by Brenda Hiatt
“Rather too set in his ways, I should say. It is my hope you might be able to change that.”
“Then you do not deny that Harry enjoys a rather…unsavory lifestyle?” Xena held his gaze with her own, more than half expecting him to prevaricate.
He did not. “No, I don’t deny it—except for the enjoyment part. It is my belief he does not particularly enjoy that lifestyle, but needs assistance in breaking out of a routine that is otherwise like to send him to an early grave.”
Xena flinched, but strove to hide it. “Surely a wife’s scolding is unlikely to convince him to give up his wilder pursuits for a dull, domestic existence. I should think the reverse would be true.”
“I do not ask you to nag or scold—unless you wish to, of course.” Lord Peter grinned. “But the, er, companionship of a woman such as yourself, a woman he once cared for enough to marry and then to mourn, might be the very thing to begin his transformation into a better—and happier—man.”
Mourn? Harry had mourned her? She resisted a strong urge to ask for details. “I am afraid this sounds like wishful thinking to me, Lord Peter. Nor will I let you persuade me that it is somehow my duty to save Harry from himself. I have a home and a life in Yorkshire and I mean to return to it forthwith.”
That life now struck her as depressingly empty and boring, after her brief taste of the bustle and variety of London.
“I had hoped to appeal to your sense of compassion, if not of duty,” Lord Peter confessed. “I heard so many tales last night of your skill and dedication in nursing the wounded during wartime, it seemed likely to me that once you knew the dangers of Harry’s current lifestyle you would seek to save him from it, just as you would seek to prevent a heedless child from drowning.”
Xena swallowed. While it was true she had no wish for Harry to beggar or injure himself—or worse—she could not believe, after last night’s conversation, that he would at all welcome her interference.
“Harry is no heedless child, but a grown man responsible for his own decisions, however unwise. I’m sorry, Lord Peter. I simply—”
Just then, a small form came barreling around the corner of the house, his dirty face alight with excitement. “Mother! You’re back! I not only got to feed two of the horses, the groom let me help curry one of them as well.”
Theo’s effusions stopped abruptly on noticing Lord Peter standing there, but the damage was done. Xena’s heart sank as she looked from her son’s curious expression to Lord Peter’s thunderstruck one.
CHAPTER 9
PETER STARED down at the lad now clinging to his mother’s skirts, feeling as though the earth had suddenly shifted on its axis. That hair, those eyes…there was no possible doubt. He was looking at Harry Thatcher’s son.
With a Herculean effort, he tried to cover his shock with a smile. “Hello, young sir,” he said, leaning down slightly. “I am Peter. What might your name be?”
The boy glanced questioningly up at his mother, but she was apparently too stricken to give him guidance. Squaring his shoulders, he let go her skirt and tilted his face—a childlike version of Harry’s—up to Peter’s.
“Pleased to meet you, sir. I am Theo. I mean, Theodore Maxwell.”
Maxwell? He’d never even been told who his father was?
At that point, Miss Maxwell—no, Mrs. Thatcher, Peter reminded himself—recovered her capacity for speech. “Theo, dear, your face is dirty. Run upstairs and wash it, please. I will be up in a few moments.”
She waited until the lad, with a last curious look over his shoulder, went into the house and closed the door behind him before turning back to Peter, her chin now lifting defiantly.
“Now you know my primary reason for wishing to leave London. For…various reasons, I am persuaded my son will be far better off back in Yorkshire.”
“I take it one of those reasons is to keep him in ignorance of his father’s identity, as you have clearly done thus far?” Peter could not quite keep the implied accusation from his tone.
Glancing back toward the house, she lowered her voice. “I had intended to tell him as soon as we returned to Yorkshire—but that was before I learned that his father is still living, and had become, well, you know.”
“And now you mean to continue keeping the truth from both Harry and young Theo? For how long?”
“I, ah, hadn’t decided. Though now I suppose my decision is moot.” Her eyes both challenged and pleaded with him. “Unless I can somehow persuade you not to mention him to Harry?”
Peter frowned. “I don’t see how I can in conscience keep something so important from him. Nor does it seem right that you would do so.”
She flushed visibly. “I am thinking only of my son’s welfare. Would you have me cede authority over him to a man that you yourself have admitted is bent on drinking and gambling himself into poverty and an early grave?”
That gave Peter momentary pause, for he could not deny she had a point. She had also just given him the leverage he needed to achieve his original purpose in seeking her out. Though it went against the grain to make such a promise, if all went well he wouldn’t need to keep it for long.
In fact, if his plan achieved the result he hoped for, he’d finally be able to tell Harry the truth about the state of his finances without fearing the money would merely fund more dissipation.
“I might be persuaded to keep my council, at least for a time,” he said after a moment. “On one condition.”
“And what condition might that be?” Wariness warred with the sudden hope in her eyes.
Quelling his misgivings, Peter smiled. “Why, the very thing I came here to suggest. I wish you to give your marriage to Harry a fighting chance for success by living together as husband and wife until, let us say, the first of the year. If, after that time, you both still prefer to go your separate ways, I will not seek to prevent it.”
* * *
Appalled, Xena realized she’d fallen neatly into Lord Peter’s trap, ambushed by her own carelessness in not more forcefully impressing upon her son the necessity of staying out of sight. Her first instinct was to refuse. If she could spirit Theo out of London immediately…
But that would be no permanent solution. Once Harry learned he had a son, he might well come after them despite his professed desire to avoid entanglements. Which pointed up a serious weakness in her enemy’s position.
“Suppose I agree. How do you intend to convince Harry to go along with this ridiculous plan?”
A shadow of doubt appeared in his eyes, confirming her guess, but then it was gone. “I have my ways. Leave Harry to me.”
Surely he was expressing more confidence than he felt. “If he should refuse, will you still abide by your promise to keep Theo’s existence a secret?”
After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “You have my word—but only if you will agree to the attempt.”
Only partially reassured, Xena strove to further shore up her position. “Supposing you do somehow induce Harry to agree to your experiment, yet we still elect never to see each other again after the first of the year. What then?”
“I would still consider myself bound by my word. But surely the fact that you and Harry have a son gives you an added incentive to work toward a reconciliation—if that is the proper word, considering your long separation was due to misinformation rather than intent. If you will not make this attempt for Harry’s sake or your own, perhaps you will do so for Theo’s.”
For a long moment she stared at him, various emotions warring for ascendancy—guilt, apprehension and, yes, a degree of longing that surprised her. Surely she did not want Harry to agree to his friend’s plan—to be obliged to live intimately with him for a month and more? Of course she did not.
As she could see no other option, however, she gave a single nod. “Very well, my lord. I accede to your blackmail. It is very little else,” she snapped when he started at the word. “When do you wish this foolish experiment to commence, and how am I to proceed?”
“I will send word when I’ve secured Harry’s cooperation and will make all arrangements forthwith. It is my hope you can begin living as a married couple within the next few days. In the meantime, might you consider staying as our guest in Curzon Street? Sarah—Lady Peter—would like that very much.”
Still hopeful that Harry would summarily refuse, Xena shook her head. “I can hardly leave Theo at a moment’s notice, my lord, nor do I expect it will prove necessary. I will, however, agree to delay our departure from London for a week while you attempt to persuade Harry.”
That should give her time to meet with Mr. Gold’s client about her other Grecian items and perhaps receive some portion of the princely sum he promised. With such substantial funds at her disposal she could take Theo abroad, where they would be safe from pursuit should Lord Peter renege on his promises.
“Very well. But do not count on Harry’s refusal. I’m known to be most persuasive when I believe myself in the right. I advise you to make whatever preparations will be necessary for the care of your son and your removal from these lodgings within the next few days. And now, Mrs. Thatcher, I give you good day.”
With a smart bow, Lord Peter turned and headed up the street, whistling merrily.
Xena stared after him, shaken anew by his confidence. Though she could not at all believe Harry would agree to any such arrangement as his friend suggested, she supposed she had better speak privately with Yamini and Mrs. Henderson.
Just in case.
“Mother!” Theo greeted her when she returned to their apartments. “I was telling Yamini and Gretchen about the man you were talking to just now. He was dressed like a lord and so tall! And he spoke very nicely to me.” Then, face still alight, he asked, “Is he…my father?”
Xena only just managed to keep her mouth from dropping open with shock. “Your—? Of course not, Theo! Why on earth would you think such a thing? I only met him for the first time last night, at the Duke’s reception. He, ah, simply stopped to pay his respects.”
Yamini, who knew Xena better than anyone alive, frowned but Gretchen clapped her hands.
“Oh, mum! He must have been quite smitten with you to seek you out the very next day! He’ll be sending you flowers next, mark my words!”
“Don’t be absurd, Gretchen.” Despite her alarm at realizing Theo was far more curious about his father than she’d guessed, Xena almost laughed. “Lord Peter is married, and to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. He was…good friends with a few of the soldiers I knew on the Peninsula and wished to give me further news of some of them. That is all.”
Gretchen’s freckled face fell, but Yamini’s dark eyes sharpened. “Mum, if I might have a word?” She nodded toward Xena’s bedroom. “We should discuss Theo’s request of visiting the stables again.”
It was clearly a pretext, but Xena followed Yamini from the room as Theo exclaimed to Gretchen, “He was a lord! I was right. The first lord I ever met!”
Softly closing the door behind them, Yamini turned a worried face to her mistress. “My dear, I could tell at breakfast that something is terribly wrong. Can you tell me what it is?”
Yamini had come to the Maxwell’s grand house in India as a girl of eighteen to be nursemaid to the recently orphaned five-year-old Xena. Over the twenty-odd years since she had become far more than a servant, filling the roles of mother, friend and confidant. In desperate need of advice, Xena did not hesitate to unburden herself .
“I never have been able to keep a secret from you, Yamini, and you’re quite right. I discovered last night at the Duke’s reception that, after all these years of believing him dead, Theo’s father is still alive.”
The other woman stared. “Mr. Thatcher? But the newspaper—?”
“He was wounded at Salamanca and apparently believed dead for some weeks, but a Spanish family nursed him back to health. Yamini, he was there. I was never more shocked in my life than when we suddenly came face to face. He appeared equally stunned, for he had no idea I had survived, either. The Duke had saved that news as a surprise for his guests.”
Yamini blinked several times, clearly trying to absorb the startling revelation. “So you and Mr. Thatcher spoke? What did he say? What do you plan to do?”
“At first we were both too startled to say much,” Xena admitted, “but we did speak privately later and agreed we should simply go on as we’d been with no one else the wiser. Unfortunately, the Duke of Wellington knows the truth. So does Lord Peter Northrup, for he is apparently one of Harry’s closest friends.”
If Yamini felt surprise at hearing Xena’s use of Harry’s Christian name for the first time in many years, she did not betray it. “Then it was about your husband that Lord Peter came to speak with you?”
Xena nodded. “He, ah, feels that Harry and I owe it to ourselves, and to Theo, to give our long-ago unplanned marriage a chance to become a real one. He wishes us to live as husband and wife until the first of the year.”
“And did you agree?”
“Not willingly. But Theo unexpectedly ran up to greet me, and when Lord Peter saw him he guessed the truth at once. When I asked him to keep Theo’s existence a secret, he promised to do so only if I agreed to his suggestion.”
Yamini’s brows drew down. “Do you believe keeping Theo from his father is wise?”
“You sound like Lord Peter!” Xena exclaimed. “But last night I learned that Harry has become not only a drunkard but a gamester since last I knew him. How can I trust Theo’s future to such a man?”
“I understand your fear of ceding any portion of control over your son’s life—or your own life—to any man.” Yamini regarded her shrewdly. “But Theo must learn who his father is at some point, if he is not to believe himself a bastard.”
“Yamini!”
“Forgive my plain speaking, mum, but he’ll be old enough to understand what the word means all too soon. Already he gives more thought to the question than you may realize. Out of your hearing, he has asked me countless times whether I have any idea who his father might be. Knowing your wishes, I’ve said nothing, but he grows more persistent by the week. Nor does it seem quite…right that his father be unaware.”
Setting her jaw stubbornly, Xena shook her head. “I suppose in time they must both be told but that time is not yet come. Not unless I discover the tales I have heard about Harry are untrue.”
“Your opinion is based on mere gossip? I thought better of your sense than that.”
“It’s not just gossip,” Xena protested. “Harry himself implied as much. At least, he did not deny it.” Even as she spoke the words, she recalled a certain softness she’d seen in his eyes last night…and the way being near him had made her feel.
“In any event, Lord Peter has yet to persuade Harry to go along with this mad scheme, something I consider highly unlikely.”
Yamini gave her a knowing smile. “For myself, I hope Lord Peter will be successful, for there is no way better to learn what a man really is than by living with him for a time. Perhaps he will surprise you.”
Did Yamini mean that he would surprise her by agreeing, or by proving himself to be a better man than Xena so far had reason to believe? She decided not to ask.
* * *
Harry rolled over in bed, then immediately regretted it. The sliver of sunshine making its way through a narrow gap in the thick curtains lanced directly into his eyes, exacerbating the pounding in his head. He groaned.
“Ah, you’re awake, guv,” came Flute’s voice from the doorway of Harry’s bedchamber. “Good. Couldn’t figure which was worse—to wake you after such a night or leave Lord Peter waiting.”
“What?” Wincing, Harry forced himself higher on the pillows to regard his young henchman and mentor blearily. “Peter’s here? How the devil did he find the place?”
“Nay, guv, he just sent Renny with a message for you. Wants you at his house quick as you can get there, he said. Must be important?”
Harry groaned again, for he had a good
idea what Peter wanted to talk to him about. The same thing that had driven him to over-celebrate after last night’s successful housebreaking. Xena.
When purloining valuables from two different houses—both belonging to men who needed taking down a pin or two—failed to push Xena to the back of his mind, Harry had turned to his old friend, the bottle. That had eventually worked, but only by sending him to sleep after a maudlin period of alcohol-enhanced longing. Indeed, at three-thirty in the morning he’d nearly gone back out to find her. Luckily he’d passed out across his bed first.
The last thing he needed was more haranguing from Peter about “giving his marriage a chance.” In the cruel light of day, he recalled only too clearly how relieved Xena had seemed when he’d told her he had no more desire to make their long-ago marriage public than she did. The sooner he could forget her again, the better—something he’d have to convey forcefully to Pete.
“I’ll call on him after I’ve cleaned up a bit. And breakfasted.” He didn’t have much of an appetite after last night’s excesses, and by the angle of that sunbeam it was well past noon, but no matter. Pretending to eat would delay the inevitable a bit longer.
It was nearly two hours later when, shaved, brushed and respectably clad, Harry presented himself at Peter’s town house on Curzon Street. Given his tardiness in answering the summons, he was surprised by how affably his friend greeted him.
“Ah, Harry. I began to think my message missent. Take it you put in a rather late night after leaving us?” Though he smiled, Peter’s eyes raked Harry’s face, missing no detail—which meant he must know full well exactly how wretched he felt, and why.
“The job you persuaded me to tends to make for late nights,” Harry replied shortly, in no mood for niceties. “What’s so important it required rousting me from my well-earned bed?”
