Page 78 of Gentleman Jim

“It begins to seem to me, sir, that as a female, there’s nothing I can do that won’t bring public censure down on my head.” The unfairness of it all chafed at Maggie’s soul.

Mr. Entwhistle set his teacup and saucer on the tray. He threaded his fingers, resting them on his slim midsection. “I would advise you to try and see it the way the outside world has come to see it. You, inside that great house for years on end. Yes, yes. I know it was illness, and then mourning your father and aunt. But to everyone else it seems that you’ve long been an invalid. Someone too frail and weak to be taxed with the management of such a great estate.”

She stared at him. “Is that what you believe?”

“What I believe, ma’am, is that your father—God rest his soul—should have never let that Seaton woman come to Beasley Park. If not for nursing her, you would still have your health, and perhaps be in a position to maintain a more tangible hold on the estate. I did warn Squire Honeywell. For such a creature to come here, in her wretched condition, and spouting such fanciful tales—”

Maggie’s body jerked to attention. “Tales? What tales?”

“Eh?” Mr. Entwhistle blinked at her. He seemed to have lost his train of thought.

“Jenny Seaton,” she reminded him. “You said she came to Beasley Park spouting tales.”

“Ah, that old yarn.” He rubbed the side of his face. “I only heard it secondhand, mind you. And a woman like that will make up all manner of things to excuse her conduct, especially when that conduct results in—”

“Yes, yes, I shall take it with a grain of salt. Only tell me what it is you heard.”

Mr. Entwhistle’s expression turned weary. “It’s a tale as old as the hills, Miss Honeywell. She claimed to have thought herself married to the fellow who left her in that condition. That it was only later—far too late to rid herself of her sinful burden—that she discovered it had all been a wicked trick on the fellow’s part.” He shook his head. “An improbable story. One that conveniently absolved her of any guilt in the matter.”

Maggie looked at him in disbelief. She’d never before heard any such thing. Not from her father or anyone. Could it be true? Had Gentleman Jim truly convinced Jenny Seaton that the two of them were married?

But how?

And to what end?

St. Clare had said that his late father had been fond of ill-conceived pranks, but to trick a young woman into a sham marriage? And why would he need to? It couldn’t have been in order to have his way with her. Jenny was already plying her trade in Market Barrow. Her favors would have come cheaply enough. Marriage wasn’t at all required. Unless…

Had Gentleman Jim known Jenny was with child?

The possibility struck Maggie like a lightning bolt.

It would certainly explain why Jenny had felt such animosity toward her child. If she believed Nicholas to have been responsible for inspiring such a trick—if she blamed him for driving away her lover—it would be natural for her to resent him.

But even if Gentleman Jim had known, why bother with a fake marriage? Why not simply abandon Jenny full stop? He was already escaping to the continent to avoid the noose. Escaping the burden of a pregnant mistress was minor in comparison.

Surely, he wouldn’t have toyed with her merely for his own amusement? A prank was one thing, but to convince the woman who was carrying your child that the two of you had married—that the child’s name was secure…

That was no masculine prank. It was an outright cruelty.

And it made no sense at all.

“You claim you heard this tale secondhand,” Maggie said. “Who told it to you?”

“Why, it was Squire Honeywell. He mentioned it not long after Miss Seaton arrived at the Park. I warned him that girls in that sort of trouble often conjured outrageous fictions out of whole cloth. He knew it to be true. But he was a big-hearted man, your father.” Mr. Entwhistle’s mouth dropped into a frown. “He came to regret that kindness after you took ill.”

“That wasn’t Jenny’s fault. It was mine. I’m the one who insisted on nursing her during her final days.” She’d spent endless hours seated beside Jenny’s cot. She’d held her hand and sponged her brow. Had listened to her ravings about Nicholas and Father Tuck.

A priest, Maggie had thought. Someone to whom Jenny wished to confess. But what if…

What if…

Maggie’s lungs seized on a breath. All at once, the small parlor felt even smaller. She forced herself to breathe.

Mr. Entwhistle rose. “Are you all right, Miss Honeywell?”

She waved him back. “Fine. Perfectly fine. I need a little air, that’s all.”

He put a hand under her elbow, assisting her to her feet. “I’ll have the gig readied. Thomas can drive you back to the Park.” He turned to go but Maggie forestalled him.