Seducing Mr. Heywood (20 page)

Sophia recoiled as though suddenly doused with cold water. “What are you saying, Brent?”

“That it is all but done, my lady. Mr. Heywood was reluctant to agree to the marriage this past year, using
the excuse of your late husband’s declining health, but now it seems he has no further excuse for delay. The Mainwarings are hoping for late fall nuptials, if not before.”

Sophia felt as if she had taken root where she stood. She could not move any of her limbs. It was an effort to force words through her lips. “I…I have not been led to believe that…that Char…that Mr. Heywood’s affections were otherwise engaged, my lord.”

Sympathy reflected from Lord Brent’s warm brown eyes. “Otherwise, my lady? Does that mean, then, that they are engaged at this moment?”

Sophia could not meet his direct, questioning gaze. “You ask too much, sir.”

Gently taking her hands in his, he asked, “You
are
in love with him, are you not?”

She would not answer and attempted to turn away, but Brent held her hands. “My lady, he is a fine young man. If you and he—”

Now Sophia did turn, fixing Brent with a stare. “He is younger than I, and the rector of this parish.” Unflinching, she enumerated the list of obstacles that, of late, had been much in her thoughts. “I am a woman of somewhat dubious reputation. I have been married and widowed thrice. My father plotted to kidnap—and likely to kill—my sons. My mother died under mysterious circumstances. Could any greater scandal be connected with my name?” She laughed ruefully.

Brent’s voice was soft. “What, my lady, does any of this have to do with the love you and Mr. Heywood may have for each other?”

“His father would never agree to such a match, Brent, and he is a good and obedient son. As you have just described, they favor another for his future wife and are even now in the midst of solidifying a marriage contract. And though I tell you, my friend, that my notorious reputation is somewhat exaggerated, it still clings to me and damages me.”

Sophia shook her head. “I am no fool. If Charles Heywood has any ambitions in the church, any inclination to
rise further in that hierarchy, they would be better served by marrying a pure young woman like the Mainwaring daughter, a girl untainted by the slightest breath, the merest whisper, of scandal.” She raised her head. “I am considered damaged goods, Brent, certainly in the eyes of a young man of the church.”

“Nonsense!” Brent’s voice was firm. “You are an exemplary female, my lady, intelligent, brave, loving…No one would dare—”

Sophia released her hands from the nobleman’s grasp and placed two fingers over his mouth. “Shush, my lord, shush. I appreciate your words more than you can know, but my reputation would compromise Mr. Heywood’s future.
That
is the plain truth.”

“And, yet,” Brent teased her, “you have kissed him in your rose garden, my dear lady.”

Sophia smiled. “More than once, my lord! Yes, I have kissed him, with great enjoyment. And though I blush to tell it, even to such a good friend as yourself, I would bed him with greater enjoyment. I would not lie to you about that! But
marry
him? That is out of the question.” She looked to where her sons were still playing with Chloe Brown, imagining another child, a little girl, hers and the vicar’s. A fairy tale! She was too old for such stories.

She hooked her arm in Brent’s. “I was engaging in some fantasies earlier, my lord, pretending it would be possible for someone such as I to marry Mr. Heywood, but such perfect endings are for little girls like Chloe, there.” She indicated the child, turning her head. “It is past time that I grew up and accepted my fate. I shall never marry again, sir.”

“You do not give that gentleman enough credit, Sophia Rowley. He is, I believe, enamored of you. I have often been the recipient of his murderous looks, proving that he thinks me a potential rival!” Brent laughed. “He may not accept so easily his family’s wedding plans, and you must have faith in your rector. He has shown me that he is a man with his own mind.”

Brent leaned over and pressed a feathery kiss on Sophia’s
temple. “I never thought you faint of heart, my lady,” he whispered. “Now, as never before, you should be bold and dare much.”

“You are a wretch, my lord, to say these things,” Sophia complained, slapping his forearm.

“Perhaps, but a truthful wretch, for all that.” They shared a comradely laugh as they made their way to the tables.

“I have never said no to you, Father, but in this particular instance, I am adamant.” Charles ran a hand through his hair. “I will not marry Charlotte Anne Mainwaring.”

Benedict Heywood, Viscount Ashley, fixed a puzzled look on his son. “You have known Charlotte Anne all your life. It was always assumed…”

“By you and Sir James, perhaps, but not by me,” Charles interrupted.

“What objection could you make to marrying that demure, pretty, devout young miss? She would make an ideal vicar’s wife. ’Tis the consensus of our families…”

Charles shook his head. “Charlotte Anne is sweet and lovely, I agree, but she is also the veriest simpleton. Father, the girl is hen-witted.”

Lord Ashley was visibly perplexed. “What difference does that make in a wife? She will manage your household, bear your children, be steadfast and loyal…”

“No, Father. I prefer someone with whom I can hold intelligent discourse, someone whose wit challenges me. I could not abide a sweet peagoose, no matter how pretty.”

The viscount fixed his youngest son with a frown. “Let me understand what you are saying. You would prefer a bluestocking, then? Is that the sort of wife you seek?”

Charles was not looking at his father. He had just caught a glimpse of Sophia and Brent, arm in arm, walking across the lush green grass. A look of dawning comprehension replaced the frown on his father’s face.

“Or is it, my son, that you are more intimately involved
with the widow of your late, good friend? I understood that you were carrying out the baron’s wishes in looking after his wife, and that he named you guardian of his sons, but is there something more?”

When Charles replied, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “And if there was?”

Viscount Ashley shook his head. “Then I would say you were a fool, my son, a great fool. Taking up with this lady would be most inappropriate. If you are contemplating marriage to such a woman, my boy, you must think of the consequences for your future in the church!”

Charles raised his chin, defiant. “You misjudge the lady, sir.” He lowered his voice. “As does everyone, I fear. She has been more sinned against than sinning, I assure you.”

Ashley ran his hand through his thick brown hair, the gesture reminiscent of his son’s nervous habit. “She is a glorious creature, I grant you that, and any man would…But, my dear boy, she is older than you are, and infinitely more experienced in ways that you—” He bit his lower lip, unwilling to be more explicit.

Simply, quietly, with great restraint, the vicar replied, “I love her.”

“This will not do!” Ashley’s frustration with his son was clear. He took Charles’s arm and shook it, hard. The gesture barely registered with Charles; he was oblivious, his attention riveted on Sophia, who now laughed aloud with Lord Brent. Brent, a more appropriate suitor for the beautiful widow than he, a poor cleric, would ever be.

He sighed. “It matters little, as Lady Sophia is not interested in wedding me. But I tell you, sir, with respect”—his tone was adamant—“I will not marry anyone simply in order to be wed. Charlotte Anne Mainwaring and I do not suit, and that is the end of it. I am truly sorry if I have disappointed you, and Mother, and the Mainwarings, but Charlotte Anne would be happier with another man.”

“I beg you to think upon this, Charles. You should marry soon and set up your nursery. It is expected of
you. And your rise in the church—” Ashley left the last unsaid, but implied. A proper wife would aid a young man desiring higher office in his chosen calling.

Charles shook his head. “I doubt that I shall ever wed, Father.”

Still the older man persisted, shaking his head. “This is but a temporary infatuation! You will soon forget her, my son. Trust me on this! Women such as Lady Rowley—”

Charles’s face twisted in pain. “I beg you, Father, not to further disparage the lady in my hearing. I hold her dear, whatever the future may bring to either of us.”

Both men knew that the conversation was at an end. Viscount Ashley had run out of arguments. There was nothing that he could say to sway his stubborn son.

The Rowley family lawyer, Stokes Norton, had been waiting for a chance to speak to Charles. Now he approached the vicar of St. Mortrud’s.

Charles hid his distress over the unhappy conversation with his father and greeted the bluff, jolly lawyer in kind. “Mr. Norton, how do you do, sir? I am happy to see you here.”

Norton indicated the gentleman at his side. “Mr. Jarley, here, is a Bow Street investigator. He was visiting me on other business when I learned of the kidnapping and called on Lady Rowley to see if we could be of assistance. We are indeed fortunate that you and Lord Brent came upon the lads.” The lawyer shook his head. “At a fair! Was it true those rascals were performing at a country fair?”

Charles grinned. “They are rare children, indeed.”

Norton sighed. “Ah, youth!”

“Indeed,” Charles agreed. “But young John was somewhat logical in thinking it best not to reveal their identities to any stranger, in light of their recent experience. He hoped to find a local farmer to bring them home.”

A passing footman served champagne from a silver tray. Refreshed, the trio walked to a bench set under a spreading oak tree and continued their conversation. Jarley, it seemed, was the investigator Norton had hired to
look into the background of the Earl of Dunhaven at the baron’s request, before his marriage to Sophia.

“A bad ’un, that one, sir,” Jarley commented. “Bad to the bone.”

Norton nodded. “This latest escapade! What could the heartless man have been thinking? His own grandsons! And absconding with Lady Rowley’s jewelry! But the sad truth may be that he has done even worse—”

Charles’s ears perked up. “Worse?”

Jarley elaborated. “The death of his young wife, sir, Lady Rowley’s mother.…It were suspicious from the first. The earl was the last person to see her, and he left the house afore her body was found tangled in the weeds at the far side of that lake.” He shook his head, as if soured by the evil in the world, adding, “And he did not return for the good lady’s funeral. When he did come back, several years later, he was a right devil to the staff.”

Charles frowned. “What did he do?”

“He had his way with the maids. There’s more than one bastard in Kent with those distinctive blue eyes and light blond hair like the Eliots,” Lawyer Norton replied, his disgust clear. “And the governess, Miss Bane—” He spread his hands wide. “She disappeared, vanished into the air. That was just before the earl took his daughter to London for the season, before he married her off to that vile cur, Rushton.”

“Did she meet the same fate as the Countess of Dunhaven?” Charles asked. “Lady Rowley remembers her very fondly, and I am certain that she would like to know.”

“Ah, Mr. Heywood,” Norton turned to the investigator, the Bow Street Runner Jarley. “That is where this man comes in.”

The trail had grown cold by the time Jarley was set upon it by Stokes Norton, acting on the orders of Baron Rowley. The pretty young governess had last been seen just after luncheon on the day of her disappearance. Young Sophia was in the library all afternoon working on her lessons. Her father, the earl, had been drinking heavily since the noon meal. The servants all remembered
his particularly foul humor, and that a loud argument had erupted between him and the governess in the upper hallway, some distance from the library.

Miss Bane and her employer had clashed several times, but the earl’s frequent absences from the estate enabled her to remain in her post, as he’d taken little interest in his daughter’s education except to rail against the teaching of Greek and other subjects he deemed unsuitable for a woman. On that fateful day, however, the earl had been heard to shout that the governess was no longer in his employ and that she would not be accompanying her charge to London for the Season. He told her that he intended to marry the girl to the highest bidder. Sophia’s youth and beauty would command a very high price.

Miss Bane objected vociferously to his plans for her charge, and the earl had backed her into a corner, shoving her hard. She slapped his face. This scene was witnessed by a timid serving girl who’d slipped hastily down the back stairs, fearing for her own safety if the master should notice her cowering nearby. The servant had been the unwilling object of the earl’s brutish attentions herself and knew what he was capable of doing to anyone who thwarted his wishes. Years later, the girl tearfully remembered what had occurred in those minutes in the hallway in detail, telling all to Jarley, but she had not lingered to see more of what had transpired.

The staff did not know what followed next, as they dared not venture upstairs until hours later when the earl reappeared, demanding his dinner. The governess was never seen again; she had vanished. Her clothing and personal effects, including her Bible (a gift from her vicar father), remained in her bedchamber. When young Sophia questioned the earl, he would only say that Miss Bane had been discharged and had left straightaway. Sophia could not believe that the governess would leave without saying goodbye, but she was powerless to do anything else but accept her father’s version of the events.

Though the suspicious menservants, fearing foul play, quietly searched the grounds near the lake, and even dragged the lake itself, remembering what had happened
to their late mistress, no trace of Miss Bane was ever found on the Dunhaven estate.

Lady Sophia later told her husband, Baron Rowley, that preoccupied as she was with her own unhappy circumstances, trapped in marriage to the brute her father had chosen, she never had the opportunity to pursue the case of the missing governess. If Miss Bane were alive, she would have sent for her belongings, but Jarley learned that no instructions had ever arrived at the earl’s home concerning their disposition. They were eventually packed away by the servants and stored in an attic.