Scandalous Love (36 page)

"I cannot wait
until the two of you begin to go out," Regina said with satisfaction.
"I cannot wait until society sees you now! If I were you, I would cut
dead
everyone who has
ever
cut you!"

"It won't be like
the last time, will it?" Nicole said rather ruefully. She hated even
thinking about her behavior on her wedding day and how she had humiliated
Hadrian in front of all of his guests. It was amazing that he had not been
angrier with her than he was; it was amazing that they had privately recovered
from her reckless disregard for public appearances.

"I should hope
not!" Martha exclaimed. "The poor Duke has been the butt of a few
good laughs, but once people realize you have come around—more than come around—they
will no longer be making jokes."

"Jokes? What
jokes?"

Martha blinked and
quickly looked at Jane, who was curious and apparently ignorant of the
ridicule, and Regina, who was not. "Oh dear, of course you do not know.
It's not important, Nicole, what is important is that you and he are getting on
famously."

"Tell me." Her
jaw was set stubbornly, grimly.

Martha was reluctant.

Regina was not.
"She should know! If it were I, I would absolutely want to know!"

Martha sighed. "The
week before your wedding he was the most charming and amiable of men! Everyone
could not help but notice the change in him, for in the past he made no secret
of his indifference, even boredom, with the social whirl. Remember how he
promised to play the lovesick fool? Well, he did his job too well! It was all
the talk—how madly in love the Duke was—and how you must have been responsible
for such a dramatic change in his personality. While everyone agreed such haste
to wed was scandalous, it was also the consensus that it must be love."

"Oh, no,"
Nicole said when Martha paused.

Martha sighed again.
"Unfortunately, your anger with the Duke was all too obvious at your
wedding. Afterwards, the consensus changed. They said it was true love all
right—on the part of the Duke. Clearly you did not reciprocate his feelings. It
was the height of conversation."

Nicole was angry, angry
at the gossips, and even more angry at herself for humiliating Hadrian in such
a way. Their wedding could have been the worst scandal imaginable if the nasty
rumors hadn't been stopped. Yet he had done more than stop them, he had
actually made their precipitous marriage acceptable, more than acceptable if
Martha's tone was any indication. He had protected her as he had promised—while
she had undone all that he had done in one fell swoop, striking back at him
brutally, if unintentionally. She silently vowed to rectify matters
immediately. The next time they went out, she would make certain that there was
no doubt in anyone's mind that the Duke's bride was madly enamored of her
husband.

"I did not mean to
upset you," Martha said.

Nicole did not answer. A
new thought struck her, mesmerizing her. She had forgotten about the blood on
her sheets the morning after her wedding night. She had not been able to think
of any plausible reason for the bloodstain, except that Hadrian must have cut
himself somehow. Now a stunning idea occurred to her. Had he been trying to
protect her again? Had he contrived the bloodstain upon her sheets so that no
one would know she was not a virgin on their wedding night? Servants gossiped
terribly belowstairs. Had there been no stain, everyone at Clayborough would
have known of it shortly thereafter. Soon a maid would tell another female
servant who was employed elsewhere. Eventually it would reach the ears of her
mistress. By then it would just be a distant rumor—but it would be all over
town.

Nicole was certain that
Hadrian had stained her sheets. To protect her. There was no way he could have
cut himself while in bed with her. Her heart swelled impossibly with her love
for him.

Nicole's guests spent
the night. Everyone passed a wonderful evening with much laughter and good
humor, even the Duke, who could not help but enjoy the camaraderie the ladies
shared. The Countess, Regina and Martha left early the following morning. After
their departure, Nicole donned her breeches and boots and hurried from the
house. By now, no one so much as blinked at her attire. On the first day that
she had gone riding, however, not even giving her costume a thought, everyone
she had passed had apparently been stunned. The maids had regarded her out of
popping eyes, the doormen had gaped, Woodward had gone white and the stableboys
had blinked and quickly looked away. Yes, she had been uncomfortable. But she
had recovered—and so had everyone else.

She supposed, ruefully,
that duchesses were expected to ride sidesaddle in fashionable riding habits.
However, Hadrian had told her she could do as she pleased—and riding her blood
red stallion astride was doing exactly that. After that first time, she did not
give it another thought.

The stablemaster was
waiting for her. Nicole waved as she approached, smiling. He smiled back.
O'Henry too wore breeches and boots, but his were stained and well-worn, while
his hunter-green hacking coat had definitely seen better days. "Good
afternoon to ye, Yer Grace," he said, leading out their mounts. "I
thought ye might not be comin' on this foin day."

"Miss riding Zeus?
Never!"

They mounted and set
off. Nicole was in high spirits, for her world had become just about perfect.
All it needed to be complete was her husband's love, and she was growing more
confident that that was, indeed, a real possibility.

An hour later they
crossed a meadow and clattered onto a country road. No one was about, and Mr.
O'Henry turned to her with a grin. "Ruffian here is wantin' to run. Think
ye can keep up, Yer Grace?"

Nicole laughed. Mr.
O'Henry now knew she was a superlative rider, and he no longer worried over her
as he had the first few minutes of their first ride together. "Can you
keep up with me?" Nicole challenged, and leaning over her bay's neck, they
were off.

They leveled out into a
hard gallop, the two stallions thundering side by side, stretched out for all
they were worth and relishing it. They raced neck and neck for a mile or two,
until both riders saw three men walking down the road towards them. Of one
mind, Nicole and O'Henry reined in their mounts, not wanting to cause an
accident or kick up dirt in the faces of the pedestrians.

They came closer and Nicole
saw that the three men were young, shabbily dressed, and carrying rucksacks.
"Out of work farmworkers," she guessed. They were probably carrying
everything they owned on their backs. She felt sorry for them. How could she
not? Times were indeed hard on the lower classes these days.

"Out'n out riffraff
if you ask me," O'Henry snorted. "If'n a body wants t' work he can
always foind somethin'. Don't ye be givin' them no handouts, Yer Grace."

But Nicole had no coins
with her, although she would have gladly given the men a few pounds if she
could have. Suddenly one of the men made eye contact with her. Nicole had been
staring curiously, now she looked quickly away. The redhead's gaze was bold and
rude— too interested in her appearance for comfort.

The trio had suddenly
fallen silent. Nicole did not look at them again, suddenly stricken with
uneasiness, but she knew they stared at her and the stablemaster. "Ride
roight around 'em," O'Henry said in a low voice, moving his mount into a
trot.

Nicole was about to do
the same when the redhaired man grabbed her stallion's bridle. Her eyes went
wide in shock.

"G’day, lass. Nice
bit a' horse ye got there."

"Let go,
please," Nicole said calmly, not wanting to make an incident out of what,
hopefully, would be nothing more than a request for alms.

"Got a pound or
two?" he queried with a gap-toothed grin.

"Let her go,"
O'Henry said. He had ridden past the group and now he turned his mount around
and came back towards Nicole. He had to rein in abruptly when one man stepped
in front of him to block his way.

"Please,"
Nicole said. "I have no coin. As you can see, I don't have my reticule
with me."

"She ain't got her
reticule, boyos," the redhead laughed.

"I'm agoin' to ride
right over ye, lad," O'Henry warned the man barring his path. "Let
Her Grace go!"

"Her Grace?"
Nicole's assailant laughed. "If she's Her Grace than I'm the Duke! Well if
she ain't got any coin, she sure does have a fine horse—and a fine set of legs
of her own. Guess I got use for both."

Nicole gasped. O'Henry
rode forward, about to make good his threat to run down the man in his path. At
the same time, Nicole urged her stallion on. The redhaired man holding her
horse did not let go, in fact, with his other hand he grabbed her leg. The
stallion halted, confused and growing distraught.

The redhead did not get
any farther. O'Henry rode up to him from behind, forcing the one man to jump
out of his path, and sent his riding crop slashing down on the redhead's back.
The man released Nicole and her horse with a yelp, turning on the stablemaster
with a cry. At the same time, his two friends lunged for O'Henry, and in the
next instant the stablemaster was being dragged from his horse.

Nicole screamed when she
saw the three vagrants began to pummel him. She rode her stallion into the
melee. Weilding her crop, she began slashing frantically at the men.

The gap-toothed redhead
turned to her with vengeful intent gleaming in his eyes. Nicole tried to strike
him across his ugly face, but he caught the crop and yanked it from her grasp,
flinging it away. Her heart stopped. He grinned. In that split second she knew
her fate was in his hands and that it would be worse than death could possibly
be.

But her stallion,
already frenzied, now smelling human blood, screamed and reared. His hooves
flailed wildly, striking Nicole's attacker. The man screamed, going down under
the animal's front legs. Nicole wrenched her stallion backwards to avoid
trampling the man.

He scrambled to his
knees. Nicole glimpsed blood on his face and his torn clothes. He lurched to
his feet and suddenly he and his two friends were running away.

For an instant Nicole
sat staring after them, trying to bring her stallion under control, panting
wildly. Then she turned her gaze on O'Henry, who was sitting up and reeling.
His face was bloody and he spat out a tooth.

With a cry, she jumped
from her saddle and ran to him. "Oh dear God! Are you all right?"

He looked at her, his
face sporting several bloody bruises. "I'm right as can be, Yer Grace.
They didn't hurt ye, did they?"

And before Nicole could
reply his smile faded, his eyes glazed, and he fell back to the earth,
unconscious.

Isobel's stomach
churned.

She paused beside
Woodward as the butler rapped twice on the door to Hadrian's study. Her visit
was not unexpected. Yesterday she had sent her son a note requesting an
audience with him. The note had been uncharacteristically formal, and Isobel
had tried to reword it twice, but had failed to achieve the casual intimacy
that had once existed so naturally between her and her son. In the end, she had
left it as it was.

She had not had a
meaningful conversation with her son since she had revealed to him the truth
about his birth, almost a month ago. In all the time that had elapsed since
then she had barely seen him. In no small way, Isobel had been avoiding her own
son.

She had volunteered to
help the Countess of Dragmore with the wedding preparations. Jane had agreed
with no small amount of relief. Isobel had known Lady Shelton for some years,
but not intimately; now they became partners in deed—and in spirit. They got on
fabulously. Isobel had always liked what she knew of Jane, and after these past
weeks she liked her even more, and admired her, too. For, like Isobel, Jane was
secretly a rebel at heart. She was intelligent, independent-minded,
compassionate and wise. And like Isobel, she was a woman of experience—not a
cloistered paragon of womanhood. Isobel was well aware that once upon a time
the Countess had been the popular stage actress, Jane Barclay. She did not
think it a demerit upon her character, to the contrary,
Isobel's admiration for her only
grew.

Knowing the Countess now
as she did, Isobel was more certain than ever that her daughter was the perfect
mate for her son.

Planning such a grand,
elaborate wedding had been a distraction for Isobel from the fear that had
haunted her for nearly thirty years, and which continued to haunt her now.
Daily she tried not to confront that fear. Daily it worsened. Now she no longer
had wedding preparations to be consumed by. Now she no longer could avoid what
was in her heart.

The last time she had
really spoken with Hadrian, the encounter had ended in anger. He had been angry
with her, and rightly so, she knew, for denying him his father all of these
years. She had been afraid of his disdain for her behavior, just as she had
been afraid that he would be angry with her for concealing the truth. Her worst
fears had been realized. He had been furious with her. Was he still angry with
her? She could not continue to tolerate the unknown. Facing each day had become
a chore filled with anguish.

Hadrian rose from behind
his desk as Isobel entered. She could not smile, although he did. "How are
you, Mother? What a strange request. You ask me for an audience?"

Nothing seemed to have
changed. Isobel dared to hope. Tears suddenly filled her eyes, blurring her
vision. "I did not want to intrude."

"You are not
intruding," he said, somewhat sharply. He came around his desk.
"Something is the matter. What is it?"

She dabbed at her eyes
with her handkerchief and gazed up at her son. "Hadrian," she asked
softly. "From your demeanor, can I conclude that you are no longer angry
with me?"

"Maybe you had
better sit down," he said, guiding her to a chair.

"Are you still
angry?"

He stared. "Mother,
it was wrong of you not to tell me the truth about Francis and Hadrian Stone as
soon as I was old enough to understand. But I have been trying to empathize
with you. I can see how you would not want to admit to having an affair. Yet I
would have understood. And admitting to a long ago, forgotten affair is
insignificant in comparison to a man knowing his father's identity. How could
you not see that?"

"I knew I was
wrong," Isobel whispered.

"Then why?"
Hadrian demanded. "Why did you not tell me sooner? I understand why you
did not tell Hadrian Stone, after all, he was no longer a part of your life.
But I am your son. I needed to know. It has been the greatest relief knowing
that Francis is not my real father."

"I was
afraid."

"Of what? The
secret becoming public? That will never happen, Mother. I will guard your
reputation zealously."

"I was not worried
about my reputation," Isobel said, twisting her handkerchief relentlessly
in her hands.

"Then what? My
inheritance is secure even should the truth be found out. After all,
grandfather Jonathan made you his heir after Francis. You are the rightful
heiress of Clayborough, and me after you. I have many cousins who would love to
dispute my ownership, but their claims would be jettisoned from court."

"I was afraid you
would never forgive me for my actions and for not telling you."

Hadrian blinked. Then he
smiled softly. "Mother, that is ridiculous."

"You do forgive
me?" she asked incredulously.

"Mother, I was
angry, but that is in the past. Nothing has changed. Although I am somewhat
insulted that you would think me capable of condemning you for finding love
with a man other than Francis. I am glad, terribly glad, that you had some
small amount of happiness in your lifetime. God knows Francis did his best to
make you miserable."

Isobel covered her face
with her hands. Relief swamped her. She trembled and wanted to weep. She should
have known that her son, her beautiful son, would never turn from her. Yet how
could she have known? Hadrian was so straight-laced, sometimes even a prude. He
was so honorable. He was the most honorable person she knew. And what she had
done was nothing but dishonorable, even though it had been for love.

Hadrian patted her
shoulder awkwardly. "Don't cry, Mother. The past is past. We have the future
ahead of us now."

Isobel managed to smile.

"I have put
investigators into the field. One should have arrived in Boston two weeks ago.
If my father is there, if he is alive, he should have received my letter. I
know it is too optimistic, but I cannot help but hope that even now a response
is on its way back across the Atlantic."

Isobel stood very still.
She also should have known that Hadrian would have instigated the search for
his father immediately.

"When I hear
something, I will let you know."

"No." Isobel
shook her head vehemently. "No. I do not want to know. I do not want to
know if he is alive or dead. Or married. No."

He stared at her.

Isobel's heart was
pounding. After all these years, it was unthinkable that he might be alive, a
bachelor, and still in love with her. Unthinkable. The pain of seeing him if he
were happily married, or indifferent to her, would be unbearable. Just as it
would be if he were dead.

"All right,
Mother," Hadrian said softly. To change the subject, he asked her if she
would like stay and have supper with him and his wife.

Isobel smiled tearily.
She was about to decline. She knew very well that the newlyweds deserved more
time alone to sort out their relationship, even though she was eager to know
what was transpiring between her son and his bride. Before she could respond,
the doors to the study burst open.

Both Isobel and Hadrian
were startled as Nicole flew into the room, panting and wild-eyed.
"Hadrian!"

At the sight of his
wife, rather disheveled and clearly distressed, in muddy breeches and boots,
Hadrian leapt forward. But Nicole skidded instantly to a stop, her frantic gaze
darting to the Dowager Duchess, who watched her calmly enough. Nicole's pale
countenance instantly turned a dull shade of red. "Oh, no!" she moaned.

Hadrian had already
grabbed her, turning her abruptly to face him. "What's the matter? What
has happened? Are you all right?"

Nicole tried to regain
her breath so she could respond. She glanced desperately again at the Dowager
Duchess, barely aware that her husband was shaking her. It was just her luck
that her mother-in-law would have to glimpse her for the first time in her new
role as a duchess dressed like a stableboy!

Hadrian continued to
shake her. "Nicole! What has happened? Are you all right?" he
repeated anxiously.

Her attention was jerked
back to her husband. "Hadrian! You must come quickly! There has been a
terrible accident! The stablemaster was set upon by ruffians and they beat him
up! It took me forever to get him on my horse—he was unconscious—and get back
to Clayborough! Woodward has sent someone for the doctor, but I am so
afraid!" These last words turned sob-like.

He still gripped both
her arms. "Were you hurt?"

She managed to shake her
head no.

Hadrian abruptly
released her and strode across the room. "Stay with her, Mother," he
ordered, and then he was gone.

Nicole covered her mouth
with her hands, which were trembling. O'Henry had still been unconscious when
she had finally returned to Clayborough with him lying prone

and face-down across her
stallion, as Nicole led the horse on foot. She was afraid he was dead.

"Here, dear, take a
sip of this. It will calm your nerves."

Nicole started,
realizing again that the Dowager Duchess was a witness to her most unseemly
manner and dress, which in itself constituted behavior too sordid to be
acceptable. She wanted to burst into tears, instead she accepted the glass and
took several jerky sips. The Dowager Duchess patted her back soothingly.

Nicole stared at her.
The woman was being kind—not condemning.

"How badly was Mr.
O'Henry hurt?" she asked.

"I don't
know!" Nicole moaned. "And it was all my fault!"

"I'm sure you are
exaggerating, just as I am sure everything will be all right."

"I am afraid he is
dying—or dead!"

The Dowager Duchess
patted her again. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Nicole knew she should
not. The incident was beyond the pale for any lady, much less a duchess. Then
Nicole looked at her. Isobel's eyes were warm and kind and concerned. Nicole's
resistance crumbled, and before she could stop herself, she was babbling the
whole story. "I insisted we ride alone. One of the men attacked me! I'm
sure I could have ridden away, but Mr. O'Henry immediately began hitting him
with his crop! There were two others and they dragged him from his saddle and
jumped upon him. I was afraid they were going to kill him then and there! I
beat them the best I could with my crop, and thank God, my stallion went
berserk. He injured their leader, nearly trampling him, and they all ran
away."

"Oh dear," the
Dowager Duchess said.

Nicole gazed at her
miserably. Her tone was so kind that it invited further intimacy. "I have
made a terrible mess of things, haven't I? I am not a very good duchess, and I
so wanted to be!"

Isobel rubbed her back.
"Well," she sighed, "your husband will most likely be furious
with you, but thank the Lord you were not hurt."

"I'm so sorry you
must learn of this—and see me like this," Nicole whispered despondently.

Isobel did smile.
"It doesn't change my opinion of you, if that is what is worrying
you."

Nicole groaned. "I
am sure it only confirms it!"

Isobel blinked. Then she
led the distraught Nicole to the sofa and they both sat down. "My dear, do
you think I am disposed unfavorably towards you?"

"You're not?"

"Not at all."

Nicole was shocked.

Isobel smiled. "To
the contrary, I approve of this match. In fact, I am positive you are the best
possible choice of a wife for my son."

Nicole would have choked
if she had been sipping the sherry. "You do! But, why?"

"You are an
independent woman, my dear, that's why. You are daring and unconventional. In
some ways, you and my son have a lot in common. In others, nothing at all. And
it is that precise balance that I am counting on."

Nicole was now truly
dazed. "You are?"

Isobel patted her hand.
"You both love the country and a simple life. Common interests are
important. Yet Hadrian is much too prudish and self-contained for his own good.
You are not. He needs to be set on his ear now and then. Yes, the two of you
shall do just fine."