She sent the footman away. “You knew he was coming?”
“I told him to come.”
“Do you intend to confront him with what we know?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
The approach of their visitor could be heard. Not only footsteps announced it, but also voices. A low rumbling one, punctuated by another high squeak.
She knew that squeak. She rose to her feet, not daring to hope.
The squeak got louder. It was a child’s voice, asking questions.
Nathaniel sat calmly on the iron chair, drinking his coffee. She caught his eye, and her vision misted. “Thank you, Nathaniel. However you did it, thank you so much.”
The garden door swung. The footman escorted Mardenford outside. A little head peeked around the moving legs.
“Ancharl!”
He darted out of line and ran to her, his little legs working hard. She fell to her knees and opened her arms to him.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Ambrose’s joy filled the garden. Charlotte’s happiness matched the child’s. Their reunion moved Nathaniel and evoked images of her like this with other children, their children, and this love multiplied many times.
Mardenford remained rigid, his gaze on his squealing son but his thoughts clearly centered on himself.
The initial excitement calmed. Charlotte embraced Ambrose closely, pressing a kiss to his crown. She looked up at her brother-in-law. “This is a wonderful surprise. It was generous of you to bring him, James.”
She released Ambrose and rose to her feet. The child darted down the garden path, daring her to chase him. She joined the game, letting him win as they ran around bushes and trees.
Nathaniel kept his gaze on their play. “I am glad you chose to accept my invitation and brought the child, Mardenford. It was good of you.”
“Damn you.” The mutter was not nearly as low as it should have been.
“Sit down and have some coffee.”
“I’ll not—”
“Sit.”
Mardenford lowered himself into the other iron chair. Nathaniel did not need to look at him to recognize the mixture of anger and fear in the man. He knew the smell well. It covered accused criminals like a damp, sour mist.
Mardenford retreated into imperious hauteur. “Your letter was damned impertinent, and close to blackmail.”
“I do not want money, but only a conversation.”
“There is nothing to discuss with you.”
“If you believed that, you would not have come, let alone brought your son as I instructed.”
I know about Isabella and her son. Meet me at Charlotte’s house tomorrow at noon. Bring the child. That was the letter he had sent last night after his father left Albany.
Charlotte was deep in the garden now, on the ground with Ambrose, ruining her dress. Their laughter’s melody rose and fell on the breeze.
Nathaniel tore his attention from them and fixed it on Mardenford. “Have you received a letter from Mr. Yardley?”
“Yardley? My old tutor? Why would I seek out the man, or he seek out me?”
“For the same reason you gave him that living. I met with him five days ago, you see. I thought perhaps he had written to you about it. He said he would not, but one never knows. I suggested it would be in his health’s better interest to visit Scotland for a fortnight or so, but old loyalties die hard.”
Mardenford’s face remained impassive, but his eyes revealed the first flames of desperation.
“It must have been a shock when you received that first letter from Isabella, addressed to Baron Mardenford and intended for your brother. What a complication to learn that she had not died. Or did you know that? It was your report of her death that got your brother on that ship to England.”
Mardenford’s jaw clenched at this evidence of how thoroughly Yardley had been indiscreet. He shot Nathaniel a dangerous glare. “She was a whore. A scheming whore. A false marriage, Philip said. A false wedding, just to protect her. I told him it was madness. The potential for trouble—” His mouth clamped shut suddenly.
“You do not have to parse your words with me. I know all of it. Much more than you would like.”
A wary gaze slid to him. Nathaniel let the mind behind those hooded eyes work its way through just how much “all of it” might mean.
“What do you want, Knightridge?”
“I am sworn to want justice. It is my stock in trade, you might say.”
“You have no proof.”
“I have the boy. I have a signed document from Yardley, in which he reveals all. I convinced him it might be wise to give that to me, in case your bad judgment got the better of you. A type of insurance, you might say.”
He stiffened with indignation. “Blast, what are you accusing? Yardley has nothing to fear from me.”
“I hope not. Forgive me, however, if my experiences in the Old Bailey made me cautious for his sake. He knows too much. It was generous of you not to remove him.”
Mardenford reacted oddly to the peculiar compliment. A sneer twitched on his face. Not generous but cowardly, that sneer of self-disgust implied. “I don’t know why you give a damn about any of this.”
“There is a boy with your family’s blood who spent four years living in a cellar with a half-mad thief. Your brother’s son, as I now know. If you had dealt fairly with that woman, provided some support, I would have nothing to give a damn about now, because I never would have learned about the boy.”
“He has no claims!”
His sudden fury sent his denial ringing through the garden. Charlotte stopped her play and looked in their direction, then Ambrose reclaimed her attention.
“His claim is ambiguous,” Nathaniel said. “It is all ambiguous. That is my conundrum, and why I requested this meeting.” He caught Mardenford’s gaze in his own. “Even what occurred that day by the Thames is ambiguous.”
Fear now. Naked fear. The attempts at covering it with feigned incomprehension did not work.
“Yardley described that meeting to me. Did you lure her down the steps for privacy, or with murder in mind? Did you grab her in a rage, or just to silence her loud denials? Did she lose her balance, or was she pushed? The lawyer in me can see a defense made of those ambiguities, you see. At least one good enough to save a baron’s neck. Maybe.”
“I did not kill her. How dare you—”
“I think you did. I think your anger, so rare but so explosive, burst forth when she would not accept your version of what had occurred in Spain. She thought her son was legitimate. When you told her Philip was dead, she thought her boy should have the title. Your title, your estate, and your fortune were at risk. Even raising the question would have been devastating to your name. The investigation would have humiliated you. Worse, it might turn out she was correct.”
“She could not prove the boy was my brother’s child.”
“If the marriage was found legitimate, any child born within it would be your brother’s child in the law. You know that.”
Mardenford rose abruptly and walked away, as if seeking escape from a trap. Nathaniel followed him over to the wall and trapped him quite literally. “Did you see the boy? See the resemblance? He was there, positioned where you could see him before you went down those stairs.”
“I saw no boy.” Shaky now, he refused to look at Nathaniel. “You are going to do it, aren’t you? Air it all, so the whole world pokes and talks and wonders.” He turned his attention to Charlotte. Renewed confidence produced a smirk. “Then again, maybe not. If it is decided that either marriage ceremony with Isabella was legal, Charlotte was my brother’s whore for three years. Her settlement is gone. Her reputation is gone. She will be humiliated and degraded by the investigation worse than me, no matter what its outcome. If she is more than a whore to you, you will not do it.”
“You are a coward to hide behind her.”
“I am protecting her.”
“You are thinking of no
one but yourself.” He placed a companionable hand on Mardenford’s shoulder, but gripped hard enough that the face above his hand blanched. “Listen to what I say, and believe it to be true. I do not seek to air this before the world. If you do not accept the resolution I offer, however, I will let it all come out. I will let the Church decide about that marriage, and the lords decide about your title, and a court decide about the day at the Thames. Charlotte’s future will be secure in either case, because she will be my wife.”
“You would not marry a woman so ruined.”
“I would have her if she came to me in sackcloth.”
“She will not have you if you do this. Look at her with my son. She will repudiate you if you harm him through me.”
“Now you use your own son as your shield. You disgust me.” He released his hold and barely contained the urge to thrash the bastard. “Come into the house now. I will explain what you must do. Have no illusions that I will spare you if you refuse.”
Ambrose finally tired of running and games. Charlotte sat on the ground and gathered him into her lap. He giggled while he pulled at ribbons and poked her face.
Nathaniel had taken James into the house some time ago. She guessed James was learning about the discoveries they had made. Maybe he was learning about the other things, too; the things that only Nathaniel knew.
She firmed her hold on Ambrose, giving a subtle hug. His visit was a perfect gift. He made her so lighthearted that she did not care overmuch what was being said in the house.
Ambrose began squirming. A sound caught his attention. Scrambling in his clumsy way, he tumbled out of her lap and ran toward the footman who had just entered the garden. A young man, little more than a boy himself, the footman laughed when Ambrose grabbed his leg. He paused and told the child to hold on, then proceeded toward her, carefully swinging the little body that wrapped and clutched his leg.
“My lady, the gentlemen request your presence in the library,” he said, dutifully ignoring how Ambrose demanded a longer ride.
“Will you please take my nephew to the housekeeper? Tell her I will come for him shortly.”
“I could bring him to the kitchen, if you prefer. Cook enjoys the little ones.” His glance down at Ambrose suggested that the housekeeper would find this active, loud little one not much to her liking at all.
“I will defer to your judgment.”
He turned to retrace his steps. Ambrose’s squeals filled the air as the footman lugged his weight along.
Charlotte entered the house through the morning room’s terrace doors and went up to the library. Nathaniel and James waited for her there. They stood silently, as if one chapter of time had finished and they anticipated the page’s turn to the next one.
James looked her way briefly and blankly. She sensed he chose not to see her, or anything.
A peculiar pause ensued.
“I have been summoned, but no one has anything to say?” she asked.
“Mardenford has quite a bit to say, don’t you, Mardenford? I think he hesitates because it requires a great favor from you.”
“I would be happy to help you any way that I can, James.”
Mardenford smiled weakly. He was not a happy man. No doubt it embarrassed him to request a favor of one he had so recently insulted.
He walked over to the desk. A stack of papers rested atop it. A lot of writing had been done during their meeting.
His face lengthened. His mouth pursed. He gazed past her, at nothing. “I have decided to go abroad. I have agreed . . . I would be grateful if you would allow Ambrose to live with you until I return.”
“Nothing would give me more pleasure, James. You know that.”
He lifted a paper from the table. “I put it in writing, that he be allowed to stay with you while I am gone, so the family cannot object.” He gestured to the other papers. “There is another one there, to my solicitor, and documents establishing a trust for the boy, so his expenses can be met.”
She glanced at Nathaniel. He watched impassively but his gaze pinned James in place.
“A trust? How long do you intend to be away?”
“Some time, I expect. I really do not know.” He cast a glare at Nathaniel but the flame of rebellion was extinguished by Nathaniel’s cool stare. “It will be a great adventure. I am due one, I think,” he muttered.
She asked for more particulars and received very few. This great adventure would commence immediately, however. James did not even plan to take Ambrose home with him.
“I will send his nurse, for now. You can then make what arrangements you wish.”
“I do not know what to say, James. I am grateful for your trust.”
He gazed at her, taking all of her in. His attention lingered on the stains her dress had received in the garden. “Yes. Well, do not spoil him.”
“I will try not to.”
Silence fell. James continued looking at her. Nathaniel quietly cleared his throat, breaking the awkwardness and jolting James out of whatever sad reverie had claimed him.
“Oh, yes, and the house. It is yours again, if you want it. I acted rashly, and since Ambrose will be living with you—”
“Thank you, but I do not think I will return there. It would be best if you sold it. I have concluded I stayed there overlong, you see. Wherever I go, I promise Ambrose will be comfortable and well loved.”
James glanced at Nathaniel in question. Nathaniel shrugged.
“Well, that is settled.” James barely voiced the words. They emerged on a deep exhale of breath. “I will take my leave now. I do not expect I will see you again before I sail.” He moved abruptly, walking resolutely to the door.
She moved so he had to walk past her. “James.”
He stopped.
“Ambrose is in the kitchen, if you want to say good-bye,” she said.
He nodded dully. She stretched up and kissed his cheek. “Take care, dear brother.”
He grasped her hand in both of his and kissed it. He strode from the room. She watched the door close on his back.
Nathaniel silently watched the end of the performance. She knew that he had managed this little drama, however.
“He will not return to Britain soon, will he?” she asked.
“No.”
She strolled across the carpet to the window. James’s crown emerged below her as he headed to his carriage. He had not even said good-bye to his son.
She turned to the desk. She leafed through the papers there. “You have been busy. Here is another trust, a handsome one, for Joseph, also known as Harry, who currently resides with Mr. Avlon in Durham.”
“James saw the rightness of providing for the boy.”
She could imagine how that happened. “Will Ambrose ever see his father again?”
He came over to her and removed the papers from her hands. “When he is older, he can visit Mardenford wherever he resides. It will be his father’s choice whether to explain what happened.”
“Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“I did not blackmail him, if that is what you think.”
“It would be an odd blackmail, since you gained nothing in it but the presence in your new marriage of a small boy who is not your own.”
He shrugged. “He is a nice enough small boy. He will stop squealing in a year or two.”
She gazed at the documents. Trusts and letters ensuring the care of James’s son and his estate. These were the legal remains of a man putting his life in order. “He is not going to do himself in, is he?”
“No. However, he will not be returning to England.”
Not returning. Ever. She looked at Nathaniel. Not blackmail, but a bargain. A compromise. James had agreed to this to avoid a scandal about Isabella and Harry. To avoid the formal inquiries about that marriage in Spain.
Nathaniel had proposed this solution, she was sure of it. He had forged this plan to protect her and Ambrose from the same scandal and all it might reveal.
That did not expl
ain why James had to accept exile, however. Either Nathaniel had forced James into a very bad bargain, or there was more at stake than she knew.
The answer stood in front of her, tall and confident, watching her.
“Do you think the marriage would be found to be legal?”
“Possibly. However, it would depend on whether the witnesses could be located, which is unlikely.”
“Will Harry ever know about that possibility?”
“When he is of age, I will share what I know with him. He has a right to that. It will be his choice whether to pursue it. However, I think the trust will appease him enough.”
“And if he does pursue it? Ambrose—”
“Ambrose will not grow up in an earl’s household, but in ours. His trust draws on James’s private wealth, not the title’s estates. He will be wealthy and have your secure love. If he does not become an earl because it is discovered the title is not rightfully his, it will not be the end of the world for him.”
“So all of these strategies may only delay the reckoning.”
He drew her into his embrace. “I cannot lie to that boy up in Durham. This was the best I could do.”
“I think you did very well. Eight years hence, I do not think I will care much whether my past is rearranged again.” She took his face in her hands and gazed deeply into his eyes. “James must have done something very bad to agree to this, Nathaniel. I do not think he goes abroad only to suppress questions about his brother’s Spanish alliance. Nor do I believe you would require it of him to buy our silence on that.”
He did not reply, but she found the answer in his eyes. “He killed that poor woman, didn’t he? That is what you learned from Mr. Yardley that day.”
He nodded. “However, Yardley is not the best witness. His memories are confused and vague. Even I would have difficulty getting a conviction on his story alone.”
She assumed he had considered trying, while he weighed his decisions these last days. He had tried it on and rehearsed that role. That meant he knew the truth even if Mr. Yardley was not enough. “Tell me, when you looked in James’s eyes today, what did you learn?”
He gathered her hands in his. “I saw his guilt, and damned little repentance. I also saw very little love for his son.”
Lady of Sin Page 29
