Ten
During each of their London seasons, Caitlyn had rented the same town house in Bedford Square. It belonged to a sea captain who planned eventually to retire to the city. In all that time, the master’s bedchamber had been empty. Caitlyn had preferred the angle of the morning sun in the adjoining chamber which had a small sitting room attached. Aunt Gertrude preferred a chamber that was not subject to an early morning wake-up by the sun. Now Caitlyn thought it fortuitous that they had left the master chamber free. She dismissed entirely the fleeting notion that some supernatural hand of fate had prompted her to leave that other chamber empty to await just this turn of events.
“Fustian,” she muttered and went about the business of having it aired and prepared and seeing to another room for Trevor’s valet. A dressing room connecting the chambers of master and mistress would remain firmly closed.
With little ado, Trevor moved in the following morning, pronounced his quarters “quite comfortable,” and promptly set off for the park with his daughter and a dog Ashley said was her “puppy”—a huge German shepherd blend standing as tall as the little girl.
Caitlyn laughed at seeing his reaction to the dog. “He was a puppy when Ashley found him. I intended to get rid of him, but she became so attached to him . . .”
“Does he have a name?” Trevor asked as the dog greeted its little mistress exuberantly.
“Little Bit.” Seeing his disbelieving grin, she added, “He was such a little bit of a thing when he came to us.”
“And he is all right with a child?” Trevor eyed the dog skeptically.
“Oh, yes. He is very patient and very protective. You should see him in the playroom. He will lie with Ashley’s doll on his front paws and never move until she takes up the doll again. Once, she had done something rather naughty—I forget what. I grasped her shoulders and spoke to her quite sternly.”
“What happened?”
“Little Bit began to growl—not viciously, just enough to let me know I was not to be unkind to his darling.” Caitlyn chuckled ruefully. “Now, if I need to reprimand my daughter, I make sure the dog is in another room.”
“Little Bit may come with us, may he not, Papa?” Ashley queried anxiously as she put her hand in her father’s.
“Your mother says it is all right. Where is his leash?”
“Oh, you will not need a leash,” Caitlyn said. “Little Bit will not leave Ashley’s side as long as she is out.”
Trevor had seemed a little dubious about this, but he accepted her word and set off for the park with his daughter and her “puppy.”
Watching them leave, Caitlyn felt a twinge of sadness and—yes—jealousy. Well, resentment, at least. She had always been the central figure in her daughter’s life. Now she would have to share that position with a man who had previously been but a distant shadow. Suddenly the shadow was disconcertingly real flesh-and-blood substance.
Aunt Gertrude looked up from a newspaper she was reading as Caitlyn returned to the glassed-in sunroom where they often spent their mornings.
“Caitlyn? Is something wrong?”
“Not really. I am merely trying to adjust to the idea of my daughter’s having two parents.”
“Ashley seems pleased at the idea.”
“Ashley is ecstatic.”
“But you are not?” Aunt Gertrude put down her newspaper as Caitlyn took a seat in a cushioned wicker chair.
“I do not know what to feel. I am, of course, happy that Trevor has acknowledged our child.”
“But . . . ?” Aunt Gertrude left the word hanging.
“Since he has done so, he has the power—the authority—to take her from me.”
“Improbable—though it is within the realm of legal possibility.” Aunt Gertrude spoke slowly and deliberately. “We both know of women who have suffered so.”
“Lady Lennington—”
“Is a complicated case. Her husband is a mean-spirited, vindictive man, using innocent children to avenge himself on a wife who cuckolded him.”
“Still—”
“Still,” Aunt Gertrude interrupted, “Trevor is not Lennington.”
“That is precisely what Trevor said himself.”
“Well? Believe him. I have known Trevor his whole life. Impetuous as a youngster. Sometimes gullible—because he always expected the best of everyone he met. But never mean-spirited or deliberately cruel.”
“Perhaps he changed.” Caitlyn thought of the way he had been so quick to believe the worst of her.
“Oh, he has changed, I think. I doubt this is still the boy who went to the Peninsula. The earl and Gerald will find this man much less malleable than that boy was.” Obviously, Aunt Gertrude found such an idea immensely pleasing.
“Well . . .” Caitlyn hesitated, still uncertain.
“And you have changed also,” Aunt Gertrude went on. “I doubt either of you will ever again be pawns in someone else’s game as you once were.”
“I surely hope not.” Caitlyn then changed the subject as they made their plans for the day.
In a surprisingly short time, Trevor found his days settling into a routine. Rising early, he would take a brisk walk before returning to share the morning meal with Caitlyn and Aunt Gertrude. Once, Caitlyn had asked him if he would care to ride in the park with her. He was rather abrupt in telling her no. She did not ask again. Talk over breakfast was usually filled with polite nothings—as, indeed, most of their conversations were. Trevor thought none of them wished to be the one to introduce a discordant note.
Later in the morning, he would accompany Ashley on some excursion or another, usually to the park to feed the birds. Once, however, he took her to see the menagerie at the Tower of London. The tower housed a pathetic collection of animals, but Ashley was excited at seeing an elephant and a tiger.
Still later, he would visit Gentleman Jackson’s establishment for a pugilistic workout, often accepting the great man’s or another’s offer of a sparring match. Trevor rarely won these matches, but he held his own and was regarded with increasing respect among that sporting crowd.
Despite his aversion to the ton’s delight in making “morning” calls—which rarely occurred before two in the afternoon—Trevor made a few such calls, some of them with his wife. The recipients of these calls were chosen with care, for Trevor was determined—with Caitlyn’s concurrence—that Mr. and Mrs. Trevor Jeffries should establish themselves in society for the sake of their child.
He spent other afternoons in more worthwhile endeavors—seeing to the welfare of men who had been in his command. Several were in hospital here in the city, and Trevor visited them regularly. He also made himself available to other men—or their widows, in some cases—as an advocate with the War Office. Now that the war was over, and even the action in the former colonies was winding down, England seemed all too ready to forget her debts to the common soldier. Trevor was quietly determined that this should not be allowed to happen.
“Jeffries, you are becoming a source of genuine irritation to us, my boy,” said an older officer, whose entire experience of battle had been from the fortress of his London desk. The man’s jovial tone was hard-edged.
“I am sorry to hear that, Colonel Blake.”
Blake went on as though Trevor had not spoken. “Hard to ignore a man with your connections, though.”
“My connections?” Trevor asked dumbly. Well, he supposed being related to an earl had some attractions, even if one were the proverbial black sheep of the family.
Blake lifted his brows. “Your father and that brother of yours. When Wyndham speaks, Parliament listens. And Wyndham has had much to say about the interests of this office.”
“Oh, my father.” Trevor shrugged. He had grown up only vaguely aware of his father’s political power. Not vitally interested in politics himself, Trevor had assumed his father’s power came largely from his great wealth. It had only lately occurred to him that he might subtly use his family connections to help the men of his regiment, though God knew he did not want to incur any debt to his father or Gerald on his own behalf. “My brother? You mean Gerald?”
Blake’s response was emphatic. “No! Marcus. He is the one Wellington thinks is a miracle worker, and everyone knows Wellington has Prinny’s ear.”
Trevor was unaware of a connection between Marcus and the commander-in-chief of the Peninsula armies, but he was careful to hide his ignorance from Colonel Blake. “Hmm. Well, you will see that Sergeant Hillyard’s pension goes to his widow, will you not?”
The other man gave an impatient sigh and shuffled some papers on his desk. “Yes, I will see to it.”
In the evenings, Trevor and his wife only occasionally attended a social affair together. Caitlyn had made it clear that she welcomed his presence in her life only in his capacity as Ashley’s father. In truth, Trevor was not sure that he even wanted another role in Caitlyn’s life.
Yes, she was a remarkably attractive woman, and she stirred his senses whenever she was near. And yes, Ashley was surely his child. But, denied her own choice of husband, had Caitlyn not been a willing party to her uncle’s duping a naive young man? And God knew both he and Caitlyn were truly locked into the trap now. However, Caitlyn seemed not to worry about the shackles overmuch, judging by the number of gentleman callers she entertained and by the floral offerings that arrived on a regular basis.
Her most persistent admirers were Ratcliff, Graham, and Latham, though there were others who gathered at every soiree, ball, or rout they attended. Trevor tried to adopt an indulgent, “modern” attitude to his wife’s flirtations, but often found himself grinding his teeth. Nevertheless, he had to admit that if she were carrying on affairs with any of them, she was extremely discreet about it. Had his mother not said as much to him?
Initially, his days seemed quite full. But as he settled in more completely, he began to feel they were not so full at all—at least, not with anything of importance outside of his time with Ashley and his efforts on behalf of his regiment.
“I am beginning to feel decidedly useless,” he confessed to Theo one evening. Trevor had met Theo at the club after seeing Caitlyn and Aunt Gertrude home from a musicale. He and his friend had intended to play a few hands of cards, but seeing the boisterous company at the tables, they had settled for quiet conversation in another room.
“The season will be over soon,” Theo observed, “and you can get back into the harness at Atherton.”
“What you mean to say is it should be over soon. The general euphoria over Boney’s defeat has prolonged it this year.”
“ ’Tis absolute madness,” Theo said. “Traffic had to be rerouted around Pulteney’s Hotel because of the mob hanging about for a glimpse of the czar.”
“Our prince must be in his element, what with entertaining the Russian czar and the Prussian king at the same time to celebrate ‘their’ great victories over Napoleon.”
“Not according to some accounts.”
Trevor raised his eyebrows in question. “But he has all these elaborate doings planned.”
“They do not always turn out as he would like them to.” Theo’s voice turned thoughtful. “I think Prinny may have seen this state visit as a means of recouping some of his lost regard with his own subjects, but the czar and the Prussian are getting far more attention than our regent. And—the star of his show is missing.”
“Ah, yes. Wellington is still in Paris.”
“And Prinny must make do with Blucher.”
“The German general is very popular with the public.”
Theo laughed. “Yes. Probably because he loves drink as much as they do—and holds it no better than most do. Blucher aside, Prinny’s real problem remains.”
“Princess Caroline.”
“Princess Caroline. Despite our regent’s aversion to his wife, she is extremely popular with the lower orders.”
“Almost makes one feel sorry for the Prince of Wales.” Trevor’s tone was distinctly ironic.
“Actually, yes,” Theo agreed. “He planned a fine evening at the theater for his exalted guests the other night, and she managed to upstage him.”
“What happened?”
“The curtain had just gone up with the last chorus of ‘God Save the King’ when Caroline appeared in her box opposite his. She was resplendent in a black wig and many diamonds.”
“You were there, I take it?”
“Oh, yes. A grand piece of theatrical timing. The audience went wild cheering her—with their backs to her husband, I might add. The Czar of All the Russias and the King of Prussia bowed to her, as did Prinny, but I daresay he was silently wishing her to perdition.”
“Well, if he means to be rid of his wife, he should probably just get on with doing so.” Trevor had spoken without thinking, and the words hovered in the air for a moment.
Then Theo cleared his throat. “I would guess there is more at stake than merely his freedom.”
Trevor felt himself coloring. “Hmm. Well . . . yes. You are probably right.”
Theo shifted the subject. “The ton seem as eager to see and be seen by the visiting royalty as ever the rabble have been.”
Trevor seized on the diversion. “The Wallenfords’s ball will bring them out in droves. My mother will be in alt.”
“Will you go?”
“I rather think so.”
“Meanwhile, my friend, if amidst all this glitz and glamour you have so little of substance to occupy your time in London, you might come round and lend me some of that expertise you expended on logistics and supplies in Spain.”
“And what would you be needing help with?” Trevor asked skeptically.
“My father handed me a wagonload of information on our textile mills and that damned pottery. Said he thought I should ‘study up on things’ before taking over.”
“Not rushing you at all, is he?”
“No-o-o. Nothing like that.” Theo’s sarcasm was clear. “But,” he added more seriously, “he is anxious to turn over the reins. I think he wants to be sure I can handle them.”
“So you are trading your regiment of soldiers for an army of workers, eh?”
“Something like that. Though a few of them will be the same people.”
“Oh?”
“I have hired some of our men. The job situation out there is difficult, to put it mildly. Impossible if a man is lame at all.”
“England does not seem to have been prepared for our return.” Trevor thought his personal situation—feeling superfluous in his own household—was a reflection of the plight of the common run of former soldiers. At least, he had no worries about feeding himself or a family.
“No. And things are bound to get worse when the troops in America arrive back on home soil,” Theo replied.
“Cheap labor for folks in your position.”
Theo started, and his voice was cool. “I hope you do not harbor the view that I would take advantage of the less fortunate souls among us.”
“No, of course not, Theo. You will not. But there are those who will.”
“Right.” Theo was mollified, but remained glum. “No wonder the Luddites go around smashing machinery they see as robbing them of the few jobs that are available.”
“You have had troubles in that regard?”
“Not yet. But my father thinks it is a real danger. Be glad you do not own cotton mills, Trev.”
“I say!” A merry voice broke in on them. “Why are you two old warhorses looking so blue-deviled?”
“Ah, Jenkins and Moore. Welcome. Thought you were still in the country at a race meet.” Theo gestured to chairs and the nearly full brandy bottle.
“Returned this morning,” Jenkins said.
As the newcomers helped themselves, Theo deepened his voice to a pompous tone. “We were discussing The Problems of Returning to Civilian Life After the Rigors of the Campaign Trail.”
“Shouldn’t think either of you have such great problems,” Moore said. “I mean, Ruskin here is the heir of a viscount. And Jeffries’s father is as rich as Croesus.”
“Right,” Jenkins said, falling in with Moore’s teasing tone. “Now, we younger sons—we are the ones with genuine worries.”
“Ha!” Theo and Trevor said in unison, for they both knew the other two to be very well positioned both financially and socially.
Trevor had no intention of discussing his private affairs with these two. Theo, yes; others, not at all. He turned the conversation by asking them about their activities of late. Jenkins and Moore had come just now from the opera again. This brought up the subject of a dancer who had caught Jenkins’s eye.
“Our friend Harry here is fickle indeed.” Moore gestured toward his companion. “He has already forgot about the beauty in the box the other night.”
“I beg your pardon,” Jenkins said in mock umbrage. “No man could forget such a delectable creature as that!”
Theo gave a bark of dry laughter. “Well, you had best do so, Harry. That ‘delectable creature’ is Trevor’s wife.”
“Wha—”
“Never say so!”
Jenkins and Moore were obviously stunned at this news.
“Thought I’d better stop you,” Theo said, “before Trevor here was forced to invite you to grass for breakfast.”
“Hmmph. Well. In such a case, I am sorely afraid you would all have discovered the ugly truth about me,” Jenkins said, his voice a parody of sadness.
“And that is . . . ?” Theo prompted.
Jenkins lowered his voice to a loud whisper. “I am a coward at heart. I would never accept a challenge from Trevor. Why—he’s a crack shot, don’t you know?”
They all laughed at this and the tension was eased. Trevor tersely explained that he had not seen his family in five years and had not known his wife to be in town. He could tell the others were not completely satisfied, and he surmised that he and Caitlyn were sure to be a prime topic in at least two drawing rooms on the morrow.
As he took a hackney back to what he continued to think of as Caitlyn’s house, he thought over the discussion he and Theo had had before the arrival of the other two. Theo’s comments had triggered something. Ah, yes. Ledgers. Whitcomb, the solicitor, had pressed files and ledgers into his hands some time ago.
Perhaps he should have a look at them.
Caitlyn had tried to keep up a facade of normality about her life. Apart from inviting Trevor to ride with her once, she had made no personal overtures to him. She thought they had accepted enough invitations together to deflect the worst of gossip. These had been discreet affairs like that musicale the other evening.
She and Trevor were invariably polite to each other, but she thought they both studiously avoided being alone together. She had been unable to bring herself to remain with her husband one night when Aunt Gertrude rather pointedly excused herself. Pleading fatigue, Caitlyn too had retired early. She and Trevor did not live exactly as strangers, though—more like school acquaintances who did not much care for each other.
However, they both cared a great deal for Ashley. Caitlyn experienced sincere gladness—and growing apprehension—as she observed the developing affection between Trevor and his daughter. Already Ashley adored her papa and was in a fair way of wrapping him around her little finger.
Trevor had said he would not take her child away. Caitlyn would have to rely on that assurance for now. But what would he say later—when his family decided they opposed the uneasy truce between Trevor and his wife? He had bowed to their wishes readily in the past. She knew he had called on his mother, but he had not discussed the visit, nor did she feel free to ask about it. The crisis would come when his father and brother returned to town—as they were sure to do for the round of celebrations, which had already started, to mark the defeat of Napoleon.
The newspapers had babbled for months of the grand state visit of England’s allies. The Prince Regent was sparing no expense in his plans to entertain Alexander, Czar of All the Russias, and Frederick, King of Prussia. The czar’s sister, the Grand Duchess Oldenburg, had arrived as early as March to help smooth the way for her brother, though it was whispered she was also on a diplomatic mission to forestall any talk of marriage between the daughter of the Prince of Wales and a Dutch prince. Russia feared an alliance between the two great maritime powers of the day.
The society pages of every journal were filled with this soiree or that rout to honor the visitors. The grandest of these affairs, aside from a dinner and ball the Prince would host at Carlton House, was to be a ball staged by one of the ton’s favorite hostesses, the Duchess of Wallenford.
Caitlyn had been surprised to find herself included in the Wallenfords’s guest list. But then she supposed that it would have been “bad ton” even for the duchess to invite Trevor and exclude his wife, and Trevor’s connection to the Earl of Wyndham insured his invitation. The gilt-edged vellum missive had put Caitlyn at sixes and sevens at first. Never in her wildest imaginings would Caitlyn Maria Woodbridge have dreamed of being in such exalted company. She had seen Trevor’s mother on occasion, and, of course, had actually met the hateful Gerald, but she had never even seen her husband’s father, let alone met the man.
Now she would be in the same room with her in-laws who despised her. Then she mentally raised her chin in characteristic stubbornness. Aunt Gertrude would be there. And surely Trevor would stand by her, figuratively and literally.