Lord Martin’s face was cold. ‘You are saying that he did know? That you told him, Kit? Deliberately?’
Her breath jerked in. ‘How else could he have known?’
Hunt nearly missed it, but he saw the girl’s eyes flicker and realised she had avoided a direct answer. ‘Miss Carshalton—’
‘I’ll bid you all a good day.’ Miss Carshalton’s voice was as brittle as her expression and she moved awkwardly, as if unsure of her footing.
‘Damn it to hell, Kit!’ Lacy exploded. ‘Where the devil are you going?’ He caught her arm and she flinched.
‘Please, let me go, Mart—my lord. I’m going ho—back to London.’
‘I drove you out here in my gig!’
Lord Martin’s knuckles whitened as his grip on the girl’s arm tightened.
She jerked free. ‘I’m not such a fine lady that I can’t walk!’
‘Walk?’ Lord Martin stared. ‘To London?’
She went straight past him, her eyes wide and blank, opened the door and was gone. Lord Martin started after her, cursing, but Hunt stepped into his path.
‘No, Lacy. Let her go.’
Lord Martin clenched his fists. ‘She’s not going to—’
‘No, she isn’t,’ Hunt said. ‘I’ll see to it.’
Lord Martin turned away on a blistering curse. ‘Go, then.’
Hunt hurried out, remembering what he’d told Harry: Doing the right and honourable thing doesn’t always have a happy ending. It didn’t make him feel any better.
* * *
Emma watched as Lord Martin walked across to the desk, still carrying the brown paper parcel. He set it very carefully on the desk and picked up the ring Miss Carshalton had removed. He stared at it blindly for a moment, before slipping it into his pocket.
‘I beg your pardon, Lady Huntercombe.’ He spoke stiffly. ‘I’ll relieve you of my presence.’
‘Lord Martin—’ Emma did not know quite how to broach the subject, but she had to try. ‘Have you...have you considered that Miss Carshalton might simply have mentioned it to her father in all innocence?’
His face hardened. ‘Irrelevant, Lady Huntercombe.’ Each word was like flint. ‘She could be as innocent as a babe in arms and it would make no difference.’
‘She defended you!’ Emma felt sick, seeing again the blind look on the girl’s face as she left. ‘And you won’t stand by her?’
Martin’s knuckles whitened. ‘Carshalton has powerful friends who won’t like being embarrassed,’ he said quietly. ‘The word of a felon is unlikely to convict him. How safe do you think Harry would be if I married his daughter?’
That silenced her.
His mouth twisted. ‘Exactly. It’s all I can do to protect Peter’s son.’ He gestured to the parcel. ‘That’s for the children. Something Harry said yesterday... Good day to you.’
‘Martin?’
He stopped. ‘Yes?’
‘Will you call again? So they can thank you?’
His lips curved in a travesty of a smile. ‘I would like that, but it will be better for everyone if I don’t.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘Peter was a very lucky man. Goodbye, Emma.’
The door closed behind him with a click and Emma sank into a chair, shaken. They had the truth and Harry was safe. But if Miss Carshalton was innocent... Did Martin believe that, or not? Whichever it was, Emma suspected that he had cared about her more than might have been expected in a betrothal supposedly arranged between rank and fortune.
Her gaze fell on the parcel he had left on the desk. For the children he had said. With an aching heart she rose and went to the bell pull by the fireplace. The least she could do was let them open their own present.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘Miss Carshalton!’
She was halfway across the entrance hall and her steps faltered, but she didn’t stop, let alone turn.
Hunt lengthened his stride and came up with her as she reached the front doors. ‘My dear, I can’t possibly permit you to walk all the way back to London.’
That did stop her. She faced him and he saw with a pang that her eyes were wet with tears she had not allowed to fall. Despite that, they still blazed. ‘You are not my father! You have nothing to say in what I do!’
He took a careful breath. ‘No. I am not your father. But I knew you as a child. Will you not permit me to have the carriage brought around for you? For my own peace of mind. I count Ignatius Selbourne a friend. What do you think he will say to me when he finds out I let you walk home from here?’
Her mouth trembled. ‘I...very well. Thank you.’
Hunt beckoned to the footman on duty who looked as though he were trying very hard to melt into the wall. ‘The carriage for Miss Carshalton. Immediately.’
He turned back to her. ‘Shall we wait in the Long Gallery?’
She swallowed. ‘You don’t need to wait with me.’
‘Yes, I do,’ he said quietly.
She was silent a moment, then let out a breath. ‘Very well.’
* * *
He showed her into the gallery at the back of the house and closed the doors. The fires had not been lit and he saw her shiver.
‘Why did you avoid Martin’s question, Miss Carshalton?’
She stiffened. ‘Avoid? What are—?’
‘You didn’t answer directly when he asked if you had deliberately passed information to your father. He was upset enough not to notice, but I did. Why?’ he demanded. ‘Why hurt him by letting him suspect you did it deliberately. You didn’t.’
She faced him defiantly. ‘You can’t know that.’
‘Yes, I can. Why?’ He saw her mouth tremble and realised just how close she was to breaking. ‘Kit, my—’
‘Don’t call me that!’
‘Why not? Because Martin did?’
She nodded, her throat working.
‘Kit,’ he spoke very gently, ‘if you think it will make it easier for him believing you involved, you are very wrong.’
She shuddered. ‘Better that, than—’ She caught herself.
‘Better than what? The truth?’ He was beginning to suspect what she was hiding and it sickened him. ‘Kit, if you know something, tell me. A child’s life is at stake here. You can’t protect Martin by hiding the truth.’
She stared at him for a long moment. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. If...if anything happened...and I hadn’t spoken, he’d hate me even more.’ She bit her lip. ‘I didn’t speak to my father yesterday afternoon, beyond greeting him. But Martin’s mother did.’
He’d suspected it from the moment he realised Kit was hiding something from Martin. What he couldn’t see was why.
Kit turned away. ‘She...she’s besotted with him, you know.’
He looked at her sharply. ‘The Duchess? With Martin?’
‘Yes.’ There was a moment’s silence and when she continued her voice was low and taut. ‘She used to talk sometimes about what a shame it was that Martin would never be the Duke. That he was meant for great things, that he alone of his brothers knew his duty. Thirlbeck, at nearly forty, had not married. Lord Peter had married to disoblige his family and, worse, had spawned “a brat”—her words—who might not even be legitimate.’
‘He is,’ Hunt assured her.
‘That’s not the point!’ She turned back to him and the pain in her eyes was like a blow. ‘She was utterly irrational about it. She wanted Harry to be illegitimate.’ Her voice broke. ‘I... I have no idea if Thirlbeck’s death was my father’s doing and, if it was, if she knew. But my father came into the hall yesterday as we entered the house. She told me to...to “Run along, Katherine, and order tea.”’ Her imitation of the Duchess’s condescending accent was pitch perfect. ‘She wanted a word with my father about...about the wedding date.’
She turned abruptly away and
went to stare out into the wintery gardens. Pity stabbed at Hunt. There was nothing he could say, no comfort to offer. All he could do was pretend he hadn’t seen those first tears fall.
* * *
‘Uncle Hunt!’ Georgie ran to grab his hand as he entered the library after seeing Kit into the carriage fifteen minutes later. ‘Come and see! We’ve got a present!’
‘A present?’ His mouth curved, despite the ache in his heart. Somehow being dragged across the library by an excited child lifted all weights, reminded him that there could always be hope. ‘What is it?’
‘Come and see!’ Georgie repeated.
Harry, seated on the arm of Emma’s chair, held a small object. As he drew, or was dragged, closer, Hunt saw that it was a miniature. And he knew.
Harry held the painting out for his inspection. ‘It’s Papa. Mama says it’s a very good likeness.’ The boy looked up at him with shining eyes. ‘Uncle Martin left it for us.’
He managed another smile. ‘I’d better have another made so you have one each.’
‘Could you?’ Harry asked. ‘It wouldn’t be too expensive?’
Hunt shook his head. ‘No. Not at all.’ He smiled at Emma. ‘Shall we go for a walk? By the lake?’
‘Can we come, too?’ Georgie bounced on her toes.
‘Certainly, if you promise not to fall in until late next summer,’ Hunt said.
Georgie’s brow wrinkled. ‘Why late next summer?’
Harry rolled his eyes. ‘Because the water will be jolly cold now and you can’t swim yet!’
Georgie scowled, and then said, ‘But am I going to learn? I thought girls weren’t—’
‘If you’re going anywhere near my lake you learn how to swim.’ Hunt held out his hand to Emma, drew her out of the chair. ‘Come along. Fergus has arrived. He’s in the stable yard. We’ll go that way.
* * *
With the children and Fergus racing ahead, Emma listened in dazed horror to what Hunt told her. ‘The Duchess? But, she’s—’ She couldn’t say it.
Hunt did it for her. ‘Yes. Harry’s grandmother.’
‘Are...are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ Hunt said. ‘I had to drag it out of Kit.’
‘She knew? But why let Martin think—?’ Emma’s heart cracked. ‘She was protecting him?’
‘Yes. I think though, even if I hadn’t pushed just now, she would have contacted me with the truth when she realised her silence left Harry in danger. The poor child was thinking only of Martin.’
Emma shut her eyes. ‘He’ll have to know.’
‘Yes.’ Hunt’s eyes were shadowed. ‘I’ll see him and Keswick tomorrow. Keswick will have to find a way to keep his Duchess in check and the fact that Martin’s betrothal is broken should nullify Carshalton.’
‘What should we tell Harry and Georgie about it?’ Emma asked. Hunt had slipped his arm about her waist and they walked in easy step together.
‘Nothing,’ he answered. ‘I doubt we can bring Carshalton down over this. But the broken betrothal will protect Harry. Carshalton will not waste his time on something that brings him nothing.’
She rested her cheek on his shoulder. ‘Poor Kit. Her reputation, when the broken betrothal becomes known—even if we can’t prove her father’s involvement—’
‘It’s more than that, sweetheart.’ He let out a breath. ‘I think she made the mistake of falling in love with Martin.’
Remembering her own pain at initially refusing Hunt, Emma swallowed. If Martin also loved Kit...
They reached the lake and walked around it towards a grove of willows, whose bare branches dipped and swayed over the water in the chill breeze. On the far side of the lake a small structure was built out over the water. The children came tearing back.
‘Uncle Hunt! Is that a boathouse?’ Harry skidded to a halt, breathless. ‘Can we go in? Please?’
Georgie wasn’t far behind. ‘Please, Uncle Hunt? If we promise faithfully not to get in the boats or fall in until next summer?’
‘Faithfully?’ Hunt asked, raising an eyebrow.
Georgie nodded vehemently, and Harry said, ‘I’ll mind her, sir. We’ll just look.’
Hunt chuckled. ‘Very well. The boats are out of the water for the winter, but the dock will be slippery. Stay well back from the edge.’
‘Yes, sir!’
They were gone in a flash, Fergus with them.
‘Harry is very like his father, isn’t he? Except he has your eyes.’
Emma caught her breath. ‘Yes. Very like. He, that is, Harry told Martin yesterday that he didn’t remember Peter very well. So—he brought the miniature. There was a note with it. He had it done after Peter’s death from a painting at Keswick Hall. You don’t mind?’
‘Mind? That Harry and Georgie have something to help them remember their father?’ He regarded her quizzically. ‘As you minded the painting of Anne and the children?’
She managed a wobbly smile. ‘Not at all, then.’
Hunt’s arm tightened, drawing her on and, as they rounded the willows she saw their destination.
A headstone rose out of the turf close by, twenty feet back from the lake on a little rise. Her breath jerked in. ‘Oh, Hunt. Gerald?’
‘Yes. He and my sons used to play here in the willows. He loved this spot.’ He pulled something from his pocket, bent down and placed it at the foot of the headstone. Her throat tightened. It was a tiny sprig of rosemary.
He straightened, removed his hat and stood silently, gazing down at his brother’s grave. It was a very simple headstone. Just Gerald’s name and that he was the beloved son of Lucius and Susan, beloved brother of Giles, Letitia and Caroline, followed by the dates of his birth and death together with a line from a psalm—He leadeth me beside the still waters and maketh me to lie down in green pastures.
From the boathouse, fifty yards away, the children’s voices floated back, bright and happy. Emma had not bothered with a bonnet, but she pushed back the hood of her cloak and said nothing. He wanted her here with him. That was enough. She rested her cheek against Hunt’s shoulder and waited. Several swans sailed on the lake as the wind sifted through the willows, whispered across the water, and brought small waves dancing home on the shore.
His arm came back around her. ‘I’d paid Gerald’s debts when he was sent down from Oxford.’ His voice was very quiet, almost as if he spoke to himself. ‘They were...staggering. Not just unpaid bills, but gambling debts.’ The break in his voice tore at Emma, but there was nothing she could say. Nothing she should say. Now was for listening. He went on. ‘I was worried. Worried that he was spending heedlessly, and showing all the signs of becoming a habitual gambler. Fox ran through a fortune in our youth, unable to stop, and I saw Gerald going the same way. Watching Fox was bad enough, but if Gerald did that...’ She turned slightly, slipped her arms around him, and felt the tremor that ran though him. ‘And the estates, my tenants, so much depended on him. I depended on him. Maybe too much.’
She held on. They were coming to it now. ‘Of course you depended on him. You needed to know he would be able to accept his responsibilities.’
‘It wasn’t just that. Losing my own children, along with Anne—Gerald was the closest family I had left. I wasn’t just worried about his responsibilities; I was worried about him. I loved him.’
Her heart broke a little for him. ‘I know. What happened?’
Hunt swallowed. ‘I knew he was under the hatches before he came to me. I’d come up with the perfect plan. You see, he was still under age, only twenty. No decent man would have allowed him to play for more than chicken stakes. So I told him I’d pay the bills in return for his word of honour that the gambling would stop. He’d never broken a promise to me and I was more worried about tradesmen who might be ruined than gamesters who should never have taken a boy’s vowels.’
‘The g
aming debts?’
The steel band clamped around his heart, his guts. ‘I refused to pay them. At that point he stormed out.’
She was very still for a moment. ‘At that point? Then you still had something to say?’
‘That I had drawn up the deeds to transfer one of the unentailed properties to him in trust. He would not be able to sell it, but he could use the income to pay off his gambling debts.’ Why hadn’t he said that first? Why—?
Her lips brushed his cheek. ‘So he chose not to listen when you called him to come back?’
‘How do you know I called him?’
She pulled back a little, raising her hands to cradle his cheeks, and met his gaze, her eyes wet. ‘Because I know you, Hunt. You loved him. So you would have gone after him.’
‘Yes. But he was shouting at me, incapable of hearing anything. I’d done that, made him so angry, that—’
Her fingers pressed gently against his lips. ‘Hunt, stop. Don’t do this to yourself. Gerald made his own choices. Not good ones. And no parent can foresee everything.’
They stood quietly for a while. Eventually he said, ‘This is the first time I’ve been here since we buried him. I kept the miniature on my desk. But I couldn’t come here. To him.’ And it felt easier now that he had. Grief remained, regrets, but not the endless weight of guilt. That was gone, as if it should never have been.
The future, without that weight, beckoned. He reached out, brushed his fingers over the marker in farewell and they walked on towards the boathouse and the children’s laughter.
‘Each year on Peter’s birthday, I take the children to visit his grave. I tell him about the children and they tell him about me. We leave flowers. Silly, but—’
He silenced her with a gentle kiss. ‘No. No, it’s not. Would you...would you permit me—?’ He broke off as her eyes filled with tears. Perhaps he shouldn’t even ask. ‘No. I’m sorry. Forget—’
‘You’d come with us to Peter’s grave?’ A tear spilled over, slid down her cheek.
His heart flooded. With joy. With sorrow. With love. Sometimes those things became inextricably entwined. ‘Yes. Before we go to Pentreath? I’d like the chance to assure him that I have you and the children safe.’
His Convenient Marchioness Page 26
