Family Scandals (32 page)

“In some ways, Bernard got the best deal of all,” he finally said.

He felt Diana stiffen at the reference to their third brother. He had emigrated to America and was doing well for himself as a mill owner in the northwestern part of the country. He’d had no choice, but his situation likely reminded her again of why she hated the new Lady St. Ayers.

Their father’s will had been a shock to the five of them. Only the oldest three had actually been sired by him. His will did not name the father of Diana and Bernard, but he readily declared that it wasn’t he. For that reason, he had left Bernard a respectable portion, but he could only collect it if he emigrated from England and never returned. He had left an amount for Diana as a dowry, but only a fraction of what he’d left Corinna. He had not withdrawn his name, so the
ton
was none the wiser, but they all had felt the slight nonetheless. Their uncle, Lord Dryden, had been indignant on behalf of his dead sister, and insisted Gregory at least provide Diana with a dowry equal to Corinna’s. Gregory had agreed to do so, but he knew it had only been because he never expected to provide one for Corinna. In addition, after he refused Camden Chase, Gregory had added it to Diana’s dowry.

They might have all been better off if Corinna
had
been in the carriage with her parents when it overturned. But he had admitted to himself that he was glad she hadn’t been.

The waltz drew to a close and the dancers were leaving the floor when Diana spotted a familiar face across the room, also watching the St. Ayers with unconcealed dislike. Without bothering to excuse herself from her brother, she made her way around to the watcher’s side.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed as she sidled up beside him.

Vincent Lemmons turned to look down his sharp nose at her. He smiled when he noted who it was. Lifting her hand to thin lips, he replied, “Why, the same as you. Watching society’s newest darling.”

“I’m not watching her,” she tossed her red curls disdainfully. “I had an invitation, something I doubt you did.”

His smile was arctic as he shrugged one elegantly clad shoulder. “Actually, I did,” he said.

“How?” she demanded.

He did not respond, but she did not resist when he pulled her hand through the crook of his arm. “Stroll with me and I will let you in on a secret. Then we can talk about how we may work together for our mutual benefit.”

She cast a sharp look at him, but did not pull away as he led her toward the terrace doors. He glanced back into the ballroom just as they reached the doors, pausing for a moment, before they stepped out into the cool night air.

Corinna looked up from her conversation with an acquaintance from school and suddenly went still. Another person passed in front of her and she blinked as Julianna Pingree, Lady Barber, garnered her attention again. The moment passed, but left an oddly uncomfortable feeling in its place.

Glancing back at the terrace doors, she wondered if she had really seen Vincent there, or had her imagination been playing tricks on her again. Last evening she thought she’d seen him at the Marsden’s, and the night before at the Gillendale’s.

It was as if being back in London her fears had suddenly begun to prey on her and now, like a specter, he seemed to be haunting her. She believed Marcus when he said she had nothing to fear, but she wished her mind would not continue to play these tricks on her when she was least prepared for them.

Corinna glanced up as she descended the steps of Waring House, taking in the low-hanging clouds and the hint of moisture in the air. Despite the somber skies, she smiled to herself. The carriage stood waiting, a footman rushing forward to open the door for her to enter. Irma scrambled in behind her, taking the seat opposite her mistress.

They were only heading to Hatchard’s book shop, but Corinna felt as if she had escaped from confinement.

After only a fortnight in London, she was beginning to long for St. Ayers and Cornwall. It was not that she didn’t like London. Although scaled back, the fall season was everything she had dreamed about. The balls, parties, routs, at homes, musicales and more were all wonderfully exciting to someone who had lived in obscurity for their entire life. And she was enjoying every moment of it, for the most part.

What she was
not
enjoying was being smothered. Marcus, Felicia, Brand, Eliza, Trent and all her various newfound cousins and extended family seemed bent on protecting her from the world at large. She was not, by nature, shy or retiring, but she had learned the value of unobtrusiveness and reticence during the two years she had lived at Houghton Hall after leaving school. The lessons had been reinforced during her time with Aunt Mirabel where she had learned to make herself scarce when Vincent happened by.

Perhaps it was this reserve her relatives all sensed, interpreting it as timidness. Despite that she thought herself a coward, she’d learned to be brash and outspoken as a child. Unfortunately, her new relatives hadn’t seen that side of her and she was utterly sick of being protected. Which was why she and Irma were on their way to Hatchard’s while Felicia was occupied with the arrival of her nephew, Davey. A handsome young man of seventeen, he’d been at sea on one of Brand’s ships for the last five years. She’d left as Felicia and Davey were debating the merits of him going to Devon to see his mother.

Piccadilly, she surmised, would be safe enough. Hatchard’s, she had been informed, was a favorite for those in the
ton
who simply had to have the latest novel, or just wanted to peruse the bookshelves for something of interest. A book shop seemed a safe enough place for her first foray.

Leaving Irma seated on the bench with other maids in the front of the establishment, Corinna spent nearly an hour leisurely browsing the current literary offerings. As she was flipping through Dickens’
Great Expectations,
she felt as if she was being watched and looked up to find Vincent standing at the end of the aisle.

Frozen for a moment, she kept her wits enough to calmly return the book to its place on the shelf as Vincent strolled toward her.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Fancy meeting you here.”

At least she now knew she probably had seen him last night and at the other times.

“What?” he pressed. “No welcome for your cousin?”

“You are as much my cousin as Gregory is my brother,” she said as calmly as she could, relieved her voice did not betray her sudden apprehension. Vincent appearing like this did not bode well.

Vincent’s eyes flashed with anger, but his voice when he spoke did not betray it. “You wound me,” he declared dramatically. “After all my mother did for you, taking you in when no one else wanted you, allowing you to live off her generosity.”

Corinna looked away. She did not want to admit he was right, but Aunt Mirabel
had
taken her in when she arrived on her doorstep. And Aunt Mirabel had housed and fed her, despite her limited funds. She had repaid the kindness by nursing her aunt when she fell ill, but she knew she owed Aunt Mirabel more than she could ever repay.

“That was your mother,” she said now. “Not you.” Turning to walk away, she was stopped when Vincent took hold of her arm. Without bothering to turn to look back at him, she said, “Let go of me.”

“I don’t think so,” he replied. “Not until you hear what I have to say.”

Taking a deep breath to give herself courage, she turned back to look up at him. It was then she noticed he was expensively dressed. She knew his mother had only had a pittance to live on before she died. If he’d had any funds, he had never shared them with his mother.

His blond hair was carefully combed back from a square forehead. Dark eyes under golden brows situated a little too close together for her liking, a long, sharp nose, and thin lips in a thin face reminded her a bit of a weasel. He was probably considered handsome by some, but she wasn’t one of them.

“I don’t think I care to hear anything you have to say,” she informed him with icy disdain. Intimidation had always been his best weapon, but she would not allow it to affect her this time. Despite that she knew he had a violent temper, she would not allow herself to be afraid of him. At least not as long as they were in a public place.

“Oh, I think you do,” he smirked. “Or do you want your husband to find out that he’s married to a murderess?”

She was relieved she had confided in Marcus. Otherwise, she might believe Vincent’s assertion. She didn’t laugh out loud at him, but he couldn’t help but notice her amusement when she smiled up at him.

“And who am I supposed to have murdered?”

Vincent was surprised by her demeanor.

“I know you deliberately gave my mother an overdose of laudanum.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And how do you know that?”

Vincent blinked, suddenly unsure.

“The doctor told me.”

“I see.” She stared up at him for a few moments, with eyes that held nothing other than mild interest, then said, “I suppose you’ll just have to tell the authorities then.” Turning, she took a couple of steps away from him, then stopped and turned back. “I’m sure you can tell them where to find me if they want the truth.” Then she forced herself to turn and calmly walk away, collect Irma, and leave.

Corinna managed to hold on to her composure for the seemingly interminable ride back to Waring House. She hadn’t let him see her trepidation. Knowing it was unreasonable and Marcus had assured her she had done nothing wrong helped, but a part of her still feared Vincent. Perhaps it was because she knew he hated her and blamed her for his mother’s death.

Once back at Waring House, she sent Irma for some tea and went up to her sitting room. Curled up in the window enclosure wrapped in a snug blanket, she was lost in thought when Irma brought her the requested tea, barely acknowledging the maid as she left the tray on a small table beside her seat. She was too immersed in memories.

Returning to Houghton Hall after her final year at school had been painful. It had been made worse by the obvious dislike she was subjected to by Ellen. Gregory merely ignored her, but Ellen made it clear that she was nothing more than a poor relation and should be thankful they were willing to allow her to live there at all. Furthermore, Ellen expected her to help out and be available if the housekeeper needed an extra pair of hands, something that seemed to happen daily. Finding Aunt Mirabel’s name and direction in the Bible among her mother’s things had buoyed her spirits, but it had taken her nearly two years to scrape up the courage to leave Houghton Hall in search of her.

For months before the day she walked away, she had worried over whether her grandfather’s sister would welcome her or turn her away. She hadn’t dared to write in case her great-aunt wrote back. If Gregory or Ellen found a letter for her in the post, they might have opened it.

The thought of arriving at her great-aunt’s home and finding herself unwelcome had frightened her. She’d told herself often as a child that she was afraid of nothing and no one, but the truth was she was terrified of being alone. Of being unwanted and unloved. That fear had kept her at Houghton Hall until the day Ellen demanded she don a maid’s uniform and help serve guests at a house party.

“Mary is sick, so you’ll have to fill in,” Ellen had told her. But the look in her eyes said it all. She hadn’t cared Mary was sick, nor was she particularly worried about being short-handed. What she really wanted to do was humiliate Corinna further. Requiring Corinna to help out in the kitchen had not been enough. She wanted to further Corinna’s abasement—and do it publicly.

Corinna had not answered. Instead she nodded in apparent acquiescence, then turned and walked away. Hiding out in the stables for the rest of the day and into the night, she had known then she had no choice but to leave. She didn’t know how Ellen would react to her defiance, but she knew no one at the Hall would help her.

The next day she had slipped back into the house while the party was out sightseeing, packed a small valise, and taken a small amount of money from the funds Ellen kept for the household accounts. Returning to her hideout in the stables, she had waited until the house was quiet, then walked away.

Aunt Mirabel had been everything she had hoped and prayed for. Affectionate, warm and loving, she had taken Corinna in and given her a home, treating her like the daughter she never had.

The first time Vincent had come home and found her there, he had mistaken her for one of the village girls his mother occasionally took in. Assuming her assent, he had attempted to take liberties with her, but his mother had intervened and told him in no uncertain terms that Corinna was off limits. Vincent ignored her.

After the third time, his mother had told him he was no longer welcome in her home. When Corinna insisted she shouldn’t keep him away, Aunt Mirabel had confided that Vincent only came to see her if he needed money, and since she had none to give him, she was just fine if he did not turn up on her doorstep from time to time. Aunt Mirabel had also confided in her that Vincent had turned out too much like his father, with a violent temper that was easily set off when he was thwarted.

When Aunt Mirabel fell ill and could no longer keep Vincent away, the two of them had foiled Vincent’s growing obsession by making up a pallet for Corinna in his mother’s room and using the pretext that she needed Corinna during the night.