Not Always a Saint (22 page)

Not bothering to check how Miss Ludley was reacting, she led Daniel down the central hall and to the room in the back left corner of the house that her father used as a study. The door was closed and when she raised her hand to knock, she had another moment of paralysis. She was beset by vivid memories of the countless times she'd stood shaking in this very place as she obeyed her father's summons.

Her mouth thinned and she gave a brisk knock, then opened the door and swept into the study. Her father sat at his desk looking thin and crabbed. He glanced up with a scowl, then froze, his jaw dropping. He surged to his feet.
“Jezebel!”

T
he Reverend Cassius Braxton had always been tall and thin, but now he looked skeletal, and the deep lines in his face delineated a lifetime of anger. His hair had thinned and was now pure white. The jarring part was that she'd half forgotten that his eyes were exactly the same as hers: a pale Arctic blue edged with charcoal. People found them unnerving even on her. On her father, those icy eyes made him look like a hanging judge.

Reminding herself that he no longer had power over her, she said coolly, “Hello, Father. I do not answer to Jezebel, but you may call me Lady Romayne.”

He sputtered, unable at first to find words strong enough to express his fury. “There is no Lady Romayne! That worldly reprobate died without wife or child. You're a whore and this must be your pimp.” His glare at Daniel was lacerating.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Braxton,” Daniel said imperturbably. “but I am indeed the new Lord Romayne, and to our mutual regret, your son-in-law.”

Her father's gaze swung back to Jessie. “Why the devil are you even here? You abandoned all claim to decency when you ran away with that filthy seducer. You are no longer welcome in my home!”

“Father dearest,” Jessie said in her sweetest tone, even though she was shaking inside, “I was
never
welcome in this house. You locked me in closets for taking too large a slice of cheese at the table and let me shiver in a freezing cold bedroom with only a paper-thin blanket because warmth would corrupt my character. Not to mention beating me with a leather strap because sparing the rod would spoil the child. If that was true, I'd have been the most unspoiled child in Christendom!”

Daniel looked appalled, but her father just spat, “You were a vessel of iniquity, just like your whore of a mother! It was my duty to beat the sin out of you!”

“If you had assaulted a neighbor as you assaulted me, you would have been brought up before a magistrate!” Jessie made herself take a deep, slow breath as she struggled to keep her fury under control. “I came here to prove to myself that I am no longer afraid of you.”

“You
should
be!” Her father's hand flashed out in a vicious slap.

Jessie hadn't expected a physical assault, not in front of a witness, and she was critically slow at dodging.

But the blow never connected. Daniel's hand shot out and he caught her father's wrist, immobilizing the older man. “You will
not
raise a hand to my wife,” he said in a steely voice. “You are a disgrace to the cloth you wear!”

Her father struggled to free his wrist, snarling. “I have a father's right to chastise my daughter in hopes of saving her soul from eternal damnation!”

“You have no such right!” Daniel said flatly. “The Bible says in multiple places that ‘a man shall leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.' That is equally true of a woman. Jessie is now mine as I am hers.”

“And the cleaving together part is really lovely,” Jessie said helpfully.

Her father's face turned red with fury and veins bulged in his forehead. “You vile, filthy creature! You'll both rot in hell!”

“Why do I have the feeling that you spent all your time studying the Old Testament God of vengeance and totally ignored the New Testament's message of joy and forgiveness?” Daniel said thoughtfully.

“There must be repentance before there can be forgiveness!” Her father jerked his wrist again, and this time Daniel let him go. “But what would a lying, cheating rake like you know about the Church?”

“Rather a lot, actually,” Daniel said, cool in contrast to her father's fire. “I'm an ordained clergyman of the Church of England.”

“You're lying!” her father exclaimed, horrified. “The Church would never ordain a man like you!”

“Indeed it did. Mind you, I have an unfashionable fondness for Methodism, but my ordination is very real.” This time, Daniel's smile had a distinct edge. “I earned double firsts at Oxford.”

Jessie would have laughed if she wasn't shaking inside. Her father was glaring at Daniel with loathing, more repulsed by the idea that his son-in-law was a pastor than he would be if Daniel really was a pimp.

“I give you full marks for consistency, Father. You were an angry, hate-filled man when I was a child, and you are still.” She drew a deep breath. “I came to pay my respects and to tell you that you have a beautiful granddaughter.”

His face twisted as if he'd bitten into something rotten. “Another generation of female wickedness! I wash my hands of you!”

“As Pontius Pilate washed his hands in a futile attempt to reject responsibility for the crucifixion of Jesus,” Jessie pointed out. “Or Lady Macbeth tried to wash the stain of murder from her hands. You choose poor company for yourself.”

“Leave my house,” her father said, his voice shaking. “I will never forgive you for these insults.”

“If anyone needs forgiveness, it's you. But being a wicked woman, I have no desire to offer it. Good-bye, Father.” Exhausted by emotion, she turned and took Daniel's arm and they left the study.

As they walked toward the front door of the parsonage, Miss Ludley appeared to glare at them. “How dare you come here to disturb the peace of a godly man like the Reverend Braxton!” she said viciously.

Jessie fought to keep her expression calm when she was too drained to respond, but Daniel said courteously, “I don't think that peace is the vicar's strong point, Miss Ludley, but never fear. We shall not trouble you again.”

He opened the door and escorted Jessie down the steps. She clung to Daniel's arm and tried to conceal her bleak knowledge that she would not see her father again.

As they passed the church, Daniel asked, “Is there a different route than the High Street? You don't look up to dealing with friendly folk in the market square.”

So very true. Jessie rubbed her temple, trying to clear the numbness. “That alley there. If we cut through, we'll come to a lane that parallels the High. Dovecote Lane.”

He followed her instructions and steered her to the lane, which was mercifully empty of people. She guessed he'd also found the meeting difficult, but he maintained his calm demeanor until they were safely in their room at the George. As he peeled off coat, cravat, and boots, he asked, “Did you achieve what you wished by seeing your father?”

“I . . . I don't know.” Numbly she removed her shawl and bonnet and gloves, her gaze unfocused. “I'm not sure what I wanted.”

Quietly, Daniel asked, “To remind yourself why you ran away from your home?”

Her mouth twisted bitterly. “I was certainly reminded why today. Now and then, not very often, I'd wonder if my father was really as bad as I thought. Perhaps I rebelled because I was young and headstrong and emotional. But no. He really was that bad.”

“When he tried to strike you, I was tempted to break his wrist myself, and I'm not even related to him,” Daniel said dryly. “I had to remind myself that it would be very bad form to injure a frail, warped old man. But even now, when his end is near, your father is a cruel bully. I'm even more impressed by you than I was before. You endured and became strong and compassionate rather than embracing cruelty yourself.”

Jessie shrugged off the compliment. She had learned how to survive, but that wasn't strength, merely desperation. She poured water into the washbasin and splashed her face, trying to clear her mind. After drying her face, she said, “Is his health that bad? He's very thin, but he didn't lack the energy to be angry.”

“He shows significant signs of heart disease,” Daniel said, his gaze steady on her. “He might last another ten years, or he could have dropped dead while raging at you. Luckily, he didn't.”

She shuddered at the thought. “That would have been
ghastly.
”

“Is his behavior any different from when you were a child? Sometimes people's temper changes for the worse as they age.”

“No, he was always much like this, particularly if I was less than perfectly obedient and well behaved. Today, I stood up to him. I'm grateful that my behavior didn't kill him on the spot.” Exhausted and chilled, she kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the bed, pulling the neatly folded blanket at the bottom up over her.

Brow furrowed, Daniel asked, “You were hoping for more from him? Some sign of affection or respect?”

The chaotic emotions that had been churning inside her coalesced into shattering grief. “That's it. I wanted
something
from him. The smallest kind word or sign that he was glad I was alive. Some indication that he cared that he had a daughter.” Silent tears began sliding down her cheeks. “I should have been more conciliatory instead of aggressive. I should have apologized for giving him grief. . . .”

“No!” Daniel said sharply. “You were not in the wrong, and there is nothing you could have said or done to get the response you wanted. We can't always have the relationship we want with another person because we can't control how they feel. I don't think your father is capable of love. This is sad for you, and even sadder for him.”

Her tears fell faster. “So it was a mistake to come here.”

“Only you can judge that.” He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand, his grasp warming her chilled fingers. “But since you confirmed that he really is as difficult as you remembered, did seeing him again at least banish some of your regrets?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “But . . . it's hard to lose the last hope that there might be more.” She rolled away from him onto her side in a vain attempt to hide the gut-wrenching sobs of a brokenhearted child.

Daniel lay down and spooned himself behind her, warming the back of her from her head to her heels as he wrapped a secure arm around her waist. He didn't speak, simply holding her as she wept for the child who'd yearned for love and received only anger and disapproval. It was time for her to accept what Daniel had said: that she could never have the father she wanted. But after running away from her father, she'd eventually learned how to choose good men. For that, she was profoundly grateful.

As her tears gradually ran dry, Daniel began singing softly, his deep voice soothing her down to her bones. “ ‘Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes . . .' ” The song was sweet and slow as a lullaby, and he tweaked the words to fit her. “My Jessie's asleep by their murmuring stream, flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. . . .”

She dozed, not coming awake until a knock sounded on their door. “Our dinner has arrived,” Daniel said quietly in her ear, his breath as warm and soft as his lullaby. “I'll have to get up.”

As he slid from the bed, she sat up, wiped the last tears from her eyes, and smiled at her kind, wise, and wickedly handsome husband. “Good, I'm hungry.” As new life surged through her, she said on impulse, “If you're interested, later we might practice cleaving unto one another.”

He lit up like the rising sun. “I hope that means what I think it does!”

“Oh, yes,” she whispered, her voice sultry. “It most certainly does.”

G
ordon knew Bristol from his traveling days, and he was glad to have an excuse to visit. From sheer curiosity, before starting to investigate the death of Ivo Trevane he made a few inquiries about Daniel Herbert.

The damned man was revered for his medical skills and his charitable works. The wealthy consulted him when they needed the very best medical treatment, but more of his time was devoted to running an infirmary for those in need. The infirmary was going strong even with him away. Apparently Herbert had the gift of hiring capable people.

All those good works came at a price, of course. In Gordon's experience, everything had a price. In Herbert's case, he didn't seem to have had much of a private life. There were no rumors of mistresses or flirtations with marriageable young females. That lively piece he'd married would surely be an education. It would be interesting to see how that marriage worked out. Herbert was tremendously easygoing, but any man has his limits.

Still, Gordon wished Herbert well. He might be a boring stick, but he was one of the most genuinely decent human beings Gordon had ever met, and he deserved some good fortune. Of course there was that bloody great title and fortune that had dropped on Herbert's head, but a willing woman to warm a man's bed was a lot more fun.

Curiosity satisfied about Daniel Herbert's blameless past, Gordon turned to the real purpose of his visit. It wasn't hard to find information about what had happened to the dashing young Mr. Trevane seven years earlier. The affair had been quite the scandal, and very interesting the story was.

With the general outlines of the case in mind, Gordon visited Trevane House, which was still owned by the family. And he was in luck—the same butler still worked there. Sometimes investigations were just too easy.

The owner of the house wasn't in residence, so there were few servants, and the butler, Tuttle, was in charge. He looked wary when Gordon called on him in the servants' quarters. Gordon dressed like a prosperous solicitor for the occasion.

After introducing himself with an expensive engraved calling card, one of several Gordon carried, he said, “I'm sorry to disturb you with questions about such a painful matter, but I'm seeking information about your former master, Mr. Trevane. It's a matter of an inheritance.”

“Oh?” Tuttle looked more interested. “What do you wish to know?”

“What sort of man was Trevane? He was quite young when he lived here, wasn't he?”

“Only twenty-two. A very charming chap.” Tuttle shook his head mournfully. “I could have told him that wench he married was trouble, but young men don't listen to old ones about such matters. Mr. Trevane was besotted.”

Gordon permitted himself a slightly salacious leer. “Was she as beautiful as everyone says?”

“All that and more,” Tuttle said. “Dark hair, great light eyes, and a figure to keep a man awake at night, yet the doxy acted like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Even claimed her father was a vicar!”

“Shocking!” Gordon said, increasingly interested since it seemed pretty clear who the wife was. How much did Herbert know? “I assume her innocence was an act?”

“That Lisbet was a cat in heat,” Tuttle said baldly. “Even waggled her tail at me a time or two, though of course I ignored her lures. I can't say I was surprised when she cut loose with a knife and ran off with a new lover. She planned it well. No trace of her was ever found.”

“No doubt her wicked ways have since caught up with her,” Gordon said piously. Instinct prodding him to ask more questions, he took out his wallet and pulled out a substantial bribe, holding it visible while he asked, “Can you tell me more about Ivo Trevane? What about his family? As I said, there's an inheritance involved.”

“Well, that's an interesting tale.” Expression gleeful, Tuttle proceeded to explain a good deal more about the Trevane family.

Gordon kept his expression only mildly interested, but when the butler finished speaking, he willingly handed over the bribe. As he left Trevane House, he was busily calculating how long it would take him to reach Castle Romayne.

After he left, Tuttle fingered the money with satisfaction before tucking it away. That was two men in as many days wanting the same information, and both had paid well for it. The first had lit up like a lamp when he'd heard. The second was just a lawyer and not so interested. But interested enough.