Slightly Tempted (22 page)

"Do you have a previous acquaintance with the Earl of Rosthorn?" she asked Wulfric at one point of their journey.

"Enough to know that he is no suitable escort for you," he said. "I trust this inn we are approaching is the one appointed for our next change of horses. I will need an explanation of why we are half an hour late."

Nine years ago Wulfric would have been twenty-four. Doubtless he had known the earl. Doubtless too he knew of the scandal that had sent the younger man into long exile. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him for an account of those sordid events, but she held her peace. The Earl of Rosthorn had never volunteered the information himself. She would not now try to worm it out of Wulfric, who was clearly hostile to him.

She missed him. Their parting had been far too sudden and abrupt. He had left a certain void in her life. She wondered if he would come, as he had said he would, to make a formal offer for her hand to Wulfric. She sincerely hoped not. But when he did not come at all, when he did not even call to see how she did or to pay his official condolences, she was undeniably disappointed, even hurt.

She tried not to think about him. He owed her nothing, after all-despite what his sense of honor might say to the contrary. Indeed, matters were quite the other way around. It wasshe who was inhis debt.

Freyja and Joshua were still in London, Parliament being still in session. It was not just Joshua's political obligations that had kept them here, though. Freyja had sponsored Morgan's presentation and come-out, but at the same time she had sponsored Lady Chastity Moore, Joshua's cousin and ward, who was living with them at their London home. Chastity had recently become happily betrothed to Viscount Meecham. But even apart from their other obligations they would probably have delayed their return to Penhallow in Cornwall for Freyja to consult a reputable physician. She was in the early months of pregnancy.

Aidan came from Oxfordshire with Eve and their adopted children, Davy and Becky, and Rannulf and Judith came from Leicestershire even though William, their son, was only a little over two months old. They all came in immediate response to the letters Wulfric wrote them and sent by special messenger.

It should have been enormously comforting to Morgan to be surrounded by her family. And in many ways it was. But Wulfric, apart from providing the bare facts, was more than usually reticent and spent most of his time in the library. It fell to Morgan's lot, then, to answer the myriad questions they all asked.

It was a dreadful thing to witness the grief of her strong-minded siblings. Freyja bore up the best, on the outside, at least, remaining determinedly brisk and cheerful even though her face looked chiseled out of marble and Joshua hovered over her almost every moment, lines of worry etching his normally good-humored face. Rannulf-bluff, hearty Ralf-became almost totally withdrawn and spent much of his time in the nursery holding his new son even when the baby slept. Aidan-the tough, dour ex-cavalry officer-wept as he held Morgan in a viselike grip, embarrassing himself with painful, gulping sobs that he tried in vain to swallow.

There was a terrible, yawning emptiness in their family circle where Alleyne had been.

Perhaps the very worst aspect of the whole tragedy was that there was no body-none to weep over and sit vigil beside. None to bury and visit with flowers and gradually softening memories as the years passed. No body-just emptiness.

Wulfric arranged a memorial service to be held on the eleventh day after Morgan's return at St. George's in Hanover Square. It was an event that was very well attended. Morgan sat beside Wulfric in the front pew and would have held his hand if he had offered it. But he was colder, more unapproachable, than ever, as if he had frozen himself deep within a massive, all-encompassing iceberg. Perhaps only a sister would understand that he did indeedfeel grief. But that understanding was little consolation to her. Aidan had Eve, Rannulf had Judith, and Freyja had Joshua. She had no one. She sat through the service with her hands in her lap and her eyes on her hands.

The Earl of Rosthorn had not come. She could no longer hope otherwise when the service was over and most of the congregation lingered outside the church to allow the Bedwyn family to drive away first. He was nowhere in sight even though she looked around deliberately for him. Nor did he come to Bedwyn House with almost everyone else for tea.

Perhaps he was not in London, she thought. Perhaps he had gone back to Belgium or somewhere else on the Continent-Paris maybe. Perhaps he had gone into the country to his own estate. But she was hurt by his absence. Even apart from that evening in Brussels, she had really thought they were friends. He had not even written. He could not write personally to her, of course-it would not have been at all the thing. But he might have written a letter of condolence to the whole family, might he not?

Other people came back to the house that she would rather not have seen. The Earl and Countess of Caddick came with Rosamond. Even Captain Lord Gordon was there, looking dashingly romantic in full dress uniform, with one boot missing to accommodate his splinted leg. He moved about on crutches, his batman hovering at his elbow, and won for himself the admiring regard of many of those in attendance-a hero and survivor of the Battle of Waterloo.

Rosamond hugged Morgan and was reluctant to let her go.

"I do not care what they say, Morgan," she said. "I always tell anyone who will listen how splendidly brave you were. I am so dreadfully sorry about Lord Alleyne." She was too choked with tears to say more.

Her mother suffered from no such impediment.

"I am delighted to see you safely at home again, Lady Morgan," she said, a sharp edge to her voice. "It is a good thing for you that you returned bearing such sad news or I daresay Bewcastle would have shown his displeasure over your selfish disobedience to me in a manner you would not have enjoyed. At first he was inclined to blameme for leaving without you, if you can imagine such a thing. I daresay he has realized his error since then, though. Indeed, I do not know how he could avoid doing so."

Morgan merely lifted her eyebrows, regarded her former chaperon with silent disdain, and moved on to another group.

She would have preferred to avoid Captain Lord Gordon altogether, but he deliberately put himself in her way and asked for a private word with her. She sat with him in one corner of the drawing room, a little removed from everyone else. She would, she supposed, forgive him. But it would take an effort of will to speak the words. She would do so only because really he was of no importance to her whatsoever.

His facial bruises had faded. He looked, she thought, quite as handsome as ever. It was hard to believe, though, that once, not so very long ago, she had been slightly infatuated with him.

"Lady Morgan," he said, "I do hope you will forgive me."

"They were difficult days, Captain," she said. "I daresay none of us behaved as well as we ought or as we would have done in more normal circumstances. It is best forgotten."

"You are most generous." He was visibly relieved. "I was about to ride into my first battle, you see, and was neither thinking nor speaking rationally."

About to ride into battle?She frowned.

"For what do you beg forgiveness, Lord Gordon?" she asked him.

He flushed and did not quite meet her eyes when he spoke.

"I thought that perhaps I had raised expectations where I intended none," he said. "I thought that perhaps I had aroused hope when I did not mean to suggest anything of a permanent nature."

He was not, she realized, talking of their final encounter outside the house on the Rue de Bellevue but of what had happened between them at the Duchess of Richmond's ball.

"You thought perhaps, Lord Gordon," she said, her voice very soft, "that I was under the impression we were betrothed?"

"I-I . . ." He looked sheepish.

"I was not under any such impression," she told him. "Had you asked me outright on that occasion, I would have said no. Any petition for my hand must, of course, be made formally and correctly. I wouldnever, Lord Gordon, so forget myself as to engage in a clandestine betrothal with a man who had not first addressed himself to the Duke of Bewcastle. But even if youhad proceeded thus, and even if hehad given his approval, I would most certainly have refused you."

His flush deepened. "I am perfectly eligible, Lady Morgan," he said stiffly. "I will be Caddick one day."

"I do not care if you were in expectation of becoming the Prince of Wales one day," Morgan said, lifting her chin and looking along her nose at him as if he were some particularly nasty specimen of humanity. "You are not a gentleman I would deem worthy ofmy hand, Captain Gordon. I am thankful that it is not your behavior on the morning you left Brussels for which you came to beg my forgiveness. In a moment of weakness I might have granted it." She stood.

"Mama is quite right about you," he said sharply. "So is everyone else."

"Indeed?" She regarded him with one of her frostiest looks.

"You are mighty haughty, my lady," he said, "for someone whose name is being bandied about every club and drawing room in London like that of the veriest trollop. You do not imagine, do you, that you were not seen all over Brussels on the arm of the Earl of Rosthorn and evenembracing him on a public street or alone on the ship with him all the way to Harwich, his arm about your shoulders, his hand in yours? Even for a Bedwyn your behavior has been too shocking for words." He sounded like a spiteful boy retaliating for an insult.

"And yet," she said, her eyes sweeping disdainfully over him, "you have found enough words with which to wax positively eloquent, Captain. I congratulate you."

She continued to stare coldly at him for a few moments longer. But inside she was shocked indeed. Could it possibly be true? There wasgossip about her? Because she had remained behind in Brussels to tend the wounded and await word of Alleyne, and the Earl of Rosthorn had been kind enough to watch after her and to escort her about Brussels when she had needed relaxation? Because he had been kind enough to escort her to England when she had needed to come? She had had a maid with her.

When had she been seen embracing him? She could remember only one occasion, outside Mrs. Clark's when she had been weary from overwork and had slept with her head on his shoulder for a few minutes. She had stood on the step above him afterward and leaned forward and kissed him.

There were always pedestrians on that street.

She might have guessed that there would be gossip in London, of course. The Caddicks would have brought plenty with them. And those other things, so supremely unimportant during those days in Brussels, would seem shocking indeed to English people who had not been there to know what it had been like.

And she was not entirely innocent, was she? Not innocent at all, in fact. There was no point in resorting to righteous indignation.

Captain Lord Gordon must have been beside himself with fear that somehow he had trapped himself into a commitment to her during the Duchess of Richmond's ball and that she might be unwilling to release him. He would not enjoy hobbling his way-literally as well as figuratively-through a sordid scandal with her on his arm, this military hero who had almost won the Battle of Waterloo single-handedly. Morgan smiled with arctic contempt at him and turned away without another word.

Wasthis why the Earl of Rosthorn had not come to Bedwyn House during the past ten days or to the memorial service today? she wondered. Had he been driven from London by the gossip? Perhaps even from England? That would be grossly unfair.

But if itwere so, she could never expect to see him again. It was a horribly depressing thought. Today of all days she longed to see him, to watch that lazy smile light his eyes again, to listen to his attractive French accent, to hear him call herchérie . She wanted someone of her very own with her-a dear friend. But how abject that sounded now that the thought had verbalized itself in her mind. She did not need him. She did not need anyone. She straightened her shoulders and joined another group of visitors.

Finally everyone had left. Aunt and Uncle Rochester had gone home. So had Freyja and Joshua, Chastity and Lord Meecham with them. Aidan and Eve, Rannulf and Judith had all gone up to the nursery to see their children. Morgan felt horribly lonely despite all her resolves-and despite the fact that she had refused an invitation from Joshua to go back with them for the evening and from both Eve and Judith to go to the nursery with them. She would go to the library, she decided, and sit with Wulfric. She would not disturb him. She did not expect him to talk to her or entertain her in any way. She just wanted to curl up on one of the leather chairs there and feel the reassurance of his company.

She did not knock on the door. She opened it quietly, intending to creep inside without drawing attention to herself.

He was standing before the empty hearth, staring into the fireplace, his back to her. His shoulders were shaking. One of his hands was balled into a fist on the mantelpiece above his head. He was sobbing, choking on the sounds as Aidan had done days before.

Morgan gazed in horror for a few paralyzed moments.

Then she closed the door even more quietly than she had opened it and fled upstairs to her room.

If Wulf was weeping, the end of the world seemed near indeed.

She cast herself facedown across her bed and gathered fistfuls of the bedcover on either side of her head.