“What?”
“And there is something else,” he rushed forward, that page outstretched.
Dazed, trying to make sense of why Edward was brandishing a copy of his marriage certificate, he read those lines over and over…and then stopped at one name: Bridget Petrosinella Hamlet.
Not Bridget Hamilton.
His fingers clenched the edges of the page, wrinkling it.
By God, she’d used a false name.
They weren’t married.
Two days later, Bridget didn’t know what she’d expected in having revealed the truth of Virgil’s parentage. But in sharing everything she had with Vail, she had abandoned the agreement to help Archibald. She’d put her trust in Vail and the hope that her wastrel brother wouldn’t have truly set aside his wastrel ways to care for a child.
In short, she’d wagered with his life.
Nausea churned in her belly still and she fought the urge to cast up the contents of her stomach. With Nettie napping at her chair and Virgil playing spillikins on the floor before her, there was an air of familiarity to all this…and yet a sense of doom lingered in the air. It was silly, nonsensical worrying conjured of her mind, but also born of the uncertainty that now came as she awaited Archibald’s next move.
Not only that, Vail had also become a stranger. Oh, he was polite and pleasant when they shared morning meals and supped together and he was kind toward her son, talking freely with him about his literary interests. But everything had changed since she’d revealed she was a Hamilton.
“Vail said I’ll have a new tutor by the end of the week,” Virgil directed that at the stick he carefully tried to extricate from another.
He’d already set to securing instructors for her son. No questions asked. No resentments held and carried over to the boy. Rather, he’d spend the necessary funds to hire that which she’d never been able to provide. Her throat moved spasmodically as she was filled with a renewed love and appreciation for the man he was.
“He also said that in the autumn I’d be able to go on to Eton.” Virgil paused and looked up from his game. “But that they only let you in that school at certain times of the year.”
A smile quivered on her lips. Vail had, and would continue to give Virgil everything she would have never, in the whole of her lifetime, have done for him.
Tossing aside the stick, Virgil popped up. “Is he angry at you?”
She stared unblinkingly. How had she failed to realize how perceptive he was? “No,” she lied. She’d witnessed Vail’s anger two days ago. But he was more than angry: hurt, disappointed, and wary. “Why would you think that?” she asked instead.
He shrugged. “You don’t talk to one another.” Virgil wrinkled his nose. “Not that I would want to talk to a girl, myself, but it just seems that you’d say something to each other.”
She set aside the copy of Dante’s Inferno she’d been reading and patted the spot next to her. “Come here,” she urged. Virgil was old enough and astute enough that he was also entitled to some truth and answers. “Vail is a good man and I know that must be…confusing, given that you haven’t had any in your life. But one day, I told him a lie…and so he’s….” She searched her mind. “Cautious, now.”
“What did you lie about?” Of course, no ten-year-old boy would be content to leave that detail unexplored.
Bridget sighed. “Someday, I’ll explain it all to you. But for now, understand that he is entitled to his reservations. And when one tells a lie, one must work to gain back that trust. And it’s not always easy. It’s not ever easy.” Nor did she even know if Vail wanted to repair what they’d shared this past month.
Virgil looked to the doorway and she followed his stare over. Her heart started.
He’d come. It was the first time he’d sought her out these past two days. “Vail,” she breathed, hopping up.
Nettie snorted herself awake. “What is it? Where…?” Groggy, she joined Bridget on her feet, offering a lazy curtsy. “My lord.”
“Virgil, Nettie, if you’ll excuse us a moment?”
Her son hesitated and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Run along. We’ll talk more after.” She looked to Nettie.
“Come along, lad,” she repeated, gathering Virgil by the hand and ushering him out.
“Vail,” she greeted. They’d made love. She’d shared more parts of herself than she ever had with another person, and yet she was more uncertain in this instance than she had been their first meeting.
He pulled the door shut, saying nothing.
She took in the grim set to his mouth. “What is it?” she asked, worry settling like a stone in her belly. For the first time since he’d entered, she noticed the paper in his hand.
“After you discovered the Chaucer, I never found a different hiding place for it.”
He spoke of words that should have hinted at his trust. Bridget wetted her lips and met his vagueness with silence. All the while, an ominous chill rolled through her, freezing her from the inside out. “I don’t…” She shook her head, searching for some reply. “I don’t…”
“Edward just found me. The Chaucer is gone.”
A dull humming filled her ears. That precious tome she’d been sent to steal had been gone. Then, the implications of what Vail danced around and suggested but didn’t say. “You think I stole it,” she breathed, her voice coming as if down a long hall.
“This is a copy of our marriage certificate.”
She struggled to follow that abrupt shift and then did… Oh, God. Her gut clenched, and she sought to steady herself on the edge of the sofa.
“We’re not married.”
“No,” she said on a broken whisper.
“You’re not my wife,” he repeated a different way, like one who sought to embed certain words on one’s brain might.
“I did it for you.” She willed him to understand. “I knew you’d regret it. I knew—”
“Do not put this lie on me, madam,” he thundered and she cried out, stifling that agonized moan in her palm. “Colin came to visit. He found nothing linking Atbrooke to the theft. He found nothing about the gentleman whatsoever.”
The air left her on a painful exhale. He didn’t believe her. And why should he? What reason had she given him to trust her? She searched around, panicked, as her world crumpled about her all over again. She needed him to understand. Needed him to see that all the lies were not wholly tied. Bridget stretched a palm toward him. “I did not use Hamilton on the marriage certificates. You are correct.”
He laughed emptily. “Of course, I am,” he spat.
“But I did do it for you. I knew after you met with Marlborough and had that collection, you’d no more need for me.” She just hadn’t realized at the time that she’d also be freeing him for the earl’s daughter; a woman certainly more deserving of him than Bridget herself.
“You thought it should be so easy?” he asked, stunned. “That you’d simply disappear and that the ton wouldn’t ask about where my bloody wife had gone?” he bellowed again.
She jumped. “I just thought—”
“You thought of everything. Haven’t you? All along.”
“What are you saying?” she repeated, her voice hollow to her ears wanting him to put his belief out between them.
“The only certainty is my Chaucer is gone and I don’t know about anything else.”
The door opened and Edward entered. A flash of loathing filled his gaze when he looked at Bridget. “Your mount is readied.”
“I’ll be along shortly,” he said tightly.
“Where are you going?” she asked achingly.
“To find my damned book, madam. We are through discussing this.” With that, he stalked out of the room.
Go after him. Go tell him all. Bridget’s legs gave out from under her and she slid into a heap on the floor, too numb for tears, too numb to think.
A small hand rested on her shoulder and she looked up blankly. “Virgil?” she whispered. Her heart raced. Ho
w much had he heard? “Why aren’t you with Nettie?”
“I slipped off.” He gulped loudly. “He’s really angry now.”
This time, over one crime she was not guilty of. “Yes,” she confirmed, welcoming the press of his slender frame at her side, selfishly taking comfort there.
“I heard him,” he confided in hushed tones. “Yelling. I thought before this that he might be different than Uncle Archibald.”
“He is!” That truth burst from her. She’d not ever let her son, or any person link those two very different men. One was capable of only goodness who’d only been wronged in life. The other was sin incarnate.
“Well, he doesn’t sound as though he’s one who could take care of us.”
Her already cracking heart, ripped all the more. She’d thought she’d shielded him, only finding now just how much she’d failed to insulate her son from the uncertainty that was the world. She sought to give him assurances that all would be well. That they’d have a home here still but could not even formulate the lie. Absently, she ran her fingers through his thick brown curls.
He angled away from her touch. “It’s about the Chaucer?”
“Partly. It’s…” She ripped her gaze down. What…?
His eyes formed round pools with fear emanating from their depths.
“What do you know of it?”
“I might know something of it,” he said, his voice cracking. Going on her knees, she leaned down to meet his gaze. “I was visiting the mews last night and Uncle Archibald came by.” Her stomach lurched. Oh, God. “He said…he told me that he’d take me away from you. That the only way to be sure I never left you was if I found him that book.” A moan tore from her throat and she dragged her son into her arms.
“I’m in trouble, aren’t I? The baron is going to see me hanged.”
“He’s not,” she said her mind whirring. “When did you give it to him?”
“This morning.” She strained to pick up his small voice. “I don’t want to live with him,” he whimpered.
“Never.” Grabbing his hands, she pulled Virgil to his feet and squeezed them gently. “You will never, ever live with him. Ever.” She flattened her lips. She needed to retrieve that book for Vail…and end this once and for all.
“What are you doing?” her son asked as she slid into a nearby secretaire, and rifled through the desk.
She’d brought this to Vail’s life. She’d set it to rights. Dipping a pen in the crystal inkwell, she hastily scratched a note. “I’m going to see your uncle.” He made a sound of protest. “Stop,” she commanded, that firmness seemed to penetrate his worrying. Focused on the words she wrote, she spoke to her son. “I will return. I promise. I always do. If I don’t return by tomorrow morning,” she paused. “You are to give this to His Lordship.”
“What is it?” he asked, as she sprinkled pounce upon the ink.
Bridget blew on it. “’Tis a letter that you’re only to give if I don’t return.”
“But you’ll return,” he pleaded.
Vail had given her everything. She would do this for him.
She set her jaw. “Always.”
Chapter 22
Dusty, tired, and numb, Vail jumped down from his mount and tossed the reins to a waiting servant.
Through his brother’s revelation about the Chaucer, he’d set out for some hint of Lord Atbrooke. And mayhap it spoke to his own weakness, but he’d spent the day searching out that gentleman, looking for some proof of what Bridget had said. All his contacts in the lower ends of London and in every damned hell had revealed nothing. The man may as well be a damned specter.
Entering through the doors as Gavin pulled them open, he shrugged out of his cloak. “D-Did you find it,” Gavin whispered.
He shook his head once. “No.”
Of course, everyone, his siblings included, would expect that Vail was off looking for that coveted volume up for auction next week. All he’d ever thought about his entire adult life was his business and his fortunes. It had been Bridget who’d shown him that something more mattered…if one focused only on providing for one’s family, one lost every moment one had with them, too.
“It’s fine,” he said quietly, squeezing Gavin’s shoulder. “It really is. It is just a book.”
His brother nodded and, head down, shuffled off.
Vail stared after his retreating frame letting those words settle in his mind. The Chaucer was just a book. It was one of value that would fetch a fortune, but the words inside that particular copy didn’t truly mean anything to him. Rather, what that book represented was what had brought Bridget into his life…and now what was threatening to tear her out of it.
He stared briefly up the curved staircase, wanting to go to her. Go to her, then. This woman he wasn’t truly married to.
I did it for you.
She’d freed him. Only, she’d made the decision as to what he needed, and again fed him a lie. Tired, he shifted direction and sought out his office.
As soon as he closed the door, his eyes found the small figure perched on the chair at his desk; Virgil’s small form swallowed impossibly by the leather folds. “Virgil,” he greeted, thrusting aside his own melancholy.
“My lord.”
Seated as he was, with his arms layered upon the desk and a folded sheet of parchment resting under his folded hands, Vail had a glimpse of the man Virgil would one day grow into. The boy made to stand, but he waved him back into the chair.
“Thank you, sir. My lord.”
“Just Vail. Please, just Vail.”
The boy’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Do you know the problem with being a child, sir…Vail?”
“Oh, I remember any number of them,” he confessed, sitting in the chair across from him.
“Yes, that’s true.” He scrunched up his little brow. “Everyone thinks you don’t hear what’s going on or don’t understand it. And so, they speak freely around you. I know she’s not my mother.”
Vail stilled. Oh, God. Had he and Bridget in their discussions revealed the truth to the boy?
“Knew for some time. Overheard Nettie. She’s got looser lips than my mum. I heard what you said to her. The night we came here as a family.” A family. That is what they were. Or, that is what Vail wanted with her—with them. It’s what he’d always been in search of; since before he was younger than the boy across from him.
His chest tightened with the dream for more with both Bridget and this small boy. “Which part?” he asked hoarsely, more than half-fearing the answer.
“Calling her a liar.” If looks could kill Vail would have been dead at this boy’s feet—and deservedly so. “Saying I wasn’t her son.”
Gutted by what he’d casually tossed out, he hung his head.
“I don’t need you to make her feel bad for it, either. About taking me in and lying to me.” Vail winced, properly shamed and humbled by a ten-year-old child. Virgil jutted his chin out and met Vail’s gaze with a ruthless promise in his eyes that revealed the strength of his character and the man he’d one day be. “She may not have birthed me, but she’s loved me as her own, and I’ll not have you, bastard, baron, businessman, dare make her feel less. Sometimes lies are important. Even I know that.” Virgil slid the page under his hands toward Vail.
“What is this?” he asked when he trusted himself to speak.
“I was to give it to you if my mum didn’t return by tomorrow.”
Vail ceased to breathe. “What?” he asked, that question faint.
“I took your book,” he said, his earlier bravado gone. “I found it and turned it over to my un…to him…thought he’d go away and figured you certainly wouldn’t go poor for missing it.” He glanced about the stocked shelves. Then Virgil’s bravado crumpled and his lower lip trembled slightly, revealing the truth and reminder that he was just a boy. “He’ll hurt her, sir. And I don’t know if I can trust you, but I think you’re able to help her and so I’d ask you to do so.”
Vail’s heart rattled
against his ribcage. As terror swamped his senses, he fought for calm. The little boy staring back reflected his own dread. Bridget hadn’t been made for the ruthlessness Vail witnessed daily from his clients. She wasn’t a match for Atbrooke’s evil. “I’ll bring her back,” he promised. “Run along.”
After Bridget’s son had gone, Vail tore open the letter written in Bridget’s hand.
My dearest Vail,
I’ve told so many lies it’s hard to ask you to sort through what is the truth. I have loved you since the moment you came upon me in the Portrait Room. You are all that is good.—His throat constricted—“I did not steal the Chaucer, but I did come to rob you. That is true. My brother won’t rest until he has that book, but we’ve taken so much I’d not let him have this, too.”
An agonized groan tore from his chest, better suited a wounded beast. It meant nothing. She was his everything.
“If anything were to happen to me, I ask you to please care for Virgil.
Ever Yours,
Bridget
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Damn you, Bridget.” Tearing from the room, he shouted the house down for his horse…and her nursemaid, Nettie.
Her life had, in a way, come full circle.
Bridget returned to this hated place of sadness and irresponsibility and evil. One where she was turned back ten years earlier, without a coin to help her, and only a foundling babe in need of a family.
Carefully picking her way through the side alley connecting the two buildings, she found her way, not this time through the front door of this townhouse but the kitchens. A cool breeze stole through the mews and she huddled deeper inside her cloak. Shifting the velvet sack in her arms, she pressed the door handle and let herself in.
As she closed the heavy panel behind her, she blinked, adjusting her eyes to the dimly lit space, and then found a lone servant sprawled at the kitchen table. Head down, a tankard beside his arm, the servant snored. Biting the inside of her cheek, she tiptoed past the young man from the kitchens.
For all her brother’s vices and all he’d cost their family, the lack of reliable, underfoot servants was the one gift he’d given. Bridget drifted through the hallways. This townhouse had been home to her for the first four years of her life and yet the memories here were so fleeting, filled only with the distant echo of her parents’ derisive words and her brother’s jeering laughter.
A Heart of a Duke Regency Collection : Volume 2--A Regency Bundle Page 168
