Cross the Ocean (2 page)

Blake could not believe his ears. He would not believe. “The dowager will never allow it. She’ll insist her daughter has died rather than face the scandal.”

Melinda lifted her letter and faced her father reading. “My mother, your grand mama, knows of my plans. She doesn’t agree but is rectified with it. I know your father will never keep you from my parents.”

Melinda faltered. “Not that their love for you would hold sway but certainly with the dowry my father set aside for you, Melinda, he will not cross her. As you know, turning down the Haswood gems would make your father positively ill.”

Blake blanched. The Haswood jewels were worth a fortune in value and prestige. Bequeathed from the king two generations ago. The topic had been discussed on many occasions. Blake often wondered if that was part of the reason for Wendover’s pursuit of Melinda for his son. But to hear his wife’s sharp words as if the only thing of importance to Blake were a string of baubles. Exquisite baubles, granted, but certainly worth less than his respect. He would not acquiesce

“You’ve no need of the Haswood jewels,” Blake said.

Melinda’s eyes opened and narrowed. “Father. If I didn’t know better I would think those jewels meant nothing to you. But in this case, it’s not the necklace you covet. It’s your pride.”

“Hardly the thing to be saying to father. Mother’s left him. Have some pity,” William stammered.

“I need no one’s sympathy, thank you.” Blake shouted at his son and turned to stare out the window.

“This … this incident will be blamed on the duchess’s conniving duplicitous ways. To leave me, leave her duty, with no thought to the consequences. Pitiful, thoughtless baggage.” Blake turned back to see his son standing before him, the young man’s fists clenched.

“Whatever she has done, no one, no one speaks of my mother, like that.”

William’s voice cracked as he spoke. Fierce anger, hurt and pride warred in Blake’s head. He remembered the first time he had stood up to his own father. The scene flashed through his mind.
My son
is becoming a man. Where have I been?
The door to the breakfast room opened.

“Sir Anthony Burroughs,” Briggs announced.

Blake did not look at his best friend. “Another time, Burroughs. Family business,” he said abruptly.

Melinda’s mouth dropped. “You’ll not tell him? Your closest friend? William’s godfather? Do you intend to explain her absence to anyone?” she asked.

Anthony stood, quiet grace, in the doorway. He smiled at Briggs and pulled the man’s hand from the doorknob. “Won’t be needing anything right now, Briggs.” Anthony turned to the assembled before him.

Melinda’s tear-stained face. William’s anger and confusion. And wild unholy wrath on the face of Blake Sanders.

“Whose absence?” Anthony asked.

Blake ran his hand through his hair, unwilling or unable to speak. The room was quiet while Anthony poured himself a cup of tea. Blake could not begin, could not voice, would not mutter, the explanation.

His embarrassment was overwhelming. Melinda finally gave way in a flurry of tears, running to Anthony.

“Uncle Anthony! Mother’s left us,” Melinda cried and crumbled into Tony’s arms.

“There, there, puss,” he crooned. Anthony sat Melinda down and poured her a cup of tea. “Cry it out.”

Melinda blubbered as Blake stood ashen at the window and William swallowed time and again as the story and their letters were retold.

Anthony’s eyes were wide, faraway and his voice soft when he spoke. “I wouldn’t believe this if it hadn’t been you telling the tale. Ann’s left us.”

“Left us?” Blake exploded. “She left me. Me. She left me.”

Anthony took Melinda by the hand and jerked his head to William. “Your father and I need a chat. Dry your tears. Hurry along now, till we decide what’s to be done.”

As calm as Blake had always strived to be, Anthony was the opposite. Wild youth, horrible temper, impetuous ways all rolled into one tall, loyal friend. His marriage, two years prior was the only reason he still lived, Blake was convinced. Elizabeth Burroughs ruled him with a beautiful face and a strong will.

Blake had never seen a man and wife so besotted. He was surprised when Anthony calmly told him to sit down.

Anthony smiled and his pleasant tone belied his sharp words. “You are a spoiled, unfeeling, pompous ass.”

Blake’s mouth fell and he sputtered, “Ann was the one to....”

Anthony’s eyes closed and one finger came to his lips. “Do not besmirch her name in front of me or your children. Regardless of what you’re feeling. She was wrong. As some of us are on occasion. Present company excluded of course.”

Blake’s mouth closed and Anthony continued. “You are an adult, Blake. You’ve been an adult since you were five years old. Your children need you. Now more than ever. Don’t hold onto this hurt jealously as if you are the only one involved.” Anthony sat back in his chair. “There are others in much more pain simply because they loved her. An emotion you are fortunate to not have to deal with.”

“I loved her in my way,” Blake said staring out the window.

Anthony harrumphed. “Really, Blake. Did you ever tell her?”

“She’s my wife, damn it, Burroughs,” Blake muttered.

“Ah, yes, easier to tell your current mistress than your wife,” Anthony replied.

“What does my having a mistress have to do with anything?”

Anthony laughed hoarsely. “Only you, Blake, would pose a question that absurd.”

“Why did she leave with him though? Why not just…?”

“Just bed a man who is not her husband as most rich titled women do? Perhaps Ann’s sense of honor wouldn’t allow it. Perhaps she didn’t wish to teach her children such faithlessness. Perhaps she loves him.”

Although he had no argument to make in defense of himself, Blake was furious at Tony’s conclusions.

“Besides my being an ‘ass’ what do you propose I say about this?” Blake asked. He was tired, so very tired, but this mess, this incident, needed thought.

The two men spent the morning trying in vain to think of a way to cover the affair up. It would not be done. Each time they thought a plan through, one corner of the blanket lifted revealing just enough to whet the appetite of the ton. Did someone see Ann as she boarded a ship with her merchant? Would she be seen by peerage traveling abroad? And how does one, even one as powerful as the Duke of Wexford explain a wife who has suddenly disappeared? They would think he locked her in the attic or worse yet Bedlam.

“Brazen it out, Blake. Tell the truth and dare them to laugh. I see no other way.” Anthony jumped up as the clock chimed the hour. “Is that the time? Dear God. I told Elizabeth I’d be home at twelve.”

“So what if you’re late? With Elizabeth’s confinement what’s she to do but lie about? What’s the hurry?”

Blake asked, now sulking.

Anthony turned from the door. “The ‘so what,’ Blake, is I told Elizabeth I’d be home.”

Blake dismissed him with a flit of his hand. “At least I won’t be the hen-pecked husband of the neighborhood. You do very well.”

Anthony stared boldly. “Think what you will. You always do. But I’ve not got a shrew for a wife. Nor did you. I don’t run home because she told me to, Blake.” His friend raised his brows to mock. “I run home because I want to be there. I love her. And she me.”

The door closed softly and Blake was left alone. He was glad for the solitude. Of all the ugliness, the shouting, the accusations, Anthony’s declaration shook Blake as nothing else did. His throat clogged.

Tears sprang to his eyes. Not for love lost but for the truth whirling around in his head. The cold, black stark reality that he would die without ever knowing that love. Ann had loved him all those years ago.

Perhaps even in her disgrace she would be the victor. She had loved someone. Him. Her husband. With an all consuming passion and clarity that he would never experience. Blake had watched that love wane and fade as time and inattention whittled it away. Did Ann love this merchant? Was she so lucky as to love twice in her life? Would his children love like that? Like Anthony and Elizabeth?

“Where’s Momma?” a young voice said from the doorway.

Blake turned to see Donald. All of seven years old. “She’s gone away for awhile, son.”

The boy nodded.

Blake stood and walked to the doorway.

Donald smiled. “She’ll be back. She told me she might be taking a trip, ‘cept she didn’t know when.

That I’d see her at Grand mama’s soon after she left.”

“That’s right, Donald,” Blake said stiffly.

Donald turned, hands in his pockets, down the vast hall.

“Where are you going?” Blake shouted.

The boy cocked his head. “Same place I do everyday, father. To the pond so Mrs. Wickham’s grandson, Malcolm, and I can sail our boats.”

“Yes, of course,” Blake lied. He watched Donald and Malcolm be enveloped in Mrs. Wickham’s arms.

She had a basket packed and they ran down the hall swinging it between them. The housekeeper faced him.

“Mrs. Wickham, would you be so good as to gather Briggs and Benson and join me in my study,” Blake said.

“Yes, Your Grace,” she replied.

Blake sat down behind his desk. He had best make some explanation or rumors would abound. The three servants he trusted entered the room. They stood expectantly. Blake cleared his throat.

“The duchess has ... the duchess has....” Blake’s mouth was dry and he searched for the right words.

“The duchess is away,” Briggs said clearly.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Mrs. Wickham said, “the duchess is away and … and we need to make sure that everything runs smoothly in her absence.”

“Certainly, Your Grace,” Benson said. “We have no intentions of allowing any mischief or ... talk until things are back to normal.”

Now Blake could not speak. They had spoken for him and would not let him humiliate himself. He managed to blurt out, “The children….” but the Duke of Wexford could not continue.

“Don’t worry yourself, Your Grace. Not a soul will sully those children without answering to us,”

Benson said.

All was silent.

“Is that all, Your Grace?” Mrs. Wickham asked.

Blake nodded, staring out the window.

Soul searching had never been Blake’s strong suit, but the weeks following Ann’s leaving left naught much else to do. He begrudgingly allowed the children to spend a week at Lady Katherine’s while their mother was there. Allow would be to strong a word, he admitted to himself. William and Melinda armed with Donald’s innocent pleas and Blake’s reluctance to explain much to the seven-year-old saw the trio to the family carriage. He had spent little time away from home, not yet ready for the questions of society.

The house was devilishly quiet with the children gone. Blake ambled around, rechecked accounts, read a bit and was generally bored to tears.

Blake received a letter from his current mistress, Helena.
She missed him. She died a bit each day in
his absence.
She certainly didn’t love him. Loved the diamonds and the evenings at the theatre but she didn’t love him. What kind of ridicule had Ann been subject to while he paraded Helena to a private box for a play or to a dinner party? He cringed at the thought of the last trip to the theatre he and his mistress had gone to. Helena had drunk a bit too much champagne and was amorous. Amorous was a benign accounting of Helena that night. Although wildly exciting, when Helena opened her dress as she pulled the curtain of their box in the last act of the play, there could have been no doubt what was taking place.

Sofas rocked and fabric swung as Helena shouted her bliss.

All the peerage had mistresses, Blake thought to himself. When one is married at a young age to someone one barely knows and could easily be as ugly as sin what did one expect? What did Ann expect? He laughed without humor at himself or perhaps at the flimsy justification for his own excuse.

Ann was gorgeous. Petite, polite, blond, impeccable lineage. Could he have loved her? Can one will themselves to love? The sex had no spark. Was that his fault or hers? Could she have given more of herself? Could he have? Now she was rolling around with some merchant. Blake could hardly say he was jealous. Maybe angry that someone else had his wife in their bed. Much like being out bid at an auction. Not jealous for the woman. Just angry he hadn’t won.

Three days after the children left he would’ve given his home for someone, anyone to address him by something other than ‘your grace.’ Benson, Briggs and Mrs. Wickham closed ranks about him and while he understood their good intention, Blake felt as if there wasn’t enough air to draw breath. He went to the stables, had his mare saddled and rode to Anthony’s estate. Maybe Elizabeth will ask me to stay for dinner, he thought. Then she’ll go to bed and Tony and I can drink a bottle of brandy and get stewed. He could stay there if he couldn’t ride. A room was kept ready for him. He even kept a change of clothes there, harkening back to when Tony was a bachelor and their nights together often ended in the wee hours of the morning. Blake smiled and felt better than he had in days.

As the butler escorted Blake down the hall of Anthony’s home to the drawing room, he heard a loud but feminine … snort. And Elizabeth’s trill laughter in reply. Damn. He remembered. Some cousin of Elizabeth’s from America sent as an escort to another cousin was staying with them. Anthony had described and dreaded the arrival of cousin Gertrude with horror. A spinster remotely connected to Elizabeth’s father’s side, she was big, bold and here for a month. Her arrival had curtailed Anthony’s visits.

Blake stopped and hissed at the butler. “Think I’ve changed my mind, Jenkins. I don’t want to disturb their company.”

“Quite the coward, are we, Your Grace. Leave your life-long friend alone with this Amazon from America.” Jenkins stared as he spoke. “In any case they saw you ride up the drive.”

Jenkins spoke his mind to all, including Anthony and Elizabeth. There’d be no expecting servile behavior.

“I’m sure you did not miss the opportunity to point out my arrival,” Blake said.

“Of course not, Your Grace.” The butler paused at the door. “The Duke of Wexford.”