Chapter 11
Later that morning, as Jessica sat reading by the window of her room, a coach arrived. When she saw the Wyndham crest emblazoned on the door of the coach, she wondered who could be inside. She watched a woman descend from the vehicle. Her hair was streaked with grey, yet she had the bearing and figure of a younger woman. Who was she?
Jessica couldn’t recall hearing any gossip about any female relatives, nor was a wife ever mentioned. The women at Madame ’s spoke of Damien as if he were an eligible bachelor. But only immediate family rode in the ducal coach. Perhaps his marriage was only one of convenience, an arranged marriage between families. Perhaps Damien and his wife had an agreement, each going their separate ways and taking lovers, certainly not unheard of in the London ton. She hugged herself as reality settled like a chilly cloud about her. It didn’t matter in any case. Jessica’s relationship with him would now change. He was her jailor, nothing more. She could no longer hold onto the dream that someday he would marry her. She laughed bitterly to herself. Marriage. As though that had been an option after her arrest—or even before it.
Jessica watched to see if there were any children who followed, but there were none. Perhaps the woman had left them at Wyndham, or perhaps there were no children. If his wife were barren, then at least Jessica could give him the gift of a child. She would at least be comforted by the thought that her child would be cared for after…She swallowed…after she was gone. She hoped that his wife would accept the child of another woman. She shook her head, realizing the depths she had sunk to—unmarried and carrying the child of a married Duke. What kind of woman had she become? How had she gotten herself into this situation? Silly, naïve fool!
She straightened her spine and turned away from the window. Now more than ever, she had to be strong and resist his charm, his seductive touch. No more secret trysts.
Uncomfortable in her situation, Jessica remained in her room, but by the middle of the afternoon the sunshine and spring weather began to beckon to her. If she were careful, she could get to the enclosed garden in the back of the house without being noticed. She took her book and slipped out. The garden was lovely, even now before the flowers were in bloom. She always enjoyed the spring and summer months. Everything was so alive.
She had been reading for a while when the woman she had been trying to avoid walked into the garden. The woman had not seen her, for Jessica was sitting partially hidden by a bush. The woman was much older than she had guessed at first, but she was quite lovely, a woman of ageless beauty.
She looked up suddenly, surprising Jessica into a blush for staring.
“You must be the house guest whom Damien mentioned,” the woman said with a smile as she advanced and held out her hand. “I am Lydia, Duchess of Wyndham.”
Jessica took her hand and curtsied. “It is a pleasure, Your Grace.” She wondered fleetingly if Damien had informed this woman what type of house guest she was.
“We missed you at lunch,” the Duchess went on kindly. “Were you not feeling well?”
“I did not wish to intrude. I understand that you have not seen Da—His Grace for some time.”
“How thoughtful! Yes, I have not seen him for a very long time.” Her tone was wistful, and Jessica wondered at that. “But, we will have plenty of time to catch up on each other’s news. Promise me that you will not stay away at dinner.”
As Jessica agreed, she noticed the fine lines around the woman’s eyes and mouth, indicating the maturity of middle age. The Duchess also had the same uncommonly green eyes as Damien. Something about the woman’s smile reminded her very much of Damien. The physical resemblance was remarkable. A little spark of joy erupted near Jessica’s heart. The lady had to be his mother. Not his wife.
“Damien will be pleased,” the Duchess was saying. “He was disappointed that you did not come to table. I will see you at dinner then.” She began to turn away to leave, but turned back with a laugh. “I am very sorry. My manners are not usually this bad. I did not give you a chance to tell me your name.”
Jessica smiled as she tried to control the giddy rush at discovering this woman was Damien’s mother, not his wife. Her response to the question was automatic. “Jessica Carlton, Your Grace—” She caught herself too late. She didn’t know what had prompted her to give her full name. It slipped out so easily because the older woman had been so kind.
The Duchess stared for a moment, then asked slowly, “Daughter of James, Earl of Braeleigh?”
Jessica hesitated, then nodded abruptly. “Yes,” she answered, puzzled and surprised that this woman would know her father.
At Jessica’s response, the blood drained from the Duchess’s face. Her eyes glazed, and she swayed as if she might faint any moment. Jessica rushed to assist her to a stone bench.
“Your Grace. Are you all right?” Jessica asked in concern.
The Duchess did not answer. She only gaped at Jessica.
When she got no response, Jessica patted her hand, “Please stay here. I will get help.”
Jessica ran to the kitchen door and collected the cook and several maids. After sending for Jacobs, the cook followed Jessica out to the garden. The Duchess was sitting where Jessica had left her, her face white and drawn. As the cook and maids fussed about their mistress, Jessica quietly slipped away and returned to her room. She felt terrible, that somehow, she had caused the attack.
About an hour later, Donny entered Jessica’s room, carrying a stack of clean linens.
“Have you heard how the Duchess is feeling?” Jessica asked.
“Aye,” Donny answered grimly as she put the linens in the armoire. “She be fine. Just a touch of the vapors.”
“Then why are you looking so glum?”
Donny turned to face her. “Ye be in fer it, that’s why. When His Grace found out who ye be, his eyes went all hard. Gives a person the creeps, it does. He’s in with her now. Seems they be talkin’ about ye. The Duke is lookin’ t’ tear ye apart. But it seems the Duchess be on your side. I told ye, didn’t I, t’tell him everythin’.”
At that moment, a hard knock sounded at the door. Before either Donny or Jessica could make a move to open it, Damien walked in. His eyes were as Donny had described them, glittering and cold. He turned to Donny.
“Leave us, please,” he said in a voice to match his eyes. “I have some things I would like to discuss with your mistress.”
Donny remained where she was. Jessica knew the woman would defy the Duke and stay if she gave the slightest hint she was needed. Jessica only shook her head. With a glare at the Duke, Donny left.
Damien closed the door firmly, then crossing his arms across his chest, he leaned against it. No one was going to get in to defend Jessica. Nor was she going to escape.
He was dressed for riding. His breeches fit him like a second skin. The dark green of his jacket contrasted sharply with his piercing eyes. He carried a short quirt. Swallowing, Jessica decided to take the offensive.
“How is the Duchess?” she asked.
“She is fine, now, though a bit shaken, no thanks to you,” he said coolly.
“I am sorry. I don’t know what I did to upset her.”
“Don’t you, Lady Jessica Carlton?” Her name became a sneer on his lips.
Jessica’s head went up proudly. “Who I am does not concern you.”
“I disagree.” Damien pushed away from the door and advanced toward her. “It concerns me a great deal. Not only am I harboring a traitor under my roof, but now I discover she is the daughter of a murderer and the stepdaughter of a whore.” He stopped barely a foot away from her.
Anger at his accusations turned her hot. Jessica’s hand lashed out and connected soundly with his cheek. The blow hardly affected him. A savage smile curled his lips.
“How dare you!” she gasped. “What are you saying?”
“You know what I am saying, my sweet,” he answered with mock gentleness. “Margaret has schooled you well in the wiles of allurement. How she must have gleefully clapped her hands to discover the second brother had fallen so easily into her clutches.”
Jessica backed away in horror at his words. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“No? Playing the innocent to the very end, Jessica? I must admit, you do it very well. You are quite convincing. That little story you told General Drayton was so touching. You even had me convinced you were protecting your family name.” He barked a short laugh. “What a fool I was.”
Jessica took another step back. Damien stopped her with a soft touch of his quirt on her shoulder. “Do not back away, my sweet,” he told her menacingly. “It is too late to run.”
Jessica was dumbfounded and confused at what he was saying. What was going on?
“Damien,” she tried to reason, “I have never lied to you.”
“Perhaps not,” he allowed. “But that is a very small point in your favor. Your omissions are just as damning. Those monthly visits to Monsieur Montaigne were conveniently scheduled to coincide with a visit to Margaret, were they not?”
“Yes,” Jessica answered miserably.
“Ah, now we get the whole truth. She must have gone into fits of laughter when she heard her protegée had made me the fool.”
“She has no idea that I know you,” she protested. “I have never spoken your name to her.”
He whipped his quirt down on the arm of the chair next to him. Jessica flinched. His blow left a sizable mark on the wood.
“Do not play games with me, Jessica,” he warned. “You told me you have never lied to me. Do not start now.”
Jessica’s chin went up defensively. “I have not lied to you. I do not know what this is about, but what I have said is the truth.”
Damien’s eyes narrowed, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. “Very well, if that is how you wish it.” He spun on his heel and walked to the door. He turned with his hand on the knob. “While my mother is here in residence, you will remain cloistered in your room. There will be a guard posted at your door at all times. Your presence here has greatly upset her.” He yanked open the door and left.
Jessica sank into the chair where Damien had vented his anger. Absently, she ran her finger across the welt as she tried to make sense of what just happened. Damien obviously knew Margaret, and from the way he spoke, he despised her. Because Jessica was her stepdaughter, he held her in contempt as well.
His reasons were beyond her understanding. His condemnation shocked her, turned her cold. Her insides felt like lead.
Donny came back into the room and puttered about, remaining silent. Jessica realized she might know something, for she had been with the family since Jessica had been a babe.
“Damien said my father was a murderer,” Jessica said. Her voice sounded flat to her own ears. “What did he mean? And he said something about Margaret getting her clutches on the second brother.”
Donny stopped her fidgeting and came to sit in the chair across from Jessica. “Aye,” she began. “There was a scandal. Be about four years now, maybe a little more. And Margaret in the middle of it. Seems yer papa found out she be seein’ another man. This time weren’t the first, but he found ‘em together in his own bed. Margaret was the clever one, though. Made yer papa believe she’d been forced. Said th’ other man had some hold over her family. Nothin’ else yer papa could do but challenge th’ other man to a duel. He be a young ‘un, too. Well, yer papa shot ‘im. Didn’t die right away though. Lingered for a few days. Yer papa weren’t never the same after that. The man he killed was th’ Duke o’ Wyndham.”
Jessica eyes widened. She felt nauseous. Faint. She could not breathe. Damien’s older brother had been the man Margaret had dallied with, and her father had killed him in a duel. No wonder the Duchess had become ill when she heard her name. Jessica felt the same.
She got up and wandered to the window. The futility of her situation overwhelmed her. She leaned her forehead against the glass.
“He thinks I am involved in some sort of plot with Margaret to destroy him,” she said.
As she stood there, she watched Damien ride out proudly on his horse. The soldier standing guard at the gate saluted him as he rode past. An ache so deep she nearly sobbed grabbed her heart.
“I have to be alone for a while, Donny,” she said in a strangled tone. “I have to think.”
Without a word, Donny got up and left.
Jessica spent the afternoon in despair. She realized nothing she said or did would convince Damien of her innocence. He was so caught up in his grief and his contempt of her family because of what Margaret had done that he would never see that she had been an unwitting pawn.
A knock came at her door close to teatime. Damien had not returned from his ride, so Jessica knew it was not him. With a sigh, she went to open it. Lucy, the maid, stood there. The soldier standing guard outside her door watched them curiously.
“May I come in, my lady?” Lucy asked. “I think I left my duster in your room when I was cleaning.”
With a nod, Jessica allowed her in. She could not remember seeing any duster, and she could not imagine any maid in this house being so careless. Lucy closed the door carefully behind her once she was in the room. Instead of looking about for her duster, she held out a note for Jessica.
“A messenger brought this for you, my lady,” Lucy told her. “He said it was from His Grace and not to let anyone know about it.”
Jessica took the note. She thought the messenger’s request rather curious. Why would Damien send her a note and be so secretive about it? He could have easily sent the message through one of his soldiers. She opened the note and read:
Jessica,
Damien has been badly injured. He is here with me. Come quickly.
A. du Barré
Her heart slammed against her chest. Her knees went weak. Damien was hurt! She had to go to him. When Lucy turned to leave, she stopped her.
“Please wait,” she said. “I need your help.”
The girl stood by patiently as Jessica’s mind raced. Something about the note raised her suspicions. Why would Damien have gone to Madame ’s? He certainly would not have gone alone to arrest the woman, not when he had all of his men with him when he arrested her at Monsieur Montaigne’s cottage. But how did Madame know where to send the note? Had she already learned that her secret correspondence had been confiscated? Did she know Jessica had been arrested? Perhaps Damien had told Madame. But why? Jessica could not think of any plausible explanation why Damien would be at Madame ’s, whether he was injured or not. Perhaps the note was a trap, and Madame was so furious at Jessica for getting caught that she wanted to punish her. But what if Damien really was injured?
Anxious thoughts and questions swirled in her brain. Even if it were a trap, she had to risk it. She had no choice. Damien needed her. She just had to figure out how to escape from the house.
Jessica glanced at Lucy and wondered how much she could trust her. The girl was her only option. “I have to leave,” she said. “It is a personal matter.”
“But, m’lady, the guards,” Lucy protested.
Jessica waved away her argument. “I know. I am under arrest. I’m not supposed to go anywhere, but I have to attend to this. It is a question of life or death. His Grace is not here for me to ask permission, and the guards won’t allow me to leave if I tell them. You have to help me escape. Do you think you can help?”
Lucy looked doubtful.
“Please,” Jessica entreated.
“Well…” Lucy’s gaze skittered about the room.
“I give you my word that I will return as soon as I can.”
Lucy nodded. “All right.”
“Good. Is there another door to the house that is not so well used as the front or kitchen doors?” Jessica asked.
Lucy thought for a moment. “There are French doors in the salon, and they lead to a veranda, at the side of the house, close to the street.
“Of course.” Jessica remembered them now. “That’s perfect. Now, all I have to do is get there.”
Lucy grinned. “I can take care of the handsome soldier standing outside your door.”
Jessica nearly hugged the girl in her relief. Instead, she smiled and said, “You are very brave for helping me, Lucy. I am sure when His Grace finds out about this, he will reward you handsomely.”
Lucy blushed bright red. As she turned to leave, she said, “I hope everything will turn out all right.”
“I’m sure it will,” Jessica assured her, hoping she was telling the truth.
Lucy opened the door, saying as she did, “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, m’lady. I can’t understand what happened to that duster.” As she began to close the door, Jessica heard her say, “Sergeant, since you’re so strong, do you think you could do me a tiny favor and help me move a chair?”
“Well, miss,” the sergeant answered, “I’m not supposed to leave my post, you know.”
“Please, sir? I have to clean under it, and I just can’t move it myself. If I don’t do it, Jacobs will have my head. It will only take a minute, Sergeant. Please?”
Jessica heard a mumbled reply and then footsteps retreating down the hall. She hurried to change into her riding clothes, leaving her dress on the floor where it fell. Bless that girl, she thought. She left Madame ’s note on the bedside table. She wanted no suspicion that she had tried to escape.
She waited until she was sure that Lucy and the sergeant were gone, then she left her room and hurried down the hall. She stopped to listen at the top of the stairs. Hearing no one near, she glided down the steps and across the foyer. Outside the door to the salon, she stopped again and hoped no one would be inside at this time of day.
She opened the door and peeked inside. The room was empty. Slipping inside, she closed the door quietly behind her. Across the room were the French doors, just as she remembered. She ran to them and tried the latch. It turned smoothly. She stepped onto the veranda.
The veranda was on the side of the house and overlooked a small orchard. Through the trees, she could see the street and the iron fence which surrounded Damien’s property. The fence appeared to be about four feet in height. She would have to jump it, for she could not risk going past the guard at the gate. She hoped the shock of seeing a woman on horseback jumping the fence would cause his aim to be off the mark.
She looked down over the veranda railing. The distance to the ground was not too far. She climbed over and let herself drop. Time was working against her. She only had a few more minutes before her escape was discovered. Discarding caution, she ran to the stables. She could not waste precious minutes in stealth.
Aphrodite’s stall was at the back of the building. Fortunately, no stable hands were about. So far, her luck had held. Quickly, she saddled her horse, led her to a low stool and mounted. Jessica leaned over and patted the horse’s silky neck.
“All right, girl, it’s now or never,” she whispered, encouraging both her horse and herself.
She dug in her heels and they took off at a gallop. As they reached the fence, she glanced over at the guard at the gate. His mouth hung open in amazement.
“Halt!” he called.
Jessica and Aphrodite sailed over the fence with ease.
“Halt!” he called again. “Halt or I’ll shoot!”
She cringed against Aphrodite’s neck as she waited for the shot. It never came. The soldier’s threat had been false. Running feet followed, but she was on horseback and faster. She breathed a sigh of relief and did not slow down as her horse galloped around the corner. The soldiers would mount up and be after her soon. If she could just reach Madame ’s, she would be safe. Damien’s men would not come after her there for fear of ruining all their hard work in incriminating the woman. Besides, that was where Damien was. She would still be his prisoner.
As she galloped through the streets, passing coaches, making people jump out of her way, her mouth tightened. She had a few questions for Madame herself. The French woman had been heartless to involve her in treason. Jessica had done nothing to Madame to make the woman wish to entangle her in crimes. Other than being a foolish innocent. She pushed her angry thoughts away for the moment. Her first priority was Damien and helping him.
She reached Madame ’s in only a few minutes. Slipping from her horse, she flew up the steps and pounded impatiently on the door. A lifetime passed before Jacques came to the door and showed her into the salon where Madame was pouring tea.
Jessica did not bother to greet her. “Damien,” she blurted breathlessly at the entrance to the salon. “Where is he?”
“Ah, ma petite,” Madame smiled. “Come, sit down. Calm yourself.”
Jessica strode into the room, but she did not sit. “Where is Damien? I have to see him. How badly hurt is he?”
“He is upstairs. He is being tended by the doctor,” Madame said calmly. She poured a second cup of tea. “Please, Jessica, sit down. Join me for a cup of tea. You may visit with him later. There will be plenty of time when the doctor has finished.”
Jessica reluctantly perched on the edge of a chair across from Madame and accepted the cup. She took a small sip. “How did it happen?”
“A fall from his horse.” Madame shook her head. “Damien must have hit his head. He was…How do you say…?” She searched for the word.
“Unconscious?” Jessica offered.
“Oui, c’est ça. Unconscious.”
“Where did it happen? Why was he here?” The questions tumbled out of Jessica as she tried to read Madame ’s placid expression.
“Here?” Madame shook her head. “No, no, no. He was not here. It was an accident down the street. A delivery cart and a coach—Boom!” She clapped her hands together to demonstrate. “His horse must have been spooked and threw him. When I heard all the noise, I ran out. There he was, lying in the street. Of course, I had him brought here. How could I not care for my dear friend?”
Jessica pondered Madame ’s words as she continued to sip her tea. She had known Madame far longer than she had known Damien. And the French woman had always been good to her, protected her, kept her safe from lecherous men so that she could earn the money she needed.
But questions and suspicions kept her on edge. Something did not feel right about the situation. And then she thought of something else.
“Where is Damien’s horse?” she asked. “I didn’t see it out front.”
Madame shook her head sadly. “The poor animal broke its leg and had to be shot.”
Jessica remembered the times Damien had put her before him on that horse and taken her back to her rooms. What a tragedy that such a magnificent animal had to be destroyed. Unsettled and distraught, Jessica lifted her cup to her lips once more and sipped the tea to fortify herself. She noticed it had an odd taste, but attributed that to Madame ’s French chef. No one made tea like the English. She glanced anxiously toward the entrance of the salon. How long was that doctor going to be?
A sudden thought occurred to Jessica. If Damien had been unconscious when he was brought here, how could he have told Madame that she had been under arrest at his house? Something was not right. The woman was watching her closely, almost as if she were waiting for something to happen.
Casually, Jessica placed her cup on the table before her and stood. Trying desperately to act nonchalant, she walked around to the back of her chair. For some reason, she felt the need to put something solid between herself and Madame. Her knees felt strangely weak, but she thought it was only because she was nervous.
There was something very wrong. Had she been lured into a trap? Was Damien even here? As she stood with one hand on the back of the chair, a wave of dizziness swept over her. Her hand flew to her head. What was happening to her? Madame was looking very smug about something.
“Are you not feeling well, ma petite?” Madame asked. Her expression showed triumph, not concern.
And then the realization came to her: The tea.
“What did you do to me?” she demanded weakly.
Madame smiled. “It was only something to make you sleep for a little while. You will feel better when you wake.”
“Damien is not here, is he? You tricked me to get me here,” Jessica accused.
Madame smiled. “Non, he is not here.”
Jessica swayed and caught herself by grabbing the chair. She felt dizzy and confused.
“Do not fight it, ma petite,” Madame soothed. “It will do you no good.”
Jessica heard her voice as if from far away. She felt herself falling, then blackness.