“I have heard rumors,” Clem admitted.
“From where?” the marquis demanded and released his aunt’s hand. “From whom?”
She sucked in a breath, eyes wide. Gone was any softness or boyishness. This matter rankled him deeply it seemed. Jaw set, eyes dark, shoulders stiff, if she knew the source of her gossip, she would be fearful indeed.
“I have heard murmurings that is all.” She swallowed. “I could not say from where or from whom.”
A hiss of breath escaped him. “Damn it all.”
“Language!” his aunt scolded at the same time Clem said, “You should not curse.”
He looked between them both, gave a brief shake of his head, and sank onto the nearby dressing table chair. An elbow propped upon the arm, fingers pressed to his forehead with a resigned expression. “Tell the tale then, Aunt.”
Clem flexed her fingers at her side. So great was the weight upon those strong shoulders, the need to soothe some of it away made her twitch. She could massage his shoulders perhaps, or run her fingers through his hair in a soothing manner.
With no mother to love him for most of his life, she rather suspected his only affection had come from Mary, which explained why he softened around her. She had only met the late marquis on two occasions, but he was a stern, fearsome man who never smiled and according to her father, refused to hold the most basic of conversations with a Musgrave, even before their scandalous Season.
But it wasn’t her fault he had an awful father or that he had taken on that burden. She shouldn’t feel sorry for him. He could do that all by himself.
“I do not know how comprehensive your studies were, Lady Clementine,” Mary said, “but I am assuming you know the tale of our monarch Henry VIII.”
Clem nodded. Her education had been comprehensive indeed, considering her father had come into his wealth before she was born, and she always kept it topped up by way of reading. Who could not wish to read about the ruler who had married so many times?
“It is a similar tale of great love and a woman forced to marry a man she did not wish to.” Mary patted the bed and Clem sank next to her.
Though Clem did not consider herself a particularly romantic woman, she adored a story of love. She needed no invite to sit and listen.
“It’s a tale of treachery.”
Clem did not bother to look Lord Rochdale’s way. Of course the man could not understand the story of a great love.
“Not long after Henry’s reign, one of our ancestors started a love affair with a princess. Her marriage to a prince was arranged and an unhappy and childless one. When she was unable to conceive an heir, she was sent away to the country. And that’s when she met Thomas.”
Lord Rochdale sighed. “I’m sure Lady Clementine does not need to know every sordid detail.”
“Well, anyway, they began a love affair and even planned to run away together. However, it was rumored she conceived a child—whether this is true we do not know—and her husband found out. She was forced to return to him.”
“Aunt Mary,” Lord Rochdale pressed. “If we are to get to the end of this tale, perhaps Lady Clementine does not need a history lesson.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Anyway, Thomas was stripped of his lands and titles, banished to live the life of a pauper forevermore.”
Clem shook her head. “It is quite a tale but what does it have to do with someone trying to get into your dressing table?”
“Well that, my dear, is where I once kept the letter.”
A groan came from the corner of the room and Lord Rochdale pressed his elbows to his knees and leaned forward. “Letter?”
Mary sighed. “It was about a great love.”
“It is about treachery and scandal,” he retorted.
“It is an important part of our family history,” his aunt returned.
Clem looked between the two, spying the same determined look in Lord Rochdale’s eyes as his aunt’s. She held up two hands, feeling as though she was trying to split up two fighting rams. “Will someone please tell me what exactly this letter was?”
∞∞∞
At this rate the temptation to put a hand to his head and declare he had a devastating headache and needed to go lie down like some swooning delicate lady warred fiercely within Roman. It was either that or carry Lady Clementine over his shoulder and firmly away from this mess as he should have done in the first place. Alas, his aunt would have something to say on the matter.