Simply Scandalous (14 page)

Authors: Kate Pearce

BOOK: Simply Scandalous

6.81Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Richard departed with Violet and Sylvia, and could only hope that Emily kept both her temper and her wits about her.

As she gazed at the lovely Lady Mary, Emily wondered if she had done something to offend every deity in the universe. Ambrose seemed quite at ease, his conversation relaxed, his smile easy, while Emily sat there vibrating like a tightly strung violin. Jack patted her hand.

“Relax, Miss Ross,” he murmured. “You look as if you are about to leap over the table and devour someone.”

“Perhaps I am.” Emily smiled sweetly at Jack. “You'd probably enjoy it.”

“I suspect I would, but I doubt you really wish to add something as trivial as a teatime brawl to your family's already impressive legend.”

“That's true. Perhaps I'll wait and murder Ambrose later.”

“An excellent idea.” Jack brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “And by the way, he doesn't like me touching you at all. He's far more interested in watching us than paying attention to Lady Mary's hand on his knee.”

“Good.” Emily smiled longingly into Jack's blue eyes. “She has her hand on his inner thigh, not his knee. I'm going to kill him very slowly indeed.”

“That's the spirit.” Jack bit down on her gloved thumb and she shivered. “After you've exercised your sharp wit at Lady Mary's expense, we'll take our leave. I'll try and make sure Ambrose sees me kissing you in the hallway.”

“You are going to let me spar a little with her? I thought Richard would have ordered you to take me away directly.”

“He did, but you're not my sister.” Jack sat back and winked. “Have at her, my dear.”

Emily smiled at Lady Mary as she sipped her tea. “It must have been such a surprise for you to meet Ambrose again after all these years.”

“It was a most welcome surprise.” Lady Mary smiled into Ambrose's eyes. “I adored him when I was a child.”

Emily raised her eyebrows. “Yet you did not think to seek him out before?”

“My mother told us he had run away from our country estate, and that he obviously wanted nothing more to do with our family. I cried for days when I realized he had gone for good.”

“Hardly for
good
, Lady Mary. What did your mother think he had run away to? A servant with no references and no money hardly has many options, does he?” Emily ignored the warning in Ambrose's gaze. “In truth, if any of my servants disappeared in such circumstances, I would be extremely worried for them.”

“As would I,” Jack added, and Emily turned to smile her approval at him.

Lady Mary looked uneasy. “I must admit, I hadn't thought of that, but I was quite young at the time. Now, of course, I would wonder more . . .” Her voice tailed off and she stared at Ambrose. “I must speak to my mother about this matter.”

“Please don't,” Ambrose said lightly. “There is no point in raking up the past.” He patted Lady Mary's hand. “There is no need for Lady Kendrick to know that we have even met again.”

Lady Mary bit her lip. “I've already told her. I couldn't help myself. In fact, she wants me to bring you to meet her.”

Emily held her breath and waited to see what Ambrose would do next. Even from where she was sitting, she could see the indecision in his eyes. Part of her wanted to run over and take him in her arms and tell Lady Mary to go to the devil. But she could do nothing. Her pleasure at baiting Lady Mary suddenly seemed petty compared to the enormity of Ambrose's experiences. He had to deal with this himself. It was his life, and he'd made it clear that she was not his to protect.

Emily stood up. “I do apologize, Lady Fisher, but I have to go and meet my brother at home.” She forced a smile. “After telling him he must not dally with his errands, I can hardly be late myself, can I?”

Jack rose, too, and held out his arm to her. “Thank you, Lady Fisher. I should imagine we shall see you next week at the Hoxtons' ball?”

“Indeed.” Lady Fisher shook hands with him and kissed Emily on the cheek. “I hope your brother is feeling much better soon, Mr. Lennox.”

Jack looked suitably grave. “So do I, my lady. The weakness of his constitution is a severe worry for me.”

Emily allowed Jack to escort her along the busy streets to Knowles House. He didn't attempt to kiss her, and for that small mercy, she was very grateful.

R
ichard waited impatiently for Emily to finish saying good-bye to Jack Lennox. For a woman who claimed to be in love with another man, she seemed to be taking a remarkably long time over it. He sat in the library, which was currently unoccupied, as Philip and Helene were out visiting the pleasure house, hopefully annoying Christian.

He'd taken Sylvia Lennox home and then taken Violet back to his lodgings, hoping to give the impression that she was still living with her mother. In truth, she had argued that it would be quite safe for her to do so, but he wasn't convinced.

Emily finally came in, closed the door behind her, and slowly removed her bonnet and gloves. Her expression was bleak enough to make Richard deeply uneasy.

“I brought the letters back, Emily.”

“Have you had a chance to read them yet?”

“No, I've been avoiding it. I don't want to know that my mother had a lover. I don't want to give my father any additional justification for his behavior toward her.”

Emily took the seat opposite him. “She did have a lover, and I know exactly who it is.”

“What have you been doing? Is this why Jack Lennox was by your side today?”

“If you hadn't been so preoccupied with
Vincent
Lennox, you could have accompanied me to visit Mr. Smith.” She shivered. “Although after what happened today, you would probably have tried to kill him.”

“What happened?”

“This isn't going to make any sense if you haven't read Mother's letters and diary.”

“Tell me.”

“The letters are all from her to her lover. There are none from him. It is obvious that their affair began before Mother's marriage and didn't end until quite near her death.”

Richard struggled to absorb the extent of his mother's deception. “Are you quite sure?”

“Richard, do you think this gives me pleasureâhurting you? I can assure you it does not.”

“Why did you go back to see Mr. Smith? Why couldn't you let this thing lie where it belongs? In the past?”

Emily sat forward. “Because you need to see the truth about our mother, so that you can stop blaming our father for everything that went wrong in your life.”

“I don't blame him for everything.”

“You . . .” Emily shook her head. “There is more. Shall I continue?”

He managed to nod.

“I went back to see Mr. Smith because I had some more questions for him. I suspected he hadn't given me all of Mother's journals.”

“And why does it matter? Haven't you accumulated enough evidence against her?”

“That's not fair.” She took a deep breath. “Mr. Smith also admitted that he was Mother's lover.”

“The
gardener
?”

“It makes a terrible kind of sense. From the age of eleven, she was brought up with Father's family, and Mr. Smith was employed on the estate. She must have known him for almost as long as she knew Father.”

“I still find this whole story rather suspicious. Why would this man present himself to you now? What does he hope to gain?”

“I was just coming to that.” Emily took a deep breath. “He claims to have another journal that belonged to Mother.”

“So?”

She met his gaze. “He wants money for it.”

Richard felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach.
“What?
Why would he think we would pay to get it back?”

“Mr. Smith says that Father would not want the contents of the diary to get out. That the scandal would be immense.”

Richard shot to his feet and paced the library floor. “Father's whole damned life is a scandal. What would one more matter?” He swung around to face Emily. “Or is it more serious than that? Perhaps Mother was right all along, and Father did eventually manage to kill her. Perhaps her journal incriminates him.”

“No!” Emily rose, too, her complexion pale, one hand gripping the arm of her chair. “That is ridiculous!”

Richard glared right back at her. “We'll see about that. As soon as Philip gets back, we'll ask him.” He sat down and pulled the box of letters toward him. “And in the meantime, I'll read these letters so that I can face him fully armed.”

Ambrose held the door open for Lady Mary and waited until she walked past him and out onto the street. The skies had clouded over again and he could smell the scent of oncoming rain in the air.

“Do you wish me to accompany you home, Lady Mary?” He glanced up at the leaden sky. “I think it is about to rain. Perhaps we should hurry, or I can call you a hackney.”

“I'd rather walk. Are you angry with me, Ambrose?”

“Not at all, my lady.” He kept moving, one hand on the small of her back as he guided her across the busy road.

She sighed. “You asked me not to tell my mother that I had discovered your existence and I disobeyed you.”

“It was hardly an order, my lady.”

“But you didn't want her to know about you, did you?” She hesitated. “Was Miss Ross correct? Did you really choose to abandon such a comfortable life with our family, or is there more to it?”

He met her gaze as a series of totally unacceptable emotions boiled and seethed like a gathering storm within his chest. “It is in the past. I have no need to speak of it.”

“I don't believe you.” She stared at him. “What happened, Ambrose? Why won't you tell me?”

He started walking and she hurried to keep up with him. At the corner of Portland Place, he stopped again and bowed low.

“I believe you will be safe from here, my lady. Good afternoon.” Her hand shot out and grabbed for his sleeve, but he stepped back. “Good-bye, my lady.”

“If there is nothing to forgive, why are you acting so strangely?” she asked.

“Go home, my lady, and please think no more of me.”

“But. . .”

He turned and left her, even though he had no idea where to go next. He simply had to get away from her and the totally unacceptable emotions she aroused in his heart. Soon, he was in an unfamiliar part of town where the color of his skin coupled with the expensive nature of his clothing drew far too much unwanted attention. He glared at each passing person, willing them to fight him, to touch him, to translate their comments about the blackness of his skin into action. But this wasn't the sort of neighborhood where the residents willingly picked fights.

Eventually he recognized the name of a street and realized it was growing dark. Without pausing to think further, he made his way to a familiar address at the end of one of the dark passageways and banged on the door. It took but a moment for his knock to be answered and the door to be flung wide.

“Ambrose!” Jethro Perkins exclaimed. He grabbed Ambrose by the shoulders and drew him over the threshold into an exuberant embrace. “How are you, friend?”

“I'm . . .” Ambrose allowed himself to be held but didn't reciprocate. Part of him wanted to lay his head on the older man's shoulder and weep.

Jethro drew back and studied Ambrose's face. “What is wrong? How can we help you?” He gestured down the hallway. “Come into the kitchen. Cissy is there; she will want to see you.”

Ambrose followed Jethro into the warm kitchen and braced himself as Jethro's wife, Cissy, launched herself at him.

“Ambrose, where on earth have you been? Jethro and I were worried about you.”

Ambrose bent to kiss Cissy's brown cheek. Her accent held the same lilt as his own and spoke of a shared island home long departed. He remembered his first sight of her and how in his delirium, he'd both feared he was back on the slave ship or that he had finally come home.

“I wrote to you last month.”

She grabbed his hand and made him sit at the table. “But writing is not the same as visiting, is it? Why haven't you come to our meetings? We miss you greatly. The children have been asking for you as well.”

Jethro cleared his throat. “Cissy, can't you see that the man is not himself? How about getting him something hot to drink and keeping your questions until later?”

“It's all right, Cissy.” Ambrose clasped her hand. “I regret my absence more than you know.” He exhaled. “I just didn't feel right about coming here and bringing my tales of woe when you are all struggling so much harder than I am.”

Jethro smiled. “We all have our struggles, Ambrose, but if we offer them up to the Lord, they soon become manageable.”

“You know I don't share your great faith, but I do appreciate everything you did for me, and for what you do for the poor and dispossessed children of London.”

Jethro sat down. “We do the Lord's work.”

“You saved my life.”

“The Lord brought you to us, and we did what we could for you.” Jethro reached up and took Cissy's hand. “My wife is always especially happy when we find an abandoned child from her birthplace.” He paused. “Are you not happy in your new life?”

“As I told you in my letters, Mr. Delornay and his family have been more than good to me. I am employed and earn an excellent salary.”

“A salary that you share most generously with us and others less fortunate than yourself.”

“A salary that comes from activities that would shock and disgust you.”

Jethro chuckled. “We're Methodists, not zealots. We'll accept help from wherever we can. But if you want a change, lad, we'd be more than willing to offer you a job as a teacher at the new school we're building.”

“You're building a school?”

“Aye, the Lord has seen fit to hear our prayers and offer us a way to fulfill our dreams. We'd pay you a salary and give you decent accommodation.” He hesitated. “It won't be much at first, but we have great hopes that the school will prosper.”

“That is very kind of you, but do you think I would be accepted as a teacher?”

“Why not? You went to school, didn't you?” Cissy said.

“Indeed, I did, a good school in the town of Bishops Stortford that Mr. Delornay paid for.”

“And you still feel obliged to work for him.”

Ambrose sighed. “In truth, it is a very interesting idea, and I'm honored that you think me worthy.”

“But you owe a debt to the Delornay family as well as to us.” Jethro smiled. “Ah, well, if you are happy in your work, we are glad for you, and that is all there is to it.”

“Thank you for your understanding.” Ambrose rubbed a hand through his short hair. “I am content there. I am struggling with a more personal matter.”

“Then tell us about it, lad,” Jethro urged. “You know we'll keep your secrets.”

By the time Ambrose explained about his love for Emily and the reappearance of Lady Mary in his life, both Jethro and Cissy were sitting opposite him at the table, listening intently. The small house was quiet around them, although Ambrose knew from experience that by the morning it would be teeming with children who needed feeding and adults readying themselves to go out and search the slums for those in need.

That's how the Perkinses had found him, barely alive after his beating at the hands of Lord Kendrick and his footman. They'd fed him, tended to his wounds, and tried to teach him about their faith until he'd grown stronger and left them to fend for himself again.

Eventually he came back to them and offered them a substantial share of his earnings from the pleasure house. They hadn't condemned him for leaving so abruptly, or for his choice of professionâa stance that had made him question his attitude toward religion yet again.

Jethro shook his head. “Well, you have gotten yourself into a bit of a pickle, haven't you, lad? But I'd say there are two different problems here, wouldn't you, Cissy?”

“Indeed,” Cissy said. “You need to meet with Lady Mary's family so that you can forgive them.”

“And if I don't want to forgive them?” Ambrose asked.

“You do, lad. It's the only way you'll find peace,” Jethro stated so firmly that Ambrose almost believed him. “Now, as to Miss Emily, do you love her?”

“I always have.” Ambrose said.

“And she says she loves you?”

“Yes.”

“Then what is keeping you apart?”

“I told you. She is the daughter of a peer of the realm, and I work for my living in her half-brother's pleasure house!”

“In God's eyes, we are all the same, Ambrose,” Jethro said firmly, then glanced at Cissy. “Did we ever tell you how we met?”