However, when Charles entered the room, her smile faltered. His face was unshaven and his clothes were badly mussed, as if he had spent several days in them. Immediately she knew something was wrong.
“Charles?” she asked, hurrying to him. “What is wrong?” Never had she seen the man look so lost, and she was shocked to see that his eyes were red.
“It is Eleanor,” he said with a sob. “She…she is dead.”
Anguish grasped her heart, and she gasped. “No! This cannot be! When? How?”
He took a step forward and nearly collapsed. “It was six months ago.” He sobbed, and she led him to one of the chairs by the fire. “My life is in ruins. I have no one now, and I feel so lost.”
She placed a comforting arm around him, not caring how wet he was or how powerful he reeked of brandy. “I am so sorry,” she lamented as tears flowed down her face.
Eleanor had been such a lovely woman. How could she be gone? The bond they had shared was one Rachel would cherish for the remainder of her life. The world would be a darker place without Lady Eleanor Lambert.
“And the children?” she asked of his daughters, Isabel, Hannah, and tiny Juliet, not yet a year old and already without a mother.
He sniffled and blew his nose on a handkerchief. “My brother and sister-in-law are caring for them,” he explained. “They are much too young to understand.” He looked down at the floor. “Forgive me for coming unannounced. I needed a friend, and I had no one else to turn to.”
“You must not apologize,” Rachel said in light admonishment. “Here, let me take your overcoat.”
She threw the coat over a chair in front of the fire and pulled the bell chord.
Dawson came at once, and Rachel instructed him to see to the dripping overcoat and to have a tea tray sent up. “See that the guest room is readied.”
The butler nodded, bowed, and left the room as he held the wet coat at arm’s length.
“No tea,” Charles said. “I need a drink.” He pushed himself out of the chair.
Rachel had to bite her lip to keep from asking him not to, for the man was already clearly drunk. Yet, he was in pain, so she pushed him lightly back into the chair and said, “No, I will see to it.” As she readied his brandy, she said, “You should have sent word of her death. I would have attended the funeral.”
“I kept it private,” Charles said. “Now I have no idea what to do.”
She placed the drink in his hands. “You are here now. Dawson is preparing a room for you. You will stay here tonight and then we can discuss your next steps tomorrow when you are less…tired.”
Charles shook his head adamantly. “No, I cannot. I do not wish to be a burden. I will find a hotel.”
Rachel’s heart went to him. “No,” she said firmly. “You will remain here for however long you need. We are friends, and in times such as these, we must help one another.”
For the first time since his untimely arrival, Charles offered her a smile. “Very well.” He sighed and then grasped her hand. “I knew in my heart you would not refuse me.”
“Never,” Rachel replied. “We have been friends for far too long. Now, concerning Eleanor…”
“Please, I am trying to get on with my life. But I do want you to know that she died peacefully.”
Rachel nodded. “I am glad to hear it. What are your plans while you are here?”
“I have work to complete here in London, which will keep me busy for the next few days, but as to the future, I am unsure.”
“There is time,” Rachel said, placing a caring hand on his shoulder. “For healing and for preparing for the future. Just know that I will do what I can to help.”
He smiled up at her. “That is why I came,” he said. “I know you will do just that.”
***
Days became weeks, and weeks became months, and Rachel found the company of her old friend welcoming. They shared many dinners, laughing at tales of days past. Each time Charles was in London for business, he called, remaining in her home for several days. Then he would disappear only to return a week later, barely able to stand and with brandy on his breath.
Through it all, Rachel was happy she was able to lend him aid, even if it was a listening ear. His drinking persisted, but his talk of the future was hopeful.
One night very much like the night he had first arrived, a storm matching in ferocity churned outside as Rachel and Charles finished a lovely dinner of roasted lamb and potatoes. Like so many times before, they laughed about things they had said or done and discussed what was to come.
Once they finished their dinner, they went to the drawing room to share in a drink.
“I have always found your hair fascinating,” Charles said at one point, and he reached out and touched it. “Such a bright red, like an ember. Thankfully it does not burn to the touch.”
Rachel, having already consumed several glasses of wine, giggled. “If I am angry,” she teased, “I may just burn you.”
He threw his head back and laughed, “I must be careful then,” he said with a wink.
She sighed. Seeing that bright smile returned to his face was a pleasant change.
“And what are you smiling at?” he asked. He smoothed his hair. “Is my hair unruly again?”
Rachel laughed. “Not at all. It is you. I cannot believe how far you have come. It is so nice to see you laughing again.”
“It is because of you,” he said. He took the wine glass from her hand and placed it on the table. “You have been more than kind to me these past months.”
“My only concern was you getting better, and you have done just that.”
“It is that unselfish spirit I love,” he said. “In fact, it is you whom I love.”
Rachel’s breath caught in her throat. This was not what she had hoped would happen. “No, we are merely friends…”
“And we are both alone. Do you not see? We are good for each other. Your strength helps me, and you cannot argue that we are very good friends.”
She wished she had not had so much to drink, for her mind was in a muddle. “We are friends,” she said, “but that is all. I do not love you. Not in the way you wish.”
He took her hands in his. “I understand that, but in time, it may change. Scarlett Hall is much too big for a man alone. Return with me, as my bride. We will send Graham to the finest schools, and you can help raise my daughters. They need a mother.”
It was as if he had struck her in the stomach as the room spun around her. “I…I do not know. I am finding thinking difficult at the moment. Eleanor was my friend, and although she is now gone, I feel as if I would be betraying her.”
He touched her cheek. “She would give her blessing,” he said. “Especially concerning the children. She only wanted the best for them and would be honored if you were the one to raise them.”
Rachel considered his words. The girls did need a mother, and what a way to honor Eleanor.
When her eyes met his, she knew she did not love him as a wife would, but she did love him as a friend. Perhaps he was right; in time she could come to love him in a more intimate sense. However, what convinced her to agree was the love she had for Eleanor.
“I would be happy to do so,” she said finally. “I will be your wife.”
***
Time passed swiftly, and Charles was gone often. At first, it was matters of business that kept him away, but soon he chalked up his absences to him preparing for her arrival to Scarlett Hall. What began as a week of being gone turned into a month or more at a time, and she found herself wondering what he could be preparing for her to make her wait so long.
Now, nine months since Charles proposed, Rachel was concerned for her upcoming return to the house that would become her new home once she and Charles were married.
That was not what kept her awake with worry, however.
She had borne a child, a daughter, and Charles had yet to meet her. Rachel had no doubt he would love his new daughter, for how could he not? How
often over the past months had he spoken of his anticipation for her birth?
Kissing the child on the head, she placed her in her bassinet. The babe was beautiful, sharing characteristics of both her mother and her father. Graham adored his sister, holding her hand whenever possible and cooing at her at every turn.
Rachel felt a great anticipation for her new life ahead. Soon she would return to Rumsbury as the newest Lady Lambert, and there she would raise not only her children, but those of Eleanor, and she would soon learn to love Charles. Those were her thoughts as she made her way from the nursery to the drawing room.
She opened the door only to stop in startlement. “Charles?” she said when she found the man standing there. “When did you arrive?”
She hurried to him and kissed his cheek, but he pushed her away and gave her an accusatory glare. “Dawson says that the child is a girl. Is this true?”
“Yes,” Rachel replied, ignoring his harsh tone. He must have traveled throughout the night and was tired. “And she is beautiful. I wish to call her Rose, after my mother’s sister.”
He pushed her away. “You make me ill,” he growled. “Is it too much to ask that a woman give birth to a boy? Am I never meant to have an heir?”
Rachel could not stop the tears that flowed. “Why are you angry with me?”
“Because you were supposed to give me a son!” he shouted, making Rachel pull back in fear. “Not another girl! Now I must return to my wife and hope she can do the duty in which both of you have failed.”
Rachel grabbed for the back of a chair as the room began to spin out of control. “Eleanor…?”
“Is alive,” Charles snarled.
“But her death…?”
“Was a story so I could get you into bed. I needed you to give me what Eleanor could not—a son, but instead you gave me yet another daughter. You are as much of a disappointment as she!”
“This cannot be,” Rachel murmured, her stomach hurting. “Tell me this is not true.”
Charles smirked. “Every night you and I spent together, Eleanor was at Scarlett Hall awaiting my return like the dutiful wife she is.” He narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger at her. “I would have given you everything, but you could not give me the one thing I desire most.”
“But your daughter,” Rachel argued. “We have a daughter together. Do you not wish to see her?”
He snorted and grabbed his coat from the waiting arm of the butler. “The child is yours, not mine, and I will deny any claim you attempt to make to say otherwise. Do with her as you wish.”
“You are a sick man, Charles,” she said. “A very sick man. Eleanor does not even know…”
Before she could finish her words, Charles reached out and wrapped his hands around her throat. “You will never speak a word of what happened between us. Not to her; not to anyone! If you do, I will kill you.”
His hands tightened with every word, and soon Rachel was struggling to pull air into her lungs. As she looked into his eyes, she realized that he spoke the truth. He would not hesitate to take her life. “I…I understand,” she managed to gasp.
He released her, and she brought her hand to her throat, panting for air.
“I will return in a month’s time,” Charles said, a look of victory on his features. “You will welcome me into your home—and into your bed—whenever I wish. Do I make myself clear?”
He did not wait for her response, and Rachel collapsed to the floor, sobbing, as he stalked from the room.
How easily she had been fooled! Now she had a daughter upstairs without a father, and the man she thought a friend had betrayed her. How dare he!
Anger filled her as she pulled herself up and hurried to the study. She sat down at her desk and penned a letter to Charles. It was short and said precisely what she expected from him—never to come to her home again.
She prayed he would heed her words. If he did not, and her cost was her life, then so be it, for the guilt and shame for what had transpired was more than she could stand. Death would be far better than the alternative.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rose clasped onto her mother, fearing that if the woman were to release her, she would collapse into a heap on the floor. They both cried great rivers of tears as her mother brushed back hair from Rose’s face and kissed her cheek.
“That is the secret I have carried all these years,” her mother said. “It is the reason I did not reply to Eleanor’s letters. However, I will no longer allow the truth to harm us.”
Rose wiped at her eyes. “So, it is true? I am a bastard child? Surely no man would ever want me for a wife. I would not blame Holden for ending our engagement once he learns the truth.”
Aunt Eleanor, who had remained silent during the entire tale, patted her hand. “What Charles did was deceptive and wrong, but you were not born of that.”
“That makes no sense,” Rose said. “Did he not fool Mother into allowing him into her bed?”
“He did, but your mother did so out of love. Love for a friend she thought was suffering. Love for me and my children when she thought me dead. Do you not see? You were born out of love, because your mother has enough love for both a mother and a father.”
Rose nodded, understanding her aunt’s reasoning but knowing that the ton would not see it the same way.
Her mother smiled. “It is that same love that convinced Eleanor to allow you into her home. She could have rejected you—you are the child of an affair her husband had—yet she chose not to. Instead, she took you in and cared for you as her own. Do you believe other women would do such a thing if they were in the same situation?”
“No,” Rose said with a small smile. “Aunt Eleanor, you are such a strong, marvelous woman to open your home to someone like me.”
Her aunt embraced her. “You did nothing wrong by simply being born. You are a lovely girl, one who I have been honored to have in my home.”
“Thank you,” Rose whispered.
For a moment, her mind turned to Charles Lambert, her father, and the deed he did. Anger began to swell in her breast, and she recalled the wisdom Lord Drake shared with her.
“I will not allow my anger to fester,” she said, jutting out her chin in defiance. “I know that if I carry it, if I allow it to grow, it will swallow me in the end.”
“You are right,” her mother said. “It is not good to hold onto such feelings, for it will only consume you.”
Rose let out a heavy breath and a sense of determination filled her. “Now that I have learned the truth about my father, I feel an odd sense of relief. It was not the news I had hoped to hear, but having heard it, I am now at peace.”
Her mother smiled. “It takes a brave woman to say so.”
“I can only say it because you had the strength to show me what love truly is.”
A knock came to the door, and Forbes entered carrying a silver tea tray.
“I will serve,” Aunt Eleanor said, and the butler gave a deep bow and left the room.
They remained silent as her aunt poured the tea, and Rose studied the two women. They loved her despite the circumstances surrounding her birth, and their strength gave her hope. Although her father was not the military hero she had once believed, it no longer mattered. Not to her. Her lineage would not define her. Instead, she would be in control of how her life was defined through the actions she took from this day forward.
As the women settled in with their tea, her mother said, “With this knowledge of your real father, I believe it would be best if no one learns…”
“Yes,” Rose interrupted. “I have come to understand that women have secrets they must keep to themselves. Whether it be the loss of a child or when she does something to keep another child safe from harm, she must be willing to bear that burden alone.”
Her mother placed a hand on her arm. “Never alone,” she said with a smile. “However, you must be careful with whom you share your secrets, for not everyone will understand.”
Rose nodde
d and turned to her aunt. “I will not ask, but I imagine these walls harbor many secrets. This secret shall remain safe here, never to be spoken of again.”
Aunt Eleanor smiled. “I wish it was not necessary, but I am certain the walls will be happy to keep your secret so you do not have to.”
“I admit,” Rose said, “I worry now about my engagement to Holden. What will I do? I have no way to prove the story about Michael Skylark…” she paused. “Mother, why did you choose Skylark as my surname?”
Her mother laughed. “That is quite easy, my dear. The day Charles left my home, the day I wrote that letter asking him to never return, a skylark flew through the window, perched upon the rim of your bassinet, and chirped a lovely song. Then he flitted back out the window without so much as a goodbye. I saw it as an omen of sorts—not that I believe in such things, of course, but there it is. I decided I would name you Skylark so you would eventually fly free.”
Rose felt a flush of contentedness wash over her. “What a lovely story,” she said, unable to contain her wide smile. Then the reality of the moment returned, as did her worries. “However, I am still concerned about Holden and his father. Or any man, for that matter. No one will wish to marry me if I have no evidence my father ever existed.”
Her aunt set aside her cup and neatly placed her hands in her lap. “There are ways to remedy such situations. I need a week and then we shall invite Lord Bradshaw and your fiancé back to Scarlett Hall.”
“What will you do to convince them?” Rose asked.
The tiniest of smiles played on her lips. “Lord Bradshaw is under the distinct impression that your father never existed. I will relieve him of that impression.”
***
There had been a time when Holden remembered his father as a happy man, although that had been before his mother had died. Over the years after that terrible day, his father had become a bitter and cynical man, and Holden wanted nothing more than to see him happy once again. Holden’s engagement to Rose, as well as his increased attention to the family’s investments, had been his way to see that happen. However, that had all unraveled in a single day.
Songs of Yesterday Page 21
