Not Just a Wallflower (A Season Of Secrets #2)(22)
Author: Carole Mortimer

Even so, she could not help but overhear the duchess’s next comment.

‘Is there something relating to your young ward, which you feel the need to discuss with either Edith or myself, Justin?’

Justin continued to watch Eleanor for several more seconds as she hurriedly ascended the curved staircase, only turning his attention back to his mother once she had reached the top of those stairs and disappeared rapidly down the hallway he knew led to her bedchamber. ‘Such as?’ He eyed his mother coolly.

She sighed. ‘I see that you are still angry with me.’

‘Not at all.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Anger would imply a depth of emotion which simply does not exist between us.’

His mother gave a pained frown. ‘That is simply not true! I have always loved you dearly, Justin—’

‘Oh, please!’

‘But—’

‘I have no intention of continuing this conversation out here in the hallway, where anyone might overhear us.’ He turned to stride in the direction of the Blue Salon, waiting until his mother, having hesitated briefly, now entered the room ahead of him, before following her and closing the door firmly behind her. ‘Why are you really here, Mother?’

‘I told you—’

‘Some nonsense about meeting Eleanor.’ Justin waved away his impatience with that explanation as he stood with his back towards one of the bay windows that looked out over the front of the house. ‘To my knowledge, Eleanor has resided at Royston House with Grandmama for this past year, so why the sudden and urgent interest in her now?’

His mother sank down gracefully on to one of the sofas before answering him. ‘Edith mentioned that, with your help, she intended bringing Eleanor out into society.’

Justin’s hands were clasped tightly together behind his back. ‘And have you come to offer your own assistance in that endeavour?’

She gave a sad shake of her head. ‘I wish that you would not take that scathing tone when you address me.’

He drew in a deeply controlling breath, aware that he was being less than polite to the woman who had, after all, given birth to him.

‘I apologise if I sounded rude.’

‘That is at least something, I suppose—Justin, are you aware that your neckcloth is looking…less than its usual pristine self?’ She eyed him with questioning calm.

Considering the depth, the wildness, of the desire which had seized him in his carriage just minutes ago, when Eleanor had unfastened his waistcoat and then pushed his shirt up his chest so that she might touch and caress him there, Justin was surprised only his neckcloth was askew as evidence of their passionate encounter!

‘I believe we were discussing the suddenness of your decision to come up to town, not my neckcloth?’ He refused to so much as raise a hand and attempt to straighten the disarray of that scrap of material, and to hell with what deductions his mother might care to make in that regard.

Eyes so like his own dropped from meeting his as his mother instead ran a fingernail along the piping at the edge of the cushion upon which she sat. ‘It is not so sudden, Justin. I have known for some time that one of us must attempt to heal the breach which exists between us. And when you failed to visit me on my birthday this week, I realised it must be me.’

Justin had completely forgotten that it was his mother’s birthday just four days ago. Indeed, he had been so preoccupied, with both his grandmother’s illness, and this unaccountable passion he had developed for Eleanor Rosewood, that he was no longer sure what day of the week it was, let alone that he had missed altogether his mother’s forty-ninth birthday!

He winced. ‘Once again I apologise.’

She gave a teasing tilt of her head. ‘Enough to give me the kiss you failed to give me earlier?’

‘Of course.’ Justin crossed the room to briefly press his lips against the smoothness of her cheek; it was a small price to pay, after all, for such negligence.

His mother nodded. ‘And will you now sit here beside me and tell me all about Miss Rosewood?’ She patted the sofa cushion beside her own.

A gesture Justin ignored as he instead walked over to one of the armchairs placed either side of the unlit fireplace. He folded his long length down into it in a deliberately relaxed pose, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair as he steepled his fingers together in front of him, all the time avoiding acknowledging the disappointed look he knew would be on his mother’s face. ‘Would Grandmother not be a more reliable source of information on Eleanor than I?’

‘I do not believe so, no…’

His gaze sharpened as he looked across the room at his mother through those steepled fingers. ‘Would you care to explain that remark?’

‘Not really, no.’

Justin knew that he and Eleanor had both looked decidedly dishevelled when they entered the house together just now, but he was sincerely hoping his mother hadn’t realised the cause. ‘Then perhaps you would care to tell me your real reason for coming up to town?’

She looked pained. ‘Could it not be that I wished to see my only son?’

His mouth thinned. ‘Somehow I doubt that very much!’

‘Oh, Justin.’ His mother sighed heavily. ‘Why do we always have to fight whenever we meet?’

He raised blond brows. ‘Perhaps because we do not like each other?’

‘Justin!’ Tears filled his mother eyes as she sprang restlessly to her feet, her cheeks having blanched to a deathly white. ‘That is just so—so cruel of you! I love you. I have always loved you!’

And Justin had always loved his mother, too. Even when he had been angry with her, hurt by her, resentful of her negligence, he had still loved her. He loved her still.

But those years, when he had very often not seen his mother or his father for months at a time, had created a gulf between them which he truly believed to be insurmountable.

‘It is not my intention to be cruel to you, Mother. I just—why can you not just accept that there is too much between us, too many years spent apart, for us to be able to reach any common ground now?’

There was a strained look beside those tear-wet eyes and lines beside her unsmiling mouth. ‘There are things—’ she broke off, as if seeking the right words to say to him. ‘You asked why I have come up to town. The truth is, when you forgot even to acknowledge my birthday, I decided—’

‘Damn it, I have already apologised for my oversight!’

She shook her head. ‘It is still a symptom of the way our relationship now stands. And there are things you should know, things I have not told you before now, which I think you have a right to know.’

Justin frowned. ‘There is nothing you can say to me now that could ever take away all those years of neglect, when you chose to travel about the world with your husband—’

‘My husband was your father, don’t forget that! And we did not spend our lives simply enjoying ourselves, as you seem to be implying we were!’ Her expression was anguished, her gloved hands clenched tightly together in her agitation. ‘Nor was my decision to accompany him an easy one to make. But I made sure you were away at school before I decided to do so, and you had Edith and George if we had not managed to return for the holidays.’

‘Yet my grandparents, dear as they both were and still are, were no substitute for my own parents!’ This subject was too painful, too close to Justin’s own heart, for him to remain his usual icily controlled self.

‘Justin, I remained behind, stayed at home with you, until you went away to school at the age of ten,’ she reasoned anxiously. ‘Do you not remember those years before then, Justin? The wonderful years we spent together in Hampshire, swimming or fishing together in the summer months, sledging and ice-skating on the pond in the winters? And the excitement we always felt when we knew your father was to return from—from his business abroad?’

His eyes narrowed to icy slits. ‘I remember the years that followed far more clearly.’

Her shoulders drooped in defeated. ‘You have become a hard and unforgiving man, Justin.’

He shrugged. ‘I am what my life has made me.’

‘Then I am sorry for it.’ His mother gave a sad smile. ‘You are an intelligent man. Can you not think of any reason why your father travelled abroad for almost the whole of your life, first to India, then to the Continent? Other than enjoying himself, of course,’ she added with uncharacteristic tartness.

Justin glanced at her curiously, having absolutely no idea where this conversation was leading. ‘I was always told that he went away on business…’

‘And he was.’

‘Then I do not see—’

‘That business was not his own!’

‘Then whose was it?’ Justin made no attempt to hide his growing impatience with this conversation.

She looked rather irritated now. ‘Can you really not guess, Justin?’

He stared at her, a critical gaze that his mother continued to meet unflinchingly, unwaveringly, as if willing him to find the answer for himself.

Justin tensed suddenly as an answer presented itself, sitting forwards in his chair suddenly. ‘Can it be—?’ He paused, shaking his head slightly in denial. ‘All those years—did my father work secretly as an agent for the crown?’

He knew the answer he had found was the correct one, as a look of relief now flooded his mother’s beautiful face, making it radiant.

Chapter Fifteen

‘I know you are not asleep, Eleanor, so you might just as well give up all pretence that you are!’

Ellie was indeed awake, and she had heard the door to her bedchamber being slowly opened just seconds ago before closing again. But she had hoped, whoever her visitor might be, that they were now on the other side of that closed door.

She remained unmoving and silent now beneath the bedcovers, not wanting another confrontation with Justin. If she refused to answer him, surely he would simply go away?

Ellie’s bath earlier had been very welcome and Rachel St Just, as promised, had visited Ellie in her bedchamber before the family dined downstairs, that sweet lady arranging for Stanhope to bring Ellie some supper on a tray after she had confessed to still having a slight headache.

Shortly after that Ellie had heard one of the carriages being brought around to the front of the house, and then the departure of the St Justs to Lady Littleton’s soirée. Several hours later, she still hadn’t heard that carriage return.

She had assumed—wrongly, she now realised—that Justin, despite his reluctance to attend such social occasions, would have accompanied his newly arrived mother, and grandmother, to Lady Littleton’s for the evening.

‘Eleanor…?’

Her lids remained stubbornly closed, despite the fact that she could now discern the glow of candlelight through their delicate membranes. Justin had obviously moved closer to where she lay in bed.

‘Damn it, are there not already enough women in this household who prefer to avoid my company this evening!’ he muttered truculently.

It was that very truculence, a cross little-boy emotion, and so at odds with his usual arrogant self-confidence, that caused her lids to finally open, in spite of her previous decision to ignore him and hope that he would just go away.

‘Ah ha!’ Justin looked down at her triumphantly as he stood beside the bed, lit candle held aloft.

Ellie turned to lie on her back and rest up against the pillows, the sheet pulled up over her br**sts as she looked up at Justin guardedly in the candlelight. She quickly realised he seemed to be leaning against the bed for support, his appearance also less than presentable; he had removed his jacket and neckcloth completely some time during the evening, several buttons of his shirt were unfastened at the throat and his waistcoat was also unbuttoned.

Another wary glance at his face also revealed that there was a brightness to his eyes and a slight flush to the hardness of his cheeks. ‘Justin, are you inebriated?’

He blinked, before pausing to give the matter exaggerated thought. ‘I believe I may have drunk a bottle of brandy, or possibly two, since dinner…’

This was just too delicious for Ellie not to enjoy to the full. It was certainly impossible to ignore the fact that the haughty Duke of Royston, was so foxed he could barely stand! ‘Perhaps you should sit down before you fall down—I did not mean there!’ Ellie gave an indignant squeak as he immediately sat down on the side of her bed, causing her to scoot over to the other side if she did not wish to be crushed. ‘Justin, you should not be in my bedchamber at all, let alone sitting on my bed!’

‘Why not—?’ He swayed slightly as he leaned forwards to place the candle and its holder on the bedside table. ‘Uh oh…’ He straightened again with effort, sitting still for several seconds before swinging his booted feet up on to the bed and lying back against the pillows beside her. ‘Am I imagining things or is the ceiling spinning?’

‘Justin!’ Ellie sat up to frown down at him impatiently, her earlier amusement at his expense having completely disappeared as he lay back against the pillows with his eyes closed, golden lashes fanning across those flushed cheeks. ‘Justin?’

His lids remained closed as he gave a wide smile of satisfaction. ‘You have the hang of saying my name now, I see.’

‘Justin!’ she repeated with considerable exasperation as she took a grasp of his arm and shook it, with no apparent result as he simply settled more comfortably on to the pillows. ‘You must get up now and leave immediately!’

‘Why must I?’

‘Your mother and grandmother will be returning soon—’

‘They will not be back for hours yet.’ He raised a hand to cover a yawn. ‘And it was dashed lonely downstairs in the library on my own, whereas it is warm and cosy up here with you.’

Ellie stilled at this unexpected admission from a gentleman who gave the clear impression that he had never needed anyone’s company but his own. ‘Why is it that you think your mother and the dowager are avoiding your company?’