The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere by Anna Bradley

Chapter Nineteen

Mrs. Payne, a tiny, white-haired lady of near seventy years of age, lived in a little white cottage at the end of a rutted road just outside of High Wycombe. Benedict doubted Mrs. Payne received many visitors, but she welcomed them with perfect composure, as if aristocratic strangers appeared on her doorstep every day.

Once they were settled in Mrs. Payne’s tiny parlor with refreshments, Benedict got straight to the point. He and Georgiana had very little time left to get to the heart of the duke’s secret, and Mrs. Payne was their best chance of uncovering it.

“We hoped you’d be willing to talk to us about the Beauchamp family, Mrs. Payne. Your grandson Peter told Miss Har—that is, Lady Haslemere that you served as Mrs. Beauchamp’s housekeeper at one time.”

“That I did, my lord, that I did. She was a dear, sweet lady, never had a cross word to say to anyone. I don’t mind telling you I shed many a tear when she died.”

Benedict gave her a sympathetic nod. “The Beauchamps’ story is a tragic one. Were you attached to the family when their daughter Clara disappeared?”

“I was, and afterwards, too, up until Mrs. Beauchamp’s death. We didn’t talk about Clara after she went missing. Mrs. Beauchamp couldn’t hear Clara’s name without breaking down, and then she became so frail. The poor lady died of a broken heart, Lord Haslemere, and make no mistake.”

“I’m very sorry for it, Mrs. Payne. Mrs. Beauchamp’s grief must have been terrible to witness. Clara vanished the night of Lord Draven’s Christmas ball, I believe?”

“Aye. She was dressed all in white that night. Pretty as an angel, she was, and in such high spirits! It never occurred to any of us we’d never see her again after she left that evening.” Mrs. Payne’s pale, wrinkled hands shook as she sipped from her teacup.

“No, I’m sure it didn’t.” Benedict paused, choosing his next words carefully. “It was a strange evening. From what I understand, something transpired that night that led to a duel between Lord Draven and the Duke of Kenilworth.”

“There was a duel, aye, and a shameful thing two noblemen should behave so disgracefully.” Mrs. Payne sniffed. “But then that’s what happens when two proud, stubborn gentlemen fancy themselves in love with the same lady, isn’t it, my lord?”

The same lady.

Benedict had assumed, along with the rest of London, that the lady in question must be Jane, but what if they’d all been mistaken, and Jane wasn’t at the center of this mystery? What if it was another lady altogether?

What if, all this time, it had always been about Clara Beauchamp?

His heart was pounding as he turned his attention back to Mrs. Payne. “I understand the Beauchamps were close friends of Lord Draven and his family. Were Clara and Lord Draven friends?”

“Friends? Why yes, my lord. I’ve never seen two children more devoted to each other. One couldn’t separate those two for anything. It did my heart good to see them, such dear friends as they were.”

“I didn’t realize Lord Draven and Miss Beauchamp were such…close companions.” Georgiana’s keen hazel eyes were fixed on Mrs. Payne.

“Oh my, yes, and a good thing, too. Clara was a sweet little thing, Lady Haslemere, but innocent as a lamb. Lord Draven took care of her, watched out for her, especially when she became a young lady and the gentlemen started sniffing after her fortune. The Beauchamps had a good deal of money, and every scoundrel keen to get their hands on it.”

Benedict’s eyebrows rose. If Clara was prey to fortune hunters, then the Beauchamps must have had more money than he’d realized.

Mrs. Payne let out a mournful sigh. “It’s a great pity, what happened to Clara. Broke all our hearts, it did, but no one’s so much as Lord Draven’s. He was out of his head over it. He searched everywhere for her, even after all the rest of us had lost hope. He gave up at last, poor soul, but he’s never got over the loss of her. That’s why he doesn’t come to High Wycombe now. The poor man can’t bear to be here without her.”

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Payne, but let me make sure I understand you.” Georgiana’s voice was faint. “You’re saying Lord Draven was in love with Clara Beauchamp?”

Mrs. Payne looked surprised. “Why yes, my lady, since he was a boy. He was maddened with grief when she disappeared. Went off to London and got himself into enough trouble there his father fetched him home, then ordered him off to the Continent. Saved his son’s life, I daresay. He would have destroyed himself otherwise. That’s how heartbroken he was over Clara.”

“Clara.” Benedict met Georgiana’s eyes. “All this time, it was never Jane, but Clara.”

Mrs. Payne looked from one to the other of them, baffled. “Jane? I don’t know of any Jane, my lord. It was always Clara for Lord Draven. She was a kind young lady, and a beauty, too, with that white-gold hair and those big blue eyes of hers. She caught the attention of more than one gentleman. But beauty is both a blessing and a curse, and so it proved for poor Clara.”

Benedict placed his teacup carefully in the saucer, his heart still racing. “I’m not sure I understand you, Mrs. Payne.”

“Why, I mean that dreadful business with the Duke of Kenilworth, my lord. Beauty like Clara’s tempts wicked men as surely as it does good ones, though I always thought the duke was more tempted by her money than he was by her face. He didn’t have any back then, you know. He was still a viscount when he first set his sights on Clara.”

Benedict frowned. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Payne, but Kenilworth had already become the duke by the time of Lord Draven’s Christmas ball.” He’d inherited the dukedom the previous summer.

“Aye, he was duke by then, but he set his sights on Clara well before that, my lord. He and Lord Draven were friends, you know. Kenilworth had been to High Wycombe a half dozen times before that party. He took up with Clara…oh, let me think now. She was seventeen, so…yes, it was nearly a year before that Christmas ball.”

Benedict didn’t realize his fingers had gone tight until the delicate handle of his teacup actually snapped. “Damn—that is, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Payne. I believe I’ve ruined your teacup.”

“Oh, you mustn’t think of it, my lord.”

Mrs. Payne made an attempt to rise and collect the pieces, but Georgiana got there first. “Here, it’s all right. Give it to me, my lord.” She took the pieces from Benedict’s slack hand, and pressed her napkin into his fist. “Here, hold this to the cut.” Benedict looked down, and to his surprise saw one of his fingers was bleeding.

“You mean to say, Mrs. Payne, that on one of his visits to Draven House, the Duke of Kenilworth seduced Clara Beauchamp?” Georgiana rested her hand on Benedict’s shoulder, as if steadying herself. “He seduced and ruined the woman Lord Draven—his close friend, Lord Draven—was in love with?”

Mrs. Payne’s mouth twisted in a sad smile. “Aye, Lady Haslemere, and such a pity it was. He seduced Clara, ruined her, then abandoned her after he became duke. I suppose he thought he could do better than an obscure lady with no title, and he’d squandered most of her fortune by then.”

Do better…

Benedict went still, his body frozen to the chair in Mrs. Payne’s tiny parlor. Kenilworth had done better, hadn’t he? He’d met Jane at Lord Draven’s house party, then courted her the following season. Jane was just the sort of beautiful, accomplished young lady a duke would want for his duchess, and she came with a dowry that matched her father’s fortune.

“You look shocked, Lady Haslemere, as well you might be.” Mrs. Payne reached out to pat Georgiana’s hand. “It’s dreadful what Kenilworth did, both to Clara and to Lord Draven. He betrayed a friend, and broke a lovely, innocent young lady’s heart.”

Benedict clenched his hands into fists. Kenilworth had done much worse than that. Betrayal, heartbreak…those were the least of his sins. He’d lied and coldly manipulated everyone unlucky enough to cross his path. He’d trapped Jane in his web of deceit, involved her and Freddy in his treachery—

Mrs. Payne sighed, shaking her head. “Lord Draven knew nothing about Clara’s downfall at first, but you never can hide such things, can you, my lady? He found out what Kenilworth had done the night of the Christmas ball, and challenged him to a duel. Lord Draven’s father put a stop to it, but there’s not a doubt in my mind Lord Draven would have shot Kenilworth if given the chance.”

But Lord Draven’s father hadn’t put a stop to it. The duel had gone forward after Kenilworth and Draven returned to London.

“Clara fancied herself in love with Kenilworth, of course. I knew it would end in disaster, but Mrs. Beauchamp allowed the duke’s attentions. Oh, she never meant any harm, but she was a simple lady, my lord, and in awe of the aristocracy. I think she hoped Clara would one day become the Duchess of Kenilworth.”

But she hadn’t. Jane had, and Clara…what had become of Clara? Benedict rose abruptly, suddenly desperate to leave this tiny parlor and this tiny cottage and speak to Georgiana alone.

Mrs. Payne startled. “Are you all right, Lord Haslemere?”

“Forgive me, Mrs. Payne.” Benedict’s hand shook as he placed his bloodied napkin on the tea tray. “I didn’t realize how late it had become. You’ve been a tremendous help to us. Lady Haslemere and I are grateful. Shall we, my lady?”

Georgiana took Mrs. Payne’s hand and pressed it between hers. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Payne.”

“You’re welcome, my lady. I don’t know that there’s anything you or Lord Haslemere can do, and poor Clara is, I fear, beyond our help, but it would bring me a measure of peace if the Duke of Kenilworth were made to pay for the misery he’s caused.”

“I promise you, Mrs. Payne, that Lord Haslemere and I will do whatever lies in our power to do.” Georgiana released Mrs. Payne’s hand, bid her a last goodbye and followed Benedict out.

He waited until they’d left the cottage before the fury and anguish that had been building in his chest burst forth in a flood of angry words. “That blackguard. I’ll see Kenilworth swing for what he’s done, not just to Jane and Freddy, but to Clara and Draven.”

“Benedict, listen—”

“The Duke of Kenilworth,” Benedict spat, bitterness swelling in every word. “Such a proper, distinguished gentleman, so admired and revered in London, a man of such impeccable honor. He’s a murderer, Georgiana.”

“We know only that he attempted a murder. Lord Draven is still alive, and Clara might not be as far beyond our help as Mrs. Payne supposes she is. Remember, Benedict, that Jane swears she saw Clara in a carriage outside Lady Tilbury’s townhouse.”

“But how could Clara have hidden herself for all this time? Mrs. Payne said Draven searched all over England for her. How could she have disappeared so thoroughly even the man who loved her couldn’t find her?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve seen stranger things. Lady Tilbury may know more than she pretends to. Jane and Lord Draven must believe she’s still alive, or they wouldn’t be searching for her.”

Benedict dragged his hands down his face, guilt pressing in on him. “I should have seen what Kenilworth was from the start. Instead I allowed my only sister to marry a villain. I failed her and Freddy—”

“No.” Georgiana tugged his hands away from his face, her grip fierce. “You couldn’t have known, Benedict. The duke is an accomplished liar. You can’t be blamed for believing what everyone else in London did.”

“But why didn’t Jane just tell me the truth about Kenilworth?” He was the elder of the two of them, and Jane had always trusted him. “How could she not have trusted me to help her and Freddy?”

“It’s not a matter of her not trusting you. Don’t you see? Jane is terrified of the duke. He had Lord Draven attacked. He blacked Freddy’s eye—a child, Benedict. Any man who’d hurt a child must be a monster. Do you believe for one second Kenilworth didn’t threaten you? Jane didn’t want you to know because she wanted to protect you, not because she didn’t trust you.”

Benedict stood with his head down and let her words wash over him. He couldn’t excuse his own actions as easily as Georgiana did, but it meant a great deal to him that she believed him to be blameless, even if he didn’t.

“There’s one other thing, Benedict. Mrs. Payne said Kenilworth was more tempted by Clara’s fortune than he was by her face, but there’s only one way he could have gotten his hands on Clara’s fortune.”

Benedict’s head came up.

Marriage.

Was there a possibility Kenilworth had actually married Clara Beauchamp?

Benedict’s mind was racing. Clara was an heiress, and Kenilworth a greedy, grasping man who at the time had no money, and three cousins standing between him and his uncle’s dukedom.

Cold dread dropped from Benedict’s chest to the pit of his stomach. “A vulnerable, naïve young lady with a tidy fortune might not have tempted a duke, but Clara might have proved irresistible to a penniless viscount.”

“A viscount, Benedict. A viscount.”

Georgiana’s voice was heavy with meaning, and Benedict recalled he had heard someone say something about Clara Beauchamp and a viscount, but he couldn’t quite remember…

Lady Wylde. Of course. At her masque ball she’d told Georgiana there’d been a rumor floating about that Clara Beauchamp had married a viscount. Married a viscount. Not that she’d been betrothed to a viscount, or ruined by one, but married one.

Something Lady Archer had said drifted back to him then, something he hadn’t remarked on at the time. “Kenilworth didn’t inherit the dukedom until the summer before the Christmas ball, but he purchased his Grosvenor Street mansion much earlier that year, in January. Before he inherited.”

Georgiana grasped his coat, understanding dawning on her face. “That was Clara’s money. He’d married her by then, and he was spending her money!”

Benedict could hardly believe it, but it made perfect sense. “Kenilworth’s an utter villain, Georgiana. A cold-hearted debaucher who ruthlessly betrayed a friend and ruined a young lady’s hopes. How far do you think he’d go to keep his secrets?”

Benedict hardly had a chance to think the question before the answer was there.

As far as he must.

He stared at Georgiana, bile crawling up his throat. “He’s already tried to drag Jane and Freddy out of London, to bury them in some remote part of England, away from all their friends and family, and he sent a half-dozen blackguards to beat Lord Draven to death.”

Georgiana’s face had gone pale. “My God, Benedict. You don’t think…could Kenilworth be so depraved he’d actually do his young wife an injury once she became an inconvenience to him?”

“He did something to her, that much is certain.” Benedict’s voice was grim. “Whatever it was, he must have been very sure she’d never turn up again, or he never would have dared to marry Jane.”

“Benedict, do you know what this means? If Kenilworth and Clara did marry, and Clara is still alive, that would make the Duke of Kenilworth—”

“A bigamist.”

If they could prove Kenilworth was a bigamist, his marriage to Jane would be declared invalid, and Jane would be free of him forever. There was still Freddy to consider—no matter what, he was still Kenilworth’s son—but they might find Kenilworth willing to negotiate once Benedict held the power to destroy him in his hand.

Hope surged, but Benedict pushed it away. Until they could prove their suspicions, there was nothing to celebrate. “What are the chances Clara Beauchamp is still alive, Georgiana?”

She gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t know, but Jane seemed very sure of it. Lord Draven must have believed it as well, but bigamy is merely speculation unless we can prove a marriage between Clara and Kenilworth actually occurred.”

“We need the vicar who performed it, or another witness, or Kenilworth’s and Clara’s names recorded in a marriage register.”

Even if they were fortunate enough to find proof of the marriage, they still had to determine if Clara Beauchamp yet lived. Finding a lady who’d been glimpsed only once in the past six years seemed an impossible task, but if there was the least chance Clara was alive, Benedict would tear England apart piece by piece to find her.

He glanced at the sky. It was still early afternoon, but dusk would be upon them soon enough, and they weren’t likely to find the proof they needed in the first place they looked.

“We’ll begin with the parishes closest to High Wycombe.” He clasped Georgiana’s hand in his and led her toward their horses. “They couldn’t have gone farther than a day’s journey from here without Clara spending a night away from home.”

They’d have to move quickly, and pray Kenilworth hadn’t buried his secrets so deeply they could never be uncovered.