Corey McFadden (5 page)

Then had come that awful day, still stark in her bitter memory. The solicitors had arrived unexpectedly, babbling apologies, “So sorry, you understand, there was such confusion. No one knew. She was unconscious. She spoke no French....” The babble had trailed off as a child had been lifted from the carriage.

James, the words finally penetrating his alcoholic fog, had stumbled forward with a cry of joy, falling to his knees, clutching the small girl to his breast as the little face had smiled into his, lifting her thin arms to wrap around his neck. Claire had stood on the steps behind him, staring at his bowed back, rage and hatred twisting her face, her fingers like claws at her sides, her recent triumph ashes in her heart. And in that moment, his amused, knowing eyes meeting hers across the touching scene, Mr. Parsons and Claire had formed their profitable partnership.

Never had she forgiven that brat for taking away what she had worked so hard to achieve, status and independence. And never had she allowed the odious child, by kind word or deed, to feel anything but her bitterness. Still, over the years, Claire had cultivated a certain respectability, gathering into her capable, if larcenous, hands the reins of this acceptable estate. Her hands and those of the intrusive, but amenable, Mr. Parsons.

And now it was time to spring the long-set trap....

* * * *

“Well, Mama?” John asked, not bothering to hide the touch of impatience in his voice. His mother had made this appointment with him earlier this evening but he had had to cut short a winning game with some of the local gentry in order to come home and see her. Still, when Mama called, it was wise to respond.

“Close the door, my dear.” She smiled. “I should prefer this to be a private conversation. Where is the rest of our happy family by the way?”

“Maudie is upstairs; her door is closed. Dear Papa is having a little snooze in the library.” John’s allowed his tone to drip with contempt. “He has managed to roll right onto the floor, snifter and all. Joe is seeing to getting him upstairs.”

Joe had graduated from stablehand to groom to valet in recent years. No one else could or would manage the sodden James. Indeed, always one to pinch a penny when it didn’t hurt her, Mama had insisted that Joe assume duties both in the stables and in the house, and the young man, loyal to the Romney name since birth, made no complaint.

Claire grimaced with disgust. “Just as well. I don’t want James lurching in here now. I have something to discuss with you, something I think you’ll like.”

“Tell on, Mama. You know I always enjoy our little chats.” John was in high spirits, having come out ahead in spite of his early departure from the card game.

“We must give thought to your future, my dear. I have Amelia settled right nicely, I think, under the circumstances. Now I can turn my attention to your prospects.”

“I hope you have more care for my reputation than you had for Amelia’s, Mama,” John said a bit peevishly. “I am still trying to explain away the haste of her marriage to my friends. After all, a wedding barely six weeks after the Season is bound to give rise to unfortunate speculation.” John arranged his bulk across her small upholstered divan.

“I care nothing for the vagaries of gossip, John,” his mother replied, contempt plain in her voice. “I’ve survived it and she will, too. It will all be forgotten inside of a few months, I promise you. And haste is of the utmost importance when one is working with beauty and no money. I could not afford to let Amelia stay in the marriage mart long enough to become a familiar figure. We had to strike quickly while the young bucks were still smitten with her looks and before they could examine our credentials too closely.”

“That’s all well and good, Mama, but my friends are tittering about an ‘early arrival,’ and I’m not sure they’re not right.”

Claire laughed dismissively. “There’s no baby coming, silly. We’re not that stupid. Amelia did allow to young Talbot that she thought there might be, to get him to move along, you understand, and do the honorable thing before he had time to think it through clearly, or time could prove her in error.” Claire laughed again. “She’ll just tell him it was a mistake when the time comes. He’ll have to make the best of it now, but after more than two months of marriage he’s still so mesmerized by her, I’m sure he’ll be relieved there will be no ‘premature baby’ to prove the gossipmongers right. But, precious, it’s your prospects I want to turn my attention to now.”

“Much obliged, Mama,” John said with a smug smile. “I should like to be obscenely rich, if you can manage it, please.”

Claire gave a short laugh. “No, precious, obscenely rich I cannot manage. But comfortable...very comfortable and secure, I think, with a decent bit of flesh to warm your bed, until you tire of her as you no doubt will.” Her smile was languid and suggestive, her eyes glittering in the glow of the candles. She was clearly enjoying this.

“Have you given any thought to marriage, my dear? There’s money to be made in a decent marriage,” she purred, as if she had a lovely secret.

John was slightly startled. Marriage was the last thing on his mind. His world of cards, brandy, and bawds needed no wife to make it perfect. Besides, he was only twenty-one, not nearly old enough for family responsibilities.

“Not really, Mama, surely there is time enough for that in the distant future? We are in no real hurry, are we?” He nervously flicked a speck of imagined dust from his fine brocaded frock coat. It was peach in color and perfectly matched his cream-colored vest and dark brown satin breeches. He was well aware that he rarely won an argument with dear Mama, despite her love for him.

“There is always hurry, dear, when it comes to money. I have learned that much in my life. One must never relax until the birds are in hand. We have one more bird to gather in.” She paused until he raised his eyes to hers. John knew himself to be a good son; he could be made to see reason, particularly with the right bait.

“Your cousin, Maude, my dear, you do realize, do you not, that all of this estate, almost all the money we live on, belongs to her? She is sole heir to her father’s estate and James, as her father’s brother, is merely the caretaker. God only knows why her forebears did not bother to entail it. When Maude marries, it will all revert to her husband’s control. We will be thanked and sent on our way. I hope you harbor no illusions about James’s circumstances, even though he formally adopted you and Amelia. As second son, he has a mere pittance, barely enough to pay your tailor, dear. Although I daresay it would keep him in brandy enough to make him happy.” Claire watched, clearly waiting for the import of her statements to penetrate John’s disinclination to bestir himself about financial details.

“What would you suggest we do about it, Mama?” he asked, beginning to feel concern. The remark about his tailor pinched. John did love his own appearance. Mama and Mr. Parsons had always had to work at hiding his tailor’s bills in with the household or Maude’s expenses. It was so much easier with Amelia’s necessaries. Maude would have been surprised to know how vast her shabby wardrobe and accessories appeared to be on paper.

“We can hardly keep her from marrying,” he added thoughtfully, “although, I cannot say she shows any such inclination now.”

“To the contrary, dear. It is not keeping her from marrying that I have in mind. It is forcing her to it. She would make you an acceptable bride, do you not think? I have noticed you show an appreciation for her physical attributes.” Claire gave him a knowing smile.

John felt stunned, as if he’d taken a blow to the head. Slowly, a smile creased his fat face. “I have noticed she is ripe for a man.”

He savored the image that arose in his mind. Once, a year or so ago, when seeking out Maude for some devilment at her expense, he had opened the door to her room, without the usual knock. She had been rising from her bath like Botticelli’s Venus, her breasts small, but perfectly formed, her waist tapered and emphasizing her rounded hips, that lovely, reddish triangle. She had not seen him at first as he stood and gaped, drinking in the sight. She had gasped in horror as she raised her head and caught sight of him, clutching at her towel to hide her luscious charms. He had saluted her with a mocking bow, and signaled his appreciation with a grin of pure lust. He had never forgotten the sight of her nakedness, and though he had tried to intrude on her many times thereafter, her door was always annoyingly locked against him.

And now his mother offered him the keys to paradise....

* * * *

She knew that salacious look. Excellent. Such a good son, her dear John, so like his dear father. But his forehead creased as a frown slowly appeared. He would have to be brought to see it.

“The devil of it is, Mama, you know she despises me. I doubt we could convince her to do it.”

“You underestimate your own charms, pet. You’re a very handsome young man, after all.” Claire ran a fond hand through John’s light brown curls. “Maude may well acquiesce,” she continued. “After all, she will be able to stay here. Nothing will change. Perhaps you might agree to leave her alone after you get a son on her. You’ll be tired of her by then, anyway. It might suit her quite well to choose the status quo over an unknown.

“Besides”—Claire could not refrain from smirking—“I hope you do not think I have been foolish enough to let her know the real state of her affairs. The chit knows nothing except what I tell her, and that, you may be sure, is precious little. No, I propose that you shall tell her she has very little in the way of assets, that my family money has subsidized the running of Romney Manor all these years....”

They both laughed; Claire’s own family had had nothing and Jack Burwell had been nothing if not a wastrel.

“Tell her that you’ll assume all the financial responsibilities, that she must take a husband to save the manor. She will have to agree to wed you. And if she refuses, well, I have a plan to force her consent. It will involve a bit of...coercion”—Claire almost purred with pleasure—“but in the end she will have to agree. She will have no alternative.”

 Claire was enjoying this indeed. It was the perfect plan—involving pleasure for her precious John and pain for the hated Maude. She would best that brat once and for all. All these years, all the indignities of Mr. Parsons, all the shuffling of entries, and the dodging of James’s occasional inquiries when he emerged, as he could do unexpectedly from time to time from his alcoholic stupor, would end. Everything would be hers, or at least hers through John, who would raise no objection to Claire’s suggestion that she continue to keep the household accounts. Her dear son would, indeed, be grateful to her for keeping his bills paid and sparing him the necessity of seeing to the books.

And the solicitors would be terminated upon Maude’s marriage. It was up to the husband, after all, to select his legal representatives. No more “small percentage” for the opportunistic Mr. Parsons. No more fear that Mr. Booth or Mr. Parks, the senior members of the firm, would choose one day to delve more deeply into the actual accounts.

Best of all, no more sleepless nights about a full accounting to an unfriendly husband upon Maude’s marriage, a husband who might want to know where every shilling of his wife’s and now his estate had gone since her parents’ deaths. Mr. Parsons had been able to fob off his near-senile senior partners for years with regard to this relatively minor estate. But Claire was under no illusions as to what a careful audit by interested parties would reveal of her stewardship.

“What precisely did you have in mind for coercion, Mama?” John asked, clearly more than interested now. “I daresay that might be more, ah, entertaining than a simple acquiescence. Besides, you know our dear Maudie; she never takes the easy way out.”

Claire’s mouth twisted in anger. “How well I know that. The chit has thwarted me for years. She ruined my plans at the beginning of the Season to make Amelia the wife of the Earl of Radford with her spying interference.”

John just rolled his eyes. He had told his mother he thought that the plan to entrap the earl was overly ambitious, knowing of Radford’s reputation as a savvy, formidable player among the gentleman of the
ton
. But he had not risked angering Amelia or his mother with an “I told you so.”

“My plan is extraordinarily simple, precious,” Claire continued. “It merely involves a short seduction on your part, although to be more accurate, perhaps I should say ‘rape’.” Claire laughed, a low, self-satisfied ripple. “Do you think you could manage a little deflowering, my dear, all in the family, so to speak?”

John’s grin was positively lascivious. “You need not fear my abilities, Mama. I assure you I can oblige. Yet, how will that force her to the altar? She could just cry rape and have me hanged. I can’t say that a brief foray into Maudie’s nether treasures is worth the stretching of my neck.”

“Don’t be a fool. She wouldn’t dare. You know as well as I do that forcible rape or not she’d be ruined in the eyes of society. She could never hold up her head again, and even Maude could not live under total censure. No, she’d not risk her good name, or that of the family with a cry of rape.”

“Nevertheless, Mama, she need not marry me. She could remain unmarried, I suppose, or find a gentleman in distress who in exchange for her dowry would be delighted to overlook her somewhat shopworn state.”

“As to her remaining unmarried, I care not for that. Under her father’s will, if she does not marry, James remains her guardian until she is thirty-five. Anything can happen in the space of seventeen years. James is her heir, you know, if she dies without husband or issue.”

“Mama, I am shocked!” John’s eyes sparkled with amusement, mere slits in his puffy face. “First you sit here and tell me to rape my cousin, now you seem bent on murder. My friends’ mothers excel only at needlework and gossip.”

“I said nothing about murder, precious, merely that seventeen years is a long time. Still, I do not plan to wait out seventeen years wondering if at any moment a suitor will show up prepared to take damaged goods. No, I have in mind a marriage to you. After you have done your part, I shall tell her that should she refuse to wed you and remedy her sullied state...after all, it will be obvious to me that she seduced you...” —Claire  laughed maliciously—“that one or two of the neighbors will hear of the sorry affair. She will not be able to bear having anyone know. The threat of exposure will be all it will take. Why, with a little luck, perhaps you could even get her with child. I could check with the laundress to see when she last had her courses....”