“What about Dianna’s maid?”
Hector shook his head. “She insisted, between sobs, that she knew nothing. I sacked her on the spot, of course, and sent her packing. Without a reference.”
Putting a hand to his pounding head, Jon stood motionless as he tried to sort through the myriad of unanswered questions that swirled relentlessly through his mind.
“Dianna was quiet, almost subdued when I last saw her yesterday morning,” he muttered. “I assumed it was due to nervous excitement.”
Flustered, Hector puffed out his cheeks. “She was no doubt planning her escape. How could she be such a reckless fool? Who knows if Dickenson will even marry her? She has ruined herself and brought disgrace upon our family name and honor. My dear mother has taken to her bed, prostrate with grief. How will we ever survive this scandal?”
How indeed?
A sinking feeling descended over Jon as shock and disbelief mingled in his head. It felt as though he had taken a hard punch to his gut. His breathing grew uneven; his chest hurt.
Dianna had left him. Left him! Why? To satisfy a desperate need for more in her life. More what?
She had promised to be his wife. His partner, his helpmate, the mother of his children. He adored her. He indulged her. He loved her—unconditionally.
Wasn’t that enough?
The rising tide of inquisitive chatter brought Jon’s attention back to the calamity of the moment and the wedding that would now not take place. The reverend approached, his eyes filled with puzzlement. Jon crumpled the note in his fist and turned away, his jumbled thoughts momentarily distracted by the too tight, bright scarlet waistcoat Hector wore over a belly that was far too soft for a man of his years.
Hector was squeezed into the garment like a giant sausage. There was no doubt that if one of the gold buttons were to become dislodged, it could prove to be a formidable weapon, hurtling across the church like a lead ball shot from a pistol. Potentially wounding or maiming one of the guests.
Yet another scandal to add to the one already brewing?
“How may I be of assistance, my lord?” the reverend asked.
“There will be no wedding this morning.” Jon spoke calmly, yet he could feel himself growing clammy and queasy. His palms began to sweat and his tongue felt oddly oversized and thick. “I must make the announcement.”
“Please, allow me.” The reverend placed his hand on Jon’s shoulder.
Though meant to be comforting, it made Jon feel even worse, for it made the moment all too real. She truly isn’t coming. She will not marry me.
Jon drew in a shaky breath and then another. It seemed his carefully constructed, well-ordered life had just spun into total chaos.
* * *
Though she barely knew the viscount, Emma felt a tightening in her chest and she did her best not to send a pitying look toward the jilted groom. Instead, she allowed her compassion to shine through in her expression, hoping that somehow he would feel it among the snide glances and unkind remarks.
Society thrived upon appearance. Being left at the altar hinted at all manner of juicy scandal and impropriety. Judging by the bits of conversations around her that she could hear, Emma knew that speculation as to what the viscount had done to cause his own humiliation was running rampant.
Poor man.
“Such a horrible turn of events,” Gwen said sadly.
“The vultures are already circling in search of any sordid and salacious details,” Carter remarked.
“I’m sorry to say that I’m not surprised,” Dorothea added. “I fear the interest, speculation, and gossip will continue until a fresh scandal occurs.”
“Did you think it was wise of the reverend to invite the guests back to the manor house for a meal?” Jason questioned. “I suspect the very last thing Kendall wants—or needs—is to face this crowd.”
“I imagine the viscount’s mother, Lady Sybil, insisted upon it,” Dorothea said. “’Twas well-known that no expense was spared on the wedding breakfast and a considerable amount of food has been prepared. Perhaps if she feeds this ravenous crowd, they will speak more kindly of her son.”
“Don’t count upon it,” Gwen muttered.
“Well, we must be the exception to this ill-bred rabble. The viscount deserves to be surrounded by concerned and supportive friends,” Dorothea stated.
Carter nodded. “We shall stay and do all that we can. Agreed?”
Everyone nodded and dutifully filed out of the pew. Emma glanced over at Gwen, wondering if her sister was remembering the hurt and humiliation of the scandal she had suffered years ago. It had made her something of a recluse, until Jason had entered their lives.
Thankfully, he was not a man to be easily intimidated by society and its tireless rules. Jason scoffed at convention and had doggedly pursued Gwen until she had agreed to be his wife.
Emma and the rest of the family exited the church and the first thing they saw was the viscount’s open carriage, festooned with ribbons and flowers. The driver and footman, dressed in their finest livery, stood attentively around the convenience, keeping the curious group of locals at a distance.
“Oh, Lord.” Emma blanched. “It appears Lord Kendall’s coachman has not been informed of the canceled wedding. He and the footmen are clearly waiting for the newly married couple to arrive.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Carter offered.
“Ask the villagers to disperse too,” Dorothea suggested. “Then once the coach is stripped of its bridal finery, offer to ride in the carriage with the viscount. No doubt he’ll feel foolish going alone.”
Carter nodded.
“I’ll accompany you,” Jason offered. “It will look odd having two men in the wedding carriage.”
The men departed and Emma caught sight of the viscount’s mother, Lady Sybil. Dressed in a gown of fine yellow satin, draped in luscious pearls and sporting a wide-brimmed hat with the tallest group of ostrich plumes Emma had ever seen, Lady Sybil stood alone, rigidly waiting for her coach, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
“Dorothea—” Emma began.
“I see her,” Dorothea interrupted. “Ladies, shall we?”
Gwen and Emma nodded and they all stepped forward. In the blink of an eye, the three Ellingham sisters had formed a protective circle around the viscountess.
Though she said nothing, Lady Sybil appeared to welcome their company. She held her head high as she was assisted into her coach by a footman, then motioned for Gwen, Dorothea, and Emma to follow.
The short journey to the manor house began in steely silence broken only when suddenly Lady Sybil spoke.
“Well, isn’t this a fine mess! Left at the altar in front of everyone! This confirms my worst opinions of the girl. Honestly, I never approved of the match. I found Dianna Winthrope to be a thoroughly disagreeable female, a vain, pea-witted, giddy flirt.
“Jon always defended her, insisting that I was being too critical. She was young and enthusiastic and he claimed that it gave him pleasure to spoil her.” Lady Sybil huffed, her distaste evident. “Yet even my dislike could not have predicted Dianna was capable of an act so heinous, so hurtful, so utterly cowardly. To leave Jon standing at the altar . . .”
With a sniff of pure disgust, Lady Sybil turned her head, looked out the window and sighed. Emma exchanged glances with her sisters, unable to formulate an appropriate or comforting retort.
“My Jon is the most loving and amiable of men, a model of propriety and restraint,” Lady Sybil continued. “Why, I can scarce recall hearing him raise his voice in anger, no matter how vexed. ’Twas child’s play for that odious chit to take advantage of him, encouraging him to enact the most undisciplined, free-spending habits while planning this wedding. An affair she lacked the decency to attend. Or at least call off days ago and spare Jon such a public humiliation.”
“That would have been the kinder way to handle this situation,” Dorothea agreed.
Lady Sybil frowned. “I fear that kindness
is something Dianna Winthrope neither subscribes to nor understands.”
Emma blinked. Apparently, Lady Sybil was not one to mince words.
“We are all very sorry for the pain that your son—and you—have been forced to endure,” Emma said quietly.
“Yes,” Gwen quickly agreed. “I hope that in some small way our support provides some comfort.”
Lady Sybil’s hand flew out and grasped Gwen’s in gratitude. “I appreciate your kindness and understanding. I fear there are others who will find delight in my poor Jon’s misfortune.”
The three Ellingham sisters all nodded in sympathetic agreement.
“You must try to put them out of your mind,” Dorothea said firmly. “Their opinions are of no consequence.”
Lady Sybil sighed. “You are right, my dear. The scandal will eventually fade, and another take its place. Jon and I will simply have to find the courage and fortitude to withstand the gossip and become adept at hiding our true feelings from those who will relish our suffering.”
The women fell silent. Emma glanced at her sisters.
“’Tis Dianna who will bear the brunt of the ton’s censure,” Emma remarked.
“Yes, if she dares to ever show her face again, she will be a pariah among polite society,” Dorothea agreed.
“Oh, she will not return until all of this has died down,” Lady Sybil predicted. “And when she does, then a true reckoning for her actions on this day will occur.”
Chapter Two
In a peaceful and private corner of his mother’s solarium, Jon stretched his legs, crossed his ankles, and leaned his head against the cushioned chair. Appreciating the quiet solitude he had discovered among the lavish foliage and comfortable, elegant furnishings, he understood why his mother always referred to this place as her refuge from the world.
If only he could stay here indefinitely. Jon sighed. This most extraordinary, most unpleasant day was finally drawing to a close. At last. The majority of the wedding guests—nay, he could not correctly refer to them as wedding guests, could he, since there had been no wedding—were gone. And he had no wish to engage in conversation with those who remained.
Far more people than he expected had returned to the manor house, and despite the bizarre situation, many appeared to enjoy themselves as they ate heartily of the lavish meal that would have been his wedding breakfast and drank innumerable bottles of champagne, wine, and spirits.
Somehow he had managed to be stoic and dignified while he circulated among them, accepting their words of sincere—and more often than not insincere—sympathy with a solemn expression.
Though encouraged to do otherwise, Jon had refused to put any food or drink in his own stomach while among them, fearing the contents would be unable to remain. ’Twould be yet another scandal to add to the original: jilted Viscount Kendall tosses up his accounts at what should have been his wedding feast.
The gossips would certainly embrace that tidbit.
Yet as he retreated to the privacy of the solarium, he admitted that he was in desperate need of a drink, and hastily grabbed the first bottle of spirits he could find. As he now lifted the champagne bottle and downed the last of its contents, Jon realized why he had never liked the stuff—too many damn bubbles. Yet he swallowed anyway.
Though the past few hours had been a waking nightmare, Jon felt a momentary twinge of panic over his guests’ departure. Their presence had provided a distraction, albeit an unwelcome one; now he was forced to relive the almost surreal events of the morning and face the reality of his circumstance.
Dianna, the woman to whom he had given his whole heart, would never be his wife.
Why? What had gone wrong? She had never expressed any doubts or hesitation about their impending marriage. Indeed, she had accepted his proposal—and the diamond and sapphire ring he had chosen—with a squeal of joy and a kiss of passion.
Yet on the morning that he had anticipated to be among the happiest of his life, she had fled with another man. A man she believed could give her what Jon lacked.
One, according to her cryptic note, that she believed would provide her with the more that she craved. More? Jon’s fists clenched and he struggled to contain the need to strike out, to pummel something, anything, in hopes of releasing his frustration.
Though she was a local girl, Jon had not taken much notice of Dianna until he danced with her at her coming-out ball in London. By the end of that evening, he was smitten. She was young and vibrant and full of life, with a winning smile and a way of pursing her lips that made him long to kiss them.
She had a quick wit, an inquisitive mind, and a gift for charming conversation. He had courted her for several months, always dancing with her first and last at the balls, escorted her to parties and musical soirées, took her for carriage rides in Hyde Park, ices at Gunter’s, and gifted her with flowers and sweets.
Jon wasn’t exactly certain when he knew that the strong affection he felt for Dianna had blossomed into love, but once he realized it, he embraced it fully. Every word he exchanged with her, each gesture between them, held more meaning. His kisses had more ardor, his caresses more fervor. And she appeared to enjoy it all.
Why, then, had she left him?
The rejection stung like a physical blow, a cut deep enough to make his chest burn and ache, his head pound and his mind swirl with endless questions.
How would he survive this agony?
The sound of footsteps approaching interrupted Jon’s painful thoughts. He opened his eyes and watched a slender woman of medium height enter the room. Though the solarium was constructed of glass walls and boasted a pointed, tapered glass ceiling, the gray afternoon skies made the room dim and shadowy.
She wandered slowly among the thick green foliage and flowering plants, running her fingers delicately over the long shiny leaves. As she drew nearer, Jon thought she looked vaguely familiar, but he could neither place how he knew her nor her name.
Through the leaves he watched her wind down the path, hoping she would find her way out before he was discovered. Alas, she turned a corner and then another and suddenly stood before him. Her breath hitched in startled surprise when she saw him, a delicate hand reaching for her throat.
“Gracious, Lord Kendall, you surprised me!”
Her voice was pleasant, lower pitched than most females’ and oddly soothing.
“I beg your pardon.” His brow lifted and his expression turned quizzical. “And you are . . . ?”
“Emma,” she responded, then blushed slightly, no doubt over the intimacy of using her first name. “Or rather, Miss Ellingham.”
The name tripped off her tongue in the most lyrical fashion. He tested it silently on his own lips, then grinned. “Emma Ellingham?”
Her blush deepened. “Yes, it’s dreadful, I know. My father was so disappointed to have a third daughter instead of a son, he voiced no opinion on the matter. I was told my birth was long and difficult and I fear my mother was truly exhausted and not in possession of her full faculties when she named me.”
“Apparently.” Jon slowly rose to his feet, as good manners dictated he stand when in the presence of a lady. “Forgive me for being so direct, Miss Ellingham, but it has been a rather long day and I’m tired. What exactly do you want?”
She didn’t blush with coy, maidenly innocence. Instead, she nodded, as though she agreed with his need to forgo polite conversation and get to the matter at hand.
“Actually, Lady Sybil asked me to search for you. You have been gone for quite some time and she is concerned.”
“My mother, for all her practical nature, can be rather dramatic at times. I’m sure she expects that I am prostrate with grief and so under the hatches that I can barely stand.”
Miss Ellingham blushed with just enough color in her cheeks to let him know that he had hit upon the truth.
“Lady Sybil is concerned,” Miss Ellingham repeated.
Jon nodded. “You may report to her that I have skin thick enough not
to care what others think of my failed nuptials, am relatively sober, and only mildly despondent.”
The last was a lie, as Jon had been most despondent while contemplating how he was going to live the rest of his life without Dianna at his side, but he had too much breeding and pride to let anyone see it.
“Forgive my boldness, Lord Kendall, but in my opinion you have handled today with a considerable amount of tact and decorum,” she said. “Far better than most, I would say.”
“Thank you,” he replied, believing she was sincere. “I suspect most expected me to be frozen with embarrassment.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps. I hope that you took pride in disappointing them.”
“Ah, yes. ’Tis my greatest accomplishment for the day. Well, that and being able to keep up a steady stream of comments about the weather. Most of the women feared broaching any other topic besides the climate when speaking with me today.” Jon creased his brow. “Though I confess that is preferable to some of the other advice I was offered. I am heartily sick of listening to an exhausting number of sympathetic clichés from my guests on how fate has saved me from a most disastrous marriage.”
“People mean well,” she said. “Yet I must agree that it can be difficult to remember that, when they speak such utter nonsense.”
Jon nodded. “Precisely. I was told, by no less than three different gentlemen, that I have ducked in the nick of time and avoided being struck by a bullet.”
The corners of her mouth lifted sarcastically. “A sage commentary. No doubt the men in question are married?”
“I believe they are.”
“Hmmm.” She pursed her lips knowingly.
The gesture brought a spot of color to her cheeks and made her eyes seem enormous. They were a lovely shade of blue, like a cloudless sky on a warm summer day.
“Another fellow told me that I must travel to London and join in the endless round of parties, indulge in drinking, gambling, flirting with the unmarried women, and dally with the widows and unhappily married females,” he blurted out.
Every Bit a Rogue Page 2