A Scandalous Past (Regency Romance, Book 4) (10 page)

Thomas peered into his cup and sniffed,
crinkling up his nose.

The sight made Brendan laugh.  “Thomas,
if you don’t want to drink it, you don’t have to.”

“No, no.” The boy frowned. “I’ll try
it.”  He tentatively tipped the snifter back and took just a
sip.  He squinted and moved his tongue around like a dog
trying to get rid of a bad taste.

“All right,” Brendan said with an indulgent
smile. “You’re not ready for it yet. We’ll try again next
year.”

Pleased, Thomas placed the glass on a side
table. He tilted his head to one side, looking intently at his
uncle. “What are you working on in London?”

“A little family business. Something your
grandmother left undone.”

Thomas nodded, as if he understood, though
he couldn’t possibly fathom what Brendan was trying to accomplish.
He hoped to keep it that way. Thomas’ life as a bastard would be
hard enough over the years. He didn’t need to know he was the
grandson of a traitor as well. “How’s Rose?” he asked, hoping to
change the subject.

“The same,” Thomas answered quickly.

It would have been a surprise if he’d
answered differently. Rosamund had been
the same
for more
years than Brendan could remember. She seemed to be perpetually ten
or eleven years old, never advancing mentally. In the past, Brendan
had invited all sorts of doctors to examine his sister, but no one
could ever come up with a reason for her strangeness, nor a cure.
One fellow suggested sending her off to live in a hospital in
Scotland, but Brendan wouldn’t hear of it and tossed the man out.
No one would love Rose and care for her like her family. He
couldn’t possibly trust her care to someone else. Whatever was
wrong with Rose, she deserved better than that.

“Are you all right, Uncle?” Thomas
asked.

Brendan nodded. “Of course, Tom. Why would
you think otherwise?”

Thomas pursed his lips and furrowed his
brow. “I don’t know. You just seem different.”

If a ten-year-old boy could tell he was
different, Brendan didn’t have chance of fooling anyone else. He
wished he knew what
seemed
different about him, so he could
try and mask whatever it was.

“This business,” Thomas continued, “of
grandmother’s. If it’s waited this long, will it hurt to let it
wait some more?”
           
Brendan shook his head. “I’m afraid so, Thomas. The sooner I take
care of this situation, the sooner things can go back to
normal.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Brendan
wasn’t certain he wanted things to go back to normal. What if he
courted Cordelia in earnest? God, he couldn’t get her off his mind.
The way she tasted like sweet summer berries, the way her rounded
breasts felt pressed against his chest, the way she made him harder
than he’d ever been in his life.

He had to find the letters. If by some
miracle he could convince the girl to marry him, her future would
be forever tied to his. He couldn’t risk bringing her into his
family if the letters dangled out there, ready to ruin everything
in their life with no notice.

No, everything hinged on finding his
mother’s letters.

When Cordie was five, she made the mistake
of telling her father over dinner that she wasn’t going eat her
“bloody” squash. Her mother and sister’s mouths had dropped open
and all three of her brothers sucked in surprised breaths. Her
father, an imposing man, had pushed away from the table, snatched
her up with one hand, and returned her to the nursery, where he
blistered her backside. He hadn’t even asked where she heard
that
word—he hadn’t needed to. The next day, both Russell
and Tristan walked with the same painful limp she did.

Her father’s punishment was a blessing in
comparison to what her mother had doled out in the years since.
Cordie wasn’t quite certain how, but her mother’s blows always
seemed more powerful than she remembered her father’s being all
those years ago. And while Lord Avery quietly went about his
business with a steely determination, Lady Avery ranted and wailed
the entire time.

Cordie went without dinner the first night
in Malvern Hall. She couldn’t possibly sit down if she wanted to.
Lying down hurt as well. So she leaned against a heavy armoire in
her guest room and tried to convince herself that the pain would
subside soon. It always did. Her situation was desperate, more so
every moment she remained at home.  She needed to marry
quickly. It was her only way out of the situation.

She was so confused now. Haversham or
Clayworth? The two men couldn’t be more different. Days ago, the
choice would have been easy. 

Haversham desired her and would offer her
the freedom she most wanted. He was sinfully handsome and his very
presence spoke of untold pleasures that awaited her. Her mother
would hate him, and that was definitely a plus in his favor.

Clayworth, on the other hand, was more
difficult to figure out. He was a dichotomy. For years she’d heard
Marina complain about her loveless marriage. Clayworth was cold,
cruel, passionless. She knew each complaint by heart. But she was
having a difficult time rectifying those words with the man who
held her and kissed her with a fierce passion.  Was he like
that with Marina in the days before their marriage? And then did it
just go away? She didn’t think she could take his defection. Her
heart couldn’t withstand the pain of losing his affection. After
one kiss, she knew this with absolute certainty.

A knock interrupted her thoughts, and Cordie
stepped away from the armoire.  “Come in,” she called as
brightly as she was able.

Phoebe quickly stepped inside and spun to
face Cordie, anguish marring her pretty features. “I am so sorry,
Cordie. I-I…Well, I’m the biggest fool there is.”

Though she currently agreed with her friend,
it wouldn’t help to stay angry at Phoebe. She shook her head and
feigned the sweetest smile she could manage. “Don’t be silly. I’m
fine.”

Her friend’s face fell even more. “Don’t
pretend. I heard her. I heard the things she said, and then you
didn’t come to dinner…”

“I’m not really hungry.”

Phoebe threw her arms around Cordie. Pain
radiated through her body and she couldn’t help but suck in a
steadying breath. Phoebe jumped back quickly. “Good heavens! Are
you
hurt
too?”

“It’s not that bad,” Cordie answered. Over
the years she’d been subjected to her mother’s punishments more
often than she’d like, but this latest bout was the worst ever.
However there was no reason for Phoebe to know that. There was no
reason for anyone to know.

Her friend’s face scrunched up as if she was
going to cry. “I’ll have Millie take a look at you.”

“Please don’t.” All she needed was for
everyone at Malvern Hall to learn of this.

“Cordie, if I hadn’t opened my mouth you
wouldn’t… Well, you’re obviously in pain. Millie won’t tell a soul.
And she’s real good with ointments and such… If you need that.”

It would be nice to sit down.  She
nodded her head once, mortified that anyone knew what had happened
to her.

***

Phoebe easily found Millie, a maid, in the
dressing room off her grandmother’s suite of rooms, sorting through
stockings. The maid greeted her with a smile and tucked a grey curl
under her cap.  “Miss Greywood, you look like you’ve gotten
into to some sort of trouble again.”

Truly, she generally was in some sort of
trouble whenever she sought Millie out. A scrape here, a scratch
there. A ripped seam here, a torn flounce there. She didn’t enjoy
being accident prone, but since she was, she’d had no choice but to
stay in Millie’s good graces. This was the first time she didn’t
need Millie’s expertise for herself. An image of Cordie’s
pain-stricken face flashed in her mind, and a fresh wave of guilt
washed over her.

“Millie, I need your help and your
silence.”

The maid frowned at her, punching her hands
to her hips. “What sort of trouble are you in, Missie?  And if
it has anything to do with that Wilkins boy, you better tell me
right now.”

Warmth rushed up Phoebe’s cheeks. How could
Millie think
that
? “Of course not! Heavens, Millie, is that
your opinion of me?”

The old woman sighed, then shook her head.
“You certainly wouldn’t be the first woman to make foolish choices
because of a man. Most of us have done so one time or another. But
that
particular
trouble isn’t something I could help with. I
wouldn’t have a clue what to do.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Phoebe replied in
an appalled whisper. “My friend, Miss Avery, has been hurt. No one
can know, but I need you to look at her.”

“Hurt?”

“I haven’t seen the injury myself. I came
right to fetch you.”

“What were the two of you up to that no one
can know?” the old woman asked suspiciously.

Phoebe’s face heated up again. Millie was
generally much easier to deal with. “We weren’t up to anything. I
think her mother hurt her. Will you please come look at her?”

Millie frowned, but nodded her head.

Once inside Cordie’s room, Millie took
immediate control. She barely greeted Cordie, before she unbuttoned
her dress and pulled it over her head in one fluid move. Phoebe
took the gown and draped it over a chintz chair. When she heard the
maid’s gasp, Phoebe spun around. She couldn’t quite believe what
she saw. Cordie’s entire back and bottom was raw and red. There
were even some spots with dried blood.

“Oh, my!” Phoebe stared in shock.

“Miss Greywood, find one of Miss Avery’s
nightrails. Help her get it on. I’ll be back,” the maid ordered
softly.

“Please,” Cordie begged.

The maid held up her hand. “I know. I won’t
tell anyone.”

As Millie left, she briefly met Phoebe’s
eyes, and she knew she’d done the right thing in going for the
maid. Phoebe found a soft silk nightrail in the armoire and turned
back to Cordie. Silent tears were streaming down her friend’s face,
and Phoebe’s heart ached at the sight. Cordie was always
composed—the most confident and self assured of all her
friends.

She rushed forward, holding out the
nightrail. “Let me help you.”

Wordlessly, Cordie nodded and together they
slid the soft material over her head and down her battered body.
Once that chore was done, Phoebe felt completely helpless. There
was nothing for her to do, and she didn’t want to gape at her
friend.

“Mother said everyone expects Lord Clayworth
to offer for you.”

“It’s possible,” Cordie whispered. “I’m
sorry, Phoebe, I know you’d decided to set your cap for him. I
promise I didn’t encourage him.”

That Cordie could be worried about hurting
her feelings when she was in so much pain herself, Phoebe couldn’t
believe. She waved her off. “I don’t even know the man. But I
thought you didn’t like him. I thought you couldn’t even abide
him.”

Cordie sighed. “I don’t know what I think
anymore, Phoeb. My heart says one thing and my mind says something
else.”

“Tell me,” Phoebe pleaded. Talking was
better than the silence that made her remember her friend’s
injuries.

Cordie looked forlorn. “My heart says
Clayworth. He kissed me, and I felt like his soul touched mine. I
know that sounds foolish.”

“No. It sounds heavenly.” Phoebe couldn’t
even imagine how that would feel, but the words were lovely. “So,
it’s Clayworth, then.” If a man made her feel like that, it
wouldn’t be a contest.

Cordie shook her head. “As women we’re so
ruled by our hearts, and I think we end up getting hurt because of
it, making foolish mistakes. We should think with our heads. Make
wise decisions. My head says Haversham.”

Phoebe softly giggled. “You do realize that
sounds ridiculous.”

She was glad when Cordie smiled back. “He’s
a scoundrel, Phoebe. He doesn’t care what anyone says, what anyone
thinks. He does whatever he wants. He’s like Kelfield. Can you
imagine the duke keeping Livvie prisoner? Or not letting her do
what she wanted?”

“No.” Kelfield was besotted with Livvie.
Anyone who saw them knew that. Phoebe wasn’t so certain it was
because he was a scoundrel, though. It could just be that he was so
in love with her. But then, maybe Cordie was right. Maybe it was
because she was a woman and thought with her heart that she
believed the romantic version.

Millie returned that moment, carrying a
pitcher of water and a satchel of supplies. “All right, Miss Avery,
lay on your stomach. This will sting a bit.”

***

Cordie slept better than she’d expected. Of
course, Millie had given her a sleeping drought which helped
immensely. She was stiff and sore, but after bathing, she felt much
better. When her maid, Bessie, came in for her, Cordie was already
dressed. The fewer people who knew of her injuries the better. Not
that Bessie would be surprised, but Cordie wanted a little
privacy.

She found her way downstairs and stopped a
footman for directions to the breakfast room.

“Miss, you follow this hall, and—”

“I’ll show her,” interrupted a voice Cordie
could have gone the rest of her life without hearing again.

She took a deep breath and looked over her
shoulder at Captain Gabriel Seaton, handsome as ever in his blue
naval regimentals. His light brown eyes assessed her and he nodded
in greeting. “Cordelia.”

Cordie hadn’t seen him since she’d broken
off their engagement and his presence here was most surprising.
“Captain,” she answered stiffly. It would have been nice to know
he
was here.

The captain offered her his arm, which she
grudgingly took, not seeing a way around the situation. “I am
surprised to see you here.”

He sighed. “As I was surprised to find
myself seated next to your mother at dinner last night. Are you
feeling better this morning?”