“Has nothing to do with us. I’ll claim this baby as mine, and the world won’t be able to say differently unless we admit it.”
If it was a boy, there might be complications, guilt that they were possibly keeping him from a greater purpose in life. But were titles more important than love and safety? Was there anything being the potential heir presumptive could bring this child that Nash couldn’t provide, aside from a position at the edge of the aristocracy?
He took a deep breath, knowing that he’d let Margaretta decide. If she wanted, they would go to her late husband’s family and tell them everything; but if she didn’t, he would gladly raise this child as his own.
Nash began to talk. He drew a picture in her mind of what their life could be. Of the way he’d imagined this child—their child—playing with the other children in the town, looking forward to market day and growing up to become a solicitor or a soldier or anything else he wanted to become. He talked about sneaking the child peppermints from Mrs. Lancaster’s store while Margaretta pretended to glare at him for spoiling the children.
With every sentence he felt her relax, settle deeper into his embrace. Occasionally she chuckled. Eventually her arms unwrapped from around her middle and eased their way around him, bringing her fully into his embrace.
Where she belonged.
Nash took a deep breath. “Marry me, Margaretta. Stay here. Love me. Let’s build this life together.”
In answer, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He could taste the salt of her tears, feel the trembling of her body.
A soft click sounded through the room, but it took him more than a moment to realize what it meant.
“Well, I hope this means you’re getting married.” Katherine leaned back against the door and crossed her arms over her chest, a frown on her face.
Beside her, Miss Brightmoor was grinning from ear to ear while she snuggled a wrapped baby to her chest. “Of course they are. They love each other.”
One side of Katherine’s mouth lifted. “I guess they do, don’t they.”
Epilogue
Two months later, Nash was sitting down at the dining table in the house he’d leased for himself and Margaretta, just a little ways down the road from Mrs. Lancaster’s cottage. He’d received a letter from Margaretta’s father that morning, letting them know that he and Samuel Albany were engrossed in designing and testing a new saddle, one that would be perfect for the new style of racing. The idea wasn’t quite taking off yet, but Samuel had found a new obsession and was determined to bring the style into the sport.
Nash wished him every bit of luck as long as it kept his focus off Margaretta.
A smile touched Nash’s lips as his wife maneuvered around her extended belly to serve dinner to their friends. Katherine and Daphne had taken to bringing little Benedict by and spending the evening with Margaretta at least three times a week. Sometimes Mrs. Lancaster joined in.
Usually the evening was loud and joyful, but tonight Daphne seemed subdued. Her spoon scraped against her plate as she pushed the food around instead of eating it.
Margaretta set aside her own spoon and frowned. “What’s wrong, Daphne?”
Daphne looked up, her sweet round face pinched and serious. “I was just wishing that everyone had a Nash. You’re so fortunate, Margaretta, so blessed.”
Heat crawled up Nash’s cheeks as everyone took turns glancing from him to the cradle Benedict was currently sleeping in. It wasn’t hard to tell where Daphne’s sadness had come from. While the two girls had been incredibly happy for Margaretta, there was no running from the fact that no one had come to Daphne’s rescue.
Katherine reached a hand across the table and wrapped her fingers around Daphne’s. “We’ll do it. We’ll be someone’s Nash.”
Margaretta’s wide eyes met Nash’s. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we were willing to raise your child for you, but now we don’t have to.” Katherine swallowed and squared her shoulders as if the idea she was proposing scared her even as she was determined to do it. “So we’ll do it for someone else. We all know there are more girls out there facing this impossible position.”
“But we can’t help them all,” Daphne said quietly.
“No,” Katherine answered. “But we can help one. And maybe . . . maybe that’s enough.”
The group around the table fell silent.
An idea formed in the back of Nash’s mind. It was possibly unscrupulous, and definitely not what his client had in mind, but Nash couldn’t deny that the solution seemed like a perfect one. One that might have been created by God himself. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to do more than whisper, “What if you could help more than one?”
Three sets of eyes swung his way.
“We can barely support ourselves, Nash,” Daphne said just as quietly. “Taking in even one more is going to be difficult enough.”
Nash swallowed. “What if we could fix that?”
The sun was starting to crawl down the sky by the time Nash had borrowed his neighbor’s horse and wagon and convinced Mrs. Lancaster to watch Benedict. There should still be enough time to show the women what he meant, which was good because he didn’t think he could find the words to explain it. Partly because he still couldn’t believe what he was suggesting.
As he drove the wagon down a rutted road leading out of Marlborough, Nash wasn’t sure which was pounding more, his brain or his heart. What he was about to propose went against every cautious bone in his body. If he did this, if they did this, what would it mean for their lives? He glanced at Margaretta, snuggled up against him.
But what would it mean for so many other lives? For the women like Margaretta who had no way of supporting themselves, much less a child? Women who were forced to consider extreme measures to ensure survival?
Visions of what Margaretta would have done if he hadn’t followed her into Mrs. Lancaster’s shop that first day tried to crowd his mind. Nausea rolled through his stomach as he thought about what might have been. What would have happened if she’d been forced to return home and face Samuel. What would have happened if she’d chosen not to return home at all.
He shook his head and guided the horses onto an overgrown lane, branches and vines dragging against his head.
None of the things he was picturing had happened. None of them would happen. Margaretta was safe at his side, and just that morning he’d felt his child kicking away.
The women giggled and pushed through the trees that fell toward the wagon. This property hadn’t been in Nash’s care long, and clearing the drive hadn’t been his top priority, especially since the solicitor who contacted him about finding a caretaker hadn’t bothered making arrangements for the property, even though his client had owned it for years.
Nash saw no reason why the caretaker couldn’t be a couple of women and a handful of children. There were a few men in the town who would support such an endeavor, see to the more laborious tasks. And with the neglect and overgrowth of the surrounding lands, no one even had to know they were here.
They broke through the overgrown brush and pulled up in front of an estate house that hadn’t seen residents in well over a decade.
The giggles subsided.
Katherine leapt from the wagon bed as it rocked to a stop. “Nash, this place is enormous.”
It was. Giant two-story columns rose from the front porch, flanked by two large sets of stairs climbing to the house’s double doors. Two wings stretched out from the central section and a third stretched backward, though the women couldn’t see that yet.
“It needs a caretaker. I’ve been charged with setting up a long-term solution.”
Katherine looked from the house to Nash and back again. Then her gaze swung to Daphne. “What do you think?”
Daphne pressed a hand to her mouth and looked at Margaretta, then back to Katherine. “I think I’d have been in even more dire straits than Margaretta if you hadn’t saved me. I’d like to pass that on.”
/> Margaretta wrapped her arms around Nash’s arm. “And you won’t be alone.” She looked at Nash. “None of us will be.”
Katherine blew out a breath. “There’s things we’ll have to consider. The caretaker’s funds won’t support a passel of children. We’ll have to decide what we can actually handle and how to know who to help.” She looked around the property again. “But if you want to do it, then I’m in agreement.”
Nash couldn’t look away from Margaretta as a feeling of purpose swelled in his chest alongside the love that threatened to explode out of him now. “We’ll figure it all out. Together.”
“Together,” Margaretta whispered back.
Nash smiled before he leaned in to give her a quick kiss. Living again felt wonderful.
Keep reading for a special sample of A Defense of Honor by Kristi Ann Hunter.
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Available June 2018
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Chapter One
LONDON
1816
Graham, the Viscount Wharton, heir to the earldom of Grableton, pride of the Cambridge fencing team, coveted party guest, and generally well-liked member of both Brooke’s and White’s, was bored.
While the ball swirling around him held as much sparkle and elegance as ever, a dullness had taken the sheen off life lately. The years he’d spent traveling the world after school had shown him the brilliance and variety of life, but since he’d been back in England, there’d been nothing but routine. How long since he’d seen something new? Someone new? Three years? Four?
It wasn’t so much that he wanted to chase adventure as he had in his youth—at a year past thirty he was more than ready to stay home—but was it too much to ask that his days have a little variety to them?
Everything and everyone simply looked the same.
“This year’s young ladies seem to be lovelier than past years,” Mr. Crispin Sherrington said, drawing Graham’s thoughts away from his maudlin wanderings and back to the conversation he was having with two old acquaintances from school.
Lord Maddingly jabbed Mr. Sherrington with his elbow and chuckled. “The lighter your pockets, the prettier the partridges.”
Even the conversations were the same, and they weren’t any more interesting on their forty-second iteration than they were on their first. Different players and occasionally different motives, but Graham could say his lines by rote. “Are you looking to marry this year, Sherrington?”
Sherrington, a second son with limited prospects, slid a finger beneath his cravat and stretched his neck. “I don’t have a choice. Pa’s been ill, and when he’s in the ground I’ll have nothing. My brother Seymour is a little too thrilled at the idea of cutting me off when he inherits.”
Maddingly grimaced. “At least your father didn’t gamble it all away. You should see the mess I’m left with. I’ve got to build up the coffers if I hope to keep the roof over my head.”
Graham resisted the urge to sigh. There were better ways for a man to further his fortune, but that opinion wasn’t very popular among his peers. Instead of suggesting either man learn how to invest what funds they had or possibly even endeavor to save a bit, he continued on the conversation’s normal course. “Who has the deepest dowry?”
Past experience told him that question was all that was required for him to seem like he cared. The others could hold a passionate debate about it without Graham’s participation. Which was good, because he simply couldn’t get excited about discussing how much money a man was willing to pay to get another man to marry his daughter.
It was all well and good to have a bit of support when starting a life together, but shouldn’t the lady herself be a bit more of the enticement? She was, after all, the one a man was actually going to have to see for the rest of his life.
How had he ended up in a conversation with these two anyway? Graham’s gaze wandered across the ballroom once more. Where were his friends? Granted, Mr. Aaron Whitworth probably wasn’t in attendance, as he found socializing endlessly awkward, but Oliver, Lord Farnsworth, should be around somewhere.
The room settled into an unfocused blur until a flash of green near the terrace doors caught Graham’s attention, making him blink furiously to bring everything into focus.
When he finally got the terrace doors to settle into their crisp lines of window panes and heavy drapery, no one was there. At least, no one wearing the shade of green he knew he’d seen a moment earlier.
The doors were closed, keeping the revelers sheltered from the unseasonably cold night, so where had the person come from? Had she gone outside? Was she coming back in?
“What is your opinion of her, Wharton?”
Graham pulled his gaze from the windowed doors lining the far wall and glanced at Sherrington’s raised eyebrows. With a tilt of his head, Graham tried to appear deep in thought. And he was. Only he was trying to come up with a statement that wouldn’t reveal he’d been ignoring the other two men, not considering the merits of any particular girl.
“Her family is good enough,” he finally said. That should apply to every girl in the room. “She isn’t likely to cause you much grief.”
Unfortunately, there weren’t many girls that second sentence didn’t apply to either. Most of the gently bred women had been raised to smile and simper and act like nothing was ever wrong. It was part of what made them remarkably interchangeable. Which was probably why Graham was thirty-one and no closer to marriage than he’d been at twenty-one. He didn’t want to lose track of his wife in the melee because he couldn’t distinguish her from someone else.
Maddingly nodded in agreement with Graham’s vague statement. “She might even be willing to live in the country while you stay in the city.”
Sherrington scoffed. “Can’t afford that nonsense.” He frowned. “Think she’ll expect such a thing, Wharton?”
How should he know? His parents enjoyed eating breakfast together every morning and talking in their private parlor into the night. He wasn’t exactly the person to ask about distant marriages. Still, he didn’t want his companions to know that he couldn’t hold up his end of the conversation even if they’d given him a bucket to put it in. “Many matrons find a quiet life within the city, so she’ll have no problem being more settled and less sociable.”
Unless, of course, the woman was a harridan or bluestocking, but by the time Sherrington discovered that, he’d have bigger problems than Graham’s poor advice. Of course, the chances of Sherrington considering such a woman were nonexistent. He wasn’t looking for distinct and memorable.
Unlike Graham. Who had apparently imagined a splash of bright green in the shape of a dress because he was that desperate to meet someone who didn’t bore him. A woman he could even begin to consider making a life with.
Sherrington and Maddingly continued their discussion, debating whether or not the girl’s father would be amenable to Sherrington’s suit. Graham made sure to pay a token of attention to the conversation so as not to be caught off guard again. Most of his attention was on the women dancing by, though. One wore a blue dress, the color distinct enough to stand out in a crowd. It wasn’t as bold as a bright green, but it was at least unusual. The girl was probably less inane than the rest of them.
“I’d best move into position if I want to ask her for the next set of dances.” Sherrington straightened his coat and nodded to his companions. “To the gallows, gentlemen.”
Graham grinned. “Rather confident, isn’t he?”
Maddingly laughed and wished his friend luck.
“Charville’s girl won’t be enough for me, I’m afraid.” Maddingly adjusted his coat. “Only the biggest catch of the season will do for me.”
Maddingly’s difficulties weren’t as bad as he made them seem, so Graham left him to his self-sacrificing monologue. The girl in green was more intriguing, even if she was only in his imagination. He turned his attention to the more deeply colo
red gowns of the matrons and spinsters. Still no vibrant spring green.
When Maddingly stopped talking, Graham continued the conversation, more out of habit than actual curiosity. “Who have you settled on, then?”
Whatever name Maddingly responded with didn’t matter, because there, barely visible through the limbs of a cluster of potted trees along the far wall, was a patch of green. How had she gotten all the way over there without him seeing her?
“Yes,” Maddingly continued, “I think Lady Thalia will be delighted by my intention to court her.”
Graham actually knew who the mildly popular Lady Thalia was, but he wasn’t about to contradict Maddingly. Especially not now that he knew the woman in green wasn’t imaginary. Though why would a woman wear such an eye-catching color if she intended to plant herself behind the potted shrubbery all evening?
A grin crossed Graham’s face at his own cleverness. Plant herself behind the shrubbery.
Now that he’d found the woman, he had a desperate need to meet her, but first he had to get away from Maddingly. “Why don’t you start by asking her to dance?”
The branches parted slightly, and a hand reached through and plucked a petite duchesse pastry off the tray of a passing servant.
Was she hiding? Well, obviously she was hiding, but was it from a persistent suitor or an overbearing mother?
With a grim but determined look, Maddingly nodded and made his way around the edge of the ballroom. Graham wished him well and meant it, but he was more interested in watching another servant carry a tray loaded with food past the grouping of trees. Again the hand reached through and grabbed a morsel as the footman passed. Why didn’t she simply go to the refreshment table and get a plate of food?
His palms began to itch with the same excitement he’d had every time he boarded a ship bound for a new part of the world. It was the itch of curiosity, of questions that needed answers. At last, here was something new and unusual.
And if she turned out to be nothing special? Well, at least he’d have filled one evening with something other than tedium.
A Search for Refuge Page 11
