Page 74 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

Athena was reading in bed when he rather dramatically paused in the door to their room. “I am in shock,” he announced. “Complete and utter shock. My entire body is numb.”

She put down her book. “That’s the price you pay for going out drinking with a man practically half your age. Not that you ever had Sedgecroft’s stamina to begin with. What was it he wished to discuss with you anyway?”

He closed the door and strode into the room to explain. When he had finished, she was pacing angrily around the bed upon which he had collapsed.

“And you agreed to this? You put your name to this contract?”

“You are missing the crux of the matter, my dear. Jane deceived us. She never wanted to marry Nigel in the first place.”

“How dare she do this!” she exclaimed. “I am going to her room right now.”

“No. You’re going to pack so that tomorrow morning when she arises she will discover us all gone. Except for Simon and Uncle Giles, whom I will ask to stay with her while Sedgecroft carries out his . . . courtship.”

Athena came to the foot of the bed, her face distressed. “I know it is a wicked thing she has done, but she did beg us to call off the wedding to Nigel. And to leave her alone at the mercy of a man like Sedgecroft—”

Howard scowled. “A man who will be her husband, my dear. Sedgecroft loves her despite her deceptions, and I believe she loves him. Besides, do you think there is a decent male in the whole of England who will have her after her plotting is revealed?”

“Well,” Athena said coolly, “there is always Scotland, or Wales. And don’t forget the displaced aristocrats from France.”

“I tell you, it is a young Medea we have raised,” he said. “It’s a wonder she has not turned us all to stone.”

“You are thinking of Medusa. Medea murdered her own children.”

“Medea. Medusa. Only you would know the difference. That’s what I get for marrying a bluestocking and producing a daughter with a devious intellect. Jane will be damned lucky if she has any children of her own to murder.”

Athena sat down at her dressing table, already resigning herself to her fate. “With Sedgecroft she will most certainly have children, and handsome ones, too, with a brood of uncles to spoil them after we are gone,” she thought aloud. “Things could be worse.”

Howard stared across the room. “I do not see how, but it does not matter. She is marrying Grayson Boscastle, and that is the end of it. How he will handle her I cannot imagine, but I can only wish him well.”

“Does Jane know any of this?” she asked suddenly.

“No. And Sedgecroft wants to be the one to tell her. Alone.”

“How romantic of him. I hope Jane shows sense this time.”

Lord Belshire frowned. Romantic was hardly the word he would have used to describe Grayson’s air of ruthless determination in drawing up the marriage contract.

“He’s nothing like Nigel, Athena. Jane will not find a way out of this situation unless she chooses to become a spinster.”

“Can’t we at least say good-bye to her before sending her into battle?”

“It is a courtship,” he said, “not a battle, although in this case one cannot be sure. And, no, we will thankfully be gone before she arises. If Jane possessed the cunning to trick us, she is more than capable of standing up to Sedgecroft on her own.”

Chapter 18

Jane woke up later than usual the next day, aware that an unnatural silence pervaded the house. Nine mornings out of ten Miranda awakened her with her pitiful practicing on the pianoforte, or Mama and Caroline would be arguing in the hall about the inappropriate state of Caroline’s attire.

“They have all gone to Belshire Hall in the country, Lady Jane,” the head parlormaid informed her after Jane had hastily dressed to investigate. “Except for Lord Tarleton, who left early for a horse race with your uncle, Sir Giles. The two gentlemen said they would be home in time for supper.”

“My own family left me here without asking if I wished to go?” Jane said in disbelief.

“Lady Belshire’s cousin has apparently taken sick, and she thought it was unnecessary for you to come along,” the maid replied, her eyes lowered as if she didn’t believe the story any more than Jane did.

“I don’t suppose any of them bothered to leave me a personal message,” Jane said in irritation as she turned away.

It seemed all very mysterious and suspicious, and her sense of unease was only confirmed when, on instinct, she ran into Caroline’s room and found a hastily scribbled note stuffed under the ink blotter on the desk.

Jane,