The Heart's Companion by Holly Newman Read Free Book Online Page B

marital promises, which he promptly renounced, or merely forgot, once her reputation was in tatters. They gadded about the continent; then—oh, I believe it was some two to three years later—Vivian gave birth to a boy.
    "But, even with an heir at hand, Royce refused to legitimize the child.
    "And shortly thereafter, Vivian disappeared."
    One raven eyebrow rose. "Disappeared? Oh, come now, Elsbeth. These days people do not just disappear. I will admit I have heard varying tales, but to say she simply disappeared? That is too much like one of those Gothic novels! I heard that he grew tired of her and ruthlessly turned her out; but he kept the child, callously refusing the mother egress to her own offspring."
    Lady Elsbeth smiled. "To be sure, it makes a better lesson told that way," she offered dryly, her hazel eyes twinkling. "But I confess, over the years I have not been in circumstances conducive to hearing gossip."
    Jane folded her arms across her chest and leaned back against the workbench. She tilted her head. "But what of the child? I’ve heard the boy died at three."
    Lady Elsbeth nodded. "Perhaps fortuitously."
    "Elsbeth!"
    Distracted, Lady Elsbeth ran long fingers through her short, brown curls. "I’m sorry, my dear, but think, the child was a bastard and not even a publicly acknowledged one at that. The son of a rakehell and a woman who was no better. What sort of life would he have had?"
    Jane refused to contemplate that question. Instead she asked, "How did he die?"
    "That is a question that has much occupied society and speculation has not always run to natural or ill-health causes."
    Jane shivered. "The man’s history makes him a monster! How could you even countenance him at our tea yesterday? I’m terribly sorry Elsbeth. If I had known ..."
    "Stuff and nonsense. If you had known you would have shunned his acquaintance altogether and missed coming to know a fascinating man. I am telling you the stories that circulate, as I know them. Obviously there are others, for you yourself said you’ve heard varying tales. Personally, I find them particularly fascinating in light of his behavior with the boys. I now find it difficult to imagine him abusing or neglecting the child to the extent that it would cause its death. "
    Jane frowned. "There is merit to your argument. Still...."
    "Still nothing! As a youth Royce was wild to a fault, and may yet be under that polished charm he displays to advantage. But I’ll wager my best diamond studs that he is neither a murderer nor an abuser! I detect a surprisingly strong sense of integrity in the man. And there is his patience with the boys to consider. Heaven only knows they require patience!" she finished flatly, drawing another clean bottle forward to fill. She paused, staring off at some unknown sight. Then she reverently picked up the red leather-bound journal she used to record her herbal recipes. She flipped through it, searching. Finally, she put the book down on the workbench and turned it to face Jane.
    "The tutor Hereward employed for his boys used to give them quotes to copy as handwriting exercises. They were always also moral lessons. One day when I was visiting the schoolroom, this was the quote he’d assigned."
    Gossip is mischievous, light and easy to raise, but grievous to bear and hard to get rid of. No gossip ever dies away entirely, if many people voice it: it too is a kind of divinity.
    Works and Days Hesiod c. 700 B.C.
    The silence in the stillroom lengthened as Jane considered the words Elsbeth had written among her herbal secrets. Without a word, she turned to face the workbench, her hands moving to slowly gather her papers together again. Elsbeth was right. The man who helped Edward down from that tree then joined them for tea bore little resemblance to the monster, the true Devil’s Disciple of society’s tales. Those tales had achieved a kind of divinity. It would no doubt be impossible to live down, let alone eradicate those tales.
    Jane