Theo’s chair scraped the stone floor as he pushed it away from the table, walking out of the dining room without another word. His hands were shaking, and his heart pounding as he realized the impact of Robin’s decision. Louisa was now lost to him forever unless he turned his back on his title and inheritance. Would she even want him if he were penniless?
Theo stepped out into the muggy evening, unsure of where he was going. The streets were dark, illuminated only by patches of light spilling from windows onto the muck-strewn sidewalk. Few people were out, keeping to the middle of the road for fear of being set upon in the shadows and robbed, or worse. The occasional carriage rattled by, but otherwise, all was quiet. Theo walked toward the Thames, hoping it was cooler by the water. The smell of seaweed and rotting fish accosted his senses, but he hardly noticed; he was too wrapped up in his misery.
Orbs of yellow light bobbed above the black surface of the water as packet boats crossed the river, ferrying people across even at this time of night, the boatmen calling out to each other from time to time. Theo sat on a barrel and watched as the river lazily flowed past him, oblivious to his troubles. He’d given Louisa his word of honor, and he would keep it. He just needed to think of something he could use to change Robin’s mind, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a damn thing. One thing he knew for certain — he wasn’t going to lose her.
Chapter 28
Alec poured himself a glass of brandy but set it aside for the moment. The amber liquid glowed in the late afternoon sun pouring in through the leaded windows, casting golden shafts of light onto the polished walnut table conveniently situated between the two high-backed chairs. Alec had to admit that he loved this room. Yealm Castle had a fine library, but the library at Kit’s London residence far surpassed it. He walked along the nearest shelf of books, running his finger along the spines of the well-read volumes. How he’d missed reading for pleasure. There were some books in Virginia, but not nearly enough, and most of them were religious texts rather than the “frivolous musings of degenerates,” as the minister had put it in one of his sermons.
Alec pulled out Richard III by William Shakespeare and smiled. It had been one of his favorites when he was a young man. He’d been enthralled by Richard’s Machiavellian tactics during his rise to power, horrified and impressed that someone would go to such lengths to gain the throne. Alec settled into a chair, grateful to have the library to himself. He wondered briefly what the women were up to before opening the book to the first page and reaching for his drink. No matter; he’d see them soon enough.
Alec was so engrossed in the play that he didn’t even notice her at first. The servant approached him shyly, clearing her throat to get his attention as she hovered by the door, unsure of whether she should come further into the room. Alec reluctantly put the volume down, turning his attention to the maid. “Was there something you wanted?”
“Ah, I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Whitfield, but there’s a young woman asking to see you, sir. What should I tell her?”
“A young woman?” Alec asked, confused. “Did she give a name?”
“No, sir. She only said that she must speak with you urgently, and will wait as long as it takes for you to receive her.” The maid gave him an inquisitive stare before hastily looking away. Alec had no idea why some unknown young woman would want to see him, but he’d find out soon enough.
“I’ll receive her in here. Thank you,” he added as the girl slipped out of the library. Alec threw a longing look at the book before setting it down on the table. He’d pick up where he left off later. Whatever this woman wanted couldn’t possibly take too long. He turned at the sound of the door opening behind him, distracting him from his thoughts.
At first, she just stood there in the shadows until Alec beckoned her to come forward. He could sense her apprehension, so he sat down, hoping to put her at ease by not towering over her. She was just a slip of a girl, thin and pale with almond-shaped green eyes that stood out in her childish face. She seemed vaguely familiar, but Alec couldn’t place her. Anyhow, he hadn’t been in England in eighteen years, so he couldn’t possibly know her.
“You wanted to see me,” he prompted her. “Would you like to sit down?” The girl remained standing by the door as if she would flee at any moment as she studied him with those eyes. She seemed to make up her mind and advanced further into the room, pulling off the hood of her cloak to reveal chestnut hair that was piled high on her head with several strands escaping the pins to frame her face. Alec noted that it was too warm outside to be wearing a cloak, but it seemed she wore it more for protection than for warmth. He gestured to a chair, but the girl mutely shook her head, stopping a few feet away from him.
“Would you like a drink?” Alec asked out of desperation. He had no idea what to make of this strange young woman, who was studying him with an intensity he couldn’t quite understand.
“No, thank you, sir,” she replied shyly, taking a few steps closer to him. “I’m just so overcome. It’s taken me so long to find you.” The girl had a trace of a French accent, English clearly not her first language.
“Why were you looking for me, if I might ask?”
“My name is Genevieve, and I believe you’re my uncle, sir.” The poor girl looked so nervous as she uttered the words that Alec thought she might faint. He absentmindedly gestured for her to sit down again and this time she took a seat, perching on the edge of the chair as if to sit down comfortably might somehow derail her cause. Now that she was closer to the light he could see her face more clearly. He placed her somewhere in her late teens, although it was hard to tell. Finlay had been dead for nearly nineteen years, so conceivably, she could be his daughter. Charles had visited England before his marriage to Annabel, but this girl was too old to be his daughter.
“Are you Finlay’s daughter? Who is your mother, child?” Alec thought that Finn would have told him if he had an illegitimate child, but then again, he might never have even known of her existence. God knows, Finlay had been no saint. He had his pick of women before he married Valerie, and one of them could have given birth to his child. Alec saw a momentary look of confusion on Genevieve’s face as she raised her eyes to his, holding his gaze for a moment before answering.
“I’m not Finlay’s daughter, Mr. Whitfield; my mother was Rose, your sister.” Alec was thankful that he was sitting down because he felt as if someone had bashed him over the head with a blunt object. He hadn’t seen Rose in over twenty years, not since she ran off to join a convent right after the death of their parents. Could this girl truly be her daughter?
“Forgive me if I seem surprised, but my sister left home to become a nun. Had she married? Who is your father?” Alec didn’t want to interrogate the girl, but despite the obvious resemblance, he had a hard time accepting her claim. Rose feared marriage, and the idea of submitting physically to a man left her repulsed and terrified. She wanted to dedicate her life to God, so what had happened to change her mind?
“I don’t know who my father was, sir. I was born at the Convent des Ursulines in Loudun, France, and my mother died a few days after my birth. The nuns raised me and gave me an education, but I knew nothing of my family until I was ready to leave the convent.” Alec gripped the armrest as if his life depended on it. He’d accepted that he’d never see Rose again, but to hear of her death still left him gutted. He wanted to believe that she was alive and well, living in some convent and enjoying a life of peaceful contemplation and order, and all this time she’d been dead.
“Did she die of childbed fever?” Alec asked miserably. Rose had been frightened of childbirth since she was a young girl and had seen their mother in labor with Charles. She’d sworn she’d never have children if it meant going through such agony. Was her dying in childbirth some cruel cosmic joke?
“No, Mr. Whitfield, she drowned herself.” Genevieve looked away for a moment, her eyes filling with tears. Clearly, she still mourned the mother she never knew.
“Sh
e drowned herself?!”
“Yes. They found her body downstream from the convent. She took her own life. Do you mind terribly if we don’t discuss her death? I find it very distressing.” Genevieve brushed away a tear angrily as if she were ashamed of her weakness, turning back to Alec.
“I didn’t want to join the order, so Mother Superior helped me secure a position as governess with an English family. I wanted to come to England to find my mother’s family, but by the time I got here, everyone was gone.” Genevieve suddenly sprang to her feet, as if she had overstayed her welcome. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. I just wanted you to know that I exist, that’s all. I will go now.” She made for the door, but Alec grabbed her arm before she had a chance to run.
“Wait, please. I’m sorry if I seem less than overjoyed, but you’ve taken me completely by surprise. I’d like to talk more with you and get to know you. I’ve always regretted the way things turned out and wished that I could find Rose, if only to tell her that I understand and don’t blame her for her decision to leave. I wish she could have discussed it with me; I would have helped her get to France and had seen her settled. She never even told us which convent she was going to.” Alec lifted Genevieve’s chin with his finger and looked into her eyes. “You look so like her when she was a girl. I can’t believe I didn’t see it right away.” Genevieve turned her face away, her eyes full of grief.
“I’d like to get to know you too, Uncle,” she whispered. “I’ve felt alone for so long. It would be wonderful to have someone I can call “family.”” Genevieve kissed Alec on the cheek and ran from the room before he had a chance to stop her.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” she called out before disappearing through the door.
Chapter 29
Theo finished his apple and threw the core over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving the house across the road. He’d been at his vantage point for nearly three hours, but had yet to see any activity. Servants came and went through the rear exit, and a wagon pulled up earlier delivering something to the kitchens, but the carriage hadn’t been brought around yet. Theo was hot and hungry, but he didn’t dare leave. If his information was correct, then today was the day Lord Kilbourne had a meeting with his solicitor, leaving Celia alone for several hours.
The old man rarely went out, and this was an opportunity not to be missed if Theo wanted to speak with her privately. She used to spend most of her time at the palace when she had been a lady-in-waiting to Queen Anne, but Her Majesty had dismissed Celia when she found out she was with child, giving her leave to return home and finish out her confinement. Theo wondered if Celia would return to her post now that the queen was back at the palace after the Royal Progress. He was sure Celia longed to be at Court, where she was free of her husband and able to meet Robin discreetly in the myriad rooms available at the palace for the use of secret lovers.
Theo stepped from foot to foot, hoping something would happen soon, when the carriage was finally brought around, ready to take Lord Kilbourne to his meeting. The old man gingerly walked down the steps, his cane tapping on the stone as he laboriously descended assisted by a strapping, young servant. He climbed into the carriage with great difficulty, looking like a man who’d just accomplished a mammoth task. Theo could see his profile as he settled in for the ride, his waxy skin glowing white in the dim interior of his equipage. Lord Kilbourne was in his early sixties, but appeared much older, possibly due to illness. The carriage finally began to move, blending into the midday congestion within moments.
Theo waited a few minutes before approaching the door and banging the brass knocker. Celia wouldn’t be pleased to see him, but he had to try; she was his only hope. He was led through a cavernous foyer, the soaring ceiling and flagstone floor reminiscent of a church, and into a receiving room. The house was very quiet, the ticking of a clock on the mantel the only sound in the room. There must have been numerous servants going about their tasks, but it felt as if the house was completely empty, devoid of any occupants. Dust motes twirled in the light flowing through the windows, settling on the heavy wooden furniture and tapestries decorating the walls. They seemed very old, just as everything else in the house did, their colors faded with time and the faces of the people almost indistinguishable. Theo suddenly felt a pang of pity for poor Celia. What must it be like to live in this tomb with a man who was as good as already dead?
“I’m afraid you’ve missed my husband by mere moments,” Celia said as she swept into the room, escorted by the same servant Theo saw earlier. “Is there anything I can assist you with, Lord Carew?” She gave Theo a hard look, demanding that he play along. Any connection between Celia and the Carews had to be underplayed, even in front of a servant, who was likely to report Theo’s visit to his master.
“I’m terribly sorry to hear that, Lady Kilbourne, but perhaps you might be able to help me. It’s a matter of some delicacy,” Theo replied, glancing at the servant.
“I see. Leave us, Grady.” Celia waited until the door closed behind the man, putting her finger to her lips, her eyes large in her face. “He listens at the door,” she whispered. “Perhaps we should take a stroll around the garden, Lord Carew. It’s such a pleasant day outside,” she suggested in a louder voice, no doubt for the benefit of the servant, who was clearly her husband’s man.
“Yes, that would be most agreeable,” replied Theo, playing along. He didn’t care what they did as long as he got to talk to Celia. Theo followed her out into the neatly manicured garden behind the house. It seemed as quiet and lonely as the rest of the residence, the only sound being several bees which buzzed from one flower to another, intent upon their task and oblivious to the annoyed woman and anxious man who violated their domain.
“What are you doing here?” Celia hissed as soon as they were out of earshot of the house. She looked genuinely scared, her face pale and drawn without its usual paint. Theo had been so eager to resolve his own situation that he never stopped to think of the danger he was putting Celia in.
“Celia, I’m sorry to descend on you this way, but I was hoping you might be able to help me,” he said, looking contrite.
“Help you with what?”
“Robin has forbidden me to marry Louisa Whitfield, and I thought you might be able to talk to him for me. You are the only person he’ll listen to, the only one who can sway him.” Theo gave Celia a pleading look. “Please, Celia.”
Celia sank onto a marble bench, her dainty hands folded in her lap as she looked up at Theo. She absentmindedly played with a ruby ring which appeared way too large for her small hands. “What are his reasons for forbidding the marriage?” she asked, her voice flat.
“Lack of title, fortune, and desirable religion.”
“Ho!” Celia cried, smiling for the first time. “What can I possibly say to him in the face of that?”
“I don’t know, but he listens to you. It’s not fair, Celia.” Theo didn’t mean to sound like a petulant child, but he’d thought of nothing else since his interview with Robin, and longed for some sympathy from someone who understood the cruelty of not being able to marry one’s lover. Celia’s head suddenly snapped up, her eyes flashing in her pale face.
“Oh, it’s fairness you want, is it?” she cried. “And what makes you think you are entitled to fairness when the rest of us aren’t?
“What do you mean?” Theo asked, confused by her reaction.
“Is it fair to be married off to a man nearly forty years your senior when you are sixteen? Well, is it?” she demanded, her eyes never leaving his face. “Is it fair to have no say in your own life? Is it fair to attend an old and sour queen day and night, when all you want to do is run away and be with the man you love instead of being tormented by images of him with his wife? I’m sorry, Theo, but Robin’s love is the only thing that makes my life worth living, so I won’t do anything to jeopardize my relationship with him. You must figure this one out for yourself.”
Celia rose to her feet, her ire spent. “Did you kn
ow that I’m Kilbourne’s third wife?” she suddenly asked conversationally. “He sent the other two to their graves with his abuse for failing to give him a child when it’s he who has the problem. The old goat is so proud, that he can’t even fathom the idea that Will is not his and boasts to everyone of his prowess, even at his age. Well, sometimes we have to let people believe what they want and deceive them in order to snatch a little bit of happiness for ourselves. That’s the way of the world, Theo, and that’s the only advice I can give you.”
Theo sighed as he followed her back to the house. “Is there nothing I can do?” he asked, miserably. He hadn’t expected Celia to be so belligerent, but he supposed he could see her point of view. He never stopped to think what her life must be like with a man old enough to be her grandfather; who kept her on a tight leash and had the servants spying on her. She was lucky he had acknowledged her son as his own, rather than getting rid of him immediately after the birth and putting out a rumor that the baby had died. No wonder Celia was so afraid. She had a lot to lose and very little control over her own life. Celia suddenly turned around, looking up at Theo with narrowed eyes.
“Check your father’s Will,” she said cryptically before walking Theo to the door.
“It’s been a rare pleasure to see you, Lord Carew. I will pass on your regards to my dear husband,” she said with a coy smile as the servant appeared behind her shoulder. “He’ll be so very sorry he missed your call. Do come again soon,” she added as Theo kissed her hand and took his leave. What had she meant about the Will?
Chapter 30
Valerie opened the window and inhaled the fragrant air of the summer night. Their bedroom faced the back of the house, thankfully sparing them odors of garbage, manure and human waste that wafted from a nearby alley. The heady smell of the rose garden filled the room, chasing away the stale air of the evening and cooling the room by a few degrees. Valerie could understand the staff’s reluctance to open the windows for fear of letting in disease, but the rooms were like ovens by midafternoon, making one break into a sheen of perspiration as soon as one crossed the threshold. How wonderful it would be to have air-conditioning, or even just a good old ceiling fan, but alas, those inventions were hundreds of years away, and anyway, at this point plumbing would be at the top of the list.
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