The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (41 page)

She would have to learn to live with it.

If she wanted to remain his.

Was being his worth this kind of pain?

“I shall go to my estate for Christmas,” he said. “I will expect you to accompany me. Make sure you have an adequate number of gowns, something suitable for a ball.”

She put her hand to her collarbone and opened her mouth to speak.

“You cannot avoid society forever,” he went on “A country ball will provide an excellent chance for you to be a hostess and to re-enter society. You are my cousin’s widow. It will do you honor in other people’s eyes that I asked to render me such an important service.”

“I suppose, but I know nothing of preparing for such a gala celebration.”

He regarded her for a moment. “I’ll make sure that you have access to someone with enough experience to guide you.”

“Frances…”

He held up a forestalling hand. “I think the less contact you have with Aunt Frances the better.”

Her mouth fell open.

“Yes, your soft heart.” Something glowed in his eyes and there was a momentary easing of his stern expression.

Warmth entered her, centering in her chest.

His expression turned stern. “Remember what she did. She is capable of deceit and is completely taken in by Meeker.”

“You don’t think he would…”

Deadly cold showed in his eyes. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“I miss Frances.”

“Of course you do. But she cannot be trusted. I forbid you to contact her. I’ll find someone suitable. It is not your worry. I have told you to prepare your wardrobe; that and your own mental preparation is all you need concern yourself with.”

“Yes, my lord,” she said, unable to keep her tone from becoming clipped. She didn’t wish to be his polite society hostess. She wanted to be his lover, to warm his bed. To have him warm her. The nights were growing chilly.

“You’ll bring Ailise.”

“But she’s not out,” Sunny blurted.

“Yes, but she will come no matter. It will give an extra layer of respectability to your coming. My cousin’s widow chaperoning my half-sister. No one can look askance at that.”

His tone brooked no refusal.

Nevertheless, Sunny tried to think of the right way to refuse.

A knock sounded on the door, startling her out of her deep deliberation.

****

James sat at the desk in the study of the house that he had purchased for Catriona, nursing a brandy. Earlier, he had stood at the window, his back decently turned whilst the doctor made his more intimate examination of Catriona. If the doctor had thought James’ presence was peculiar, he didn’t have the impudence to indicate it by gesture or remark. A concession for which James was damned glad. He’d had enough truculence from Catriona.

She didn’t understand, that much was clear.

They mustn’t reveal the fact that they were lovers, not even by the mere brushing of fingers or a too-lengthy gaze. At least not here in London where there were so many prying eyes.

Not only did he have to keep his distance from her for the sake of both of their reputations, but he was presently consumed with pressing business.

It wasn’t his way to be idle, and he had neglected his affairs for far too long. Now back in his old life, he had fallen into his regular patterns. After the distractions of the previous weeks, the unsettling nature of his tormented, irrational passions for Catriona, he had found those patterns to be a comfort.

His mind was full of so many things, far too many to list them all. But most pressing was a business venture in India that might prove very lucrative. He also had been attending to his political contacts, hopping from event to event, spending the evenings in endless tedium as the little season played out. And he had to make preparations for spending December at his estate.

He knew Catriona did not want to play hostess for him. That was unfortunate. But everyone had duties they found distasteful. He had catered to her for quite a while now. It was high time that she put the past behind her and accepted her role as a dowager countess.

She could be useful to him. To the Blaynes.

She would have to be useful in order to have an excuse for remaining close to him.

In the country, they would be amid squires who were eager to gain, and most of all, to keep his favor. Simple genteel folk who held less power, who were less likely to influence the gossip of Mayfair. Things would be more relaxed, more informal. There would be times when he could allow himself to steal private moments with Catriona. They would have to be careful, oh so careful. There would be those few servants, those closest to himself and Catriona, whom he must pay handsomely to keep their eyes averted and their ears closed.

When he took a wife, he would no longer be able to take Catriona to his estate.

However, when he had a wife, he would also be less personally responsible for contributing to the social whirl of the community connected with his estate. His wife would shoulder most of that. He would have more time to spend on a private life, apart from the estate.

This year and perhaps the next, as a bachelor without his own mother at hand, he faced a singular situation.

But he really must try to find a wife during the coming season. He was thirty-six, a good deal closer to death than not. And he had likely used up all the luck at cheating the reaper that he had possessed during the war.

Five years. That was what he needed. Time to marry and to fill his nursery with an heir and a younger son. Perhaps a daughter or two into the bargain, perhaps not. God would decide.

A sinking sensation in his gut made him tap his fingers on the glossy desktop.

What chance had he of holding on to Catriona whilst he wedded and bedded his noble, well-connected wife? Catriona would grow weary of waiting. She would flee.

Five years, Catriona, just give me five years and then I shall be all yours.

A knock sounded on the door.

He let his breath go in a long exhalation, attempting to release his tension. “Enter,” he said.

Catriona had been with Ailise whilst the physician examined her as well. Now the tall, thin doctor came into the chamber.

At James’ offer, he took a seat, folding his slender, elegant hands in his lap then regarding James with serious hazel-brown eyes. “The Lady Ailise seems well.” He paused with a delicate pursing of his lips. “She is possessed of a shy, nervous temperament, but, then, so do many young women her age. She may well grow out of it.”

Thankfully, she was healing. Physically at least. However, James doubted she would simply grow out of the abuse. But he said nothing. He merely nodded. “And Lady Blayne?”

“She seems to be a normally healthy young woman. I see no reason for her excessive pain with her courses.” He wrinkled his forehead. “May I suggest something, shall we say, unconventional, my lord?”

“You may suggest anything that you feel will help.”

“Perhaps it will not help. But it may. As you know, I spent many years in India and China. I learned quite a bit from their medical methods. They believe food can be a medicine, or, in the case of unwise choices, a poison.”

“That’s an interesting view,” James said, though he didn’t believe Catriona made especially unwise dietary choices, at least not compared to any other healthy young noblewoman he knew.

“Lady Blayne might try abstaining from strong teas, coffee and chocolates.”

James raised his brows. “Tea? But surely tea is the mildest of drinks for a lady?”

“These are stimulating drinks. They contain some element that is not harmonious with the female nature—at least for some ladies. I have seen the elimination of these drinks to be a great help in some cases.” He held up his hand. “But I can make no guarantees.”

“It is certainly worth a try.” James’ heartbeat increased with his sense of trepidation. But the next question must be asked. However, he wasn’t sure which answer he wished to hear. “What about the possibility of her conceiving a child?”

“I have no reason to believe her current difficulties will prevent her from conceiving a child. A pregnancy would give her respite from her regular miseries, and if the proposed treatment proves beneficial to her, there’s all the more reason to believe that once introduced into a normal married life, she will easily conceive.” The doctor paused with another slight pursing of his lips. “It is perhaps indelicate to mention it, but she has nice, wide hips. She should easily bear children.”

James thanked him, and the doctor bid him a good day. James saw him to the door, then went straight back to the study for a strong drink. But having he’d downed it, he still felt no better.

Catriona was likely to be able to have children.

If he continued to keep her as a mistress, he would prevent her from finding a husband.

He would be denying her a normal life as a wife and mother.

But he couldn’t bring himself to let her go.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Sunny stared at the newspaper that lay in her lap, unable to wrap her mind around what she had just read. James had been officially invested with the title of the Earl of Greythorn. And she had found out through the notice in the London Gazette.

She hadn’t expected to attend the investiture ceremony. Nor had she expected for James to even ask her out of politeness. She had never been to court and to the world, she was only his cousin’s widow. But she expected him to at least mention such a momentous event to her. Instead, the letter she had just received from him had been filled with instructions on preparations for the trip to his estate for Christmastide.

“Uncle James! Uncle James!”

Sunny jerked her head toward the open chamber door where the child’s voice echoed in the hallway.

Uncle James?

Her heart began to beat hard.

“Oh, you little miscreant! When I catch you, you’ll have hell to pay!” The housekeeper’s voice boomed.

“Come here this instant,” commanded the cook.

Sunny tossed the paper onto the settee, jumped to her feet and raced out the door into corridor.

A young boy with an unruly shock of raven hair came to a sudden halt in his dash down the hallway. His clothes were of good quality, the style like that of someone from the merchant class. He was ten, maybe nine.  He looked at her and she found herself staring into wide grayish blue eyes, no, not gray—silver blue, like James’. Those eyes struck straight into her heart and for a moment she was transfixed. The boy’s visage became fierce as a thundercloud. She had seen an expression just like that, in the gallery at Landbrae, on Grandfather Blayne’s face in his portrait.

Her own child might have looked very similar, if only Freddy had been able to consummate their marriage.

Mrs. Johnson had been chasing the boy, with the housekeeper, Mrs. Taylor, close behind. Both women stopped. Mouth open, Mrs. Johnson puffed hard, her round cheeks glowing bright red. Her expression changed from ire to dismay. No, more than dismay, fear.

The cook started toward the boy. “Come now, Benjamin, you’re not supposed to be here.”

He retreated several paces. “I told you, I am looking for my uncle.”

Mrs. Taylor paled and jerked her gaze onto Sunny.

“What is this all about?” Sunny asked.

Mrs. Taylor lunged forward and seized the boy’s arm. He cried out, but she held firm. “He meant no harm, my lady. We’ll deal with him. ”

Sunny looked at the boy. “Benjamin is your name?”

Mrs. Johnson stepped up on the other side of the boy. “Lady Blayne, we will take care of this rude interloper.”

“Rude interloper?” Sunny repeated. “The boy says that James is his uncle.”  Uncle, her mind repeated. But how—

“You need not concern yourself,” Mrs. Johnson said.

Sunny ignored her and addressed the boy. “Why do you believe your uncle is here?” 

The boy’s eyes darted nervously from Sunny to Mrs. Johnson, and he didn’t answer.

“Your manners are as hopelessly common as a bumpkin!” Mrs. Johnson snapped.

“Mrs. Johnson,” Mrs. Taylor began, but Sunny released a frustrated breath.

“Please be silent,” she snapped.

Both women jerked startled gazes onto Sunny.

Sunny was equally startled at the angry, authoritative tone that had just escaped her lips. She had never reprimanded a servant. Much less an upper servant. Someone older than herself.

She steeled herself against the women’s shocked stares and said, “Who is this child? Where are his parents? Why is he here alone?”

“Oh, my lady, you were not to be told anything about this boy.” Mrs. Johnson wrung her hands in her apron.

“What? What do you mean?” Sunny demanded.

Mrs. Johnson compressed her lips and a helpless light entered her eyes. “Oh, my lady, it is not my place, please do not ask.”

“I don’t know why he’s come here or where his mother is,” Mrs. Taylor interjected. “He won’t answer us. He says he must speak with Lord Greythorn.”

“Obviously, he is Lord Greythorn’s nephew,” Sunny said, wondering why James’ nephew would be here in London. As far as she knew, all his sisters lived in the north.

The two women exchanged a quick glance. Mrs. Taylor bit her lip.

Mrs. Johnson spoke. “Lady Blayne, if you would just let us handle the boy—”

“You have been handling him and it doesn’t sound as though you’ve been all that successful.” Sunny turned back to the boy, “Benjamin, why did you think your uncle would be here?”

“They told me at Greythorn House he had left town for the week.”

Sunny stared in shock. James had left town? He had not bothered to tell her, but had sent a letter, full of dictates and reminders.

“His lordship is now officially the Earl of Greythorn.” Mrs. Johnson’s voice rang with self-importance. “He is too busy to deal with little boys.”

The boy stiffened and jutted out his chin. “Robert said Uncle James had left town to go court a lady. I have come to see him. Where is he?”

Court a lady? Sunny’s legs threatened to give away.

James had to wed. He must create heirs. She knew this.

She hadn’t expected it to happen like this. She had expected…what? To have some time with him first. But she’d had time alone with him at Brownwood.

It hadn’t been enough time.

She had believed that she could not give him heirs. Dr. Meeker’s prognosis had been grim. But the doctor James had examine her said she should have no problems conceiving. She was a normal, healthy woman. She could give James children. Hurt buried deeper with the sudden news that James was actively looking for his countess.

You, a common-born Scottish lass with just a stipend to your name. You should never have expected to be the countess of an English peer.

It was true that she had wed Freddy, and he and Frances had appeared to accept her into their fold. But Freddy had grown weary of her, disappointed by her lack of polish, her common views. Frances had often berated her for what she called her “common ways.” It had been hard, walking on eggshells and never knowing which behaviors would drew her censure and which would merely be seen as charmingly amusing. James had recently been amused by her sense of what was expensive. Next time she showed her common taint, would he be amused or censuring?

Sunny forced back her rising sense of panic and focused on the boy. “Why do you need to speak to your uncle?”

He cast an uneasy glance at the two servants.

Sunny extended her hand toward him. “Come with me.”

His features, so like James’, hardened. The resemblance was so uncanny, it sent another pang into Sunny’s heart. Oh, this could have been her child!

His eyes narrowed. “Who are you? They called you Lady Blayne? Are you the lady he went to court? Did he marry you already?”

“No, I am Freddy Blayne’s widow.”

His mouth turned down in a ferocious frown.. “I want nothing to do with you!”

He backed away, colliding into Mrs. Taylor.

Mrs. Taylor put her hands on his boyishly narrow shoulders. “Settle down, child.”

“My father was a mean, hateful man!” He cut in. He stared up at Sunny, his features fierce, like a threatened wolf pup, snarling and spitting. “I want nothing to do with his widow. Nothing!”

His widow? her mind echoed. Freddy had a son?

The truth rolled over her.

Freddy had a
natural
son.

Sunny’s mind went blank. Her body went utterly weak. Flashes of light zigzagged in the periphery of her vision and the hallway spun.

“My lady, we did not tell you,” Mrs. Johnson babbled. “Please let Lord Greythorn know that you did not learn of this from us.”

Sunny stared at the women. Her mind raced.

Freddy—her Freddy—had a natural son, and the boy hated him. What had Freddy done to him? She always assumed that Freddy’s unpredictable temper and tenancies to cruelty had come in the last years of his life, when the shame and suffering of his illness had proved too much for his pride.

Had she really ever known Freddy?

Why had no one ever told her of this son?

Did Frances know?

James? Her blood went cold. How long had he known?

Mrs. Taylor wrapped her hands around the boy’s shoulders and drew him back against her skirts. “You must forgive Master Benjamin. He didn’t have an easy start in this life and for the past few years, I fear Lord Greythorn spoiled him dreadfully.”

“His lordship has definitely spared the rod where that one is concerned.” Mrs. Johnson narrowed her eyes and wagged her finger at Benjamin. “Someone ought to take the strap to you for speaking to Lady Blayne in that manner. She is your better. You and your mother owe your living to Lord Greythorn’s good graces.”

Sunny turned to the housekeeper. “Leave us, Mrs. Johnson.”

Mrs. Johnson blinked in surprise. Sunny didn’t break from her stare and the older woman whirled and in a crisp rustling of starched petticoat and wool skirts and started down the corridor.

Mrs. Taylor’s expression relaxed, she put her hand over the boy’s maroon colored waistcoat. “You have surely tossed the fat into the fire this time, Benjamin. Apologize to Lady Blayne.”

Benjamin continued to watch Sunny with wary eyes. “I don’t know you, my lady.”

“So, perhaps it was wrong of you to make any judgments of her?” Mrs. Taylor said.

Benjamin cast a gaze toward the floor. “Perhaps.”

“Come.” Sunny motioned to her chambers. “Sit with me.”

Mrs. Taylor hesitated, then urged the boy forward. They entered and Sunny closed the door behind them.

“Have a seat, Benjamin.” She nodded at the settee.

He complied while Mrs. Taylor stood near his end of the couch.

Sunny sat on the settee and looked at him. “How did you get here all the way from Greythorn House?”

“I rode a hackney as far as the money in my pockets would allow.”

“And then?”

“I walked.”

“Your business with Lord Greythorn must be very urgent?”

His eyes widened in fear.

Sunny turned to Mrs. Taylor. “He must be famished.”

“I’m not hungry,” the boy said.

“Perhaps just a little something.” He opened his mouth to argue, but Sunny said, “I will send for Lord Greythorn.”

“Oh, no you should not do that, my lady,” Mrs. Taylor said quickly.

“Why not?”

Mrs. Taylor looked from her to the boy.

“Tell me why not.” Sunny heard the edge beneath her voice, shocked again at the quiet authority that rang in her tone.

“Well…his lordship ordered that Benjamin was to stay away from Greythorn House and this house whilst you and the Lady Ailise are in residence.”

“Why should he order such a thing?” Sunny demanded.

“Well, our Benjamin here is not…” The servant’s voice trailed off.

“You mean he is not legitimate?”

Mr. Taylor shook her head. “Oh, there is just no nice way to say it, is there my lady? It seems a hard burden to put on a child.”

“Indeed,” Sunny replied. “Benjamin, tell me why you need to contact Lord Greythorn.”

Benjamin looked at her with wide-eyes, a new respect dawning on his expression. “You said you would send for my uncle. Can you do really that?”

“I can.” Whether or not James would comply was another matter. Of course, she didn’t know where James was, but someone at Greythorn House apparently did. And by the day’s end she would know as well, of that she was determined.

Benjamin cast a sideways glance at Mrs. Taylor.

She hesitated then nodded.

“My mother is gone.”

“Gone?” Sunny repeated, even knowing in her heart what he meant.

“She is gone.” His voice became higher pitched, making him sound younger than his nine or ten years.

“Oh, my poor boy!” Mrs. Taylor cried. She looked helplessly at Sunny.

“I want to talk to my uncle.” His voice was small, like a younger boy, injecting his tone with all the hope in the world, as though he could make James appear.

“What happened?” Sunny asked gently.

His shoulders sagged. “It happened two days ago. She had a cough and a fever. We called for the doctor. She continued to worsen. She died shortly before dawn.” He held himself rigid, his face whiter than chalk.

Mrs. Taylor placed a hand on his shoulders, clearly trying to control her own grief as well as comfort him.

He continued to hold himself stiff, reminding Sunny of a little wooden toy solider. “I sent for Uncle James but a whole day passed and I heard nothing. So, I set out for Greythorn House.”

“Why didn’t you send one of the servants instead?” Sunny asked.

“I-I had to see Uncle James. I just had to.” His eyes grew brighter. “But he seems to have vanished.” A single tear escaped the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek. He sniffed, convulsively then held himself rigid again. “He was always there before. Now it is the very worst time of all, he’s not here. How can he not be here?”