by Robyn Carr
“No, madam, not now. Pray sit and let me determine the trouble.”
Gwen sat wearily, a beautifully guilty frown creasing her brow. She had Chelynne’s complete interest. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I’ve used poor judgment again. I cannot say more.”
“And if you do not explain yourself I shall have to make the problem my concern. That could be a great deal more unpleasant, don’t you agree?”
“I cannot forgive myself for this. He’ll have my head!”
“Hush,” Chelynne commanded sternly. “I won’t tell him, I swear. Out with it, madam.”
“He said his wife was dead.”
“And you know otherwise?”
Gwen gulped, starting to speak and then clamping her mouth shut and turning pleading eyes to Chelynne. “My lady, I’ve no protector but what servants are still installed. He could have me killed and no one would be the wiser.”
“Nonsense. I’ve given you my word I won’t betray you.”
“It was just a foolish coincidence, you see, but I happened to lay eyes on his wife. When he wed the girl it was all the talk, his father’s anger and Chad’s leaving his home. Then the rumor was about that she was dead and he was forgiven by his father and the estate and title would be his. But I’ve seen her! In London yet! Oh, madam, he’ll have me soundly beaten for this!”
“Where?” Chelynne asked impatiently.
“At the ‘Change. I wasn’t sure, but I followed her. She is quite pregnant. That’s my curse, I simply can’t leave a thing like that lie without knowing the truth to it. I talked to her. She told me her husband is a merchant who travels often to France.”
“And you’re sure it is she?”
“Certain. It is Anne. If there was any doubt it was satisfied when I saw the boy. He is the image of Chad.”
“His son?”
“Of course you knew about his son,” Gwen said innocently. “Why, even I knew of his son. He was being raised in the country since the earl would not acknowledge him.”
“Of course,” Chelynne lied, as if she were well aware. She had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that grew. She didn’t see Gwen’s superior smile for she couldn’t raise her eyes from the lowered gaze she held.
“There is always the possibility that the marriage was annulled, or perhaps there was divorce. There’s a great deal of that now...”
Chelynne did not reply. With a child so obviously Chad’s there would be no annulment and divorce was no simple matter. “Would you be willing to show me where the woman stays?” she asked.
“I couldn’t! Oh, madam, it wouldn’t do any good to go there! I’ve caused trouble enough. I couldn’t do that, too!”
“Now that you’ve done this much, my lady, you’ll have to see this through.”
“Think carefully, madam,” Gwen advised. “If he sought to have this secret and you found him out...I’m frightened for you, madam. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you were harmed because of something I—”
Chelynne’s eyes narrowed and she rose. “That’s very kind of you, my lady. Have you your coach?”
“If you insist,” Gwen murmured with an edge of fear in her voice. “But I pray you remember you promised not to betray me to him. Lord, I’m more afraid of that man than—”
“Come along,” Chelynne said crisply, already moving toward the door. With an air of command and a great deal of impatience she had someone fetch her wrap and vizard and gloves. Gwen bristled slightly at the haughtiness of this young countess, but her face relaxed into a sly smile as she thought of the eagerness with which Chelynne had lapped up this story.
There was little argument over door opening now, since Chelynne had learned the price and promised the reward. She was freed quite easily and never considered her husband’s anger.
Chelynne was quick to notice that the baroness did not travel today with her usual pomp. The coach was not flashy, there were no jeweled horses and it was lacking in familiar markings. Chelynne said nothing and let the driver help her in.
Gwen, afraid of losing Chelynne’s credence, wept believably throughout the ride, begging Chelynne to reconsider and not make this further investigation. Finally, having heard enough, Chelynne bit out testily, “Will you please get a hold on yourself! It’s not your husband who’s married!”
Gwen stiffened behind the now saturated rag, gleaming within in satisfaction. She called to the driver to halt at the appropriate place and pointed the residence out to Chelynne.
“It’s that house down the street. And I see something far worse.”
Nothing more needed to be said. Chelynne had already seen it. It was an unobtrusive hell cart, waiting. It could be there for any purpose, but it prevented Chelynne from going to the house and inspecting and questioning the occupants. “Has she servants, madam?” Chelynne asked.
“Few,” was the reply.
“If it does not displease you, we will wait,” Chelynne said softly.
Nothing could have pleased the baroness more. This was far better than she had hoped for. She had seen Chad enter and leave that house several times, but there was no schedule to his comings and goings. It seemed that he visited whenever time allowed him freedom from his business at the wharves or Whitehall. It was likely he was there now.
“Alms, alms...” came a whining voice from without.
“Begone, you impudent scum,” Gwen screeched. The poor were completely unabashed at the sight of a coach bearing two fine ladies. They gawked within and bawled and begged. “Whip a few, Ralston,” Gwen commanded. “Get them away.”
To Chelynne’s horror the driver stood and raised a whip. She gasped, appalled at Gwen’s instantaneous cruelty. But it went no further, those good peasants never doubting the intent. They moved quickly away. Chelynne grimaced in disgust.
Neither spoke during the lengthy wait. Finally the door opened and Chelynne caught her breath in anticipation. Chad stepped out of the house, hat in hand, and a youngster and a pregnant woman joined him in the street. The boy stood politely beside them as they exchanged a few words. Even at this great distance Chelynne sensed the strong resemblance between father and son. The boy was dark haired and had a large frame. The child looked to be closer to ten years than six.
Chad slipped an arm around the woman’s waist. Chelynne’s eyes were caught on the rounding belly and the affection in Chad’s embrace. She looked so young, so healthy and vibrant. Yet she must be at least in her early twenties to have been married nearly seven years.
Chelynne’s throat was constricted; breathing became harder. She ached with fear and rage. The youngster extended his hand to Chad but Chad dropped to one knee and opened his arms to his son, indicating an embrace would be preferred. Chelynne winced at the sight, jealous and forlorn. Then the last hope vanished. Chad held the woman lightly and placed a husbandly kiss on her brow. Then the earl of Bryant, subtly clothed and resembling any London merchant, gave them a brief wave and climbed into his rented coach. It was done. And it was all too real.
Chelynne was frozen. She watched almost blindly as the woman hurried the youngster off the stoop and into the house. Chad’s coach disappeared down the street. Still, she could not speak.
Gwen waited. There was no sign from the countess that she was ready to leave. Miffed at this hesitation, she called to her driver and they started away.
“There, madam,” Gwen comforted, slipping an arm around her shoulders sympathetically. “Don’t be undone, dear. Perhaps there’s an explanation. Perhaps—”
“Stop it!” Chelynne snapped, removing the arm roughly. “Stop this play! I’m quite bored with it now. I know it was your intention to have me see what I have, but I don’t wish to hear another word! Forgive, indeed!”
“Why, Your Ladyship, whatever—”
“Stop!” she cried. “The driver began to slow. “Not you, fool!” The coach picked up speed again. Chelynne looked at Gwen coldly, her eyes near golden with anger. “I’ve heard as much of this performance as
I intend to. You may dispense with all the simpering and whining. It bothers me a great deal more than your treachery!”
Gwen’s eyes narrowed visibly. “Now you know what you’re facing.”
“I know what I saw, or what you intended me to see. I assure you, I will not let that little scene decide every circumstance.”
“Now wait just a minute, madam, you promised that you wouldn’t—”
“There is no reason I’ll have to betray you if you’re honest,” Chelynne advised her shrewdly. “But if you’re lying, you’ve betrayed yourself.” She turned away from Lady Graystone and refused to speak again. When they arrived at the countess’s home she made a hasty withdrawal from Gwen’s coach. “I’ll commend you on an expert piece of spying, madam, and thank you to trouble me no more. Good day.”
“Well!” came the insulted voice from the coach.
“Well and good,” Chelynne mumbled as she walked quickly to the door. Anger within her was the only thing that kept her on her feet, the only reason she had not fallen to the ground in a fit of weeping. The cad! The monster! That he dared to use her at this rate! To gain reconciliation with his father and obtain his inheritance at her expense! She was gently reared and of some quality. How could the man defile her to this extent? The lies and boldness of his betrayal infuriated her beyond anything she had ever known.
She opened the door herself, meeting the steward, who was guiltily rushing back to his post after sneaking away for a nip.
“Is His Lordship at home?” she asked quickly, removing vizard, wrap and gloves.
“Um, he is, madam, but he asked not to be disturbed.”
“Where is he?”
“In his study, madam. With his man.”
“Thank you,” she replied, going straight to that private hold, intending to disturb him whether he liked it or not. There was a low murmuring from within that wasn’t likely to stop her from throwing open the door. The next sound, her husband’s angry voice, stopped her at once.
“Christ! What’s the bitch been about now?”
More murmurings and then a loud bang that Chelynne imagined was her husband’s fist in outraged impact with the top of the desk. “Why the hell would I care who she’s sleeping with? That’s the least of my worries. It serves to keep her out of my business at least.”
The next low tones from Bestel brought even more anger from the earl. “Oh, she has, has she? By God, she’s been trouble from the first. I should have been done with her when it first occurred to me. Well, I’ll coddle the little whore no more. Thank you, and be assured, I handle this from now.”
Chelynne’s eyes burned with unshed tears. Be done with her? It was certain he couldn’t have been speaking of that sweet young thing he so tenderly kissed good-bye. She turned and walked away, totally dejected now. The anger was gone, replaced by hurt that was not even profound. She felt weak and helpless, more the absence of emotion, passive and immobile.
Within the study Chad turned to Bestel more calmly, trying to subdue his rage. “From now, when Lady Graystone comes to this house, make certain you know what her business is. And I’ll see what I can learn of her purpose in coming here today.”
Chelynne stayed in her rooms, turning away meals and refusing to see anyone. She had not slept and would not go out. No amount of persuasion from Stella would induce her to confide her hurts. And then Gordon returned.
“It took me not long, madam, to find the family of the girl. She married the earl right enough, and went off with him. Her father was shamed since she got herself with the earl’s babe and he was finally forced to leave his holdings from the scorn of the town. Left the earl’s lands and moved on.”
“We knew they were married,” she said somewhat listlessly. “What since?”
“Since then there is nothing. They were said to have come to London, madam. I took it apart, as I could, and couldn’t find a trace. There’s no record of the birth, no tombstone or remembrance for one departed. I’m sorry, madam. I tried my best.”
“You’ve done fine, Gordon. That was all I expected.”
“Is there anything to do now?” he asked solicitously.
“Just be available to me, that’s all.”
Her voice was so distant and bland that Gordon stayed for a while, waiting for her to think of something for him to do. But Chelynne seemed oblivious to his presence and finally he left. He found as he was leaving that he wasn’t alone in his concern for her. Stella stood near the door, shaking her head
in a gesture of defeat. Gordon assumed, incorrectly, that Stella was aware of the countess’s plight. They exchanged worried glances and the manservant left.
Stella went again to Chelynne to tend her, urge her, but she was waved away for her efforts, excused.
In the days that followed, the earl of Bryant suffered more frustration than he had ever known. Harry Mondeloy had apparently disappeared from sight, for Chad could locate him nowhere. His previous lodgings had been abandoned and he was not seen with his usual group of young gallants.
In pursuing Lady Graystone he met with only confusion. She admitted to having visited his home and taken his wife abroad, but insisted it was all of an innocent nature, the premise social. She gave no impression of either guilt or fear. Chad could not imagine her current plotting, but he knew Gwen. It was bound to be trouble. She held him at bay with the promise that she would contact him if Mondeloy showed himself again.
Bratonshire had turned from an invisible affront to an all-out war between Bollering and Shayburn. It was peaking to a culmination with Shayburn’s time drawing to a close. And Chad was being called often to Whitehall for what was either interest or amusement from the king.
He was keeping his composure in the mounting stress, but he scarcely had time to take a meal and change his clothes. He simply needed to be everywhere at once.
Exhausted, Chad went to his study to go over his accounts. Hot black coffee was brought to him. The thought of rest did not give him temporary energy, for he knew it could be weeks, perhaps months before he could relax with his affairs in order. He didn’t even know what was happening in his own house. He was at the point where either it would all fail or he would get a grip on his dealings and pull everything off.
There was a knocking at his study door. Interruptions. More little troubles. He ground his teeth in frustration, but bade the intruder enter. Stella stood in the frame of the door, nervously waiting his indication that he could give her some attention. Finally he laid down his quill and looked at the serving woman in some vexation.
“It’s Her Ladyship, milord,” she said shakily.
Chad sighed and looked back at his work. “What does she need?” He thought of some errand, permission for an outing, a merchant’s slip for some article of apparel. He resented women’s trifles. He was too harried for nonsense. Thus piqued, he hardly heard Stella’s quiet plea.
“She’s ill, milord.”
He looked up. “Ill?”
“I can’t seem to help her, milord. She won’t let me near.”
“Does she need a physician?” His interest now was drawn from his work and he looked at Stella with concern. She saw the opportunity to speak her mind.
“I don’t know what ails her, sir. I’ve known her since her birth and I’ve never seen her so. It’s worsened since the day her uncle died and now she won’t take her meals at all. I know she doesn’t sleep. I look in on her through the night, milord, and most oft she’s up. She won’t let me dress her or brush her hair, nothing...”
Chad judged the old woman’s haggard face and knew this was no exaggeration. Though on in years, Stella usually had a vibrant, energetic appearance. Now the old face was lined from worry and lack of sleep.
“How long has this been going on?”
“The worst of it came in the last week, milord. It seemed the ague, but the sickness passed and the weakness is worse.”
Chad realized he couldn’t remember when he had last spoken to his wife. It was at least a we
ek, probably more, since he had actually visited her, and that was briefly. “Fever? Flux?” He almost said green sickness and caught himself.
“Nothing such as that, milord.”
“Why was I not informed?”
“She...she wouldn’t have you troubled, sir. And you weren’t about the house often, sir.” Her voice broke from worry and from the fact that she lied. The truth was that Chelynne refused to let them bear the news to Chad. She insisted he would not care and threatened them with dire consequences for betrayal. “But we’ve had to carry her to her bed, milord. Too weak to walk, she was. I fear I’ve waited too long. She looks the death...”
He was up and walking to the study door as Stella finished. He sent Bestel at once for a doctor and then mounted the stairs to look in on Chelynne. It was hard to tell if it was anger or panic that drove him, but he moved with great speed. He cleared the room of servants and went straight to his wife. Those who did not know him well would not interpret that expression sealed in stone as upset. But then he saw her and the hard features melted into something akin to despair.
Blankets were tucked around her but he couldn’t believe the face that stared at him. She was thin and pale, her hair matted and dull and her eyes hollowed and tired. The transformation was so complete that she resembled an aging dame more than the bright and lovely young woman he remembered. She seemed to be slipping into unhurried death. He breathed her name.
“Yes, Chad?” she returned softly.
“Is there pain? Tell me where?”
“There is no pain,” she answered, shaking her head slightly. “I’m just very tired.”
“What is it? What has made you so ill?” He sat now on the edge of her bed and took her small, weak hand into his.
“It’s nothing. It will pass.” She tried to smile but he could not recognize the effort. She was a different person.
“I’ve sent for a doctor, Chelynne. You look worse than I expected.”
“You’ve been a long time away, my lord. Is business bad?”
He shook his head dumbly. Where had he been to so badly neglect his own household? Nothing else seemed important any longer. He could not see beyond those glassy brown eyes.