Chapter Twenty-One
“My dear, I would not have recognized you! But then it is many years since I was wont to circulate in society. You were just a little girl when I saw you last.”
Startled, Ava dragged her gaze from her charge who was executing the Boulanger with a thin, pimply young man and looked around into the haggard face of a middle-aged lady dressed in a gown that was severely out of date.
“You don’t know who I am, do you?” she accused and rattled on with a false note of sweetness that set Ava’s teeth on edge. “I am a friend of your mama. Surely, she has mentioned me to you? Lady Mostyn?”
Ava rose hastily and dropped a curtsy. A lady who was a friend of her mother’s deserved respect, and the lady’s name did ring vague bells.
“Of course, Lady Mostyn. I’m afraid Mama has not come back to town yet.
She is recuperating from a bout of illness.
She will be sorry not be able to renew her acquaintance with you. ”
The lady smiled. But it didn’t reach her eyes, which had a cold, bleak look to them.
Her cheeks were sunken and lined, and her mouth was thin lipped and bracketed by deep lines on either side.
It suddenly struck Ava how sad this woman was, and something tickled in the back of her head.
There was some tragedy, wasn’t there? Whatever it was, the details eluded her.
Perhaps she never knew. After all, her mother’s friends were of little interest to a child.
“May I sit?” the lady said, suiting action to words, and Ava perforce sat as well. “I wanted to congratulate you on your marriage, my dear. We are neighbors, you know.”
“We are?”
“Oh yes. Our estates lie just north of Ravenshaw, on the coast.”
“I see,” said Ava, not seeing at all. “Do I take it this is your first visit to town for a while?”
“It is. I find things much changed in many respects, but in others, nothing has changed at all. The rumor mill still churns relentlessly, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Ava said, for what else could she say to such a truism?
“When I read about your marriage, I had to come and see for myself. I must say I am surprised your family consented to it.” The smile that went with that made Ava’s skin prickle.
Ever forthright, Ava said calmly, “Why is that, ma’am?”
The woman looked at her inscrutably for a minute or two and Ava fidgeted, acutely uncomfortable for a reason she couldn’t put her finger on.
“You don’t know, do you? They didn’t tell you.”
Ava flushed; her temper flicked. “Enough hints, my lady. You clearly have something to say. Please say it.”
The other woman’s smile this time was bitter. “You don’t know the monster you’ve married.”
“What?” Ava stiffened in defense of Jerome. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, and I will not listen to any disparagement of my husband!”
“Has you fooled, does he? But then he was always a consummate seducer of innocents. His father was another, cut from the same cloth. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Ava stared at her, aghast. “You must be mistaken, madam, whatever you have heard—”
“My knowledge is not secondhand, my dear. I know what your precious husband did to my girl! My innocent little Charis. You ask him about Charis Dunsenay and see what he says, what lies he will tell you. Seduced her he did and then refused to do the right thing by her. Broke her heart, poor lamb. They found her body at the base of the cliffs. He’s a murderer!
” She spat the words at Ava with such venom that Ava flinched, her heart hammering wildly in her chest.
Lady Mostyn stared at Ava for a moment and then, as if satisfied with what she saw, she rose and said sweetly, “Do give my regards to your dear mama,” and walked away, leaving Ava shattered.
Ava sat staring blindly in front of her, her mind in turmoil and her heart racing.
Her initial reaction to deny that any of it was true was stopped by the fatal recall of that blasted gossip column in The Chronicle.
Lady-killer—did they mean it literally? She tried to push the thought away.
Of course not. Jerome hadn’t killed anyone.
But then she remembered Mama’s distraught behavior when she learned of Ava’s betrothal to Jerome.
“Leopards don’t change their spots” was what she said.
But could Mama have truly believed such a dreadful thing of Jerome?
And Robert? No, Rob had not believed it, or he would never have let her marriage to Jerome go forward.
So it must be a pack of lies. But how could Mama have been so taken in?
Mama had certainly jumped to the conclusion that Jerome had ruined her.
Seduced her, presumably—which was not unreasonable, as it was generally the gentleman that did the ruining.
But no! She refused to believe such horrible things about him.
She was jerked out of her stupor by Sophie’s return to her side and forced to behave like a sensible creature for a few minutes.
She was deputizing for Letty tonight who was suffering from fatigue.
And Jerome had disappeared into the card room with Pendrell over an hour ago.
If only he had been here when that dreadful woman approached her.
But then she probably wouldn’t have done so, would she?
Her object had clearly been to upset Ava.
The malice in her eyes and the bitter satisfaction in them when she realized she had succeeded!
Ava straightened her shoulders, her stubborn streak coming to the fore.
She would not allow the horrible creature to cut up her peace.
It was clear that the tragedy of whatever happened to her daughter had turned her mind.
She was a bitter woman and perhaps mad because of it.
She would speak to Jerome about it, but not here.
She would wait until they were alone, and she would not accuse him of anything.
If there was any truth to any of it, if something had happened to this Charis person—well, there were two sides to every story, and she would hear Jerome’s first before she started laying blame for any of it at his door.
And there, am I not behaving like a grownup?
Waiting instead of impetuously blurting things out, jumping to conclusions.
She smiled to herself, proud of her demonstration of patience.
She could pretend for a few hours that horrible woman had not destroyed her happiness.
I am quite good at dissembling after all.
*
Jerome knew the moment he returned to her side that there was something wrong.
Ava had that glassy-eyed, brittle look, and her laugh was a shade too loud, as if forced.
It had fooled him once, but not now. He knew her too well for that.
But the middle of a ball wasn’t the place to find out what or who had upset her.
It wasn’t until they had returned Sophie to her home that he was able to put his arms around his wife and ask her what was wrong. Since she visibly flinched when he touched her, he knew it was serious, and he felt both a pang and a spurt of anger that someone had hurt her.
“What is it, sweetheart?” he asked.
She tried to smile and failed. Shaking her head, she said quietly, “Wait until we get home.”
So, he was forced to wait until they were finally alone in the library, where she led him. Which had him very alarmed. This was serious.
She stopped before the fireplace, her hands clasped tightly at her waist over her green satin-and-net ball gown. She turned resolutely toward him and said quietly, “Tell me about Charis Dunsenay.”
He stifled a groan. I knew this moment would come, didn’t I?
How could he have fooled himself that she wouldn’t hear something about it from some malicious or indeed innocent source?
He had a moment to regret not telling her himself.
But he had hoped against hope that the past would stay buried.
After all, Rob hadn’t told her, and he could have.
But he had chosen to protect her—as Jerome had—from something that would hurt her.
And he had to acknowledge he’d been protecting himself as well.
Have I been a coward? Probably. Almost certainly.
She was holding herself very still, and he marveled at the change in her. Normally she would be impatient, demanding explanations. But here she stood, still and waiting, her expression carefully controlled. Only her clenched hands gave away her inner agitation.
“Come and sit down,” he said gently, holding out his hand to her.
She hesitated a moment and then put her hand in his and let him lead her to the couch where they sat, and he kept hold of her hand. He needed the anchor of her touch while he searched for the right way to tell her something which had haunted him for eight years.
“Charis Dunsenay is—was—the daughter of Lord and Lady Mostyn. She was eighteen when I knew her, not yet out.”
Ava’s indrawn breath was audible, and her hand jerked in his hold at this; he tightened his grip to prevent her pulling away.
“I was invited to their estate for some hunting with a party of others in the summer of 1812. I was twenty-six. Ravenshaw wasn’t habitable at that time.
I generally didn’t visit it except to meet with my steward and would stay in the local hostelry if I did.
” He paused, trying to steady his pulse.
Recalling the events of that summer brought him out in a cold sweat and made him feel physically ill.
He breathed and went on doggedly. “Charis was an excellent rider to hounds and her father let her join us for the hunt. It became rapidly obvious to me that she was”—he paused, looking for the right word—“interested in me.” He flushed uncomfortably.
“In those days, it was not uncommon for young women to attempt to attach me, and I’d adopted a rather ruthless method of dealing with it.
That is what gave me such a dangerous reputation. ”