The Memory of Your Kiss
Page 18
“Major Quintin. I had heard of your return. May I present my mother-in-law, the Dowager Baroness Ryesdale?”
Zachary bowed toward the black-clad dowager, who merely inclined her head in a haughty nod. “I am honored, my lady,” he said.
“You have a particular message for me, sir?” Lady Ryesdale asked as she gestured to a chair for him.
He remained standing. “Not a message exactly, but a matter I should like to discuss with you. Might I have a word with you in private?” he asked in a tone that would have been quite effective in a military setting.
“But of course,” Lady Ryesdale said in what Zachary thought might be false brightness. “Mother Ryesdale? Will you excuse us?”
“Well, I never—” the woman huffed as she rose and lifted both her chins. “I shall be just in the next room.”
The dowager left the door ajar, but Lady Ryesdale closed it firmly. Perhaps not so intimidated after all, Zachary thought. Lady Ryesdale again gestured for him to be seated and she took a chair near his.
“I assume you have some business to do with Henry?” she said quietly. “He assured me that I might trust your judgment.”
Zachary liked that she made no pretense of dissembling about possible reasons for his visit. “Yes. As you undoubtedly know, I am guardian of both Henry’s sons.” Lady Ryesdale was not the only one who could speak frankly, but, like her, he also spoke in a subdued tone. “I should like to know if you are satisfied with the arrangements made for your son.”
“I—I have not seen William in over five months.”
“Five months? Five months? Why?”
“When Henry was alive, it was easier.” There were unshed tears in her eyes. “He would have William brought to an inn in Richmond and we would drive down to visit him for a few hours.”
“But now?”
“The dowager and George, the elder of her two younger sons, have forbidden me to see him. Punishment, you see.”
“Punishment for having that baby?” Zachary asked.
“For that—and for the fact that their precious Ralph had to leave England. It was my fault, of course, that he was half drunk and challenged Henry to a duel.” Her tone was bitter and her voice became a bit wobbly. “George and his mother have decided that if I have anything at all to do with William, I will be forbidden any association with James—the Ryesdale heir, you know—and, at only six years, he is hardly more than a baby himself. Imagine forcing a mother to choose between her children.”
“They can do this?” Zachary asked in wonder.
“George was named guardian when Ryesdale had to be put in the asylum.”
“I know it is legal,” Zachary said. “I just wonder that people can bring themselves to do it.”
She shrugged. “I am no longer surprised at what people can do in the name of Christian morality.”
“I am so sorry, my lady,” he said. “I think Henry feared such a turn. To your knowledge, is William well cared for?”
“His physical needs are satisfied—but he needs to be loved, too. He needs to know I love him. That his father loved him.” Her tears spilled over.
Zachary stood and, still keeping his voice modulated so it would not to be heard beyond that closed door, he said, “Lady Ryesdale, I make no promises at this point, but I shall try to bring William to London so that you have at least an occasional opportunity to see him.”
“Truly? You would do that?” Hope shone through her tears as she, too, rose. She fished a handkerchief out of a pocket, and wiped her cheeks.
He held up a hand. “I shall try.”
He had barely stepped into the foyer when he heard that other door snap open and the dowager’s querulous voice demanding, “What did he want?”
“Something pertaining to a girl I knew at school. Apparently his brother has formed an unsuitable attachment.”
Zachary smiled at the Lady Louisa’s quickly fabricated lie.
The next day Zachary journeyed alone to a village in Surrey, where he located the vicar into whose care Henry’s William David has been consigned. The man served a rather poor parish and made ends meet by boarding and tutoring young boys while his wife looked after four infants in addition to her own brood of five young children ranging in age from a few months to eight years.
Zachary found the situation as Lady Ryesdale had described it. He had intentionally arrived unannounced, but he discovered the child William to be clean, well fed, and adequately cared for. Recalling his own limited experience in caring for one child after leaving the Ramirez compound, Zachary could only marvel at the couple’s handling such a large household, even with their two servants to help.
He introduced himself to the vicar, a Mr. Milton, who cordially welcomed him and readily called for his wife to produce the fifteen-month-old toddler, William. She arrived with the child on her hip, but struggling to be let down. Zachary could not help smiling at the brown-haired, blue-eyed baby who certainly did remind one of his father.
“He’s a very active little boy,” Mrs. Milton said with a laugh. She set him down and he promptly made for the coal bucket near the fireplace. “Oh, no. You do not want that, young William.” She grabbed him up and, sitting on a straight-backed wooden chair, pulled the child onto her lap.
“I must admit,” the vicar said, “that we have wondered about the lad’s connections. We knew of his father’s passing, of course, and we continued to receive compensation for his care, but—” His voice trailed off.
Zachary explained that he had been in the Peninsula, but that he was now able to see to his responsibilities as the child’s guardian. “I hope it will not prove an inconvenience to you if I should remove him to London.”
“We shall miss him, I’m sure,” the vicar said, “but there are always children like young William here who need a home and who have relatives willing to pay for their care.”
Rich people able and willing to farm out their by-blows away from society’s offended eyes, Zachary thought. It occurred to him that that could have been Lucas’s fate had Zachary not returned to Spain when he had. This thought was downright frightening.
Two days later he still had not come up with a solution to the problem of young William. The truth was he had not yet settled on what to do about his own child. For the time being he was well cared for in the elder Quintins’ household. Zachary’s mother had seen immediately to the hiring of a nursery maid for her grandson—once she recovered from the shock of his existence.
On returning to England, despite being eager to see his family, Zachary had, along with Gordon, McIntyre, O’Brien, and Lucas, spent a day and a night in an out-of-the-way coaching inn on the outskirts of London before showing up at his parents’ house. After booking rooms for his travel companions and a bed-sitting room for himself and Lucas, Zachary had asked McIntyre and Gordon to go into the city to locate and return with Harrelson and Richardson. These two were duly informed of the plan to protect the name of the baby Lucas, and Zachary was gratified, but not surprised, that they readily fell in with the secret marriage story.
“We are just glad we can now talk about it freely,” Richardson said with a wink. “I suppose the peer will be none too pleased when he hears his fair-haired boy defied an official army edict, but at this point, what can he do?”
Zachary sat on a couch with Lucas on his lap. “If we keep as close as possible to the truth, there should be no slip-ups. And I am sure that one day Lucas will be as grateful to you as I am, won’t you, my son?”
The baby smiled and rattled off a few unintelligible syllables.
The men all grinned at him foolishly, then Richardson added, “I must say, Quintin, you could not deny this one even if you were so inclined.”
Harrelson pulled a watch from a pocket. “You know, Adam, if we left within the hour, we could make it back to town in time to make it to a couple of clubs and begin to circulate this story—or at least hint at it.”
“Just don’t do it too brown,” Zachary warned.
“We shall announce ourselves, Thomas,” Zachary said to the footman. “You see to O’Brien here. And see that we are not disturbed in the breakfast room.”
“Yes, sir.”
Holding Lucas close, Zachary strolled into the breakfast room to the familiar scene of his father behind a newspaper and his mother, her back to the door, sorting through the morning mail.
Sensing the door opening, she said, “Thomas, did I not hear the door knocker? Who in the world would call at this hour?”
“I don’t know, my lady. Who?” Zachary asked.
His mother whipped around, her eyes widening. “Zachary!” she gasped and half rose from her chair, then caught sight of the baby in his arms. She paled and put a hand to her breast. “Oh. Oh, my goodness gracious.”
His father, responding to his wife’s outburst, looked over the edge of his newspaper and abruptly set it aside. “Oh, I say. This is a surprise.”
“Rather,” his wife said faintly, but she quickly rose and addressed her son. “Good heavens. Why did you not write us?”
Zachary closed the door to the breakfast room. He leaned awkwardly to kiss his mother’s cheek and gestured for her to sit again as he took a chair at the table with Lucas on his lap. “This is Lucas, your youngest grandson.”
“I can see that,” his mother said. “He is the very image of you as a baby. But why—? Who—? Where is his mother?”
Zachary’s father frowned. “I say, son, this is most unusual.”
“Yes, Father, it is. But you know from your years in India that a war is likely to produce some very unusual—even bizarre—circumstances.”
Lucas began to squirm, so Zachary reached for a piece of bread and broke a bit to hand to the baby. Zachary was aware of his mother’s watching this action with surprised interest.
“Mother. Father. I shall give you the truth, but I must have your solemn word that it does not go beyond this room. Not Mary, not Julia, nor the boys. Only you.”
His parents exchanged a look, then spoke in unison. “All right, son.”
As succinctly as he could, he explained the circumstances of his relationship with Elena. When he finished, his parents sat in silence for a few minutes, his mother with tears in her eyes. The only sound in the room was baby Lucas, prattling.
“Did you love her?” his mother asked softly. Zachary knew the question came from his parents’ own history: The Lady Leanora had given up much to marry her heart’s choice.
“I think so,” he answered honestly. “She was fun, exciting, and we got on well together. I certainly returned to Spain for her. Elena and I would have married. I would have brought my wife and son home to England.”
“Well, that is good enough for me,” Horatio Quintin said. “I shall tolerate no untoward talk about my grandson.”
“There is sure to be talk,” the practical Lady Leanora said, “but I have no doubt we can quell it. Now—let me hold this baby.”
Zachary breathed a sigh of relief as he handed over his son and listened to his parents reveling over how beautiful, how alert, how active, and how smart he was. He had never truly doubted their acceptance, but he had, nevertheless, been apprehensive.
Prior to his meeting with Sydney, Zachary thought it prudent to learn what he could about the Countess of Paxton. With this in mind, he called on Lord Nathan Thornton and his bride, the lovely Lady Allyson. Nathan, younger son of the Duke of Halstead, had distinguished himself in the last year by helping to uncover a French spy. Zachary thought that eventually he would dearly love to hear all of that story, but for now there was the more pressing issue of his guardianship of all things Paxton.
Lord Nathan and Lady Allyson received him in a family sitting room in Rutherford House, home of her parents. The couple occupied a settee covered in rich blue and silver brocade. Zachary sat in a dark blue upholstered chair nearby.
“We are still looking for a place of our own,” Lady Allyson explained. “Papa and Mama are in the country at the moment, so we are rattling around here by ourselves.”
“By ourselves—with a staff of twenty or so,” her husband said.
“I have come on a specific mission, my lady,” Zachary began.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Zachary. Don’t you dare carry on with that ‘my lady’ and ‘my lord’ business with us! It is Allyson and Nathan.” She looked to her husband for confirmation.
He merely shrugged. “It’s easier to let her have her way.”
Allyson ignored him and said, “Your mission, Zachary?”
“I should like to know about your friend Lady Paxton.”
“Sydney? Why? Are you interested?”
Nathan shook his head. “My wife is a typical woman. She thinks every eligible male needs to be leg-shackled.”
“No, it is not like that at all—” Zachary started.
Allyson interrupted. “Oh, I am sorry, Zachary. I quite forgot that story Adam Richardson—Viscount Kirkly—was telling at Almack’s last night. It is true then? A secret marriage?”
Zachary nodded. He hated lying to these two, but already too many people knew the real story. “About your friend—” he prompted.
“What would you like to know? And why?”
“You know her late husband was my cousin?”
“Yes, of course I knew that. So—”
“So I am trustee of the entire Paxton estate—and guardian of the very young current earl.”
“Oh, my goodness. I did not know that.” Allyson was quiet for a moment and Zachary wondered how much she was editing what she might tell him. She shrugged and looked at Zachary directly. “Well. Sydney is a very bright, very capable woman.”
“Not unlike her friend here,” Nathan said, patting his wife’s hand.
“Yes, I know that,” Zachary replied. “I knew her briefly in Bath before she and Henry were married.”
“Then you must know she is a very generous and caring person who will not hesitate to help others.”
“Allyson,” her husband admonished, “stop beating about the bush. Tell him about you and Sydney and the Fairfax sisters.” Nathan turned to Zachary. “My wife and Lady Paxton are the principal patrons of the Fairfax sisters and their charity work.”
“We help out now and then,” Allyson said.
Her husband snorted. “Now there is an understatement if I ever heard one.”
“What sort of charity work?” Zachary asked.
“Helping abandoned women and children, mostly,” Allyson said.
“Rescuing street urchins,” Nathan added, and somewhat to his wife’s embarrassment proceeded to relate the story of the boy Walter.
Zachary could not help smiling. “That sounds like the Sydney I knew in Bath.” If the others noticed his use of Sydney’s given name, they politely overlooked it. He hurried on. “Do the Fairfax women take in these women and children on a permanent basis, then?”
“Sometimes,” Allyson answered. “Most often they attempt to find homes for the children or positions for the women. Older boys are often apprenticed to tradesmen.”
“You approve your wife’s involvement in such matters?” Zachary asked Nathan. He knew immediately he had said the wrong thing, for Allyson sat straighter and had a challenging glint in her eyes.
Nathan chuckled. “As I said earlier, it is much easier to let her have her own way.”
“ ‘Let her’?” Allyson glared at her husband.
“Anyway, they do good work,” Nathan said.
Zachary took his leave soon after that. So Sydney, the rescuing angel of Bath, had turned into the crusading Countess of Paxton. He wondered what sort of social censure might come with that role. Something to ask his mother.
&nb
sp; CHAPTER 19
Sydney sat at the huge oak desk in the Paxton House library, going over the account books yet again as she waited for the arrival of Major Quintin. She was nervous. She knew the major could find little fault with the accounts of the vast Paxton enterprises, for most showed modest or comfortable margins of profit, but how closely might he look at individual entries?
A knock at the library door heralded his arrival. But instead of ushering in Major Quintin, Roberts, the butler, bore a tray with a letter.
“This just came by special messenger, my lady.”
“Thank you, Mr. Roberts.”
Her immediate thought was that Major Quintin was postponing their meeting. Drat the man! She had been in a fret ever since that brief meeting in the theatre and he would make her wait even longer?
The message was not from Major Quintin, but from Viscount Hoffman. Since Henry’s funeral, she had seen Lord Hoffman perhaps three times as they happened to be at some crowded social gathering at the same time. She felt her brow wrinkle in wonder and quickly read the missive.
My dear Lady Paxton,
I have just learned some news that may be of particular interest to you, given Henry’s antipathy to Percival Laughton. Last year we knew Percival Laughton to be on the continent as part of the entourage of the Princess of Wales. To be precise, he was said to be in Italy. As you know, the princess has returned to England (much to her husband’s dismay), and apparently Mr. Laughton has as well.
To my knowledge, he has not yet shown himself in London, and I think I would have heard if he had. I am under the impression that he is rusticating at his family seat in Derbyshire for the nonce, trying to recoup his finances a bit. However, Percival Laughton is unlikely to remove himself from London for long, especially in these days of high celebration of Bonaparte’s defeat.
Henry was quite concerned—and not without cause—that this rather unsavory relative might try to take advantage of you and your son. If I may be of any assistance to you, please feel free to call upon me.