A Midnight Clear

by Lynn Kerstan

  He stood rigid and silent.

  “You will not betray your sister, my lord, by choosing Nan’s happiness above all things. And that is what Margaret would want you to do.” She came to his side. “It is, in the end, the only honorable course to take.”

  “I would do so in a heartbeat,” he said tightly, “were there such a course mapped out for me. But damned if I see one, Jane.”

  She put her hand on his arm. “You can give her to me.”

  For a long time, he didn’t move. She imagined he had ceased to breathe, so very still he was. Then, turning slowly, he gazed steadily into her eyes. Oh, please, she begged him silently. Please.

  “You love her,” he said simply.

  “Oh, yes.” All the words she had stored up while he was gone came rushing out. “I love her with all my heart. I shall be a good mother to her, I promise. And I’ve thought it all out, sir. I’ll find a little house somewhere, in a small town perhaps, where she’ll have lots of playmates. There are many widows from the war who are raising children on their own. No one will question that Nan’s father went to the Peninsula and never came back. It’s partly true, after all. And I know you will see to it there is money for her schooling, and a dowry. And—”

  He placed his forefinger gently over her lips. “You needn’t try to convince me, Jane. You love her, and that’s enough.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “I may have her, then?”

  “To be sure.” He brushed a tear from her cheek. “I only wish Margaret could have known that her child found such a one as you to care for her.”

  “I believe she does know, my lord. I shall never credit this all came about by sheerest accident. She delivered Nan into my hands, as well as yours, on Christmas night.”

  “Perhaps you are right, although I was never one to put stock in miracles.” He cleared his throat, plainly uncomfortable with the subject. “I think we must be practical now and decide how to proceed from here. Or”—he raised a brow—“have you already made up your mind?”

  She could not help a watery chuckle. He knew her so very well. “As a matter of fact, sir, I do have a few suggestions. If you will arrange transportation, I’ll take Nan with me to London. We can stay with Lady Swann until a suitable house is found, and there is no reason to make a hurried decision. It will be better to move in the spring, I expect.”

  “Why not let me build you a house here at Wolvercote? That way I can—”

  “No, my lord.” She drew herself up. “That would be most unwise. When Nan is older, you and I will discuss what she should be told of her real mother, and of her uncle. On that matter, I have no idea what will be best. But I do know how it felt to grow up on the fringes of a grand estate, provided for by his lordship and a pariah to his wife, wondering why it was they could not love me. I’ll not have Nan think, as I did, that there is something wrong with her, something in her nature that makes her unworthy of affection.”

  “I see. Well, I do not see, but I trust your judgment.” His eyes searched her face. “Do you mean to cut me off from her altogether, Jane?”

  “I believe,” she said, choosing her words with care, “that we must get our lives in order, separately, before making that decision. You will soon be preoccupied with rebuilding Wolvercote, sir, and selecting a wife, and caring for your own children. I shall write to you, if you wish, and tell you how Nan is getting on. Otherwise, it is best we put distance between us for now. And to that end, I suggest you turn over the matter of financial arrangements to your solicitors.”

  “You’d rather deal with a bloody lawyer than with me? Good God, what’s the point of that? You know I’ll give you whatever you ask.”

  “And a great deal more, I expect.” She regarded him earnestly. “You must let go, Lord Fallon, and permit others to act in your stead. Of all things, nothing could be more difficult for you. I do understand. And I cannot think how to convince you that what I ask will be best for all of us.”

  Nor can I tell you, she thought as he looked at her with troubled eyes, how much it hurts me to be with you when I cannot have you. For Nan’s sake, you must leave us alone, or I shall be torn to pieces from wanting you.

  He slipped his warm fingers around her hand and led her across the room. Together they gazed down at the infant, sleeping the sleep of the rapturously innocent.

  “It will be as you wish, Jane,” he said quietly. “I’ll not interfere. But, dear Lord, how I shall miss her.”

  Chapter 15

  WHEN LARCH delivered the afternoon post to his study, Fallon was surprised to find a letter from Richard Wellesley.

  He had returned early to London, Wellesley explained, for strategy meetings regarding a bill he meant to propose. A few of his political cronies had also arrived, some with families in tow, and none were eager to work this last day of the Christmas season. Instead, they had decided to stage an impromptu Twelfth Night celebration and requested Lord Fallon’s presence should he chance to be free this evening.

  In his sly way, Wellesley had included a partial list of the guests, and Fallon immediately recognized two names. Those same two ladies were prominently featured on his own list of potential brides. He chuckled. Wellesley, determined to recruit him on the side of the angels, would be delighted to see him marry into a loyal Tory family—even to the point of playing matchmaker.

  Fallon glanced at the mantelpiece clock, which showed a little past two. There was no reason not to join Wellesley and his friends, beyond the familiar sense of dread that squeezed at his insides. There would be many such evenings in the future, he knew, evenings spent making small talk with strangers, vetting the season’s crop of eligible females, and trying to ignore the sidelong looks cast in his direction.

  There goes the Fallon heir. Hide your daughters.

  Best to begin slowly, he supposed, at tonight’s small gathering with Wellesley to guide him. And it wasn’t as if he’d anything better to do. Since returning to London, he had spoken to no one other than his starchy servants and his solicitors. He left the house only to exercise Scorpio in Hyde Park and shake off his own black moods in the crisp winter air. One was on him now as he reached for paper and pen to send Wellesley a note of acceptance.

  “M’lord?” Larch appeared at the door, his gaunt face a portrait of indignation. “An excessively odd person insists . . . er, has requested to speak with you.”

  Fallon set down his pen with an exasperated groan. “And has he a name, Larch?”

  “I expect that she does, m’lord. But when I inquired as to what it might be, she directed that a pair of footmen be dispatched to carry her up the stairs. She is waiting on the pavement, you see.”

  Lady Swann. It could be no one else. His stomach began to churn. Dear God, something terrible must have happened to Jane or the infant. Only a true catastrophe would bring the old lady here in person.

  He drew a steadying breath. “See that she is made comfortable in the drawing room, Larch, and provide her with a cup of tea. I’ll join her in a few minutes.”

  Images of disaster wheeled in his head as he waited long enough for Lady Swann to be settled. She was a proud woman, and he reckoned she would not wish him present while the servants carted her into the house. Even so, the short time he paced the study felt like centuries as he imagined every possible horror that could befall a young woman or a fragile babe. Unable to wait a moment longer, he practically ran down the passageway, arriving just as Larch was making a hasty exit from the drawing room, followed by a maid carrying a tray.

  “Never mind the sherry,” Lady Swann called out. “I’d rather brandy. Good brandy.”

  The butler’s thin brows were set in a disapproving frown. “She has refused the tea, m’lord.”

  “Then bring her whatever she wants, Larch.” Numbskull, he added under his breath, bracing himself to enter the room. When he did, closing th
e door behind him, he saw Lady Swann ensconced in her Bath chair, which had been pulled close to the fireplace.

  “About time you got here,” she complained, raising her lorgnette. “And wherever did you unearth that nincompoop of a butler?”

  She was smiling. A surge of intense relief made jelly of his legs. There could be no disaster, at least not of the kind he had feared. Lady Swann herself was a disaster on wheels.

  “Come, come, rascal. If you don’t mean to do the pretty, ask me straight out why I have gone to considerable trouble for a private coze with you.”

  At the blunt reminder that he’d forgot his manners, he made a perfunctory bow. “Dare I hope, Lady Swann, it is to tell me you’ve changed your mind about publishing your scurrilous book?”

  “No. And if I had, I shouldn’t bother to notify you.” Her expression hardened. “Much the way you have not bothered these last eight days and nights to inquire after Miss Ryder and the child.”

  “My solicitors are in daily contact with Miss Ryder,” he said stiffly. “Their reports have given me no reason for concern.”

  “And when those same lackeys have established Jane and Nan in some distant province where they cannot prove an embarrassment, you need not give them another thought.”

  “Miss Ryder is free to live wherever she chooses,” he corrected. “And wherever that is, she will want for nothing. I have made certain of it. What is more, it is by her own wish that our business is conducted through my solicitor. I was more than willing to handle it personally.”

  “Don’t insult me, boy. I understand the situation very well. You mean to buy them the best of everything, and by doing so, buy off your own conscience. An excellent bargain,” she said with awful sarcasm. “For you.”

  Miserable old woman, he thought savagely. What did she know of it? And if his conscience chanced to gnaw at him on occasion, it was none of her bloody business. Besides, Jane insisted they were both doing the only thing that could be done. It was best for everyone, she had said. It was what she wanted.

  His tumultuous thoughts were interrupted by Larch’s arrival with a decanter of brandy.

  “Fallon will do the pouring,” Lady Swann instructed the butler sharply. “Leave us.”

  He had never seen Larch move so quickly, Fallon thought as the butler scurried out the door. Crossing to the sideboard, he filled two snifters with brandy and gave one to Lady Swann. “I am persuaded you will eventually come to the point, madam. However, know in advance that Miss Ryder and I have satisfactorily agreed to terms and that I mean to disclose none of the details. If you require information or explanations, you must apply to her.”

  “Turn my chair,” she said. “I wish to face the hearth. And you may park yourself by the mantelpiece where I can see you.”

  Which effectively pinned him in, he realized, when he’d done her bidding. While she had been facing the other direction, he was free to prowl the room. But trapped between her piercing gaze and the fire, he could only stand in place, which always made him wildly uncomfortable.

  Clever woman. He admired her tactics. He wished there were no laws against tossing crippled old ladies off balconies.

  She took a long drink of brandy, regarding him with a steady, unnerving gaze that made him wonder if she could see through his clothing. Through his skin, for that matter. He felt her nosing at his very bones.

  “Excellent brandy,” she pronounced. “But the Fallons always did have a partiality for drink. Do you tipple to excess, boy?”

  “Now and again,” he replied equably. What the devil had his drinking habits to do with her? “In general, I prefer to retain control of my wits.”

  “I daresay what few you possess require constant supervision,” she said with an arched brow. “But I am pleased to hear you have not inherited that particular Fallon vice. Now pay attention, for I am about to tell you something of importance, even though I must break a confidence to speak of it.”

  “Indeed?” He propped an elbow on the mantel. “But how is that of consequence, Lady Swann? You are scarcely known for keeping secrets.”

  She barked a laugh. “Touché, rascal. There may be hope for you yet. But here is my news. Monday next, Jane Ryder means to depart London and take up residence at a small house I own in Bibury.”

  He nearly dropped his glass. “I d-don’t understand. We agreed she would move in the spring, to the house I intend to buy for her. And by all accounts, she has not yet made up her mind where she wishes to live.”

  “True. But while she considers, she wishes to put distance between you and the child. She is afraid, you see, that you will reconsider your decision to leave Nan in her care.”

  “But that is absurd. I have given my promise. And were I scoundrel enough to break it, I could easily chase her down.” He felt a heavy lump clogging his throat. “She has no reason to hide from me.”

  “So I have told her. ’Tis all nonsense, of course. The last thing you wish is a Fallon by-blow on your doorstep.”

  “That’s not the point!” He realized he was shouting. “Why did you come here to tell me this?” he asked more softly. “Naturally I regret that Miss Ryder is disturbed for no reason, but if she prefers to decamp to Bibury, so be it. My solicitors can easily deal with her there. I trust you will provide me her direction.”

  “Why, what a pompous twit you have become, Fallon. And in so brief a time.” Lady Swann shook her head. “When first we met, I imagined you had some spine in your back. I’d never have taken such trouble putting the two of you together had I known you to be such a thatch-gallows. But it becomes painfully clear that Jane Ryder is wasted on you, sir. For all my scheming, she will do better on her own.”

  Fallon swiped his fingers through his hair, feeling just about as stupid as she thought him to be. “What the devil are you talking about? You cannot have planned we would be stranded together in a snowstorm, or that Richard Barrow would deposit an infant in our laps.” Or could she? He was beginning to wonder.

  “Ah, ’twas pure serendipity, the storm and the babe,” she said reflectively. “Or perhaps Heaven itself chose to conspire with me. I wonder the good Lord failed to realize you would not recognize a miracle when it dropped into your hands. He ought to have sent an archangel along to thwap you upside the head.”

  He must have done, Fallon thought. Why else would his mind be spinning as if a mule had kicked him?

  “I see I must lead you through this maze one step at a time,” she said with a quelling look. “I had been certain one of you would come to your senses, with no help from me, before it was too late. But Jane has both heels dug in, and is fearful besides. I cannot appeal to her. She is too busy trying to protect the child—and you.”

  “Protect me? Whatever from?”

  “Scandal, on the surface of it. But at bottom, she is determined to indulge your own folly. She wants you to have everything you think you want—marriage to a proper wife in a proper house while you lead a proper life. Pah. As if you were the least bit capable of dancing to Society’s tune past the first minuet. Until now, I always respected the gel’s intelligence, but love has clouded her mind. She cannot see that you will be unhappy if you have your way. And believe me, you idiotish man, your happiness is second only to Nan’s where Jane is concerned.”

  He dared not trust his voice to respond, even if he had known what to say. He stared into the swirling brandy, its color so like the color of his eyes that he might as well have been looking into himself. But when he searched his soul for answers, he met a blank wall.

  He could not seem to move beyond the wall to wherever Lady Swann was trying to lead him. Going there would shatter everything he had worked for. Without his goals, he had nothing. Without his dreams, he was nothing.

  His eyes burned. Love has clouded her mind. He must have misunderstood. Damn, he had been witless since Lady Swann first
went on the attack. If Jane Ryder cared for him, he had never detected any sign of it.

  To be sure, there was the time he’d kissed her and felt an instant response, but most females responded when he kissed them. It occurred to him that he was confusing his own response with Jane’s. Perhaps he was the one who had felt something out of the ordinary during those few precious moments.

  Very well. Kissing her had rocked him on his heels.

  But kisses meant nothing. He was a man. Men kissed willing women in hopes of more and forgot them—the kisses and the women—soon after. That had always been his experience.

  “Gone missing in the brain box, sir?” Eudora tapped her glass with her lorgnette to get his attention. “Well, never you mind. I’ve said what I came here to say. Ain’t my way to meddle in another’s business, y’know.”

  He shot her a scathing look. “You will understand I find that hard to believe.”

  “Oh, quite. It’s God’s own truth, though. Although I am known, for reason, as The Tongue, I rarely interfere to such a degree as this. It gives me no pleasure to do so, even when I’ve a fondness for one of the gudgeons running amok. That would be Jane, of course. You, Fallon, are purely a disappointment to me on every count.”

  “I am devastated to hear it.”

  “You demmed well ought to be,” she snapped. “I cannot decide which is the greater looby, you or Jane, the both of you convinced she’s the one ain’t good enough when it is clearly t’ other way around. No use trying to convince her otherwise, though. You’re the one must come to scratch, Fallon, not that I imagine for a moment you will. You are too proud. You’d rather stay lost on a bad road than admit you took a wrong turn or were headed the wrong direction from the first.”

  Her words resonated with the unsettled feelings thrumming inside him. She made it impossible for him to dismiss them or force them from his mind, as he’d been trying to do since bidding Jane Ryder farewell.