Eulogy's Secret (The Huntley Trilogy) (23 page)

“Go on.”

“First…you must promise not to turn violent.”

“I give you my word.” A muscle twitched on his jaw.

Lucien regarded him astutely.

“As a gentleman?”

“As a gentleman, yes.”

“All right then.” Devlin drank down a deep breath.

“What is there between you and Miss Foster? I know something is going on, so don’t bother to deny it.”

Something akin to an epiphany dawned across Devlin’s features. “Miss Foster and I have been, oh how to put this delicately?” He shuffled uncomfortably, clearing his throat in an annoying girlish way. “Enough to say we were once intimate but no longer.”

True to his word Jack didn’t move, not even to blink.

“Explain yourself.”

“Remember Huntley, this took place before she met you. It started innocently enough when visiting the Devlin estate, last year. Doctor Foster was attending a farm worker and brought his daughter, the delightful Eulogy along as nurse. She seemed so innocent, so untouched. Yet, when later she sought me out I found her a most willing and experienced companion.”

The walls became blurred, a whistling in Jack’s ears as his world imploded. He forgot where he was, oblivious to everything but the sickly pounding in his head. He gripped the sofa tightly, in an effort to stay upright. Think, he commanded himself. This can’t be true! Slowly the rational part of his mind stopped reeling. Summoning all his mental strength he pushed Devlin’s vile accusations aside.

“Liar!” he snarled. “You are making this up for the same, twisted reason that you betrayed me all those years ago.”

Devlin stared back, all cool composure. “Am I? Really? Then ask yourself, why has Miss Foster been plaguing me? Calling unchaperoned in a most inappropriate manner. Are you aware she has called several times?”

Jack tried not to listen.

“Of course you know. That’s why you are so angry now. How else do you explain her obsession with me, but that I finished the affair and she didn’t want to?” Devlin adopted an expression of careworn concern, “In the name of the friendship you and I once had its only fair you know now, before it’s too late, the nature of the creature who has entrapped you.”

Jack gulped great breaths and marshaled his thoughts. Two voices competed, the whisper insisting Devlin was a devious liar, and the growing crescendo of ‘I told you so’. What if all along, his suspicions had been correct and he had been duped?

A feeling grew and took root, an old emotion he thought long since buried. One that made him physically sick.

The pain of betrayal—the very thing he most dreaded.

In the grip of roaring self-pity, he could no longer think or reason, Miss Foster had bewitched him…fool! He only had his own weakness to blame. To be cuckolded once was a lesson, but twice was sheer carelessness. A muscle worked in his jaw. Lucien was speaking again, through the fog of bitterness Jack’s head swam.

“I don’t know how well acquainted with the delectable Miss Foster, but needless to say, those country boys taught her well, she won’t disappoint you in the marriage bed.”

Jack’s heart turned to stone. Events came into focus, it made perfect sense. Miss Foster hailed from Easterhope, neighboring Devlin’s estate. That first night, when they met, she had been robbed outside Devlin’s house.

 Jack managed a dry laugh.

“It seems Miss Foster does have an obsession with you.”

Jack reeled, he’d even leant her, his carriage to call on Devlin. What a blind fool!

“I want to hear it all,” Jack growled.

“I’m sorry if this pains you old chap. Clearly this is news to you, but better you find out before you marry.”

“Go on.”

“Despite my making it clear that I am courting Miss Washington, Miss Foster followed me here to London. Threw herself at me, begged to resume the...urm…romance. Of course I refused, after all, you can’t expect a man like me, to marry a woman of no pedigree.”

Deep inside Jack whimpered like a beaten child.

“But she returned, again and again. When I held fast, she threatened to use blackmail, to reveal our intimacy to the woman I am courting.”

A shrill whine filled Jack’s head, flashing stars before his eyes, Devlin turning into jagged shards of a man.

“My poor man, I do sympathize. But if it is any comfort, it’s that Miss Foster is an accomplished liar and a cheat, obviously she now sees you as better target. It’s your money I expect. Best you found out whilst you can still call off the wedding.”

“But…” Jack wanted to argue but he couldn’t. Miss Foster hadn’t even denied a relationship with Devlin, only that she wasn’t his mistress, which she wasn’t.

The room span in dizzying circles. What about when she’d called on Devlin and refused to tell him why? Fool! Despite his better judgement he had trusted her, when what did he truly know? Nothing. Only the lies she had fed him. When he’d pressed her about her earlier life, she’d answered with a strange look in her eye. He’d assumed her discomfort was because of the social differences, but now he knew the truth and loathed her for it.

“I…I don’t believe you,” he muttered, without conviction.

But what reason had Devlin to lie? It was he who had sought Devlin out, not the other way round. Suddenly he couldn’t breathe, like a cornered animal he had to escape. The future crumbled. Ashen faced he bowed. Without knowing how he formed some words. “I am most grateful for your time. I trust you will not repeat this conversation on your honor as a gentleman.”

“Of course, Huntley, take that as read.”

As Huntley turned to leave, the final wound was seeing the pity in Devlin’s eyes.

Outside, a grey greasy sleet fell for an oily-grey sky. As it landed on his skin, the coldness of it stung like needles, and yet Jack didn’t notice, dead to everything but rage. Walking blindly he turned toward home, half insane with the pain of betrayal.

Of course she must be faced, to give her an opportunity to confess her scheming. It was over between them and she owed him an explanation. Perhaps, he recalled, she had been trying to tell him something, he ground his teeth but of course that was after the engagement was made public. What an idiot he’d been. Devlin was right. What did he truly know about Eulogy Foster? Only what she wanted. He groaned aloud.

And yet he loved her. Deeply, irrevocably, a deep wound running through his soul. He wanted so much for Devlin to be lying and yet, deep down, it all made sense: meeting on the Devlin estate and her following to London.

 Jack tugged at his hair. Where Miss Foster was involved he couldn’t trust his own judgement. He had to regain control, and to do that he couldn’t be near Eulogy Foster. She was his fatal weakness.

He would leave London immediately. Visit his mother in the country, after her recent illness he could run the estate for a while. That was it, go where Miss Foster couldn’t turn his head with more lies. He would withdraw until the pain and humiliation receded, until he armored himself against Miss Foster and she could no longer pierce his heart.

-oO0Oo-

After meeting Devlin, Eulogy left Grosvenor Square with a pounding head and blurred vision, stumbling through the streets lights danced before her eyes and with great difficulty retraced the route to Red Lyon Square.

She spilt through the front door in a state of distress, almost knocking the elderly housekeeper over.

“Mrs. Featherstone.” Shards of lightening pierced her head, dancing painfully before her eyes and she feared at any moment she would vomit. “I fear I won’t be able to sit for Mr. Farrell today. Could you please tell him I have a fearsome headache?”

With one look at Eulogy’s blanched face, the housekeeper took her arm.

“Hush, dear, don’t talk. Sit quiet in the kitchen. I’ve a draft that will soothe yer head.”

Mrs. Featherstone helped Eulogy to a chair.

“Does it pound terrible, yer head?”

“Like the very Devil is hammering inside!”

“Here, then drink this down.” The housekeeper wrapped Eulogy’s numb fingers around a beaker. Through chattering teeth, she downed the bitter liquid.

“There now, dear, I’ll help yer up to bed, so’s yer can sleep the meegram off.”

“But Mr. Huntley…” Eulogy shook from head to toe. “He’s calling this afternoon. I must see him. It’s of the utmost importance.”

“Hush, now. Yer in no fit state. I’ll send a note, explain yer tekken poorly…he will understand.”

Devoid of strength Eulogy slumped; the words just elusive, fuzzy shapes in her brain as a high-pitched whine drowned out all sense.

“Tell…Jack, love…him.” Her tongue was suddenly wooden.

“Come now, child, off ter bed with yer. Worry not. I’ll mek sure he gets the message.”

Sometime later Eulogy woke with a start. Her head felt bruised on the inside, but no longer threatened to burst like a struck melon when she moved. Cautiously, she propped herself up on her elbows and tried opening her eyes. The piercing shafts of light were gone. Instead a watery sun filtered in through the bedroom curtains. She tried to shake off the drugged feeling, as if she’d slept forever. Disorientated, she wondered what the time was and glimpsed a bone white sky tinged with pink, more like dawn than sunset. The shadows leant the wrong way for evening. Merciful heavens had she been asleep for a whole day and night?

Unsteady on her legs, but driven by urgency, Eulogy dressed. There was no time to waste, Jack had to know everything and that ogre Devlin could take his chances. Feeling better for the resolution, Eulogy hurried down to the kitchen.

Mrs. Featherstone paused over her porridge, to greet her with a smile.

“How are yer now, dear? White as goose feathers yer were yesterday quite gave me a turn. Mind, yer still a bit pale…”

“Much better, Mrs. Featherstone, thanks to you. Mr. Huntley, he received your note?”

“Aye, that he did, and he even sent a reply, so don’t go worrying now.” The housekeeper delved in her apron pocket. “I found it slipped under the door this morning. Happen he didn’t want to disturb your rest.”

Eulogy’s heart fluttered. “Thank you.”

“Now then, a little porridge for strength?”

As the housekeeper took a ewer up to Mr. Farrell, Eulogy drew her chair to hearth, to read the note. She recognized Huntley’s writing and yet something about it struck her as odd. Puzzled, she broke the seal and smoothed the stiff vellum flat. Indeed, the first impression was of an untidy sprawl, of crossings out and smudges. In fact, some of the words were difficult to make out. Angling the paper toward the light, Eulogy frowned.

Her frown deepened. No, this could not be. Her hands shook so hard, the words became blurred. No. This simply couldn’t be right. She shook her head and re-read it, hoping the words would make more sense. Stubbornly, the words remained the same.

Miss Foster,

Events have come to my attention with cast grave concern upon your integrity and honor. I have reason to believe I cannot believe a word you say, and therefore must withdraw my offer of marriage and break the engagement.

I hope in time you will forgive me for breaking the news by letter, but coward that I am, I find I am unable to face you and having no wish to prolong the pain, have quit London.

JH.

The letter fell to the floor. How could this be? Why had Jack called her a liar? Eulogy rose unsteadily to her feet. What…or who…had turned Jack against her? Cold fingers of dread tingled down her spine.

“Devlin must have gotten to Jack whilst I was ill.”

She paced the flagstones; her mind raced. Why would Devlin ruin her like this? But the answer was so obvious she almost laughed aloud. To discredit her! It was a master stroke, if her own fiancé denounced her as a liar, no one would ever believe a word she said. Begrudgingly she saw the cleverness of Devlin’s method. Discredit her with the man who loved her and no one in the ton would believe her claim to be Devlin’s sister.

Only then, briefly, did she allow the indulgence of self-pity. Moaning and pulling at her hair. Why hadn’t she trusted Jack sooner? It seemed a meaningless game now, testing his love. Goodness knows what poisonous tale Lucien had spun.

Eulogy forced herself to be calm. Jack Huntley was a reasonable man, if she explained and begged his forgiveness, the worst she had done was withhold the truth. She hadn’t lied to him, unlike Devlin.

A plan took shape. She would find Jack directly and explain everything. Her heart sank. The letter said he had quit London. Who would know where he had gone? There was not a moment to lose if she was to find him.

After grabbing her cloak, Eulogy set off into a bleak winter’s morn.

Despite the unorthodox hour and still in his dressing gown, a bemused Charles received Miss Foster. He greeted her warmly, and if he was a little curious as to her disheveled state and high anxiety, he hid it well. Without demur, Eulogy explained the situation and begged him to tell her where Jack might have gone. After much thoughtful rubbing of the chin, Charles conceded that the most likely place Jack would head for was back to the Huntley estate, with their mother having been so recently ill. If he’d left that morning, then he had no more than a few hours start. If she set off now, why she’d likely catch him at an Inn.