Page 47 of A Hint of Scandal

Smoothing out the creases, he read in silence.

“My deerest Julian, I am writing to you to draw your Memory back to the days of your Youth. We were both young and in love. I have no intenshun of Upsetting the Woman you call your Wife and Countess, but that should always have been my posishun in life, not hers. For you will Recall that when you were at Oxford, we met, and went through a Wedding seremony before a Preest. Only afterwards, when you wished to Repudiate me Unkindly, did you tell me that the Preest had been just a Frend of yours got up make Pretense to me, so that I would surender my Maidenhood to you. And I in all Foolishness had beleeved you and lived with you as your Wife.

But having tired of me and thinking to better yourself, you told me that Lie and cast me Off, as I have only Recently discovered. That so-called false Priest was not false at all, and you and I are truly Wed. Your Wife is not your Countes, but I am. And I have a Son. Your Air. We shall call on you on the 14th inst, trusting to find you in Agreement.

Your ever faithful wife, Abigail, Countes of Westbury.

Without looking up at Julian or Rumbold, he read it a second time, and then a third, scarcely able to believe his eyes. Finally, he raised his eyes to meet Julian’s. “Is this true?”

Julian nodded. “It is, in part.”

“Which part?”

“When I was a boy at Oxford, when you were just a babe in arms, I met a beautiful actress, Miss Abigail Lewis.” He paused for breath, chest struggling. “Being inexperienced, I was quite carried away with her, and couldn’t believe she would be interested in me, for I was but a callow youth at that age.” He coughed into his handkerchief. “She professed true love for me, and I counted myself more than lucky. I’d had a few liaisons before her, but all had been with young women of easy virtue.” He stared into Max’s eyes, almost in accusation. “You’ll understand, no doubt having done that yourself.” He paused and his wheezing breath rattled in his chest.

Max waited in silence, the letter’s contents turning over and over inside his head. It couldn’t be true, could it? This must be an opportunistic letter from some spurned lover of his brother’s, or a fraud. Julian would never have gone on to marry Maria knowing their union was bigamy. Would he?

“The letter is reasonably well-written as though by someone with some level of education. Is what she says true? Did you tell her the marriage had not been legal?” He hesitated as a thought came to him. “Wait. Perhaps it wasn’t ever legal. How old were you? If you hadn’t reached your majority, it would be invalid.”

Julian shook his head. “I was twenty-one. I bought a Common License. There was no false priest. We were married in a small church in Oxford.” A coughing fit took him and it was some time before he regained his breath. “And she does not lie. I was with her a brief six months before it dawned upon me that I’d made a huge mistake. Our father would have killed me if he’d found out. To bring an actress back to Bratton to become its chatelaine…” More coughing.

Max nodded slowly. “So it is all true, not just part of it?”

Julian wiped bloody spittle away from his mouth and nodded. “Hard to imagine now I’m so frail, but back then I was young and virile and my blood ran hot for that girl. She was beautiful beyond all imagining. I can see her now, if I close my eyes. I was so desperate to have her and she said she was a virtuous girl and she’d only give herself to me if we were married.” He had to pause for breath again, his face now an alarming shade of mottled gray. “But the gloss wore off very quickly, due no doubt to my youth. I’m ashamed to say I fooled her into thinking it had been no true marriage, and we parted company.” Another coughing fit took him, and it was a minute or two before he could speak again. “I married Maria some seven years later, having never heard another word from Abigail. I suppose I thought her dead, or lost, or just run off.”

“And you thought yourself free to marry Maria?” The fact that his brother had deceived the woman who’d been like a second mother to him was rankling Max the most.

Julian shrugged. “No need to look at me like that. I know I’ve been selfish and stupid. And now my youthful folly has come back to haunt me.” He sighed, breath wheezing. “But I promise you I never knew she had a son.” He paused. “My son.”

Max straightened his back, regarding his brother with a more than troubled heart. Hard to believe his brother could ever have been as duplicitous as this. He’d married Maria, who’d been a widow with two small boys, when Max was ten, and all Max’s memories were of his big dependable brother and his pretty wife, as though nothing had gone on before that. As though Julian had sprung fully formed into being as his solid and sensible older brother. Thinking of him as a lust-filled student at Oxford was impossible.

“You were together only six months?”

Julian shrugged. “Until I had my degree. Then we went our separate ways. I returned to Bratton Park and our father, to learn the ways of estate management. She to other theaters, or so she told me. She was angry when we parted. I offered her money, but she refused.” He paused again. “I am not a monster, Max. I didn’t want to leave her destitute. She had her acting skills. She could earn a living. I wanted to help her but she refused me.”

“And she says she has a son…”

Julian frowned. “She does. She implies the boy is mine… but I knew nothing of any child. I’m certain she would have told me if she’d been with child when we parted. I was offering money and she would have needed it. We told each other everything.”

Clearly not everything, or Julian’s departure would not have provoked such an angry reaction. Max heaved in a deep breath. “It does seem as though you find yourself in a bit of a mess.” An understatement.

Julian nodded, leaning his head back on the pillows and closing his eyes. “And I am too tired to untangle such a problem.” He coughed, his breath whistling. “I must rest. Now you are here, you will have to do it for me.”

Max glanced across at Rumbold, who remained expressionless and silent by the door. What was it Julian expected him to do? If he’d been legally married to this woman, then what was there to be done apart from accepting her into the family? This wasn’t something that could be brushed under the carpet. If they’d truly been married and never divorced, then she was the rightful Countess of Westbury and her son the heir. Maria’s children would be rendered illegitimate. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. He had enough to do with organizing his own marriage in such a hurry. How was he supposed to untangle the web of deceit his brother had just unrolled before him?

Julian’s head had sagged forward, his chin on his chest, his breathing stertorous.

Rumbold tiptoed forward, his feet silent on the rug. He kept his gruff voice low. “His lordship is sleeping now, Captain. Perhaps you would like to take the letter and retire to consider your next move. I will be at your service for any task you require of me. Please rest assured. Nothing is beyond my remit. Nothing.”

Good God, was the man offering assassination services? It certainly sounded as though he might be. And Max would put nothing past his brother’s enormous valet. He rose to his feet. “I’ll take the letter, as you suggest. Let me know if my brother worsens.” He kept his voice as low as Rumbold’s, and Julian never stirred. Only the labored rising of his chest told them he still lived.

Outside, in the paneled corridor, he leaned against the wall and drew in some steadying breaths. The repercussions of this letter could be like an earthquake through the family. If Julian had indeed married this woman, and it was clear she still lived, then his second marriage to Maria was illegal. Bigamous. Little Freddie would no longer be Viscount Lavington, his father’s heir, and Arabella and Lucinda would be frowned upon by polite society rather than feted by it and find it impossible to make good matches. Maria would be dishonored.

What did Julian want him to do? Right now he had no idea. What he needed was someone to talk to about this. Someone he could trust.

The only person who came to mind was Serafina.

She had shown she was blessed with common sense beyond her years. Yes, he would go right now and see her. Two heads would be better than one. And he couldn’t tell his mother this dreadful news. But first he’d best dispatch someone to get that damned Common License, before it entirely slipped his mind.