A Woman Scorned (13 page)

She was so bloody tired. So tired of being constantly vigilant. In Scotland, where she had gone to seek solace and safety, Jonet had begun to wonder if she would ever feel rested or warm or secure again. But now, she had the most fanciful notion that if Cole Amherst were near, she would feel immeasurably safer. Ha! Only yesterday she had imagined him to be her worst enemy. She still was not sure just who or what he was. Nor did she really like him, for she could sense his subtle air of moral superiority. And yet, his mere presence brought a sense of security into a room that not even David or Charlie could provide.

Agnes, her parlor maid, came in. Seeing Jonet shivering in the chair, she pursed her lips into a silent scold and began at once to build up a fire. Jonet managed a grateful smile. When she had been thrown into a panic in Scotland, Jonet had believed that if she surrounded herself with people she trusted—like Agnes and Charlie—they would provide her with a sense of security, but it had helped little. Dear heaven, how she hated that. The awful
uncertainty
. Jonet had never before been an indecisive person. What little had been hers in life to control, she had controlled with a strong sense of purpose. It had earned her nothing but criticism, and a reputation for being too willful. James Rowland, she knew, had been foremost among her detractors.

Well, they could all go straight to the devil as far as Jonet was concerned. Her world had been set on its ear the day she had given birth to her first child, for it was only then that she had realized that she was wholly responsible for someone other than herself. Suddenly, she had known that she must take command of her life. She could no longer afford to be sad or meek or sniveling. To go rambling haplessly through life, as if she had surrendered both her spirit and her sense. It simply would not do. What sort of children could such a pathetically weak woman hope to raise?

After her wedding, Jonet had tried to make Henry love her; indeed, she had
tried
to love him. Too late, she realized that she had been nothing more than a challenge to his manly pride, and when he finally lost all interest in his much-coveted wife, Jonet had not felt the loss too deeply. But now that Henry was dead, her life and most everything in it was at last hers to control, and yet she felt more lost and alone than ever. More useless, more ineffectual. She longed for someone whom she could rely upon.

Good heavens, what was wrong with her?
Someone to rely upon?
How naïve! She could rely upon no one but herself. She had learned that lesson long ago, and learned it the hard way. Still, in her mind’s eye, all she could see was Cole Amherst, with his tawny hair and lean hips. That determined, long-legged gait, the way he had of fixing his brown-gold eyes upon a person, then piercing through to their soul.

Jonet had never met a man who exuded such quiet confidence, such forceful, focused intellect—or so much raw power held in check. Her strange attraction to Amherst disturbed her to the point that, at times, she wanted to be deliberately sharp with him. She wanted to challenge him, and yet Amherst rose to the bait only on his terms. Strangely enough, Jonet had discovered that she respected that. How different life might have been had she had a real marriage partner. Instinctively, she knew that it
would
have been different, though she had seen precious few good marriages in her day. Certainly her parents’ marriage had been a poor example, for her father’s notorious indiscretions had put even Henry to the blush.

At last, Agnes put the poker back into the rack with a clatter and left the room. The greedy flames licked up beyond the kindling to eat away the coals, reminding Jonet that her day, too, was swiftly disappearing. Other than a quiet two hours with the boys, followed by dinner with David and Ellen, she had nothing more to look forward to.

What she
had
looked forward to, strangely enough, was dinner with Cole Amherst, but he had vexed her by claiming a previous engagement. Jonet burned to know where he was going, and with whom he would dine. Did he have perhaps a mistress? A sweetheart? She felt a stinging sense of disappointment at that thought. He could well afford to keep a wife in good style; Jonet could discern that much with one sweeping glance. And even had he been born a poor man, which Jonet rather doubted, a man such as he never stayed so for long. Which only begged the question of why he had come to school her children.

Jonet shook her head against the smooth leather of the chair. The villain she sought
had
to be James, she reminded herself with a measure of regret. There was no other reason he would send such a man into her house.

Cole walked with the butler into the hall to await Jonet’s carriage, which was to take him back to his rooms. The morning breeze had been fierce, and Cole gladly took his greatcoat from the butler’s outstretched hand, studying the man’s face again as he did so. Curiosity finally bested him. “Sir, you look somewhat familiar to me,” Cole said. “Lord Robert tells me you were in the Peninsula. I wonder—had we the pleasure of meeting? I was with the First Royal Dragoons.”

Donaldson looked at him a little warily. “I’m no certain, sir. ’Tis possible, I’m sure.”

“What regiment were you with?” Cole persisted.

“Royal Scots, sir.”

“Ah!” said Cole appreciatively. “Quite gallant soldiers.

Such bravery at Salamanca. You seem to have made quite an impression on Lady Mercer’s sons.”

At last, the butler smiled. “Aye, they’re good lads, sir. But young ones see only the heroic, never the brutality—which is as it should be,” he added.

“Very true,” agreed Cole, pleased that the butler’s reticence seemed to be weakening. “Tell me—were you at Vittoria? I understood Robert to say you were wounded. Is that when you returned to England?”

“Aye, but tae Scotland, sir,” the tall man corrected, looking rather chagrined. “I got the business end of a bayonet at Vittoria, I did. I was invalided oot and missed the rest o’ the war.”

“I see,” said Cole solemnly. “What did you do thereafter?”

Donaldson blinked at that. “Why, I went back home, sir. To Kildermore.”

“Kildermore?” Cole was a little surprised. “Do you mean Kildermore Castle? Lady Mercer’s childhood home?”

“Oh, aye. Lady Jonet—that is t’say, Lady Mercer—took me back into service at once.”

Cole considered that for a moment. “Well, Donaldson, you were a fortunate man. Not many soldiers came home to find gainful employment awaiting them.”

The butler inclined his head slightly. “Most fortunate. But Lady Jonet made it plain that there would always be a place for me. She said I was t’go straight there, soon as I was discharged.” The butler drew himself up another notch. “There’ve been Donaldsons at Kildermore for three hundred years. I was born there, and God willing, I’ll die there, too.”

Cole was amazed. “You have known her ladyship for quite a long time?”

“Why, all my life, sir. There’s naught but six months between us, me being the elder.” Suddenly, Donaldson clapped his mouth shut, as if he feared he had said too much.

Cole considered asking further questions, then thought the better of it. There was no need to press his luck with this man. But perhaps he had already learned something very important. He was not perfectly sure. Just then, the clopping and creaking of a team and carriage slowed to a halt outside.

“Well, Donaldson,” Cole said briskly, “I shall return with my things shortly, but I must regrettably go out again for the evening. However, some night in the near future, perhaps you will give me a game of cards? Or permit me to stand you a pint? Then we old soldiers can exchange war stories, eh?”

For a brief moment, Donaldson looked taken aback. Suddenly, his amiable face split into a wide grin. “Aye, Captain. Suppose there’d be little enough harm in that.”

In the late hours of the afternoon, Cole found himself completely unpacked and all his possessions neatly arranged by Jonet’s efficient staff. Moreover, he was already dressed and ready for dinner in Albemarle Street, where he was to join his friend and fellow officer, Terrence Madlow. Absently, Cole tugged out his watch to see that he was, as usual, too early.

Lest heated thoughts of Lady Mercer again return to bedevil him, as they had done with a rather disturbing frequency these last few days, Cole looked about for something to occupy his mind. Suddenly, he remembered that he was in need of a good Latin dictionary for the school-room and that he had neglected to put it on the list he had given Lady Mercer. Undoubtedly, her vast library would contain such a thing.

A few moments later, Cole entered the book-room, which at first he took to be empty. Suddenly, a soft curse sounded from a poorly lit corner. Cole looked down the length of the room to see a tall, russet-haired woman of an uncertain age reaching up most awkwardly for a book perched upon a high shelf. Caught in mid-stretch, she looked at Cole, blushing effusively. “Oh!” she said softly, and drew back her hand.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am. I thought the room unoccupied.” Cole turned to go.

“Oh, no! I wish you would not hasten away,” the woman said. She came swiftly across the room, her head cocked inquisitively to one side, her hand outstretched in greeting. Her eyes were so pretty, her gestures so very like Jonet’s, Cole realized at once that she must be a relation.

“I believe you must be Captain Amherst?” she said pleasantly. “Have I guessed aright?”

“Indeed. But I fear you have the advantage of me, Miss—?”

“Cameron. Miss Ellen Cameron, Lady Mercer’s cousin,” she explained, giving Cole a smile which softened her rather plain face. She leaned forward to rest her hands atop a high-backed settee. “Upon my word, I shall scold Jonet soundly. How very like her to forget to tell you that I am here. It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain.”

“A great pleasure, Miss Cameron,” he said, studying her across the furniture. “Indeed, I see there is much resemblance between you and her ladyship.” In fact, there was a great deal of resemblance in the bones of the face, but Ellen Cameron was a larger, less dainty woman. She also looked serious and capable, and in that regard, very unlike her delicate flower of a cousin.

Under his gaze, the lady seemed to blush a little. “Oh, I rather fear that Jonet is the beauty in our family, sir. She has blue eyes, and her mother’s thick, black hair. But I have the traditional Cameron coloring, with this mop of red, and eyes more green than blue. Jonet and I grew up together at Kildermore Castle.” She looked at him carefully.“Do you know it?”

Cole shook his head. “No, I have not the pleasure.”

Miss Cameron’s eyes softened almost passionately. “How unfortunate for you! It is the most beautiful place on earth. So romantic! All craggy cliffs and stone turrets—with the ocean dramatically crashing down below.” She laughed lightly, and Cole began to wonder if the lady was flirting just a bit. He looked at her again and quickly discarded the notion. She was a little silly, but unless he had badly misjudged, that was all.

Cole smiled back. “Well, castles and such aside, beauty is generally a fleeting thing, is it not, Miss Cameron?” he said, and without waiting for her answer, barged ahead. “Now, tell me, ma’am, may I help you fetch that book? I fancy I may more easily reach it.”

She nodded, and Cole walked along the wall until she pointed it out to him. He slipped it from its place and passed it down to her. She lowered her lashes demurely, then promptly laid it aside. “You are most kind, Captain Amherst. You have come to teach the boys, have you not?”

“Yes,” he answered. “And what of you? Are you visiting or do you reside here?”

“Oh, some of both, I suppose,” she replied, absently skimming her finger across a shelf of books, as if she might choose yet another. “Generally speaking, I live in Cavendish Square with my elderly aunt, but she often goes to Kent to see her son and grandchildren in the country.”

Cole heard what was left unsaid. Ellen Cameron was an impoverished relative, a companion who was shifted here and there, yet she did not seem unhappy. Nor did she look like the type of woman who would yearn for a husband, though why he sensed that, Cole could not say. “You do not care for the country?” he lightly responded. “I confess, I prefer it.”

“I like it well enough, but I prefer Scotland—the sea and cliffs! And the moors, too.” She smiled briskly. “But I cannot go there at present, and just now, I think it best I stay with Jonet. Though I daresay I do plague her a little with what she calls my spinsterish ways.”

“Not a bit of it, I am sure, ma’am. You are very good to think of your cousin. No doubt your aunt misses you.”

Miss Cameron lifted her chin to stare up at him. “You are all kindness, sir. But my aunt understands, just as I do, that Jonet is not . . . not precisely
well
. She has suffered greatly from the loss of her husband, you see.” She turned from the row of books she had been studying, the heat of her words intensifying. “People really do not understand, Captain Amherst, just how profoundly it has affected her.”

“Perhaps you are right.” Cole struggled to keep any hint of sarcasm from his tone. “Lady Mercer loved her husband deeply, I am sure.”

Jonet’s cousin circled around a brocade settee to stand nearer. “Oh, I am persuaded,” she said ardently, “that in her own way, Jonet was quite devoted to Henry.”

Cole smiled weakly, not wanting to disabuse Jonet’s obviously starry-eyed cousin. Despite her age, which must have been near thirty, Miss Cameron still maintained the cheerful innocence of a woman who had never been married, and who had no idea that happily-ever-afters were rare indeed. Because Lord and Lady Mercer had wed, and had children, and lived more or less under the same roof, Miss Cameron probably assumed that the marriage had been blissful. Cole knew better. And he had learnt it the hard way.

But Miss Cameron sensed his skepticism. “I see you do not understand, sir. People persist in believing that Jonet and Henry hated one another. Oh, perhaps she was a little silly at first, wishing to marry for love and all that, but he was no worse than most men when all was said and done.”