The Notorious Widow (11 page)

Lust stirred deep in his groin, snapping his attention back to business. No purpose was served by thinking about her charms. He was here to redeem her reputation, not ruin it. His immediate goal was to avoid Laura until their inevitable meeting at dinner.

Glancing quickly at the remaining portraits, he moved to a window. The rain had stopped, leaving the park fresh. Sheep dotted a nearby hillside, shearing its grass into emerald velvet. A rainbow flashed as the sun found a hole in the clouds. Beauty, and the promise of peace.

He had no idea how long he remained lost in the sight before Sarah tugged on his hand.

“Will you take tea in the nursery today, sir?” she asked, only the tiniest tremor in her voice revealing that she understood the temerity of her question.

“I would be delighted.”

Sarah’s smile lit her face in the same way the rainbow had lit the park. She was a beautiful child – and a more entertaining companion than many of his friends. Perhaps it was the fresh enthusiasm she brought to each day, which contrasted so strongly with the ennui that was currently the mode. Or maybe it was because she was the first female in years – of any age – who was neither flirting with him nor making demands. All he knew was that he had not been this relaxed in months.

* * * *

“What are you doing here?” demanded Catherine, then snapped her mouth shut, appalled at the rudeness of her question.

She had just returned from town. As usual, her first stop had been the nursery – not that she distrusted Annie, but she was accustomed to passing a portion of her day with her daughter. The last person she had expected to find there was Rockhurst.

“Enjoying the best lemon biscuits I’ve tasted in years,” he said calmly. Then he winked at her.

“But—”

“He’s an earl, Mama. He can break the rules whenever he wants to.”

“But only the small ones, and only occasionally,” he said sternly. “Like begging biscuits in the kitchen on a rainy day or taking my tea where I choose.”

“I fear you are undermining discipline, sir.” But she could not help smiling. He looked perfectly at home with his legs stretched under the low table.

“I don’t doubt it.” He grinned. “My nurse always swore I’d be the death of her.”

Everyone laughed.

She handed her cloak and gloves to Annie. “Since Mary is also here, perhaps I should join you.”

“Wonderful, Mama. A real party!”

Rockhurst nudged the teapot toward Sarah as Annie produced another cup. “As hostess, it is your duty to pour.”

Catherine held her breath as Sarah lifted the heavy pot, but she managed by using both hands.
She is growing up so fast.

She said little as Rockhurst resumed a tale about a boyhood expedition to track down a badger that had ended with him and a friend stuck in a hedgerow. He was remarkably attentive, with no pretense tarnishing his demeanor. Sarah was blossoming before her eyes, showing more animation than she had since Harold’s death.

The realization sliced her heart. Harold had doted on Sarah and had spent time with her every day, unlike other men, who rarely exchanged more than a few words with their daughters. But since moving to Seabrook, there had been no men in her life. William had been too busy taking control of his inheritance to bother with his niece. If Laura could catch Rockhurst, she would be truly blessed.

Laura!

She nearly groaned. Laura had planned an elaborate tea today so she could show off her skills as a hostess. She would not be pleased that Sarah had stolen her guest.

But she wasn’t about to scold the girl. This impromptu party was too beneficial.

Yet watching Rockhurst amuse Sarah revived some of her earlier doubts. Had William asked him to spy on her? Courting favor with Sarah might be a way to gather information. Sarah was not shy about showing off her knowledge.

Sharp pain accompanied the suspicion, for she did not want it to be true. Sarah would be badly hurt if she learned that his attention was feigned.

So would she.

“I spoke with Carruthers and Jenkins,” she told him half an hour later as he escorted her downstairs. “Also the blacksmith – he suffered a rash of broken tools after shoeing Jasper’s horse; the beast was so jumpy, it took longer than usual. They are reluctant to discuss the situation, but all eventually agreed to talk to you in private, provided you not repeat their tales to others.”

“I will adhere to their wishes. But perhaps I can learn something that will make it easier to deal with Jasper. I must understand how his mind works.”

“So I told them. But they fear your influence will fade once you return home. Jasper will again be the most powerful man around, free to exercise that power as he pleases – and more brutal than ever if he has suffered embarrassment.”

He nodded. “I spoke with one of your tenants today – Harry Fields. He disclosed an incident involving his friend Jemmy. Jasper lied to the boy’s father, claiming he threw rocks at his carriage when he’d merely peeped through the door to see if it was as elegantly appointed as rumor claimed. Jasper did not appreciate the liberty.”

She sighed. Another victim, though there was nothing anyone could do. If people refused to believe her, why would they listen to a child? “Do you really expect to prevail?” she asked.

“It will be difficult,” he admitted. “But I cannot allow him to misuse his position. Lords should look after their dependents, not prey on them. His actions reflect poorly on all of us.” He paused outside the door to her bedchamber. “Do not look too far ahead,” he said quietly. “First I must gather information, being careful not to draw Jasper’s attention. Only then can I decide how best to use that information. In the meantime, hold your head high and go about your business. Acting guilty plays into Jasper’s hands.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

As he emerged from the tailor’s shop, Blake spotted Mrs. Telcor and invited her to tea. Perhaps he could deflect her attention from Catherine. At the very least, he hoped to reduce speculation about his intentions toward Laura, though her avid gaze as he seated her in the confectioner’s shop made that unlikely.

But she surprised him. “I was shocked to learn that a man of your credit would associate with Mrs. Parrish,” she said, her hand hovering over the sugar bowl as if debating whether to add a third lump to her cup. Her eyes gleamed in anticipation. He suspected her purpose was to confirm the notorious widow’s misdeeds.

“Seabrook swears the rumors lie, though I wouldn’t know,” he countered mildly. “I’ve seen nothing improper, but the ladies only join us at dinner.”

She raised a brow, clearly suspicious. Laura’s flirtations must be common knowledge.

He leaned closer as if sharing confidences. “I am trying to convince Seabrook to take his seat in Parliament. The progressive leadership needs support from the younger lords if they hope to pass reforms.”

“Politics!” She snorted. “I’ve not heard your name mentioned in that context.”

“I prefer to work behind the scenes.” He was stretching the truth, though he voted on measures he cared strongly about or on those whose outcome was in doubt. While he favored reform, the time was not right for a determined push for change. The opposition was firmly entrenched, and he harbored no illusions about his credit. Even without his recent excesses, he lacked the power to sway the Tory leadership. Now that Prinny had abandoned the Whigs, they had no choice but to exercise patience.

Prinny’s change of heart had raised questions in many minds. Had his long support been a way for the government to keep an eye on the opposition? Or maybe Prinny had only embraced Whig ideals because strong-minded friends like Fox and Sheridan had convinced him to. Now that they were gone, he was being led by determined Tories. It was not a comfortable thought. Many problems would grow worse if the Regent bent with every wind.

Their cakes arrived, interrupting him – and just as well. He had more urgent problems just now than the fate of the reformists. He had only raised the subject to explain his visit to Seabrook. Selecting two small cakes, he smiled.

“Seabrook is not the only lord I wish to see.” He kept his voice conspiratorial. “What can you tell me of Jasper Rankin? I hear his father’s health is failing, so he will soon step into the title.”

“Hah!” Mrs. Telcor’s cup rattled as she set it down. “Rankin has imagined himself at death’s door for thirty years. I’ve not seen anyone so convinced he is going to die. That man has drunk enough healing waters to fill a lake and tried nostrums from every village witch in England. When he is not at a spa, he remains in bed, summoning a host of London physicians. Even Miss Mott, who has suffered megrims and spells for sixty years, consults healers less often.”

He hid his surprise, for he had invented the failing health on the spot, taking a page from Jasper’s book. “Is he well enough to receive callers?”

“He is in Bath just now, taking the waters, though he should return shortly. But don’t expect him to receive you. His megrims make him short-tempered, and his complaints drive everyone to teeth gnashing, sleeplessness, and drink. Poor Jasper had to move out in the end.”

“Because his father is ill?” He was comparing her claims with Harry’s assertion that Rankin was visiting a mistress in Plymouth.

Mrs. Telcor shook her head. “There is not a thing wrong with Rankin beyond a wish to command attention, and Jasper knows it. When he refused to treat his father as an invalid, the man threw him out. He doesn’t want a son, but a slave who will fetch and carry and obey even the pettiest orders without question. But Jasper has other responsibilities.”

“Surely you exaggerate,” suggested Blake. “Most parents draw comfort from their children’s company.”

“Not Rankin. He hates Jasper. ’Tis a miracle the boy grew into a sensible, caring man.” When the confectioner frowned, she lowered her voice. “I doubt Jasper has heard anything but demands and complaints from his father since the day he was born. His mother died when he was five, leaving the boy to a series of brutal, incompetent tutors.”

Blake pretended commiseration, though he had to question her understanding. Most boys considered their tutors brutal – at least until they reached school. It was a rare student who did not long for home. Only later did they understand that discipline was necessary to prepare them for future responsibilities. “It is the price we all pay for the privilege of our positions.”

“For some the price is too high.” She wiped a crumb from her chin. “Did your parents ignore your very existence? Did they enjoy snubbing you?”

“No,” he admitted. His father had been no more aloof than any other lord. His mother had been warmer, but only because she needed someone to lean on. Since his father was away so often, she’d depended on her son from the time he was six.

“Jasper’s did. He has run tame in my house since he was a child, so I know how Rankin’s rejection hurt. The servants followed Rankin’s lead. It was only my intervention that rescued him from the brutality of two of his tutors. But he is blessed with a great deal of sense and has become a credit to his class. A kinder, more thoughtful lad would be hard to find.”

Blake nearly bit his tongue trying to remain silent. The woman’s credulity defied description.

She poured more tea, helping herself to another scone. “Not everyone understands him, of course. Some cause trouble for him because they are jealous of his position. Only last month, Justin Hawkins claimed that Jasper had seduced his sister. I can’t believe he thought such fantasy would work. Helen has been throwing herself at Jasper for months, hoping to marry up. When he refused to smile her way, she concocted this scheme, but she failed. He was in Bath at the time, as I know full well, for he brought me a charming china bird when he returned. It is all the crack in London.” She described it in glowing terms.

“Thoughtful,” he managed, though the bird sounded like one of the cheap trinkets peddled to the merchant classes.

“And generous to a fault,” she added. “He uses most of his allowance to aid tenants and villagers. Like the Hadleys. Their barn burned down last year. Jasper helped them rebuild, and they aren’t even Rankin tenants. I would like to think that he learned such kindness from me – he often passes afternoons with me, and I have contributed to many of his causes – but I expect he was born kind. If only his mother had lived. She was a dear woman who should never have wed so uncaring a man. After her death, I tried to offer Jasper the same guidance, but nothing can replace a mother’s love.”

“You are to be commended for seeing after him.” The words were sincere, though it was a pity she had not bestowed her mothering on a more worthy child. Jasper had been manipulating her for most of his life. Her support protected him from suspicion, allowing him to take increasingly daring chances. And he’d probably been milking her for funds nearly as long.

“Someone had to do it.” She shook her head, falling into murmured reminiscences. They proved that everyone who tried to exert authority over the boy – servants, tutors, even a vicar – was banished, often with Mrs. Telcor’s unwitting help. Rankin had probably found it easier to replace employees than to withstand her lectures.

His image of Jasper Rankin was clearer. Something had created a rift between father and son. Jasper’s willfulness might originally have been a bid for his father’s attention. When that failed, he’d lashed out against underlings to elicit the fear he confused with respect. Each victory had increased his arrogance.

School must have been a shock. Jasper would have met boys whose precedence exceeded his own – not pleasant for someone accustomed to being the most important person around. No wonder he had eschewed time in London. Only at home could he wield power. Jenkins claimed that Jasper had returned more arrogant than ever, despite being sent down in disgrace.

Since then, Mrs. Telcor had expanded her role as confidante and substitute mother by burnishing his reputation in the upper classes, cutting anyone who criticized him, and dismissing his public excesses as youthful high spirits.

Like she was doing now, in response to his question about the destruction of Jones’s crops.