Potent Pleasures (38 page)

Alex gestured toward the shore. “Your new home lies before you. Shall we disembark?”

“Daphne will be waiting for us,” Lucien said to his sister.

“Do you think Daphne stayed in London after the season ended?” Alex asked curiously. “Won’t she have retired to the country?”

“Oh, no,” Lucien said with calm, absolute certainty. “She would never leave London under the circumstances.”

Alex’s heart gave an odd lurch. He had never even considered the possibility that Charlotte might still be in Sheffield House. But what if she was? What if she too waited for him, not wanting to miss a moment of time with him?

On shore, he saw Lucien and Brigitte off into a carriage and then hailed a hackney himself. Even as they rounded the corner into Grosvenor Square he saw that the house was closed, the shutters down, and the knocker off the door. Charlotte must have taken Pippa to the country. Well, what else could she do? She had no idea when he would return. He had been able to send his wife only one cryptic note during the five months. Still, he supposed Lord Breksby had been in touch with her. First thing tomorrow he would deliver the Napoleon letters to Breksby and by the day after that he could be crushing his wife into the bed. Alex smiled to himself wickedly.

If there seemed to be an air of strain among the few servants left in Sheffield House, Alex didn’t notice. It would never occur to Alex to give a thought to the odd way the two remaining footmen eyed him. He didn’t bother going to his club. Instead he had a long bath and fell into bed, grateful to be on solid ground again. There was really no point in going to White’s, Alex thought drowsily. All his friends would be out of London. Only civil servants like Breksby would remain in London’s sooty streets.

But in fact Lord Breksby had also gone to the country. “He has retired to his estate,” Alex was informed.

And so it was that one of Lord Breksby’s underlings, one Ewart Hastings, had the pleasure of informing the Earl of Sheffield and Downes what a shocking scandal his wife had created in the last five months. The newest tale was that she was pregnant, presumably with his own brother’s child. Alex listened to Hastings’s tale with an absolutely unmoving face. Inside Hastings shivered and thought he’d never seen a more devilish look, but he didn’t stop talking. The allure of telling such an arrogant member of the Quality that his wife had been acting like a strumpet was just too strong. As a junior in civil service, Hastings had put up with endless condescension; he relished every minute of this set-down. So he told it all: Charlotte’s faint when she first encountered Patrick; the
Tatler
article; the fact that Charlotte entertained Patrick in Sheffield House; her subsequent pregnancy.

“About four or five months along,” Hastings said cheerfully, adding, “I’m very sad to say, your lordship.” It had suddenly occurred to him that he himself was in a precarious position. A nerve was pulsing in Alex’s jaw, and his eyes were glowing with rage. Hastings’s mouth shut, and then opened only to say, weakly, “I’m sure there’s no basis in fact for this report, my lord.”

Alex just looked at him. Then he reached across Hastings’s oak desk and ruthlessly grabbed his carefully arranged cravat, jerking him to within an inch of Alex’s furious glare.

“I should hate to hear that you ever repeated any of this foul, slanderous information,” Alex told him through clenched teeth.

“I will not,” Hastings managed to squeak. He could feel sweat pouring down his back. Alex disdainfully pushed him back. Hastings took in a shaky breath. Alex turned on his heel and left without a word.

The minute the door shut, Hastings sat down plumply in his chair. He was trembling like an autumn leaf in a high breeze, he realized. Insane—that’s what Alexander Foakes was. A lunatic. He, Hastings, had only told Foakes what any man on the street could tell him. Just what did Foakes intend to do? Threaten half the population of London?

Hastings carefully cracked the knuckles on his left hand. It calmed him, and his heart began to slow down. Really, what a madman, he thought with a touch of conceit. He started on the knuckles of his right hand. Finally a little smirk touched Hastings’s mouth. His high-and-mighty lordship could abuse as many civil servants as he wished; it wouldn’t change the fact that his new wife was a trollop who was sleeping with his own brother. Hastings’s smile widened. He leaned back in his chair and began to hum a little tune.

Hastings disliked his own wife—a clutch-fisted, quarrelsome woman, he thought—but he could say without the slightest hesitation that she would never sleep with anyone but him. Indeed, she hated the whole performance, as she’d often told him. But if a man’s wife is not his own, well, that man is poorer than the poorest chimney sweep. That’s a fact, Hastings thought. And if that fact made the high-and-mighty earl a bit touchy, Hastings could understand and sympathize.

Alex stalked out to his carriage, absolutely calm. He gave the coachman the address for his solicitor, and sat back in the carriage. Thankfully, he felt nothing. A reasonable voice in his head reminded him that such a scandal was only to be expected, and he agreed. Still, he felt as if someone had poured cold steel through his veins. He didn’t even feel bitter, he thought, a little surprised. He must have known, all along. If anything … he felt a little pain that Patrick would do this to him. Patrick was his other arm, his boyhood companion, his twin. How could he betray him? Yet even this, the grossest of the betrayals facing Alex, didn’t really bother him.

On the other hand, Mr. Jennings of Jennings and Condell found himself bothered indeed. Normally nothing flustered Jennings. No matter what disaster—forged wills, foolish lawsuits, illegal duels—was recounted to him, Jennings maintained a tranquil front. In fact, to his mind the law had the remedy for anything. But surveying the huge, dispassionate earl standing before him, Jennings felt an unfamiliar tremor of panic. If only his father were still alive; his father was so good at handling irate peers and irascible earls. He could talk them out of their bluster and fury in about twenty minutes, blending his soothing voice with large draughts of the very best port. But every instinct cautioned against offering this particular earl a glass of port. He looked murderous, in Jennings’s opinion.

Jennings bowed very low. “My lord,” he said calmly, “won’t you enter my study?” Once Sheffield was settled in his comfortable, book-lined study, Jennings took out a folder. Inside was a copy of the
Tatler
article in question. Jennings sat down in a large leather armchair opposite Alex. He crossed his legs and made a tent out of his delicate fingers.

“I called on your lady the morning after this article appeared,” he said, watching Alex scowl as he read the details of his wedding night in
The Tatler
. “However, I just missed her. Her entourage left for the country that morning. I cannot say I disagree with her decision,” he said in his thin, rather acid fashion. “It would have been remarkably unpleasant had she remained in London. The article, naturally, caused a good deal of excitement.”

He paused. Alex sat back, absolutely composed, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair. Since he said nothing, Jennings continued.

“I took the liberty of hiring an investigator after the article appeared.” He drew another sheet of paper out of the folder on his knee. “I have found that instigating a suit for slander can be remarkably efficacious in quelling a scandal brew of this type. However, detailed information is needed before such a course can be contemplated.” This was Jennings’s way of saying that there wasn’t any point in suing for slander if
The Tatler
’s charges were factually true. “This sheet specifies the activities of your brother, Patrick Foakes, during the week in which he was in London. You will see that he made no effort to contact your wife until he arrived at your house and was informed of your marriage. To my mind, this casts a good deal of doubt on the supposition that the romance was of long standing.”

He paused again.

Alex didn’t say a word, but his teeth involuntarily ground together. Of long standing! Damn right it was, given that it included the taking of Charlotte’s virginity.

Jennings continued. “Your brother accompanied the countess back to Sheffield House from Mrs. Felvitson’s musicale, but he left immediately. He then returned two days later at four o’clock, by appointment. He exited the house at approximately five thirty, by the back entrance. He left by the servants’ entrance because he was aware of the presence of a reporter in the front. Your brother spent the rest of the evening in White’s, where he lost over two hundred pounds at play. The next morning he rose early and left for Leicestershire in company with Braddon Chatwin, the Earl of Slaslow.” Alex looked up. Barring himself, Braddon had been Patrick’s closest friend in school.

“Going to Slaslow’s estate?”

“That would be my surmise. After that point, of course,” Jennings added primly, “I saw no reason to continue investigating the activities of your wife and brother. Consequently I can cast no light on the reports of her pregnancy.” He regarded his tented fingers. “Of course, if the child is born in the near future, there would be no reason for anxiety.” Jennings took a deep breath. What he had to say next was not pleasant. “There is nothing that can be done, legally speaking, about the rumors circulating about your wife. Her future reputation hinges on two things: the birth date of this child, and your attitude.”

Jennings looked up, meeting Alex’s steady eyes. “I am sure I need not tell you how quickly your actions will prove or disprove these rumors in the eyes of the world, my lord.”

Alex nodded. Then he tapped the newspaper on his knee. “And this?”

Mr. Jennings slipped another piece of paper out of his folder. “
The Tatler
was served papers for slander six days after the report was published. They were, of course, expecting this response on our part and had thought to shield their report by labeling your wife ‘the Countess’ and your brother ‘the Twin.’ However, my brief noted that there is in fact only one countess, your wife, who stands in any familial relation to a male twin and therefore they infringed upon the law, which is quite strict with regard to personal slander. After consulting with his solicitors, who naturally concurred with my brief, Mr. Hopkins, the editor, approached me with a quite handsome proposition. They published a full retraction.” Jennings handed Alex another sheet of paper.

“However, this retraction has no real effect, given that the season was over,” Jennings pointed out. “I put this to Mr. Hopkins with some force. I also ventured to name a sum in pounds that I was confident the court would assign to us, should this lawsuit continue. Mr. Hopkins therefore has agreed to publish a further article about ‘the Countess’ and ‘the Twin,’ in April when the season begins again. This article will carry no reference to the lawsuit, and will appear to be simply a further piece of news. However, it will retract all the innuendo that was suggested by the earlier article. The article will be read and approved by yourself and your ladyship before publication. I judged, under these circumstances, that it was better to overlook the report of your wedding night.” Jennings tactfully refrained from mentioning that according to his investigations the article was dead right about that night.

“All this will depend,” Jennings said heavily, “on the birth date of your child, unfortunately.” Silence fell in the room. Jennings stared assiduously at the glowing colors of the Persian rug that adorned his study.

Finally Alex spoke. “Prepare a bill for divorce,” he said abruptly.

“My lord, you are asking me to gather a case against your brother for incestuous adultery. I consider the evidence to be quite slender and I must beg you to reconsider. The proceedings in Parliament would be remarkably distasteful.”

Alex rose. “I will contact you about whether you should proceed with the divorce.”

Jennings bowed, and Alex left the study. He needed to think about all this in peace and quiet. Clearly nothing had happened in London between his wife and Patrick. The fact that Charlotte had fainted when she saw Patrick brought the first twinge of pain that he had felt so far. Of course, she must love him. Women never forgot the man who took their virginity. A deep ache moved through Alex’s heart and was ruthlessly banished.

The babe was obviously the key. If it was his child, Charlotte would now be unwieldy, large, on the verge of giving birth. But it was unlikely, he thought, remembering that he had left in the midst of Charlotte’s monthly bleeding. She wasn’t pregnant when he left, so whose baby did she carry at this moment? He was perfectly conscious that Jennings had talked of “the child”; there was no doubt that Charlotte was carrying someone’s baby, then. It must be Patrick’s.

Abruptly Alex realized that he had mindlessly walked down the street, away from Jennings’s office in the Inns of Court. He cast a look over his shoulder. His groom was following him down the street, walking the horses. The horses were fresh; he might as well head out to Downes Manor. He had horses housed on the post road, and he could ride alongside the carriage. The last thing he needed after weeks in a ship was to be confined in a small, swaying carriage for two days. Alex raised his hand, summoning the groom and carriage, and barked a few commands. One of the footmen hopped nimbly off the back and disappeared down the street. He would gather Alex’s clothes and send them after him to Downes Manor.

I forgot to mention the presents, Alex thought, staring absently after the footman. He had lovingly chosen presents for Charlotte and Pippa over the last months, picking up a piece of glowing blue silk here, a carved wooden toy there. Somehow they had mounted into stacks, evidence of the irresistible presence of his wife and child in his mind over the last five months. Just as well, Alex thought matter-of-factly. He had made enough of an ass of himself, even allowing himself to
think
about Charlotte while he was away. She clearly didn’t give him another thought after he boarded the ship. He felt a twinge of regret at the idea of Pippa’s presents. Still, he could use them to make her feel better when they returned to London without Charlotte.