A Wicked Earl's Widow Page 10

  Maxwell chortled. “You are most definitely your father’s son. There’s more of him in you than you care to admit. We’ve had more than one argument on that point. I think your mother is an unhappy woman with many regrets over the years.”

  With a nod, Nate rose and took his riding coat from the back of a chair. “It was worth the trip just for the apples.”

  “About the other one. Don’t wait too long. Indecision is the root of regret.”

  He paused, knowing his steward was referring to Eliza. The man knew him too well. “I just need to be sure.”

  “Of her feelings or yours?”

  “It’s not a matter of feelings. It’s a matter of fidelity. I need to be sure I won’t make the mistakes of my father. She deserves better than that.” He locked eyes with Maxwell. “You say I’m my father’s son, and he loved my mother. Yet he was unfaithful to her time and time again. What if I do the same to Eliza?”

  “Does the girl love you?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “It is.” The older man took out his pipe and tapped it against the table. “The key is reciprocity. She has to love you back.”

  * * *

  Nathaniel found his mother in the library, a book in her lap, eyes closed. He sank into the leather wingback chair next to her, studying the Turkish rug of golds, blues, and reds. With the heel of his riding boot, he traced the swirling pattern.

  “You should change for supper.” Lady Pendleton smiled at her son. “Althea was looking for you earlier. She’s as devoted to you as she is to that dog.”

  “I can’t believe you allow Cyrano in the house.”

  “I’m getting mellow in my old age.”

  He snorted. “So it seems.” He straightened and leaned his elbows on his knees. “And reminiscent?”

  She pressed her lips together. “Yes, I suppose we should talk. Why don’t you pour us both some claret?”

  He rose and went to the side table, pouring wine for them both. Outside on the lawn, Althea kicked a ball at Cyrano. The hound howled and pushed it back with his nose, his ears trailing the ground. The little girl squealed, ran after it, and tripped. The dog was next to her as she fell on the grass, sniffing at her face and dragging his tongue across her cheek and neck. She grabbed his slobbery muzzle and kissed his nose. Nate’s chest contracted.

  Indecision is the root of regret.

  “Is this about Hannah’s season in London?” he asked.

  “Indirectly.”

  He handed her a glass and sat down.

  “I haven’t been completely honest about your father and me…and our marriage.” She swished the dark red liquid against the cut crystal, lost in thought again.

  “I’m listening.”

  “When I met your father, he was the most handsome bachelor of the season, and had recently inherited the viscountcy. I was smitten—my head turned by all the girls who vied for his attention—yet he wanted me. I was never a beautiful woman, pretty and stately as my father used to say, but not beautiful.

  “My mother pursued the match because the Pendletons were an old family and extremely wealthy. Since I was the daughter of an earl, his parents approved of the union. We were married before the year was up.”

  Lady Pendleton paused, her eyes faraway. “We were so happy at first. Your father was charming, witty—he made me laugh. But as the months passed, his flaws became apparent. His lack of business sense, his overgenerous nature, his excessive spending were all weaknesses I despised. I harangued him at every turn, belittled each of his unsuccessful decisions. I wanted Pendleton to be strong like my father, so I tried to change him.”

  “I assume that didn’t work.” Nate studied his mother with narrowed eyes. She’d never admitted any wrongdoing when it came to the late viscount. A knot formed in his stomach. He had just walked onto a cliff with precarious footing.

  “The passion still smoldered. As I said, he was a very attractive man, and I was young. It seemed the only thing he could do right in my eyes was…the physical side of our marriage. When you were born, things were better for a time. He was so proud of you, to have a son. Mr. Maxwell became the estate manager, and the property thrived until we had two seasons of rain.”

  Nate nodded. “Yes, that was the beginning of the estate’s decline. Father made several bad ventures. Maxwell tried to warn him against the investments, but Father trusted the men and insisted the expenditures would replenish the accounts.”

  “Yes, and it wasn’t only that. With the bad weather came the loss of crops, which affected the livestock. The villagers were struggling to survive. I felt bad for them, I did. But our own financial state was not good after the investments went sour. I’m ashamed to say…”

  Damnation! What did she do?

  “I told him if he gave another penny to those families, when our own future was so perilous, he would not be welcome back in my bed.” She took a drink of the wine and leaned her head back against the chair. The lines around her light brown eyes and mouth seemed deeper. More gray streaked her ash-blonde hair than a month ago. “I began the criticism again, berating him for every decision. Now that I look back on it, I’m afraid he was damned no matter what he did.”

  “You were afraid, Mother. Fear can make us say things we don’t mean.”

  “No, it was spite. He was lacking, in my eyes, and I resented him for it. My expectations have always been high, even with my children, I’m afraid. But your father was a gentle soul, and I wore him down until he believed what I believed.”

  “And what was that?”

  “He was a failure, good for nothing but frivolity, and would never be the man I expected.” A tear ran down her cheek. “I did love him but I didn’t respect him, couldn’t comprehend why he could not change, so my affection turned sour. I didn’t try to understand the kind of man he was or help him become the kind of man I needed. In the end, I made us both miserable and pushed him into the arms of another woman. In a way, I am responsible for his death.”

  Nate ran a hand over his face. “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “So you don’t make the same mistake I did.” Lady Pendleton leaned forward and took his hand. “With Eliza.”

  He was stunned. “All these years, you let me think there was not an ounce of good in my father. And now you tell me it was all a lie?”

  She shook her head. “My mind needed to justify his death. I was as irresponsible as he had been by not taking any of the blame for our failed marriage. He never stopped trying until I pushed him away.”

  “What in God’s name does this have to do with Eliza?” Bile rose in his throat along with the horrid thoughts he’d had about his father over the years. The disdainful comments that had always angered Maxwell.

  “She has that same generosity of spirit, that innate kindness your father had. I considered him pathetic by the time your sister was born. As I grew older and wiser, I realized I’d misinterpreted goodness for weakness. I disregarded his loyalty and threw it in his face, for it had no value to me.” His mother’s voice cracked. “Strength can be hidden deep inside a person. He never gave up on me, on our marriage, until the very end.

  “When I found out the London on-dits portrayed me as a shrew and he the victim, I flew into a rage and said such hateful things. I told him I didn’t care if he lived or died, I only wanted him out of my sight. That was the night he found comfort with another man’s wife. The woman had a terrible reputation, and your father was an easy mark. To save face, I insinuated that he’d had many other affairs.”

  “You lied?”

  She covered her face with her hands and nodded. “It was the only time he was unfaithful to me.”

  He couldn’t breathe for a moment; her words punched him in the gut. His jaw clenched as the information sank in. “All this time you have let me hate my father? By Christ, if you were not my mother, I’d call you out.”

  He stood and walked back to the window, watching Althea and the dog playing on the lawn. “I still
don’t understand what this has to do with Eliza.”

  “She made a comment about the tenants. Those born into privilege had an obligation to those who were not. Her words began a sort of introspection, and the more I remembered, the more I depressed I became. I had wronged not only my husband but my son…and myself. I feared London because of the gossip about me, not your father. After Eliza came, I looked in the mirror and saw someone ugly who needed redemption.” She held out her hands. “I am begging your forgiveness.”

  Nate turned, surprised at the vulnerability in his mother’s eyes. His stomach twisted. “This is a shock, and I have much to think about.”

  “Yes, you do. But know this—I see an inner strength in Eliza that even she doesn’t realize exists. When you propose marriage, and you will, the girl will turn you down thinking she is not good enough. Your father had little self-esteem being a third son with no exceptional talent. I destroyed what confidence he had left. If I had supported him, given him my strength to lean on, perhaps our lives might have been so different.”

  “I love her, Mother.” He cursed then, remembering their last private conversation. “She’s writing to relatives in Scotland, running away, I think.”

  “If she leaves, you will regret it. Eliza needs a man who realizes how remarkable she is, who will make her see how much she has to offer. And your return on that investment will be a future of hope and happiness.” She clutched her son with a cold, slender hand. “Don’t end up bitter and alone like your mother.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Early May

  The Swine and Swig

  Whitehall District, London

  The tallow candles flickered as the heavy oak door opened, rusty iron hinges complaining against the violence of a sudden spring storm. Stale ale, unbathed bodies, and cheap perfume assaulted his nose as Landonshire stepped into the tavern. He scanned the dingy interior. The blackened beams above from a century of smoke, bodies crowded around the bar and the tables the proprietor’s mongrel curled up by the hearth. A barmaid bent over to accept a coin from a customer, who slid his grimy fingers into her ample cleavage.

  The place disgusted him, and he cursed Eliza for forcing him to patronize such an establishment if only for a quarter of an hour. He added another item to the list of reasons she’d suffer. No man should endure such indignities over a disobedient daughter. If it weren’t for the marriage contract, he’d smash that beautiful face to a pulp. But Bellum didn’t want a disfigured wife. Not for thirty thousand pounds.

  In a corner by the fire, a man nodded at him. The marquess stood out in this crowd, his fine overcoat and hat worth more than a year’s annual wage for some. He clutched the walking stick and fingered the hidden trigger that would produce a double-edged blade. One could never be too careful. He sat next to the shabby thief, noting the bawdy voices and slurred off-key serenade would cover any conversation he had at a tucked away table.

  “What did you find out?” Landonshire didn’t want to spend any more time here than necessary. His eyes burned from the poor ventilation and something had just scurried across his boot. “I’m not here to socialize.”

  “And ’ere I was goin’ to offer ye a mug o’ ale, milord,” sneered the man. His once-blond hair, darkened by soot and grease, matched the stained and broken fingernails that tapped the rough-hewn table.

  He held out a filthy hand. The marquess dropped a small leather bag into the palm, and the man wrapped his fingers around it with a grin then pushed it into his pocket.

  “Now tell me, where is my daughter?”

  “I went up to Sunderland, like ye said. She weren’t at that castle, and she weren’t at the Boldon place either. I was headed home, dejected ye see, ’cuz I was only goin’ to get half the money since I couldn’t find the girl. So I’m passing through this little village, Pendle, it was. I was hungry and they had a small inn there.” He took a long pull of his ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his coat sleeve. “The barmaid there was a gabster. Of course, I can be very charmin’ meself when I put my mind to it.”

  “Get on with it, or I’ll take back the purse.”

  “Patience, milord,” the man drawled, warming to his story. “I asked her if any strangers had passed through lately. Now she tells me of a footpad that got picked up by the constable a few weeks back. Tried to rob an old woman and then a fine coach that stopped to help. Seems a young woman of quality refused to give up the goods and took a whip to the cur.” He waved his cup at the barmaid passing by.

  “What does this have to do with my daughter?” Landonshire was ready to floor the weasel. He didn’t have time for long tales.

  “The young woman was blonde with a dark-haired little girl.”

  “How old was the child?”

  “Two, maybe.”

  Landonshire grinned and rubbed his hands together. His winning horse was approaching the finish line. “And where did this young lady of quality go after that?”

  “A local lord, Viscount Pendleton, brought the bully ruffian into the blacksmith and escorted the coach out of town. So I did some investigatin’ and found there’d been some new guests at this gentleman’s estate, Pendle Place.” The man smiled, his gums glistening in the firelight.

  “Go on.”

  “Lord Pendleton lives there with his mother and sister. But he’s playin’ the host to a young woman, pretty thing with white-blonde hair and purple-like eyes. The little girl is as dark as her mama is light. An older woman, round and slow-movin’, watches over the youngster. The viscount is gone most of the day, so thought it’d be easy enough to snatch the little one. But she’s got a dog watching over her, a scent hound. As soon as I got too close, he smelled me and started howling.”

  “Well done. If I need you again, I know where to find you.” If he couldn’t get the babe, he’d snatch Eliza. A week of “persuasion” would get her to say “I do” in front of a preacher. He would have enjoyed taunting the whore with the child. Ah well… Landonshire pulled his collar up and his hat down, turning his back on the man without another word. He headed out the door into the rain with a whistle on his lips.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mid-May

  Pendle Place

  Eliza tipped her head back, enjoying the wind in her face and the smooth rhythm of the horse’s canter. The sun peeked from behind huge, fluffy clouds that changed their shape as the wind pushed them along. Beside her, Nate rode his big bay gelding. The horse easily passed her smaller mare. Hannah had suggested a picnic on the river’s bank. She rode behind them with a groom and the supplies for their outing.

  Nate pulled up his horse and Eliza followed suit. He wore a deep blue riding coat that stretched across his broad shoulders. The tan breeches fit like one of her evening gloves, and she’d had to drag her eyes away from the sight of his muscular thighs gripping the saddle. Countless days riding the property with Maxwell had streaked his light brown hair with gold and bronzed his skin. He’d be “sinfully handsome” in one of her romantic novels.

  “Have you heard from Grace or your relatives in Scotland?” he asked, reaching down to give his horse’s neck a pat.

  Eliza tore her eyes from his capable hands, remembering touch of his long fingers against her skin, his thumb stroking her bottom lip. “No, not yet. They may ignore my request since we’ve never met, and my mother hasn’t contacted them since she left. I’m counting on the relationship my aunt had with her family. It’s presumptuous, at best, but I could think of no other way.”

  Leaving Pendle Place would break her heart. It had become a second home to Althea. They had both grown fond of Nathaniel and his family. And then there was Cyrano. How did you separate a girl and her faithful hound? They’d both be inconsolable for a time. Oh Carson, am I making the right decision?

  “Good. The longer it takes, the more time I have with you.”

  He smiled. Her breath caught.

  Those soft brown eyes, reflecting the gold of his hair, locked onto hers and held her gaze. They�
�d grown close over the last weeks. He made her feel special. She was not accustomed to a man asking her opinion, caring about what she read or enjoyed. It was a heady emotion, to feel significant, to feel as if one actually mattered.

  The longer I stay the harder it will be to forget.

  “You’re flirting with me again,” she said, hoping to curtail the wings in her belly.

  “I won’t stop. I warned you, didn’t I?”

  She laughed, a light genuine sound that had evolved over the last few weeks. Eliza barely recognized the sound as her own. The constant weight on her shoulders had lifted, though the nightmare of her mother still haunted her. “Yes, warned and duly noted. Hannah,” she called over her shoulder, “did you have a place picked out or shall we look for a spot?”

  “Keep going. It’s just around the next bend near the woods. A place to enjoy the sun and shade for those of us avoiding freckles,” she answered.

  “I know the location. There’s a nice grassy area with some flat rocks to spread out the food. Easy access to water the horses and several shade trees.” Nate gathered his reins. “Shall we?” One eyebrow arched in question.

  She grinned and instead of answering, smacked her horse with the crop and lunged ahead of him. He caught her easily but it didn’t matter. Today, her heart was light and the day was perfect. By the time Hannah caught up with them, they had dismounted and spread a blanket on the ground.

  Jagged rocks thrust out of the rushing clear water, an occasional fish emerging, its tail flapping before splashing under the fast-moving current. They walked the horses to the water’s edge to drink then hobbled them under a tree to nibble at grass.

  “Your mother has improved over the past few days. The color has returned to her cheeks,” Eliza remarked as Hannah passed them each a cold beef pasty. “It’s almost as if a burden has been lifted.”

  Nate coughed then sputtered. His sister pounded on his back while he caught his breath and reached for the flagon of lemonade. Wiping at his eyes, he shook his head. “I’m fine. Just a crumb stuck in my throat.”