The Baroness Affair

by Jean Wilde

  He heard Piers sigh from behind him before the other man moved toward the bed and into his line of vision. Piers didn’t look angry, simply resigned. “Yes, I’m leaving. I had a chance to review my contract this afternoon, and it appears that I’ve fulfilled my side of the bargain. I think it’s time for me to go—I have no desire to linger in Delaval Hall any longer.”

  Horatio swallowed hard. “I thought the agreement was for six months.”

  Piers gave him a tight smile. “If you’d carefully read the terms the lawyer so diligently stipulated, you would’ve seen that the contract states that once a pregnancy is confirmed then my obligation is complete. The six months were a framework to work within, so to speak.”

  “Perhaps we can negotiate extending your terms?” Horatio suggested hopefully.

  A look of pain flashed across Piers’s face before he quickly concealed it. “Thank you, but I’m not interested. I wish to return to London as soon as possible. If you can arrange for a cart to take my luggage into town, I’ll purchase a ticket on the first available stagecoach.”

  “I…did we do something wrong? If Caroline or I said something to make you feel uncomfortable...You can talk to us—tell us what we did and we’ll make it right.”

  His companion shook his head. “You and your wife have been wonderful. Truly, I have never dealt with more considerate patrons. I do, however, have a future to consider. The longer I stay in Newcastle, away from London, the more likely my regular customers are to take their business elsewhere. Although, I must say, I’ve liked this arrangement immensely, and I’m seriously considering finding myself a keeper once I return to the capital. It’s high time I began to set some money aside for the day I finally choose to retire. My looks and sexual prowess won’t last forever, you know,” he added with a wink.

  But Horatio was not amused, and he didn’t like the way Piers spoke about himself. “You’re far more than a good-looking whore, Piers. You’re clever and capable of learning new trades—you have more skills than you give yourself credit for. I’ve seen you charm a lady of high society then turn around and break bread with a common laborer. You are the least snobbish aristocrat I’ve ever met. In fact, your conduct is the very pinnacle of gentlemanly behavior. You have a kindness and compassion in you that I’ve only seen in one other person: my wife.” He swallowed then continued, “You don’t have to return to London. Mr. Hill speaks very highly of you, and I’ve heard him say he’d be happy to take you on as a business partner if you gained some experience in design. I can help you with that, I have business connections and funds. You can become a new man here—a man of means, and perhaps, with time and the right connections, you can even secure a title. Just stay in Newcastle.” With me.

  Piers studied him quietly. “You’re awfully kind, Horatio, and that’s a very generous offer. Probably far more than I deserve. But I’ve made up my mind: I need to return to London. I’ll see you at dinner, and if you can arrange that cart, I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.”

  Tears stung Horatio’s eyes, but he refused to give in to the pain of rejection. He forced a neutral expression on his face and said, “I’ll arrange for my personal carriage to take you into town tomorrow.”

  Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and practically fled the room. He went straight to his bedchamber, locking the door behind himself. Only when he was alone, safely ensconced inside, did he allow himself to cry. Face buried in his hands, Horatio sank into the chair by his desk and gave in to despair. After a few minutes of wallowing, he stood abruptly, angrily swiping away his tears. He was ashamed by his weakness, at how easily he fell apart after being left behind by yet another lover.

  “Don’t be a fool,” he chided himself sternly.

  Piers was not his lover; he was his employee. There was no reason for his departure to affect Horatio so—it was inevitable, after all. But Horatio had grown accustomed to Piers—his presence, his humor, and of course his companionship in the bedroom. He hadn’t been prepared for it to end quite so abruptly. Horatio had the sudden overwhelming desire to speak to his wife. He wanted to hold her and draw comfort from her touch. Yes, he needed to find Caroline; she would know how to make him feel better, know how to keep his heart from breaking.

  * * * *

  Caroline lay limply in her bed, trying to rest after spending yet another morning retching. Her lady’s maid had tried to comfort her, fussing over her and washing her clammy face with cloths soaked in lavender water. Her ministrations might have been soothing, if the young woman hadn’t chattered incessantly the entire time about every female relative she had and their experience in childbirth. In an uncharacteristic display of temper, Caroline had banished Daisy from her room.

  It was with some surprise that she heard a knock not long after. She’d just realized that the sound came from the door connecting her room to her husband’s when Horatio let himself in. The look of bewildered hurt on his face had her leaping from underneath the covers and rushing to his side. “What is it, Hori? Are you ill?”

  He shook his head, allowing her to lead him back to her bed. “I’m fine, I just…needed to see you.”

  Seeing him in such a state made her want to fly into a panic. She tamped down on her exaggerated reaction and forced herself to speak calmly, “Talk to me, love. Whatever it is, we can work it out.”

  “He’s leaving,” Horatio responded in a small voice. “Piers. He’s packing his things and returning to London first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Caroline drew back in surprise. “What? But…why?”

  Her husband recounted the conversation he’d just had with their lover. Pointing out that Piers was right—that he was, in fact, under no contractual obligation to stay.

  “He’s eager to get back to London and resume his life of whoring,” Horatio said bitterly.

  “That doesn’t sound like Piers,” she muttered almost to herself.

  Horatio sighed. “Perhaps he is as cynical as he said he was. We both made the mistake of getting attached to someone who has no true desire to be in a relationship. He is fond of us, I do believe that, but he’s grown weary of his time here and craves the debauchery and excitement of his life in the capital.”

  She felt devastated. Was it truly so easy for him to just leave them? Did they not even deserve a proper farewell? She hadn’t even realized she was crying until we felt Horatio wipe the tears from her face.

  He gave her a tender smile. “I know, love. I feel it too.”

  He pulled her into a tight embrace and she clung to him, her chest still heaving from her sobs. After a while, they slipped between the covers, and she rested her head against his chest. None of it made any sense to her, especially after the past few weeks. She’d felt things shift between them—all three of them. It was like her relationship with Horatio had expanded to include Piers. She loved her husband with all her heart, but Piers had also become impossibly dear to her. Judging by Horatio’s reaction, she knew he felt the same way. They’d never talked about it because they didn’t need to. They belonged to each other, and Piers belonged to them. Only now, it was becoming painfully obvious that Piers wanted nothing more to do with either of them. Unreciprocated love was not a feeling Caroline ever thought she’d experience. Her only consolation in this whole miserable affair was that she had someone to share her heartbreak with.

  Chapter 19

  Piers woke early the next morning just as the servants were beginning to go about their daily tasks. He washed, dressed, and ate a hasty breakfast before calling the still blurry-eyed coachman to assist him with loading his luggage onto the carriage. No one was there to see him off, which was fine by him. He’d already said his goodbyes the night before. He didn’t think he could handle Horatio’s haughty aloofness again or the dejected look on Caroline’s face.

  A stable hand brought the prancing Titus to him, and he swung himself unto the horse’s back. After briefly consulting with the coachman about their destination, he took off at
a gallop preferring to ride into town rather than sitting sedately in the jostling vehicle. There would be plenty of that on his long trip to London.

  Once he arrived at the coaching inn, he was informed that he’d just missed the stagecoach bound for London. He would have liked to hire a private post-chaise to the capital, but the cost would put a severe dent in his purse, so he refrained. The next coach wasn’t scheduled for another two days, which was ideal. Piers welcomed the delay since he needed time to carry out his plan.

  The two notes he’d dispatched the day before should’ve already set things in motion. He needed to confront the scheming matrons, but he wanted to catch them unawares. Which is why he had Jonathan Miller make an appointment to call on the Dowager Baroness Hastings at her lodgings in Sandgate later that afternoon. At the same time, Jane Mayfield would undoubtedly find a way to ensure that her mother paid a visit to her friend that day as well. She’d already proven herself to be both resourceful and willing to help.

  Piers directed the coachman to take his luggage to the Bull’s Inn. He rode ahead and was pleased to find that a room was available for the next two nights. Piers brushed the travel dust off his coat and washed his hands and face before descending to the inn’s taproom. It was still early, so he decided to order a meal to help pass the time. He settled at a table across from a younger chap dressed in a business suit and struck up a conversation about horses as he ate a late breakfast.

  He’d chosen to put up at the Bull because of its proximity to Sandgate. He could easily walk there and not worry about leaving his horse unattended. A few hours later, dressed in somber colors and his least conspicuous waistcoat, Piers navigated through the crowd until he reached the building he’d been spying on not too long ago. He knocked on the door and waited patiently for a response.

  The door cracked open, and an older woman he didn’t recognize peered at him through the opening. Piers flashed her his most winning smile and said, “Good afternoon ma’am, I’m here to see the Dowager Lady Hastings. If you could be so kind as to inform her that her guest is here.”

  She didn’t even crack a smile and instead glared at him with open hostility. “You’re not Miller.”

  She recognized the former footman on sight, then. He must have been here more than once…interesting!

  “You’re correct, an excellent observation. I’m Jonathan’s brother Andrew, and I’ve come to speak to Lady Hastings at his behest.”

  She seemed to relax at that statement and opened the door the rest of the way, allowing him to enter. They walked through a narrow passageway toward the back of the house away from the noise of the street.

  “Has Lady Mayfield arrived yet?”

  That earned him a look of surprise but not suspicion. “Not yet. Her Ladyship expects her soon, however.”

  She paused before a door and indicated for him to enter. Then she turned around and headed back toward the front of the house. Taking a fortifying breath, he rapped his knuckles on the door and let himself in without waiting for a response.

  The Dowager Lady Hastings sat on a threadbare settee wearing a fashionable green muslin gown. She looked quite regal against her shabby surroundings. He guessed that the room was meant to be a parlor, although he was certain he’d seen gaming hells that were in a better state than this.

  She let out a cry of surprise before rising to her feet. “Mr. Benson! What are you doing here?”

  He gave her a sardonic smile. “As it so happens, Lady Hastings, I could ask you the very same thing. Were you not bound for Bath the last time we met?”

  The older woman blushed. Then seeming to recall herself, she sniffed arrogantly and made a production of looking down her nose at him. “That is none of your concern. What do you want, sir?”

  “Shall we sit down, my Lady?” he asked, indicating the settee. She let out a small huff but sank gracefully into her seat. He took a chair across from her and worked on keeping the friendly expression on his face. “Now then, I shall endeavor to keep this brief and to the point. Your plan to make a false widower of your son is not only nefarious but also completely illegal. It is by far the most complicated and elaborate scheme I’ve ever come across. Quite expensive too, I might add. It’s not cheap falsifying shipping documents and making two people completely disappear.”

  She clutched the gold necklace at her throat, a look of horror on her face.

  He continued unperturbed, “It seems almost a shame that the Crown is unaware of your plotting mastery. Just think, with your talents you could’ve helped put an end to the Napoleonic wars years earlier.” His tone turned hard as he continued, “What I can’t understand, madam, is how a clever woman like you would commit such a heinous crime? Could you truly be so arrogant as to believe you have the right to control your son’s life? Did it never occur to you that losing his wife—whom he adores by the way—would destroy him?”

  The Dowager bristled. “Nonsense! Horatio will undoubtedly grieve for his wife, but given her betrayal he’ll soon forget all about her and move on with his life. He never wanted to marry her; his hand was forced. He’s the Baron Hastings, and he has a duty to his line. The current Baroness is a liability. She’s brought nothing to this match: no dowry or connections, and—to add insult to injury—she’s barren! The title needs an heir.”

  “Well, if you’d continued on to Bath as you were supposed to, you would have learned that your daughter-in-law is, in fact, with child. The baby is expected in the spring.”

  She sat perfectly still, stunned by this latest development. “Caroline is…pregnant?”

  Piers sighed. “Yes, your son sent a letter to Bath informing you of this happy development. Of course, if your good friend Lady Mayfield had your best interests at heart, she could’ve told you the news herself. It seems like she neglected to do so. Truly, who needs enemies when they can have you and Lady Mayfield as family?”

  The older woman ignored his last statement and grew distant as she considered this unexpected turn of events. Finally, she mumbled, “It was just an idea. I would’ve much rather had my son petition for a divorce, but I doubt he would’ve agreed to it. He always did feel a sense of duty toward Caroline ever since they were discovered in the library together six years ago. I was sure the scandal would have been trivial—she was a nobody after all—but my late husband refused to hear it. The chit had been compromised, so Horatio had to marry her. Pish posh I say, she had no family to kick up a fuss.”

  He raised a mocking brow at that, and she hastened to continue, “Besides, it’s not like I wanted her murdered or anything so macabre. British subjects start new lives in Australia all the time. Caroline has no family other than her aunt and cousins, and from what I understand, you’ve severed all ties with yours. I would’ve made sure you had some means to get by at first. Afterward…well you’re an architect, surely you would’ve found something to do. And despite all her flaws, Caroline is quite well-read and would easily have found a post as a governess.”

  “When you put it that way, my Lady, I don’t see why any sane person would object to your scheme. Indeed, I’m sure most orphans would leap at the opportunity of being kidnapped and exiled to another continent without their consent.”

  She had the grace to look contrite. “I…I’m sorry I allowed Rosalind Mayfield talk me into it. It all began as a lark, really.”

  Piers gave her a cold smile. “If it’s all a joke to you, then you should have no objection to me sharing this story with your son and daughter-in-law.”

  “No,” she cried, half-falling off the settee to grasp his hand. “You mustn’t! Horatio would never forgive me. He’ll never allow me near the estate or his child if he ever learns of this. You cannot tell him.”

  “And why should I show you any compassion when you would’ve spared none for me?”

  She began to cry, and in spite of his anger, Piers reached into his coat pocket and handed her his handkerchief. He let her sob for a while, biding his time. He couldn’t wait to hear what she�
�d offer him in exchange for his silence.

  Seeming to compose herself, the Dowager straightened in her seat and said, “I’ll pay you handsomely to keep this matter to yourself.”

  He nodded. “I’ll accept monetary compensation for myself, but that’s not enough.”

  She made a sound of dismay. “What more could you possibly want?”

  “I’m not the only one who would’ve been affected by this scheme of yours. As it happens, I have a number of conditions you need to accept in order to buy my silence. First off, you’re to stop tormenting your daughter-in-law and making her feel unworthy of her position as Baroness Hastings. Second, you shall limit your visits to Delaval Hall to twice a year. That should be enough time to get to know your grandchild without overstaying your welcome.”

  “That is absurd,” she exclaimed.

  Piers gave her a condescending look. “It’s more than you deserve given what you planned to do to break that family apart.”

  “I don’t understand—why do you even care? You’re just the hired help; what difference does it make to you how often I visit my son’s home?”

  “Other than it being the decent thing to do? I consider both Hastings and his wife as good friends, and I will do my best to make sure they’re happy. You need to start showing your daughter-in-law some respect and, perhaps, even a little kindness. Thirdly—”

  “There’s more?” she gasped.

  His lips twitched. “Just one more thing. Whatever hold you have on your former footman, Jonathan Miller, relinquish it.”

  “How do you know about that? How did you learn about any of this?”

  “Does it matter? The fact is, I found out about this dastardly scheme before it was too late—before you went from being a conspirator to a criminal, my Lady. Now, do you agree to all my terms?”

  Her shoulders slumped, and she bowed her head in clear defeat. “Yes,” she whispered.