’s status to that of a concubine and her children illegitimate offspring. As such, no support or claim can be laid against them by Burscough.”

  Jenny drew in a sharp breath, hope flaring in her chest.

  The judge nodded slowly, his mouth pursed as he considered the legal ramifications. Then he looked at Burscough and his mouth turned down. “You are a particularly despicable example of the upper class, sir,” he said. “However, to preserve the dignity of the crown and its peers, I must do what I can to mitigate this disaster. It is a task that gives me no joy.”

  He looked at Jenny next. “The court apologizes for the unnecessary strain you have suffered. This is an egregious misuse of the legal system. However, because I must declare a mistrial and abort the proceedings, there can be no judgement in your favor. Do you understand, your Grace?”

  “Yes, your honor, I do,” Jenny said.

  The judge next looked at Ben, and then Spearing. “Do both of you agree that no further legal proceedings are necessary, and far from desirable?”

  “I do, your honor,” Spearing said.

  Ben nodded.

  The judge got to his feet. “Then I declare a mistrial and hasten to end this matter for all time. Thank you, you may all go.”

  Jenny gripped Sharla’s hand, her trembling making her knees shake, as the room of witnesses turned to leave.

  A tired sigh sounded from the far corner and a soft exclamation. Jenny whirled.

  Her mother had fainted. Vaughn held her in his arms. Her face was white and her eyes closed.

  * * * * *

  Present day: The Court of Common Pleas, Westminster Hall, Palace of Westminster, London. March 1867. Friday, a few minutes later.

  The family bustled around Vaughn and Elisa, helping them out to the carriage and assisting Vaughn with lifting Elisa into it. Jenny helped, too. Her mother’s pallor and the dampness of her flesh was worrying, wiping away all thought about what had just happened.

  “I’ll send word as soon as I know anything,” her father told her. He kissed her cheek. “There is much to talk about and much to sort out. We will do it later, darling one.”

  Happiness touched her. Her father was speaking to her! “You must go and take care of Mama, Father,” she told him. She hesitated. “May I come home now?”

  Vaughn lifted his head up from studying Elisa’s still face. “Of course, you must come home!” he said fiercely.

  Jenny shut the carriage door, her heart easing just a little.

  The carriage rocked as it sped away, leaving a large circle of family members watching its departure.

  Ben was not one of the circle. Nor was Jack or Dane. The three of them were ranged about the woman, Eileen Ryder, speaking quietly.

  Jenny realized that she was free to move and speak to whoever she wanted. She moved over to the tightly ranged group and stood next to Dane. She did not dare stand beside Jack, even though she longed to.

  “…no intention of ever speaking to the man again,” Eileen said, with a sniff.

  “He is your husband in the eyes of the law,” Ben pointed out.

  “That’s what the red-headed man told me, but it’s been ten years. I’ve found my own way, now. I have employment and a house to live in. Why would I go back to a man who never supported me?”

  Jenny could understand the woman’s reluctance.

  “Then, if it was not your intention to win your husband back, why did you come forward at all?” Ben asked.

  Eileen Ryder looked at Jenny. “To spare the lady,” she said. “The red-headed man explained it to me. How things were looking bad for her because of Jimmy’s doings.”

  With a start, Jenny realized that Eileen was referring to Burscough.

  “He gave me your address.” She glanced at Ben. “And a farthing for the cab, too.”

  “The red-headed man?” Dane said, his voice tight.

  “The other barrister fellow,” Eileen said. “I went to him because I wanted to face Jimmy and see it was really him. The man at the courthouse said I should talk to the red-headed man.”

  “Spearing,” Ben interjected.

  Eileen nodded. “That’s the name, yes. The one with the funny eyes.”

  Jenny looked around for Spearing. Everyone had spilled out of the palace in a great tide, shepherding Vaughn as he carried Elisa to the carriage. There were even more people out here on the lawn in front of the palace, many of them looking disappointed because the crier had declared the trial closed. The five men who had been sitting at the newspaper reporters’ table yesterday were gathered in a tight group, glancing at the family. They were likely trying to guess why the trial had been abruptly halted, looking for more stories for their newspapers.

  “You should speak to those men over there,” Jenny told Eileen Ryder.

  Eileen looked. “They are from the newspapers, aren’t they? Why would I want to speak to them?”

  “Yes, you should,” Ben added, his tone forceful. “Otherwise, the duke will never have to face the consequences of what he has done to you and to…others.”

  “Like the lady, there?” Eileen asked. “You mean, there are others beside her?” Indignation built in her eyes.

  “If the newspapers report your story, then if there are others, they may come forward, too,” Jenny said.

  Eileen considered it. “That’s what the judge meant, about no further proceedings? The law won’t do anything about what Jimmy has done?”

  “The scope of the trial was limited,” Ben said. “The judge could only concern himself about the actions of her Grace and how they impacted the marriage…the supposed marriage,” he corrected himself.

  “So the blighter gets away with this, free as a bird?” Eileen said.

  “There is the court of law and the court of public opinion,” Dane said. “Go and talk to them, Mrs. Ryder. Tell them your story.”

  Eileen Ryder patted the wild ends of her hair. “I will at that,” she said and marched over to the tight group of reporters with a grim look in her eyes.

  Jack blew out a soft breath. “Spearing sent her?”

  Dane added, “Why would he do that?”

  Ben lifted his chin. “He’s over there.” He looked at Dane. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “He’s coming over,” Jenny warned, for the red-headed man was approaching them, with long easy strides.

  He nodded at the men and gave Jenny a short bow. “An interesting morning all around, yes?”

  “Eileen Ryder says you sent her to Ben,” Dane said. “I want to know why.”

  “Ah.” Stephen Spearing rubbed at the back of his neck. “Benjamin will tell you, if you ask him. We think alike, I’ve learned.”

  Dane shook his head. “No, you tell me. Why did you do a disservice to your client? You single-handedly aborted the trial.”

  Spearing’s face tightened. “A trial that should not have taken place at all. As soon as I knew about Eileen Ryder, that became abundantly clear. There is the law, Wakefield, and there is justice. Sometimes one must be manipulated in order to deliver the other.”

  Dane considered him. “Very well, then,” he said shortly.

  “I’m pleased I have your approval,” Spearing replied, his tone dry.

  “Oh, shake hands, you two,” Ben said. “Smooth your hackles.”

  Spearing’s gaze did not shift from Dane’s face. “I’m man enough to back down. Are you?”

  Dane held out his hand. “I still think what you did was wrong, although your intentions were good.”

  Spearing gripped his hand. “We will have to agree to disagree on that. One day, I will make you see my side of it.”

  They shook. Spearing let go of Dane’s hand. Because Jenny was the only one standing on Dane’s left, she was the only one to see the tips of Spearing’s fingers drawn down Dane’s palm as their hands separated, stroking the fle
sh.

  Dane’s eyes widened a tiny fraction. He curled his hand into a fist and held it by his side.

  Spearing looked around the small group. “Benjamin, it has been a pleasure as always. Gentlemen.” He nodded and left, moving with the same long-striding energy.

  Ben stirred and glanced around. “Where on earth did we leave the coach, Dane? We were in such a hurry I paid no notice.”

  “In the old palace court, I think,” Dane said, his tone distant.

  “Let’s go home,” Ben declared. He clapped Jack’s shoulder. “You’d better come with us. Your carriage left you behind. We’ll deliver you both home.”

  Jenny’s heart jumped. She was going home.

  With Jack.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Present day: The Wardell House, Grosvenor Square, London. March 1867—a short while later.

  Because Sharla was frantic to know about Elisa, everyone in the Wakefield coach alighted when it reached Grosvenor Square and went into the big house.

  Paulson gave Jenny a warm smile. “It is good to see you home once more, Lady Jenny.” He led them to the drawing room.

  They were not the first to arrive. Rhys and Annalies and Natasha and Raymond, Will and Peter were already there, sitting in tense silence. Blanche and Emma sat together on the sofa, holding hands and looking frightened.

  Will hugged Jenny and kissed her cheek. “Welcome home, sister,” he breathed.

  “Mama?” Jenny breathed, her heart hurting.

  “Upstairs. The doctor is with her.” He turned and shook Ben’s and Dane’s hands, hugged Sharla, then gave Jack a hug as hard as the one he had given Jenny. “Your mother has gone to her room,” Will told Jack. “She has a headache.” He hesitated. “There’s a lot to talk about.”

  “Now isn’t the time,” Jack said. His gaze moved to Jenny and away. “Once we know about Mama Elisa, then we can talk.”

  Will nodded.

  They found seats and settled in to wait. Not long afterward, Daniel and Cian arrived, with Lilly and Jasper. “We were turned away at the courthouse,” Cian said. “We thought you might have answers.” He nodded at Jack. “It’s good to see you, Jack.”