The Notorious Widow (4 page)

That might explain why he had not yet challenged Jasper. No matter how much the combatants tried, news of duels invariably became public. Whatever the outcome, it would attach another unsavory episode to Catherine’s name. Or maybe Seabrook did not believe Jasper was responsible for the rumors. No one else had mentioned his name in that regard.

Again he shifted, resting one foot on the opposite seat. He had to keep an open mind, at least until he’d spoken with Catherine and interviewed any witnesses. If the tales were false, or even exaggerated, he would try to temper people’s outrage. Seabrook was right that the gossip was hurting more than Catherine. Learning that he had young sisters explained this request. William had to contain the damage before he could bring the girls out.

But Blake couldn’t dismiss the possibility that Catherine was innocent. Evidence supported that conclusion as well, starting with the sheer volume of rumors – not merely the fact that the notorious widow’s escapades were on every tongue but that every tongue cited a different tale. Then there was Seabrook’s own behavior. Could a man who cared deeply for the land and its people keep a wanton in charge of his house and family? Apparently she had oversight of both.

As the carriage topped a rise, a modest manor appeared briefly in the distance, protected by a hill from the storms that swept in from the sea. The façade remained Tudor, hinting that the family had never been wealthy, but it offered welcome and the promise of peace.

Yesterday he’d called on his friend’s aunt, Mrs. Crumleigh. She had been hosting an at-home, so he’d met a dozen of the local gossips. Without asking a single question, he’d heard tale after tale about Catherine Parrish – she seduced any man she could find, even servants and youths; she taught seductive arts to every young girl she met; she flaunted her disdain for propriety everywhere.

Mrs. Telcor’s comments had been typical. “Shocking, absolutely shocking. I’ve never encountered such moral turpitude in one body. You would think her brother would turn her off to protect those girls from harm.” She’d continued with a vehement diatribe condemning several of her exploits.

“Who is her current protector?” he’d asked when she paused for breath.

“She doesn’t have one,” she’d said, sniffing. “Few would mind if she did. A discreet affair is not unheard of. But she flouts every rule. Godless. The dear vicar would turn in his grave if he knew how his wife was conducting herself. And what that brother of hers is thinking to condone such behavior, I don’t know. How is he to fire off those poor girls with this scandal in the family? No one would offer for someone corrupted by that woman’s evil influence.”

The gentlemen’s club had also echoed with rumors – her visits to Torquay and Plymouth, where she had bedded half the seamen based at those ports; her trip to Taunton, where she had exposed a dozen schoolboys to her perversions; her calls throughout the parish that recruited participants for satanic orgies reminiscent of the old Hellfire Club, with her in the role of priestess.

Blake shook his head. Seabrook was puritanical. If he’d heard that last claim, he would have called out the speaker, then banished Catherine forever. He had nearly killed a fellow student at Eton for poking fun at the church. Anything hinting at blasphemy put him in a frenzy.

But the tales raised serious questions. None contained specifics. Where had the liaisons occurred? With whom? When? Who were the witnesses and why had they remained silent until now?

“No gentleman brags of his conquests,” the White Hart innkeeper had insisted when asked to name one of Mrs. Parrish’s paramours.

It was a lie, but Blake had not pressed. Though he’d learned to keep his own contacts private, he knew many gentlemen who graphically compared courtesans, opera dancers, widows, and matrons. Devereaux and Millhouse openly competed for ladies’ favors. The betting books were crammed with their wagers naming this female or that.

So this lack of names was odd. The notorious widow entertained rakes, caroused with seamen, bedded students, tenants, servants, parishioners… Yet not one gossip had witnessed unsuitable behavior. Not one gentleman admitted sampling her charms.

How had she become so venal without anyone noticing? Even in London, everyone knew everything almost immediately. Servants rarely kept secrets.

If she was innocent, then her other claim must also be true – which meant Jasper Rankin was both clever and cunning. He had kept people so shocked that they hadn’t noticed the lack of evidence. Fury had provoked public condemnations no one could easily abandon. The image of an immoral, unrepentant Catherine Parrish was now firmly ingrained. People might conclude that the tales were exaggerated, but they would fall back on the gossips’ creed –
Where there is smoke, there must be fire.
The only way to change their minds was for Jasper to confess that he’d lied.

His carriage drew to a halt. A footman let down the steps.

Like the park, the manor showed attentive maintenance. The corner blocks of the sandstone building had been replaced sometime in the past century. As the carriage had swept up the drive, he’d glimpsed a half-timbered stable, its outside neatly whitewashed. And the paneled entrance hall was well proportioned.

“Welcome to Seabrook, my lord,” said the footman, gesturing toward the stairs.

Blake looked, then froze as the bottom dropped out of his stomach. A woman was descending. Black hair. Blue eyes. Way too familiar.

He cursed under his breath. Here was that governess again, the one he’d had no luck tracing. Was her charge one of Seabrook’s sisters? Perhaps rumor was crediting Catherine with the governess’s exploits.

“You!” she snapped. Her hair was looser today, curling provocatively around her pale face. “How dare you follow me home!”

“I warned you I would discover your employer,” he replied, though in truth, no one had recognized his description.

“Threatened
is closer to the truth, sir. Why don’t you hold up a carriage or burn down a stable or two? It would be a less onerous way to amuse yourself.”

“Rag-mannered baggage. I can’t believe you pulled the wool over Seabrook’s eyes.”

“Shall I summon Lord Seabrook, madam?” asked the footman uncertainly.

“That won’t be necessary, Rob.” She inhaled deeply, then gestured toward a drawing room.

Blake followed, silent as he hurriedly rearranged his impressions.
Madam?
The footman’s manner proclaimed that this woman was in charge.

“Who are you?” he managed once she shut the door.

“At last. An intelligent question.” The drawing room’s faded carpet made her coloring seem even more vibrant. “Mrs. Parrish, Lord Seabrook’s sister. I will accept your apologies now, though only a empty-headed nodcock would have behaved so disgracefully. Parading your ignorance in public caused my daughter considerable distress.”

He winced. “Forgive me, but—”

“Nothing here needs your attention. You will understand that I cannot offer refreshments. Perhaps in the future you will think before drawing unwarranted conclusions or intruding into business that does not concern you.” She turned toward the door, clearly ready to escort him out.

“Not so fast, Mrs. Parrish,” he said, crossing arms and ankles as he leaned against the mantel. Their eyes clashed across the width of the room. “I am not the only one prone to unwarranted assumptions. Perhaps you should summon your brother after all. I am here by his invitation.”

“Damn! You must be—” She blanched.

“Blake Townsend, Earl of Rockhurst.” He proffered a card.

Clearly dazed, she snatched it from his hand, then retreated to the window. “Dear Lord.” She stared at the card as if it might bite. “Why did William drag you all the way from Oxfordshire? He has never mentioned you before.”

“He didn’t.” Unsure what shocked her now, he decided to leave no room for further misunderstanding. “I was in Exeter on business. When I returned to the White Hart after our last meeting, I ran into Seabrook. I had not seen him since Eton, but he described your problem and asked me to investigate. I did not realize he was discussing you, of course.”

“Of course. But what was he doing in Exeter?” she murmured, clearly bewildered. Before he could respond, she shook her head. “It matters not. What made him think you could help? I’ve never met anyone so eager to condemn without examining a single fact.”

He could feel his face heat. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Parrish. I cannot imagine why I behaved so badly. That was Jasper Rankin with you?”

She nodded. “He is adept at pretense, not that his acting excuses you. But no matter. William was mistaken. A man of your credulity cannot help me. Are you always so hasty to judge?”

“Never.” His head reeled. Had he actually allowed someone to manipulate him into hurling lurid accusations at a lady? He never jumped to conclusions. He never accepted the unsupported word of one man as truth. He never—

But you did, reminded his conscience. You were so furious that this intriguing a woman had feet of clay, that you lashed out without thought.

He ignored it, unwilling to believe it. “I wronged you. It does not matter that it was an isolated incident. I must atone by exposing Rankin for the liar he is.”

“Words.” She stalked closer in a swirl of skirts. “Promise the moon, why don’t you? It is just as attainable.”

“Hardly.”

“Do not be so quick to commit yourself. You know nothing of the situation.”

“I know that rumor makes Jezebel seem pure compared to you. I know that protesting your innocence will accomplish nothing. I know that forcing Rankin to confess is your only hope.”

“Do you think that would work?” Her tone implied that he was a simpleton as well as gullible. “Jasper is as persuasive as Eden’s snake and just as sly. Even he cannot reverse opinion now. Words won’t erase the suspicions he cleverly planted. Evidence can prove guilt, but it can never prove innocence. People will believe that I am immoral and that he is conspiring to keep the evidence secret.”

“Not if he reveals his part in starting the tales.” He approved the way pacing swirled her skirt provocatively around long legs and raised color in her cheeks. Admiration pulsed in his chest. She was a warrior. He could picture her leading an army against injustice.

Yet her next words snapped the image as despair crept into her voice. “You don’t understand. His confession would merely identify him as the anonymous l-lover I’ve supposedly been meeting. They will think that a spat led him to revile me, but that we have now reconciled and are trying to cover up our affair.”

“You are the one who is ignorant,” he said, but gently. Her stutter as she choked out so innocuous an indiscretion was additional evidence of innocence. “Have you no idea how sordid the tales are? No lovers’ spat would result in such revelations.”

“What can be worse than liaisons with a dozen men?”

“Plenty, and I doubt I heard everything yesterday. The tales are clearly meant to destroy. But they can be erased if Rankin admits the truth.”

She laughed without humor. “You don’t know Jasper. Nothing would compel him to do such a thing, but even if you succeeded, it would do no good. No one will believe him guilty of anything beyond high spirits.”

“Was it high spirits that prompted this campaign against you?”

“Of course not. I insulted him. He seeks revenge. That is his way.”

“Then we have a starting point. All things are possible, Mrs. Parrish. I will redeem your reputation. I owe you that much in atonement for my own insult.”

* * * *

Catherine closed her eyes, wishing that Rockhurst had turned out to be anyone but this man. How could she trust him after that confrontation in town? Granted, he had apologized, but she had seen firsthand how judgmental he could be.
Benevolent and fair-minded
. If William truly believed that, then she must question his judgment as well. Which might be a good idea. What had he been doing in Exeter? He had claimed vital business with the steward, then given her half a dozen errands, all of which he could easily have handled himself. So why had he gone to town? Were there other times he had lied?

Idiot!

It was obvious in retrospect. He must have followed her to see if the rumors were true. But clandestine surveillance was not his strength, so when he’d met Rockhurst, he had recruited the man. Under the guise of helping her, Rockhurst would assess how much damage she was causing so William could decide what to do with her. This was another instance of his priggishness overriding his sense. He had long decried the moral laxity so many men espoused.

She paced to the corner so she could blink back tears unobserved. If William had charged Rockhurst with spying on her, he would do so, regardless of where he stayed. It might be better to keep him close.

Then there was Laura. She had been so excited at the prospect of having an earl in the house. William’s description of a fair-minded man blessed with both wealth and compassion had stirred her imagination. She was determined to win an offer.

Catherine flinched. Whatever her own impressions, Laura deserved a chance to judge Rockhurst for herself. They all knew the harsh truth. Raising enough money to visit Bath was unlikely, so this would probably be her last opportunity to snare a respectable husband – especially if Rockhurst was right and the rumors were worse than she’d heard. But Laura could attract him only if he were here.

So she must ignore her misgivings and let him undertake the impossible task of redeeming her reputation. Stifling a sigh at the necessity of baring her stupidity, she returned to face him. If only he were not so well set up.

“Try if you must,” she said, shaking her head. “Not that I believe it is possible. Jasper has been avenging insults for years, but he has such a glib tongue that no one of consequence believes him capable of evil. And to be honest, I am his first victim from the upper classes.”

“He preys on servants and the like?” He gestured toward the couch.

He could not sit until she had done so, she realized, chagrined at her lack of hospitality. “Would you care for wine?” she asked as she took her seat.