“No, you’d better not. I need to be alone for a time and think about my future. As much as I love your family, I’m not at all sure I want to marry you now.”
“Have you come to hate me in so short a time?”
“I don’t hate you, Colton, but I must consider that prior to fatherhood, you showed no real interest in me as your wife. It seems a bit late now for a proposal of marriage. If you had wanted me, you should’ve shown some evidence of that during the past two months, but you didn’t.”
“I’ve been interested in you ever since I came back,” he protested in desperation. “I can’t even think of anyone but you. You haunt my dreams at night, and I wake wanting you beside me, yearning to have you with me every moment of the day.”
“Nevertheless, your actions led me to believe that you were unwilling to accept me as your wife. Now I feel a reluctance to consider you as my husband. I must be given time to think through your offer in depth and ponder what my feelings toward you now are. In the meantime, if you’d kindly refrain from visiting me, I would then be able to determine my desires and hopes for the future without being unduly swayed one way or the other.” She swept a slender hand toward the door. “You can find your own way out.”
Fifteen
* * *
It had seemed the way of it in ages past and probably would be the way of it in future times. Trouble followed trouble; so, too, sorrow and death. At times, the end of life came singularly, other times in pairs or in much greater numbers. No one could predict the whys and wherefores, or even when or where the dark-cloaked reaper would appear. The only thing that was certain was that he would eventually come to everyone; no one was exempt or excluded. There was, after all, a time to live, and, inevitably, a time to die.
The schism between Colton and Adriana grieved Philana so deeply that she nearly shut herself up in her chambers the day following Christmas, but that, of course, was not the English way or the exemplary conduct of a marchioness. She had to carry on stoically though the burden on her heart seemed too weighty to bear. It was doubly hard when word came that her niece, the young woman’s husband, and their newborn had been killed when their coach had broken away from their four-in-hand and overturned as it rolled into a ravine. It was another painful death blow that had struck hard at the hearts of Philana and Alistair. Only a thrice of years ago, they had grieved over the passing of their sister and then, three months later, their brother-in-law. The couple had left only one child, a vivacious young woman who, in recent years, had married a viscount, whose own parents of late had also died. What made the deaths of the younger couple and their child more difficult to bear was the fact that they had met their end just outside of London after a band of discontented soldiers, who had been cashiered from the ranks to mete out a shoddy existence in the slums, had taken out their spite on the first available aristocrat, who had himself lost an eye in an earlier campaign against the French.
Relatives and friends of the Kingsleys gathered in London for the funerals, and it was at this sad event that Philana was able to speak with Adriana, who had journeyed with her parents to their London home near Regent Park, where they had met up with her sisters and their husbands before attending the funeral.
“Edythe was barely twenty,” Philana explained through the gathering thickness in her throat. “She must have died shortly after giving birth, for the child was very much as he would’ve been had no one given Edythe aid during his birth . . . except that the cord had been cut and tied. Perhaps one of the soldiers took pity on Edythe and delivered her son. Of course, no one will ever know now what really happened. Even so, it was such a terrible waste of innocent lives. ‘Tis difficult to understand why soldiers, once loyal to this country, would have gone after their coach. Courtland Kingsley had proven himself a courageous soldier in prior conflicts with France, but after the loss of his eye, he had to resign his commission because of his limited vision. Still, his own men had honored him as a valiant officer who had been willing to fight right alongside them.” Her lips trembled as her sorrow welled forth, and when Adriana reached out to take her hand in gentle empathy, the elder clutched at it, as if in a moment of hopeless despair.
When Adriana later sought out Samantha among those at the cemetery, she found her friend leaning heavily upon the arm of her brother who was escorting her from the gravesite. The women embraced each other desperately for a long moment as Samantha struggled to contain her sobs. When finally Adriana stepped back, she kissed her friend’s tear-streaked cheek and then acknowledged Colton’s searching gaze with a sad smile and a stilted nod as he tipped his hat politely. His eyes, however, spoke volumes, but she was deaf . . . and blind to the pleas they conveyed.
Colton lowered his teacup to its saucer and considered the strained smile his mother had pasted on her delicately structured face. As much as she made the pretense, she couldn’t hide the anguish that for the last week had been tormenting her. Her niece’s tragic death had been difficult for her to bear, but he was painfully aware that her distress had begun well before then, when he had told her about Adriana’s stoic dismissal. He had carefully couched his words, desiring to spare his parent the anguish that ofttimes comes with the failure of heartfelt aspirations. Since then, the sadness in her blue eyes and their frequent mistiness had evidenced the morose depths of her despair.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected his mother to react in such a manner. Indeed, he had feared much of what was happening would come to pass after learning of his father’s decree. The fact that it had been compounded by the deaths of Edythe and her small family made it even more arduous. Adriana had been his parents’ only choice for a daughter-in-law. She had been like a daughter to them, and the very real possibility that those expectations would never come to fruition now was too bleak a prospect for his parent to accept without suffering the pangs of deep regret.
“I must ask you something,” Philana announced quietly, studying her teacup intently as she returned it to her saucer.
“Yes?”
“Did you ever visit Edythe when you were in London this past year?”
Colton’s brows gathered in bemusement. “No, I’m afraid after my departure from home years ago, I never saw her again. Why do you ask?”
“I ask because of a mark the physician’s found on the newborn’s backside.”
Sitting back in his chair, Colton stared at her mother in growing bewilderment. She didn’t have to say anything more. “But how can that be? She was not kin to the Wyndhams. Neither was Courtland.”
“How well I know that,” Philana murmured, and then struggled to present an intrepid smile, but it was tremulous at best. “Not unless your father . . .”
Colton refused to hear her conjecture. “Father would never have touched Edythe . . . or any other woman. You were the only one he ever loved . . . or, for that matter, desired. I never once saw him look at another woman in the manner you suggest. I may’ve had my failings, Mother, but Father was faithful and true in everything he did. He took me to task too many times in my youth for my own propensity to cavort rather freely with the girls, and he reminded me fairly often that it was not a gentleman’s way for me now to believe that he’d have gone against his own moral code.”
“Then how would you explain the presence of such a mark on the newborn’s backside?”
“Did you see it for yourself?” Colton pressed.
“Of course not. As you know, they wouldn’t allow the caskets to be opened because of the length of time. . . .” She clasped a hand over her mouth as she felt her gorge rise.
Colton reached out and, resting a hand upon his mother’s, did his best to reassure her. “Then obviously what the physicians described was not the same that I bear now or what my father bore before me. I am the last of the Wyndhams, and even Latham cannot claim the mark, because his forebears before him never did. I cannot tell you how very, very sorry I am that I didn’t take more pains to protect my family’s honor. Foolishly I believed Pandora coul
dn’t have children and that it was safe to be with her. I have been caught in a trap of my own making, and nothing, absolutely nothing I can say now can erase my error in judgment. My daughter is an innocent victim, and because I couldn’t bear to think of one of my own suffering the plight of bastardy, I am where I am. If I were given a chance to do it all over again, I would never have bedded her mother, but as for allowing an innocent to pay the rest of her life for my indiscretions, I cannot . . . and could not bear that thought. The blame is mine; I must suffer the consequences.”
“She seems to be a very pretty child,” Philana said mutedly, unable to meet his gaze. “The servants have made inquiries about a wet nurse in the area. Hopefully, we’ll find one to replace Alice soon. I must say her manners are . . . a bit unusual.”
Colton managed a stiff twitch of his lips, the best attempt at a smile he could convey at the moment. “ ‘Despicable’ is the word, Mother.”
Harrison entered the drawing room, bearing a small silver tray upon which lay a letter sealed with red wax. He offered it to the marquess. “This missive arrived for you from Bath this past moment, my lord.”
“Bath?” Colton repeated in some bewilderment.
“Yes, my lord. I believe it bears Lord Standish’s seal.”
Philana sat up, a small glimmer of hope brightening her eyes. “Perhaps Gyles has managed to persuade Adriana to give you another chance.”
Colton doubted that possibility. The girl had a mind of her own and wasn’t easily swayed when it came to choosing a husband, not even by her father. He had seen evidence of that the first time he had visited her at Wakefield Manor, when she had set them all back upon their heels by her angry departure from the drawing room.
Breaking the waxed seal, Colton unfolded the dispatch and began to read. The message it bore presented his options bluntly.
If you have any smallest desire of presenting your petition of marriage to my daughter, I strongly suggest you come to the Lansdown Crescent at Bath ere the closing hour of the Assembly Room Saturday night. The Marquess of Harcourt seems to have taken Adriana’s presence here and your lack of such as an indication of a possible estrangement between the two of you. He has sent a request for an audience with me, and I can only believe he means to speak with me again regarding the matter of his marriage to my daughter. I can assure you if that is not Lord Harcourt’s intent, there are others here eagerly vying for her hand. Though I trust my daughter to choose wisely, she will not make a decision in your favor unless she is convinced that you desire her to be your wife. If I have mistaken your affection for her, please disregard this summons. Be it known that I deeply honor the memory of your father, and it is only for that reason I send this letter. I cannot fault Adriana if she does not wish to marry you. Our plans are to stay in Bath until after the New Year.
“What is it, dear?” Philana asked. “Do I dare hope that it bears encouraging news?”
“I must go to Bath,” Colton declared, coming to his feet in sudden haste. He dropped the letter on the table beside his mother as he stepped around it. “This will explain everything. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
It wasn’t long before Bentley was reining the four-in-hand onto the lane that, moments later, led them past Wakefield Manor. Less than an hour had passed since Colton had read Gyles’s letter, and in that expanse of time the wind had risen and dark clouds had gathered overhead. Though the onset of evening was still a pair of hours away, the dreariness of the approaching storm seemed to have aged day into night.
Complying with his lordship’s request for speed, Bentley cracked the whip over the backs of the secondary steeds again and again, urging them onward to their fastest pace. There were occasions for overt showiness, but the mission his lordship seemed to be on required the maximum effort from the sturdier team. Time was of the essence.
As the conveyance entered the gloominess of a heavy copse of trees, Bentley eased his demands only slightly as the four-in-hand approached a familiar, undulating curve, which took them past thick stands of trees growing close upon the road. The landau swayed from side to side as it sped around another curve and had barely ceased its sideways motion when a warning shout from Bentley and a muttered cursing caused Colton to brace against a sudden, jolting halt.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded, swinging open the door and making a partial descent to the step.
“There’s a tree across the road, milord,” Bentley announced over his shoulder as he tied off the reins. “The wind must’ve blown it down.”
Colton stepped to the lane and snuggled the top hat firmly upon his head as his redingote swirled chaotically about him. Once he strode past the lead pair of horses, he came into view of the barrier and, after assessing the situation, deemed the size of the tree challenging but manageable. Briefly he squinted against the wind before lending his consideration to how best to go about moving the obstacle to the edge of the road where it would be out of their way. Facing the servant, he explained his idea. “Between the two of us, Bentley, we should be able to swing the top of the tree around until the whole of it is lying alongside the road. Considering its size, it shouldn’t prove too difficult if we both carry it.”
Bentley promptly made his descent to the ground and together, at the count of three, and with all the strength they could exert, they hefted the upper portion of the tree and carried it to the side of the road in spite of its broken limbs and tangle of leaves with which they were forced to contend. The heavier portion of the trunk scraped up soil and grass where it had become ensconced, slowing their progress. It proved an enormous feat, but one they managed to accomplish. Bentley even had enough breath left over to chortle over their success.
Dusting his hands off, Colton grinned. “Now let’s get to Bath before we find our way again hampered, this time by a rainstorm.”
He was just approaching the stump of the tree when he realized it had not collapsed beneath the force of the wind as they had supposed. Rather, it had been chopped down and, from what he could ascertain, fairly recently from the sap that was still oozing from its firmly rooted base, around which lay a pile of fresh chips.
Continuing on a short distance beyond the stump, Colton paused as if to consider the sky overhead and then turned, lifting his head a slight degree to keep his searching eyes hidden beneath the shadow of his brim. Listening intently, he carefully scanned the woods from right to left. The gravel on the well-worn road crunched slightly beneath Bentley’s boots as the hulking man strode past the team, but another sound, the clicking thud of a rifle misfiring, set Colton’s nerves on end. It was too close for comfort!
“Get down!” he bellowed toward his driver as he, himself, raced as swiftly as he could toward the landau, the door of which he had left open. Besides a few saplings, it alone offered the closest cover for him. In the next instant, a loud explosion of gunpowder, ignited by a firing pin, produced the forceful trajectory of a leaden ball. The resulting, ear-splitting sound snatched a start from Bentley, who promptly ducked in wide-eyed alarm.
The leaden missile met its intended mark, boring a hole into Colton’s back and sending him sprawling forward with a sharp gasp. On the heels of that report, a barrage of exploding gunfire was unleashed upon the pair, most of which pelted the landau with lead shot very near the place where Colton had gone down. As painful as it was for him to move, he was forced to drag himself beneath the conveyance, which at best afforded him little security.
“Milord, are yu hurt?” Bentley cried, having made his way past the front wheels. He squatted down on his haunches on the far side of the landau and craned his neck to look underneath. When he saw the glistening red on the back of the redingote, his heart plunged to morbid depths as fear pierced it. He could only believe the nobleman was either dead or dying. “Milord, are yu alive?”
The piercing agony of his wound delayed Colton’s answer a moment as he lay with his brow braced on a forearm. Finally he rolled his head on his arm, enabling him to peer sideways at Ben
tley, who clasped a hand over his swiftly pounding heart as his breath escaped in a sigh of relief.
“I’m wounded but far from dead, Bentley. Have you a weapon and shot with you?”
“Aye, milord. Brown Besses, both o’ ’em. I gots plenty o’ shot, too. Yu might says I likes bein’ prepared at all times.”
“Should we escape alive from these brigands who’ve attacked us, I’ll see that you’re supplied with more accurate weapons in the future. As for now, we can only hope our attackers are within range of the shot. Can you reach them without getting your head blown off?”
“Well, considerin’ the trouble we’ll be in if’n I don’t, milord, I’ll be doin’ ‘at very thing right away. I just checked the loadin’ this morn’n, just like I’ve been doin’ e’er since yur cousin an’ ’er family were killed.”
No sooner were the words out of Bentley’s mouth than he was again on his feet, scurrying alongside the carriage, this time toward the front. Shots liberally pocked the wood and fine leather sheathing the conveyance as he climbed onto the spokes of the wheel and reached behind the dickey seat. He cursed loudly as the leaden balls sprinkled the landau, sending sharp splinters flying into his face, but upon reaching the weapons and a bag of shot, he clasped them firmly in one arm and hastily began his descent, though not fast enough. An enraged snarl was wrenched from his lips as a ball sliced across his cheek, leaving a groove that readily spilled blood over his dapper livery. The wound gave him impetus. He promptly dropped out of sight and, hunkering down low, scampered back toward the spot where his lordship had taken shelter. There, he delivered two of the weapons into the capable hands of the retired colonel.
Bentley squinted against the stiff breezes that flowed beneath the carriage as he watched the younger man reposition himself. “Do yu ken how best ta take ’em, milord?”