Once an Innocent (7 page)

While she was attracted to the handsome Jordan Atherton — intrigued by him, even — she scarcely knew him at all. The thought of spending weeks in the man’s home made her uneasy.

Aunt Janine sniffed in disdain. “Nothing you’ve said has convinced me to agree to this scheme. I shan’t take part.”

Marshall huffed and his lips pressed together. “I’m sorry to hear that, Aunt,” he said tersely, the cajoling tone evaporated from his voice. “Naomi is going, and that’s an end to it. If you wish her properly chaperoned, you will go, too.”

Aunt Janine’s jaw snapped shut and she blinked in surprise. For a moment, she looked dumbstruck, an expression Naomi could not recall ever having seen on her face before now. Marshall’s words chilled Naomi with their finality. He crossed his arms, obviously not intending to budge.

Aunt Janine turned to her niece. “And what say you, Naomi? Will you tolerate this … this … dictator’s edict?”

Naomi glanced from her aunt’s pleading gaze to her brother’s steely one and then to her lap. Her clenched knuckles had gone white.

The times Naomi had defied her family were rare. Most notably, she had befriended Isabelle when Isabelle was the divorcée, Mrs. Lockwood, bearing the same name as Naomi but estranged from her family. It had never seemed right to Naomi how Isabelle was just … dismissed … like an unsatisfactory maid. To her mind, Isabelle’s first marriage to Marshall had made her Naomi’s sister, and no railing by her siblings or mother had been able to persuade her to see it otherwise. And so she’d done the apparently unspeakable and treated Isabelle like her friend and sister, because for the life of her, Naomi had been unable to see what the fuss was about. The real injustice had been in how the rest of the family had treated Isabelle so abominably.

Anyway, she reflected, that had all worked out for the best. Isabelle and Marshall were legally married once again, and no one held that
faux pas
against Naomi any longer. Indeed, Isabelle had often credited Naomi with helping to bring her and Marshall back together.

This situation was different, though. As much as Naomi wanted nothing more than to go home and spend the summer with her family, her family didn’t want her there. She struggled against a feeling of betrayal. After Naomi had poised herself against her family’s wishes for Isabelle’s sake, this was how she was to be repaid — like a baby bird shoved from the nest.

“If Marshall says I must go, then I must,” she said. Aunt Janine sputtered; Naomi threw a sharp look at her. “I know my duty, Aunt.”

Marshall exhaled; his posture relaxed fractionally. The idea flickered across Naomi’s mind that if she had held her ground, Marshall would not have forced her to go, but it vanished almost as soon as she’d thought it.

“Aunt Janine,” Marshall said, “I suggest you follow Naomi’s sensible lead and prepare to make your departure. You set out in the morning.”

Aunt Janine’s face drained of color. She nodded curtly and strode, stiff backed, from the library.

When their aunt had gone, Naomi lifted her eyes to Marshall. Her brother held himself awkwardly, as though uncomfortable in his own skin. Once again, Naomi wondered why he was doing this and how committed he truly was to the plan to send her away. By all appearances, he was no happier about it than Naomi.

She rose and stood before him, her arms stiff at her sides. “Must I really I do this?”

A pained frown creased Marshall’s brows. “I’m afraid so.” Her lips parted, but Marshall held up a forestalling hand. “Promise me you’ll be careful, Naomi.”

His urgency confused her. “Careful of what?”

“Just … ” He shook his head. “Please, just be careful. Steer clear of Lord Freese. I mean it, Naomi. Keep your distance from him.” His jaw tightened as his eyes looked precisely to where Naomi had been accosted by Mr. Hayward.

Suddenly, Naomi wondered what Marshall knew about what had transpired. Judging by the tightness around his eyes and mouth, she was almost certain he knew the whole of it. Embarrassment brought a heated flush to her cheeks. “I shall do as you say.”

She pressed a hand against her lips as she flew up the stairs, suffering an agony of shame at having her indiscretion found out. Lord Freese was the only person beside herself and Mr. Hayward who knew what had happened. Jordan must have told Marshall.
How could he?
A true gentleman would never compromise a lady so. All the more reason for her not to go to Lintern Abbey!

Naomi’s slippered feet carried her to Isabelle’s bedchamber. If Marshall didn’t really want to send her away, then maybe his wife could convince him not to.

She found her sister-in-law in her dressing room, selecting clothes for the trip to Helmsdale.

Isabelle was laughing at something her maid had said when Naomi entered, but her laughter died in her throat when she saw the younger woman. She hurried past Naomi into the large, adjoining bedchamber. “Hello, dear,” she said, tossing Naomi a nervous smile.

Anxiety roiled in Naomi’s stomach. “Marshall says I must go away,” she blurted.

Isabelle paused in front of her vanity. Her fingers slowly wrapped around the silver handle of her brush.

“He’s sending me to a party at Lintern Abbey, even though I said I don’t want to go, that I’d rather help you at home.” Naomi approached her sister-in-law and touched her shoulder lightly. Beneath her fingertips, she felt tension in Isabelle’s body. “Won’t you please speak with him?”

Isabelle swiped hastily at her cheek before she shook her head and turned. Her blue eyes were bright, and color stained her cheeks, though the rest of her face had gone pale. She trained her eyes on her maid, packing the trunks. “I don’t … No, Naomi, I don’t think I shall speak to Marshall. I’m sorry. You must do as he says.”

Naomi tilted her head. “Isabelle, please,” she begged. Why wouldn’t her friend and sister look her in the eyes? “The nursery, you said — ”

Isabelle sucked in a breath. She lifted her chin and bestowed a withering look on Naomi. “I’ll make do without you.”

Naomi jerked back as though struck. They really didn’t want her at Helmsdale, neither of them. She stammered an apology and returned to her room. There, she looked around with the sense of doing so for the last time. If Marshall and Isabelle were sending her away because they no longer desired her presence, then she could never return after the party at Lintern Abbey. Not really. Naomi now knew her days with her family were numbered, and she was a woman without a home.

• • •

As the door closed behind Naomi, Isabelle collapsed into a chair. She pressed cold, shaking hands against hot cheeks and squeezed her eyes shut. In her swollen belly, the babe moved slowly. A lump of … something — was it head or rump? — dug uncomfortably under a rib. Isabelle winced and massaged the spot, willing her child to settle. As though in defiance of her wishes, the infant only ground against her bone all the harder. “You think I’ve done wrong, too, don’t you, my love?” Isabelle muttered. “Go on and punish me, then. I think your papa is wrong this time, little one.”

After a moment, her babe’s movements calmed. She heaved a tired sigh, then pushed herself to her feet. In her mind’s eye, Isabelle raced down the hall to run Marshall to ground. Reality held her back with a body she no longer recognized as her own. She stood as straight as her spine allowed but still felt as though there was no room inside to draw adequate breath. Aching hips and swollen ankles had transformed her usual, graceful gait to an ungainly, lumbering stride. She felt like an elephant tromping through the house — one that perspired in unseemly quantities, at that.

By the time she found her husband in his study, Isabelle was short of breath, unbearably hot, and cross. Marshall looked up from sorting papers with Perkins, his secretary. Though not a stick of furniture went anywhere, moving back to the country was still an enormous undertaking. Marshall’s face lit at her entrance, and he stepped around the desk to greet her.

“I’ve just had to treat Naomi most cruelly,” she announced before he’d come within arm’s reach. “Why, Marshall? Why, why,
why
must she go away?” Isabelle stomped a foot and planted her hands on her lower back. She pinned Marshall with the fiercest glare she could summon.

Marshall glanced at Perkins. The secretary cut a bow and beat a hasty retreat. “Come sit down, Isa.” He reached for her arm.

Isabelle scowled. “I don’t want to sit. I’ll get stuck in that little chair again, and you’ll have to call Perkins back to tug it while you pull my arms. No, thank you, I’ll stand.”

A hint of laughter twitched across his lips, but Marshall wisely smoothed his features. “Darling, as I said before, I cannot tell you why. I’m terribly sorry everyone involved is so upset. Aunt Janine may never speak to me after this.”

Isabelle pressed a hand to her chest. “And Naomi may never speak to me! If you’d seen the look on her face when I told her I don’t need her … ” She covered her eyes with her palms and once again saw Naomi’s stricken expression. A fresh pang of guilt shot through her.

“I hurt her,” she muttered miserably, “and I lied.”

Marshall’s arms wrapped around Isabelle; she sank against the support of his broad chest. “I
want
her to come home, Marshall. I’ve looked forward to her advice on decorating the nursery. I need another woman in the house besides your mother — ” Isabelle groaned as she realized she now had no company to look forward to during her confinement other than her estranged mother-in-law. “Naomi would have helped keep Caro’s claws in check, but now — ”

Marshall pushed her back to look into her eyes. “She won’t grieve you any more, Isa. I swear it. There’s nothing Mother can say or do to cause you trouble ever again.” He kissed her gently, and Isabelle’s heart constricted. His warm hands cradled her face. “You and the baby are all that matter,” Marshall said, his voice thick with emotion. “If she steps an inch out of line, I’ll lock her in the dower house.”

Isabelle drew a shaky breath and shook her head. Her fingers idly worked at fixing his perfectly good cravat knot. “But what of Naomi? Please say she can come home.”

Marshall rested his forehead against hers. Isabelle sensed how this weighed on him. Something had convinced him sending Naomi off to a country party at Jordan Atherton’s estate was more important than the wishes of Naomi, Aunt Janine, Isabelle, and even Marshall himself. “I wish I could tell you that,” he said, squeezing her hips. “But Naomi must go to Lintern Abbey. It’s important to all of us, though I don’t suppose we’ll ever know just how important.”

With a confused and aching heart, Isabelle sighed. What could possibly be so crucial about Naomi’s attendance at Jordan’s party? She knew Marshall told the truth — at least as he saw it. She could only hope he’d based his decision on something truly extraordinary. “Whatever it is,” she grumbled, “it had better be worth making us all so unhappy.”

Jordan rubbed ink-stained fingers across tired eyes. “Do any of you wish to contribute to this conversation, or am I as good as talking to myself?” The inn’s taproom was deserted but for them. Jordan had paid handsomely to ensure their privacy.

With a heavy sigh, he looked down the table where five of his men sat. They glanced at one another, avoiding Jordan’s gaze in the way of schoolboys loath to make eye contact with the headmaster.

“I think we should rotate the watch,” John Bates said after a long silence. The heavy man leaned back in his chair; the rickety furniture creaked and popped. His right hand dabbled idly in a ring of moisture at the base of his tankard, while the left scratched at the scrap of beard planted beneath his bottom lip. With slicked-back hair, mustache, and the bristles on his chin, Bates looked like something from the age of Elizabeth. In that era, he’d have held a profession with -eer attached to it — privateer, balladeer, musketeer — something to complement his affected bravado. It remained to be seen whether the man could match action to appearance.

Jordan tapped his sheet of notes. “We’ve already decided to mix the groups every day.”

Bates shook his head and waved a hand. “Not what I mean, Freese. I’m suggesting that, in addition to rotating through the groups, we spread ourselves thinner — keep a full watch going at night, as well.”

“Ahem,” interjected Ferguson Wood. Jordan glanced at the man sitting across from Bates. Wood blinked three times in quick succession. “Wouldn’t that arouse, uh” — his fingers danced in the air, just above the table, like a conjurer working an incantation — “notice?” he blurted. He flashed a smile, offering a glimpse of overlarge teeth. Blinking several more times, he tilted his head. “If the whole object of this exercise is to allay the, the, the
suspicion
of —
blink blink blink
— our
friends
, as it were, surely sending out full
hunting groups
at night would be —
blink blink
— inadvisable.”

Jordan’s eyes watered in sympathy with the man’s abused eyelids. “Good point,” he agreed. “Maintaining a lighter watch at night should be sufficient — a few men stationed close to the house.”

The house.
His house. His once and future prison. As a youth, he’d escaped the place as fast as he could and had spent the bulk of his adulthood avoiding Lintern Abbey. Castlereagh’s orders still felt like a bridle specially designed for Jordan. His nature bucked against the confines of it, resisting the call to home and all the drudgery it entailed. The muscle in his right cheek twitched around the scar. The ridge was numb, a streak of death embedded in his living flesh.

God, he did not want to go home.

The man seated on Jordan’s left, Andrew, Lord Gray, loudly gulped ale and made a satisfied sound as he set down his tankard. “There’s a cave not too far from here,” he said. “S’posed to be a lovely outing for ladies. Easy path. Not far in, there’s an underground pond full of blind fish. There’s torches available for sale.” The young man’s hazel eyes lit hopefully. There wasn’t a line on his face. Jordan doubted he shaved more than once a week.

“Are you quite sure you’re supposed to be here?” Jordan inquired with a scowl. “You didn’t open a letter meant for your father, by chance?”