The Heart's Companion (4 page)

The boys rose reluctantly and bowed to their aunts and the earl. At the door, Bertram turned back to the earl. "You’re a great gun, my lord. And don’t worry about Aunt Jane ’cause she’s a great gun, too," he confided in a grown-up, man-to-man fashion. Grinning cheekily, he gave a jaunty little hop-skip and followed his brother out of the room.

"You must not mind Bertram, Jane. Miss Bailee’s desertion affected him profoundly. I believe he is merely hedging his bets that you shall not also desert him," Lady Elsbeth said after the door closed behind the children.

"I judge the lad is suffering from a surfeit of feminine skirts," drawled Lord Royce.

Jane could not help but agree with the earl’s assessment. "I believe it to be particularly galling since Penwick Park is accoutered with all manner of sporting equipment. Unfortunately, Edward is too young to enjoy it with Bertram, and the only other neighborhood boy, being almost a full head taller than Bertram, has the attitude of a bully. Upon my brother-in-law’s return, I shall advise that he replace Miss Bailee with a tutor, a young man more inclined to encourage and channel Bertram’s energies."

Lord Royce agreed with her, stayed a few minutes longer exchanging pleasantries, then took his leave. Jane Grantley watched him depart for the third time that day, her black brows drawn thoughtfully together. This time her feelings were uncertain. If she had not been aware of his history, she would have sworn he came solely for the children. His manner after they quitted the room lacked the ease he had displayed in their presence. It was as though the earl liked children! Impossible. Everyone talked of how shabbily he had treated his own son by refusing to legitimize him, though the child was of gentle birth. There were even rumors that the boy died at three years of age due to abuse—or at least neglect. The man was an enigma.

Nonetheless, while she could be thankful for his kindness to her nephews, the memory of the way he’d carried her out of the briar patch and his subsequent claim of his prize brought a return of high color to her cheeks. The Earl of Royce was a mannerless lout trading upon his title for acceptance. Well, she did not believe a title excused rude, forward behavior!

Suddenly aware of a prolonged silence in the room, Jane glanced at her aunt, catching her thoughtful regard. Jane dropped her eyes and shifted uneasily in her chair, making a show of pouring more tea into her cup from the Meissen porcelain pot on the table next to her. Relaxing back in her chair, she turned to smile at Elsbeth, her composure finally intact. She calmly sipped her tea.

The brew was distastefully tepid.

The next afternoon Jane wandered into the stillroom, a sheaf of papers in her hand and a frown pulling her brows together. "I think a dinner followed by dancing is what we should plan for the day our guests arrive."

Lady Elsbeth did not look up from the herbs she was grinding between mortar and pestle. "If you say so, my dear, I certainly have no objection; however, I thought it was your intention to plan country entertainments that Serena would dislike. I doubt she will fault dinner and dancing."

"I know, but I have decided our first task is to turn her attention from my state of spinsterhood. If we include Lord Royce in our invitation, Aunt Serena and Millicent will be diverted before they implement whatever devious plans they have for me."

"Gracious! How can you be sure they possess devious plans?"

Jane shrugged and laid her papers on the workbench. "They did once. I see no reason for them not to do so again."

Lady Elsbeth pursed her lips, studying her niece. The afternoon sun, streaming in the high, narrow windows of the cool subterranean stillroom, bathed Jane in a glow of light. Oh, how she wished to be in Jane’s confidence! She was so outwardly self-assured, yet inwardly she hurt from some disappointment unknown to Elsbeth. Possibly it was suffering caused by the very contretemps lying between her and Serena. No matter, little by little she would discover the particulars. She only hoped it would be sooner than later, for she placed no confidence in the earl dancing attendance on Millicent. As the widow of David Hedgeworth, Millicent possessed wealth, but nothing compared with Jane’s holdings. Being, as she understood from the voluble Mrs. Chitterdean, on a repairing lease, Lord Royce could well turn his attention to Jane as the wealthier of the two, and that would certainly set the cat amongst the pigeons. And she could envision that circumstance, for though she deplored the public persona Jane adopted in London society, she was dismayed to perceive it faltering in the earl’s company. She had never witnessed that before. It boded ill.

"Pass me that bottle of oil, if you please, Jane," said Lady Elsbeth calmly. "What other plans are you making?"

"An alfresco breakfast on the terrace followed by some games, such as pall mall or an old-fashioned round of battledore and shuttlecock. Then perhaps we’ll encourage the gentlemen to play court tennis, billiards, or shovelboard; activities that will keep them together and away from the ladies."

"Serena will not find favor with that circumstance."

"Precisely."

"It might work," Lady Elsbeth said while measuring the mixture into a clean glass bottle.

"Of course it will work. Particularly since I intend to encourage the children’s company during all our daytime activities. If I know those boys, they will take Lady Tipton’s measure soon enough and delight in plaguing her. "

"Jane! I will not have those boys playing nasty tricks like—like toads in beds or—or worms in drinks."

Jane laughed. "Rest assured, though I have no love for my Aunt Serena, I would not descend to that level. After all, she is my mother’s sister, and I know Mama would disapprove of such measures. No, I will merely encourage them to be attentive."

Lady Elsbeth shook her head doubtfully. "You have a devious mind. I wonder why I never noted it before."

"Devious?" Jane laughed, her green eyes shining like emeralds. "If I am, my relations have proved apt teachers. Between Aunt Serena and Cousin Millicent with their machinations, and Bertram and Edward with their high pranks. I’ve had a liberal education."

Lady Elsbeth raised an eyebrow. She shook fresh herbs into her mortar and continued working her pestle in thoughtful silence.

Jane wandered over to a long, narrow shelf lined with varicolored glass bottles. Absently she began straightening the haphazard row, her fingers leaving tracks against the smooth patina of dust. Her mind turned fretfully to the memory of her meeting with the earl.

"Jane, hand me that other vial of oil, would you please, dear? The one on the end," Lady Elsbeth said, grinding the herbs in her stone bowl one last time before laying aside her pestle on the workbench.

She picked up the slender green glass bottle and carried it over to her aunt. "Elsbeth," she began pensively, "what is the story behind Lord Royce? I mean, is he really as villainous as I’ve heard? Some of the tales are ten years old if they’re a day, and not every telling has quite agreed on the facts."

"The Devil’s Disciple?" Lady Elsbeth Ainstree smiled wryly as she took the bottle from Jane. "Not knowing what you’ve heard, I cannot say; however, it has been my experience that tales grow with the telling. Still, it was a particularly nasty story even before time’s embroidery."

She uncorked the bottle and carefully poured a few drops onto the crushed herbs in the bowl. She recorked the bottle and resumed her work with the herbs. "I remember the incident that sparked the scandal, for it involved the younger sister of a friend of mine. I felt greatly for my friend during the episode. It made a terrible scandal."

"What exactly happened? I was only what? Ten at the time? I didn’t know anything of it then, of course; but, it was one of the first tales I heard after my come out."

Lady Elsbeth’s hands slowed, and the expression in her soft, hazel eyes grew pensive as she thought back on that time ten years ago. "I was twenty-three and spending most of my time with my brother, your Uncle Hereward, and his family. I was not part of the social whirl. I think it was measles that time, that your cousins had, I mean.

"Royce, who had inherited the title from his father three years before, was a Corinthian even at twenty-two. He lived and spent freely. He was wild to a fault. Up to every rig and row imaginable. He didn’t care a groat for what scandalized society. It was all so much grist for the mill. Of course, at that time the Royce family fortune must have seemed immense and inexhaustible. I have heard it said that his wild behavior was the direct result of the repressive childhood he endured. Certainly his mother. Lady Aurelia Morecaster, had no time for children. I believe the tale he told the boys about his mother leaving to visit friends so she wouldn’t have to hear him cry out in anguish or pain. She talked incessantly, I remember, about her sensibilities. "

Remembering the earl’s comment about his lack of sensibilities and wondering if that came as a result of his mother’s excesses, Jane’s lips drew together in a moue of distaste.

"Eventually he ran off to Europe with Vivian Montrechet. Vivian was a gay, starry-eyed seventeen-year-old in her first season. From all tales she was very popular with the gentlemen. I believe your Uncle Edward even dangled after her for a time. Needless to say, she only had eyes for the Royce title and wealth."

"Why did he leave the country and not come back until now?"

Elsbeth sighed. "Royce was a hot-headed scoundrel and became embroiled in more than one duel. The last was with a Mr. Quarrels and involved an accusation of cheating at cards. To Royce’s credit, I will say the accusation was leveled at Quarrels. Anyway, Royce severely injured the man. For a time it was doubtful he would live. It was strongly suggested to Royce that he go abroad in case Quarrels succumbed to his wounds for which there might have been legal repercussions."

"Do not tell me this Mr. Quarrels was Mr. Jonah Quarrels?"

Lady Elsbeth laughed. "I see I will not have to."

"So where Royce failed, young Mr. Drummond succeeded?" Jane said dryly.

"If one could call mutual misfortune success."

"I can understand why he left, but why did he remain exiled when it was seen that Mr. Quarrels would recover?"

Lady Elsbeth shook her head and shrugged. "Possibly because he did not go abroad alone. Vivian Montrechet accompanied him, and the story was that he lured her with marital promises, which he promptly renounced, or merely forgot, once her reputation was in tatters. They gadded about the continent; then—oh, I believe it was some two to three years later—Vivian gave birth to a boy.

"But, even with an heir at hand, Royce refused to legitimize the child.

"And shortly thereafter, Vivian disappeared."

One raven eyebrow rose. "Disappeared? Oh, come now, Elsbeth. These days people do not just disappear. I will admit I have heard varying tales, but to say she simply disappeared? That is too much like one of those Gothic novels! I heard that he grew tired of her and ruthlessly turned her out; but he kept the child, callously refusing the mother egress to her own offspring."

Lady Elsbeth smiled. "To be sure, it makes a better lesson told that way," she offered dryly, her hazel eyes twinkling. "But I confess, over the years I have not been in circumstances conducive to hearing gossip."

Jane folded her arms across her chest and leaned back against the workbench. She tilted her head. "But what of the child? I’ve heard the boy died at three."

Lady Elsbeth nodded. "Perhaps fortuitously."

"Elsbeth!"

Distracted, Lady Elsbeth ran long fingers through her short, brown curls. "I’m sorry, my dear, but think, the child was a bastard and not even a publicly acknowledged one at that. The son of a rakehell and a woman who was no better. What sort of life would he have had?"

Jane refused to contemplate that question. Instead she asked, "How did he die?"

"That is a question that has much occupied society and speculation has not always run to natural or ill-health causes."

Jane shivered. "The man’s history makes him a monster! How could you even countenance him at our tea yesterday? I’m terribly sorry Elsbeth. If I had known ..."

"Stuff and nonsense. If you had known you would have shunned his acquaintance altogether and missed coming to know a fascinating man. I am telling you the stories that circulate, as I know them. Obviously there are others, for you yourself said you’ve heard varying tales. Personally, I find them particularly fascinating in light of his behavior with the boys. I now find it difficult to imagine him abusing or neglecting the child to the extent that it would cause its death. "

Jane frowned. "There is merit to your argument. Still...."

"Still nothing! As a youth Royce was wild to a fault, and may yet be under that polished charm he displays to advantage. But I’ll wager my best diamond studs that he is neither a murderer nor an abuser! I detect a surprisingly strong sense of integrity in the man. And there is his patience with the boys to consider. Heaven only knows they require patience!" she finished flatly, drawing another clean bottle forward to fill. She paused, staring off at some unknown sight. Then she reverently picked up the red leather-bound journal she used to record her herbal recipes. She flipped through it, searching. Finally, she put the book down on the workbench and turned it to face Jane.

"The tutor Hereward employed for his boys used to give them quotes to copy as handwriting exercises. They were always also moral lessons. One day when I was visiting the schoolroom, this was the quote he’d assigned."

Gossip is mischievous, light and easy to raise, but grievous to bear and hard to get rid of. No gossip ever dies away entirely, if many people voice it: it too is a kind of divinity.

Works and Days Hesiod c. 700 B.C.

The silence in the stillroom lengthened as Jane considered the words Elsbeth had written among her herbal secrets. Without a word, she turned to face the workbench, her hands moving to slowly gather her papers together again. Elsbeth was right. The man who helped Edward down from that tree then joined them for tea bore little resemblance to the monster, the true Devil’s Disciple of society’s tales. Those tales had achieved a kind of divinity. It would no doubt be impossible to live down, let alone eradicate those tales.

Jane found she could not forget those fleeting shadows of sorrow she detected in the earl’s dark eyes, nor the slight edge to his voice when he spoke of the past. But if she was to mercilessly throw Millicent at his head, then she must not feel any sympathy for the man. He had to be the villain he was painted, else she could not in clear conscience maneuver him into Millicent’s noisome web. She acknowledged the uncharitable nature of her thoughts and wished they could be otherwise. But where she could hold a doubt as to Lord Royce’s perfidy, she could not do the same for her aunt and cousin.

Lady Elsbeth briskly finished bottling her herbals, but her movements were automatic, her thoughts more than ten years in the past. She, too, once believed the tales society told. She listened, believed, and acted properly affronted at all the scandalous whispers. She didn’t know how she came to be so naive. Perhaps it was because she was the youngest of seven children and accustomed to her elder siblings directing her actions and thoughts. Or perhaps it was because there was some measure of truth in the tales.

It was a truth that had knifed her heart and bled her dry. At eighteen she had loved a rakehell; but she turned her back on him when he’d extended his hand. Her family, her position as daughter of the Duke of Ruthaven, her moral priorities—they all weighted her down. Often she was haunted by that last meeting with him. It took place on one of the more private walks at Vauxhall Gardens. It was a beautiful night, clear and fragrant. The sounds of music and voices and laughter wafted through the air. She confronted him with the truth of the tales she’d heard. He countered with words like love, trust, and honor while bitterness etched his moonlit face. He swore that he never lied to her and would never do so. He left belief and acceptance in her hands. To her everlasting regret, she believed the scurrilous tales before him.

In retrospect, she acquitted herself due to youth and unworldliness. But it made no matter. The damage was done, and fifteen years later she was an imprisoned spinster. She would not have that be Jane’s fate. It was not that she thought the Earl of Royce a match for her niece, for truly she did not. Nonetheless, if Jane accepted society’s tales without question now, she may well do so on other, more important occasions. No. Jane must be made to evaluate Lord Royce freely, without prejudice. Whereas Jane planned to throw Royce and Millicent together, Elsbeth would work to see that Jane also spent time with the earl. And remembering his easy camaraderie with Bertram and Edward, that shouldn’t be too difficult to arrange. She would have to do something about her sister though. That would take some consideration.