The Earl's Revenge (12 page)

“Oh, I was informed, all right – at quarter past eleven.” Her gasp intensified his glare. “And you know very well where I was by then – standing in front of five hundred witnesses. I assume the note was from your father, though there was no signature. It contained exactly three scrawled words –
Mary has bolted
."

“Dear God! I must certainly apologize – belatedly, I admit – for the embarrassment that caused. I had not dared leave word for fear he would find out.”

“I would not have told him.” He again sounded affronted.

Elaine lost her temper. “How was I to know that, my lord? Everything I knew about you came from popular report or your mother’s claims. You know very well that you spent as little time with me as possible. Did we exchange a single comment beyond agreement on the state of the weather or the extent of the current crush? Your image was that of a rake, a gamester, and a weakling who was firmly under your mother’s thumb. Yet you have the nerve to berate me for not trusting my future to your hands!”

He turned his head to gaze pensively over the moor, leaving his face in profile. Silence descended, broken only by the cry of gulls. She was near enough to see that he
had
changed since London. Fine lines clustered around the corners of his eyes, noticeable now that he was deep in thought. His clothes displayed a more casual look than during their betrothal – unless he was dressing down for the country.

“I see,” he said at last, turning back to face her and catching her staring.

“It never occurred to me that Father would leave it so late,” she continued in a more subdued voice. “I had expected him to haul me out for morning prayers by six. My only prayer that day was that I would be far enough away to be safe. Once I had successfully escaped, I knew he would never follow.”

“I don’t see why.”

“He is a misogynist, my lord. As is my brother – did you never wonder why he could not be bothered to attend the wedding of his only sister? Hating all women, their sole concern was to be rid of me. Once I successfully escaped the house, Papa would have no reason to follow. And I refuse to believe that you are truly angry over my decision, for you must agree that we would never have suited.”

“I knew that even before offering for you. But as I would not have laid eyes on you again once you produced an heir, it did not matter.”

She raised her brows. “Like Helen? We certainly would not have suited, my lord. I am not the meek, biddable miss you took me for.”

“True. Your father badly misled me on that score. He claimed you were enthusiastic and would perform all duties willingly and with dignity.”

“And you believed him? Anyone who buys a pig in a poke forfeits all right to complain about the merchandise,” she scolded him. “But to be honest, he knew nothing of me either. From the day of my birth, he had demanded absolute obedience and silence unless spoken to. I was allowed neither education nor the freedom to make even the simplest decision. While ignorance might have made me seem conformable, if you had left me to my own devices, that would certainly have changed.”

“That is the second time you have mentioned an inferior education, Miss Thompson. How did that happen?”

“I have already described my father. My mother made no attempt to counter his will, having learned the consequences early on. She was my sole companion and teacher until her death just after I turned eleven.”

“Besides the servants, of course,” he murmured.

“What servants? All females are servants, so we were expected to see after our own needs as well as care for the house. My education consisted of selected Biblical readings and exhortations on duty and obedience. When Mama died, Father was forced to hire a governess. Miss Becklin was the daughter of a very moral clergyman who should have understood a woman’s place in a Christian household. But Anne proved to be a shocking disappointment. In fact, her lessons were so vile and her example so sinful, that she was turned off without a reference. I was thankful she inherited when she did, for the only position she could find after that was very bad.”

“Turned off? My God, what did she do?”

“She encouraged me to think for myself and to ask questions – a most inappropriate activity for a mere female. She allowed me to pray while comfortably seated in a warm room. She permitted me to fritter away a whole hour each day on art, music, and embroidery. But what got her the sack was forcing me to read that lewd and ungodly work,
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
.”

 “You jest!”

“Not in the least. Having lost all faith in unknown governesses, however strong their recommendations, he sent me to his sister. After that I saw him briefly once a year when he came to make sure that I was comporting myself properly. Since she shared his ideas to the letter – including his disdain of all females – he was always satisfied.”

“Are you saying that she taught you nothing a young lady of society should know?”

“Of course. Why should she encourage moral turpitude? You must know what a Godless place London is. One cannot go anywhere without being subjected to vulgar behavior or tempted into such sinful acts as gaming and dancing, to say nothing of those dens of iniquity, the theaters. And of course, all of society flaunts itself shamelessly before the world. The posing and strutting in Hyde Park is but the tip of the iceberg. Think of the scandalous way women expose their bodies! Jezebel cannot begin to compare.”

Bridgeport was choking with laughter, raising an answering glimmer in Elaine’s eyes.

She continued. “Father solemnly decried the heavy burdens suffered by good Christians in these decadent times – this was in our one interview on my seventeenth birthday; it was the only time we ever met that he was not censuring my behavior. It seems that having raised me so properly, he was left with the nearly insurmountable problem of finding me a husband. Not all gentlemen have seen the light of true redemption, you must agree. Poor Papa. He grudgingly accepted the existence of women only because he had found no other way to obey God’s command to multiply. But that marginal tolerance for his wife did not extend to a useless daughter. He wanted me off his hands as soon as possible, but was unwilling to spend a groat to do so. When your mother made her interest known, he jumped at the chance.”

“Why did you never mention this before?”

“You haven’t been listening, my lord. Given the reality of eight years ago, you are the last person I would have told. You were a bad-tempered stranger with no more interest in me than my father had, and I had been taught to remain silent when in the presence of men to acknowledge their supposedly superior status, speaking only in response to a direct question. I had not yet learned that Grimfield’s view of the world was far from universal – in fact, it was downright idiotic. But enough of ancient history. I am sorry to have disturbed your peace this morning. If you will excuse me, I must be going.”

“You mean to stay locked away in this wild corner of the land for the rest of your life then? You will never find a husband here.”

“Ah, men. So single-minded and so determined to assume that all women are alike. Not that it is any of your business, but I like it here. Shakespeare’s Polonius was wise.
To thine own self be true
. I have no intention of ever wedding. After living seventeen years enslaved to a man’s whims, the freedom of the last eight is too precious to cast aside.”

“Freedom?” he asked skeptically.

“Freedom from tyranny. When a person achieves control over another for whom he cares nothing, he is apt to become a tyrant. That is particularly true when the one in charge is selfish and believes himself to be infallible. He makes decisions and issues commands without considering the best interests of his subject. Never will I place myself in that position again.”

“But how can you call it freedom when it forces you to retire to so desolate a place?”

“Not everyone considers Cornwall an example of purgatory, my lord. Perhaps I will someday decide to visit other parts of the country. Or perhaps I will never tire of this corner. Let us simply leave it that I am happy.” She shouldered her bag and set off down the trail without another word.

Mark watched her go, greatly troubled by what she had revealed. He had nurtured his hatred long after the debacle of that day had fallen victim to newer scandals on the lips of the gossips. Now he wondered which of them was the greater victim.

Yet her words were too blithe. She could easily have informed him of her decision. Any street urchin would have delivered a note, as would the hackney driver who had carried her to whichever coaching inn she had used. Despite her upbringing, she should have known that no honorable gentleman would have forced her to marry under the circumstances she had just described. Understanding honor was bred into every member of society. Youthful naïveté was an insufficient explanation. She deserved to suffer for what she had put him through.

Sighing, he turned toward home. Burgess could collect Helen. He would not risk running into Miss Thompson again this day. He needed to settle his emotions if he were to successfully carry off his plans.

Nothing had changed. Despite her pronouncements of happiness and willing spinsterhood, she would fall in love with him. And Helen’s lessons would provide an excellent excuse to see the annoying wench often.

A loud crack exploded through the air. Leaves showered his head and shoulders, accompanied by twigs and chunks of bark. Jumping hastily aside, he looked up. A branch had broken loose from an ancient oak, its tip catching in a lower limb as it fell. As he watched, it tore free and crashed onto the path where he had been standing moments before.

Lady Luck still favored him. If it had not caught, he would be badly injured – or worse.

He shivered. Treselyan had many problems. Laxity on the part of the groundskeeper was one of them. The fallen branch was well-rotted and others showed long-standing damage. Frowning, he turned his steps toward the steward’s office.

Anne was frowning when she returned from the village baker’s. “Mrs. Hedges just told me the most fantastic story,” she reported, joining Elaine in the parlor. “She was in Bodmin yesterday.”

“What now?”

“Bridgeport not only left town to escape arrest for murder, but also to evade his creditors, having gamed away his entire fortune in the course of his dissolute life.”

Some memory again teased the back of Elaine’s mind. “So in addition to killing several people, including his own parents, and conducting at least one duel, he is now thought to be badly indebted. These stories must be exaggerations if not outright fabrications. He claimed at the squire’s that someone was deliberately attacking his reputation.” She tried to bring that elusive memory into focus, but it stubbornly refused to cooperate.

“True. It is difficult to reconcile indebtedness with the enormous expense of replacing the roof at Lady Helen’s home. Westron is not even his principal seat. I wonder where the tale started. There has been no mention of it in the London papers.”

“Nor has anyone returned from London recently. I suppose Lady Graceford might have heard some hint. She carries out a prodigious correspondence.” The dowager viscountess lived in state just outside of Bodmin and was often the source of scandalous stories. One of her life-long friends was Lady Beatrice, London’s premier gossip.

Anne shook her head. “I hope it proves false. I quite like Helen.”

Elaine agreed. They chatted for some time on the doings of the villagers before she excused herself to do some sketching. There were only two poems left that she planned to illustrate.

* * * *

Bridgeport glared at the missive in his hand. It was a hurried note from Lord Carrington warning him that several people had decided to keep him company.

“Damnation!” he snorted in disgust. Not that he disliked socializing. It was one of the reasons he lived in London. But he was enjoying the peace of Cornwall, and none of his imminent visitors was particularly congenial.

He read the note again. Richard had been hard pressed to recall how the idea for the party had arisen, but he had decided to join them because he knew that Mark would need help and would appreciate at least one friendly face.

Scanning the names, Mark agreed. He could picture exactly what had happened.

Lord and Lady Means. In addition to the lady’s continuing efforts to lure him back to her bed, her husband was nearly run off his legs and probably needed to rusticate for a time. Leaving town during the very costly Season would reduce his expenditures. Living off someone else’s generosity would be even better. Descending on Mark was probably Lady Means’s idea, tossed out at some dull rout or during the fashionable hour in Hyde Park.

Mrs. Caroline Woodleigh would have welcomed the trip. He should have formally broken with her before leaving town, but he had not, naïvely hoping she would turn elsewhere in his absence. Stupid! He should know better by now. The only people who willingly cut connections with him were fiancées and cuckolded husbands.

Mr. Peter Hardwicke was a surprise. He might also be rusticating, especially if he had continued haunting the tables. But journeying all the way to Treselyan made such innocuous intentions suspect.

Mark had not forgotten that day at White’s. Nor could he ignore memory of the next morning. Hardwicke had arrived to settle his bets, ashen faced and still suffering the effects of several bottles of brandy. Mark would have liked to accept only half of the debt, but there was no way to suggest such a thing without insulting Hardwicke’s honor. Peter had paid in full, though it stripped him of every shilling he had recently inherited from a nabob uncle, leaving him nothing but the allowance he received as his father’s heir. Mark had allowed him to rant about the game and even hint at unscrupulous play, only making a single mild disclaimer in the face of words that normally would provoke a duel. Now he wondered if that was what Hardwicke had wanted. Why was he coming?

The others on the guest list were hangers-on – Caroline’s companion, Miss Westmont; Lady Means’s niece, Miss Throckmorton, who had lived with her aunt since the death of her parents; and Richard’s very green cousin, Reggie Taylor. Leaving the cub behind without supervision was bound to lead to trouble.