Elizabeth Thornton - [Special Branch 02] (2 page)

Gwyn refrained from pointing out that there was nowhere else in that small house for anyone to wait. “You did fine, Maddie,” she said, and gave herself a quick glance in the looking glass above the hall table.

Her auburn hair had been flattened by her bonnet. She was on the point of fluffing it up, then thought better of it. It didn’t matter what kind of impression she made on Jason Radley.

If only her heart would stop racing.

“You looks real nice,” said Maddie. Her bright eyes
took in the high-waisted dove-gray twill gown with its white lacy collar and long sleeves. “Real quality, if you wants my opinion.”

A maid would never have been allowed such familiarity in any other household, but Gwyn and Maddie were not mistress and maid in the usual sense. They shared the work of the house equally and ate their meals together. When Gwyn was away from home, Maddie looked after Mark. It was Maddie, far more than Gwyn, who kept a respectful distance in the relationship. Despite her lack of years, Maddie understood the necessity of keeping up appearances, especially in front of the rich city merchants and professional men whose daughters came to the house for piano lessons. To her knowledge, this was the first time that Gwyn had ever been visited by a member of her family. But Maddie saw the pulse beating at Gwyn’s throat, and her imagination took flight.

“Where’s Mark?” asked Gwyn, despising the breathlessness in her voice.

“He’s with Mr. Radley. Go on then, in you goes.”

Maddie opened the parlor door and the moment could not be avoided. Gwyn took a few paces into the room and halted. Jason and Mark were on their knees at the small table in front of the fire, demolishing a plate of scones and sharing a pot of tea.

Jason saw her first and rose in one lithe movement, then Mark jumped up and quickly went to her. She concentrated on Mark.

“Mama, Cousin Jason is here. He’s family, Mama. He found out where we were living and came to visit us. I didn’t know we had any cousins.”

This telling little speech brought faint color to Gwyn’s cheeks. Her son didn’t notice. “And Cousin Jason says I can drive around the square in his curricle, after he’s talked to you. May I, Mama? May I?”

Such rare treats were not to be scorned, even
though she didn’t want Jason Radley anywhere near her son. She gazed into Mark’s eager face, a face that was so like her own: gray eyes, flashing dimples, and a pointed chin.

Her own dimples flashed a reply. “I don’t see why not. Did you finish the lessons I set you this morning?”

Mark nodded.

“Then go tidy up and help Maddie in the kitchen. When we’re ready, I’ll call you.”

Mark let out a long breath. The eyes he turned on Jason were glowing. “Oh, I do thank you, sir,” he said, and quickly left them.

They could hear him calling for Maddie as he ran to the back of the house. Gwyn quietly closed the door. There was no avoiding it now. She had to look at Jason.

Tall, dark, and handsome didn’t do him justice. He was remarkably good-looking in a rugged sort of way, with vivid green eyes and a physique that an athlete might have envied. He was her cousin, twice removed, and the last time she’d spoken to him was eight years ago.

He looked leaner and harder, the result, she supposed, of burdens he’d assumed when he’d become master of Haddo Hall. She’d heard that in those first few years, he’d staved off bankruptcy by sheer determination and hard work, and now he was one of the richest men in London. It was not what she’d expected. She’d thought he’d take the easy way out and marry for money. There had been no shortage of applicants for the position of Mrs. Jason Radley as she remembered.

Damn him! Why had he never married?

He was regarding her gravely, completely at his ease, waiting for her to speak first. She moved past him to sit on the sofa, close to the fire. “How are you, Jason?”

His lips flattened at the corners but he followed her lead. “Fine, thank you, Gwyn.” He took the armchair on the other side of the fireplace. “I need hardly ask about you. You look well. London seems to agree with you. You’ve been in this house six or seven months, your son tells me.”

She inclined her head.

“And before that you were living with Mark’s uncle and aunt?”

“Yes.” Since something more seemed to be expected of her, she added, “When my husband died, I decided to strike out on my own.”

It was her elopement with Nigel eight years before that had led to the estrangement with her Radley relations. Over the years, she’d kept up with only one of them, Jason’s sister, Trish, and then only sporadically.

Jason said slowly, “I was sorry to hear of your bereavement. You should have let us know.”

“I wrote to Trish.”

“Yes, but not to me, and that was a year ago.”

She had no ready reply to this, and said lamely, “It didn’t seem … It was a difficult time for me. I didn’t think … I’m sorry.”

There was a long, long silence. It looked as though he might pursue this topic, but much to her relief, he indicated the square walnut piano. “Do you still practice as much?”

“As often as time allows.” She looked down at her clasped hands. She’d spent most of her widow’s portion on that piano. “It’s not as good as the piano at Haddo Hall, but it serves me well.”

“And your son? Does he play too?”

“A little, but Mark is only seven. He’s not ready yet for serious study. He can’t sit still for more than a few minutes at a time.”

He shifted a little, watching her. “You’ve raised a fine boy, Gwyn. You must be very proud of him.”

His words made her wonder how long he had been closeted with Mark, and what they had talked about. “Thank you, I am.” She deliberately changed the subject. “Is everyone well at Haddo Hall? And Trish and Gerry?”

He relaxed into his chair and stretched out his long legs. “Very well, thank you. They’ll be here in another week or two if Grandmother has her way. She thinks it’s time Sophie made her come-out. Trish and Gerry are at Haddo right now with their son, Chris, but Brandon is in town. You remember Brandon?”

“Yes, I remember him.”

She remembered everything, the good and the bad. She said, “Sophie must be seventeen now.” She had a picture in her mind of a young girl, as she’d last seen Sophie, driving Jason’s grandmother to distraction with her hoydenish behavior. “Is she still a tomboy?”

“I only wish!”

“Oh?”

“She’s an accomplished flirt.”

Amusement silvered his green eyes, but she could not share in it. She was too tense, too aware that they were talking on one level while dangerous currents eddied just below the surface.

“As for myself,” he went on, “I spend a good deal of time in London now, and have finally taken the plunge and bought a house on Half Moon Street. I find it convenient for business.”

She wasn’t completely ignorant of Jason’s comings and goings. Her good friend at the Ladies’ Library in Soho Square, whose mother lived in Brighton, not far from Haddo, was acquainted with the Radleys, and Judith kept her abreast of Jason’s affairs in every sense of the word.

He straightened in his chair and leaned toward
her. “They’d like to see you again, Gwyn. You’re one of the family. You always were and you always will be.”

Her tone was dry. “Those are not your grandmother’s words.”

He answered her seriously. “She’s not the tyrant she used to be. Her health is failing, and age has mellowed her. Isn’t it time to let bygones be bygones?”

She tried to picture a mellower version of the Grandmother Radley she knew, and failed. She’d been a tyrant from the moment she’d descended on Haddo and taken control of the family when Jason’s parents died during an influenza outbreak. George, the elder brother, had always been Grandmother Radley’s favorite.

When George died in a boating accident, Jason had become master of Haddo. He’d left Haddo right after the funeral service, and that was the last Gwyn had seen of him, until today.

He was watching her. “You’ve got the wrong idea about your grandmother and me,” she said. “There was no quarrel, no estrangement.”

He said dryly, “You eloped with a soldier and left England to be with him. None of us knew where you were. If that’s not an estrangement, I don’t know what is.”

“I wrote to you all … eventually.”

“Once, and never again. Except to Trish.”

“I was a soldier’s wife, and I was out of England for several years. Sending letters home was quite an undertaking. Besides, it’s all water under the bridge now. There’s no point in us quarreling about it.”

The room became intensely silent as their eyes locked.

Jason looked away first. He relaxed back in his chair and allowed his gaze to wander over the room. Well, thought Gwyn, he would find no flaws in this
room. Her parlor wasn’t elegant, but it was comfortable. A fire crackled in the grate. The furniture was of good quality and well cared for. The same could be said of the clothes she was wearing. And he need never know that all her worldly goods were displayed right here in this room.

He studied her for a moment. “Are you happy, Gwyn?” he asked abruptly.

“I’m content.”

“Giving music lessons to other people’s children?”

An edge that she deeply resented had crept into his voice. She said, “I earn my own living and pay my own way. I’m not ashamed of what I do. And strange as it may seem, I enjoy it. Some of my pupils are very talented.” She chose not to mention the ones who were all thumbs and drove her to distraction. A thought occurred to her and she glared at him. “How do you know I give music lessons? Have you been quizzing my son?”

He answered her coolly. “We talked while we were waiting for you to come home. And yes, I was curious. Mark mentioned a Ladies’ Library in Soho Square. I think I must have misunderstood him.”

Her chin lifted. “I doubt it. Mark is very articulate.”

“You work there?” He was incredulous. “Three mornings a week. I’m a volunteer, like all the ladies.”

“But …” For several long seconds, he regarded her in silence, then, “The library in Soho Square. Are we talking about Lady Octavia and her Ladies’ League? You’re not one of that crew?”

It was a typical male response, one she’d heard often enough, but it got her temper going all the same. “Lady Octavia,” she said, “is only trying to make people aware of the injustices women suffer because of our antiquated marriage laws. And she helps women
in distress. I admire her, and I’m proud to be one of her crew.”

“I seem to have hit a raw nerve.” His voice was distinctly amused.

There was no doubt about that. An hour ago, she’d been pleased with the life she had made for herself and Mark. Seen through Jason’s eyes, it didn’t seem like much. She sincerely hoped that Mark hadn’t told Jason that tonight she was engaged to play the piano at a dinner party in Park Lane. He would think that she was in desperate straits. It wouldn’t be far from the truth, but she didn’t want Jason to know that.

She said quietly, “I don’t like it when my friends are ridiculed, that’s all. But you didn’t come here to talk about Lady Octavia. So why are you here, Jason? What’s the real purpose of your visit?”

“Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Should I be?”

He had the habit, when he was annoyed, of narrowing his eyes. They were narrowed now. “I expected a warmer reception after an interval of eight years. Are you punishing me, Gwyn? Is that it? You still blame me for what happened to George?”

She was genuinely shocked. “No! I never did blame you, Jason. It wasn’t your fault. Didn’t I say so at the funeral?”

He shrugged. “Did you? It was a bad time for all of us. I can’t remember.”

“Then let me say it now. I don’t blame you for what happened to George. I never did, and I never shall.”

“Thank you.”

She was subjected to another long scrutiny, then he said mildly, “Were you happy with Nigel?”

She made her eyes go blank. No one was entitled to know about her private life, least of all Jason Radley. “Very happy.”

“Then I’m glad for you.”

She went on quickly, “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

He sighed, but surrendered to her leading. “You’ve come into some money, Gwyn, a legacy from an anonymous benefactor. It’s not a fortune—ten thousand pounds—but if you’re careful, it should be more than adequate to provide for you and Mark.”

“An anonymous …” She stared at him as though he’d taken leave of his senses. “A legacy? I don’t understand. Is this a bequest in someone’s will?”

“No. It’s exactly as I said. Someone who wishes to remain anonymous has settled a tidy sum of money on you.”

Her heart began to beat in slow, heavy strokes. “Who would do such a thing?”

“You tell me.” He was watching her with an expression she could not read, but his eyes were narrowed.

“I haven’t a clue.” Her voice sounded natural, and that surprised her.

“No secret admirers, Gwyn? No one who feels obligated to provide for you, or who believes they owe you something?”

“Not that I …” When his meaning suddenly registered, she went rigid. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped. “I’m a widow with a son to support. I haven’t had the time or the inclination for admirers. And where would I find the opportunity? All the men I meet are already married. I teach their children, for heaven’s sake.”

His smile started at the corners of his lips and gradually filled his eyes.

That smile irritated her more than his insulting words. It also brought back memories. They were children again, and he had always taken delight in teasing her.

“How do you know this, Jason? Who told you about the legacy?”

Before he could respond, Maddie entered, bearing a tray with a decanter of sherry and two crystal glasses. She set it down on the table in front of the fire. Gwyn was given a speaking look, a reproach for forgetting the niceties of entertaining a gentleman caller, and Jason was given a shy smile.

“Thank you, Maddie,” he said, reaching for the decanter. “You must have read my mind.”

Maddie murmured something breathless and inarticulate, which was to be expected, thought Gwyn, because Jason had just turned on the charm. In short, he’d given Maddie one of his rare smiles, intimate, humorous, as though they shared a private joke.