Gayle Wilson

by Lady Sarah's Son

  “I don’t think that should be you, however,” Sarah said.

  “I want to see him again. I have some things I wish to ask him,” the child said, disappointment in his voice. “I thought I should see him often, since he is our neighbor, but...”

  Sarah had wondered if Justin were deliberately avoiding them. If so, she believed she knew why. Andrew could thank the Lady Fortleys of the world for that maliciousness.

  “I know,” she said softly. “I’m sure you will see him soon,” she said, catching the quivering chin with her thumb and her forefinger, and smiling determinedly at the little boy. “He would not like you to cry,” she said softly.

  “Soldiers don’t cry,” Andrew said, blinking hard.

  “No, I don’t suppose they do,” Sarah agreed. “At least not where anyone else could see.”

  “He would never cry,” Andrew vowed with conviction.

  Andrew was right about that, Sarah thought. But given the situation Justin Tolbert faced, he might very well want to.

  “Is this everything?” the earl of Wynfield asked, touching the stack of documents on the desk before him.

  “All that have thus far been presented,” Drayton Langley said. “There may be other creditors who have not yet learned of your brother’s death. It is entirely possible that bills may be brought forward as much as six months from now, but we believe this to be the bulk of them. And when added to your father’s debts...” He shrugged. “I did try to warn them, my lord.”

  “I’m sure you did,” Wynfield said, running his thumb across the edge of the thick stack of notes Robert had signed. “And the estate is able to discharge what percentage of the combined total of these and my father’s debts, Mr. Langley?”

  “I would say...less than sixty percent, my lord.”

  “Bloody hell,” Justin said softly.

  “That is,” the banker continued emotionlessly, “if you sell everything that is left. Horses, carriages, the plate, portraits and furnishings. The home farm and attachments. The Park and the land itself. And of course, all that is predicated on your being able to find a buyer, or buyers, for any of it. I’m afraid nothing will bring what it’s worth, due both to the present economy and the rather advanced state of disrepair.”

  “But that is what you advise? That I should sell it all?”

  The banker lifted both hands, turning them slightly upward before they settled again on his ample belly. His eyes, almost sympathetic, rested on the earl’s face.

  Wynfield took a deep breath, thinking about what that would mean. He would still be deeply in debt, honorable debts that his family had legally incurred. And he would have nothing left, not even a roof over his head.

  “If I may be so bold, my lord...” Langley said.

  Justin looked up, surprising a gleam of speculation in the cold, dark eyes. “You know far too much about my business to stand on ceremony now, Langley. If you have any further advice, I should be very glad to hear it.”

  The man’s thick lips pursed, almost as if he were reluctant to speak. Justin wondered what news he thought might be worse than what he had already conveyed.

  “There has been an offer,” he said softly.

  “An offer,” Justin repeated, carefully controlling his voice despite the sickness knotting his stomach. He had come to this interview today expecting the worst. And that’s exactly what he had gotten. So whatever this offer was, he knew he must consider it. “To buy the properties?”

  “No, my lord,” Langley said.

  “Then... what kind of offer?”

  Again the banker hesitated, his eyes considering Justin’s face. “An offer of marriage, my lord.”

  Justin examined the word, trying to understand exactly what had just been suggested. Gentlemen made offers of marriage. They did not receive them. “Marriage?” he repeated carefully.

  And then, suddenly, he realized what the banker meant. After all, Lord Fortley had already suggested this option to him. Find himself a rich heiress with a squint or an unfortunate propensity to spots or obesity, and marry her as quickly as possible. Marriage as a business deal. Which, even within the ton itself, was not uncommon.

  Of course, given his situation, it would take more than a squint to lure a woman into such an arrangement, he thought. Apparently, from what Langley had just suggested, however, someone was willing to marry him simply for his title. Which would be all he would have left after he made an honorable attempt to pay his debts.

  Accepting such an offer might be a solution. It was not, however, the way he had ever envisioned his marriage. The memory of how Sarah had looked on the summer night he had proposed to her was suddenly in his head. That long-ago evening seemed like a dream—distant and romantic. And impossible. But then, too much of what he had once anticipated about his future was turning out to be impossible. And very different from his expectations.

  “It’s a generous offer, my lord,” Langley added. “One that includes the settlement of all your obligations.”

  “An offer to pay off my debts,” Justin said bluntly.

  Langley inclined his head, his fingers interlocked over his stomach and his hooded eyes considering Justin’s face. “It is an honorable course,” he said.

  “Honorable for whom?” the earl asked bitterly.

  “Both parties benefit from such an arrangement,” Langley suggested. “It happens more frequently than people would guess.”

  “A bought title,” Justin said.

  “A bought husband in this case, I believe,” Langley said.

  Justin’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Bought husband...” He hesitated, thinking about that wording.

  “I don’t believe this party is interested in your title, my lord. As old and respected as it may be.”

  Justin considered his man’s face, knowing there was something here he wasn’t being told. Something that Langley obviously believed might make a difference in his acceptance or refusal of this offer. And since Justin’s acceptance would be in the bank’s best interest... “Who?” Justin asked bluntly.

  Again the banker’s mouth pursed, and when he opened it to speak, the words that came out were the last the earl of Wynfield expected to hear. “Lady Sarah Spenser, my lord. The marquess of Brynmoor’s only daughter. And his heir.”

  Proud, stupid ass, the earl of Wynfield repeated over and over again as the carriage wheels ate the distance that separated him from the estate he was about to lose forever, along with the long and honorable heritage of his family.

  Whistled away on the wind by his father’s and his brother’s mismanagement. And by his own stupid pride. Because a woman he had once loved had chosen to love another. Someone who had been so unworthy of her gift that he had left her to bear a bastard child out of wedlock. And so Justin, in his arrogance, had chosen to hold on to his anger and bitterness against Sarah for her betrayal rather than to accept this offer, a solution to all his problems.

  His refusal had not been made, he told himself, because she had borne an illegitimate child. No one of their world would blame him if it had been, but what had cut him to the heart four years ago—and still did, despite the fact that he was no longer twenty-seven years old and madly in love—was that Sarah had rejected him. And for someone who obviously hadn’t loved her.

  Now he, who had always claimed that he had truly loved her, could reject her offer of marriage and have his long-delayed revenge. That was one of the uncomfortable prods his conscience had used to goad him since he’d left Langley’s office. The other was that he had just thrown away whatever chance he might have had to redeem his inheritance. And to save it for his own sons.

  His sons, he thought, remembering for some reason the wide unseeing eyes of the Randolph baby. And those of Sarah’s little boy. His sons would probably never have been born, he told himself, no matter which choice he made. Because what Sarah had suggested was a marriage of convenience. Langley had been very clear on that point. This was no love match. Had Justin accepted her of
fer, the marriage would be strictly a business arrangement, of mutual benefit to them both.

  “The marquess of Brynmoor is no longer able to see to his own affairs,” Langley had said.

  And with those words, Justin had remembered what he had seen in Sarah’s face when he’d asked after her father’s health.

  “So the responsibility of those affairs has fallen on his daughter’s shoulders, and despite quite good professional advice, she feels that Byrnmoor’s interests are not being as well managed as he would wish. Or as she wishes. Since your two estates join, and since she is well able to offer the financial help you need...” The banker had paused, raising his brows in question.

  Justin had listened to the rest, of course. A matter of courtesy toward both Sarah and his man of business, but there had been no question in his mind from the first moment what his answer would be. Proud, stupid ass, he thought again.

  He knew, however, that he would not be able to live in the same house with Sarah Spenser and the son she had borne to another man. And that had been one of the few demands she had made in exchange for paying off his debts—that they all live together at Longford. That was something he could never do.

  And in spite of his attempts to fathom her reasons for that requirement, Justin still didn’t understand it. Perhaps she had made it merely for the sake of appearances. To make it seem to everyone that theirs was a normal marriage. Her pride, perhaps. However few Sarah’s requirements for her monetary rescue of him had been, that was one he knew he could never carry out.

  Sarah’s child, he thought. He remembered the eagerness with which the little boy had responded to his casual attention. And he remembered the excited glow in the dark blue eyes, so much like Sarah’s own, when Justin had held out his hand and offered to convey him back to his grandfather’s property.

  He had always liked Brynmoor, Justin admitted. More importantly, perhaps, the marquess had liked him, maybe because he hadn’t fully understood the precarious financial condition of Justin’s family. The marquess had readily given his permission for Justin and Sarah to wed, but apparently he had been unable to prevent his daughter’s subsequent indiscretion.

  Indiscretion, Justin mused bitterly. A charming euphemism for betrayal. For an illicit sexual liaison that he would never have dreamed Sarah might be capable of.

  He remembered Meg Randolph’s words about judging others. Which was exactly what he was doing, he realized. Judging Sarah. He couldn’t know what had happened four years ago to drive her to that unbelievable act. Her father’s growing madness. Her sister’s death. His own departure for the Peninsula.

  She’s had more to bear than most of us, Meg had said. That was true, of course, but was it enough to earn his forgiveness? Not, he acknowledged bitterly, that Sarah had ever asked for that. Instead, she had made him an offer. A business deal that would benefit both of them.

  He looked out on the dusk-shrouded countryside and realized he would soon be home. While his thoughts had circled, the matched team had been rocketing along. At least his father and brother had known good horseflesh. A pity they hadn’t bought enough of it to make a dent in paying off the debts accrued in their other, less successful ventures.

  Through the carriage window, the beloved fields and forests stretched like a panorama, unfolding before his eyes as the coach turned off the public thoroughfare and onto the private road that led to the estate. He knew every inch of this land, as he knew every corner of the old house. He and Robert had played in every nook and cranny from the attics to the vast underground passages. His home. His land Which, unless he could come up with some viable solution to the problem he had been tirelessly working on since he’d been invalided out of service, he had just thrown away.

  Proud, stupid ass, he thought again. This time it was Sarah’s face that intruded in his mind’s eye, blocking the sight of his estate. And Justin literally saw nothing else until the coachman drew up before the door of Wynfield Park.

  “Refused,” Sarah repeated faintly.

  She sank down onto the chair behind the desk in the estate office, her hands fastening too tightly over the carved wooden arms. Her eyes had never left Mr. Samuels’s face.

  She thought she had been braced for Justin’s answer, but for some ridiculous reason, she had never expected a refusal. She had imagined many reactions from him, everything from gratitude to anger to a grudging acceptance. What she hadn’t been prepared for was an outright rejection of the financial reprieve this marriage would provide him.

  “The earl wishes me to express his gratitude, but I regret to inform you that... he is unable to accept your kind offer.”

  “I see,” Sarah said, trying to gather the tattered shreds of her pride. “What will he do?” she asked, because, despite everything, she really wanted to know.

  “Sell it all, I imagine. Pay off what he can and then live on the Continent, perhaps. There are many places where one may live more cheaply than in England.”

  She nodded, her disappointment so strong she could scarcely formulate the pleasantries needed to carry her through this painful interview.

  “Was there anything else you wished to discuss, my lady?” her man of business asked finally, when she hadn’t made any further response to his assessment of the earl’s plans.

  “Thank you, no, Mr. Samuels,” she managed to reply. “I believe that will be all for this morning.”

  Samuels nodded his acceptance and had already turned toward the door when Sarah stopped him. She could not bear it, she had realized, if what she had offered Wynfield became common knowledge. And cause for jest.

  Having been painfully burned once by the fire of gossip, Sarah said, “You should understand that I asked you to suggest a marriage of convenience to the earl because our families have been friends and neighbors for so long. And because, given his gallant service to our country and what it has cost him...” She hesitated, watching Mr. Samuels’s eyes to judge if he believed her. “I had thought it would be a tragedy to see Wynfield lose everything,” she continued, “but...I would ask that you not discuss what has occurred between us with anyone. It really is no one else’s concern, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”

  “You may rest easy on that score, my lady. Discretion is a necessity in my profession. You’ll hear no talk of this. Unless the earl himself chooses to discuss it,” he warned.

  That caveat was in his eyes as well, and she nodded in dismissal. When her man of business had closed the door of the office behind him, Sarah didn’t rise from her seat behind the desk. She thought about his warning and wondered if Justin would gossip about what she had done. If he did, she could imagine what they all would say. Automatically Sarah pressed cold fingers against the heat of the blush stealing into her cheeks.

  And what did it matter what they said? she wondered. She could be no more an outcast from society than she already was. Besides, she knew Wynfield was too much a gentleman to betray her. He might not wish to marry her, and considering everything, she could understand his reasons, but Justin would never seek to humiliate her by making her marriage proposal public.

  Only he would ever know she had made that offer. The only humiliation she would suffer from its rejection would be the one he had just dealt her. And that, she decided, was quite humiliation enough.

  “I had hoped you would be at home,” Andrew said, his voice full of undisguised joy.

  Justin looked up in surprise and met the same dark blue eyes he had thought about far too often in the last five days. The child was sitting on the paddock fence, watching Wynfield evaluate the horses he was sending to Tattersall’s next week.

  The earl had been disturbed by his first encounter with Sarah’s son. He had been jealous of the man who had won her heart. Jealous of this child, who should have been his. Now that he knew the truth, those emotions had been intensified. And, he acknowledged, they were even more despicable now.

  “How is your wooden leg?” the child asked politely, his eyes falling to examine the line o
f the trousers the earl wore.

  Despite his tangled emotions, Justin laughed. “Still wooden,” he said easily.

  “Do you tie it onto your other leg?” Andrew asked. “To make it stay on?”

  Now that they had exchanged conversational tidbits, however bizarre, the child apparently felt that he had achieved the status of a legitimate guest. He began climbing down from his perch to join the earl in the paddock.

  Justin watched until one small boot slipped from its hurried placement on a rail. Leading the mare, he walked over to the fence and, with one arm around the child’s middle, lifted the boy down, setting him carefully on the ground.

  “I could have gotten down by myself,” Andrew said.

  “And what if you had fallen and broken your head?” the earl asked, the ghost of his laughter still haunting his eyes.

  He had had little enough to laugh about in the last few weeks. For some reason, this child’s interest in and investigation of the world around him amused him. And intrigued him. If what Justin had seen that day in the woods was any indication, this boy had few friends or playmates his own age. He was being raised in a household of adults, which probably explained the maturity of his speech as well.

  “If I had, Sarah would have been angry,” Drew confessed.

  Stretching on tiptoe, he reached up to touch the mare’s nose. Unaccustomed to children, she bobbed her head and snorted, provoking a childish thrill of laughter, but no evidence of fear.

  “You like horses?” the earl asked, watching the eager fingers, undeterred, reach upward again.

  “I like Sarah’s pony,” the child said.

  “Do you ride him?”

  “Sometimes,” Drew said.

  By now, the mare had decided the boy was harmless. She pushed her nose against Andrew’s hand, and the child laughed again, more softly this time, but with a spontaneous and true delight.

  “I ride the pony when Sarah has time to help me,” he added.

  “And your grandfather?” the earl asked gently.