The Unlikely Lady (31 page)

Jane groaned. “But you didn't know for certain.”

“True. I only had my suspicions. I admit, those often get me into more trouble than they should. At any rate, I agree with you that Mrs. Langford is behind whoever locked Garrett in the wine cellar.”

“He says he's going to confront her about it, but he's already committed to marrying her. Apparently, he did so because of a letter.”

“A letter?”

“Yes, from Harold Langford. Captain Langford asked Garrett to take care of Isabella if anything happened to him.”

“Why would Garrett do that?”

Jane tugged at her sleeve. “Because Harold Langford took a bullet that would have ended Garrett's life. The letter means a great deal to him.”

“I've always known Garrett feels terribly guilty over something that happened in Spain, though he's never told me what that was,” Lucy said. “I think his guilt is severely clouding his judgment. Captain Langford couldn't possibly have known he would die in that fashion. We must find out more about this. I have a feeling Mrs. Langford is behind that letter too.”

Jane nodded. “I don't doubt it, but how could we ever prove such a thing?”

Lucy tapped her cheek again. “We must see the letter for ourselves. Did you borrow your book?”

“No. I didn't find it and then Garrett told me the story about Isabella and the wine cellar and I completely forgot about the book. He did say I could come back whenever I wished, however.”

Lucy smiled slyly. “That's perfect. Return to Garrett's house to borrow that book, and while you're there, look for the letter.”

Jane gasped. “I can't do that.”

“Whyever not?”

“You want me to root around in his private things?”

Lucy nodded. “Yes, exactly.”

“I can't do that, Lucy.”

“I'd do it. Be bold.”

Jane groaned.

Lucy patted her shoulder. “Think of it this way, dear, what would Lucy Hunt do?”

Jane pressed her palm to her forehead. “She'd go to Garrett's town house and search for that letter.”

 

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Garrett had gone straight to Isabella's town house as soon as the hour had been decent. She wasn't in, or so the butler had said. Garrett had left more frustrated than before. He wanted to confront her, to ask her why she'd done what she'd done. How had she known he and Jane were planning to meet in his room that night?

After his talk with Jane yesterday, he had more to think about than ever. Jane had not answered him when he'd asked if they could have a future together. He didn't blame her. He'd made a complete mess of things. He'd proposed to her too late at the house party, and now he was asking her about their future while he was supposed to become formally betrothed to another lady. The wrong lady. A lady who would apparently stop at nothing to get what she wanted. How the devil had things got so complicated in such a sort amount of time?

“Sir, would you like to go home?” the coachman said as Garrett reentered the vehicle.

“No, John. Take me to my mother's.”

Ten minutes later, Garrett was sitting in his mother's drawing room. Mary Upton came pattering in, a wide smile on her face. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I thought I'd stop and see how you are.”

His mother arched a dark brow. “I think the more important question is, how are
you
, my son?”

Garrett wrinkled his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I may be getting on in years but I still keep abreast of the latest news. There is quite a lot of talk about you lately.”

“Talk? About
me
?”

“You, the house party, Miss Lowndes?” His mother dragged out the last two words in a dramatic fashion.

“What about Miss Lowndes?”

“Seems the gossips are saying she was spotted in her night rail near the bachelors' quarters the night of the earl's wedding.”

Garrett struggled to keep his face blank. His mother eyed him carefully. “You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?”

He didn't meet his mother's gaze. “Why would you think I'd know about that?”

His mother had picked up her stitching, one of her favorite pastimes. She shrugged one shoulder. “Oh, I don't know. Perhaps because I heard that you and Jane looked quite enamored with each other when you danced on the night of the wedding.”

Garrett widened his eyes. “Enamored?”

His mother shrugged the other shoulder. “Yes, and what's this about you going and getting yourself engaged to Isabella Langford?”

“It's not yet official.”

“I'm glad to hear that.”

His head snapped up. “Mother?”

His mother kept her eyes trained on the embroidery in front of her. “I don't care for that woman, Garrett. Jane Lowndes, however, would make a fine wife. I've always liked her quite a lot.”

“Mother! I never knew—”

“I know. I know. I tend to keep my mouth shut and allow you to go about your business without any unnecessary interference from me. You are a grown man, after all. But you're still my son, and if I see you making a mistake, it seems I can't keep quiet. Marrying Isabella Langford would be a mistake. Not to mention I've never noticed you to be a bit infatuated with the woman.”

“I'm not,” he admitted. “But it's not quite that simple.”

“Oh?”

Garrett laughed. “You're completely transparent, Mother. I can tell how desperately you want to ask me why.”

Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “Well, now that the question is on the table.”

Garrett took a deep breath. “Harold Langford … he…” Garrett closed his eyes.

“He what, dear?”

“He died saving my life.” There it was. It had been a secret he'd carried so long and now he'd told two different women in as many days. He had to admit to himself, it felt good to say it, to finally have it off his chest.

His voice quavering slightly, Garrett recounted the tale of the day Harold died. She listened intently with tears in her eyes before setting her embroidery aside, leaning over, and squeezing his hand. “I'm sorry, Garrett. Sorry for you and sorry for Harold Langford and his family. But you didn't make the decision that day, he did.”

“You can't know the guilt I feel, have always felt.”

“Guilt is a terrible master. I know because your father carried it with him.”

Garrett shook his head. “Father?”

“Yes.

“Your father cried like a babe the day your cousin Ralph died. He was devastated for his brother and for Lucy and her mother.”

“But Father couldn't have done anything to save Ralph.”

“That's true, but it didn't stop him from feeling guilt. And don't think I don't know you've carried a bit of that same guilt, too, over your cousin's death.”

Garrett hung his head. “I have.”

“If you weren't alive, Garrett, there would be no one to take over the earldom. Think of that. The estate would be passed to a distant relative. I have no doubt Ralph would have grown into a fine earl. But I know there could be no better man to take over the responsibility of the Upbridge estates and titles than you, my son. Your father felt the same way. He told me.”

“He told you?”

“Yes. He was proud of you, Garrett. So very, very proud.”

A lump formed in Garrett's throat. He squeezed his mother's hand. “Thank you for that, Mother.”

“I love you, Garrett. I know you'll do the right thing. You always do.”

*   *   *

No drinking today. Garrett waved away the footman who hovered near him. He was back at Brooks's, but he needed his wits about him. He intended to confront Isabella this afternoon.

Adam and Collin Hunt were playing cards nearby. Since their brother had been named a duke, the Hunt brothers had come up in Society. Garrett was about to go greet them when Claringdon and Cavendish came strolling through the door.

“Upton,” Claringdon said. “Fancy seeing you here again. We were just meeting my brothers.”

“And I'm happy for any excuse to drink in the middle of the day,” Cavendish added.

“Good to see you both,” Garrett replied.

“Come join us,” Claringdon insisted.

Garrett made his way over to the card table where the other men were settling. He greeted the Hunt brothers, who resumed their play, while Claringdon, Cavendish, and Garrett sat together in a small group of large leather chairs.

“You look as if you have something on your mind, Upton,” Rafe said. “Not a happy bridegroom?”

Garrett scrubbed his hand across his face. “That is an understatement.”

Claringdon's eyebrows shot up. “Trouble already?”

“It was always trouble,” Garrett replied.

Claringdon waved down a footman and ordered three brandies.

“The last thing I need is a drink. I have important decisions to make,” Garrett said.

“On the contrary, sounds as if the
first
thing you need is a drink,” Rafe replied, with a wicked grin.

“Care to tell us the trouble?” Claringdon asked.

“Suffice it to say I owe someone an enormous favor and the price may be entirely too great to pay,” Garrett replied.

Claringdon steepled his fingers. “You're talking about Harold Langford.”

Garrett eyed the duke carefully. “You know?”

Claringdon nodded. “I know what happened in Spain. Langford took a bullet for you. But it was no more than what any of us would have done for each other, you must know that.”

Garrett briefly closed his eyes. “You cannot know the guilt I feel.”

“You're right. I cannot. I do know that you're directing your guilt into something useful by helping Swifdon champion the soldiers' bill. You cannot pay with the rest of your life for something that was neither your fault, nor your choice.”

Garrett took a glass from the footman. “Easy for you to say, Claringdon. You don't have another man's blood on your hands.”

“I do.” Rafe Cavendish's two words fell like lead to the rug.

Both men's heads turned to face him.

“I have another man's blood on my hands,” Cavendish continued, staring unseeing into the depths of his newly acquired brandy glass. “I know exactly what the guilt feels like.”

Upton shook his head. “No, Cavendish. Everyone knew Donald Swift never should have gone to France. He volunteered and there was no stopping him. He said as much in his letter to Julian. You did your best to protect him.”

“I failed, and an earl died because of me. The man had no children, no heirs.” Cavendish's voice was heavy.

“He had Julian. Julian is the earl now.”

“You think I shouldn't feel guilt? Is that what you're telling me, Upton?” Cavendish asked, a wry smile on his face.

Garrett shook his head again. “No one blames you. No doubt Donald remained alive as long as he did because you were with him.”

Rafe tossed back his drink. “Perhaps, but the guilt gnaws at my soul.” He set his empty glass on the table and looked Garrett in the eye. “The same as it does yours.”

Garrett sucked air through his nostrils. “I understand, Cavendish. I do. But you shouldn't blame yourself.”

Cavendish cocked a brow. “Perhaps you should take your own advice, Upton.”

*   *   *

Garrett strode down the club's stone steps minutes later. He'd had that drink, after all, and another. What Rafe Cavendish said resonated. Finally. Through all the years and all the nightmares. All the people telling him it wasn't his fault when he'd believed damn well it was … he finally felt … free. Damn Harold Langford for taking that bullet. Damn Isabella Langford for being conniving. And damn him for allowing his guilt to push him in a direction he had no business going.

It was true. No one blamed Cavendish for Donald Swift's death. The earl had recklessly volunteered to go on a mission to France for the War Office under the guise of diplomacy. Rafe was one of the best spies the War Office had. Donald gave them away. It had ended in their capture and torture. Rafe barely escaped with his life and had spent the past six months slowly recuperating. Rafe was alive in
spite
of Donald, not the other way around. But Rafe felt guilt. He was the only other man who understood, the only other person who could absolve Garrett.

“Perhaps you should take your own advice.” Garrett repeated Cavendish's words. The captain was damn right. Garrett could no longer live in the past, blaming himself for the actions of another man.

After ten years of allowing guilt to ride him, control him, today he was done. Harold Langford had chosen Isabella. Harold Langford had chosen to throw himself in front of that bullet.

Garrett Upton had his own choices to make.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Garrett's invitation to come back to the library whenever she liked was an enticement Jane couldn't resist. If looking about Upton's town house led to the opportunity to search for a certain letter, so be it. Of course, she'd pointed out to Lucy that she might just
ask
Garrett for the letter, but nothing was simple when Lucy Hunt was involved.

Jane had come straight from Lucy's house, in fact. Less chance to encounter her mother and be forced to explain why Mrs. Bunbury hadn't yet materialized. One problem at a time.

Cartwright and the dogs greeted Jane at the door again and ushered her into the library. “Mr. Upton is not here at present,” the butler intoned. “We expect him back at any moment.”

“Thank you. I'll be happily entertained by the books,” she replied.

Cartwright served the tea tray and Jane partook of a teacake. She waited twenty entire minutes before tiptoeing to the door—tiptoeing seemed appropriate when one was engaged in clandestine activities—and peeking into the corridor. The dogs, who remained at her heels, peeked out too.