He stared at her with an odd expression. “Would it set your mind at ease if I did so swear, pretty one? My grandpapa does not place much value on my word, nor fancy me a gentleman, you know.”
“Perhaps not. But I do.”
“Do you, by God!” He flushed darkly. “Then—you have my word, ma’am. On both counts.”
“Thank you. Oh, thank you! If you but knew the weight you have lifted from my shoulders!”
He gave her that same odd look, then swooped down and kissed her on the forehead.
“Rogue,” she said, smiling, but pulling away. “I might have known your humility would not last long!”
He threw a hand to his heart. “Gad! Why must I always show my true colours? And here comes your fine brother to defend your honour. In truth, I cannot bear it! Adieu, sweet maid. Go to your fine beau. He needs you.”
“Hey!” roared Peregrine, stamping rapidly along the path. “Otton! What the devil are you about?”
Otton gave a whoop, and ran. A few minutes later, riding at a leisurely pace along a sun-dappled lane, he chuckled to himself. He had not been entirely truthful with the delectable Miss Cranford. Less than a month since he had been involved in an interesting little business that had come near to costing him one of his few friends. Fortunately, he had managed to not only retain his friend, but to come away from the affair with something almost as valuable—a copy of the third cypher. It was true that he had failed to break the code, but to his way of thinking that was unimportant. He knew now the man he must watch. And with luck, young Father Charles Albritton would lead him to the pot of gold at the end of his rainbow—the treasure of Charles Stuart and his ill-fated Jacobites.
“Do you know, Rump,” he confided, “I think I have contrived to satisfy my curmudgeonly tyrant of a grandfather. And additionally, if I could look into the future, I believe I would see vast riches for me, and a happy and contented retirement for you, old friend. A pleasant prospect, is it not?”
Rumpelstiltskin offering a companionable snort, Roland Fairleigh Mathieson chuckled again. He seldom permitted himself to be downcast, but today his inherent optimism soared to new heights, for he sensed that he was at last within reach of his goal. He began to sing a naughty little French song as he rode on through the glory of the summer afternoon.
It was perhaps as well that he was not able to look into the future.
* * *
“Anthony,” whispered Dimity, bending over the bed. “Wake up, my darling.”
Her starches rustling, the nurse sniffed. “He cannot hear you, miss,” she said huffily. “We have tried that these two weeks—to no avail.”
Dimity stroked back the fair, dishevelled hair. “Anthony, wretched creature,” she murmured, “how dare you hide from me? Wake up!”
Folding her arms, the nurse cast an exasperated glance at the ceiling. Such terms as those were enough to drive the poor soul even deeper into his coma! “Dr. Steel has been here daily,” she imparted, “and also a fine London surgeon by name of James Knight, and if they wasn’t able to—” She paused, outraged, as Dimity knelt and lifted a hand to silence her. “Well!” she exclaimed, but then, because she was really a very fine nurse, she checked and stood motionless.
The fair head tossed restlessly against the pillows.
“Beloved,” said Dimity yearningly. “Oh, my love—come back to me.”
The long lashes fluttered and parted to reveal a pair of intensely green eyes that frowned at the ceiling in a bewildered fashion.
“Anthony,” Dimity murmured again.
Very slowly, the thin white face turned to her. The green eyes lit with a radiance that awed the starchy nurse. Sir Anthony Farrar lifted one hand a quivering inch from the coverlet and smiled at the girl he worshipped.
With a muffled sob, Dimity took up his hand and pressed it to her cheek.
“Well, I never!” whispered the nurse, blinking as she tiptoed away.
* * *
Farrar, thought Norris, was beginning to look halfway alive, thank the Lord! “Wasn’t no need for a hearing,” he said, pulling his chair a little closer to the pomona brocade sofa in the morning room. “Why d’ye think I asked you for your mama’s diary, eh?”
A blanket over his knees, and his love perched on a footstool at his feet, Farrar dragged his attention from the sheen the sunlight awoke on her curls, and asked apologetically, “Asked for—what, Norrie?”
“Oh, a pox on the boy!” exclaimed the solicitor, casting an irked glance at the ceiling.
“Poor Mr. Norris has been trying to tell you,” said Lady Helen, looking with amusement from her nephew’s adoring eyes to Dimity’s blushes. “You really must try to pay him a little heed, Anthony.”
How splendid it was, thought Farrar, to hear her speak his name again. “Yes. Well, I am,” he said, directing a contrite grin at the solicitor. “You must try to bear with me, Norrie. It is taking me a little while to get used to,” he gave a rather shy gesture, “to—all this.”
Norris looked at him soberly and reflected on the changes the past three weeks had effected in this house; on the once deserted drivepath, for instance, that was now seldom quiet for long without some coach came rattling up it, full of people eager to make amends to this man they had despised and shunned. For Lady Helen, unfortunately, her nephew’s vindication had brought pain as well as joy, and her loveliness was marred by a sorrow that persisted despite all Anthony’s efforts to dispell it. There were rumours, however, that Major Rhodes had called at The Palfreys several times while Sir Anthony lay ill, and had twice taken my lady for a short drive to get her out of the sickroom. Nor could one fail to note that when his name was mentioned sorrow fell away from Lady Helen, and a glow came into her eyes that augured well for her future happiness. Most noticeable by its absence was the quiet despair that had haunted Farrar and that awful guilt-ridden humility that had been so painful to witness. Only look at the boy now! Be curst if it didn’t make one wonder if there wasn’t something to all this “love” business, after all …
He realized with a start that they were all waiting. “Ar—rumph!” he said gruffly. “Where was I? Oh, yes—about Walter. You’ll likely not recall it, Tony, but when you were both quite small, Walter contracted a childhood ailment. Your papa chanced to mention it to me. He was quite cast down, because it—er,” he glanced uneasily at Dimity, “it resulted in Walter’s being—ah, unable to ever—um, sire any children.”
Farrar asked, “And are we able to prove that, sir?”
“As I was saying, that is why I needed your mama’s diary. It was in there, sure enough, together with the name of the attending physician.”
“Norrie sent for us all,” said Lady Helen. “Mrs. Deene, and her man of business, and myself, and Norrie read the deposition from the physician who had taken care of Walter all those years ago.”
“As you might imagine,” grunted Norris, “the Deene woman ranted and raved and screamed, and then went off on another—er, tack, so that I had to threaten her with a charge of attempted fraud to get rid of her.”
“And then,” my lady put in, “if you can believe it, Anthony, she went rushing out, and when the poor child made to follow her, she turned on him like a fishwife, berating and slapping him and saying he was a viper and an ingrate, and that he could march straight back into the Foundling Home for all she cared!”
“Wretched creature,” said Dimity, indignant. “He will certainly not be placed in a Foundling Home, will he, Anthony?”
“No, he will not,” declared a deep voice from the doorway, “Helen and I mean to adopt him—with your permission, Farrar.”
Dimity jumped up, and Farrar stood also, leaning on her arm a little unsteadily as he turned to the tall soldier who watched him hopefully.
“Major!” he said, beaming as Rhodes came gladly to shake hands. “I’ve wondered why you did not claim my lovely aunt long since.”
The major, having made his bow to Dimity, crossed to kiss his lady’s hand, then
draw a chair close beside her. “As I’ve told you,” he explained, “I was rather badly mauled during the battle. For a while they,” he cleared his throat, embarrassed, “well, they er, thought I might not walk again, so when you did not answer my first letter, I thought it best to—er … well, there you are.”
“Yes. I see. Well, I’m jolly glad you’re to be part of the family, sir.”
“And I shall be jolly glad when you are sitting down again, Captain Farrar,” said Dimity, tugging firmly at his hand until he grinned and allowed her to settle him on the sofa once more. She occupied the footstool, then turned to the major and Lady Helen and exclaimed, “Good gracious! I neglected to offer you my congratulations!”
They looked at her uneasily.
Farrar chuckled. “You are quite sure, Miss Mitten?” he asked. “You seem more dismayed than pleased.”
“Oh dear. I am sorry. Truly, I wish you both happy, but—I’ll own myself just a little disappointed. I had rather hoped Carlton would come to—er, me.” She glanced from under her lashes at Farrar’s suddenly grave countenance. “If—of course, he proved to be unrelated to you, Anthony.”
Farrar was silent.
Lady Helen said gently, “But you see, my dear, Carlton is related to Anthony.”
Dimity’s pretty lower lip sagged. “But—Mr. Norris said— I mean— Anthony…? I do not understand.”
The major said, “Farrar don’t either, m’dear.”
Lady Helen smiled sadly. “We decided to tell you both at once. I wish it were not necessary for it is an unpleasant tale, and a shameful one.”
Dimity twisted around to again scan her love’s face. “Perhaps we should wait for another time, ma’am. I think Anthony is getting tired.”
“Thank you, but I am quite all right,” said Farrar, his fingers resting briefly upon her soft hair, his eyes ineffably tender. “And in my experience, Mitten, ’tis best to get unpleasant matters over and done with as quickly as possible. Pray go on, Aunt.”
My lady began: “From the start I marvelled that Carlton bore so marked a resemblance to the Farrar children. We suspected, of course, that Mrs. Deene had sought for a boy with the same colouring, but I found it difficult to believe that she had managed to find one who not only had such a strong family resemblance, but who had obviously been properly bred up. I asked Norrie to look into Carlton’s background. This was not an easy task, but Norrie has a man he sometimes employs in such investigations, and he discovered that…” she bit her lip and hesitated.
“We discovered,” said Mr. Norris, taking up the story in his dry, rasping voice, “that Mr. Walter Farrar and Sir Harding Farrar had more in common than the fact that they were cousins.” He cleared his throat, and peered over his spectacles at the circle of intent faces, his expression somewhat apprehensive. “Your pardon, but I must be blunt. Miss Mary Arnold was an excessively beautiful but not very well-bred young woman. Still, she was shrewd and had learned how to behave and how to dress, and because of her beauty she acquired admirers who took her into Society. She met Walter Farrar at a party in ’39, and he fell deeply in love with her. One evening, he took her to Drury Lane. They encountered his cousin. I scarcely need remind any of you that Harding Farrar was an exceeding handsome and dashing young man, besides which he was very wealthy.” Again, he paused, glancing at my lady, but she avoided his eyes, looking down instead at Major Rhodes’ strong hand firmly clasping her own.
“Miss Arnold,” the solicitor went on, “saw in Harding a much better prospect than Walter, and Harding was captivated by her. He did not offer marriage, but he showered her with gifts. Within the month she became his—ahem—chere amie, shall we say. She was determined, however, to become Lady Harding Farrar and evidently she was so foolish as to think he would marry her if she bore him a child. She had misread her man. Harding was not one to accept responsibility and when he learned she was increasing, he was furious.”
Lady Helen turned her face away at this point, and Farrar murmured, “Easy, Norrie.”
The solicitor pursed his lips. “Your pardon, my lady, but—truth is truth. At all events, Harding paid Miss Arnold a small sum of money and cut her off completely. I suspect that she had every intention of coming here and attempting to obtain help, but evidently Harding managed to so frighten her that she turned instead to Walter. He, poor fellow, was still lost in love for her. He was an honourable man and it may be that he felt partially responsible for his cousin’s behaviour, although I suspect that he was so besotted over the woman that he would have done anything in his power to help her, even if it had not been his cousin who’d ruined her. He bought her a nice little house and provided her with an allowance. Her ambitions soared far beyond Walter, but he suited her for the time, so she took him for her lover, but refused his dearest wish, which was that she become his wife. His uncle, Lord Elsingham, was enraged when he learned of their liaison and told Walter he would cut him off without a penny if he married her. Walter knew that Miss Arnold wanted riches and, desperate, he went out to Jamaica, promising her that he would come home a wealthy man. Each quarter, without fail, he sent funds for her support. He made only one stipulation: that she have young Carlton reared and instructed as became the son of a gentleman.”
Lady Helen said, “Miss Arnold had no room in her heart or her life for an active little boy. She had other admirers now, I suppose. She put Carlton in the care of her maid’s parents, but there was always the chance that Walter really would make a fortune, so she complied with his wishes, and the child was taught proper speech and manners. And then, Mary suddenly became ill and died.”
Much shocked, Dimity cried, “But—Carlton told me he had no mother or father! Did she never go to see her own child, Mr. Norris?”
“Never. She paid for his care and ensured his proper guidance, is all. Mrs. Deene knew the whole story, of course, and she lost no time in writing to tell Walter of her sister’s demise. She was, she told him, newly widowed and would be willing to care for the child if he could continue to provide funds. Otherwise, she would have no alternative but to place Carlton in a Foundling Home. Walter was not in any way bound to continue his financial support, but he did so. From that time until his own death, the monies were sent regularly to Mrs. Deene.” Again, his eyes glinted at them over his spectacles. “I might add that on the day she received the first payment, Mrs. Deene took the boy from the couple who had been paid to care for him and abandoned him at the Foundling Home.”
“Where he’d likely have stayed, poor little fellow,” put in Farrar, grimly, “had Mrs. Deene not learned that before he died Walter had amassed a sizeable fortune.”
“Exactly so,” said my lady. “She saw her opportunity at once. Carlton was a Farrar. She must have been sure that between the family likeness and the papers she’d had forged, she could pass him off as Walter’s legal heir. After all, no one knew he was Harding’s child.”
“So she used him,” muttered Dimity, “to bring her to the fortune! Oh, what a horrid woman she is, to be sure! But—when she realized she could not pass off Carlton as Walter’s heir, did she not try to capitalize on his being Harding’s natural son?”
“She would have caught cold at that,” said Norris, “and she knew it. Her sister had left Harding and moved in with Walter, who had supported her and the boy for some years. Legally, Carlton has no claim to any inheritance, although Lady Helen has now made very generous provision for him.”
Dimity looked at Helen’s anxious face and exclaimed, “So—you have a grandson, ma’am! Of course you want him with you. How splendid for you! And for him! I am so glad!”
“Thank you, you are very good.” My lady was watching Farrar. “Are you very disappointed, dearest? I know how fond you have become of the child.”
“I’ll own that,” he said, smiling at her. “But I think he will go on very well in a household where he is a loved grandson. Rather better, perhaps, than were he the eldest child in a growing family but not the—er, heir apparent, as it were.
” He tugged one of Dimity’s ringlets, and she blushed furiously.
They all laughed. The major said, “If you are wondering about my feelings, Tony, you may be sure I am delighted. I have been blessed to win my lady, at last, but we are not of an age to have children of our own. Now, I shall have a fine young fellow to guide and care for. You may be sure you will see plenty of him. But—I think none of this came as a great surprise to you, did it?”
Helen’s head jerked to her nephew. “You—knew that Carlton was Harding’s boy?” she gasped.
Embarrassed, Farrar shrugged. “I rather suspected he was. When Norrie was so anxious to obtain Mama’s diary for 1720 I puzzled at it and remembered a remark Uncle Gilbert had once made about my brother’s health. After that, it was relatively simple. The family resemblance and the fact that I was so drawn to Carlton could not be denied. Certainly, he was not my son. Nor, it seemed, was he Walter’s. There was only one other answer.”
My lady shook her head at him. “Yet you said nothing. Protecting me again?”
He flushed. “I—er, was just waiting for Norrie to prove his case.”
“Well, I have proved another, Farrar,” said the solicitor, closing his bag. “I’d expected you’d have been asking me about it.”
Farrar said, “I think there was little of mystery there, sir. Rafe Green and I had long been at daggers drawn. He and Ellsworth were always after Harding to play cards. I objected because the stakes were much too high.”
“Did you know,” barked Mr. Norris, “that Hibbard Green gave his son a great sum of money that was to be used to refurbish Fayre Hall?”
Farrar looked at him, mystified.
“Rafe lost much of the money to Harding,” Norris went on, “and, while in his cups, entrusted the rest to Phillip Ellsworth, who knew of a horse that ‘couldn’t lose.’ Needless to say, it lost. Rafe was terrified lest his father discover the truth, and he begged Harding to lend back the cash he’d won. Harding said he would gladly do so, save that you had warned him that if he squandered any more of the estate funds, you would make it known to your uncle Elsingham who, as head of your house, would have him declared incompetent.”
Love Alters Not Page 38
