Love Is Blind Page 3
When Reginald glanced at him blankly, Adrian shifted impatiently. "What was this scandal?"
His cousin's eyes widened. "Surely you recall the tale, Adrian? It was the season after the action near Burgos...." Reginald's voice trailed away as he said that, and his gaze slid to the scar on his cousin's face, then away with discomfort. He murmured, "Oh, yes, you left London and returned to the country early that year."
Adrian grimaced at the polite phrasing. He had not returned to the country "early," he'd done so almost immediately the moment he arrived. The reason, of course, was the scar on his face, the long, jagged scar that zigzagged its way from directly beside his left eye all the way down to his chin beside his mouth. It was his own personal keepsake from the Peninsular War, and from the wound that had brought an end to a promising military career.
His career was not all it had ended, Adrian thought on a sigh. It had also finished the ancient and noble family of Montfort, though he had not realized it at the time. No. He'd returned to England to recover from that injury, which had nearly killed him, grateful to be alive . . . until his first experience at court the following season. He'd been a fool not to realize his disfigurement would cause a stir. Not that he'd believed it would go completely uncommented on. He hadn't been that much of a fool. However, Adrian hadn't expected it to cause weaker women to faint and those with the fortitude to remain standing to cringe in horror.
Yes, Adrian had attended only one ball upon his return. One was more than enough to make him decide to pack his trunks and return to the country estate that was the seat of the earldom of Mowbray. His father had still been alive then, and with uncommon understanding the gruff old man had said nothing about his son's sudden preference to stay on the estate and see to the running of it. He'd merely nodded solemnly and used the opportunity to set out on various and diverse travels with his wife. Travels that had come to an abrupt end when he'd suffered a fatal apoplexy in France. That had been nearly two years ago. It was also the reason Adrian was now--ten years after his last foray into the fray--back at court.
Well, it was the reason behind the reason, he corrected, espying his mother making her way toward him. This was his lady mother's first coming out since her husband's death, and Adrian suspected she would not even be here now were it not for the fact that she was determined to see him do his duty by the family. That was why he was here. This last year, as her grief had waned, his mother, Lady Mowbray, had begun to harangue him about his duty to the family name, nagging him about the need to marry and beget an heir. He'd argued with her over it, informing her that no one would have him with his face so hideously marked, but his lady mother had been deaf to his words.
It was well past time he gave up his sulking in the country and learned to deal with his wound was all she'd had to say on the subject. He had a duty to fulfill and had best get around to fulfilling it. And with those uncompromising words, she'd managed--after a year of repetition--to drag him back to court. So here
Adrian stood, feeling like a troll among so many fine and glittering people. At least, that was how he'd felt until he'd sat down beside Lady Clarissa.
"There you are, son. Whatever are you doing hiding away here in the corner like a naughty boy?"
Adrian grimaced at his mother's words, feeling just like the naughty boy she suggested. Still, he took her hand in his and kissed it in a courtly manner. "I am hardly in a corner, Mother. I am right out here in plain sight, where everyone may look upon my disfigurement."
Lady Mowbray scowled. "No one is even marking it. You let it bother you far too much. It is much less noticeable now. Time has softened its effect."
'You may be right," Adrian agreed laconically. "At least, no one has fainted at sight of me yet, or run screaming from the room." Noting her irritation increase, he smiled apologetically and changed the subject. "Reginald was just about to tell me of the scandal attached to Lady Clarissa."
His mother's eyebrows rose. "I did notice you dancing with her, dear. Five dances in a row. I daresay you shall have the gossips' tongues wagging, are you not careful."
"I shall endeavor to be more circumspect," Adrian replied, then turned to arch an eyebrow at his cousin. "Well?"
"Well? Oh, yes!" Clearly nervous in the presence of his aunt, Reginald smiled at her, then explained: 'You see, in late summer of 1808--August, I think it was-- Lady Clarissa, a tender twelve, was visiting a friend here in London."
"It was not a friend; it was her aunt, Lady Smithson," Lady Mowbray corrected gently. "And she was fourteen, not twelve."
"Was she?" Reginald frowned slightly. "I see. Well. . . at any rate, shortly after she arrived, a servant followed with a message supposed to be from her mother's maid--"
"Her mother's doctor" Lady Mowbray interrupted.
Adrian laughed at his cousin's discomfiture at being corrected once more. Turning a rare smile his mother's way, he suggested, "Since you appear to be more versed on the facts, Mother, perhaps you would care to explain this scandal to me?"
She turned away, but not before he glimpsed the tears in her eyes. Adrian guessed they'd been brought on by an excess of emotion, that they were a response to the change in her normally grim son, and he frowned at her reaction; but then she nodded, cleared her throat, and turned back, her face composed.
"Certainly, my dear. My memory was just being refreshed by Lady Witherspoon. She could not hold back the nasty little tale when she saw your interest in the girl," his mother added dryly, seeming recovered. She then shrugged and dove into the explanations.
"It seems that the reason Lady Clarissa was visiting her aunt alone was because her mother was ill at the time. This illness killed her some months later, whereupon Lord Crambray married the present Lady Crambray, a most unpleasant creature by all accounts." She shook her head, then returned to her tale. "At any rate, shortly after Clarissa arrived at her aunt's, a servant arrived with a message addressed to the aunt, supposedly from Lady Crambray's doctor. It claimed Clarissa's mother had taken a turn for the worse and was not expected to last beyond a day or so. The letter instructed the aunt not to alarm the girl by imparting the full severity of the situation, but merely to tell
Clarissa her mother needed her--and to send her back at once in the carriage that had transported the servant. Which, foolish as it may seem, the aunt did."
"Why foolish?" Adrian asked.
"The carriage was unmarked," Reginald explained, eager to redeem himself and add something to the tale. "The family crest was missing."
Adrian's eyebrows rose. "Did the aunt not notice?"
"Oh, yes. She even asked about it," Lady Mowbray assured him. "The servant claimed the carriage he had been sent in had suffered a broken wheel on the way to London, and that he had been forced to leave it at a roadside inn to be repaired while he hired another conveyance to finish the journey. He hoped to be able to reclaim the carriage on the return trip if it was repaired."
"A plausible story," Adrian commented.
"Yes, it was rather, was it not?" Lady Mowbray mused consideringly. "Still, the aunt should have at least sent a servant of her own with the girl, or done something else to ensure her well-being." She shrugged. "However, she did not. Lady Smithson merely packed up the girl and her belongings and sent her off in the carriage with this servant."
"Who was not a servant at all," Adrian guessed.
"Oh, he was a servant, all right, simply not in the employ of Clarissa's mother. This servant did not take her home, but stopped at Coventry. There she was led to a private room, where she was met by a Captain Jeremy Fielding and his sister."
"Fielding?" Adrian frowned at the name. It rang a bell.
"Mmm. This Fielding fellow explained that, truly, Clarissa's mother was well on the way to mending, and
that Clarissa had really been called away because of her father. He gave some vague claptrap that Crambray's business affairs had taken a sudden turn for the worse, and that while her father had meant
to meet her there, he had been forced to leave ere her arrival. I gather they hinted that Lord Crambray was being pursued by the authorities, and that he wished Clarissa to follow. Crambray had supposedly employed this Fielding and his sister to bring her to him safely."
Adrian's mother's expression showed distaste as she went on. "Of course, the girl was just a child, and easily led astray, and I daresay this Captain Fielding cut a dashing and authoritative figure in his uniform. The girl went quietly.
"They traveled for days, supposedly just missing her father here, and there, until they reached Carlisle, where Captain Fielding left his sister and Lady Clarissa alone at an inn and went off to supposedly meet with her father. When he returned, Fielding claimed that her family was on the brink of ruin, and that the only way for them all to avoid the poorhouse was for her to marry, which her father wished her to do at once."
"How would Clarissa's marrying save the family from ruin?" Adrian asked with a frown.
"I am not sure. Lady Witherspoon was not altogether clear on that." Lady Mowbray turned questioningly to Reginald. "Do you know what he claimed?"
"I believe it had something to do with an inheritance she would receive only upon marriage. It was from her grandfather on her mother's side. Once married, she would inherit and the father's bills could be paid, thus saving the family."
"Hmm." There was silence for a moment; then Adrian asked, "I daresay this Fielding offered himself
as the martyr willing to aid her in her moment of need?"
Lady Mowbray nodded with a grim little smile. "Kind of him, was it not?"
"Oh, undoubtedly," Adrian agreed.
"So they were off to Gretna Green," Reginald interjected cheerfully. "Married without banns or priest before a prostitute, a thief, and a blacksmith; then they went off on a honeymoon in Calais."
"The witnesses were a landlord of a public house, a tailor, and the blacksmith," Lady Mowbray corrected in arid tones. "And they never made it to Calais; they were stopped at the docks. My," she added a touch archly, "it is interesting how rumors get all fouled up with their facts, is it not?"
Adrian was amused at the way his cousin squirmed under his mother's regard, but cut Reg's discomfort short by asking, "Who stopped them?"
"Her father, of course. Well, not her father, really. You see, after the girl left, her aunt regained her senses enough to become nervous about the unmarked carriage. She sent a message to Lord Crambray asking after the mother, alerting them to the fact that something was terribly amiss. Crambray hired several men, who tracked the girl to Gretna Green, then to the boat they had booked passage on to Calais.
"It seems Fielding had told the girl her father was to meet them there once the deed was done, but the runners caught up with them, explained that it was all a bunch of bunk, and brought the girl back in shame. By all accounts she was quite distraught."
"What of Fielding?" Adrian asked, thinking it unfair the girl had suffered anything in this instance. Obviously, none of it was her fault.
"Well, he returned too at first," Lady Mowbray said with a frown. "He was quite sure there was nothing her father could do. They were wed, after all. However, Clarissa's father is a clever man. He had Fielding charged with abducting a minor and set about having the wedding annulled. He also promptly removed the girl to the country to get her out of way of the scandal. Not that it helped much," she added under her breath. "What mean you by that?" Adrian asked curiously. "Well, her not being here hardly stopped the tongues from wagging," Lady Mowbray pointed out sadly. "This was far too juicy a tale for that. Rumor was rampant. There was rife speculation that perhaps the wedding had been consummated after all. Fielding was quite sure of himself. And then the fact that she'd been removed from public attention led people to wonder if it had not been done to hide the fact that she'd borne fruit from die brief marriage." "And did she?" Adrian asked.
"No one knows," Reginald put in with a shrug. "This is the first she has returned, and 'tis ten years later."
Adrian raised an eyebrow at his mother, who seemed to be most in tune with the facts of the case up to now. However, much to his dissatisfaction, the older woman merely shrugged as well, and said with obvious reluctance, "It is possible. They spent one night at an inn after the wedding, though they were booked into separate rooms. The boat was to leave the day after."
Adrian frowned in displeasure at the uncertainty of this, then asked, "What of Fielding?"
"He fled the country before the trial was scheduled to begin. But Lady Witherspoon said that he returned to England several years back, and was caught. He faced the charges, was found guilty, and sentenced to
five years in Newgate. No one has heard anything of him since."
They were all silent again. Adrian was lost in thought, pondering his own revulsion at the idea that Lady Clarissa's brief marriage had been consummated. With that worry occupying his mind, he peered about the room, unconsciously seeking out the chit and her stepmother.
"They left directly after that ridiculous little scene on the dance floor," Lady Mowbray informed him.
Adrian glanced at his mother with a start, caught the gleam in her eye, and knew she was encouraged by his interest. And he was interested.
When he'd first taken a seat beside her, Clarissa had flinched back from him, and Adrian had feared he'd been misled. He'd feared she was able to see his face and was horrified by the scar that marred his former good looks. However, in the next moment, she'd leaned closer and squinted, obviously trying to bring him into focus.
When Clarissa had frowned with frustration and sat back, he'd realized that she really couldn't see him, and thus wouldn't be scared off by his looks. Adrian had found himself smiling and relaxing in the company of a woman other than his mother for the first time since arriving back in London. For the first time in years, really.
The time he'd spent with her after that had probably been no more than half an hour, between their sitting and talking and the five dances his mother claimed they'd shared, yet it seemed like mere moments. Adrian had smiled and laughed more in that time than he had in all the years since his injury. For the first time in a long while, he'd felt whole and undamaged.
Any woman who could make him feel like that deserved his interest, and yes, Adrian acknowledged to himself, he was most definitely interested. Which would please his mother no end, he thought. However, there was a problem. The very thing that had allowed him to relax in her presence was also the source of the problem. Clarissa could not see him, but she was not permanently blind, merely temporarily so. He worried about what would happen when she could see again, when she saw the horror of the man she had spoken and danced with. How would she react? Would she shrink from him as if he were a monster? Faint in horror at the sight of him? It hurt him to consider either option.
"Shall I find out more about the chit for you?" Lady Mowbray asked, drawing Adrian from his thoughts. He peered at his mother, unable to answer. A large part of him wanted to say yes, but another very large part was afraid, and Adrian hadn't been afraid of anything in a very long time.
Suddenly irritated with the entire matter, Adrian turned away without answering and moved toward the door. He'd had enough of so-called polite society for one night.
"You will not speak to Lord Mowbray again."
Clarissa stared blindly across the coach's dark interior at the blur that was her stepmother. Lydia had not just yanked her away from the man she'd danced with, but had dragged her across the dance floor, out of the ballroom, and straight out of the house entirely. Her stepmother had been so obviously furious that Clarissa had kept her mouth shut as Lydia shouted orders, demanding their carriage be brought around at once.
Her silence hadn't seemed to ease the woman's upset, either, and Lydia had dug her fingers painfully into Clarissa's arm as they waited, as if afraid she might flee at any moment and rush back inside to throw herself at the man.
Other than that cruel grip, however, Lydia had ignored Clarissa, giving o
ff a positively frigid air as they waited for the carriage. Once the coach had stopped before them, she'd practically shoved Clarissa into the vehicle, then taken the opposite seat and glared at her until they were in motion.
"Is that the name of the man I was dancing with?" Clarissa asked, realizing only now that she didn't know the man's name. Had he known hers? she wondered, then glanced warily at her stepmother as the woman's teeth snapped together with a click.
'Yes," Lydia snarled. "Lord Adrian Montfort, the Earl of Mowbray. And you shall stay away from him completely."
Clarissa hesitated, debating whether it was wise to question her stepmother when she was so angry, but she simply couldn't help herself, and blurted, "But why should I stay away from him? He behaved like a perfect gentleman, and if he is an earl--"
"He did not behave like a perfect gentleman," Lydia countered at once. "He danced far too close to you, and he should not even have approached you without a proper introduction."
Clarissa bit her lip. She supposed that hadn't been well done of either of them, but still...
"Mowbray was a rakehell when he was younger," Lydia continued. "He ruined many a poor girl. No doubt that is why God saw fit to ruin his looks."
Clarissa bit back the protest she wanted to make at
this satisfied claim; it would do no good anyway, she knew.
"You will stay away from him. He can have no good intention toward you. He will merely toy with your affections and further damage your already shredded reputation. Your father is counting on me to see that you marry well. He would never forgive me should I allow you to get tangled up in some scandal with that man."
Clarissa sighed unhappily at this edict, but said little, merely turned to peer at the haze of dark and light speeding past outside the carriage. There was little use in arguing; she'd learned that through the issue of her spectacles. So Clarissa merely swallowed her anger, pretended to be distracted by the passing lights, and replayed her short time with Lord Mowbray in her head.
Adrian Montfort, the Earl of Mowbray. She repeated his name in her head and thought it suited him. He'd seemed terribly nice to her, not at all what she would expect of an earl. The few she'd met before this had always seemed rather arrogant and cold, but Adrian hadn't displayed either tendency. He'd been patient and sweet, so understanding and encouraging. Clarissa could still remember the sound of his smoky voice, the fresh, almost woodsy scent of him, and the feel of his strong arms around her as he'd moved her across the dance floor. She'd felt so safe in his arms, Clarissa found it hard to believe he was a rakehell or debaucher of young women.