The Notorious Widow (3 page)

“Who is spreading the tales?”

“People cite a score of sources, though Catherine claims every rumor originated with Jasper Rankin. His father is the highest-ranking lord in the vicinity, so Jasper wields great power. No one would question his word.”

“But why would he launch an undeserved attack on a vicar’s widow?” asked Rockhurst, clearly suspicious.

William shrugged. This was the point where his own thinking always stumbled. “I have no idea, and frankly it does not fit his image. He is the darling of local society and quite generous to the victims whenever he or his friends cause trouble. Beyond saying that he is avenging an insult, Catherine won’t discuss it. She swears anyone who knows her should recognize that the tales are lies, and she insists that the furor will fade in time.”

“So your claim that she is being unjustly persecuted rests solely on her word,” said Rockhurst. “Do you believe her?”

“Jasper is a gentleman.” As usual, he was torn between loyalty and his own confusion. No matter how much he needed to entice Rockhurst to Seabrook Manor, he could not exaggerate Jasper’s faults. “He is prone to high spirits and enjoys pleasure, but I’ve no evidence of worse – certainly nothing that might explain this sort of attack. On the other hand, I’ve never known Catherine to lie – certainly not about something this serious. Nearly everyone of stature has cut her, and our invitation to the squire’s harvest ball was rescinded.”

“So what would prompt an honorable man to lie about an honorable woman?” He almost sounded sarcastic.

William shrugged. “A misunderstanding, I presume. She was upset about damage he did to a tenant’s field last month. Perhaps someone overheard them arguing and drew the wrong conclusions. But whatever the cause, the tales are too ingrained to disappear on their own. It will require someone of your stature to stop them.”

“It does not sound promising.”

“I know that Catherine cannot have indulged in such perversions,” swore William, fearful that his doubts had made the task sound impossible – or unimportant. “And this is affecting everyone on the estate, even the servants. Sir Richard had offered one of my stableboys a position as groom, but he withdrew the offer the moment the rumors started. Come to Seabrook Manor and see for yourself. Once you understand how unfair the situation is, you will want to help – just as you did in the Easley affair.”

* * * *

Blake drained his glass, then walked to the window and back, pondering Seabrook’s tale. Rankin’s father couldn’t be more than a viscount if Seabrook thought an earl had enough power to influence him, especially an earl whose own reputation was suspect – he grimaced at how unthinking he had been when he’d first descended on London. But there had to be more to this story than Seabrook was telling. Not only did his sister outrank the local gossips, but viscount’s heirs did not attack baron’s sisters without cause. Seabrook was not even sure that Jasper was guilty.

The situation intrigued him. Perhaps Catherine had committed some indiscretions that were now being exaggerated – despite his claims, Seabrook clearly thought it possible – but if she was telling the truth, this was another case of the strong preying on the weak. And the cause might well be absurd. It wouldn’t be the first instance of eccentric reasoning. He knew one gentleman who had banned all glassware from his house after cutting himself on a sliver from a broken figurine. He ate only from silver plates, drank from silver goblets, and refused to try the new Argand lamps because they required glass chimneys. But his edicts hurt no one.

Blake made another circuit of the room. He was bored. He hadn’t faced a serious challenge since rescuing his inheritance. This one might well be impossible, of course. Gossips lived by the dictum
Where there is smoke, there must be fire
. Exposing a rumor as an outright lie would require considerable evidence, and even that might not sway the most vicious. They preferred to believe the worst.

There is nothing you can do, warned a voice in his head. Failure will make it harder to succeed in other cases.

Yet turning his back on injustice would make him a coward. His conscience was already pummeling him over Dornbras. He had known for years that the man was no good, yet he had never investigated his activities. Thus Dornbras had continued abducting virgins until Max had exposed him, only last month. How many girls had suffered because Blake had ignored his instincts?

Those instincts were again stirring. There was more to this case than Seabrook had revealed. Investigating it would take time, but he had plenty. He wasn’t due back in London until spring, when he must seriously consider securing the succession. His steward could manage the Abbey without his oversight. November was hardly a busy month.

“When did the rumors begin?” he asked, leaning against the mantel.

Seabrook frowned. “I’m not sure, for I did not hear the stories at first. At least a month ago. Perhaps longer.”

“You say no one else knows that Rankin started them?”

“Not to my knowledge. You must realize that few people discuss this with me. Catherine is family.”

“Yet she swears she is innocent.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t you press her for details?”

“Of course I did, but she swears they don’t matter. A more stubborn wench never lived.”

Blake returned to the window. The situation was muddled. Seabrook bounced from certainty that the tales were false to admitting that his only evidence was the unsubstantiated word of his sister. If he believed her, why had he not called Rankin out? Or did he expect that this request would decide whether a challenge was necessary?

He didn’t like being used, but he could hardly form an opinion based on the word of one muddled baron. And the tale raised enough questions to warrant an investigation. “I cannot promise success, but I will look into the matter,” he said over his shoulder.

Seabrook’s face lightened. “Thank you. This weighs heavily on Catherine’s mind. Will you join us for dinner?”

“No. I must discover what rumors are current.” And he must also deal with Cavendish and that unsuitable governess. His conscience would not allow him to ignore such problems. “I will join you in two days.”

Blake paced the parlor for another hour, pondering Seabrook’s request. It was decidedly odd. Despite having had no contact in years, five minutes after meeting, Seabrook had bared a family disgrace most people would lock firmly away.

He shook his head, for this tale was too similar to his own reputation. Rebuilding his inheritance had been so exhilarating that he had gone a trifle wild when he finally reached London, acquiring a name for debauchery that would not help Catherine. And her problem was as difficult as they came. Gossips rarely believed denials, instead twisting them into evidence of guilt –
the lady doth protest too much
. Catherine must know that the more she argued, the guiltier she seemed – which explained why she was hoping silence would make the rumors go away.

Not that they would. Even if no one was feeding them, her being a widow worked against her. She could never prove innocence, for she was no longer a virgin. Besides, a wellborn widow could conduct discreet liaisons with impunity. Even wellborn wives entertained lovers. A vicar’s widow might be held to a higher standard, but not to the point of ostracism. So what would provoke such scandal?

He frowned. There had to be more to the tale than a few intimate encounters. Rather than try to prove her innocent, he would be better served by forcing Rankin to recant. In the meantime, he would question the innkeeper. Tomorrow he would talk to those who knew more than Seabrook. Reaching into memory, he recalled an acquaintance whose elderly aunt lived in Exeter. If she wasn’t a gossip, she could at least introduce him into local society.

* * * *

“You what?” Catherine stared at her brother.

“A school friend will arrive in two days. I want Laura to make a good impression. He is of an age to marry.”

“You actually invited a man to court Laura? Why would he agree? She has a minuscule dowry.” She wanted Laura wed, but on her own terms. Arranged marriages often put the wife at the mercy of a brutal man.

William frowned. “I am perfectly capable of assuring my sisters’ futures, Catherine. You need not fret. Just see that Laura is presentable.”

“Yes, your majesty,” she murmured, collapsing against the back of her chair. His high-handedness shocked her more than his announcement. Never before had he treated her like a servant.

He stared a moment, then his shoulders slumped. “Forgive me, Catherine. I did not mean to sound ungrateful for all that you do. Laura’s future has long bothered me, for we both know I can never take her to town. My relief that I can actually address it made the words come out wrong.”

“Perhaps, but did you consider the consequences of bringing him here now? Even if he is amenable to taking her, he must surely flee when he hears the rumors. What will that do for her expectations? He would spread these lies throughout England.”

“Give me a little credit,” he snapped. “My invitation did not mention Laura. The Earl of Rockhurst has long been a benevolent and fair-minded knight who defends the weak against injustice. I asked him to put a stop to the rumors. He must stay here, of course, but no one will expect anything further. And if he decides that he likes Laura, who am I to argue? He is wealthy enough that even you must approve.”

“That sounds sordid.”

“I phrased that badly. Rockhurst is honorable, virtuous, and selfless. Laura would be perfect for him. He must produce an heir; she has excellent breeding. He loves music; she plays well and sings like an angel. He needs a hostess; she loves people, can converse intelligently, and is well trained in running a household.”

She had to agree with this last statement, for she had overseen that part of Laura’s education herself. And she knew that Laura yearned for London society.

William relaxed. “We are only introducing them, but think of the benefits if they reach an accommodation. He could give Mary a London Season and aid Andrew’s career.”

“To say nothing of financing your estate plans.” Her temper flared, in part because she had spun similar dreams that very afternoon before discovering how unrealistic they were. Jasper would make sure that no one of power formed an alliance with her family.

“All you have to do is convince him that you are innocent and answer a few questions, Catherine. He is a paragon with credit so high that the gossips will have to accept you.”

Catherine clamped her mouth shut in despair.

Convince him that you are innocent—
Devil take it, she
was
innocent, though it was clear that even William thought otherwise. His priggishness was already warring with family loyalty. Would he throw her out if Rockhurst failed to redeem her? Jasper’s threat against Sarah suddenly loomed larger.

Answer a few questions—
Did William have any idea how violated she already felt at the prospect of exposing her soul to a stranger? The situation was far worse than he could imagine. No one had enough credit to improve it.

She closed her eyes. It was barely possible that the Regent was powerful enough to stop the gossip. Maybe. But stopping gossip wouldn’t make the tales disappear. They would remain in whispers behind fans and under stairs, in drunken confidences in the clubs, in rambling letters to correspondents. And they would grow all the more titillating for being suppressed. How could she invite such a future by asking for help?

Yet Laura deserved an introduction to the earl. Hadn’t she been fretting over her family’s future when that arrogant fool had accosted her in Exeter? Her fists clenched as she recalled his attack. If Rockhurst was a fair-minded knight who decried injustice, then the stranger in Exeter was his opposite.

“Very well.” She met William’s eyes. “We will make his stay comfortable. I will talk to Laura, and perhaps you can devise some entertainment. Does he hunt or shoot? You might be able to set up an evening of cards if people know that I will not attend. Mrs. Telcor has vowed to avoid any gathering that includes me.”

“You will chaperon Laura.” His voice was firm. “Rockhurst’s presence will force Mrs. Telcor’s acceptance. She will never eschew meeting an earl.”

“Dreaming again, William,” she said gently. “If he utters one word in support of me, she will denounce him to all and sundry. Jasper cut me in front of her last week. You know she hates anyone who contradicts him. Didn’t she take his part after people blamed you for the haywain fire he set when you were boys? You still do not understand our peril. Why do you think his lies spread so quickly and with so little scrutiny? Because he tells them first to her.”

Leaving William to consider her parting shot, she sought out Mrs. Moulding. How many servants would Rockhurst bring? Should she add another course to dinner, or would additional removes suffice? What about linens? Did the green bedchamber’s chimney need cleaning?

The questions buzzed through her mind, but she knew they were just distractions. She did not want to think about what this scheme might cost her family. William was a simple man who accepted the world at face value. He would never understand Jasper’s ruthless cunning, which was one reason she hadn’t revealed the confrontation that had started this. But in his ignorance, William thought it was all a misunderstanding that would disappear in time. So he had invited a man to stir the pot.

It could only create new trouble, which must again be laid at her door. But it was too late to cancel the invitation. Instead, she must convince Rockhurst that pursuing Jasper would ruin more lives.

CHAPTER THREE

Blake shifted in his carriage seat, wondering for the hundredth time why he was here. After two days of talking to people, he understood Seabrook’s ambivalence. Even knowing a fraction of the rumors would raise grave doubts about his sister’s innocence. All was not well with the widow Parrish.

Yet he had promised to investigate the matter, and Seabrook deserved his best efforts. The lad had been well liked at school, though his dreams had been basic – improving the yields on his family estate, exercising good stewardship over the land and its dependents, and producing the heir who would carry on in the future. Nothing had changed, if the condition of his estate was any indication. The grounds were unpretentious but well kept. Hedges were tidy and the fields tended. Seabrook cared for his land, putting his meager resources into maintenance rather than squandering them on his own pleasure – which set him apart from the dandies who frequented London. Such a man would do whatever he could to help his sister, even if he suspected she might be guilty of at least some impropriety.