In the Arms of an Earl (35 page)

Her father’s face came to mind. He’d been so proud on her wedding day. He had whispered words of joy into her ear as he’d walked her down the aisle, before handing her over to a man who no longer wanted her. “I’ll go home.”

He nodded. His mouth was cinched tight, and she knew his arm throbbed. How she longed to go to him, to erase the last few days, to reveal all about Alice, but it was too late. She’d missed her chance. She’d never been more mistaken about something in her entire life.

“I will leave immediately. I’d prefer not to be here when your brother-in-law comes home.”

“What…what do I say to Amelia?” Her sister’s opinion was the last thing she feared. It was almost surreal that her marriage had dissolved in the last few minutes. She gripped the back of a chair, her nails sinking into the patterned silk with a tiny tearing sound.

He opened the door a crack. “Tell her what you will. Put the entire blame on me.”

She waited for something to happen. This couldn’t be the end. Perhaps he would reconsider and tell her all was forgiven. The terrible nightmare she’d been living through the last few months would end.

He didn’t speak again. Without a sound, he closed the door softly behind him.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Frederick avoided Dixon’s querulous look when he returned to London late in the night. He took his time preparing for supper, not wanting to answer Alice’s inquiries as to Jane’s whereabouts. The semblance of normal life must go on, even if the world had crashed around him like a broken crystal glass.

He glanced at his reflection in his dressing room mirror, a thing he’d avoided since returning from the war. The missing left hand only emphasized everything else he’d lost. His best friend. His promising musical career.

The assurance that a woman loved him for what he was, and not from pity.

He studied his image, forcing himself to take notice of what he presented to the world. His cravat was knotted crisply, his dark blue coat pressed to perfection. The only difference distinguishing him from any other peer in the House of Lords was his empty left cuff, sewn shut so as not to offend anyone with a weak disposition.

A decanter of brandy sat conspicuously on his dressing table. He smiled flatly. Dixon intended a means other than laudanum to ease his pain. He poured a finger of the amber liquor and raised the glass. At the same time, he noticed the door between his and Jane’s chambers was ajar. For a heart-stopping moment, he imagined she’d returned. Forgetting the brandy, he put down the glass and strode to the door, her name on his lips.

The silence in the room deafened him. Disappointment and a renewed sense of grief enveloped him like a shroud.

Unwilling to tear himself away, he remained in the doorway, trying to absorb what remained of her. The faint scent of lavender hung in the air. Four large boxes from the most popular modiste in London awaited their owner. Sensing Jane’s odd withdrawal from him, he’d ordered new baubles and millinery to please her. Now, she would never see the bonnets he’d carefully chosen. The coral beads would languish in their velvet case, and the diamond bracelet would never grace her slim arm. He’d anticipated her sweet smile upon receiving his gifts and had hoped for a warm kiss as his reward.

A dull ache filled his chest. He leaned against the door to restrain himself from going to her bed and burying his face in the pillows to claim her scent one last time.

His left arm throbbed in protest at the position he’d taken, but he ignored it. Better the pain of his arm than the pain in his heart. He stared at her dressing table and imagined she was there, brushing her long hair into glossy waves. The emptiness of the room still bore a trace of her, and he took a small measure of comfort in his memories.

At least he would always have those. Better than pretending she had never existed at all.

He turned to leave, but a glimmer of something white poking from under her bureau caught his eye. Wondering how the chambermaid had neglected to notice, he entered her chamber and picked it up. It was a letter sent by Lucinda to Jane a few days earlier.

“‘You’ll hardly be surprised to hear,’” he read, “‘that Jeremy has broken off his engagement to Miss Dudley. Papa is in a dither, as are the Dudleys. Jeremy cited meeting you in town as the source of his impulse. Silly boy—I don’t know what he was thinking…’”

With an anguished cry, Frederick crumpled the letter and tossed it into a corner. He slammed the door shut and stormed out of his own chamber. His heart thudded viciously. Jane had accused him of taking a mistress, but it was clear she’d had her own intentions all along. Evidently, she’d expected a proposal from Jeremy, but when it hadn’t materialized, she’d accepted him as the next best alternative.

How could he have been so mistaken, so fooled? She had shown no interest in Jeremy at Everhill. Indeed, she’d fled like a hare trapped in a box before Jeremy could pursue her further.

But had it all been an act? He had presumed she was inexperienced and had never had a suitor, but it was unlikely she had gone unscathed from her mother’s schemes. Perhaps she was playing a coy game between Jeremy and himself. After all, she’d accompanied Jeremy outside the night of the ball. Perhaps she’d wanted to be discovered in a compromising state in order to ensnare a husband. Only when Jeremy vehemently declined a proposal did she turn toward Frederick.

He clenched his fist and rubbed his eyes, the motion causing his left arm to spasm in sympathetic motion when his right arm moved.

There it was. The answer lay before him in the misshapen remains of his arm. Why shouldn’t a country girl like Jane accept his suit, with the promise of riches before her? He’d made her a countess and lavished support on her parents’ farm. By her own admission, her mother’s sole intention was to marry off all her daughters. She’d succeeded, and, oh, how she had succeeded with his marriage to her last daughter.

He paused on the marble staircase to gather his composure. Strains of violins from the quartet Alice had hired for the evening dinner party reached him from the main salon. The sound of music always brought tender thoughts of Jane, and he inwardly cursed himself for visiting the Parkers’ home when Jane was there.

Better that they’d never met.

He’d have remained a happy bachelor, content with his music and his travels, visiting friends whenever he liked, and not having to worry about an inexperienced girl who didn’t fit in. A girl who listened to the paltry gossip of others instead of trusting her heart.

Trusting
his
heart.

He started down the stairs, sorting through his emotions. No matter how hard his conscience argued against her, he knew he was wrong. She had never wanted his money or his title. He’d heard her maid refer to her as Mrs. Blakeney, neglecting the obligatory
my lady
. At first, he’d thought it an intended slight of the maid, until he realized Jane had insisted on the simple courtesy.

He shook his head, exhaustion creeping upon him until it took all his strength to keep moving down the stairs. Jane was no manipulator, plotting to ensnare the first wealthy man who winked at her. He could not deny the innocent fervor of her kisses, the soft gasps and shy whispers in the seclusion of their marriage bed. She’d given herself to him, body and soul, and this was how he treated her.

Laughter spilled over the music in the salon, and he sidestepped the room, going instead into a smaller parlor before facing the guests. How Alice could have decided upon a party at the last minute irked him, but he would make a brief appearance. After all, he was the powerful Earl of Falconbury, and people depended upon him to remain steady in the storm of national crisis, no matter if his heart had broken into a million pieces.

The parlor had been set up for drinks for the gentlemen after supper. Ignoring the brandy, Frederick poured a draught of neat whiskey. He usually detested the stuff, but tonight, he’d make an exception.

He was on his second glass when the door opened.

“I thought you might be in here.” Susanna closed the door behind her. She spotted the whiskey decanter and raised an eyebrow. “Did Jane stay on at her sister’s?”

Frederick finished his drink in one smooth gulp. “Yes.”

“Oh, what a pity. I was hoping she’d go with me to the National Gallery in the morning. There’s a watercolor exhibit…Freddie, dear, what’s wrong?”

He sank into a chair, dizzy and weak. “I haven’t supped all day. Just the whiskey on an empty stomach.” He patted her hand. “I doubt she’d go anywhere with you, Susanna, even if she were here. She has it in her head…” He shrugged, sighing. “It doesn’t matter. She’s not coming back.”

Susanna knelt beside him, her sky blue eyes—George’s eyes—sparkling with unshed tears. “What do you mean? She seemed so…so happy with you, so in love. I cannot believe…”

“Believe it,” he snapped, rising unsteadily from the chair and pouring another drink. Susanna stood in front of him. As he raised the glass to his lips, she deftly took it from him. “Give that back.”

“I won’t let you do this, Freddie.” He’d never noticed the steely resolve in her eyes before. “You must go to her and apologize. Beg her forgiveness. Whatever it takes.”

“Apologize? Have you lost your senses? I have done no wrong. She has accused me of the vilest, unprecedented behavior…”

“She is your wife.” She gripped his arm. “You love her, and you know she loves you. She’s young, Freddie. What, only one-and-twenty? How many mistakes did you make at that age? She is mistaken about you, as you say. Whatever it is, you must make amends. You belong with each other.” Her voice rose in tearful passion.

“You wouldn’t defend her if you knew what she’d said.”

He snatched for the glass, but Susanna expertly drained it, gasping aloud and coughing when she’d finished. “What did she say?” She placed the glass on the opposite end of the table.

He stared down at the woman he’d always thought of as a sister, which was what George had desired as he lay dying on the rocky battlefield below the fortress of San Sebastian. Frederick had vowed to watch over her and had always strived to do so.

She waited for his answer. He brushed a wayward curl off the ivory shell of her ear. Susanna was the only female he could talk to when he came home from the war, battle-scarred in many ways beyond the physical. Affectionate and open, she’d always kissed and embraced him at her leisure, ignoring what people might think. He could understand now how someone who didn’t know him well—someone like Jane—would make the worst possible assumption.

“She believes you are my mistress.”

Susanna gaped at him before splitting into laughter. “Oh, Freddie, no! How could she think something like that?”

“Perhaps because you’ve spent a lot of time with us, but I was trying to foster a relationship between you. I don’t know how she could have come to such a preposterous conclusion. I’m sure I never hinted at such a thing.” He turned away, remorse tearing at him. “It’s why she took”—he inhaled sharply—“a lover of her own.”

Her face glowed scarlet. “I don’t believe it, not for one moment. You must be mistaken. Jane would never…”

“You don’t know what I’ve seen…what I’ve pretended not to see.”

“You saw wrong, then. She would never do anything so dreadful. I never saw any woman so in love.”

“She’s in love with Jeremy Parker.” He spat the words, facing her again. Venom wound its way through his heart, stabbing him as fiercely as if it were a steel blade. “I saw it in Shropshire, when we first met. I pretended not to see it because I wanted her for myself. I found a letter from Lucinda asserting Jeremy has broken off his engagement to a Miss Dudley due to Jane’s influence. Now I must pay for my presumption. It is what I deserve for—”

His words cut off, and he paced the room, wretched and miserable. Susanna shook her head slowly.

“Oh, Freddie,” she whispered. “Do you blame yourself for George’s death? After all these years?”

“He would never have been in danger had it not been for my stupidity. I always knew I would answer for it.”

“And this is how fate—or destiny—has repaid you? By taking away your love?”

“I do not expect you to understand.”

“I understand you are carrying guilt for something you could not control. George loved the army. He was going off to fight with or without you. I begged him not to go, but he would not hear me. He knew the risks…”

“I caused his death. I tried to tell you before, but you will not listen.”

She blinked back tears. “Because it isn’t true. You must not carry this burden any longer. It will destroy you.”

“Do you think I care anymore?” He pounded his fist on a side table. Her anguished face rent his heart. “Forgive me.”

“You are wrong about Jane, Freddie. She and Jeremy are not in love. I should have been more forthcoming. Jeremy and I…”

“Don’t, Susanna. You needn’t make up stories to protect her. It’s over, done with.”

“He broke off his engagement so he could marry me.”

His brow furrowed in disbelief. After a moment, he barked a laugh. “Enough, Susanna! I cannot bear this discussion any further.”

She stepped forward and clasped her hands around his. “It is true, Freddie. I love Jeremy. We’re to be married, as soon as he finds a position with his uncle’s firm.”

He could only stare at her. “Impossible. I warned you a long time ago not to let him trifle with you. After he saw you in Bath—” His jaw clenched. “I should’ve settled with him long ago, had I known it would come to this.”