The Wicked Heir (Blackhaven Brides Book 12) Page 18

  And if he didn’t… Bella Lamont sailed with her husband when she could. They divided their time between the sea, Blackhaven, and an estate in Scotland. Both Jon and his father seemed to imagine his life had to be either the sea or Viscral. Jess was not so sure.

  She thought furiously, assessing and discarding many ideas—such as bolting to Viscral after him, either with or without Crabby, inventing some reason to summon him back to Blackhaven, and pretending to be ill to make him understand the danger of losing her. In the end, the notion she liked best was simply writing him an honest letter and telling him how she felt. She didn’t wish to push him into anything, but if she wanted him to be honest, she had to be, too.

  After seeing his lordship comfortably settled by the fire, she retreated to her bedchamber to write the letter in private. However, she discovered Crabby there, writing her own letter.

  “Ah,” her old governess said brightly. “Are you going to call on Miss Francis?”

  “Oh, drat, I’d forgotten!” Jess sighed. “I suppose I had better go.”

  “You don’t need me to come, do you?” Crabby asked. “They are such old friends and staying in the same hotel.”

  “No, of course, stay here unless you wish to come.”

  After several days of feverishly pursing distraction, Jess could have done without this one. Still, cementing old friendships was a good thing, she told herself as she climbed the stairs to the next floor, where the Francis family had their rooms.

  A maid answered her knock. “They went to the market, miss, and they’re not back yet.”

  “Oh. Then I’ll call again this afternoon.”

  “Jess, is that you?” came Claud’s familiar voice from within. The door was taken from the maid’s grasp and opened wide to reveal him in his overcoat and hat. Beyond him was a sitting room quite similar to her own, with slightly different furniture. “I was just writing a note, but…since you’re here, come in. I particularly want to talk to you.”

  “Well…just for a moment,” Jess said, stepping inside. She supposed the maid’s presence was propriety enough. “What is it?”

  “Just a bit worried about you,” Claude said, searching her face. “You seemed not quite yourself last night. And I’m not sure I believe that hum about you and Tallon becoming engaged to please the old man. From what I’ve seen of him, Tallon is more likely to try and disoblige his father, and it seems to me you were quite taken with him.”

  Jess swallowed. “Oh, I was,” she whispered. “I never meant to be, but I was, and to him I was only—oh it doesn’t matter.” She flapped her hands helplessly and swung away to hide her sudden tears.

  “Jess!” he exclaimed in horror. “Are you crying? I have never seen you cry, please don’t!”

  A hiccough of laughter broke through her tears, and she dashed the back of her hand across her eyes before turning to face him once more. “You needn’t worry, I’ve stopped. And I have quite decided to win Jon back.”

  Claud grinned, largely with relief, she suspected, that he wouldn’t have to deal with a weeping woman after all. For he had never cared much for Jon before.

  “That’s my girl,” he said, giving her a big, brotherly hug, just as the door opened without warning and Mary and her mother walked into the room.

  They stopped dead, staring in shock while Claud’s arms fell away from Jess, who saw at once that she must act quickly.

  Wreathed in smiles, she hurried to Mary and her mother, with one hand held out to each. “Oh, I’m so glad I haven’t missed you! Claude has just been congratulating me on my engagement, and I hope you will wish me happy, too!”

  It dealt with the worst of the suspicion, if not the bewilderment.

  “Another engagement?” Mrs. Francis said faintly, allowing her hand to be taken. “Already?”

  Jess laughed. “Well, yes, I suppose it is the chief cause of the first one ending.” She was thinking ahead, a blindingly clear solution to everything emerging from the mist.

  “But…but who is it you are to marry now?” Mary asked.

  “Why, my cousin Hector, of course.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Even before she said the words, Jess recognized that her plan was fraught with difficulties—the chief of them being how to keep it from Hector and the general population of Blackhaven. While still making sure that the word filtered through to Jon. In the short term, of course, it also excused Claud from any impropriety in hugging her, and kept his engagement as smooth as it could be. The only potential awkwardness that Jess could foresee was that Mrs. Francis might still harbor hopes of Mary snaring a wealthy viscount’s heir instead of a merely comfortable squire’s son of dubious fidelity. In which case, at the moment, she would merely be glad to see Jess out of Jon’s reach, tied to someone else.

  Somehow, she kept the excited smile on her face while she drank tea and tried not to look at Claud who, however, clearly too grateful to have avoided a return to the Francis black books, was going along with it.

  “We are not announcing it yet, for obvious reasons,” Jess told them. “So, I beg you will not speak of it to anyone, especially not my uncle.” She laughed. “Or Hector himself, for he will be cross I could not keep the secret we had agreed on! I just needed to tell my oldest friends.”

  Claud cast her an admiring glance, which at least caused Jess a minor pang of guilt, for she was lying again, and it rolled off her tongue much too easily. It was in a good cause, of course—the pursuit of happiness for Jon, Claud, and Mary, as well as for herself—but she made herself a promise that this would be the last lie she ever told.

  After a very correct half hour’s visit, she flitted back to her own rooms, where she found his lordship muttering over the newspaper reports of Bonaparte’s whereabout since giving the Royal Navy the slip in Elba. After listening for a few minutes to his irritation with such incompetence, she left him to it and found Crabby finishing up her letter.

  Hastily closing the door, she confessed, “I have done another bad thing for good reasons.” And told the alarmed Miss Crabtree about events in the Francis rooms.

  “Oh, dear,” Crabby said in an agitated voice when she’d finished. “His lordship will have an apoplexy.”

  “Which is why he must not know. I have asked Mrs. Francis and Mary not to say a word, too.”

  “Even if they do keep it to themselves, there is still the maid, who must have heard something! Word will get out, Jess.”

  “Well, I shall just deny it. At least that will be the truth. But what do you think I should do about Jon? Should I write and tell him about my new engagement or just wait for someone else to tell him?”

  “What if he immediately writes to Hector to congratulate him? Or if the news simply drives him back to sea before he intended to go?”

  Jess felt the blood drain from her face. “Why would he do that?”

  Crabby actually took her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Because he loves you, you imbecile!”

  The insult barely registered. “He…he loves me?” she uttered, torn between a stunned hope and total disbelief. “Then why did he go? Why did he say…?”

  “Oh, Jess, because he doesn’t know what to do about it anymore than you do. I don’t know why it should be, but in my observations, when people fall in love, their common sense flies out the window. He is trying to win you by being responsible and caring for the land and dependents he’ll inherit.”

  Jess sat down on the bed with a bump. “And I am being quite irresponsible and childish and trying to make him jealous. I was so eager to do something, and all I’ve managed is to tell a completely different set of lies that are bound to give him a disgust of me.” She covered her face with her hands, then dropped them and stared at Crabby. “Do you truly think he loves me?” she asked wistfully.

  “Sometimes I don’t know why any of us love you,” Crabby said crossly, “but it seems we all do! You may leave Jon to me. You had best keep as many people as possible away from his lordship in cas
e word gets out.”

  *

  Keeping his lordship isolated was not very difficult since it suited his natural inclinations. But to deflect any suspicion, Jess carried on with her many outings—driving out with whichever respectable young man asked her, going on an expedition of young people to a local ruined abbey—properly chaperoned, of course—and attending various evening parties in the town. All the time, she was counting the days until they could look for a response from Jon to Crabby’s letter.

  The first hint she had that the news of her next invented engagement was out, came in the pump room when an old lady of her uncle’s acquaintance said kindly to her, “I believe we are to wish you happy, Miss Fordyce!”

  “You are too kind, ma’am,” Jess said quickly. “But my engagement came to an end. Mr. Tallon and I decided in time that we should not suit.”

  “Oh, well, that’s what I thought,” the old lady said with a confused smile and wandered away with her companion.

  Lord Viscral snorted. “You’ll be labelled a jilt,” he snapped. “And quite right, too.”

  More right than he knew since she was about to discard another betrothed. But the old lady’s words bothered her, just in case they were based on some new rumor and not on her late engagement to Jon. She decided the best thing to do was to end that farce immediately. Jon should at least have received Crabby’s letter by now, whatever he chose to do about it. Hoping she would see Mary at Lady Harrow’s reception that evening, she prepared her brief, careless announcement in her head. They would probably think badly of her, but she wasn’t sure she cared.

  As soon as she arrived at Lady Harrow’s hired house overlooking the sea, she realized her plan would not be so easy to implement. For Hector was present, and it was going to be doubly difficult to both “end” the engagement and prevent Hector knowing about any of it. The previous time they had met at a party, she had spent some time in his company, largely to support her story with Mary and Mrs. Francis. This time, she avoided him and, strolling out of his way, she came face to face with Lord Julian Gaunt.

  “Want to run away with me, little butterfly?” he drawled.

  “No, large hawk, I don’t.”

  He laughed aloud as though he hadn’t expected that particular response. “You are delightful, you know. Quite wasted on all of them.”

  “You’re too kind,” she said, passing on before she realized his work was done. He’d held her up long enough for Hector to catch her.

  “Cousin,” Hector said amiably. “Don’t run away. I thought we were better friends than that.”

  “Of course, we are,” she agreed lightly.

  “Quite a lot better than friends, in fact,” he murmured. “Did you know that we were engaged to be married?”

  Oh, damnation. “No, I didn’t.” She managed a smile. “It appears to be a wretched calumny, incomprehensibly spreading around town.”

  “Oh, not so incomprehensively if it comes from you, my sweet.”

  She regarded him with some misgivings. She had no idea what he had heard or from whom. “What on earth do you mean?” she asked at last.

  Hector had always teased his victims, like a cat playing with a mouse. He smiled. “I mean, if you wish to marry me, you should simply have said so. It would have saved me the trouble of courtship.”

  “Courtship?”

  But, of course, he and Julian Gaunt had clearly not fallen out at all. They were still working together. She was sure now; Gaunt’s insulting behavior at the theatre had been premeditated, planned between them to enable Hector to deal with Gaunt so swiftly and so sympathetically. And it was true, it had softened her toward him at a time when she had been feeling very low.

  “You mean you didn’t notice?” Hector said, hand on heart. “You’d cut me to the quick, except I know you must have noticed. How else would we have become engaged?”

  “Hush!” Jess smiled at two ladies passing them and turned to say intensely to Hector. “You know perfectly well we are not engaged.”

  “I thought I did,” he agreed. “But apparently, I was wrong. Still, you should know it suits me very well to be engaged to you. Did my uncle not say he would let you choose your own husband and that he would inherit everything?”

  “Everything but Viscral,” Jess said. “But it makes no odds, Hector, for I haven’t chosen you.”

  “Several different sources tell me you have,” he argued, a supercilious light of amusement in his muddy eyes. “So, I believe we shall go along with it.”

  “My uncle will have an apoplexy and die!”

  “Then we shall inherit early,” Hector said callously.

  “No, we won’t, for he hasn’t changed his will.”

  His eyes narrowed with irritation. “Then it’s up to you, my sweet, to see that he does.”

  With a little wave of irritation, she would have passed on, but he caught her hand. “Jess. I mean it. You have until tomorrow evening to get him to change it, and if he doesn’t, I will make him. And marry you at once.

  “Just for a few thousand pounds?” she whispered furiously. “You’re insane! Hector, I’d be a terrible wife for you! I’d make your life a misery.”

  He laughed. “No, you won’t. But I shall definitely make yours so.” His smile faded. “If you fail me.”

  Her angry denial died on her lips, for he simply bowed and walked away, leaving her feeling cold and extremely uneasy.

  *

  Hector was undoubtedly a bully. He had been so as a boy, according to Jon and his lordship and most of the older servants at Viscral. Jess had witnessed his unpleasant manner to those of a lesser degree than himself, including Crabby. On top of which, his manner to her ever since she’d come to Viscral Hall, had varied between ignoring her entirely and superciliously criticizing everything she said or did. Under no circumstances would she give in to him, let alone marry him, however chilling his sudden threats.

  On the other hand, she didn’t want him upsetting the old gentleman, especially so soon after his fresh quarrel with Jon, a quarrel still not resolved by Jon’s visit to Viscral. In fact, the old man was baffled, torn between pride and suspicion. At first, Jess had tried to persuade him to go home, too—at least there, she would have seen Jon and his lordship could have observed what his son was up to. But apparently, that would have been giving in, and Lord Viscral was determined to stay in Blackhaven for precisely as long as he had originally planned, which was another two weeks, he said. By which time, Jon would have sailed.

  The morning after her unpleasant encounter with Hector, she tried again to persuade his lordship, but he was adamant. And so, they went to take the waters as usual. Perhaps her awareness was heightened by Hector’s threats, but several times, as they made their stately way along the road to the pump room, she imagined someone following them. Quiet footsteps sounded in the distance, but when she glanced back, she saw no one. Only on their return journey, when the streets were busier, did she finally glimpse a familiar figure through the crowd. There could be no proof that he was following them at all, let alone that he meant them harm, but it was clearly Masters, the lame man who had been stealing from Jon’s cargo.

  Why was he still following her? Before he’d left, Jon had told her there was no longer a threat, that the men who had attacked them had fled and scattered, and that since there was clearly no rush, he would be dealing with them later.

  Her blood ran cold. Had Masters changed sides? Was he simply working for someone else who paid him? For Hector?

  But that made no sense. Hector wanted to marry her in order to inherit the old man’s unentailed wealth. If anything happened to her, if she died, she couldn’t see his lordship leaving Hector more than a rather derisory small legacy. Either Jon or the orphanage would get everything.

  Yesterday, she would simply have walked up to Masters and asked him what he was about. Now, Hector, damn him, had made her careful, suspicious, and anxious.

  There was worse to come.

  Shortly after luncheo
n, when she was preparing to walk round to the vicarage, Hector called. Jess, trying out the new plumes with which she had decorated a revived hat, turned in quick alarm before she could stop herself. Hector’s eyes gleamed. He liked to cause alarm.

  “Charming,” he pronounced, presumably about the hat. “Most charming.”

  His bow, however, was directed more at Lord Viscral, who regarded him unmoving from his chair by the fire. Jess rather thought that was deliberate, too, to make her feel small by depriving her of basic courtesy. Well, he had chosen the wrong enemy.

  “Sir, I trust I find you well,” Hector said smoothly.

  “Do you?” his lordship snapped.

  Hector ignored that, merely glanced around him, taking in the presence of Crabby and the hovering Holmes. “I would ask you for a private interview, but I see there is no need.”

  “Quite right,” the old man agreed. “What do you want, Hector?”

  “Your permission, sir, to pay my addresses to my cousin.”

  Jess’s whole body flushed with irritation. He had given her until tonight, and here he was annoying his lordship before she had even given Holmes the instruction to deny him.

  But to her surprise, the old gentleman only laughed with undisguised mockery. “No point. Jonnie won’t have you.”

  Hector colored slightly. “Most amusing. I mean, as you very well know, your ward, Jess.”

  Lord Viscral took out his snuff box, which he only did when he anticipated some superior entertainment. “Go ahead,” he said affably. “You won’t need a private interview for that either.”

  “Jess,” Hector said in a somewhat bored voice. He didn’t even trouble to approach her. “You know what I’m going to ask. Considering everything we discussed yesterday evening, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  “No, thank you,” she replied at once. “Especially considering everything we discussed last night.”

  A flicker of surprise crossed his face. He didn’t even know her well enough to recognize her spirit. But, more ominously, he didn’t seem remotely cast down. “You should know, my lord,” he drawled, “if you don’t already, that Blackhaven believes her to be betrothed to me.”