Folly's Reward (22 page)

“But you cannot possibly approve?”

“Marriage with you would be impossible, certainly. The earl would never allow it. Apart from anything else, he controls Harry’s allowance and his future security. But my son’s happiness is paramount with me, Miss Drake. If Harry wants you and you love him, for heaven’s sake, at least become his mistress.”

Prudence felt as if she were being attacked by a battery of guns. Yet Lady Acton meant no cruelty, she was only speaking the truth. Nevertheless, Prudence burned with a hot rush of rage.

“How do you know that I have not already done so?”

Lady Acton raised a delicate brow. “Do you really believe that I cannot recognize a virgin?”

“Then you think I should sacrifice my honor in a vain attempt to offer love to your son?”

The countess turned to her with something very close to ferocity.

“Is bedding a man such a huge thing? It’s been done since the dawn of time, and by better women than you. You love him, and Harry has too much honor to leave you in want. Why not? He would provide for you even after he married.”

“He would despise me, and more importantly, he would despise himself.”

“Dear God! I have talked with Richard. Something has happened that is eating Harry alive. I don’t know what it is, but I’m afraid of what he might do. Lord Acton wants him to marry one of the Salisbury girls, and in some wild gesture of conciliation to his father, he might do it. They are grasping, cold-hearted creatures. Either of them could damage him beyond repair, especially if he had nowhere else to go to for warmth.”

“You think I could give him that warmth?” Prudence was almost choking. “That taking someone like me for a mistress would prevent that?”

“It might. Yet I will not see my children forced into loveless marriages as I was, just because they have the misfortune to be earl’s sons.”

But he wanted to
marry
me! Prudence thought. Should I have accepted? Was it some kind of selfish, foolish pride that I did not? He cannot help it that he loves Helena. What man would not? But even without that, Harry’s father would destroy him if he married without his consent.

Lady Acton wrung a hand across her eyes. Prudence realized with sudden insight quite how much this conversation must be costing Harry’s mother.

“You did not love Lord Acton at all?”

The countess glanced up. She arched a graceful brow and smiled with something close to derision. It made her look very like her son.

“No, of course not. I was in love with someone else, but my father wouldn’t hear of a match between us. Unfortunately, Acton knew how I felt, which is why he was jealous. But Richard is the earl’s child.”

So this elegant, cool countess had known some deep suffering of her own. What sympathy could Prudence possibly offer that wouldn’t sound clumsy?

“Harry told me your father was the Duke of Bydover. That’s a very powerful place in the peerage, isn’t it? Wasn’t it natural that he would want the most consequence for you?”

“The most consequence? No, he wanted the most respectability. The man I loved had too wild a reputation for my father’s taste. In spite of his splendid prospects, he was known as a rake and a gambler—and he was very nearly involved in a huge public scandal.” Her lip curled. “But he was destined to be a higher lord than the Earl of Acton. He was the eldest son of a marquess.”

Prudence knew that she was scarlet. “A marquess?”

“Indeed, my dear. I was sixteen and he was only twenty, with all the brittle pride of youth. Yet he begged my father for my hand, swore to reform, to submit to any condition—however humiliating—if we could marry. He even offered to wait until I was older, so that he could prove himself. My father forbade him the house, and I was married to Acton within the month. Yet when Richard arrived, the earl thought that he might be a lover’s child. The man’s eyes were as black as mine, you see. As black as Richard’s. Haven’t you guessed?”

The carriage ran on through the English countryside for a few moments in silence, except for the creaking of leather and wood, and the rhythmic beat of the horses’ hooves.

Prudence took a deep breath, for her emotions threatened to suffocate her.

“It was Lord Belham? Lady Acton, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

Harry’s mother gazed calmly from the window, but her voice burned with passion.

“Yet you are still worried that Lord Belham means harm to my son? Now you see that such a thing is preposterous, because the marquess is still in love with me. It’s also impossible that he intends harm to the child, for I know what Belham is and what’s in his soul. Put your mind at rest, Miss Drake. Lord Belham is not your villain.”

“Then who is?” Prudence asked.

“I cannot tell you, but I want you to know that Lord Belham, too, married someone else. She died in childbirth, heartbroken, a year later. My father’s demands ruined all of our lives. I shall not let my husband’s expectations ruin my children’s. I would have Harry marry for love. Yet he cannot marry you.”

“I would never accept him,” Prudence said. “I would not beggar him, or cause him harm.”

The countess turned to Prudence. Tears blurred her black eyes.

“Nevertheless, if you love Harry, Miss Drake, I expect you to help me.”

* * *

They reached Glasgow late in the evening. For the first time, Lord Belham announced that they would stop for the night. Prudence was shown into her own spacious chamber where, from sheer exhaustion, she fell asleep instantly in the huge feather bed.

In the morning the English coaches were left at the inn. The ladies were to travel on into the Highlands in a narrow carriage, which Lord Belham hired for the purpose, while the gentlemen rode alongside.

“I learned the last time,” the marquess said dryly, “that I’d have been better to have left my own rig behind. The roads out of Glasgow were built to accommodate soldiers marching on foot. They’re the very devil on a decent coach.”

“The last time?” Prudence asked.

He looked at her and laughed.

“Indeed, Miss Drake. Where did you think we were going? I already discovered just how bad is the road to Dunraven. I’m damned if I want to walk there again.”

* * *

A gilt-green tinge delicately decorated the landscape. Most of the snow had melted, except in pockets on the high peaks.

The stone walls of Dunraven Castle smiled in the spring sunshine like an old gray cat. As the little cavalcade drew up before the massive oak doors, Prudence stared up at the battlements.

Why did she want Bobby to come into this inheritance? She had lived here for only two months, and never left these hulking walls and barren courtyards. It was a grim enough place for a small child.

Geordie leaned from the top of the wall and glared down at them, his white hair shining like snow.

“So it’s yon black laird again? Lady Dunraven does nae want to see ye! Ye can gang awa’ again, back whence ye came!”

Lord Belham grinned. “Miss Drake is with me. You remember her, pray? She has a report for the dowager countess on the state of little Lord Dunraven’s health. Surely Lady Dunraven will open the gates to her own grandson’s governess?”

Prudence climbed out of the carriage and waved up at the wizened face.

“It is me, Geordie! Pray open the gates!”

The retainer peered at her, his eyes shaded against the sun. Then he shrugged, his face disappeared, and a few moments later the great gates creaked open. The carriage lumbered through into the echoing stone courtyard, and the travelers heard the great gates of Dunraven Castle thud shut behind them.

They passed silently under an archway and through narrow passageways into the solid, grim heart of the keep.

Dressed entirely in black, the dowager countess stood in front of her huge fireplace. In the dim light filtering through the arrow-slit windows, her white hair glimmered with an oddly pure intensity, but her face was rigid.

She looked at each of them with clear disdain.

“Do you offer us no welcome, Countess?” Lord Belham asked. “May I present Lady Acton and Lord Lenwood? Miss Drake you know, of course.”

Lady Dunraven glowered at the marquess. “I did not expect to see you at my hearth again, sir. You are not welcome here. I would to God I had directed my servants to set the dogs on you.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Lady Acton said.

She crossed the room and took a seat.

Prudence watched her remove her bonnet, so that a thin shaft of sunlight highlighted her black hair. Harry’s mother was still elegant, still cool, still beautiful. With the sun behind her, she looked no more than five-and-twenty.

“Are we to have melodrama?” Lady Acton asked. “I did not expect you to have changed in all these years, Lady Dunraven, but I hoped you had at least found peace with yourself. If you cannot feel any genuine pleasure at our arrival, surely you can at least offer a modicum of courtesy to visitors?”

Lady Dunraven glared at her. “You dare to talk to me of civility or decorum, Lady Acton? You seem happy enough to travel without shame with your old lover. Or are you lovers still?”

The marquess walked up to stand calmly beside Lady Acton. His features were a perfect mask, but his voice cut with deadly incisiveness.

“Don’t bother to slander Lady Acton with your poisonous invective, Lady Dunraven. She and I have not been private together for over twenty years, since before you came back to live out your widowhood in Scotland. Have you spent all that time alone here, tormenting yourself with lurid fancies? Is that why you drove away your own son?”

“How dare you!” Lady Dunraven said. “Have you no shame?”

“Shame? After he lost his young wife, you tortured your son with recriminations, until he abandoned his home and came to me in London. No wonder, when he was dying of consumption, he appointed me his child’s legal guardian. Yet you stole that little boy from my care, only to send him away into the world with no more protection than this naive young woman. Who the devil are you to talk about shame?”

“So what’s this?” Lady Dunraven swept out one arm to point at Prudence. “The child’s governess arrives without the child. Have you murdered Bobby already, Belham? Do you bring me proof of the deed and demand your inheritance?”

With an unconscious courtesy Richard moved closer to Prudence. She felt his steady strength with heartfelt gratitude. What on earth was going on?

Richard’s quick, intelligent glance flickered once from his mother to Lord Belham. The vertical line was etched deeply between his brows.

“The boy is perfectly safe, Lady Dunraven,” Richard said. “Bobby is in England at my home, Acton Mead, and receiving the best of care. My wife is with him. We thought another journey so soon too much for such a young child.”

The dowager laughed with open scorn. “And who are you, sir? Some upstart rogue, no doubt, who conspires the ruin of Dunraven and the destruction of my house!”

“Oh, no, your ladyship,” a subtle voice said from the doorway. “The gentleman you are maligning with such thoroughness is my brother. Hello, Richard! Your servant, Lord Belham.”

Harry stepped into the room and leaned his back against the door. His dark hair fell in disheveled disarray over his forehead. He ran both hands carelessly back over it, and suppressed a wince. With clear reluctance, the harebell eyes glanced past Prudence to gaze straight at Lady Acton. They were filled with pain and a deadly, blank recoil.

“And Mother? How very amiable to see you, also! So what the devil brings you all running after me, like a gaggle of fluffy little goslings clacking after the hen wife? Any breadcrumbs you get from me will stick in the craw like stones, I assure you.”

Richard helped Prudence to a chair. Harry dropped onto a long wooden settle and spread his arms carelessly along the back. No one else moved.

Prudence stared at her knees, forcing herself not to faint, or weep, or otherwise disgrace herself. Meaningless snatches of prayer raced through her mind.
Oh, dear God! What has happened now
?

Her head snapped up as Richard stalked back across the room to stand threateningly over Harry.

“You will be pleased to apologize, sir, to our mother.”

“Oh, Lord,” Harry said. “Are we to have histrionics? And if I will not, noble brother, you will make me?”

“I don’t believe that should be necessary, sir. You will kindly remember your manners and speak to our mother with a civil tongue, that is all.”

“And to my father?” With deliberate insolence Harry stared straight at Lord Belham. “Do I owe civility to the unprincipled rake who took our mother to his bed and sired her a bastard for a second son?”

Richard slapped him hard across the face.

Lady Acton leapt to her feet. “Richard!”

Harry’s head cracked back to strike the solid edge of the settle. He broke into feral, uncontrolled laughter.

“By God, if anyone else wants to hit me over the head, I wish they would do it now and get it over with. Stay out of this, Richard! It’s none of your damned business.”

“If you do not take back your outrageous insult to our mother, Harry, I shall call you out and damn the consequences.”

“Richard!” Lady Acton ran up to her eldest son and caught him by the sleeve. “Do not be so absurd!”

The dowager countess laughed in open triumph. “Yes, because Harry’s a crack shot, and Richard would die. Then if your daughter-in-law’s coming baby is female, or if she loses the child from the shock of hearing of her husband’s untimely death, Harry would be the next earl, unless—”

“Oh, dear,” Lady Acton interjected. “By all means, let us have all the melodrama at once!”

“Unless I tell the world what I have already told him,” Lady Dunraven announced. “Harry is a bastard, isn’t he, Lady Acton? And his father is the man you couldn’t wait to take to your bed when you were scarce sixteen years old. When you couldn’t have him in marriage, you had him four years later in adulterous lust. Harry’s father is not your husband, the Earl of Acton, he’s my charming nephew, my husband’s sister’s son: none other than Lord Belham. Now, isn’t that a delicious situation!”