Thirteen
“Here you are.” Caitlyn set the ledgers down and gestured to Trevor. “You will be more comfortable here at the desk, I think.” She tried to sound unconcerned.
“Thank you.”
“If you have questions, I shall be in the sunroom with Aunt Gertrude.”
“The books will probably speak for themselves.”
Caitlyn raised an eyebrow at what seemed to her to be a typical male sense of superiority in matters of business, but she said only, “I shall leave you to your study, then.”
Not until she had closed the library door did she allow anxiety to gnaw at her. Aunt Gertrude lifted her head and set aside her embroidery as Caitlyn entered the sunroom.
“You seem worried, my dear.”
“I am. I just gave Trevor the account books.”
“Why should that be worrisome? I am sure you have recorded things accurately and honestly.”
“To the best of my ability, in any event.”
“Well, then . . . ?”
“Why now?” Caitlyn asked, assailed by doubts and apprehension. “He has shown no interest heretofore. While he was away, he did not correspond with Mr. Whitcomb, yet he apparently consulted the solicitor before making his presence known to us.”
“But he did not know we were in town, did he?”
“And now,” Caitlyn went on, consumed by her own thoughts, “he demands to see the accounts only after he has visited his father and brother.”
Aunt Gertrude’s expression was genuinely confused. “What has that to say to anything?”
“Do you not understand? He must have changed his mind. They have convinced him they were right all along. You heard his mother. They have persuaded him to pursue a divorce after all.” Her voice broke on this thought.
“Now, my dear. You do not know this to be true. You are anticipating trouble that may never materialize.”
“How I wish you were right, but . . .”
“Think, Caitlyn. Besides the scandal attendant to divorce, it is an incredibly expensive and time-consuming affair. And complicated beyond all reason—what with ecclesiastical as well as civil courts—and these court proceedings are only the start. Then it takes an act of Parliament. What is more, one cannot be assured of the outcome at any stage.”
“Aunt Gertrude, you know as well as I do that the wheels of law and politics—even within the church—are greased by money—and His Lordship, the Earl of Wyndham, has a ready supply of such lubricant.”
“True, but—”
“And I have nothing—nothing—with which to fight them. Trevor controls all that I have—and if he behaves as he did before . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“You must not become all to pieces, dear. Why not wait to see what happens?”
“I must. I have no other option but to wait. There is simply nothing else I can do. I truly hate this—waiting on the choices others make!”
“I know, love,” Aunt Gertrude consoled. “Many a woman would share that view.”
“For five years I have made my own decisions. And I have loved having charge of my own life.”
“You have a done a fine job of it, too. But perhaps . . .” Aunt Gertrude’s voice faded.
“Perhaps what? What were you about to say?”
“Only that sharing responsibilities can be rewarding, too. Surely you can admit that you would have welcomed another view of many of the problems we have confronted in the last few years.”
Reluctantly, Caitlyn nodded. “Yes. And I have appreciated your support, Aunt Gertrude. But somehow I doubt sharing is what Trevor has in mind.”
“Well, you must wait to find out just what he does have in mind. Here. Here is something to take your mind off your worries.” She handed Caitlyn a book—the very book she had mentioned at lunch.
“Pride and Prejudice? I suppose the pride is male and the prejudice is female. Am I right?”
Aunt Gertrude chuckled. “I rather think each gender has its share of both—but read it and see what you think.”
Soon Caitlyn was lost in the world of Elizabeth Bennett and her Mr. Darcy.
In the library, Trevor found the account books meticulously maintained in a neat, round hand. Three years ago the home farm had started to turn a profit. The rents from tenant farms had actually increased overall, though they tended to fluctuate from one farmer to another and from one year to another. That was odd. The farms were of a size; their rents should have been a flat sum from each.
The profits had financed improvements on the estate, for the most part. He heartily approved of such a practice. But some had been invested on the ’Change. Risky business, that. One had to be knowledgeable about the market, and a host of factors could make or break the investor. His disapproval was thwarted, however, by these ventures having also turned a modest profit.
Who had been advising her? Trevor doubted the steward, Felkins, possessed such expertise. Graham? He came from an important banking family. He might have done so. Despite Trevor’s reservations, one thing was clear. The financial status of the Trevor Jeffries household was, indeed, steadily improving and promised to continue on course. While he might never head one of the richest families of the realm as his father did, his situation would be decidedly comfortable.
Still—questions remained. Where had the initial funding come from? He remembered all too well the run-down condition of the estate and the dilapidated buildings of the tenant farms. And where the money had come from was not the only question. Also, from whom? And on what terms?
Could this newfound Jeffries wealth be based on his wife’s having bargained her favors? He hated himself for such a demeaning thought, but had she not once been party to an equally nefarious scheme? If that were the case, how could he possibly carry on? The truth was, he could not.
But he could not bring himself to challenge her outright—at least not yet. He would give her ample opportunity to volunteer the information he needed. And he would visit Atherton for a firsthand view before bringing up the matter himself.
“Did you find everything in order?” Caitlyn asked later, her expression bland.
“For the most part, yes. You seem to have been very diligent.”
“I try to be.” She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. “Does your sudden interest in the books mean you want to take them over?”
He stared at her, trying to discern whether she was dissembling. Finally, he shrugged. “Not yet. I shall want to see the estate first and talk with our people.”
“Of course.”
It would not have taken an Oxford don to recognize that the budding warmth of a few nights ago had suffered a defi-nite chill, Trevor thought, feeling rather testy about the situation. Yet he had to admit to himself his continued attraction to her. The notion of wooing her had not lost its appeal. Occasionally, he would catch her looking at him with a vulnerable, apprehensive expression in her eyes. But as soon as she realized he had caught her out, she would quickly right herself and make some lighthearted comment.
This, too, Trevor found frustrating. What was it she feared in him? Was he not living up to their agreement? Other than discussions of Ashley’s activities, their conversations again centered on polite banalities. The two of them were rarely alone together. Trevor was convinced that Caitlyn deliberately planned that fact of their lives.
Despite the coolness of the Wyndham household toward the earl’s youngest son, invitations continued to pour in from others to Trevor, Caitlyn, and Aunt Gertrude. Aunt Gertrude had informed him of Caitlyn’s overhearing “cutting remarks” made by his mother and Miranda at the Wallenford ball, though she had not shared the specifics. He and his aunt now tacitly joined forces to protect Caitlyn from any repeat of such embarrassment. Only when they knew that Caitlyn was involved with someone “safe” would they pursue their own interests at a ball or rout.
Trevor often took a rather jaundiced view of what he had come to view as “safe.” Was he to consider it “safe” to see his wife waltzing in the arms of Ratcliff? or in obvious tête-à-tête in a drawing room with Graham? Or riding of a morning with the ever-persistent Latham?
One evening he chanced to overhear part of a conversation between Caitlyn and Ratcliff that gave him pause. They had attended musical presentations sponsored by the dowager countess Terwilliger. At an interval between performances, Trevor had gone to procure drinks for himself and Caitlyn. Aunt Gertrude was off with other guests elsewhere in the room. As Trevor returned, carrying two glasses of punch, he saw that Caitlyn and Ratcliff had their heads together and were unaware of his presence.
Ratcliff bent over Caitlyn’s hand and was saying, “—cannot begin to express how wonderful for me our relationship has been. A most rewarding delight.”
Caitlyn smiled fondly and replied, “The rewards are mutual, I am sure. After all, Will, where would Atherton Farms be without your help?”
Trevor was stunned. It was one thing to entertain vague suspicions. It was quite another to have them confirmed. He cleared his throat rather noisily, and the two jerked apart, startled.
He handed Caitlyn one of the glasses. “Your drink, my dear.” He was pleased at how level his voice was.
Ratcliff jumped up. “Sorry, my friend. Just wanted a word with your lovely wife.”
Was that a smile or a smirk on his face? Trevor nodded and took the vacated seat. Aunt Gertrude returned, bubbling with some tidbit she had learned. Trevor was inordinately quiet for the rest of the evening, unable to put that snippet of conversation from his mind. Will? She called him Will? He was grateful that Aunt Gertrude’s presence precluded an immediate confrontation.
Caitlyn was mystified by her husband’s behavior. Beyond examining the account books, he had not challenged any of her decisions. The gift of the emeralds had thrilled her—more for his search for the right gift than for the jewels themselves. There had not been another such impromptu gift, nor another moment of tenderness between them. However, she had received several bouquets of flowers which arrived with no identifying card, and she suspected they came from Trevor.
Whenever they were invited out, it seemed the Portuguese beauty was also among the guests. Caitlyn grew accustomed to seeing La Contessa dancing or conversing flirtatiously with Trevor, but she could not accustom herself to her own twinges of jealousy. The insidious poison of her mother-in-law’s words worked its deviltry despite her wish to ignore them.
Seeing Trevor happily laughing and chatting with that woman was especially painful because he was rarely that way at home—except with Ashley. Gradually, Caitlyn arrived at the conclusion that her husband was miserably unhappy in his marriage and that it was only a matter of time until he took steps to free himself of a wife he detested.
Then two events occurred to distract her from these dark musings.
Caitlyn and Aunt Gertrude were sitting in the sunroom late one morning. Trevor had gone out with Ashley. Thompkins appeared in the doorway with a puzzled expression on his usually impassive face. He carried a salver with a card.
“There is a visitor, madam, asking to be presented.”
“At this hour?” Caitlyn took the card. “Sheffield?” She glanced at Aunt Gertrude.
“Melanie!” the two of them cried in unison.
“Show her in immediately,” Caitlyn instructed.
Suddenly there she was—fresh—faced, lively, and cheerful as ever. Melanie was dressed in a fashionable walking dress of wide stripes of brown and yellow and green and wore a pert little straw hat. The three exchanged warm, excited greetings, and Melanie was invited to sit and take a dish of tea.
“Thank you for seeing me so unexpectedly.” Melanie’s eager gaiety was irresistible. “Andrew has gone off to the Foreign Office this morning, but I could not wait to surprise my favorite brother! We arrived yesterday. Mother assured me Trevor is in town, too.”
“Yes, he is,” Caitlyn said. “He should be back momentarily.”
“You are staying with Lydia and Alfred, then?” Aunt Gertrude asked conversationally.
“Oh, no. We are with Andrew’s parents. Gerald and Miranda are at Wyndham House, too, you know.”
“Yes, we did know,” Aunt Gertrude replied, “but it is a huge house, after all.”
“But not as comfortable as the Sheffield home,” Melanie said frankly. “Neither Miranda nor the countess is happy having small children around—and I am sorely afraid both of mine take after their mother in hoydenish behavior, though little Anna is not yet a year old.”
“We look forward to meeting her as well as seeing Elizabeth again. And Sir Andrew, of course,” Caitlyn said.
“What is more to the point,” Melanie went on, barely pausing, “I wanted to be able to entertain all the members of my family as I wish.” She gave her listeners a speaking look.
“You have heard, then—” Caitlyn murmured.
“Yes. And I think the whole situation is simply ludicrous.”
She might have said more, but at that moment the door opened and Ashley skipped in, followed by her father, who stopped in surprise on the threshold.
“Melanie? Melanie!” As she rose, he enfolded her in a long, tight bear hug. “Let me look at you.”
Melanie stepped back and turned in front of him. “Not bad for an old married woman, mother of two, eh?” She laughed.
“Not bad at all.” He hugged her again. “I hope Drew appreciates his good fortune.”
“Oh, he does. Occasionally, I remind him just to keep him alert.”
“I’ll just bet you do.”
“Mama, who is that lady?” Ashley asked.
They all laughed and reintroduced Ashley to her aunt. Then Caitlyn suggested she and Aunt Gertrude would see Ashley up to the nursery and thus give Trevor some private time with his sister.
Later in her own room, Caitlyn thought with longing of the spontaneous warmth of Trevor’s greeting to Melanie. How she envied the easy rapport between the two of them—the mutual love that neither made any effort to hide. If only . . .
In the next few days they saw much of Melanie, who brought her older daughter to play with Cousin Ashley. Melanie’s little girl was a year younger than Ashley, but as Elizabeth was rather large for her age and possessed of the same precociousness her mother must have displayed as a child, the two little girls got on amazingly well.
“Two peas in a pod,” Aunt Gertrude observed with a smug note as the two little heads of blonde curls bent together over a toy.
The other major event which distracted not only Caitlyn, but all of London, was the nation’s all-out welcome of its favorite hero. The object of this unprecedented public appreciation was Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, lately commander in chief of the allied forces in the Peninsula.
The Prince was determined to prove to one and all his own immense gratitude to the general—and, incidentally, to share in the nation’s accolades. To this end he hosted a glorious ball at Carlton House. He apparently hoped future accounts of this grand affair would one day dazzle the grandchildren of those attending. Wellington was to be the guest of honor, but invitations—which, of course, amounted to royal summonses—went out to hundreds of the country’s notables.
Caitlyn and Aunt Gertrude sat in the drawing room one evening. Trevor had gone out to his club some time before.
“As you hold a title in your own right, Lady Gertrude,” Caitlyn said, “I fully understand your being invited to the Prince’s ball. What I do not understand is how Trevor and I came to be invited.”
“Perhaps because Trevor served as an officer in the army Wellington commanded.”
“Or—the royal summons extended to sons of peers.”
“Possibly.”
In preparing for the ball, Caitlyn chose a brilliant green gown that would complement her emeralds. In nervous anticipation, she met Trevor and Aunt Gertrude in the library before they set off. Trevor’s eyes lit up on seeing her, and she thought he was pleased she had worn the emeralds.
Trevor, dressed in the formal uniform of his regiment for this grandest of military balls, looked devastatingly handsome. Caitlyn thought her heart might melt away right there and then, but she was careful to hide her reaction.
“What a truly handsome pair the two of you make,” Aunt Gertrude exclaimed.
“Well, then, that makes three of us,” Trevor said and gallantly offered one arm to Caitlyn and the other to Aunt Gertrude.
The line of carriages seeking entry to Carlton House seemed endless, and once they were inside, the line of guests waiting to be received by the Prince and his lordly honoree stretched for some distance. Finally, Trevor and his two ladies were presented. The duke was shorter and less physically prepossessing than Caitlyn had imagined, but when he spoke, he was clearly a man used to being in command.
“Captain Jeffries. ’Tis a pleasure to see you again.” The duke turned to the Prince at his side. “May I recommend Captain Jeffries to you, sire, as a man of great fortitude and courage.”
Surprised at the duke’s singling out her husband so, Caitlyn watched as the Prince gave Trevor a piercing look and murmured a polite greeting. Then Trevor presented his wife and his aunt and they were ushered into the crowd of guests. Caitlyn floated through much of the evening, enjoying the dancing, and trying to memorize the elaborate decorations. The Prince had spared no expense. Two orchestras were discreetly hidden by banks of flowers. Murals of military scenes, gilt statuettes, and colorful drapery all combined to create a fairy-tale effect.
The duke and the Prince, having left the reception line, circulated among the guests. By some stroke of ill luck, Caitlyn thought, she and Trevor were standing in close proximity to Lord and Lady Wyndham, though in separate groups. Melanie and Andrew, along with Captain Ruskin, were talking quietly with Caitlyn and Trevor.
“I say, Wyndham.” The duke’s braying voice caught the attention of everyone near. “You must be proud of this son of yours.” The duke drew Trevor into the other circle, and Trevor brought Caitlyn with him.
The Earl of Wyndham colored and coughed discreetly, but Wellington seemed not to notice and continued, “Yes, sir. You have cause to be proud. Our nation owes a great debt of gratitude to two of your sons.”
“Is that so?” The earl seemed merely curious, but Gerald, standing at his father’s elbow, preened.
“Trevor here distinguished himself at Vitoria—was wounded even—but he came back to be a vital factor in our taking San Sebastian.”
Caitlyn saw shocked surprise on the faces of all Trevor’s family but Melanie’s, which registered only delight. Obviously, they had known nothing of the exploits of their son and brother on the field of battle. But then, neither had his wife.
“Of course, we are very proud of our children,” the countess put in, nudging Gerald to the great man’s attention.
“Marcus Jeffries was invaluable to us in Paris,” Wellington went on. “Still is. Too bad he could not join us tonight. Good men, both of them.”
With that, the duke and his host moved on, leaving a much chagrined Gerald unable to meet his brother’s eyes. He, his wife, and the countess quickly began to move away. But the earl paused.
“I should like to be presented to your wife, Trevor,” the earl said.
Caitlyn saw anger flash across the countess’s features as the woman distanced herself even farther from Trevor and his father. Gerald and his wife tried to conceal their shocked disgust with polite smiles pasted on their faces.
Trevor made the introduction, and Caitlyn offered the old man her hand. He held her gaze momentarily, then bent his head over the proffered hand.
“Lovely,” he said to Trevor and addressed Caitlyn with “I am very pleased to meet you, madam.”
Surprised and disconcerted, Caitlyn murmured what she hoped was an appropriate response. Lord Wyndham, like Wellington, was smaller than she expected; both his sons towered over him. But he was a man fully aware of his own worth, and he presented a sense of power and control. It struck Caitlyn that she had lately perceived such qualities in the man’s younger son.
“Alfred.” The countess’s tone was insistent. The earl gave a slight grimace and followed his wife.
Trevor and Caitlyn turned to each other.
“Well, what do you know?” he asked rhetorically.
“That was certainly unexpected,” she replied.
“I knew Father would come around,” Melanie said. “This is a beginning, at least.”
Any sense of triumph Caitlyn might have felt was quickly doused as La Contessa, with a soldier on each arm, approached their group. Dolores immediately became the focus of attention, and when Latham invited Caitlyn to dance, she eagerly accepted. Soon thereafter, she saw Trevor partnering the contessa and struggled to squelch what she recognized as rampant jealousy.
In the carriage on the way home, Aunt Gertrude said, “Trevor, you did not tell us of your exploits on the Peninsula.”
“You heard, then?” He seemed slightly embarrassed.
“You must know that every word the duke uttered tonight was endlessly repeated. And there I was—with no idea my very own nephew was a famous war hero.”
“Not such a hero at all,” he protested.
“But you were wounded,” Caitlyn put in.
“A flesh wound.” He touched his jacket just below his right shoulder. “I was fortunate that it was not worse.”
“Hmm.” Aunt Gertrude sounded disbelieving, but said no more.
Caitlyn pondered what she had learned after Theo filled her in on Trevor’s actions. Her husband was, indeed, a hero. He had repeatedly put himself in great danger to save others. The wound had been far more serious than he would have them believe, and he had suffered other, less serious wounds, as well.
She had, since his return, been struck by the contrast between the man he seemed to be now and the callow, self-centered, naive youth who had been manipulated into deserting his wife. Yet even then—five years ago—she had been attracted to some core of inner strength in him. It was a quality she had ignored in her subsequent anger and resentment.
Now, here—along with his acceptance and love of their daughter—was confirmation of her instinctive admiration for him.
She sighed.
Unfortunately, it was too late.