Once Upon an Earl_Heirs of High Society_A Regency Romance Book

by Eleanor Meyers

  “You’re right.” Mrs. Weston said, as she stood. She moved to ring the bell.

  * * *

  17

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  .

  .

  .

  * * *

  * * *

  .

  After Samantha was shown to her rooms, she went in search of Lady Brandell. She’d seen the way the woman had paled at Mrs. Weston’s story, and wanted to comfort her. She suspected that the dowager was actually more disturbed by Mrs. Weston’s past than she’d let on; but wouldn’t know the answer until she asked.

  Samantha had been shown to a room on the east side of the house, a bit far from Lady Selby and Lady Brandell’s chambers. When she finally reached Lady Brandell’s room, she found Lady Selby to be already with her, holding her hand.

  “It’s all right,” Lady Selby whispered as Sam closed the door behind her. “In the morning, you’ll see that you’ve no reason to worry.”

  Lady Brandell’s eyes were wild, and she covered her lips with her free hand. Her hair had come slightly undone, strands going this way and that around her round face. She looked to have woken from a night terror. “No, I know it’s him. I know it, Agnes. It can only be him.”

  Lady Selby tried to quiet her. “It’s not, Cili. Augustus died.”

  Sam took the chair from the corner of the room and sat it in front of Lady Brandell. “Who’s Augustus?”

  “Her son,” Lady Selby said as she tried to smooth Lady Brandell’s hair to rights. “Augustus was the name of the baby.”

  “Augustus,” Lady Brandell whispered, her gaze unfocused, and set in the distance.

  Sam frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  Lady Selby wrapped her arms around Lady Brandell and rested her head on the dowager’s shoulder. No friendship ever seemed truer than theirs. It was truly something to be envied. “She believes Nash to be Augustus,” Selby said as she allowed tears to fall. “But he’s not. Augustus died.”

  When Lady Brandell spoke, it was hardly above a whisper. “I only saw the baby once. They took him away after that, but I when I saw him, he was alive and pink, with red hair. A mark…” She touched her left arm. “There was a mark right here on his arm. I remember everything about my son.” She closed her eyes. “It’s him. I know it. He’s twenty-nine. He writes with his left hand, as do I. He can’t abide musicals.”

  Sam leaned back in her seat, unsure of what to say. Lady Brandell seemed so convinced, and what she said seemed good evidence, but Sam wasn’t sure. Babies didn’t rise from the dead.

  ‘I only saw him once,” Lady Brandell said again. “A few hours. Then they took him away and declared him dead. They didn’t let me see the body. They said such a thing wasn’t for a lady to see.”

  Lady Selby straightened and stared at her friend. “Who told you this?”

  Lady Brandell’s face crumbled. “Mr. Reed.”

  Cold sliced through Samantha, seizing her arms. Could it be that Nash was Augustus? Impossible. He was so big… but so were Jolan and Karl, in their own way. As a fact, she’d always thought the Brandell men rather… manly.

  She turned to look at Lady Selby and found the woman to be frowning.

  “Cili, just because Mr. Reed delivered the news doesn’t mean he lied. There had to have been others who’d seen Augustus, confirmed his death.”

  Samantha deflated back into her seat. She’d nearly forgotten about that. Of course, there had to have been others. Cili’s husband had been alive at the time. Surely, he’d have seen his son before he’d been declared dead. A doctor or midwife as well. No, Nash couldn’t be Augustus.

  “It’s him,” Lady Brandell said. “I know my own son! He’s alive.” She tried to stand up, but Lady Selby held her down, weeping.

  “Oh, Cili, please don’t do this. Not again. Please. Augustus is gone. Not every person you see is him.”

  That seemed to trigger something in Lady Brandell’s memory, and then the woman began to cry in anguish.

  Sam’s own eyes filled with tears. The dowager’s pain ripped a hole right through her. For twenty-nine years, she’d longed for her departed child, had even mistaken others for him. Her heart ached with the need to take the woman’s pain away, to wrap her in so much love that she’d never feel hurt again.

  Lady Selby turned Lady Brandell into her arms and looked at Sam. “Tell Mrs. Weston we’ll not be attending dinner.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” Sam said, sure she looked a right mess, as well.

  “You must, or we’ll offend her,” Lady Selby said. “Please, Sam. I’ll stay with Cili.”

  Sam wiped at her face and nodded as she came to her feet. “Of course. There would be doubts of their claimed indifference at Mrs. Weston’s past, if one of the women didn’t go to dinner. She gave Lady Brandell a quick hug before leaving, closing the door behind her.

  “Is she all right?”

  Sam was startled by Nash. He stood a few yards away with a pensive look in his eyes. “What?”

  “Lady Brandell,” Nash said. “I thought I heard weeping. Is she all right?”

  Sam nodded and started for him since he was by the stairs. “Yes, she’s…” Then she shook her head. “She needs rest.”

  Nash looked over her head in the direction of Lady Brandell’s door. “I tried to stop Mrs. Weston. I knew the mention of babies would hurt Lady Brandell.”

  Sam took his arm, even though he’d not offered it. With his intense gaze, she worried he’d try to go to Lady Brandell. He was such a good man, but he was the very last person Lady Brandell needed to see. “We must attend dinner, or we’ll offend Mrs. Weston.”

  He turned to her and nodded. “Yes, but the meal will be short. The address Lady Brandell gave you just so happens to be the inn that’s nearby. That means he’d either staying there, himself, or he has someone pick up mail for him there.” He started down the stairs. “I plan to go there tonight.”

  “I want to come.”

  He stopped and frowned at her. “Absolutely not. If he’s there, he’ll wonder why you’ve come.”

  She lifted a brow. “Yes, but he’d never suspect it was to find Lord Selby.” Instead, Lord Brandell would think Sam came for very different reasons.

  Nash backed her into the wall and growled. “Absolutely not.” He cupped her head. “He doesn’t get to have you.”

  She placed her hands on his arms, thinking to stop him, but unable to do so. Her blood was rushing all over her body, making her thoughts jumbled. “Nash…”

  It was all she got out, before he captured her mouth. Sam felt on fire from the assault of his mouth on hers. He kissed the side of her cheek and down her throat. “Mine.” His arms went around her.

  She held him and closed her eyes, as tears gathered. If only she could be his. If he’d truly been Lady Brandell’s son, he’d have been a gentleman. Her eyes popped open and widened. He’d be the Earl of Brandell. How very unfair life was, especially since she was falling for Nash.

  He leaned away and wiped at the tears that began to slide down her cheeks. Too many emotions at once had her mind in disarray. She had to tell him the truth before this went any further.

  “Did I hurt you?” Nash asked after Samantha calmed.

  She shook her head. “I… This…” She bit her lip.

  He caught her chin between his fingers and lifted her head. “What is it?” His own heart was racing with the need to know what had disturbed her. He knew she wanted him. It had been impulsive, him asking to court her early that morning, but given the choice, he couldn’t imagine another woman he’d want for his wife, and she kissed him with such a passion that he believed them to be of the same mind.

  So why her hesitation?

  “I’ve money,” he told her. “I’m rather wealthy, actually, and have made sound investments in the past few years. You’d have no reason to worry for anything. I can give you a home in the country and that garden you want.”

  She smiled. “I would lo
ve that.”

  He smiled. “Then who do I ask for your hand?”

  Her smile shattered. “You can’t marry me, Nash. You’re not a lord.”

  She couldn’t have cut him deeper. His lungs constricted in the same way they’d have if a large man plowed a fist into his chest.

  His looked changed, he was bewildered.

  Sam rushed on. “That’s not what I mean. Well, yes, but not in the way you think.”

  He stepped back. He knew exactly what she’d meant. He was a bastard. Untitled and therefore, unworthy of her hand. He’d been a fool to think her different from the other ladies.

  “Nash.” Mrs. Weston came around the corner and started down the stairs. “Oh, there you are and Lady Coburn. Will Lady Selby and Lady Brandell be joining us as well?”

  “Nash,” Sam whispered.

  He stepped away and turned to smile at Mrs. Weston. It had never hurt so much to pretend he felt no pain. “I’m afraid not, but Lady Coburn is set to join us.” He held out his arm for Mrs. Weston once she reached them and started toward the dining room. The older woman laughed, so he was sure he’d not told her that his heart had just been removed without need of a blade.

  He barely tasted the food. He ignored Samantha during the meal and, as he’d promised, he dismissed himself early, telling Mrs. Weston that he had business nearby. She wasn’t surprised at all. She knew who he was and who he worked for.

  He departed from the house after grabbing a lamp and started toward the horse in Mrs. Weston’s stable. He had use of it whenever he came.

  He was surprised when he heard rushing feet in the grass behind him and glared as Sam approached. “You’ll be compromised coming out here after me. Don’t you care what Mrs. Weston will think?”

  Sam blinked as she caught her breath. “Were you listening to a word she said over the meal? She was all but trying to convince us to wed and name our children after her.”

  Nash stilled. He hadn’t been listening at all during the meal but was sure he’d have caught that. Apparently, he hadn’t.

  “You should have told her it was a waste of time,” he said before turning away.

  “Are you going to let me speak, or act like a bull?” she shouted from her place in the grass.

  He stopped, spun, and started for her again. He stopped a foot away. “Speak.”

  * * *

  18

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  .

  .

  .

  * * *

  * * *

  .

  Nash watched Sam swallow, and when the wind blew against her curls, he told himself he no longer wished to touch her. The lie was unconvincing. “My father sent me to London in order to marry a lord in the hopes of restoring my reputation.”

  He held her eyes. “I believe what you just described to be the entire point of the Season.”

  She frowned. “If I don’t marry a lord, I have to marry Mr. Green. He’ll give my hand to no other man.”

  “Mr. Green?” Nash asked.

  “The man who… slept in my bed.” She wrapped her arms around her. “The reason my reputation is ruined. He’s a sailor. A friend of my father’s…”

  Green. He had a name and an occupation. Now he knew whose bones to break. Even though he was still upset with her, he allowed himself a moment to lock Mr. Green in a special part of his thoughts before he returned his focus to her.

  He wanted to touch her. There was little reason for her to hold herself when his arms were ready to take her, protect her. “You wouldn’t need your father’s permission.”

  Her face was full of anguish. “He’s my father—”

  “Who was hardly there.” He knew the words were wrong, the moment they left his mouth.

  She straightened, the pain fled, taken over by anger. “He’s the only parent I have left. I’m not sure you’d understand that.”

  There she was. The prim and proper lady who couldn’t see past him being a bastard.

  I understand it better than you know. After all, he’d joined in on the hunt for Lord Selby in the hopes of keeping his mother alive.

  Her eyes closed, and that pained look returned. “That was… unfair of me.”

  “Keep your apathetic apologies, my lady. I’ve suddenly decided you’re not worth having in my bed. Not for a night, and surely not until death do us part. If I’m to take a ruined woman to wife, I might as well make sure she knows a thing or two about what happens between the sheets.”

  Even in the lamp light, he could see the color drain from her face. “How dare you say such a crude thing to me.” Then her skin colored again, deepening with anger. “How rude!”

  “I warned you once that I wasn’t a gentleman. Perhaps, your father was right. Best stick to your own class. Off to bed with you. It’s not right for a lady to be out this late. Who knows what sort of beast she could encounter.” Then he turned and walked away again.

  She didn’t follow, and he didn’t look back to see if she’d taken his advice and returned to the house. He was angry. His chest burned, and he barely paid attention to anything he did, as he readied the horse and rode away.

  Once outside the barn, he couldn’t help but look at the side of the house where he and Sam had argued. She was gone, and he didn’t allow himself to feel anything about it. He cursed her as he rode again, retreating to the man he’d been, before he’d learned to control his tongue in front of polite society.

  Christmas had been the one to train him, correcting him as he grew older, though he’d hardly been much older himself. Nash could pretend with the best, and learned to blend in when the occasion made it necessary, but Nash could never escape who he truly was.

  He breathed in the night air, finding the scent of grass heavy and with a heated aroma, evidence of the sunny day. But now, the moon guided him as he started for his destination and thought back on how he’d became the man he was.

  Once he’d left prison and started to work for Iverstone, the duke had made certain that Nash learned the etiquette of a gentleman, which were lessons he’d taken begrudgingly, until the day he’d met a woman named Lady Emma Honeysett. She’d been on death’s door with the amount of opium in her blood. When she’d recovered, she’d become his teacher, and one of his closest friends.

  Emma didn’t see him as a bastard. She saw him as a knight, and would likely be unsurprised to learn he should have been an earl. She’d taught him to ride, appropriate conversation, and names and titles of the most important men and women in London. It was after the perfect mask of a gentleman had been fitted to him, that Nash moved up in Iverstone’s business, becoming someone in charge because he could manage books, and people of all ranks. He could charm himself into most ballrooms and had attended enough private events to tell the difference between the styles of music and other arts.

  But in the end, he was little more than trash that breathed in the eyes of society. Trash that was dressed up and perfumed enough to not be of offense.

  No more, he decided, as the horse neared the inn. He’d no longer don the mask. There were positions in Iverstone’s business where he wouldn’t have to, and after the weeping he’d heard from his mother’s rooms, he knew it ill advised to see her again. He’d not completely disappear, however. He would find Lord Selby, but from now on, he’d only deal with the woman through correspondence. Sam would likely never want to see him again, so he’d send her nothing.

  He dismounted once he reached the inn, and didn’t bother to put on a false smile as he walked through the door.

  The Stickland Inn was small, with likely no more than ten rooms, at most. Nash had stayed in it a time or two; and knew its keeper. He also knew that many in the village chose to gather here for drink and games.

  He could hear the noise coming from a parlor but decided to keep his distance for the moment. If he saw Lord Brandell or Mr. Ogden, he would follow them and see where it led him. If not, perhaps the innkeeper would know something.

  He pass
ed a couple who was speaking to a maid and saw Mr. Cull as he came down the stairs. Skipping pleasantries, he paid the man and told him what and who he was looking for.

  “I don’t know if the man you’re describing is him, but a Mr. Ogden is here.” He tilted his head toward a private dining room. “He met with another gentleman who didn’t give his name, but the other is now gone. Mr. Ogden, however, has yet to depart.”