Will nodded his understanding. “But Ellsworth wouldn’t sell it?” he guessed.
Henry took a deep breath and shook his head. “No, he wouldn’t,” he admitted.
“Then how in the hell did you end up with the property?” Will asked suddenly, shaking his head quickly and then apologizing for his curse. “I fear my time at sea has my language a bit coarser than when I left.”
Henry gave a shrug. “No offense taken,” he replied with a smirk. “Ellsworth gave it to me.”
His eyes widening, Will could almost guess why. “Gave it to you?” he repeated. No one just gave away good farmland. Not unless it was to be...
“When I made my offer, Ellsworth countered with a proposal that I accept it as a dowry. To marry his daughter, Charlotte,” he said in a quiet voice as he averted his eyes. “He was of the opinion that with the death of the Earl of Grinstead, Lady Charlotte needed a husband and would end up with the Duke of Chichester—”
“But...” Will started to interrupt, knowing Charlotte was married to Joshua Wainwright. “She is the Duchess of Chichester!”
“Aye,” the earl replied with a nod. “Ellsworth didn’t want that to happen, though—he thought the man was an abomination after having been in that awful fire—so he was happy to give me Ellsworth Park in exchange for marrying his daughter.”
Will blinked. “And yet Lady Charlotte is Wainwright’s duchess,” he stated again, remembering the news he had received from Hannah when she first married Henry.
“She is,” Henry assured him with a nod. “I accepted the title to the land, of course, but when I inquired as to the whereabouts of Lady Charlotte, I discovered she had left London in the Earl of Torrington’s coach—probably at his urging—and was at Wisborough Oaks intending to marry the duke.”
Will slumped into his chair, half-tempted to begin laughing at the poor earl. “You were too late.”
One of Henry’s hands moved to scrub his jawline. “On so many levels. Although, there was a moment when I thought Charlotte was about to accept what her father had arranged—I think if I had pressed the point with her, she would have agreed to marry me despite her feelings for Wainwright—but I knew she would resent me for taking her from the man she truly loved... probably for the rest of her life.”
“So, she didn’t just do her duty by marrying Wainwright?” Will asked suddenly.
The earl fell silent for a moment. “No. I know she truly felt affection for her duke. And despite his insistence that she consider someone else to be her husband, Wainwright was besotted with her,” he said in a quiet voice. After a moment, he added, “I intended to return the title to Ellsworth Park, but Charlotte begged me to keep it. She was of the opinion that it might end up in the hands of a greedy relative who would lose it in a game of chance.”
Will nodded his understanding, remembering reading about Charlotte’s cousin. The man had been convicted of attempted manslaughter after he hired a henchman to see to Charlotte’s demise. Thank goodness the man’s attempt to destroy Wainwright’s home had failed.
“I am far better off letting her have her duke. I ended up with your sister, after all,” Henry said with a quirked lip.
Leaning forward in his chair again, Will took a deep breath. “So how the hell did you end up with my sister?” he asked suddenly.
Henry allowed a chuckle then, his face splitting into a huge grin. “Lady Charlotte told me to marry her. Said Hannah always believed men only ever loved their mistresses and women only married to have children.”
Remembering Hannah having said those words on more than one occasion, Will sobered. He knew why she felt that way. Despite their father having employed several mistresses and thinking he was keeping them a secret from his family, Will knew his mother was aware of his infidelities, knew she loved him in spite of his other life. At some point, Hannah, too, had discovered their father kept a mistress, although he never knew how. “The perfect wife for an aristocrat with a mistress on the side,” he commented sadly.
Jesus. Will had left London when his mother was still alive. When Hannah hadn’t yet had her come-out. Before Hannah knew she had another brother.
“Indeed. Given my situation with Sarah and my son, Hannah seemed the perfect choice for a wife,” Henry finished with a shrug.
Suddenly incensed, Will straightened in his chair. “You’re still with Sarah?” he accused, anger replacing his look of disappointment.
“Oh, no,” Henry replied with a quick shake of his head. “God, no. She’s married now. She had it all planned so she would be gone when our son went to Abdington,” he explained. “Which, I admit, I was a bit angry about at first—she hadn’t discussed her betrothal with me before making her plans to marry—but, in the end, it was the best possible outcome.”
Will blinked. “Because?”
Henry shrugged. “Because, by then, I was hopelessly in love with your sister.” He glanced over at Harold, who still appeared to be sleeping beneath the chair that held Donald. The boy’s soft snores seemed to match the dog’s. “The original Harold knew, of course. I was a bit... thick-headed, though, and it took this guy to rub my nose in it, until I finally figured it out,” he claimed as he motioned toward the dog.
Glancing over at the Alpenmastiff, who raised his head as if he just then realized he was the topic of their conversation, Will wondered at the earl’s words. The original Harold had been a smart dog. A puppy when he was brought to London from the Alps by Will’s father, Harold had grown up understanding he was Hannah’s pet and protector. “Where did you get this one?” Will asked suddenly. “Don’t tell me you had to go to the Continent,” he said with a shake of his head, thinking the man had to be truly devoted to Hannah if he had made the trip to visit the St. Bernard monks that bred the rescue dogs.
Smiling, Henry shook his head. “From about a half-mile down the road toward Bampton, actually. A farmer named Cavanaugh has the bitch, which apparently came to these shores already pregnant. Harold is from that litter.”
Perfect timing, he almost added, remembering how the first Harold had died and left Hannah in mourning for her best friend. The gift of little Harold had seemed to lift her spirits, especially during those first few months when she was expecting their son and was still too new to Gisborn Hall to have made many friends.
“I think there’s still one or two left from the litter, if you’re in the market for one,” Henry said with an arched eyebrow. “Harold has been great with the baby,” he added. He suddenly fished a chronometer out of his waistcoat pocket. “Who should be up and about any moment.”
Will lifted his head. “About time I met my nephew,” he said as a smile split his face.
Henry nodded. “Indeed.” After a moment, he said, “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. Perhaps we could take the boy fishing. I expect I’ll be done testing the new plow by noon tomorrow. The River Isis is just south of here.”
Grinning broadly, Will dared a glance in Donald’s direction and gave the earl a nod. “I think I shall take you up on that offer.” After a pause, he sobered and added, “Now we just have to convince his mother.”
Henry angled his head to one side. “Perhaps Hannah can help in that regard,” he murmured, a plan forming in his mind’s eye. “May I ask as to your plans for the next few years? Until you inherit, I mean?”
Will shook his head. “You can ask, but I’m afraid I’m at a bit of a loss. I just figured I would marry Barbara and settle us in a townhouse in Mayfair. Go about life in polite Society. Balls, soirées, musicales, the theatre. Occasionally play cards at the club. Do some woodworking. Have a family. But now...” He sighed and shook his head again. “I have absolutely no idea.”
Ever the planner and always an inventor, Henry considered Will’s response. “Hold that thought,” he murmured quietly. “Sometimes ’tis better not to plan your entire future. Life has a way of hitting you upside the head just about the time you think you have it all sorted.”
Frowning, Will reg
arded the earl for a moment before allowing a wan smile. “My sister have anything to do with that?” he wondered.
Henry allowed a huge smile. “Everything, actually.”
“Where’s my mum?” a sleepy voice asked from behind them. Donald sat up straighter, a bit of alarm on his face at finding Barbara was no longer in the parlor.
“She’s in the back gardens with Lady Gisborn,” Henry answered. “Harold will take you. You’ll want to ask her if you can join your father and me when we go fishing tomorrow afternoon,” he added, secretly pleased when he saw the boy’s look of happy surprise.
“Yes, my lord,” the boy answered as he stood up and gave them a bow. “Come on, Harold. Take me to Lady Gisborn and my mum,” he said as he took his leave of the parlor, Harold close on his heels.
Will watched his son leave, the oddest sensation filling his chest just then.
“You’ll get used to it,” Henry said quietly.
Biting his lip as he turned to regard his brother-in-law, Will shook his head. “I hope not.”
Chapter 34
A Walk in the Garden
After checking on the napping baby in the nursery on the second floor of Gisborn Hall, Barbara and Hannah headed for the gardens. Barbara felt the tension in her shoulders slowly easing as they made their way down the hall and through a set of glass doors. At no point in Hannah’s conversation or in her manner had Barbara felt judged by the earl’s wife. Indeed, Hannah had seemed more than gracious and rather pleased to have Barbara’s company.
Located on the end of the hall that looked out onto the old Ellsworth property, the garden featured a crushed granite walkway through a myriad of plants that were just beginning to bloom. From the newly-turned earth, it appeared as if most of the garden had been recently planted.
The spring air had Barbara inhaling sharply. “I wanted to say how sorry I was to hear about your mother. I didn’t learn of her passing until several months after she died,” Barbara remarked before allowing a sigh. “News does not arrive in a timely manner out here.” The news, what little of it reached Broadwell, came by way of travelers leaving behind copies of The Times or The Morning Chronicle at The Five Bells.
Hannah’s eyes widened a fraction. Goodness! How long has Barbara been away from London? “It’s been four... nearly five years now,” Hannah replied, realizing she no longer felt overcome at thoughts of her late mother. “But, thank you. I know it sounds awful to say, but if she hadn’t died when she did, and then, a year later, if my aunt hadn’t died when she did, I probably never would have met nor married Henry.”
Surprised to hear Hannah refer to her husband by his given name rather than by ‘Gisborn’, Barbara arched an eyebrow. “It is odd how timing can be so important,” she murmured. “Now it seems as if a clock and a calendar determine our fate in life.”
Hannah pondered the comment, realizing Barbara had a good point. So many of her own life events had been a result of a particular event on a particular date at a particular time, those parameters always set by someone—or something—else. Fate was certainly easier to believe in than to think that what had happened since her mother’s death was all a result of random events.
“Have you met my other brother?” Hannah wondered as they continued their stroll through the gardens, thinking Barbara might have been in London to greet Will when her brother returned from his service in the Navy.
“I have not,” Barbara replied, her brows suddenly furrowing. “Truth be told, I wasn’t aware you had another.”
Hannah turned her head to regard the older woman. “Half-brother, actually. Stephen Slater,” she said as she angled her head. “I haven’t met him yet, either, although I admit to a good deal of curiosity.”
Barbara frowned and slowed her steps. “I wasn’t aware your father had remarried.”
Shaking her head, Hannah led them to a stone bench in the center of an ivy arch and took a seat at one end. “He has, actually. He did about the same time as I did, in fact. But I rather doubt Cherice Dubois will be adding any heirs to the family. She did not bear any for her first husband—he was a baron—and I rather doubt she plans to have a child with my father.”
Frowning, Barbara considered Hannah’s words. If the brother had their father’s last name, then... “Who is Stephen’s mother?” she asked, almost immediately chiding herself for putting voice to the query. “Forgive me—”
“It’s fine,” Hannah interrupted with a quick wave of her hand. “I thought Will might have told you. Stephen is the son of one of my father’s mistresses.”
She said the words so casually, Barbara blinked before she managed to suppress a gasp. “Oh?” she replied, not quite sure what the appropriate response could be to such news.
“My father had several mistresses before he married my mother, and then he kept his favorite for a time after that,” Hannah explained, her manner so casual, Barbara realized the countess wasn’t the least bit bothered by the topic.
That is, until Hannah suddenly colored up.
“I used to be of the opinion that men only ever loved their mistresses and married only to have legitimate heirs,” she said quietly, her head shaking as she remembered having said the words as if they were her personal litany. But it was because of her belief in those words that had her open to the possibility of marriage to Henry Forster when he was in search of a wife.
What other daughter of an aristocrat would have been so accepting of marriage to a man who openly admitted he loved another and had fathered a son with her?
None of Hannah’s friends, and certainly none of the other young women with whom she attended balls that one Season would have been.
No, they would have all been scandalized.
Barbara stilled herself, wondering if Hannah thought of her as Will’s mistress. She had borne his son out of wedlock, after all. “You say that as if you have changed your opinion.”
Hannah placed a hand over Barbara’s, gently clasping it. “My father did love Stephen’s mother. He admitted as much to me when we spoke of it after my mother died. After I found him sobbing in his study. Cursing himself because he claimed to have loved my mother, as well, and cursing God because he shouldn’t have been able to love two women at the same time.”
Swallowing, Barbara dared a glance at Hannah, startled to find her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Oh, Hannah,” she breathed.
Hannah shook her head. “I didn’t understand it at the time. I was too young, I suppose. But now... now I know exactly of what he spoke.”
Barbara shook her head. “Your husband has a mistress?” she whispered in disbelief. But how could that be? Lord Gisborn seemed so devoted to his wife! In just the few minutes she had spent in his company in the parlor, she had caught the earl gazing at his wife as if he truly adored her.
Loved her.
Hannah shook her head. “No. Nor would I allow him to have one now. But he loved the woman who bore his son, you see. Loved her from the time they were children. She refused to marry him, even when she was about to give birth to his son, Nathaniel.”
Shocked at Hannah’s words, Barbara stared at the countess. Turn down an offer of marriage when you’re about to bear a child? Never had she heard of such a thing! “Why ever would she turn down an earl’s proposal of marriage?” she asked in surprise.
Allowing a wan smile, Hannah hoped Barbara could recognize herself in the same situation. “Henry wasn’t yet an earl when Nathaniel was born, but Sarah knew Henry would one day inherit the Gisborn earldom, and she insisted he marry an aristocrat’s daughter.”
“But that meant her son would be a...” She stopped suddenly and moved to stand up, but Hannah tightened her hold on Barbara’s hand, a bit dismayed at how bony it felt beneath her palm.
“Bastard, yes,” she agreed with a nod. “But Nathan has been raised with an education. He will have all the privileges of a gentleman’s son,” she went on. “Just as your son will.”
Barbara’s eyes widened. She was about to d
eny Hannah’s assumption that Donald was a bastard when she realized Hannah knew the truth.
But how? As far as she knew, Hannah and Will hadn’t been alone to discuss Donald. Then she remembered that the gossips had no doubt spread word of her condition when she was in the process of leaving London. Her maid had known she was enceinte. She had probably shared her news with every other servant in Pendleton House before her dismissal. Her services wouldn’t have been required after Barbara’s departure. From there, the news would have spread to other households, to other servants, to other maids.
Her aunt had also known. She could have shared her news with her closest friends, ensuring Barbara would be the on dit in Mayfair parlors for weeks after her departure. “Who told you?” she asked, a sick feeling settling into her stomach, wondering which marchioness or countess or viscountess or baroness might have put voice to the gossip shared by a lady’s maid or by her aunt. “Your maid, I suppose?” she whispered, knowing that gossip spread among neighboring servants faster than those above-stairs could manage.
Hannah shook her head, frowning at Barbara’s comment. “No, actually. One has only to see a miniature of what my brother looked like at his age to know Donald is a Slater,” Hannah whispered. “And it was rather thoughtful of you to give him a family name.”
Barbara allowed her shoulders to slump. Here she had thought the worst, and instead Hannah had merely guessed at Donald’s parentage. “Will once mentioned he had an uncle in Scotland named Donald,” she whispered before a tear escaped the corner of her eye.
“Oh, Barbara, no. Do not cry,” Hannah said quietly. “My brother adores you. He’ll provide protection for you and for your son, I promise.”
Barbara stared at Hannah, a bit stunned by her words. Will hadn’t made mention as to his intentions, other than to say he intended to take her back to London. Once she had made it clear she wasn’t going back there, he hadn’t said anything about their future. He had taken over the household as if he had every right to be there, though. As if he had every right to show up with dinner and remove her clothes and share her bed and clean the dishes and make repairs. She hadn’t yet decided if she hated him or merely despised him for simply showing up as he had without so much as a letter to warn her he was about to upend her life.
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