“So Susan knows you’re here?” she countered, shock apparent on her features.
Shaking his head, Will said, “She was quite clear that you wouldn’t be providing a tumble, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he countered quickly, hoping she didn’t think him capable of taking her against her will.
Barbara relaxed a bit. “She’s made overtures—”
“I can imagine,” Will replied with an arched eyebrow.
Closing her eyes, Barbara shook her head. “I assure you, I have been with no other man but you. And I have no intention of allowing any man into my bed, such as it is. You included,” she added with a finger pointed into his chest.
Will felt the tip of her fingernail as it left a half-moon indentation in his skin. “Barbara,” he whispered in reply, disappointment evident in his voice.
“I mean it, Bellingham. I...” She stilled and turned to face the small bed. “Take your leave of me and never return,” she whispered. “Please.”
A sense of dread filled Will at that moment. How could she simply send him away? Deny him the opportunity to renew their acquaintance? Deny him the opportunity to ask for her hand in marriage? She was obviously as poor in coin as she was in spirit. She needed his protection. She needed his funds.
She needed his love.
Couldn’t she see that?
“Why are you turning me away?” he asked in a whisper, his voice catching on the last word. He could tell by how her shoulders shook that she was weeping. One of her hands had already lifted to her face, probably to wipe away her tears. “You came to me. You pledged your love to me. You said you would wait...” Will allowed the words to trail off as he considered what to do. He couldn’t leave her. A few more weeks and she and the boy would probably die of starvation if illness didn’t take them first.
He leaned over and placed a kiss on her back of her shoulder. “Please, don’t do this,” he murmured before raising his head. When she didn’t reply, Will took his leave of the room and shut the door.
Barbara stared at the closed door for nearly a minute before she sighed, her body shaking with a sob.
What have I done?
What I had to do, she reasoned. For ever since Will Slater had left her nearly eight years ago, she had learned to despise him for having left her, for his broken promises, his lack of communication.
Oh, there had been a few letters at first. Letters proclaiming his undying love and devotion. His assurances that he would see her again soon. His words of how he envisioned their future in London.
And then... nothing.
No more letters arrived at Pendleton House. No letters were forwarded to her in Oxfordshire.
Nothing.
It was as if he had fallen off the face of the earth.
And maybe he had. Perhaps his ship had been shot full of cannon balls from a French frigate, or set afire by vengeful pirates, or he had contracted some awful disease and perished at sea. Barbara had no idea what could have happened. And wasn’t that the problem with loving someone who had gone to sea intending to serve King and Country?
Damn him.
Damn him and the British Navy. Damn Whitehall. Damn Napoleon and Admiral Nelson and anyone else who had kept Will Slater from returning to London. From staying with her when she needed him most.
From being with her when she bore his son, screaming and in more pain than she ever thought possible.
Thank goodness Susan had come to call, come because she wanted the company of another woman that afternoon. The older woman helped deliver the squalling infant who had caused her banishment from her life in London.
She owed Susan. And she hated owing someone when there was nothing she could afford to offer in return.
Barbara nearly fell onto her bed, exhaustion sending her into a restless slumber. Although she thought she heard the sounds of dishes being washed just outside her door, she allowed sleep to take her completely.
Chapter 20
Taking Stock of a Poor Situation
Will sighed as he regarded the interior of the ramshackle cottage. How can anyone live in such a poor excuse for a home? he wondered as he moved to see to the dinner dishes. He turned down the flame on the stove, hoping there was enough wood to keep it alight the rest of the night. A quick perusal of the hole in the roof indicated it was repairable, as long as he could find a few solid boards to replace those that had rotted.
When he had done what he could inside, he went outside and took a deep breath. He needed to get a note off to his father to let him know he had found Barbara. The Five Bells was no doubt a mail coach stop, or perhaps he could find a courier there. Mounting Thunderbolt, he set off to return to the public house and make the necessary arrangements.
A young man was about to set off for London and assured Will he would see to the delivery of his note in exchange for the money Will offered.
“You ride at night?” Will asked in surprise, thinking the man would be set on by highwaymen or that his horse might step in a hole and come up lame.
“I do,” the courier replied. “The roads are decent enough, and there’s a full moon,” he claimed. “I change horses, of course, so I should be there by late afternoon tomorrow.”
The man finished saddling his horse while Will penned his note, assuring him it would be delivered to Devonville House on the morrow. Then he was off.
After an ale, Will returned to the cottage. He removed the saddle and hobbled Thunderbolt so the horse would remain in the yard for the night.
Under the light of the full moon just above the horizon, he surveyed the wood available in the backyard, deciding that with a bit of clever design, he could add onto the partially collapsed shed and create a loafing shed for Thunderbolt as well as repair the roof of the cottage.
Satisfied he had done as much as he could given the deepening twilight, Will let himself back into the cottage. He regarded the settee, deciding it was far too small for him to use for sleeping. The floor didn’t hold any appeal after his extended ride on his horse. That left the bed in which Barbara slept. Although small, he was sure he could fit as long as he held Barbara close to his body as they slept. Despite his sudden weariness, the thought had his cock responding.
He opened the door to Barbara’s room and sighed with relief when he found her sound asleep. He regarded her a moment, her translucent chemise casting her body in a golden glow from the candlelight. She was thin, but her breasts were still round and her hips flared out from the tiny waist he remembered from their only night together.
His last night in London.
He shook his head and gave a thought to his own state of dress. Considering the young boy in the next room, he decided he didn’t want to be discovered sleeping next to Barbara should Donald wake up and come into the room. But given the circumstances—she had claimed the boy was his son—he figured it was time the youngster learned that his parents would be sharing a bed.
Will shed his waistcoat, linen shirt and stockings, secretly wishing he had brought more than a just few changes of clothing appropriate for what he would need to be doing the next few days. Depending on the weather, he thought he might see to getting them on their way to London in three or four days. He would have to find a gig to let, or arrange for their transport on a mail coach.
The thought of returning to London had him remembering his sister, though. She lives in Oxfordshire now. Somewhere near Bampton, he recalled from his father’s comment. Well, from the map the solicitor had drawn for him, he was fairly sure Bampton was nearby. He would see about paying Hannah a visit. See about meeting his brother-in-law. Meeting his nephew. And seeing Harold, he thought with a wry grin as he remembered his sister’s Alpenmastiff.
Settling onto the mattress, Will frowned when he realized the bed in his quarters aboard ship was of a better quality than this one. He sighed and wrapped an arm around Barbara’s waist, pulling her so she lay tucked up against him, her head finally resting in the crook of his other arm. Kissing the top of
her head, he fought sleep for a moment before he finally allowed it to take him.
Chapter 21
Conflicted Thoughts
Her senses on alert when she was aware of someone entering her room, Barbara forced herself to remain still as she considered what to do.
Scream?
Run from the room?
And then what?
She remembered Will had been with her in the room, his strong arms wrapped around her middle as she stood pressed against him. Oh, to have him with her always! But she knew that wasn’t possible. Will was committed to his duty. Committed to a life that couldn’t include her. Couldn’t include her son.
Their son.
He would leave again, she was sure. He would return to London.
So when she felt the weight of his body settle into the mattress behind her, she nearly let out a yelp. She stilled herself, though, especially when one of his large arms settled over her waist. She felt Will’s kiss as if she were in a dream, the gentle pressure atop her head much like when her mother had kissed her there.
Mother!
Oh, how she wished she could confide in her. Seek out her counsel and learn what she should do. What she should have done all those years ago.
The woman’s death had been hard on the entire family, on her father probably more than any of the children. Seeing her lifeless eyes as she held the last babe—stillborn and some said the reason for her untimely death—Barbara remembered knowing life would never be the same in the Greenley household. Maxwell Higgins grew more bitter, his nights spent drinking and gambling at Brook’s. Her brothers, off at school and somewhat insulated from the worsening situation at home, knew to behave or suffer the wrath and public humiliation of their father. Beatrice, her younger sister, was soon sent away to live with an aunt in Staffordshire, which left Barbara to run the household.
And she had.
For three years, she consulted with the servants, met with vendors and did what she had to do to keep Pendleton House in good repair. Her efforts didn’t go unnoticed, at least not by others. Will even spoke of how proud her mother would be of her efforts. “You would make a fine wife for any aristocrat,” he had said one night in the gardens. “But I hope one day you’ll be my fine wife.”
Bless his heart.
The Earl of Greenley was never satisfied, however, his quick criticism and angry manner forcing Barbara to seek solace in William’s arms. Learning he would soon be leaving London on a naval vessel, his intent to eventually have his own ship, Barbara realized she would lose her one champion, the one man to whom she was gradually giving her heart, and that last night he was in London, her body.
Seven months later, on that awful Christmas night after dinner, her father had flown into a rage, banishing her from the household with little more than the clothes on her back and a trunk stuffed with whatever she could grab from her bedchamber.
Although she had been able to stay with a friend in London for a day until she could meet with her father’s man of business—in private—she knew word of her condition would spread through the parlors of Mayfair. She needed to take her leave of London right away.
Ruined and with no prospects, she agreed to Mr. Barton’s suggestion that she settle in the cottage in Broadwell in Oxfordshire. “It’s unentailed, and I rather doubt the earl even remembers he owns it. But there will be no servants,” he warned. “And I can only supply you with funds when I’m able to hide their disbursement from your father.”
She had agreed to the arrangement, of course. What else could she do? Living with her aunt when Beatrice was apparently already a hardship on the older woman wasn’t an option.
“You’ll want to wear a gold band.”
The words had her frowning. “I beg your pardon?”
Mr. Barton allowed a sigh. “You’ll have an easier time of it if everyone thinks you’re a widow. War widows are quite common these days,” he explained with an arched brow. “Make something up. Say your husband died at sea.”
The words had Barbara giving a start. It was possible, after all, that Will Slater would die at sea. But she decided to heed the man’s advice. She acquired a simple gold band in Ludgate Hill and set off on the mail coach for Oxfordshire.
For six years, she and her son—William Slater the Third’s son—lived somewhat comfortably in the small cottage, a horse making it possible to ride to the nearby village for supplies. She learned how to garden. A nearby farmer sold her hay and grain for the horse and milk and eggs for their breakfasts. She collected apples from a tree on the property. She raised a few chicks so she would only have to buy their feed to have eggs and an occasional roasted chicken. She learned how to make preserves from the vicar’s wife in Broadwell, the older woman obviously curious as to how Barbara ended up in the small village but never enough to come right out and ask. Barbara wasn’t about to offer the information. Better everyone think she was a war widow.
During the first year, she wrote letters to Will in care of the British Navy, wondering if they would ever find him, but after only the few letters she had received at Pendleton House, she never heard from Will again.
Then, just last year, after the horrible Summer of 1816 and the following winter, the funds suddenly ceased to arrive every month. A discreet query addressed to Mr. Barton requesting funds for repairs to the cottage was returned, unopened.
With no money and no other means to make money, Barbara sold the horse. Another month passed before a curt note arrived from her father’s man of business.
My employment with Maxwell Higgins, Earl of Greenley, has ended. Badly. I should hope by now that you have married and are under a husband’s protection. I can no longer send funds, nor do I think my replacement will be able to do so as the gambling debts have amassed beyond the earldom’s ability to pay. Your father may end up in debtor’s prison should all the notes be called in. Your siblings have been notified of the same. Yours in service, Andrew S. Barton, Esq.
Stunned by the news of her father’s debts, Barbara felt more despair for her brothers than she did for herself. Both would have reached their majorities by now. She could only hope they had their own means to make their living, for without funds from the earldom, they would be unable to court young ladies, unable to live respectable lives in town. Upon his death, her father’s debts would become theirs.
Meanwhile, the funds from the sale of the Cleveland Bay were soon spent, the larder emptied, the last chicken slaughtered.
That had been a week ago.
For Will Slater to suddenly make an appearance after eight years seemed as much a lifesaver as it did a curse. She was quite sure he intended to take her and Donald back to London, but Barbara knew she could never go back there again, nor could she take her son.
She had been shunned by her father, given the cut direct, and sent packing eight years ago. Now that her father was apparently in debtors’ prison, her entire family was no doubt disgraced, a ripe topic for Mayfair parlor gossip mongers and their like.
She wasn’t about to go back to London. Ever.
Chapter 22
Curiosity Over a Chit
That same night in London
Stephen made his way into the Devonville House library, rather stunned to find the room filled with far more books than his stepfather’s study contained. An overstuffed sofa covered in a floral print was flanked by lamps at one end and positioned in front of a Palladian window. A small table topped by an arrangement of hot-house flowers was situated on the opposite end. In between, the two long walls were made up entirely of shelves from floor to ceiling.
He had always thought the library in his mother’s house in Kent was impressive, but at half the size of this one, he realized it was probably more the standard of home libraries. He realized he was gawking in amazement and forced his mouth to close. The odors of vellum, vanilla and freshly polished wood only added to the heady experience.
Not sure where to start, he simply perused the titles on the first shelf directly
across from the door.
“Were you looking for a particular book?”
Stephen whirled around to find Cherice regarding him from the open door. “My lady,” he replied, bowing out of habit.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Cherice said with a grin. “You just looked so lost.”
The bastard son of her husband angled his head to one side. “I didn’t realized there was the equivalent of a lending library in the house,” he replied with a quirked lip. “I am in search of a copy of Debrett’s Peerage and Barontage.”
Intrigued and rather surprised by his response, Cherice moved to a shelf very near to the one Stephen stood in front of and pulled out a leather-clad volume with a foil-stamped spine. “Here’s the newest edition,” she said as she handed over the book. “Are you looking for someone in particular?”
Taking the tome from his stepmother, Stephen realized the cover had never been opened. “Not really,” he lied, his intention to discover where Victoria Comber fell in the mix of aristocratic children. “Will had a copy aboard ship. Made me learn it, but it was rather out-of-date, and after last night’s ball, I realize I need a refresher,” he commented with a shrug.
“Well, whatever you do, don’t die of boredom,” Cherice said as she made her way to the door. “We’re going to the theatre tomorrow night, and I expect you’ll want to attend.”
Stephen nodded. “Father already invited me,” he replied. “Of course, I plan to join you.” He didn’t add that he was going because there was the possibility of meeting Viscount Chamberlain about a position in the Foreign Office.
Cherice beamed as she curtsied and took her leave of the library, leaving Stephen to wonder at his stepmother’s curiosity. Returning his attention to the book, he made his way to the sofa and took a seat, thumbing the edges of the pages until he found a particular earldom name.
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