Love's Justice (Entangled Scandalous) (14 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Oh, miss, you’re up and dressed. That’s good. Someone has come.” Mrs. McCreery sounded upset. Victoria had not slept well and had risen early from confusion and frustration. She finished up her toilette at her dressing table and rose.

“Who is it, Mrs. McCreery?”

“Mrs. Sherman has sent a boy. She begs you to come immediately to see Lady Whitney.”

Victoria’s hand flew to cover her mouth. A terrible dread invaded her mind. “Have him tell Mrs. Sherman I’ll be there directly. And have the carriage brought immediately.”

She waited impatiently for the carriage. Why did it take so long? She needed it
now
. She was afraid. She never had been so afraid in her life.

Finally the carriage pulled up. “To Lord Whitney’s. As quickly as you can.”

The jarring of the carriage as the driver maneuvered hurriedly through the early morning streets did little to dispel her worst fears.
Please, God, no.
She didn’t put words to the request. She couldn’t.

Within minutes, she had arrived at Emily’s. As she stepped down, she looked around her for any clues as to what was happening inside the house. All was quiet.

Victoria didn’t know if that was good or bad.

She rapped hard on the door. Mrs. Pell answered. She looked as haggard as Victoria felt. “Mrs. Sherman has been expecting you. She’ll be pleased you’re here so quickly.”

Mrs. Sherman appeared at the top of the steps and hurried down. “Oh, my dear. You’ve come. How can I thank you? Emily is…”

Victoria held her breath. She couldn’t be too late.
Please, God, don’t let me be too late.

“Emily is so distraught I cannot calm her. You must speak to her. I’m afraid if she doesn’t calm herself, she will—”

Mrs. Sherman didn’t have to complete her sentence. Victoria sent a prayer of thanks and raced up the stairs.

She could hear Emily crying before she even entered the room. Emily lay with her hair splayed about her pale face and her chest heaving with the sobs.

“My dear friend, what is it? Please calm yourself. How can I help? It pains me to see you so upset.”

Emily tried to speak but tears clogged her nose and throat. Victoria offered her a linen handkerchief that lay on the small table beside the bed.

As Emily tried to collect herself, Victoria checked the white linens. There were no telltale red stains. She relaxed a bit.

“Why have you sent for me? What can I do to end this misery for you?”

“Oh, Victoria! They are going to bury him without a prayer, without his wife there. I need you…” She sobbed once and then recovered. “I need you to go there for me. Stand in my stead. Here…” She struggled with her wedding ring, pawing at it with her weak fingers.

“Shhh. Shh. Let me help.” Slowly Victoria removed the small garnet ring from Emily’s finger.

“Tell him I forgive him. He was a good man and a good husband.”

Victoria nodded.

“You must pray for him. No one else will. Promise me this.”

“I promise.” Victoria’s heart was breaking for her friend.

“Put this in his coffin. That way a little of me will always be with him. He’ll know I had come to love him. And despite all that has happened, love him still.”

Love. Did Emily know what love was? And then she thought possibly Emily had a much better idea of what love was than she herself did.

“They are burying him soon. In the family plot in Brompton Cemetery. You must hurry. Promise you’ll do this for me.”

“I promise, my love. Quiet yourself. I shall go immediately, but you must promise me you’ll rest.”

The haunted look in Emily’s eyes seemed to recede with Victoria’s promise. Victoria leaned over and pressed a kiss onto her friend’s forehead. “I promise I will do this for you.”

…

The fog seemed grayer and thicker than usual so early in the morning. The cemetery was on the far side of Kensington Park. Victoria would have enjoyed the ride any other day, but today she worried she would be too late and would not be able to uphold her promise.

Brompton Cemetery was a new garden cemetery of over thirty-nine acres built in eighteen thirty-nine. It attested to the newness of Lord Whitney’s pedigree that his family plot was here and not at the manor house or village church of the manor. The cemetery was designed to give the feel of a large, open-air cathedral. It was rectangular in shape with a central “nave” that ran from Old Brompton Road toward the central colonnade and the chapel, which was built as a modest representation of St. Peter’s in Rome.

Victoria had little time to admire the beauty of the gardens and water features. The driver had sought out directions from the caretaker and as they drove farther into the park, beside the elaborate colonnades that ran along the main drive, she was enveloped in gloom.

The carriage stopped, and the driver came to hand her out. She still did not see what she was looking for. It wasn’t until she cleared the carriage that she noticed a paltry group near a large headstone forward of the carriage. The grass was wet with fog and dew, and the hem of her dress grew heavy with the weight as she made her way over to the five men. The drag on her dress matched her mood.

She remembered Hugh had said Edward’s younger brother was in the navy, and there was a single naval officer in the group. The other four men appeared to be from the mortuary sent to convey the casket.

The officer looked up as Victoria approached.

“Excuse my intrusion, sir. You are Lord Whitney’s brother, I presume?”

The officer nodded. “And you would be?”

“I am a friend of Lady Whitney.”

“Ah, you are an American as well. I’m Christopher Whitney.” He extended a hand.

“Victoria Westwood.” Victoria took the man’s hand. “You have my condolences, Lord Whitney.”

“You are the first one to refer to me by that title. It seems strange still.”

The man was ramrod straight and in his late forties. He bore a striking resemblance to his brother.

“Your brother was a kind man. He was extremely kind to Emily.”

“Yes, she seemed a sweet girl. Edward was not an evil man, Miss Westwood. He was kind and generous and had only one fault.”

Victoria liked this man, who seemed to share his brother’s kind demeanor.

“Unfortunately, that single fault seems to have ruined us.” Lord Whitney shook his head sadly.

She looked down, away from the pain in the man’s face.

“I will try and sell what I can to pay his bills. No doubt, the estate will have to be leased. I suspect there will be little left when all his debts are settled. Lady Whitney is welcome to that amount. I have made a life for myself at sea and have little need of it. But you must tell her that what there is will be hers.”

“That is most kind of you.” Victoria was surprised at his generosity. “Her parents are with her. I have no doubt they will see to her needs.”

“Do you think she will be returning to America with them?”

This hadn’t crossed Victoria’s mind. It was painful to contemplate. She would miss her friend dearly. But it did seem the best thing for Emily.

“I don’t know. She is still quite ill. She was expecting a child. Did you know?”

“No.”

“The child was lost shortly after she lost her husband.”

“I’m sorry for that.”

“She asked me to bring this.” She reached into the pocket of her day dress and removed a clean linen handkerchief in which she had wrapped Emily’s wedding ring. She unfolded the white linen to reveal it. “It’s her wedding ring. She asked that it be buried with Edward. So he would know she forgave him.” Victoria was barely able to get these words out.

Lord Whitney took the ring and nodded toward the men who remained beside the coffin. They waited while the coffin was opened. He placed the ring in his brother’s breast pocket over his heart, patted it once, and stepped back.

The mortuary assistants closed the coffin and, using ropes, lowered it into the open grave. Christopher threw a handful of dirt on the coffin and looked to Victoria, who stooped, picked up some of the soil, and repeated the action.

“Lord, take this kind man into your bosom. Protect and forgive him. He was loved by his wife and family and deserves your kind regard.” Victoria’s words were barely above a whisper. Just loud enough to be heard by the only other person there who cared about this tragic man.

“Amen.” Lord Whitney replaced his hat and, taking Victoria’s arm, walked her slowly back to her carriage. “Thank you for coming. My brother would have been grateful for your presence.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Christmas Eve found Victoria at the door of the Percy home. She paused a moment before she rang the bell. She had been despondent the past few days. Emily continued to improve slowly, for which she was grateful. But this wasn’t the thing that worried her most.

What future was there for she and Hugh? Could she love someone who might strip her not just of her money, but of her value as a human being without ever questioning the very validity of the laws that permitted it? And if he ruled in her favor, how could she ever be sure their relationship hadn’t somehow influenced his court decision? That would be equally appalling.

Lord Whitney’s deception had nearly destroyed Emily. What if she were being deceived as well? Mislead by her feelings and his attentions?

No, it couldn’t be possible.

He was unlike any man she had ever met. Unlike any man she had ever hoped to meet. What was happening was so different from any of her previous experiences she’d had with men. Her schoolgirl crushes had been experimental and innocent. Her ex-fiancé a scheming, avaricious lecher.

Henry and Edith were lovely people. But she needed someone who was…she searched for a word…passionate. Blood rushed to her face. She told herself she didn’t mean physically. She meant politically and socially passionate.

She remembered their shared kiss on her doorstep. Her face warmed again. Perhaps she did mean physically passionate as well. For the first time since Emily’s tragedy, she smiled.

The door was answered by the butler with at least five small children in tow. The man did not look at all pleased by that fact.

“Please come in, Miss Westwood, Lord and Lady Percy are expecting you.”

The children whispered and laughed. Victoria carried with her a large basket filled with small packages of candy caught up in brightly colored fabric, which she had tied with ribbons. The children seemed to sense the presence of such a delectable offering.

“Children, children, get back in here at once.” Henry’s voice carried into the vestibule. The children, from barely walking to ten-year-old twins, hesitated. The older children looked to one another for direction. Finally, their father appeared in the doorway.

“Oh, it’s you, Victoria. Ignore this little bunch of heathens, and do come in. We are in the drawing room.”

Victoria followed Henry into the spacious room, where to her surprise, there was a beautiful evergreen tree adorned with apples and nuts and topped with a lovely gilt star. Handmade creations from the children added color and charm.

“Perfect timing! We have just lit the tree.” Edith rose to greet her.

Victoria smiled broadly.

“Children,” Edith addressed the small group that had surrounded Victoria, “this is Miss Westwood. Do say hello.”

A chorus of hellos followed along with a curtsy or two from the older girls and a bow from a boy of about eight.

“We are finishing our Christmas Eve celebration and then we are off to bed,” Henry said.

Victoria looked around the room. He wasn’t here. Her heart sank a bit. Perhaps he wasn’t coming. She shook off her disappointment.

“But first an introduction, Louisa and Edith are our twins. They are ten. Then Algernon who is eight, and Margaret is six. Victoria, who shares your beautiful name, is four, Josceline three, and Ralph William two. Have I left anyone out?”

Edith spoke up. “Only little Mary, but I presume she will join us shortly.”

Victoria laughed. “What a lovely group. I know you traditionally exchange gifts on Boxing Day, but since I am here tonight, I wanted to bring a little treat for the children.”

The children’s eyes grew wide with anticipation.

“How kind of Miss Westwood.” Henry directed this at his children. “I want all of you to sit. You must be patient and polite. No grabbing, no whining. Do you understand?”

Seven little heads nodded.

“And if you are good, I will read to you from our big book of Hans Christian Andersen. I think “The Fir Tree” would be appropriate for a night such as this.”

Victoria passed out her gifts to the seven children and joined Edith on the sofa.

After the gifts had been opened and consumed to the point where their father put a stop to it, they gathered on the floor before the ornate fireplace as their father pulled up a chair and began the story.

Victoria was very familiar with the tale. It reminded her of Christmases at home before her mother had died. How happy they all seemed, Henry and Edith and their brood. She smiled. Perhaps someday…

Beyond the children and the fireplace, Hugh stood in the doorway. A cherubic child in his arms. A smile on his face. And his gaze directed at her.

Her heart sang. She couldn’t remember when she had seen him so relaxed and happy. She prayed her presence accounted for a great deal of his happiness. She reveled in his perusal. Her cheeks heated, but she did not look away. They spoke without speaking. Loved without touching. She didn’t want it to stop.

Henry ended his reading of the story. Several of the younger children were rubbing their eyes, tired.

“Now you must all be good and go to bed. Ah, Hugh, there you are.”

“Lady Mary has come to say good night to her mother and father.” Hugh passed the cherubic child to her father.

Henry turned toward Victoria. “Miss Westwood, may I present Lady Mary Percy, our youngest, at least for the moment.” He laughed.

Several nursemaids, and a woman Victoria assumed was a governess, appeared in the doorway. The nursemaids took two children, one in each hand, and prompted them.

“Good night Father, Mother.”

Henry had taken a seat on the sofa on the far side of his wife. The children all dutifully came up and offered kisses, some a little tinged with the candy Victoria had given them.

Henry rose with the baby in his arms. “Say good night to your mother, Mary.”

The little one held out her arms and Edith took the child, smothering her with kisses until the child giggled uncontrollably.

She held the child out to the remaining young nursemaid. “I’m sorry, Lucy. I shouldn’t have excited her so, but it is Christmas Eve. Will you forgive me?”

The young woman took the ruby cheeked child. “Yes, my lady.” She bobbed a curtsy and smiled. “As you say, it is Christmas Eve.”

“Well, there you have it. All eight of them.” Henry Percy patted his wife’s belly. “By next Christmas who knows how many children we shall have?”

Edith batted her husband’s hand away. “One a year is more than enough. I will have no figure at all after this litter.” She laughed. “Henry, please, tell Woodruff dinner can be served. And do blow out those candles before we set the entire house aflame.”