He perched on the edge of the bed and took his mother’s hand in both of his, an attempt to show her that all was well. “How do you feel this morning? Will you come downstairs for breakfast?”
The Dowager Duchess managed a small smile. “I think I’d rather rest up here a while.”
Leonard nodded. “I’ll have some food brought up for you.”
He held the silence for a moment. Though he longed to question his mother about the things he had learned that day, he knew how difficult the ordeal had been for her. Knew she would speak of it when she was ready.
Finally, she drew in her breath. “You must be so ashamed of me.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
Leonard frowned. “Ashamed? No, Mother. I’m not ashamed.”
She sniffed. “How can you not be? And how can you not be angry with me for keeping this from you?”
Leonard didn’t speak at once. “I understand why you didn’t tell me.”
A tear slid down his mother’s cheek. “I wanted to,” she admitted. “I wanted to tell you so many times. I wanted to tell you that you had a brother out there.”
Leonard lowered his eyes, feeling a faint ache in his chest.
A brother I will never know. A brother so cruelly taken from us…
He squeezed his mother’s hand. “Tell me what happened.”
“I was so young,” she said. “And I was in love. I was foolish.”
Leonard managed a smile. “Love can make you behave in foolish ways.”
The Dowager Duchess nodded sadly. “I wanted to keep the child. But my brother convinced me giving him up was for the best. I knew he was right. I knew that, without my family’s support, I would never be able to give him the life he deserved.” A fresh rush of tears followed. “The nuns at the convent promised me they had found him a loving family. A noble family.”
“And you sent him away with your embroidered handkerchief,” Leonard finished.
The Dowager Duchess nodded. “I knew he would never know who I was. But I wanted him to have a piece of me. Something of mine to carry with him so he knew I loved him.” She wiped at a tear as it slid down her cheek.
“My letters,” she said. “There’s a box of them. There are many letters my brother wrote me, urging me to be strong. Telling me I had done the right thing. For both myself and my child.” She lowered her eyes. “I hid the box in the stables so you wouldn’t find it.” She squeezed his hands. “But I want no more secrets between us, Leonard. If you wish to read them, then you shall.”
He shook his head. “No, Mother. I don’t wish to read them. They are yours. I’ll not go reading your private correspondence.”
After a moment, she dared to look up at Leonard. “My son. Is he…” She faded out. “Was Lord Chilson telling the truth?”
The ache in his chest intensified. “Yes, Mother. Lord Averton was killed. Three years ago. I’m so sorry.”
The Dowager Duchess pressed a hand to her mouth to stop a cry from escaping.
Leonard wrapped his arms around her. “Truly, Mother. I’m so terribly sorry.”
His mother clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulder. “I never ought to have given him up,” she sobbed. “If I had kept him, we would likely have been out on the streets, but at least then he would never…” She faded out, unable to finish the sentence.
Leonard kissed the side of her head. “I’m sorry,” he said again, unsure what else to say.
The Dowager Duchess sat back and looked at him with watery eyes. “Please forgive me,” she said, her voice thin. “Forgive me for keeping things from you. I was just so afraid you would think badly of me, I…” She wiped her eyes. “And I’m so sorry I let myself be manipulated by the Viscount. I’m so sorry I forced you to get involved with that monster. I’ve already lost one son at his hands, and I almost lost two.”
Leonard sat back and took his mother’s hands, looking her in the eye. “Mother,” he said gently, “you’ve nothing to be sorry about. I don’t for a moment wish you’d not gotten involved with the Viscount.” He gave her a small smile. “It led me to the lady I love.”
* * *
Deborah slid the loose pages back inside Edith’s diary and closed the cover. On her return home, her mother had handed her the loose pages Mrs. Barton had given her, warning her of their brutal nature.
It had taken Deborah some time to read them.
Exhausted and emotional, she had gone to sleep the previous night with the pages clutched in her fist, unable to bring herself to begin reading. But that morning, she had awoken and known it was time. This was the truth. It was what she had been searching for. She needed to know it all, however brutal.
She had read Edith’s words with tears flowing down her cheeks, but when she had reached the end, she felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She knew it all now. She understood. And now she and Leonard could live their lives in peace, without being haunted by questions.
She slid the notebook into her desk drawer. She had debated with herself whether to keep the thing. The truth had been so dreadful that a part of her had longed to fling the book into the fire. But no. She needed that connection to her sister. Needed to honor Edith by keeping her words intact.
In the afternoon, she went to the home of Annie Barnes, Edith’s former lady’s maid. Told her everything she had uncovered about the Viscount and Lord Averton’s death. Annie sat at the table, listening in silence, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Deborah reached over and gripped her hands. “You know none of this was your fault, don’t you?”
Annie nodded tearfully. “I know, Miss. I just wish there was something I could have done to help her. I wish she had told me what was happening.”
Yes, I wish that, too. I wish that more than anything.
And now, with the sun low in the sky and her breath pluming out silver in front of her, she stood beside Edith’s grave, a bouquet of autumn flowers in her arms.
Soon, she would no longer be able to just slip out of the house to visit her sister’s resting place. Soon, she would be the Duchess of Tarsington, and the Chilson manor would be sold.
Deborah had discussed the matter with her mother at length. The Viscountess had no desire to stay in the house without her husband and children. Had no desire to live alone in a place so drenched with bad memories. Deborah would take her mother with her to the Tarsington’s manor, leaving her childhood home to fall into another family’s hands. The thought of it brought her no sadness. She would be glad to see this place go.
Deborah lay the flowers by Edith’s grave. She knelt on the damp grass, running a finger over the neatly engraved letters on the headstone. Might she have been able to change things if Edith had told her all that had happened?
Perhaps not. Certainly, she could not have prevented Lord Averton’s death. But perhaps she might have prevented her sister from going to the study and taking their father’s pistol from the drawer. Might have prevented her from pulling the trigger and ending her life.
Deborah hugged her knees, feeling the damp earth soaking through her skirts. She hoped her sister was at peace. Hoped she was with the gentleman she loved.
“Miss Wilds?” She turned at the sound of Sarah’s voice.
Her lady’s maid was standing at the edge of the graveyard, Leonard beside her. She smiled at the sight of him.
“May I join you?” he asked.
“Of course.”
She climbed to her feet as Leonard made his way into the cemetery. He stood close and slid an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into him.
“How do you feel?” he asked gently, planting a kiss in her hair.
Deborah didn’t answer at once.
How do I feel?
She knew she was yet to fully make sense of all that had happened.
“I feel better now you’re here,” she said finally, intertwining her fingers through his. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her eyes fixed to Edith’s headstone. “Do you
think they’re at peace?” she asked. “My sister? Your brother?”
Leonard gave a faint smile, his hand running up and down her arm. “I’d like to think so.” He paused for a moment. “Stevens told me where Lord Averton is buried. Do you wish to know?”
Deborah didn’t speak at once. She looked downwards, and Leonard could see her eyes glistening.
“Yes,” she said finally, her voice husky. “I should like to say goodbye.”
Leonard squeezed her hand, nodding. “He is buried on the edge of his land. Close to the forest. Perhaps we might go together once you’re feeling stronger.”
Deborah managed a tiny smile. “I would like that,” she said. She had her head on the pillow. “Edith wrote nothing of Lord Averton being adopted in his diary. Do you think perhaps he kept it a secret from her?”
Leonard didn’t speak at once. “There would have been those in the ton who resented an adopted son inheriting his father’s title. I’m sure they would have kept it a secret from as many people as possible.”
Deborah ran her finger over the curve of Leonard’s thumbnail. “I like to think he told Edith. I know it wouldn’t have fazed her. She would have loved him regardless.”
Leonard smiled, nodded. “Perhaps he did. And she sought to keep his secret by refraining from writing it in her diary.”
After a moment, Deborah asked, “How is your mother?”
“Recovering from her ordeal. I know it will take some time, but I’m sure she will be just fine.” He smiled. “After all, she has a wedding to look forward to.”
“The wedding,” Deborah breathed. “Yes.” She glanced down at her muddy skirts, felt her tangled hair whipping against her cheeks. “I don’t think I quite look the part of a duchess just yet.”
Leonard smiled, his lips trailing kisses up her neck, sparking flares of desire inside her. She turned her head to meet his lips with her own.
“You are a perfect duchess,” he told her, pulling away too quickly and leaving Deborah breathless with longing. He squeezed her hands. “I’ve a surprise for you.”
“What kind of surprise?”
He grinned. “Come inside. You’ll see.”
Deborah cast one final glance to her sister’s resting place, then trudged back across the muddy grounds with Leonard’s arm around her shoulder. His fingers moved up and down her arm as they walked.
They made their way into the parlor where Deborah’s mother was waiting. In the armchair beside her sat their old housekeeper. She stood at the sight of Deborah and Leonard.
“Mrs. Barton!” Deborah rushed forward and clutched the old woman’s hands. “I thought you had left! I thought…”
I thought my father had scared you away.
Mrs. Barton smiled, creases appearing in the corner of her eyes. “For a while, I thought I had no choice. I was afraid of what your father might do.” She glanced at the Viscountess. “But your mother is most persistent. She sent her lady’s maid out to find me. Assured me Lord Chilson was not coming back.”
Deborah smiled. “I’m so glad to see you!” She met Mrs. Barton’s eyes. “It was you who gave me Edith’s diary that night, wasn’t it? It was you who had it all along.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Barton looked down. “The day your sister died, I went to her bedchamber. Annie had left her handkerchief in there and the poor girl was too distraught to fetch it herself. Edith had left her diary open on her desk. I couldn’t help but read what she had written. Needless to say, the things she accused your father of were shocking.”
She sighed heavily. “I knew at once what a terrible impact it would have on your family. Edith wrote in her diary that she did not want you to know who your father truly was, because it would cause you to live in fear. I felt that by taking the diary and hiding it away, I was doing the right thing. I thought I was doing what your sister would have wanted.” She shook her head slowly. “Over time, I came to realize what a mistake I had made. I saw the way the search for the truth was tearing you and your mother apart.”
“So you put the diary on the end of the bed,” Deborah finished.
Mrs. Barton nodded. “After you told me you had begun to search for answers again, I knew I had to give it to you.”
Deborah frowned. “What of the missing pages? Was that your doing?”
Mrs. Barton knotted her fingers together. “I’m sorry to say it was.” She looked up at Deborah imploringly. “Please forgive me, Miss Wilds. I never meant to keep things from you. Having read the diary, I knew just how dangerous your father could be. I feared for your safety if you knew the things Lord Chilson had done.” She swallowed hard. “And I feared for my own safety.” She looked between Deborah and Leonard. “I wanted the two of you to know that Edith’s death was nothing to do with her betrothal. I didn’t want you to spend your life feeling responsible, Your Grace.”
Leonard gave a short nod.
“But you didn’t want me to know the things my father had done,” Deborah said.
Mrs. Barton nodded. “I’m so sorry, Miss Wilds. I thought it was safer that way.”
“Why did you change your mind?” Deborah asked finally. “You gave my mother the missing pages. Why?”
“The moment your mother told me you had gone to London so suddenly, I became suspicious,” Mrs. Barton told her. “I knew such a thing was not like you. And I knew there was no chance you would have left without informing His Grace. I knew it had come to a point where the truth had to be told. No matter what that meant for me.”
Deborah squeezed the housekeeper’s wrinkled hands. “Your doing so saved my life, Mrs. Barton. If it weren’t for you risking your own safety to give my mother those pages, everyone would have continued to assume I was in London.” She eyed Leonard. “Well, perhaps not everyone.” She flashed him a small smile, then looked back to Mrs. Barton. “Where will you go now? The Chilson manor is to be sold.”
Leonard grinned, pressing a hand to Deborah’s shoulder. “I’ve asked Mrs. Barton to come and work for us.”
Deborah’s eyebrows shot up. “You have? That’s wonderful!” She looked back at the housekeeper. “You have accepted, I hope?”
Mrs. Barton chuckled. “Of course. Nothing would make me happier.”
With Mrs. Barton and her mother engrossed in conversation, Deborah walked Leonard to the door.
“Thank you,” she said. “For Mrs. Barton.” She smiled up at him. “Thank you for everything. For knowing I was in trouble. For coming to save me.”
He slid his arms around her, pulling her close so her hips pressed hard against him. She felt suddenly breathless with desire.
Just a few short weeks and we will be husband and wife…
“I ought to be thanking you,” he said, his voice low. “For uncovering the truth about your sister’s death. For doing all you could to let me know I had no part in it.” He held his lips against hers for a long moment. “I love you,” he murmured.
Deborah felt a rush of heat flood her. “I love you, too.” She rested her head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of him. They stood motionless in the doorway, neither able to bring themselves to let go.
Epilogue
Deborah stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedchamber, staring at her glittering reflection. Her wedding gown was even more beautiful than she had imagined it would be when she had stood in the seamstress’s parlor and had the woman pin up the hem.
She took a deep breath. When she had imagined her wedding day as a child, it had looked nothing like this. In the wedding she had imagined as a child, her sister had been standing there beside her, her father had been walking her down the aisle. Neither of those things, of course, would be happening today.
But Deborah had also never dared imagine that she might be lucky enough to marry someone she was so dizzyingly in love with. Had never dared imagine she might be so breathless with anticipation for their wedding night, so joyful at the thought of their life together that lay ahead. With Leonard by her side, Deborah knew she c
ould handle anything.
She turned at the faint knock at the door. Her mother peeked into the room.
“Sarah told me you were ready.”
Deborah smiled. “Come in, Mother.”
Lady Chilson slipped into the room and let out her breath. “Oh my dear,” she gushed, “you look so beautiful. His Grace will be beside himself when he sees you.” She stood behind her daughter, pressing her hands to Deborah’s shoulders. “How do you feel?”
Deborah smiled at her reflection. “Excited. Happy. At peace.”
Guilty Pleasures 0f A Bluestocking (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 27
