He sketched a bow that was close to an insult, it was so slight. He was hard pressed not to strangle the old biddy and demand to know by what right she would give Jane the cut direct. “Good afternoon, Lady Bloomsbury.” He stepped back, offered his arm to Jane, they turned and left.
Back on the sidewalk, he handed her up into the curricle, tossed a coin to the groom and they were off. She didn’t speak. She didn’t cry. She was a statue.
He took her home and pressed a kiss to her palm before watching her ascend the stairs. Somehow, he’d known not to say anything, or try to reassure her. Truthfully, he had no reassurances. It was clear her marriage to him had changed nothing. She was still a pariah, shunned by society.
It made no sense, and he was determined to discover what went on. He left again and went to his club, acting as though all was well as he took a brandy and walked about, greeting friends, smiling affably. He was offered congratulations upon Lucy’s marriage to Sherbourne, but no one mentioned his marriage to Jane.
At last, he decided to step outside propriety in order to discover what the devil was going on. He cornered Wrotham and after a few polite congenials, said smoothly, “The duchess and I paid a call to Lady Bloomsbury this afternoon.”
Wrotham, his shirt points so tall and stiff it was surely difficult to turn his head, sniffed meaningfully. “How did you find that lady?”
“I reckon cozying up to an iceberg would provide more warmth. After waiting twenty minutes to be shown into the drawing room, Jane was handed the cut direct and we were not invited to sit.” He lowered his voice. “It would be most helpful if you might shed some light on this matter, Wrotham. I’d certainly thought marriage to me would bring Jane back into the fold.”
The man was clearly very uncomfortable, his face flaming with color as he drained his glass and waved to the steward for another. When at last he met Michael’s gaze, he sighed as if in defeat. “I’d ask you not kill the messenger, Blixford.”
“On the contrary, I’d be humbly grateful for information from the messenger and not in the least inclined to inflict harm upon him.”
“You may change your mind.” He handed his empty to the steward and accepted another brandy before he said, almost in a whisper, “Just after your marriage, after you’d gone from London, a rumor began to circulate, and as with all rumors, it caught like wildfire. Seems a gentleman returned from business in Edinburgh, a transaction involving some crossbreds offered by a Brian MacDougal, recently become the Earl of Haversham, after his father’s death. Haversham indicated to this gentleman that he’d heard Lady Jane was returned to England then jested about her attempt to regain her respectability. He insinuated he had been . . .” he paused and swallowed a large gulp of brandy before he finished, “intimate with her, that she was in fact his mistress, all the years she was in Scotland. He hoped the gentleman would convey to London society the nature of her pilgrimage to Scotland, that an unwary suitor might avoid being caught in marriage with a . . .” he took another great gulp, “harlot.”
Somehow, he wasn’t surprised. He’d wondered if the man might exact his revenge on Jane for shooting him in his bollocks, and here it was. He was amazed how calm he was. It was simple, really. He would kill MacDougal. He would stretch things out and ensure it was painful and horrible, that the man would beg for death to relieve him of his misery. “Wrotham, you’re a good chap, and I’ve no doubt I’ll have the honor of returning this favor in future.”
He looked nonplussed. “How can you take this so easily, Blix? Good God, man, it is the worst thing. The very worst! It’s untrue, of course, as I well know. Why, I’ve known Lady Jane since she was in the schoolroom, can call Sherbourne one of my closest friends. But there are those who don’t know her true, sweet nature, who only see her pistols and hard riding and talk of farming. Her very unconventional behavior only lends credibility to a rumor such as this.” He drained the brandy and his shoulders slumped. “This will kill Sherbourne, surely. I believe the only reason he’s not aware of it is because of his friendship with Lady Bonderant. They spent a great deal of time together these past weeks, and I daresay he was not attuned to much else, or he’d have heard . . . something. I’d pray God he never hear of it, but that’s not possible. Just as you have surmised there is a problem, so will he. Were I not an abject coward, I would go and tell him myself, that he would be forewarned.”
“Do you suppose her brothers are aware?”
Wrotham shook his head, but only just barely. Those shirt points bordered on ridiculous. “They’re all known for their over-the-top protective stance toward Jane. I’ve no doubt not a soul in London would have the nerve to even whisper about Jane when any of them are present. That person might wind up feeding the fishes in the Thames.” His look was sympathetic. “I’m terribly sorry you’ve had to find out this way, Blix, and it wounds me for Lady Jane to be hurt so.”