Sweet Surrender (24 page)

Susan whipped around.  "Why didn’t he come to supper?"

"Who knows?  Jackson has always been volatile and capricious.  I’ve never been able to guess at his behavior."

"If he won’t even eat with us, it’s bad news.  Isn’t it bad news?"

Susan was wringing her hands, trembling like a ninny, and Beatrice couldn’t abide such an anxious display.

"Did you follow my advice?" Beatrice asked.  "Did you try to seduce him?"

"Yes, but he said I was demeaning myself."

Beatrice sighed.  The blasted girl was stunning, and Jackson was randy and unprincipled.  Any sane female could have enticed him.  Why was Susan clueless as to feminine wiles?  Beatrice was hardly the one to counsel her.

"So what now?" Beatrice inquired.  "Will you try again?"

"Why would I?  The encounter was incredibly unpleasant, and I have no desire to repeat it."

"We have to change course then.  Perhaps we’ll simply arrange an old-fashioned scandal and have you compromised.  If I snuck you into his bed, would you have any idea of how to—"

"Sneak me into his bed?  Are you mad?  With the mood he was in earlier, he’d likely strangle me."

"The only other option I can see is for
me
to pressure him on the benefits of marrying you.  But with how he’s acted so far, I doubt he’d be amenable to rational argument."

"I agree with you.  In the time he’s been away, he’s lost a screw or two.  I’m still the most beautiful woman in England, and he wasn’t interested."

"I can’t imagine why," Beatrice sarcastically retorted.

"Do you suppose he likes…men instead?  It can happen—especially in the Orient or wherever it is that he’s been living."

"He’s not attracted to men, Susan.  He loves women.  He lusts after women.  Just not
you
."

"You don’t have to be spiteful," Susan huffed.  "I heard enough about my faults from your son."

She sat on the sofa across from Beatrice, and she poured herself a glass of sherry and sipped at it as she complained, "You dragged me in here when I wanted to head to my room and rest.  It’s been a terribly depressing day.  What has you in such a dither that it couldn’t wait until morning?"

Beatrice glanced toward the hall.  There were no servants in the parlor with them, but the door was open.  She went over and closed it, then returned to her seat. 

"There is something you have to know," she stated.  "It’s about Edward and Percival."

Susan froze, a look of panic on her face, but she quickly masked it.

"What about them?"

"I’ve been aware of this debacle for ages, and I’ve kept it to myself.  I’d hoped to shield you, but it’s about to blow up.  I’m sorry, but you have to be informed."

Susan frowned.  "You’re being so vague, you could be speaking in a foreign language.  What are you saying?"

There was no reason to beat around the bush, no easy way to tell her.

"Edward secretly married someone else before he married you."

Susan jerked as if she’d been poked with a sharp stick.

"He what?"

"He wed a commoner named Georgina."

"He couldn’t have.  You’re lying."

"He did."  Beatrice had never confronted Edward, but she hadn’t had to.  She’d been able to generate sufficient evidence on her own—evidence which she’d promptly destroyed.

"Was it…legal and binding?"

"Yes."

"Wouldn’t that make my marriage to him invalid?"

"Yes."

"Why are we discussing it?  Can’t we deny it as a false allegation?"

"It’s not false, Susan."

"So?  Let’s say it is."

"It’s not that simple."

"Why not?  What is it they want?"

"They want the title of earl of Milton."

"But…but…Percival is earl of Milton," Susan stammered, clearly not grasping the ramifications.

"There is another son, Susan.  They’re claiming he was born first."

Susan lurched to her feet and tossed her glass of sherry at the fireplace.  It shattered with a satisfying crack.

"Edward wouldn’t have done that to me."  Susan vehemently shook her head.  "There was no other son or marriage.  You’re cruel to suggest it."

"A woman is staying at the Abbey, a Grace Bennett.  She’s shown Jackson the marriage license and the birth certificate."

"No!"  Susan was practically shrieking.  "She couldn’t have.  It’s not true.  It
can’t
be true."

"The boy’s name is Michael.  Michael Scott."

Susan gasped.  "He’s using our name?"

"They insist he has every right." 

Beatrice had had years to come to grips with Edward’s indiscretion—Georgina had written several letters that Beatrice had ignored—so she was accustomed to the news about the marriage and no longer distraught over it.  She could dispassionately observe Susan’s fit of pique.

"The boy is at the Abbey, too," Beatrice calmly advised.

"He’s here?"

"Yes."

"What about Percival?  You can’t think he might lose his title."

"It doesn’t matter what I think. 
Jackson
has begun to believe Miss Bennett’s story, and he’s a man.  His opinion will trump ours."

"That’s preposterous," Susan scoffed.  "I’m an earl’s wife, and you’re an earl’s mother and grandmother.  His word can’t be more convincing than ours."

"He’s male, and we’re not."  Beatrice shrugged.  "There is a problem for you in all of this, Susan.  We have to get it out in the open."

"There’s a problem?  Do you mean
more
of a problem than your informing me that my husband was an adulterer?"

"Michael Scott is the spitting image of Edward.  He resembles Edward in every way, right down to the manner in which he holds the reins when he’s riding a horse."  Susan blanched, and Beatrice enjoyed a ripple of malice.  "Percival has none of Edward’s traits."

"You know about bloodlines."  Susan shifted uneasily.  "I have a great, great grandfather who had red hair."

Beatrice studied Susan, her cold expression digging deep.

"Before this goes any farther," Beatrice murmured, "is there anything you’d like to tell me?"

"No."  Susan glanced away.  "Why would there be anything to tell?  I have no secrets in my life."

Beatrice was certain Susan was lying through her teeth but about what?  She couldn’t guess.  She waited an eternity, trying to intimidate Susan into a confession, but to no avail.

Finally, she nodded.  "Fine.  We’ll go forward as a united front.  We have to rid ourselves of Grace Bennett and the boy."

"Yes, the boy," Susan agreed.  "Especially the boy."

"I told Jackson to send them packing, but he hasn’t."

"They’re still on the premises?"

"Yes.  He refused to make them leave."

"Percival might cross paths with them!  How would we explain the situation?"

"I’ll figure it out."

"When?"

"Give me a day or two to devise a solution," Beatrice said.  "It will have to be swift, and it will have to be clean—and we’ll have to act when Jackson is away."

"Why?"

"I hear he’s fond of them."

Susan’s cheeks flushed with fury.  "He’d better not be."

"My feelings exactly."  Beatrice pushed herself to her feet.  "Once my plan is in place, I’ll let you know—and I’ll expect you to help me bring it to fruition."

Susan stood, too, and headed for the door.  Just as she was about to exit into the hall, Beatrice said, "Susan, what would you be willing to do in order to keep Percival’s title?"

"I would do anything to keep it.  You can count on me."

Beatrice nodded again, and Susan continued on to the stairs.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"They’re an interesting pair."

"Who?"

"The Bennett sisters."

Jackson glared at Duncan as if he didn’t understand to whom Duncan referred. 

It was very late, and they were out on the verandah, having a brandy.  The night was dark, the moon a tiny sliver, and it was very quiet.  Every sensible person had already staggered off to bed.

With his mother and Susan in residence, the house had taken on a more hectic character.  Beatrice created tension wherever she went, so the servants were more brisk at their duties, more strained in their assistance and replies.

Jackson was stressed, too, and vividly remembering why he’d stayed away for so long.  He was in hiding, avoiding his mother and ignoring Susan and her ridiculous attempts at seduction. 

When he’d stumbled on Duncan, and they’d managed to sneak off together, he’d felt furtive and devious and incredibly relieved.

"The Bennett sisters?" he asked Duncan.  "Why on earth would you be thinking about them?"

"They’re so different from the women who cross my path."

"I suppose."

Grace—who worked for a living—was oddly independent.  As to her sister, she was polite and shy, and since there was no risk of Jackson engaging in carnal conduct with her, he’d deemed her beneath his notice.

"What would it be like," Duncan mused, "to attach yourself to a female like that?"

"Like what?"

"They’re both so headstrong and willful."

"The sister, too?" Jackson inquired.  "She seems rather meek to me."

"No, she possesses all of Grace’s worst traits."

"It would be horrid to be shackled to her," Jackson said.  "What fellow could tolerate such obstinacy?  How would he ever be king of his castle?"

"So you believe they’re hen-peckers, do you?"

"Yes."

"But couldn’t you imagine it going another way?"

"What way?"

"It might be fun and exciting.  You’d never have a dull moment, and there’d be plenty of interesting conversation.  The only girls I ever meet are debutantes, and they’re all simpering idiots."

"Stubborn shrews would be better?"

"They’re not shrews," Duncan insisted.

"What are they?"

"They’re just…not what we’re used to."

Jackson studied his friend.  He was pensive and peculiarly wistful, and Jackson scowled.

"Apparently, you’ve spent enough time with Eleanor Bennett to have formed an opinion about her."

"Not really."  Duncan shrugged and intently sipped his drink.  "We’ve spoken in the dining room and…whatever."

"You’ve chatted?"

"Yes."

"She’s very pretty."

"She certainly is."

"And very young, Duncan."

"I realize that she is."

Jackson’s scowl deepened.  Duncan was a cad who had no scruples whatsoever, but he was handsome and could be extremely charming.  A naïve girl would probably describe him as dashing, but a naïve girl shouldn’t be allowed within a hundred yards of such a scoundrel.

Duncan would never have a platonic
chat
with a female, and Jackson could only assume Duncan was up to no good.

"You shouldn’t be speaking to her," Jackson scolded, "and forget about the
whatever.
"

"It’s just been innocent banter."

"With the emphasis on
innocent
.  You’re out of her league."

"Of course, I am." 

"Leave her alone." 

"Oh, for pity’s sake, Jackson, I’m merely trying to have a brandy and some pleasant conversation.  I’m sorry I mentioned her."

"Swear to me that you won’t talk to her again.  If you can’t swear, then I insist you jump on a horse tomorrow and head to London.  With Beatrice and Susan in residence, I have enough on my plate without worrying that you might trifle with a houseguest.  I won’t have you causing a big scandal."

"Give me some credit, would you?" Duncan huffed.  "I don’t even
like
the accursed child, and I would never involve myself with her.  Besides her being poor as a church mouse, she’s bossy and impertinent, and I was simply pointing out that she’s just like her sister."

"Point made," Jackson muttered.

For a few minutes, they drank in a strained silence.

Finally, Jackson asked, "Why are we fighting?"

"I hate my life," Duncan said, "and I’m sick of how everything has always been so easy for you and so difficult for me."

"Easy!  You think I had it easy?"

"You think you had it hard?"

"I think both our lives were awful when we were younger."

"I’m tired of having you reprimand me as if you’re my mother.  That was Edward’s job."

"Edward isn’t here anymore. and someone has to tell you that you’re on the verge of gross misbehavior with Miss Bennett.  Stop it."