The Last of Lady Lansdown (12 page)

No such luck. When she slipped into the entryway, she encountered Griggs, who appeared to be waiting for her. “Your family awaits you in the drawing room, m’lady.”

Drat and damnation. She looked down at herself. A big grass stain decorated her skirt. God only knew what her hair looked like or if her hat was on straight. “Tell them I shall be there as soon as I go up and change.”

She started toward the staircase but Griggs spoke again. “Your mother said it was most urgent. She wanted to see you the instant you arrived home.”

Had she and Douglas been seen? No, that was impossible. No one but the cows could possibly have seen them in their isolated picnic spot and yet ... A dreadful image filled her mind: Sir Archibald peering at them through the bushes, shocked and horrified, his glasses about to fall off his nose. Oh, God no! Her stomach clenched tight.
Why
had she done such a stupid thing as to allow Douglas Cartland such liberties? She wanted to run to her room and hide, but, of course, it was too late. Nothing to do but face whatever fate held in store for her and make the best of it. “Thank you, Griggs. I shall go right in.” She removed her hat, ran a hand over her hair and went to find out what her mother considered so urgent.

Chapter 8

Jane stepped into the drawing room, finding her mother, sister and grandmother engaged in excited chatter. “Hello, everyone.”

“Jane!” her mother called when she spied her, “do come sit down. You will never guess what has happened.”

No word about her not being in mourning? No looks of condemnation because someone had seen her with Cartland? She seated herself, completely mystified. “What has happened?”

Mama held up a letter. “This just arrived from America. It’s from your father.”

When the words sank in, Jane’s heart swelled with relief. “So he’s alive?” A lump had formed in her throat.

“Read for yourself.” Her mother handed her the letter.

My Dear Amelia,

How can I begin to apologize for my weakness and cowardly actions? How can I begin to tell you how much I have missed you and the girls since I left those two long years ago? I can only say I still love you dearly. Not a minute has gone by that I have not missed you and wanted you all by my side.

I have done well here in this young country, where opportunities abound. After a short apprenticeship with a shoemaker, I opened my own shop in New York City, with living quarters above. If you will forgive a bit of immodesty, I have prospered. I am doing so well, in fact, that I can now afford to send for you and the girls, provided they have not married, of course. I cannot promise you the life of luxury we once had, but if my love, caring and devotion still mean anything to you, then you will be rich and doubly blessed for the rest of your life.

Know I love you dearly, my dear wife, and Jane and Millicent, too. I yearn to see you again and will never cease striving to make up for the harm I have done.

I have sent a draft for £50 to our bank to cover the cost of passage for the three of you.

Longing to see you again ...

Your devoted husband,

—
John Hart

Jane dropped the letter to her lap, tears welling in her eyes. “Papa is safe! What wonderful news.” She leaped up and gave her mother a hug. “I’m so happy for you. I knew in my heart he hadn’t truly deserted you.”

Millicent clapped her hands in delight. “Isn’t it wonderful? Imagine, he owns his own shop and is prospering.”

Even Granny had to smile. “I suppose that rascal isn’t all bad. At least he’s finally done the right thing.”

Jane sat down again, her thoughts scattered. “This is so sudden. I can’t even think. But ... America! Why not? I cannot imagine how wonderful it would be to see Papa again and live in a land where everything is new. Mama, you must be so excited and thrilled at the thought you’ll soon see Papa again.”

Her mother tossed her head. “Are you daft? Do you honestly think I would set even one foot on one of those leaky boats and go live in a land full of savages and uncouth colonists?”

Jane was taken aback. “They’re not colonists anymore, Mama. We lost the war, remember? Now they’re Americans. But I don’t understand. Papa broke your heart when he left. I thought you would be overjoyed to hear from him. I thought you would want to be with him.”

“I’m glad he’s not dead, if that is what you mean.” Mama’s expression softened, but only for moment. “Did you know they have no titles in America? How, I ask you, is one supposed to know who is important and who is not?” She thought a moment. “Who would know you are a countess?”

“In America they wouldn’t care if I was a countess. I wouldn’t care, either. I just want to see Papa again.”

“So do I.” Millicent’s eyes glowed with excitement. “They say America is the land of opportunity. I could find myself a rich young man there.”

“I’ll come, too,” said Granny, “if these old bones can survive the Atlantic.”

“I am not going,” Mama said firmly.

“Why?” Jane was astonished. She would have guessed her mother would want to sail on the next ship across the Atlantic.

“How could John think I would actually want to be a shoemaker’s wife living over some shabby shop? Besides, this is no time to even consider leaving England. Have you forgotten what we’re waiting for? I’m pinning all my hopes on your coming through for us, Jane. Chatfield Court is our home, not Beatrice’s. The very thought of her taking over galls me no end. Besides, Millicent must have her dowry and marry a proper Englishman.”

“She would not need a dowry in America. Mama, please reconsider?”

Granny cackled. “You won’t change Amelia’s mind. As far as she’s concerned, the world is England and England is the world. There’s nothing beyond, and you won’t convince her otherwise.”

“Your grandmother is absolutely right.” Mama regarded Jane, and after a long moment, a look of enlightenment came over her face, followed by a frown of disapproval. “Why are you wearing that blue riding habit when you’re in mourning?”

Jane’s heart sank. How could her mother even think of such a minor matter at a time like this? “Because I don’t have a black one.” That was as good an answer as any, and besides, at this point, she didn’t care. She had just learned her father was alive—a wonderful surprise. She also realized how deeply her mother had been affected by Papa’s leaving. She remembered Mama as she used to be: generous, always laughing, always a stickler for the rules yet willing to try something new. That woman was gone forever. Her spirit was broken that terrible day she learned her husband deserted her. She would never be the same.

The only way I can help her is to have a baby
. A matter that was now in the hands of God.

* * * *

Douglas Cartland sat at the table in the elegant dining room of Chatfield Court, doing his best to avoid the inane conversation presided over by that Elton woman. Judging from the grandness of her attitude, you would think she was already crowned and anointed the new Countess of Lansdown. At the moment, she and several ladies present were engaged in a heated debate over whether or not a girl should wear more than seven feathers in her headdress when presented to court. Before that, Sir Archibald, the Elton’s insufferably boring solicitor, had pontificated for what seemed like hours on the superior importance of London banks as compared to smaller banks in the provinces. Douglas tried not to yawn, allowing his bored gaze to examine the twenty guests seated around the table. At the head sat James, the dull, insipid next Earl of Lansdown. Maybe. To James’ right sat Millicent, a pretty creature, to be sure, but lacking her sister’s wit, depth and compassion. To be fair, who could compare to Jane? Rennie sat next to Millicent. He’d been falling all over himself the entire evening trying to get her attention, but the shallow wench hardly knew he existed.

Percy Elton sat next to Millicent. Douglas could not recall when he had met anyone more loathsome. Sly and shifty-eyed, the man’s greatest interest in life appeared to be ogling the ladies. Douglas could only imagine how much the countess must want to be rid of him.

Rennie insisted Douglas come with him. He had to admit it didn’t take much persuasion. Not that he liked spending his evening gorging himself and enduring silly prattle. He had come because of
her
. He looked directly across the table. There she sat, properly solemn-faced, properly attired in black. Earlier there was some mention about a letter from her father in America. Very good news, it seemed. She seemed subdued even then, but now she’d grown even more quiet and was most definitely avoiding his gaze. Even so, all evening he was hard-put not to look at her. Stare, actually. Since their intimacy of yesterday, he thought of little else. That had to stop. He could not,
would
not, allow himself to become involved with a woman. He knew when he killed little Sarah he could never live the pleasurable life of an ordinary man. What he did that awful night was so despicable, so utterly beyond redemption, he could never allow himself the joys of marriage, children, a happy family life. Work was his salvation. He would build canals until he grew tired of it, if he ever did. If so, he would join the Navy and sail the oceans wide until, if God agreed, he would be swept overboard by a giant wave in a violent storm, a fitting end, indeed, for the drunken fool who had taken the life of a little girl. Oh, God, that awful woman was addressing him. “Beg pardon, madam, what did you say?”

Beatrice Elton returned a cold lift of her eyebrow. “I
said
, Mister Cartland, I have heard you are building a canal for Lord Rennie.”

“That is correct.” He did not want to discuss his canals with this bird-brained woman who could not care less.

Jane spoke up, practically the first time all evening she had opened her mouth except to eat. “Mister Cartland is an expert on water. In fact, he thinks we might have a terrible flood.” She sent him a dazzling smile. “Is that not right, Mister Cartland?”

Curse the woman. She had said that just to rile him. “It could happen.” He hoped for a quick change of subject, but no, Beatrice Elton regarded him with a skeptical eye.

“Our silly little river?” She laughed and everyone joined in, even Rennie, who he thought was his friend.

He ignored the laughter. “Given the right conditions, that silly little river could change into a raging torrent in a matter of hours.”

From the head of the table, James Elton, who ordinarily sat silent, addressed his wife. “He’s right, my dear. Local history records a horrific flood of the River Hulm a few centuries ago. As the story goes, the third earl and his wife were compelled to run to higher ground, the water lapping at their heels.” He paused and frowned. “Or was it the fourth earl?”

Beatrice waved a dismissive hand. “What does it matter? It all happened a long time ago and has no relation to our modern times.” She addressed Jane. “Considering that your dower house sits by the river, we would not want a flood, now would we?”

“No, indeed not, Beatrice.” Jane smiled pleasantly, as if touched by her sister-in-law’s concern. Douglas easily perceived the wariness that lay beneath the smile. Well it should. Beatrice Elton wanted to be a countess so bad she could taste it, and she was dying to get Jane out of the house. He wondered what the woman would do if Jane really
was
carrying the earl’s heir. If she was, she better beware. He would not put anything past that Elton woman.

Rennie spoke up. “Don’t forget I live on higher ground.” He cast sheep’s eyes at Millicent. “If it floods, Miss Hart, I shall come and rescue you.”

Rennie, you poor sod, she doesn’t even like you.

Millicent fluttered her long lashes. “How kind of you, Lord Rennie. In case the flood comes, I shall feel quite safe, remembering your offer.”

She was making fun of his friend, but what could he do? If Rennie wanted to make a fool of himself, who was he to stop him? A shame, though. Rennie was obviously in love. A girl as shallow as Millicent would never be able to appreciate the warm and generous heart that lay behind his poor friend’s pock-marked face and awkward demeanor.

Douglas heaved a silent sigh. The night had just begun. Next, brandy with the gentlemen, then the inevitable cards with the ladies, and he’d probably get stuck with that insufferable woman who fancied herself the countess. When all he really wanted to do was maneuver Jane into a dark corner.
Stupid
,
stupid
. What was he thinking? He would never marry, so where would this lead? All he knew was, he had to get her alone, hold her in his arms again. That was all that mattered, and he didn’t care to look beyond.

* * * *

“This is all because of Beatrice,” said Mama, “and I’m still not sure we’re doing the proper thing.”

After dinner, in the drawing room, Jane sat at one of the Whist tables; the foursome consisted of herself, Granny, Douglas and her mother, who held a deck of cards in hand and went on to inquire, “If we’re in mourning, is it proper to play cards?”

Granny was Douglas’ partner. “Who cares? Just deal.” She loved playing Whist, especially when a bit of a wager was involved.

“Don’t worry, Mama. After all, according to Beatrice this was a memorial dinner for his lordship. I’m sure he would have wanted us to enjoy ourselves.” Douglas sat on Jane’s right. She looked to him for confirmation.”Do you not agree, Mister Cartland?”

“Absolutely We owe it to Lord Lansdown to carry on. We all know what a heart of gold he had. He would be devastated if he saw his loved ones sitting around mourning, denying themselves any fun.”

“Well, if you put it that way, I suppose he wouldn’t mind.” Mama started dealing the cards.

Jane exchanged an amused glance with Douglas. His subtle humor might fly right over Mama’s head, but it was one of the things she liked about him. He seemed to understand what she was thinking, too. In fact, the more she knew him, the more she found common ground. Then, of course, there was yesterday ... She looked at his hands. They were not the soft, white hands of a gentleman. Instead, they were tanned, strong and looked so very capable. This evening they held cards. Yesterday they were on her breasts ... Her flesh tingled. A pleasurable tug warmed the pit of her stomach, just thinking about how she had lain beneath him, breasts exposed, so caught up in a passion she had never felt before.