Laura Kinsale (40 page)

“God knows you would not be the first young man to have a mistress, but to marry her—it is a crushing blow to the dignity of our name.”

“Is it?” Arden tore his crumpled neckcloth free and held it taut between his fists.

“I think you must know that it is.” The earl took a turn in the room, going to the window and back, and then back again before he spoke. “Now that you are home, and willing to remain—your mother mentioned that you might wish to be introduced to Lady Caroline Preston. Lord Lovat’s second daughter, God rest him. I have met her; a very cultured and spirited young woman, well-traveled too, not one of your bread-and-butter misses. With a fine wit and a pleasant sense of the ridiculous. I think you might find her a congenial dinner companion.”

Arden laughed. “Yes, wives are the very devil, aren’t they?” He looked at the earl. “Yours must have given you a miserable night of it, to bring you to this drill.”

Lord Belmaine pursed his lips. “You are disrespectful to your mother,” he said, but there was a dry undertone beneath the annoyance in his voice.

Arden sat in silence, staring at the opposite wall, jerking the neckcloth between his hands.

“Arden,” his father said gently, “if it seems cold-blooded—recall that you have honorably offered her the most that you can offer. Her motives are beyond my comprehension, but she seems to be rejecting it.”

Arden stood up. He yanked the bell rope.

“Well,” his father said, “I will leave you to consider.” He opened the door.

Arden gave him a curt nod. “If you please, you may tell Mother that I will not be here for dinner. I’m going up to London.”

The earl paused, his jaw tightened. ‘To what purpose?”

“To revel in my perversity.” Arden shrugged. ‘To make an utter ass of myself.”

Lord Belmaine stood with his hand on the doorknob. Then a faint smile curved his mouth. He inclined his head, went out and closed the door.

Zenia leaned forward, looking out the carriage window as the footman knocked a third time at her father’s door. The house looked ominously shuttered, though Bentinck Street was bustling at half past eight in the morning drizzle, and her father and Marianne should have been at breakfast.

At last the door opened a crack. The footman spoke to someone inside, but the gap did not widen. He turned and ran down the steps, holding his hat brim to shield his face against the rain.

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” he said to Zenia. “But the maid says the family has gone to Zurich this week past.”

“Zurich!” the nurse said faintly, holding Elizabeth and leaning forward to look helplessly at the footman. They had traveled all night, and her hair was straggling loose from her cap.

“Oh, they have taken Marianne to Dr. Lott!” Zenia exclaimed in dismay. “I thought it was not to be until spring!” Her lips trembled, the exhaustion and misery of the long night betraying her. She had thought, if only she could reach her father...

The footman made a little bow. “They say that all inquiries are to be made of Mr. Jocelyn, three doors down,” he said. “Shall I ask there, my lady?”

Zenia made a gasp of relief. “Mr. Jocelyn!” She grasped the edge of the window eagerly. “Yes, indeed please do—but make haste, or he’ll be leaving for his offices.” She turned to the nurse and Elizabeth, who was staring with great eyes out the window at the busy street. “It is all right. It is perfectly all right. Mr. Jocelyn will advise us what to do.”

“Then I hope he may advise us to go home,” the nurse said under her breath, but just loud enough for Zenia to hear.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“In all honor, my dear, I can only advise you to return to him as his wife. It is plainly the best course,” Mr. Jocelyn said, tapping the letter the earl had sent to her father. “Mr. Bruce gave this to me, with instructions to offer any additional counsel I might, but I supposed that he had answered it himself, or I should have written you directly. I wonder if his letter to you somehow went astray. They left in such a flurry that everything was at sixes and sevens, but there was word that the wind might turn and prevent a crossing for some time if they did not go at once.”

“I do hope she was not too unwell,” Zenia said unhappily.

The Bruce house seemed very empty and cold, with covers still on the furniture, the drapes taken down and the carpets rolled up. There was one shutter open, so that the dull light fell across the shoulder of Mr. Jocelyn’s neat tan coat. They sat at the table in her father’s study, with the letter unfolded and a pot of tea that Zenia had prepared herself and carried up from the kitchen, the cook having gone with the family.

“I fear there was considerable deterioration, but let us hope that the famous Dr. Lott will live up to his reputation.”

“Oh, I pray for it,” Zenia said, “I pray it may be so.”

“But it is you that we must deal with at the moment, my dear,” he said. “I think that this is a generous and honorable proposal to see to your welfare and Miss Elizabeth’s. A private marriage, properly performed by license, and an excellently drafted settlement and guardianship with an acknowledgment of paternity—it is indeed all I could have asked if I had been handling the matter for you.”

She stared down at the letter, biting her lip.

“I’m sorry that the house is closed up,” he said. “I’m sure you would like a day or two of rest before traveling again, but what servants they did not take have been dismissed. I was just to come today and take the knocker down. But if you don’t mind the inconvenience, I’m sure that the housemaid and Mr. Barret would stay another day.”

“I have sent the carriage back to Swanmere,” she said in a low voice.

She felt him examine her, well aware of his puzzlement. “You do not intend to return, then?” he asked.

Zenia clasped her hands in her lap, looking down at them. “Is it impossible for me to stay here?”

Mr. Jocelyn was silent for a moment. She watched the reflection of raindrops on the dark row of her father’s legal volumes, watery patterns of light on the leather and the gilt titles.

The lawyer expelled a quiet breath. “I must suppose, then, my dear, that there is some very compelling reason why you have left Lord Winter. Has he mistreated you?”

“No,” she said reluctantly. “Not me.”

“Miss Elizabeth?” he asked in a shocked tone.

“He is entirely careless with her,” Zenia said.

“Careless?”

“He is mad!” she said more strongly. “I was certain he had drowned her!”

“Good God,” Mr. Jocelyn said.

“I do not want him to see her, or have any right to it. Above all I do not want him to have the right to take her away from me.”

Mr. Jocelyn rubbed his fingers over his lower lip, frowning. “Certainly if there is any threat to the child, that changes the matter. Utterly changes the matter.”

“I don’t wish to go back to Swanmere,” she said.

“No, I comprehend you.” He nodded, still frowning. “In that case, we must reopen the house. You will need a cook, of course. Can you make do with the one housemaid? I—” He broke off. “Well, I will take care of all that, in any event. Your father left me with a certain authority to act in these domestic affairs. You have a nurse?”
 

Zenia nodded.

Mr. Jocelyn rose, folding the letter. “I must consider what will be best to do,” he said, looking a little distracted. “I have to go up to Edinburgh—but no—certainly that may be put off until after Twelfth Night. If you write to your father, my dear, you might just like to put the best face on things for the moment, if you understand me. Until we are more certain of how things stand. When he left, he thought you well provided for.”

“I understand,” Zenia said, rising. She put out her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Jocelyn. Thank you so very much for your kindness!”

Mr. Jocelyn flushed, shaking her hand with a brief, negligible pressure. “Indeed, it is my pleasure. We will contrive, ma’am. We will contrive.”

In his private parlor at the Clarendon, Arden glowered at the trim, gentlemanly lawyer that his note to Zenia had produced. He had expected her father at least, but they had come to this already—lawyers, ranks of lawyers put between them, to twist and warp everything.

“Mr. Bruce has unfortunately gone to Switzerland, where his wife is to be attended by an eminent physician,” Mr. Jocelyn said, in a voice that seemed cordial enough. “I am charged with looking after his daughter’s affairs in his absence. She came to me with your request for a meeting.”

He opened the case on his knees and pulled out several papers. Among them Arden recognized his note; his formal, temperate and rational note, that had taken him an hour to compose.

“I hardly see that it is a legal matter,” he said coldly, “for me to speak to my wife.”

“I should clarify myself,” Mr. Jocelyn said, with a nod toward his card that Arden had tossed on a side table. “It is true that I am a civilian in Doctors’ Commons, but I am here at present only as a friend of Mr. Bruce and his daughter. I do not say that I would not take a professional position should it prove necessary in the future. But I wish to be perfectly open with you, as Mr. Bruce’s daughter has been entirely open with me regarding the history of your relationship with her.” He gave Arden a significant glance. “I have also read this—” he flipped the corners of a sheaf of closely written papers.”—and may I say that your proposal is entirely and perfectly in order. I do honor to you and Lord Belmaine for taking this position, given the circumstances.”

Arden’s spine relaxed a little. “Then why are you here, Mr. Jocelyn?” he asked tersely.

“To be blunt, Lord Winter, she has given me reason for concern regarding your treatment of Miss Elizabeth. It is a grave enough matter that I might—as severe as it may seem—feel constrained to advise her to reject your generous proposal.”

“Bloody hell!” Arden exclaimed. “What does she claim I did to Elizabeth?” He flung himself out of his chair. “Tried to drown her, I’ll warrant!”

Mr. Jocelyn raised his slender eyebrows. “Perhaps you will tell me your view of the matter.”

For a long moment, Arden stood rigidly, fighting his temper at the effrontery of this stranger. But he had had a long and instructive session with Mr. King at Swanmere before he left. There were things she could do, if she were driven to it; ways she could put herself and Beth beyond his reach and leave him fighting through the jungle of the courts for the rest of his natural life.