by Jocelyn Kirk
“Miss Loch, I understand you have heard from your brother.”
“Yes, and I wrote him immediately and berated him for frightening me half to death. But he is still under the spell of your lady’s maid and cares for no one else.”
“Under the spell? Perhaps you have not yet been informed of their marriage.”
I must honestly admit that Miss Bettina Loch’s visage at that moment gave me a great deal of glee, and my smile—while pretending to be of joy over the marriage—was in truth my delight in seeing her expression of shock and disgust. “I am certain Bart will be angry at me for spoiling the surprise, but I cannot bring myself to leave you in ignorance of such an important event,” I declared sweetly.
Bettina shook her curls and twisted the fringe on her shawl until shreds of fabric drifted to the floor. “Bart will hear my opinion on this!” she hissed, and stepped away to join my elder brother. I could easily see by his smile as he looked down at her that she was using all her powers to engage him. Poor Frederick! He loved Bettina and lost her, and then he loved Rosamund and lost her! How would he feel if Bettina married his elder brother?
Lila joined me. “Poor Winslow John,” she whispered. “The harpy is after him, and I fear he will fall prey.”
“He is a wastrel, and she is artful and ambitious. I do believe they suit each other quite well.”
As it happened, Sir Winslow and Frederick had gone a-shooting and were engaged to dine afterward with a family in the neighborhood. We would not see them until the morrow, so after a great deal of chat with our mother and an enjoyable tea, Lila and I repaired to our assigned chambers to rest.
I awoke next morning in my old room at North Commons Abbey and at first had no idea where I was. A young maid was pulling the heavy blue drapes open, and I stared at her in a daze. She smiled and curtsied.
Remembrance returned in a moment, of course, and I lay back on the pillows and stared about the room. The wall hangings and draperies were the same, but all my books and little treasures had been cleared away. The room held nothing of me, and in truth, I realized, I held nothing of this room. My life here was over.
Reaching the breakfast room, I found my mother, Lila, and Bettina sipping tea and chatting. The butler came in carrying a tray laden with a variety of breads, fruits, boiled eggs, and meats.
“Where is Sir Winslow?” I asked him.
“In his study, ma’am. I dare say he will be here shortly.”
I slipped out of the breakfast room and ran through the halls to my father’s study. I gave a brief knock on the door and entered. Sir Winslow was seated at his carved oak desk, a quill in hand and papers before him. He slowly raised his head and fixed his cold, angry eyes upon me. I paused in the doorway, and we stared at each other. He looked hale and well, not as if he had been suffering in his conscience. His dark gray hair was neatly groomed, and he wore a burgundy morning coat that highlighted the healthy ruddiness of his face. But the iciness of his gray-blue eyes made me shiver.
My voice quivered as I greeted him. “Hello, Father.”
His lips turned in the ghost of a smile, and he half rose. I thought he would embrace me, but then his normally stern expression overtook his visage. “What are you doing here?”
The fear I had always felt for him returned, and I looked about for a chair, unable to face him in a defiant pose. But I stopped. No! I must not appear weak! I stepped forward and placed my hands on his desk. I forced myself to face him, even to meet his eyes.
“I have come to inform you that I recently learned the truth about Rosamund and about my half brother and sister abandoned by you in Bath.”
He stared at me. “Bartholomew Loch has been telling tales, I see. It is what I would expect from such a blackguard.”
“He informed us about Rosamund, yes. But the children in Bath I discovered through an odd quirk of fate.”
“What does that mean? How on earth could you have known of their existence?”
“It does not matter how. What matters is that I rescued the children. Isabella died a few months ago, and the children were living in terrible poverty, sleeping in a hallway and begging for crumbs of food.”
“Dear God! I left a sum of money with a solicitor for the children’s care!”
“And did you never investigate to ensure that the money was being used that way?”
He said nothing.
“Father,” I continued, “I did not return to North Commons to berate you for your infidelity and irresponsibility. I came to inform you that I will no longer accept my banishment from my own family. I have no intention of returning here to live, but I will visit once or twice a year to see my mother. If you make any objection, the story of your dalliance with Isabella and your two bastard children will be spread all over Kent. I will inform my mother, also. And Frederick and Winslow John…what will they think of your hypocrisy in sending me away for a mistake that could befall any young person, while you yourself had committed a much greater sin?”
I paused for breath. Sir Winslow glared at me.
“Furthermore,” I went on, “you will place a substantial sum of money in an account for the upbringing of the children. I intend to marry a very fine man who would certainly do his best to give them a good education, but I do not want him burdened in that way.”
He sank back in his chair, and the quill fell from his hand. Ink splattered on his papers. “Very well,” he whispered, “but I must have your solemn word that you will not betray me.”
“You will have my word when all my conditions have been met. The last is that we draw up papers giving me complete custody of the children. You may visit them, of course, and in time they will need to be informed that you are their father.”
Sir Winslow clenched his fists and glared at me. “And how do you intend to prevent them from spreading their parentage across Kent?”
“They will remain ignorant of the connection until—”
“Until my death?”
Unbidden, pity for him swept over me. Was I taking a practical approach to the children, or seeking revenge?
I dropped into a chair. My father remained standing behind his desk, his eyes bright with anger. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I must allow myself to feel pity but not be swayed by it. I sat up straight and met my father’s eyes.
“Father, I have no desire to hurt you or create a rift between you and my mother. But I will not allow you to isolate me from my family. If you cannot forgive me for my past mistakes, consider the pain my banishment caused to your wife.”
“I will never forgive you for the disgrace you brought upon my head, but I will comply with your wishes. I need no further scandal to visit misery upon me in my declining years.” He picked up his pen.
“The details of our agreement can wait,” I said. “You and I are going to enter the drawing room and have breakfast together. You will show your pleasure in seeing your daughter Lila, and you will announce that you are highly pleased to have the family reunited.”
His eyes focused past me. I turned and saw Lila in the doorway.
“Father,” said Lila, “I came to say that I am completely in favor of Cassie’s determination to be admitted into her family again. This banishment was cruel and unnecessary, and I must be honest and tell you that your bastard child Rosamund corresponded with her in defiance of your decree.”
Lila stepped into the room, and I made way for her. My father glared at us as we faced him together. He appeared to be angrier with Lila for her compliance with my plans than with me for presenting them.
“Lila, I expected better from my elder daughter! The place of a woman is to obey. Both of you will please leave this room. I have heard enough of your complaints and accusations.”
“No,” said Lila. “You will accompany us to the breakfast room, or we will go straight to our mother.”
I nodded. “Indeed you will, Father. After breakfast, we can summon your steward and draw up the necessary papers. But for this one meal we will be
a family. We have all made mistakes, and we must all forgive each other.”
I thought he would refuse, but he did not, although his air expressed stubborn pride. We walked together to the drawing room and found the others—even Frederick—immersed in food and chat. After embracing Frederick and sympathizing with his suffering, Lila and I took our places at the table, and joy rose in my heart to be once again among the people I loved.
We spent nearly a month at North Commons. With every passing day, my father became more used to our presence. Frederick took us to visit Candlewood, the village which he would serve as vicar. We examined the cottage he would soon occupy, a charming dwelling with views over a lake and woodlands. Bettina continued her pursuit of Winslow John, but Frederick did not seem to care. One morning when a mild day had allowed Frederick and me to ride to Candlewood on horseback, I broached the case.
“Frederick, forgive my raising a painful subject, but have you given over all hope of obtaining the affections of Bettina Loch?”
Frederick slowed his horse, and I followed suit. We ambled along the lane side by side. He smiled at me, and once again the thinness of his handsome face and the pallor of his skin struck me. His illness had rendered him gaunt.
“Cassie, I told you by letter that I no longer loved Bettina; have you forgotten? Perhaps you thought my obsession with her would return when I was accosted by the terrible news that Rosamund is my half sister.”
“Perhaps I did. A foolish assumption on my part.”
“You are not foolish,” he said with a fond expression. “Perhaps you once were but no more.”
“Thank you. I might say the same about you.”
Frederick halted his horse. He began to speak but then was silent, gazing across the meadow, now bleak in its winter brown. I waited, for perhaps he had something important to communicate. The wind was rising, and I pulled my cloak more tightly about my shoulders.
“I was a fool; there is no argument on that point. But my foolishness extended beyond my pursuit of Bettina Loch.”
“Meaning?” I inquired.
“Meaning I injured you, my sister. You have not spoken of that terrible day when I joined with Father in condemning you and sending you away.”
I reached across the distance between our horses and patted his arm. “My exile was painful but necessary. Your religious beliefs compelled you to support my punishment. My anger against you has long since dissipated.”
“I too learned from that experience, Cassie. I learned that religion has its place in the world but should not be all-consuming. Kindness and compassion are the true Christian values, and I will spend my life promoting them rather than extolling blame and punishment.”
“Your words give me great joy! You will be an excellent vicar—but, Frederick, will you remain alone? Is not there a young woman who could share your work and beliefs?”
Frederick’s serious expression changed to a grin. “The loss of Rosamund is still too new, but when I am healed in body and mind, I may well pay my addresses to Miss Gloria Wellborne.”
“Indeed! Is she not very young?”
“She is eighteen now, Cassie, and a modest, reading, thinking young woman.”
“Your smile tells me you are quite certain she cares for you!”
“Quite certain!” he replied and laughed out loud. I giggled too with the joy of the moment. We urged our horses to a canter and laughed all the way across the meadow and into the paddock at North Commons Abbey.
Chapter Thirteen
As it happened, the day Frederick and I rode to Candlewood was the very day I received the first letter from Georgina. Lila was present when it arrived, and we excused ourselves from the parlor as soon as possible and ran upstairs to read it. These were the contents:
Dearest Cassie and Lila,
I hope this letter reaches you before you begin your return journey to Caemre. Let me assure you that I am well; the journey to London was not at all fatiguing, and I am comfortably settled in a fine inn with the innkeeper’s wife acting as a sort of chaperone and lady’s maid, and Mr. Dodge settled in a cozy room at the back of the house, where he can easily reach the barn containing my horses and carriage.
My first endeavor was to find a way of getting an introduction to the dowager Stanfield. I had the innkeeper’s wife (Mrs. Peabody—a pleasant woman) send a note to the London Times announcing the arrival of Lady Lovell to her establishment. When the announcement appeared in print, I received several invitations from members of the ton, and I took advantage of each.
Yesterday brought some interesting news. At Mrs. Gorton Bird’s charity luncheon, I fell into conversation with a loquacious gossip named Miss Robin Bird, a cousin of Mr. Gorton Bird. (Can you believe the name Robin Bird? I am chuckling as I write.)
I mentioned to Robin Bird that I hoped to meet an old friend in town, the widow Mrs. Stanfield of London and Kent. Miss Bird was all agog and hopped about like a sparrow with a fat berry. She gleefully informed me that Mrs. Stanfield was in seclusion because of a certain story extant concerning her son.
I pulled gossip out of Miss Bird as easily as pulling taffy on a hot summer day. As the story goes, someone observed Mr. Stanfield entering a house of ill repute owned by a certain French lady of disreputable habits—Emilienne d’Arnot. Because the ton considered him a bastion of respectability, whose wife had fled, the hypocrisy inherent in the tale caused it to spread through the ton like wildfire.
I knew the story would be of use to me somehow, but I was not sure how. As I returned to the inn, walking, as the day was fine, I heard someone calling my name. I turned toward the sound, to see Mr. Eliot Sparkman hurrying toward me. You remember the private detective, I am sure! He seemed quite happy to see me and bowed and smiled in a gentlemanly manner, without any of that supercilious air of mistrust he displayed at our last meeting.
Mr. Sparkman invited me to his rooms to take tea, and having no scruples enjoyed by other women as to visiting a gentleman’s quarters, I agreed. He is an interesting man, and our chat covered many topics. He does not denigrate women or dismiss their talents as I often see done. He mentioned you, Cassie, with regret that he had practically accused you of murder.
The result of our meeting was this: I explained your situation and asked him to pursue Mr. Stanfield and ascertain whether he was actually visiting Mademoiselle d’Arnot. He readily agreed, adding he would do his best to assist, feeling an obligation to you.
I hope, dearest friends, I will have news soon. I will send my next missive to Caemre Cottage.
Georgina
When the day of our departure arrived, Lila and I promised to visit again in the summer, and this assuaged the grief of my mother at the parting. We embraced, Frederick handed us into the coach, and on a clear day in late December, we began our journey to Caemre. It was not a pleasant journey, for the weather turned icy, but we arrived safely, bringing gifts for everyone.
On the evening of our arrival, my sisters and Deirdre conspired to busy themselves in other areas of the house so that John Carter and I might have time alone. We sat by the fire, and at first we chatted, for we had much to tell each other. At one point in my story of Frederick’s altered attitudes, I smiled.
John touched my face. “When you smile so, I can think of nothing except how desperately I want to kiss you.”
I put up my hand, palm out, between us.
“Will you push me away on our wedding night?” he whispered with a grin.
I laughed. “Perhaps I might. If we ever have a wedding night.”
He ran his hand lightly over my arm and smiled as I quivered and pulled away. “I will make you beg me. I will have you groveling at my feet.”
“Indeed! You are very sure of yourself!”
His hand trailed across my bodice before I could stop him. He caressed the sensitive flesh of my breasts swelling above the lace of my gown.
I jumped up and shook my finger at him. “Have you forgotten your promise? You had better go home!”
“Oh, John, what will I do if I lose you? What if we can never wed?”
He held me in his arms until footsteps tapped in the hall. As Lila entered, he released me, whispering, “We will find a way.”
John’s words proved prophetic, for a few days later I received another letter from Georgina. Lila and the others had gone early to the village, to purchase bakery treats for the children and a few other provisions. Mattie came in with the post, and after a bit of chat with her, I eagerly opened the missive. My eyes opened wide and my heart beat fast as I read the contents.
My dear friends,
I have news that must be broken as gently as possible. First, I confess to having seen Mr. Sparkman quite often, our friendship having developed rapidly. More of this later, but I apprise you of that circumstance to obtain your pardon for distracting him from his mission. Despite the interruptions to his duty brought about by my desire for his company, and his, apparently, for mine, he did find an opportunity to follow Mr. Stanfield to the home of Mademoiselle d’Arnot.
Herein, I must warn you, will be found a true recitation of Mr. Sparkman’s observations. I will not withhold information.
Under cover of darkness and having left his carriage on another street, Mr. Stanfield entered mademoiselle’s establishment. Sparkman followed shortly after, informing the maid who answered the door that he had urgent business with Miss d’Arnot. When the lady entered the parlor in which the maid had installed him, Sparkman wasted no time in offering a bribe for her cooperation. She was hesitant, but in the end she relented.
Miss d’Arnot led Sparkman down a hallway at the rear of the house. They passed two shut doors, stopping at the final one at the end of the passage. D’Arnot put a finger to her lips to motion Sparkman to be quiet. Very slowly and carefully she inserted a key into the lock, and with a sudden thrust, threw open the door.