Regency High Society Vol 5: The Disgraced Marchioness / The Reluctant Escort / The Outrageous Debutante / A Damnable Rogue

‘I know not, my lord, but Burford spoke of family disapproval. We were not to know the truth of it.’ Sir Edward lifted his hands in acceptance of a difficult situation and the lowered them to cover those of his sister in warm comfort. ‘My sister presumed that your family would not accept his marriage to a lady of so little social consequence. Our family is respectable enough, of course, but we have never aimed to the heights of the haut ton. And to enter into marriage with the Marquis of Burford was beyond her dreams, even as a young girl who did not know the ways of society.’

Henry turned his attention to the lady who sat silently, eyes on her clasped fingers. ‘Is this so? Did Thomas indeed marry you, then hide you away in—where was it?—Whitchurch?’

‘Yes, my lord.’ She raised her eyes, not flinching as they met such stern questioning. ‘Thomas and I…we fell in love and he wished to marry me, in spite of his family, he said. So we should keep it secret, he said, and I agreed. I was very young, you see, and knew no better.’

‘Then why did you say nothing when my brother entered into a second marriage with…with Miss Stamford?’ Incredulity coloured Henry’s question. ‘Surely it is beyond belief that you should simply accept such a development.’ And why in heaven’s name would Thomas have done such a thing?

‘That was a mistake on my part, I confess.’ Sir Edward came to his sister’s rescue, taking her hand again and holding it in a warm clasp. ‘My sister was very foolish and, I do not hesitate to say, is easily led. She was given to understand that his marriage to Miss Stamford—’ he inclined his head towards Eleanor with grave respect ‘—was a matter of necessity, desired and encouraged by his family. Burford asked that Octavia keep the matter of her own marriage quiet in return for a substantial annuity settled on herself and the child. I could not persuade her otherwise. She insisted on doing what Burford wished. But now she has seen that much is due to her and wishes to make everything plain.’ He smiled down at the young woman who coloured prettily and returned his clasp, nodding her agreement.

‘But if he loved you and had married you, regardless of…of the differences in your social rank,’ Eleanor spoke at last to the fair lady, ‘and since you had presented him with a son and heir—why would my Lord Burford consider the complications of a second marriage to me? It does not make any sense! Most particularly as—’ She closed her lips into a thin line, unable to continue. Particularly as my birth and the social status of my own family is no better! It simply did not make any logical sense.

‘My lady…'Sir Edward hesitated, all deference and concern. ‘I cannot tell you. Perhaps you are the only one here who might know the reason for such an unfortunate decision.’

‘But why wait to make any claim until now?’ Mrs Stamford interrupted, impatient as she pinned the fair couple with an eagle stare, clearly not believing a word of Sir Edward’s explanation. ‘My lord has been dead for four months. Why did you not speak on hearing of his death? It has been no secret, after all.’

Sir Edward turned to face the lady with calm purpose. ‘We knew of Burford’s death, of course. A great shock to us all. We expected that Octavia would have been considered in the will. And that clear provision would have been made for the child—who, after all, is the heir. And so we waited in anticipation. But there was no word from the lawyers, there was no settlement for Octavia or for the child.’ His voice hardened and looked down at his sister’s face with concern. ‘As the will stands, she has been left with no income, no security…no recognition of her position as Burford’s wife. That is not right, as I am sure you will agree.’ His gaze swept his audience. ‘She deserves what is rightfully hers after three years of neglect, of being forced to live as if she had a guilty secret. I have persuaded her to come here today to lay the truth before you, knowing that you will not allow her to go unheard. She must receive what is due to her under the law.’

‘Is this indeed so?’ Eleanor appealed to the young woman who sat so blamelessly in her withdrawing-room and threatened to destroy her whole life.

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘Did you love him?’ And what a ridiculously inconsequential question that is!

‘Yes. I did. And he loved me. He told me so.’

‘Did he…did he visit you often in Whitchurch?’

‘When he could. It was not always easy.’

Eleanor’s blood ran cold from her lips to the tips of her fingers. Was that why Thomas had been prepared to enter into a loveless marriage with her? Because it would have given her the protection she needed? And, more importantly, because he had already given his heart elsewhere so a union without love was of no consequence? It could be so. It could all be terribly true. The thought struck her with terrifying power. But why did he agree to marry her at all if he was already legally bound? The cool voice of common sense impressed itself on her mind, insisting that she listen to its reasoned tones. Surely Thomas, whom she had respected and married, could never have taken a decision so unworthy of a man of honour. Eleanor no longer knew what to think.

‘Forgive me, Sir Edward, if I put this bluntly.’ Henry broke into her thoughts. ‘Is there any reason we should believe this remarkable claim?’

‘Of course.’ Sir Edward released Octavia’s hand and stood, a deliberate confrontation now. ‘I am not so foolish as to believe that you would accept my sister’s claim without legal proof. I have it. I have with me the proof of the marriage of my sister and your brother. And the registration of the birth of the child. At the church of St Michael and All Angels in the parish of Whitchurch and both witnessed by the Reverend Julius Broughton who is resident there. It proves beyond doubt that the marriage predates any other agreement that Burford might have entered into and that the child was born in wedlock. Thus he is your brother’s legitimate heir.’

From his pocket he produced two documents and handed them over. Henry read them, noting places, dates and signatures. And passed them to Eleanor, who did likewise, holding them with fingers that were not quite steady. Yes. There it was before her eyes. She swallowed against the tight constriction in her throat as the truth sank home. The documents predated her own marriage and the birth of her own child. She was not Thomas’s wife. Her son was not Thomas’s heir.

‘It predates my marriage,’ she stated in toneless acceptance, as if her world and that of her son did not lay shattered at her feet.

‘It is as I said.’ Sir Edward rescued the papers from her nerveless fingers. ‘Octavia is Burford’s true wife. Your marriage, I am afraid, my lady, is invalid.’

At these gently spoken but brutal words, Lord Henry took a step forward, an automatic gesture, to put himself between Baxendale and Eleanor, discovering an overwhelming desire to shield her, to protect her from these destructive insinuations, as if his physical presence could rob the words of their veracity.

It was a futile attempt. Pride came to the rescue as, choking back a sob, Eleanor rose to her feet. She could sit no longer and so walked to the window where the child chattered unintelligibly and pointed excitedly at the circling rooks. She stretched out a hand to touch his hair. Pale gold like his mother, so different from her own dark son. A lively, attractive child who clutched at the coat of his nurse with fierce fists. Then, disturbed by Eleanor’s scrutiny, tears welled in the blue eyes and a wail broke the silence. Eleanor stroked his hair and the nurse shushed him, crooning to him in a soft voice until he hid his face against her shoulder.

Oh, God! How has all this come about?

Eleanor turned to look back over her shoulder at the tableau before the fireplace, with Sir Edward and Miss Baxendale—or was it the Marchioness of Burford?—at its centre. Both fair, well bred and respectable, Octavia appropriately clothed in black silk, a black satin-straw bonnet framing her lovely face—it was indeed difficult to suspect them of any degree of duplicity or trickery. And they had the documents with all the force of the law behind them…

‘This is a matter that needs our consideration, sir.’ Her attention was drawn back to Lord Henry, who had taken a hand in the discussion again. What were his thoughts on this untoward turn in family events? For a moment, his eyes caught hers and she thought that for that one second of contact he was not indifferent to her plight. And then he turned away. ‘What do you intend now, Sir Edward?’

‘It is my intention that we go to London and lay this evidence before your family’s legal man. A Mr Hoskins, I understand. I would presume, in the somewhat peculiar circumstances, that we can take up residence in Faringdon House? I believe that my sister should have that right as we do not possess our own establishment in London.’

‘What?’ Mrs Stamford could take no more. She surged to her feet, fury on behalf of her daughter writ large. ‘I think you presume too much, sir. You have no right whatsoever to take up residence in Faringdon House!’

A quick, startled glance passed between Nicholas and Henry, Nicholas astonished at the man’s effrontery in demanding the Faringdon London residence for his sister’s comfort, but Henry’s frown prevented any comment. His lordship placed a warning hand on Mrs Stamford’s rigid arm.

‘Do not distress yourself, ma’am.’ Turning to Sir Edward, Henry bowed his head in acknowledgement of the claim. ‘Very well, sir. I shall ensure that you are expected there and given every comfort. Although I would suggest that you do not spread word of this…this unfortunate and highly sensitive affair until the legality of your claim is proved.’

‘It is not our intention to provide food for the gossips, my lord.’ There was the merest hint of a reprimand in Baxendale’s quiet voice. He took his sister’s hand once more and drew her to her feet to stand beside him. ‘It would be of no benefit to my sister to be discussed in the streets and clubs more than is necessary. There will be enough scandal as it is. I shall present these documents—’ he replaced them in his inner pocket'—to Mr Hoskins. I think that they will hold up under due investigation by that gentleman—and then they will ensure the inheritance for my sister and her son. The entail on the estate should confirm it.’

‘Very well, Sir Edward. I must bow to your decision in this instance.’

‘I must thank you for your compliance, my lord. Now. If you will excuse us. We are intending to stay the night at the Crown in Tenbury Wells. I am sure that we will be in communication again very soon to straighten out this unfortunate matter.’

‘We shall.’ Lord Henry’s face was grim, every muscle in his body under powerful restraint. ‘We too shall be in London before the end of the week.’

* * *

Eleanor sank down onto the nearest chair as the visitors, accompanied by Nicholas and a furious Mrs Stamford, left the withdrawing-room to continue their journey. She was alone with Lord Henry but seemed oblivious to this. Her eyes were fixed on the window where afternoon sun cast patterns on the carpet and gilded the edge of the shutters. But she saw none of it.

‘Eleanor.’

She turned her head. Slowly, as if it took all her effort of will to force her body to obey, to focus on the man who stood before her. She studied his face with an intensity as if what she found there was of the utmost importance to her. But apparently she could read nothing to give her hope.

‘Eleanor. I presume that you had no suspicion of this terrible débâcle. Not the slightest hint that Thomas might have a liaison elsewhere.’ Henry’s voice held a harsh edge, almost as if, she thought, perhaps he considered that she herself was to some extent to blame.

‘No. How should I? I cannot believe it…’

‘Nor I. It does not sound like Thomas.’ He watched her carefully, aware of the white shade around her mouth as she skimmed the brink of control. Every instinct urged him to take her in his arms and let her cry out her frozen misery against his chest. To carry her off from this place so that she would never again have to face anything as shattering as the revelations of the past hour. But he could not, dare not, too unsure of her reactions to him if he made any intimate gesture. Too unsure of his feelings towards her. There was no place for pity here. And yet the bitter anger at her cold-hearted betrayal of his own love for her no longer seemed to weigh in the balance. A very masculine urge to protect took precedence.

‘That he should already have had a wife and child when he…when he…’ Eleanor swallowed hard and pressed a hand to her lips to stop the words. Then, ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘You do not have to do anything.’ Henry attempted to reassure her. ‘Now is not the time for hasty action. We need to speak with Hoskins before we accept the statements of Sir Edward Baxendale or the weight of his documents. We know nothing of him. We knew everything about Thomas.’ I pray that we did, for your sake!

She hardly listened, took in none of his soft words.

‘How can I do nothing! I have no right to the name I bear. I clearly have no right to live here or in any of the Faringdon properties, if what Miss Baxendale claims is true. And there is no evidence to suggest that it is false. Indeed, the proof for the marriage would appear to be unquestionable.’

She rose to her feet as if she would flee the room.

‘I will do all I can to help you.’ Henry moved to stand in her path. ‘You have only to ask.’

She really looked at him now. Contempt was clearly visible, swirled with the total despair in her eyes, their usual bright amethyst now as dark as bluebells in shaded woods.

‘Will you? Will you indeed, Hal?’

‘Of course. Nell…’ He stretched out his hand as if to touch her arm in compassion, moved by her dignity in spite of her grief.

‘Don’t touch me,’ she hissed the words, taking him—and herself—by surprise at the sudden vehemence. ‘I do not want your pity!’

‘Nell, I understand that you—’

‘No, you don’t. You talked of humiliation when you believed that I had rejected you. You did not know the half of it. If Miss Baxendale’s marriage is indeed legal, imagine what a feast the gossip-mongers will have over that. I shall never be able to hold my head up in society again. And as for my son. I care not for myself. But what can you possibly do to save my child—an innocent victim—from the condemnation of a critical and judgmental society?’

‘You must not allow yourself to contemplate such a possibility. It may yet all come to nothing.’ What other could he say? He fought against self-disgust as he heard his own empty words in the face of her impossible position.

‘No? But if it does stand the test of law, Miss Baxendale’s document will proclaim me a whore and my son a bastard. And you tell me not to worry? You must be thanking God, Hal, for his divine retribution!’ She gave a little crow of hysterical laughter. ‘If I did indeed reject you in order to manipulate Thomas into marriage, as you so clearly suspect, then I have been punished for my sins beyond all belief.’ The laughter shattered and she covered her face with her hands to catch the tears that began to flow.

Ignoring her bitter accusation, answering his own need, he stepped forward, intending to take her in his arms. ‘Never that! Let me help you, Nell.’

‘Go away!’

Logic told him that he should do as she asked, should simply walk away. To hold her would be too dangerous, reawakening the feelings towards her that he did not want to experience ever again. But conscience, instinct perhaps—and something in the depth of his soul that he refused to acknowledge—insisted that he stay and comfort. Henry went with instinct and enclosed her in his arms.

Eleanor was immediately conscious of the warmth and power of his body, enfolding her, holding her against his strength. How strong he was. How easy it would be to simply rest her head on his shoulder and allow him to lift the burden from her, to solve the whole monstrous problem for her. How tempting to curl her fingers around his broad shoulders and simply hold on, until the nightmare dissipated as disturbing dreams must with the coming of daylight. And how foolish it would be to allow herself that luxury! What a terrible mistake to allow him to come too close, to know the thoughts and feelings that assailed her heart and mind, refusing to let her be.

She froze in his embrace as if she could not bear his touch, and almost immediately fought to be free, pushing with frantic hands against his chest, lifting her head proudly, defiantly, regardless of her tear-stained cheeks.

‘No. I do not think I will accept your help, my lord. I need nothing from you.’ Her voice was suddenly cold, derisive even. Although it hurt him immeasurably, he had never admired her courage as much as he did at that moment, but her words struck with deliberate venom, stinging him with their power to wound. ‘Go back to America, Hal. You are well out of it!’

Chapter Four

On the following morning Henry and Nicholas were the only two occupants of the breakfast table, although neither was showing much appetite. Desultory conversation occupied the first ten minutes about the value of breeding their own horseflesh. But finally Nicholas pushed the tankard of ale away across the table, leaned back in his chair and pinned his brother with an unusually stern expression.

‘Do you believe it, Hal?’

‘No.’ His brother’s uncompromising reply did not surprise him.

‘Neither do I. But there is all that proof, with the power of Church and State behind it. Legal documents and such…’ He frowned at Bess, who had placed one confiding and optimistic paw on his boot. ‘Tell me why you don’t believe it. The Baxendales certainly did not appear to be—’

‘Rogues? Tricksters? No, they did not.’ Henry steepled his fingers thoughtfully, elbows resting on the table. ‘Thomas was always ripe for a flirtation with a pretty girl. And Octavia Baxendale certainly qualifies for his interest. I admit, I was surprised to know that he had married Eleanor so soon after I had left. But two wives? One of them in secret when we were all still living here under this roof? Unlikely, anyone who knew him must accept.’ He pushed back from the table, and rose to his feet to pace to the windows, emotion suddenly raw in his voice as he stood with his back to his brother. ‘Why did you have to die, Thomas? And in such a uselessly tragic fashion!’ He leaned his hands on the window ledge and looked out at glorious nature with unseeing eyes. Then, on a deep breath with senses governed once more, he walked slowly back. ‘Apart from anything else, as you very well know, Thomas never could keep a secret to save his life! The number of times he fell foul of our heavy-handed parent because he could not keep a still tongue in his head—he probably totted up one beating a week for one sin or another, whether it was mine or his own was irrelevant.’ His smile was a mere twisting of lips. ‘You were probably too young to remember.’

‘So what do we do?’ Nicholas prompted. ‘Accept the proof and have Sir Edward Baxendale and the lady resident at Burford Hall?’

Henry eyed him with silent, brooding intensity.

‘Perhaps I should sail to America with you,’ Nicholas continued, ‘if he asks me to move out. Which he undoubtedly will. I wager he would not want a Faringdon living under the same roof.’

‘And you would be welcome,’ was the prompt reply. ‘The hunting is excellent—you would enjoy it.’

‘That might tempt me. Is it the land of opportunity that you had hoped for, Hal? You have said very little of your life there—but then we have been taken up with other matters, have we not!’

‘Very true—Baxendale has driven business from my mind somewhat,’ Hal admitted. ‘But, yes—the peace between Britain and America two years ago has ended American isolation, so commerce is free to develop and fortunes to be made. It is still an infant society, but progress is very rapid. New York is growing at a furious rate. Banks and businesses opening every day it seems. So, yes, the opportunity is there for those who are willing to throw the dice and bet confidently on the outcome.’

‘As Faringdon and Bridges will do?’

Hal smiled, a hint of pride evident in his face, his present problems for the moment overlaid by the bright promise of the future. ‘Yes…Faringdon and Bridges. It sounds good, does it not? Even if all we possess is tied up in investment, leaving us on a very uncomfortable precipice of poverty.’

‘I have every confidence and shall come to you for a loan when you have made your first fortune.’ Nicholas returned the smile. ‘And the women of New York?’ He slanted a sly glance at his brother. ‘Are they pretty?’

‘I believe they would compare with London. I have found so.’

‘So tell me, Hal. Is she a prime article?’

‘Of course.’ Hal’s answer was as smooth as watered silk.

‘And the name of this fair Cyprian?’

‘Rosalind—and the rest is none of your affair, little brother, although she would box your ears for you if you dared impugn her morality with such a title.’

Nicholas laughed and Henry broke into a reluctant grin at the exchange but then became deadly serious again and returned to the Baxendale claim. ‘But, no,. I don’t think it would be politic to simply accept the story that we have been fed so far. I think—’

The door opened. The Marchioness of Burford swept into the room, carrying her son, her mother in close pursuit.

‘I do not think, my dear Eleanor, that—’

‘Forgive me, Mama, but I have made up my mind.’

Eleanor came to a halt before Lord Henry, mood confrontational. She had no difficulty at all in meeting his surprised scrutiny this morning, meeting it with a bright gaze that issued a challenge to anyone who might be sufficiently ill advised as to stand in her way. A sleepless night with much time for reflection had achieved a very positive effect on the lady. Yesterday, she acknowledged, she had been weak. Spineless, even. She shivered in humiliation at the memory of her tears and her outpouring of grief and disillusion in Lord Henry’s presence. She must have been out of her mind to do so—to show such weakness. She had no excuse. Today she would grasp the nettle with both hands, crushing the stinging stems and leaves at whatever cost to herself. She would not meekly accept this hideous development. She would fight for her position, and, more importantly, the inheritance of her son!

Letting his gaze rest on her, Lord Henry had to appreciate that the lady had dressed for battle. The arrangement of her burnished ringlets à la Sappho could not be faulted, nor the quiet elegance of her high-waisted, narrow gown, long sleeved with only one row of discreet ruffles around the hem. The black silk creation, rich and costly, gleamed in the morning sunlight, undoubtedly created by the hand of an expert. Probably Eugenie in Bond Street, he thought, unless this most fashionable of modistes had changed in his absence.

Eleanor certainly had, he was forced to admit. Composed and sophisticated, her presence reinforced the impression that he had absorbed since his return. She had grown into her role as Marchioness of Burford and he could not fault her in it, although he felt a strange sense of loss that the young girl he had known had changed for ever.

‘I have decided,’ the Marchioness now announced to the room at large. ‘It is my intention to go to London to confront this problem. I cannot sit here, buried in the country, waiting for decisions on my future to be made without my knowledge. I need to speak with Mr Hoskins. I cannot believe that Thomas had married Octavia Baxendale, visited her and had a son by her without my being aware! Certainly not for the whole span of our marriage! Such deceit is completely unacceptable.’