“Under his father’s will, if Ambrose had not married by the end of this summer, he would have forfeited a very large fortune from his mother’s family,” the Duke of Redford told her shortly, feeling less and less interested in his friend’s private affairs and hoping that Ellen’s own interest would soon fade. “A matchmaker matched him with Lady Frances.”
“So, he arranged a quick marriage only to keep this fortune?” Ellen summarized with a laugh. “How very neatly the Duke of Westall arranges his life!”
“Why are you asking…”
Before the Duke of Redford could complete this question, Ellen took the champagne glass again from the bedside table and tipped it deliberately so that the effervescent liquid trickled freely over her voluptuous bosom and down to her navel.
“Oh dear, I have spilt my champagne and soon I shall be all sticky,” she complained huskily, her green eyes offering invitation and challenge, neither of which Colin was minded to decline.
“I know just what to do about that,” he growled in return and applied his mouth to her breasts once more.
The letter that arrived for her that morning was so vile that Frances took it straight to the kitchens and threw it into the perpetual fire burning at the range, only vaguely aware of the curious glances of the kitchen staff.
“Is everything well, Your Grace?” asked the voice of Mrs. Betsworth as Frances watched the paper glow orange in the flames and then turn swiftly to ash.
“Oh, I…” Frances shrugged her shoulders, unsure how to explain either Oswald Keeton’s horrible message or the effect it had on her, but knowing she must say something in response. “Someone who wasn’t invited to the wedding has taken exception and wrote to express their views. It was an unpleasant letter and I have burned it.”
“That sounds like the best thing to do,” remarked the housekeeper approvingly. “It was for the duke and your family to decide the guest list, not anyone else.”
Frances nodded but felt herself beginning to tremble with delayed reaction to the letter. How could Oswald write such terrible things and make such strange and awful accusations against her family? Worst of all had been the final threat.
Believe me, Frances, I shall make you pay for all your offenses against me, one way or another…
From the scrawl of the writing, Frances guessed that Lord Mulford must have been drunk when he wrote, which provided some explanation but no excuse. He had never written to her at Scovell Hall, likely not wishing to ruin his reputation before her parents, nor give Frances any ammunition to use against him.
Now, his rage at her marriage had apparently overcome any such scruples.
“Shall I walk back to the main house with you and you can give me your instructions for flowers in the public rooms?” the housekeeper asked and Frances nodded gratefully, glad to have some direction and distraction.
My family were happy until your damned father came along, and you his willing helper. It wasn’t enough to destroy their marriage, you killed them too…
What was Oswald even talking about? He and Frances had been there together that day in the garden when they came upon Lord Scovell and Lady Mulfordin flagrante delicto.They had both seen the same thing. While Frances had interpreted the incident very literally for what it was – adultery and betrayal – Oswald appeared to have built a whole conspiratorial fantasy around it.
My perfect revenge would be to ruin you as your father ruined my mother. I hope your husband would treat you in the same way that my father treated my mother and suffer the same fate…
Ruined? Lady Mulford had never been ruined, at least not publicly. Nor had the former Lord and Lady Mulford ever enjoyed a particularly happy marriage. Their rows had been legendary in the district, even among the children. When Frances grew up she also came to understand why so many pretty maids and handsome footmen were summarily appointed and then dismissed from Mulford Manor.
Perhaps his wife’s dalliance with a neighbor had been the final straw for Oswald’s father but that marriage had been on the rocks since the day it began. Old Lord Mulford abandoning his family surprised no one. After the pair’s early deaths, talk of the former indecent goings on at Mulford Manor was muted although everyone knew of them. Except, apparently, Oswald Keeton.
You were the excuse for your father to visit Mulford Manor and the decoy to distract me, so that he could have his way with mymother. Once I imagined you a friend, but now I see that you were a deceiver from your very earliest years…
That was an accusation bordering on madness, surely. Could Oswald Keeton honestly believe that a child of such tender years could in any way be have been in league with her adulterous father and helping to further his nefarious aims?!
Learning of her father’s faithlessness to her then-ailing mother had shocked Frances profoundly that day, and in some ways she had never recovered.
Realizing that she had been made a pawn to cover Lord Scovell’s visits to his lover had made the crime unforgivable. Every time Edmund Harcourt had taken Frances to Mulford Manor, ostensibly to play with Oswald, it had really been an opportunity to continue his affair with Lady Mulford. How many other women might there have been too?! Her poor mother!
Now, as both Oswald’s loathsome words and the pain of old betrayal tormented her, not only were Frances’ hands shaking but her knees felt weak and tears pricked her eyelids.
Despite her best efforts, none of this missed the eagle eyes of the housekeeper. Once away from the other servants, Mrs. Betsworth paused at the end of a passageway and looked at her mistress more appraisingly.
“You seem to have had a shock, Your Grace. I suggest you sit down in the small parlor for a while and I shall have some hot sweet tea brought for you.”
Although initially minded to refuse, Frances could not deny the turmoil of her mind or the weakness of her body.
“Thank you, Mrs. Betsworth. That would be very welcome. I shall rest for a few minutes.”
Allowing the housekeeper to steer her into a cosy but little-used parlor room, Frances sank down on a chair and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths and trying to dispel all traces of Oswald Keeton from her mind.
