by Jean Wilde
“I’m exceedingly fond of you and Horatio—you’re more than faceless clients to me. My time here in Delaval Hall has been a truly enlightening experience. If anything, I should be thanking you for bringing me here. I’ve had the opportunity to learn the art of restoration and architecture from a highly-skilled tradesman who’s deigned to consider me worthy of his tutelage, I’ve visited a part of England that I never thought I’d see before, but most importantly, I’ve been able to witness first-hand what a true love match looks like.”
She chuckled. “You make our very mundane lives sound like a grand adventure.”
Piers grinned at her. “‘There is nothing more admirable than when two people who see eye to eye keep house as man and wife, confounding their enemies and delighting their friends.’”
“Why, Piers,” she responded in obvious delight, “I didn’t know you read Homer.”
He winked at her. “You forget, I was raised and educated as a gentleman. Besides, isn’t that what all lovesick swains do, spout poetry to their beloved?”
She swatted him playfully on the arm, and they resumed their walk. His tone was light and teasing, reflecting nothing of the inner turmoil he felt. His chest felt tight whenever he thought about leaving. He’d known from the start this contract would be different from the house parties he was typically hired to attend. For seemingly no logical reason, however, the idea of leaving Delaval Hall—of leaving Horatio and Caroline—dismayed him.
He shook himself, refusing to dwell on his bleak future and his inevitable return to The Scarlet Salon. He still had time enough to enjoy the novelty of being respected and admired, not for his body, but for his person. It would not be wise of him to let on just how much he wanted to stay, and how he hoped they’d extend his six-month contract. He’d be loath to become what he despised most: a clingy lover. So, Piers resolved to do what he did best; he pushed his morose feelings aside and smiled at his companion and asked her about her health.
Chapter 17
The Baron and Baroness Hastings hosted a dinner party a few days later. They invited Caroline’s family and a handful of good friends and neighbors to celebrate the long-awaited addition to their family. Everyone seemed delighted by the news, and Piers hung back in the drawing room as his hosts accepted one congratulatory speech after another.
Jane Mayfield wandered over to his side and made some small talk about the weather and how pleasant it was that the baby was expected in the springtime. Piers nodded politely and was about to excuse himself when she laid a hand on his arm and said in an uncharacteristically earnest tone, “Would you care to take a stroll on the terrace, Mr. Benson? It’s such a fine evening, and we’d be able to smell Caroline’s roses out there.”
Surprised and curious by her sudden forwardness, Piers agreed. He led her through the French doors and onto the terrace that overlooked the park. He glanced at her sideways as they strolled, noting her obvious nervousness, and he tried to put her at ease. “Are you pleased to be back in the country, Miss Mayfield? Or did you prefer the pomp and bustle of London?”
She gave him a small smile. “I adore London. I’ve loved it ever since I made my debut there seven years ago. Two of my younger sisters had a Season as well, but I didn’t join them. Too expensive, Mama said, so it was only she who accompanied Beatrice and Anne. My youngest sister, Matilda, is making her debut next year, and I hope I’ll be allowed to go with her.”
“You should,” he agreed. “You know the city far better than any of your sisters, I daresay, having just recently returned yourself.”
Miss Mayfield inclined her head in acknowledgement. “You seem to like it here, Mr. Benson. Do you prefer country life over living in the capital?”
“I’ve lived in London for almost sixteen years, but it’s never felt like home. You’re right, I do like it here. Perhaps, after my commission is over, I can find some other clients in the area.”
His stomach churned uncomfortably at the thought. It was strange how the idea of bedding new clients suddenly filled him with a sense of dread. Quite the irony, really—a whore who didn’t want to have sex with strangers! With a mental shake, he said, “Excuse my bluntness, Miss Mayfield, but is there was something you wish to say to me in private?”
Without meeting his eye, she pulled her arm free from his and leaned against the stone wall that wrapped around the terrace. She stared off at the gardens for a moment before speaking, “I’m very fond of my cousin, you know. She’s always been kind to me, and I know she’d do anything for me if I were to ask. My mother, however…well, she’s always despised Caroline. She thinks her opinionated and too forward for a lady of breeding. She’s even used the term ‘vulgar’ on more than one occasion, which is grossly unfair. In any case, she was livid when Hastings announced his engagement to Caroline and not one of her own daughters.”
“Hastings could’ve just as easily married a London debutante or the sister of a school friend,” he pointed out.
“True! Except he never seemed interested in matrimony and always joked about dying an old bachelor. The Dowager Lady Hastings, however, had assured Mama that when the time came—and it undoubtedly would—she’d insist that her son marry one of the Mayfield girls.”
Her words tugged on the memory of the Dowager secretly residing in a house in Newcastle when she ought to be far away with her friends in Bath. Gently, he grasped her chin to turn her face toward him. “What do you wish to tell me?”
She straightened, trembling slightly as their gazes met. Then in a rush, she blurted, “I want you to marry me. And before you dismiss me as some silly chit, please hear me out. I have given this much thought, and I think it’s the perfect solution. My dowry is decent, and my family has some excellent connections in Newcastle. I can help you secure commissions here, or in London—we can live in your home there. I think we’re suited. I’ll make you a good wife—an obedient wife, I promise.”
His lips parted in surprise. Her marriage proposal was both unexpected and ludicrous. The image of him strolling into The Scarlet Salon with Caroline’s cousin on his arm and introducing her to Madam Sophie as his wife made him want to hoot with laughter. He restrained himself, however. Instead, he cleared his throat and said softly, “Miss Mayfield—Jane—we hardly know each other. Surely you desire more than a mere architect for a husband.”
An edge of desperation crept into her voice. “You must marry me! That way we can both be safe. I can help you start a career and life here in Newcastle, and you’ll free me from my scheming mama and that odious Lady Hastings.”
Recalling Miller’s warning, Piers asked with some trepidation, “What exactly do your mother and the Dowager Baroness have in store for me?”
“They may not necessarily wish to harm you, but you’re too convenient a scapegoat to pass up. They plan on using your presence in Delaval Hall to get rid of Caroline.”
His brows drew down in confusion as he tried to imagine what those two conspiring matrons could possibly do to depose a living baroness. Jane didn’t wait for him to say anything, however, and continued, “I read one of Mama’s letters by mistake a few months ago, and I’ve been intercepting her correspondence with the Dowager Lady Hastings ever since. I know that’s quite despicable of me; frankly, though, I don’t care. Especially not after reading what they have planned! They’ll begin by spreading rumors about you and Caroline conducting an illicit affair.”
Piers waved that aside. “Gossip remains gossip until proven otherwise. It’s a nuisance, but one learns to ignore it! Even if Hastings did get wind of such a rumor, he’d dismiss it. He loves his wife and trusts her implicitly.”
She nodded sadly. “Yes, that’s what Mama told the Dowager. Even if Hastings did believe his wife was committing adultery, petitioning Parliament to pass a Private Act to grant him a divorce would be far too expensive—not to mention the scandal.”
“If it’s not divorce they’re hoping for, then what?”
She swallowed and said shakily, “Imagine i
f the Baroness of Hastings were to be seen boarding a ship with her lover bound for the West Indies. It would surely be a terrible blow to her husband and a shocking scandal. But what if reports reached the shipping company that their unfortunate vessel sank off the coast with no survivors or hopes of recovery? A tragic fate not unheard of for smaller, ill-equipped ships. However, it would be an incredible stroke of luck for the shipping company if no paperwork could be found for that registered vessel. No manifest or log…a ghost ship if you will. They’d promptly sweep the entire incident under the rug. If a similar ship were to land at one of the ports in Australia, under a different name and manifest, no one would think anything of it. And if someone ended up on that ship with nothing save a small purse of money and the clothes on their back, they’d have an awfully difficult time finding their way back to England.”
Piers stood still, his mouth agape, as he tried to grasp the enormity of what she was suggesting. It was by far the most elaborate scheme he’d ever come across. It also dawned on him with some horror that it might actually work. “You can’t be serious! They plan to fake our deaths and ship us off to Australia?”
She grimaced. “Yes. After an acceptable mourning period, the Dowager would insist that her widowed son remarry. Only this time, it would be to a lady of impeccable breeding, one who would never be as scandalous as his first wife. And who better than the eldest daughter of her dear friend, Lady Mayfield?”
His mind was reeling, but her last statement snagged his attention. “And you have no ambition of becoming the next Baroness of Hastings?”
She shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not! I would never do that to Caroline. Besides, if I were ever to marry. I’d make sure that my husband’s home was as far away from here as possible. I certainly would never choose to live within walking distance of my mother.”
As if summoned, Lady Mayfield’s voice rang loudly from the other side of the terrace, “Jane!”
Piers took a hasty step back, putting a more proper distance between himself and his companion just as the older woman joined them.
“What are you doing out here?” Lady Mayfield hissed at her daughter. Alone and with this man, her tone clearly implied.
“Mr. Benson was just explaining to me how Cousin Caroline wanted to add a water fountain and a folly to the gardens. What do you think, Mama, would it look too crowded?”
Her mother still looked angry, but she turned to Piers and said politely, “It seems rather vulgar to include a folly. A stone fountain, however, would be an acceptable addition.”
He forced a smile to his face and exclaimed, “I was certain you and your daughter would know exactly what needed to be done. Lady Hastings is too close to the project to see what’s best for the estate.”
Lady Mayfield’s mouth curled. “Yes, indeed. We have Hastings’s best interests at heart.”
Piers made her a stiff bow and hurried away before he could give in to his baser urge to throttle her. He needed to warn the Hastings immediately. But when he returned to the drawing room and saw their glowing faces, surrounded by friends and Caroline’s boisterous cousins, he hesitated. If he said anything now he’d spoil their evening entirely. Not to mention the fallout with Caroline’s family, which would be catastrophic. Piers had experienced firsthand the pain of being cut off from one’s family and didn’t wish it upon anyone else.
Not tonight, he decided resignedly. He felt a stab of bitter resentment that it was he who had to break the terrible news to them. Imagining the looks of hurt and betrayal on their faces made him feel sick. He couldn’t simply do nothing, though. Rumors of an illicit affair between the Baroness Hastings and her London architect had probably already begun to spread. He couldn’t allow the stain of illegitimacy—even if it was all hearsay—to touch her unborn child.
When Piers finally retired to his bedchamber, his jaw ached from the fake smile he’d had plastered on his face the past hour. He also felt a twinge of guilt, having done something he never had before: excused himself from his duties. The idea of joining Caroline and Horatio in bed, pretending to be as joyful as they were unnerved him. Surely, he just needed time to think—to find a way to soften such a devastating blow.
* * * *
The next morning, Piers woke up with a pounding headache. Ignoring the pain, he dressed and got Titus ready for his morning ride. He needed to consider the revelations from last night and hoped the fresh air would help him sort through his muddled thoughts.
Half an hour later, he still didn’t know what to do. He returned to the mansion, and after pacing uselessly in his room for a while, he poured himself a glass of brandy. Hadn’t he gotten some of his most brilliant ideas when drunk? When the bottle unearthed no hidden powers of inspiration, he abandoned his room and made his way toward the west wing, not quite drunk but definitely half-sprung.
He was proud to see the progress that had been made over the past few weeks. Under the careful guidance of Mr. Hill, that section of the house was slowly being restored to its former glory. The Clerk of Works greeted him amiably, “Benson, there you are. Were you able to make arrangements for that molding to be delivered this week?”
Piers nodded, pleased that he’d successfully completed the task assigned him. “Yes, and I was able to negotiate a decent price from the merchant. You northerners do enjoy your haggling.”
Mr. Hill chuckled. “I doubt it has anything with our locale but rather with your inexperience in dealing with traders.”
Piers smiled in return. “Fair enough! Will you be meeting with Hastings’s new steward today?”
“Tomorrow, I think. I’m short a couple of men today, and I’d like to get as much done as possible while this good weather holds.”
“Would you like a hand?” Piers offered.
Mr. Hill clapped him on the back, causing him to stumble slightly. “I’m not one to turn down free labor. We’d best keep you away from anything sharp, however; this type of work requires steady hands not a loose tongue.”
Piers worked hard over the next few hours, carrying loads and carefully laying bricks in a soothing repetitive pattern. Physical labor had always been the best way for him to sort through his thoughts. The question he kept coming back to was: should he warn the Hastings? The Dowager and Lady Mayfield’s intended crime and betrayal would be impossible to forgive. But even if he did tell them, then what? He couldn’t just sit back and watch them both lose their families completely. It might be for the best, though, especially after learning what cruel fate those shrews had in store for him and Caroline.
It seemed strange, however, that the Dowager Lady Hastings would risk her son’s unborn child—and potential heir—that way. Then, upon reflection, Piers realized that the older woman had no way of knowing that she was to expect a grandchild within half a year. Horatio’s letters were being sent to Bath, and something told him that Lady Mayfield would not divulge the happy news to her co-conspirator until it was too late.
Then there was Jonathan Miller. It took him a while, but Piers was finally able to put the pieces together. The scheming matrons needed to create a fake paper trail for a ship that didn’t really exist. Falsified records, a non-existent manifest, and a shipping log…and who better to provide such documents than a current employee of a shipping company? Then he’d spread the rumor of Caroline being seen boarding the vessel with Piers before its alleged sinking. At some point between England and Australia the forgeries would then be replaced with the correct paperwork. It was quite ingenious really, Piers reflected, and expensive.
It didn’t seem like Miller was a willing participant in this scheme, though. He’d mentioned that he was being blackmailed, which meant that one of those ladies was holding something over him. Something that would make him commit an even more heinous crime than his last one. He had, however, warned Piers and given him a lead to follow in Sandgate. Piers would have to remove the threat of blackmail to prevent this incident as well as any future mischief from occurring.
Di
rty and exhausted from the laborious work, Piers bid Mr. Hill and the workers a good day and returned to his bedchamber. A plan was beginning to form in his mind, but his heart grew heavy as he realized exactly what he had to do. Once in his room, he sat at the writing desk and composed two notes before sanding and sealing them. Then he rang for a servant to dispatch them. There was never going to be a happy ending for him, he realized solemnly. At least, this way, he could protect the people he loved most in this world—the two people who had no idea how much they’d come to mean to him over the past few months. If he was destined to be an ill-fated character in this drama, then at least he could take on the role of tragic hero.
Chapter 18
Horatio whistled cheerfully as he entered Delaval Hall and climbed the stairs heading directly to Piers’s room. He knew how much his lover enjoyed boxing, and he’d heard of a big fight planned at the Golden Anchor the next day. He wanted to invite the other man to join him.
He knocked on the door then rocked back and forth on his heels, waiting impatiently for a response. It took several minutes before he heard approaching footsteps. The door swung open, and Horatio was somewhat taken aback by Piers’s unkempt appearance. His paramour was always dressed immaculately in the first stare of fashion—but not at the present moment, it would seem. His golden-brown tresses were mussed, his creased shirt untucked, his breeches stained, and…was that brandy he smelled?
“Can I help you, my Lord?” Piers asked with a slight slur.
Horatio pushed past him, forcing his way into the room. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve never stood on ceremony with each other before. Are you foxed?”
Piers shook his head slightly. “Not quite! I despise packing, and I thought a little liquid sustenance would make the task more enjoyable.”
Horatio stared at him in confusion then slowly turned around to study the room. When his eyes finally came to rest on the bed, he took in the piles of folded clothes. His throat tightened, and he felt a sudden, almost overwhelming, sense of panic. “You’re…you’re going?”