The Earl's Marriage Bargain Page 19

  Was ‘this place’ his arms or the Tower? She did not know and could not bring herself to ask. It was enough, it had to be enough, because she loved him and must hope that one day he might feel the same about her. But first they had to make this marriage work.

  ‘Yes? What is it?’

  Jane startled, then realised that Ivo was not speaking to her. Flustered she moved aside and saw Patrick, one of the footmen. He was pink with embarrassment and gazing fixedly at the fountain.

  ‘The post arrived, my lord, and Mr Ranwick said there was a letter that he thought you would wish to see sooner rather than later.’

  ‘Now what?’ Ivo muttered. ‘Tell Mr Ranwick that I will be with him shortly.’

  ‘My lord.’

  ‘Walk with me?’ Ivo suggested, linking arms with her. ‘It might be something to do with the wedding preparations and, if not and it is all about leases and field drains, you can cheer me up while Ranwick explains it all in tedious detail.’

  I am happy, Jane realised as they walked up the gentle slope of the lawn towards the terrace. It was not something she had ever thought about. One knew when one was miserable or angry or upset or delighted or frightened or content—but happiness as a constant state...that was new.

  * * *

  Ranwick stood up from behind the wide desk in his office as Ivo held the door for her. ‘My lord, Miss Newnham. The lawyers’ investigations and opinion on the matter of Miss Parris’s legal situation that you requested urgently, my lord.’

  Jane’s stomach felt as though she had swallowed a spoonful of ice cream too hastily. She moved away and sat on one of the chairs against the wall, out of Ivo’s line of sight, suspecting that he had forgotten she was there.

  Ranwick handed over a sheaf of papers. ‘To summarise, my lord, her aunt and guardian has moved to ensure that Meredith has no access to his wife’s money until she reaches the age of twenty-five in two years’ time. He is threatening to take the matter to court, but, as they know he has not the financial resources to undertake such an action, they doubt it will come to anything. Miss Parris, the aunt, has promised to contact them in the unlikely situation that it should actually come to pass. However, the rest of the report is less satisfactory. Learned counsel’s opinion confirms that the marriage is legal under Scottish law as we assumed and, as Lady Meredith is firm that she was neither kidnapped nor unduly influenced and deceived, there is nothing her family can do about it. Nor the lady herself, should she change her mind: it would be a question of divorce.’

  He glanced at Ivo, who had made no attempt to look at the papers in his hand. ‘They wish to know, at your earliest convenience, whether they should pursue the matter further as they have several of their most useful agents tied up investigating the affair and following Sir Clement.’

  ‘Write and tell them to take no further action, but to notify me at once should Miss Parris require assistance. Thank you.’

  He turned and left the room. Jane sent the secretary a harassed smile and followed him out.

  ‘I beg your pardon, I had forgotten you were there. What a damned mess.’ Ivo smiled ruefully, ‘And I apologise for my language.’

  ‘Perhaps the prospect of a fortune in two years will be enough to make his creditors step back and that will give Sir Clement the opportunity to consider his behaviour,’ Jane suggested, not very hopefully.

  ‘And my grandfather may take up Morris dancing.’ He stopped walking. ‘I should not have abandoned Ranwick to all that work. The poor man is attempting to teach me to be a landowner on top of his usual duties and the wedding organisation. There was the land purchase that you brought me the message about—will you excuse me, Jane?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She walked back slowly to her rooms. That news had affected Ivo to the extent that he had forgotten she was in the room, had sworn in front of her and was now making excuses not to be with her. She knew he was spending hours with Ranwick already.

  Stop it, she told herself as she sat down at her writing desk. Of course he is upset. He loves her, the treacherous little—

  She contemplated a variety of phrases that were unladylike in the extreme and struggled to find some sisterly compassion.

  We all make mistakes, she thought. But we do not all resort to violence as a result.

  Jane pulled a sheet of writing paper towards her and dipped her pen in the ink and began to write.

  Dear Cousin Violet,

  I do hope your sister continues to improve in health and spirits—

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later she finished the letter and sanded the wet ink. That was better. Talking to Violet, even at a distance, had made her feel calmer again, better able to think of things more charitably.

  Daphne set those men on Ivo because she was frightened and lashed out. It doesn’t excuse her behaviour, but it does explain it. If Ivo can forgive her, then so can I.

  She chewed the end of her pen.

  I hope.

  * * *

  Ivo wrestled with the complexities of repairing leases while attempting to give his conscience a rational talking-to. If Daphne had written to tell him of her unhappiness with their engagement, he would have released her from it. Once he heard of her entanglement with Meredith he could not have got back to England any faster than he had done, so he could not have prevented her elopement. He had done all he could to clarify her legal position given that she did not want to be freed from the marriage.

  He tried to imagine Jane in a similar positon and found that he could not. She would have written him a series of letters beginning with concerned enquiries about his well-being and culminating in an announcement that she no longer wished to marry him. If he had not responded, he would not have put it past her to take ship and march into camp to demand to know what he thought he was about, neglecting her.

  He smiled at the thought, the lengthy legal document in front of him blurring until Ranwick cleared his throat. ‘This can wait a day or so, my lord, if it is not convenient to consider it now.’

  ‘No, I was simply wool-gathering. Explain this clause to me, if you would.’ Thoughts of Daphne had never made him smile out of sheer affectionate amusement, he realised as he focused on schedules of dilapidations.

  * * *

  ‘Ouch!’

  ‘I am sorry, Miss Newnham,’ the modiste’s assistant mumbled through a mouthful of pins.

  ‘Do not apologise, it was my fault, I was fidgeting,’ Jane admitted. She had been standing on a stool for half an hour while the seamstresses fussed around the hem of her wedding gown. First they had raised it, then, after a lengthy scrutiny involving all five of them in addition to Betsy, Jane’s new lady’s maid, and Great-Aunt Honoria who, refreshed by several glasses of sherry, was supervising from the comfort of an armchair, they decided to lower it by half an inch.

  Jane’s patience was ebbing in direct opposition to the hem. Somehow she could not imagine that Ivo was remotely interested in hemlines unless they were at mid-calf or higher. Necklines, though—that was very possible. She glanced down, smugly content that the gown showed a very pleasing expanse of bosom, daring enough to interest Ivo once she put back her veil, but modest enough to be perfectly suitable at the altar.

  He was still somehow distracted after that news from the lawyers the day before, although his manner had, if anything, been more attentive to her. Men were mysterious creatures.

  Her perch was in the square bay window on top of the porch of the front door. With glass on three sides it gave the dressmakers good light and gave Jane something to look at while she was poked, prodded and, occasionally, pricked. The weather was holding, the season slipping into a sunny, golden autumn and the prospect was pleasant.

  She obliged by turning yet again until she faced down the driveway to the first bend which meant that she had an excellent view of the carriage as it came into sight, the
sweating horses labouring in the traces.

  ‘There is a carriage coming, Lady Gravestock,’ she said.

  ‘Who is it?’ The old lady put down her sherry glass. ‘Where is my stick.’

  The vehicle came to a halt and a footman jumped down from the back, opened the door and let down the step. The young woman who took his hand and climbed down was petite and no one Jane recognised. Then she took off her bonnet and gazed around her, tipping her face back for a moment. Blonde, fragile, pale.

  Jane stared down, feeling a sick apprehension wash through her. Could it be? She got off the stool in a scramble, hem half-pinned, and ran for the door. The railing around the open well of the hallway was just opposite and she hung over it, ignoring Lady Gravestock’s demand that she came back this instant and tell her who it was.

  The bell peeled and a footman strode down the hall to open the door. Jane held her breath.

  The woman walked straight in. ‘Lord Kendall,’ she said, her voice clear and carrying and urgent.

  ‘Who should I say, ma’am?’

  ‘Just get him! Get him now!’

  Jane heard a door open under where she was standing, the sound of booted feet on marble. ‘Henry? What is going—? Daphne?’

  Jane looked down on Ivo’s head as he walked into view below her. He stopped, perhaps six feet from the woman. From Daphne.

  ‘Oh, Ivo, you have to help me!’ She ran, threw her arms around him and his closed about her, supporting her as she sobbed on his chest. Then she tipped back her head. ‘Oh, Ivo, I have killed him.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jane picked up her skirts and ran along the landing and down the stairs without conscious thought. Ivo was still holding Daphne, who was weeping and clutching at him.

  Who has she killed? Her husband?

  As Jane thought it the realisation hit her: if Sir Clement was dead then Daphne was a widow.

  But a murderess, she told herself. He cannot marry a murderess...

  Then, But he is an earl and earls have influence.

  The fear jolted her to a stop on the bottom step and with it came a kind of ice-cold calm. Jane took hold of the newel post hard enough to hurt her hand and focused on the pain until her breathing steadied and she was thinking clearly. She had been ready to take the other woman by the shoulders and drag her away from Ivo, ready to literally throw her out of the front door, she realised.

  But someone was dead and that was what mattered in this moment, not how this might affect her. That was how a good person, an unselfish person, would think—as her nails scraped into the wax polish on the carved griffon under her hand she knew she was not that self-sacrificing.

  But at least the check had given her a moment to compose herself and she had not screamed, Leave him, he’s mine! like a harridan.

  ‘Daphne, calm down,’ Ivo said with remarkable firmness, given that a hysterical self-confessed murderess was weeping into his shirt-front. ‘I cannot help you if I do not understand what has happened.’

  It only seemed to make things worse.

  People were beginning to appear in the hallway: staff, a strange young woman who must be Daphne’s maid and Eunice, clutching a vase half-full of flowers that she had been arranging.

  She skirted the pair in the centre of the space and joined Jane on the bottom stair. ‘Miss Newnham? What is happening? Lady Gravestock will be very alarmed.’

  ‘That is Lady Meredith. Please, give me that vase, go up and see what you can do to soothe Lady Gravestock.’

  Eunice blinked at her, but handed over the flower arrangement without argument, then scuttled up the stairs, much like the mouse she so resembled.

  Jane walked up until she was within arm’s length. ‘Ivo, I would recommend stepping back. Lady Meredith, you are making yourself ill, stop this at once.’

  Predictably the wailing continued.

  ‘Ivo!’

  He looked at her, startled, but did not move, so Jane tossed the flowers on to the floor and shot the water straight over Daphne’s head anyway.

  She shrieked and spun round, letting go of Ivo. ‘Ah! You—’

  ‘Oh, do not thank me, it was the least I could do with you in such distress. Hysteria will only make you feel worse, you know. Partridge, kindly send Mrs French to me in the Blue Sitting Room with towels and plenty of tea. Are you Lady Meredith’s woman? Yes? Then come along and help her change out of these wet clothes.’ She took a firm grip on Daphne’s upper arm and steered her into the nearest small reception room, ignoring her gasps and struggles. Besides being compact, the room had a chilly blue and white decor and hard seats.

  Let her try and cast herself into attitudes in here, Jane thought grimly as she pressed the other woman into a chair.

  The little maid began to open a portmanteau and Mrs French appeared, her arms full of towels.

  ‘The tea is on the way, Miss Newnham. My goodness, Miss Parris—Lady Meredith, I should say. I do hope you are not unwell.’

  Daphne managed a tremulous smile. ‘Mrs French. You are so kind.’ The glance she sent Jane was wary. ‘Oh, Peters, I am so cold.’

  They got her out of her pelisse and gown and wrapped her hair in a towel. She snatched another and swathed it around herself.

  Jane felt queasy and realised it was apprehension returning, only momentarily banished by the need for action. ‘Here is the tea. Now, drink it down, Lady Meredith. I have added sugar, it will help with the shock.’

  ‘My clothes. Please,’ she quavered, ignoring the tea. ‘Behind that screen.’

  Peters, the maid, got her dressed while Mrs French and Jane sat looking at each other in silence. Then the housekeeper whispered, ‘What has happened?’

  ‘I am not sure,’ Jane murmured back. ‘But I think some fatal accident has befallen her husband.’

  Daphne finally emerged, dressed. She was pale, her eyes were wide and dark, but she looked tragic and lovely and not blotchy, red-nosed and swollen-eyed, as Jane was all too aware she would have looked after that much weeping.

  ‘Are you feeling a little better now, Lady Meredith?’ Jane asked.

  Daphne sank down in a chair and picked up her teacup, holding it as though it was a shield between her and whatever awful thing Jane might do to her next. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Jane Newnham. Lord Kendall and I will be married in ten days’ time,’ Jane said.

  The other woman flinched, then took a gulp of the cooling tea. ‘I want to speak to Ivo.’

  ‘I am sure you do. Mrs French, perhaps you would be good enough to ask Lord Kendall if he will join us. Then I do not think we need keep you any longer—I know how busy you are preparing for the wedding. Could you take Lady Meredith’s maid with you? I am sure she will want to prepare her mistress’s bedchamber.’

  The silence as the two women went out crackled with tension, but Jane made no effort to break it. Instinct told her that she was in the presence of an enemy and that speech would betray her weakness: that she loved Ivo and was frightened by what power this woman possessed over him.

  When Ivo came in he was expressionless. Jane could see that he had changed his coat and linen.

  ‘Ivo,’ Daphne said on a breathy whisper as he sat down. She glanced at Jane, clearly hoping she would leave. Jane settled back in her chair.

  ‘What exactly has happened, Daphne?’ Ivo asked. ‘We cannot help you if we do not know the facts.’

  Her lips tightened at the we, but she dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief and said, ‘Clement is dead. I killed him.’

  ‘When? How?’

  ‘Where?’ Jane added.

  ‘At home, of course. Three days ago. He fell down the stairs. We had this terrible argument and I... I might have pushed him.’

  ‘Were you defending yourself?’ Jane asked. Ivo jerked upright in his chair, but she pressed on. ‘Were you?’ She mi
ght dislike Daphne, fear her, but if her husband had been threatening her then she had a right to fight back.

  ‘Ever since he discovered there was no money because Ivo had been advising my aunts and they blocked my access to it he has been so angry. Horribly angry.’ She looked at Ivo, her eyes swimming with tears. ‘How could you do that? You love me. Don’t you want me to be happy?’

  Ivo was sitting very still now. Jane tried to read his expression, but the set lines gave nothing away. ‘I ensured that your aunts had the best legal advice. I was concerned about you and it seems I was correct in my assessment of Meredith. He could not have got the funds for another two years, Daphne. The bank would not have released them without your guardian’s permission. But that is beside the point—tell me what happened.’

  ‘He was drunk,’ Daphne said. ‘He has been every evening since he realised about the money. And we were at the top of the stairs and he took my arm and was shaking me and I pulled away and then I pushed him and he...he fell down the stairs. I knew he was dead, his neck was at this awful angle and his eyes were open and there was blood.’

  ‘It was an accident,’ Ivo said and Jane thought his shoulders relaxed a little. ‘He was drunk, off balance and he fell. What did the magistrate and the coroner say?’

  ‘They said they could smell the brandy on him and the servants told them he had been drinking too much.’ Her gaze shifted away from his and her fingers began pleating the fabric of her skirt. ‘But then I heard the two footmen whispering about how I might have meant to push him and how I would have to put up their wages so they wouldn’t tell anyone. So I went down to the stables and told John to harness the team and I came away. I came to you.’

  ‘Who else was there when he fell?’ Jane asked when Ivo thrust both hands into his hair.

  ‘Just the servants. They called the constable and Sir William Horton—he is the magistrate.’

  ‘And they will have told him that it was an accident, or he would be asking more questions and the footmen can hardly accuse you later or it will be clear they are simply blackmailing you,’ Jane said firmly. ‘Running away was foolish, but I suppose the magistrate might believe that you did so because you were frightened and you had never seen a dead body before. Don’t you think?’