Only Mine
Page 31
“Yes, I saw what it was.”
“If it’s any consolation, Wesley,” Michael said, “I broke it off several days ago. She’d become too serious, and I decided I shouldn’t socialize with her again.”
“That certainly puts a convenient spin on it,” Veronica seethed. “Wesley, I can clear this up for you. Listen to me.”
She stared at him so beseechingly, as if she’d always been fond of him, as if he were the precise man who could save her from folly. But he didn’t want to save her.
“How did you get here?” he asked. “Did you come in one of your father’s carriages? Or did you rent a cab?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Ah...I rented a cab.”
“Of course. You wouldn’t dare bother your father’s servants. None of them would have agreed to assist you without his permission. Did you even bring a maid?”
“Yes. I’m not an idiot.”
Wesley didn’t suppose it was the moment to argue the point. He glared at Michael. “You need to depart. Now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Pack your bags. I’ll escort Veronica to her cab, and I’d like you to be gone before I’m back inside.”
“All right.”
Michael gave a jaunty salute and sauntered off as if his camaraderie with Wesley hadn’t mattered a whit. Had Wesley been that insignificant to him? The notion was galling.
“Michael!” Veronica called after him. “We have to talk. Once we’re in town, can I see you?”
“Veronica!” Wesley scolded. “Remember yourself.”
He was holding her arm, but she shook him off as if she’d chase after Michael.
“We shouldn’t meet again,” Michael told her. “Especially since we’ve upset Wesley. Goodbye.”
He continued on, and she wailed with despair. Was she in love with him? Was she mad? The letter from Wesley’s mother claimed Benjamin was mad too. Maybe they were both deranged and thus a perfect couple.
He took her arm again and clasped it tight, and she actually wrestled with him, but he wouldn’t release her. He dawdled for another minute so Michael had a chance to disappear up the stairs. Then he started out, dragging her to the door. She was that determined not to leave.
He kept on to the barn where her cab was sitting in the shade, the driver loafing in the grass and chatting with Veronica’s maid. They both leapt to attention when they noted Wesley stomping toward them.
The driver understood that their sojourn was over, and without a word he climbed into the box. The maid hurried over too, desperate to hide herself in the vehicle so Wesley wouldn’t accost her.
She blanched as Wesley leaned in and said, “I’ll be reporting this mischief to Veronica’s mother. I’m betting you’ll lose your job over it. Best prepare yourself.”
“Why blame me, Mr. Grey? I serve Miss Veronica, and she demanded I accompany her. I could hardly refuse.”
“I won’t debate it with you.”
Veronica was furious, her eyes flashing daggers. “You presume too much, Wesley.”
“I’m thinking I don’t presume nearly enough.”
“You’re being a boor.”
“Yes, I am.”
When she realized she couldn’t shame or cow him, she relaxed and tried for a smile. “I asked before, but now I’m begging. You can’t tattle to Benjamin. Nothing happened! Michael and I are friends. Seriously! There’s no reason to raise a big ruckus.”
“You should have thought of that before you ever snuck off with him.”
“You don’t understand!” she whined.
“I understand plenty. You could have had it all: wealth, power, esteem, a position at the top of high society. Benjamin was willing to bestow it all on you. What will you have now?”
“Wesley! Don’t tell him. I’m begging you not to!”
“What’s it worth to you?”
“Name your price.”
A myriad of possibilities raced through his head. What did she mean by that? Would she disgrace herself with him? Would she give him some of what she’d been giving to Michael simply to persuade him to be silent?
“Go home, Veronica,” he murmured, “and don’t come back here ever again—unless you’re with your fiancé.”
“But...what about Benjamin? Will you speak to him? I can’t bear not knowing.”
“I don’t have an answer for you. Just leave me be.”
He physically lifted her in and closed the door. The driver was a smart man and comprehended how badly they’d overstayed their welcome. He cracked the whip, and his horse lurched off.
Enraged and conflicted, Wesley tarried and pondered his options. He had to tell his brother. Didn’t he? He had to tell his mother too, but they were both aware of how much he’d loved Veronica. Would they believe him? Very likely not. They’d assume he was making it up to drive a wedge between her and Benjamin.
Yet Benjamin had to be apprised. If he suspected Wesley was lying, that wasn’t Wesley’s fault. Or it might be better to pretend ignorance. On the spur of the moment, with his mood so dour and despondent he couldn’t decide.
Feeling stupid and ridiculous and completely at a loss, he turned and went inside.
OLOMAN GAPED AT THE items on the table, his mind struggling to make sense of what he was seeing. The satchel along with the blanket, clothes, and toys had to have come from Caleb’s nursery. The tiny nightgown and cap had to be the ones he’d been wearing the evening he vanished.
If they weren’t, exact duplicates had been sewn. What were the odds of that occurring?
“Do you recognize them?” Benjamin asked.
“Oh, yes.” Soloman could barely force out the words.
For ten grueling years, he’d been tormented by his brother’s disappearance. He’d loved his father very much and had been incredibly honored to be named Caleb’s guardian, but he’d always suspected his father had planned to live to a ripe old age, that he’d updated his Will but hadn’t expected it to go into effect until Soloman was more mature and better able to handle the obligations that had been bestowed.
But he’d been twenty, and he hadn’t really known how to care for a baby, particularly one of Caleb’s exalted status. He’d let nannies and servants deal with it, and he’d provided very little supervision.
When tragedy had struck, he’d had no defense against the charge that he’d been negligent and lackadaisical. Like a greedy scapegrace, he had been reveling. He had been spending Caleb’s money so he felt he’d deserved much of the censure he’d received.
Although he hadn’t harmed Caleb, he hadn’t protected him either. He hadn’t been vigilant, and as a result he’d failed his father and his brother.
He glared at Peggy Jones. “Swear to me you’re telling the truth.”
“I am, sir, and I have grievously hurt you and your family. I kept Lydia Boswell’s secret, and I shouldn’t have. I am mortally sorry, and I am fully ready to face any consequence you would like to impose.”
She gulped with dismay, furnishing stark evidence that she clearly grasped what some of those consequences could entail. She could be transported to the penal colonies. She could be jailed for the rest of her life. She could be hanged by her neck until dead.
Soloman—as Caleb’s guardian—would have an enormous amount of influence in advocating for the appropriate punishment. He wondered what he might recommend. What could possibly compensate Caleb for the losses he’d suffered?
They were in the front parlor of Miss Fenwick’s small house. He and Benjamin were sequestered in private conversation with Miss Jones. They had previously agreed they would remove Miss Jones from Miss Fenwick’s presence then question her, but Soloman had been too impatient for any delay.
He’d listened to her story. He’d studied the contents of the satchel. Lydia Boswell had ordered her to burn it, but Miss Jones never had and here it was, the blatant proof Soloman had been desperate to find.
“You claim Mrs. Boswell’s son passed away in the night,” he said.
“I’m not saying it was. You told us that you buried him in the woods behind Mrs. Boswell’s cottage.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you place him in a coffin? Or did you simply toss him into the ground?”
“Mrs. Boswell had a wooden sewing box. We used it as the coffin.”
“Could you show us where the grave is?”
“Certainly, Mr. Grey. Though Lydia protested, I put a marker there, and I’ve always left flowers on important days.”
She didn’t hesitate, didn’t glance away or display any sign of prevarication. If they went to the cottage, if they dug up the grave and it contained a sewing box and the remains of a tiny baby, what could he assume except that he had the answers he’d sought?
He reflected on how straightforward the mystery had ultimately turned out to be. Mrs. Boswell had been an unhappy woman, deranged by the death of her son. She’d been an acquaintance of Caleb’s mother, Melinda, and she’d been jealous of Melinda’s good fortune, of her birthing a new little lord. All of it had driven Mrs. Boswell over the edge. She’d hidden Caleb in the leather satchel and strolled out with him.
The silence grew awkward, and finally Benjamin asked, “What do you think?”
“I’d like to meet him.”
This was a point of contention about which they’d vehemently argued.
In Benjamin’s view, the boy was charismatic and charming, precisely how you hoped Caleb would be. He made you hope Miss Jones’s tale was true.
Benjamin had counseled against an introduction, had warned Soloman to proceed cautiously. Soloman understood his cousin’s reticence, had resolved not to let passion or emotion get in the way.
But...
He’d been waiting ten years. If the child was Caleb, he had to know immediately.
Benjamin frowned. “Are you sure, Soloman?”
“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything.”
“I feel I should probably—”
Soloman stopped his cousin. “I don’t want to hear it, Benjamin. I have to see him.”
Benjamin nodded to Miss Jones. “You’re excused, but we’ll question you again.”
“Will the authorities come for me today, Captain Grey? Am I to be arrested?”
“Not today,” Benjamin said. “We’ll tell you when so you have plenty of notice. Don’t fret over it now.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m much obliged.”
“Have Miss Fenwick bring Harry down.”
To which Miss Jones responded, “It’s Caleb, Captain.”
“We’ll be the judge of that, Miss Jones,” he retorted, sounding very snide.
She skittered out and climbed the stairs to where Miss Fenwick and the boy had tarried. Shortly, footsteps pounded down and he raced in, his Aunt Annabel behind him. She scooted over to the corner, away from where Benjamin and Soloman were seated in chairs by the hearth.
“Hello, Captain,” he breathlessly said, but he didn’t so much as peek at Benjamin.
He dashed to Soloman, and Soloman took a quick assessment. He was dark-haired, handsome, slender and so much like Soloman had been at the same age that Soloman could have been staring into a mirror.
He actually gasped with surprise.
The boy was very bold, very audacious, and he didn’t halt until he was directly in front of Soloman. Soloman couldn’t help himself. He slid off his chair and onto his knees so they were nose to nose.
They studied one another, their identical blue eyes searching, noting every detail. Eventually, Soloman reached out and laid a palm on the top of his head, and he traced it down across his face, shoulders, and chest as if checking that he was real.
He clasped the hand with the scar. It was in the exact spot it was supposed to be, the exact spot where the family dog had bitten deeply enough that stitches had been required to close the wound.
Soloman peered over at Benjamin and murmured, “I’ll be damned.”
Benjamin shrugged. “From the first moment, I thought I was looking at you—or perhaps your son. There’s not two farthings worth of difference between you.” Then Benjamin asked, “Do you remember our secret handshake?”
Soloman pondered then grinned. “I do remember it.”
Benjamin gestured to the boy. “Show him your secret handshake.”
The boy gripped Soloman’s hand, and they engaged in the maneuver, palms, wrists, backs, thumbs entwined. When they finished, Soloman’s jaw dropped in shock.
“Where did you learn that?” he asked the boy.
“I have no idea.” He smiled a charming smile. “Are you my brother? Please tell me you are. I can’t bear to imagine you might be anyone else.”
“I just might be,” Soloman said. “I have to verify a final fact from Miss Jones before I can decide.”
“Miss Peggy knows more about me than anybody. And she’s very honest. She’d never lie to you.”
Soloman could have disputed the testament to Miss Jones’s veracity. He could have mentioned that Miss Jones had been incredibly furtive for an entire decade—until her conscience had begun shouting so loudly she couldn’t ignore it. But he didn’t.
“Captain Grey has told me all about you,” Soloman said.
“I’m so glad, but no one’s told me a single thing about you.”
“He said you love to ride.”
“I ride like the wind,” he boasted, not exhibiting an ounce of humility.
“Would you like to ride with me? We could take the horses and go for a bit.”
“That would be grand.” The boy glanced over his shoulder. “May I, Annabel?”
She dithered for an eternity, making Soloman assume she’d refuse.
Ultimately, she said, “You may—so long as Mr. Grey promises to bring you back.”
“Of course he’ll bring me back. Why wouldn’t he?”
None of the adults in the room answered the question. All of them appreciated what was at stake: fortunes, property, a title, membership in the peerage. A baby had once disappeared. A young boy certainly could too.
Soloman pushed himself to his feet. “We’ll be away for an hour.”
“The stories about him are already spreading,” Miss Fenwick pointed out. “People have heard he might be home.”
“I realize that,” Soloman replied.
“So if a mishap should...well...”
Soloman hastily said, “He’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
“One hour,” she insisted.
He nodded. “One hour.”
“Yes!” The boy’s enthusiasm was infectious.
He grabbed Soloman’s hand and dragged him to the door. It was a cold afternoon, and they were donning their coats when Soloman asked Benjamin, “Will you be all right while I’m gone?”
“Yes. Miss Fenwick is an expert at entertaining me.”
She shot Benjamin such a hot, stirring look that Soloman was stunned by it. Obviously, they weren’t strangers. Just how intimately did Benjamin know her? And what part had their relationship played in the child being brought forward?
He’d have to get to the bottom of it, but at the moment he simply wanted to take a fast, fun ride with this magnificent little person who might be his long-lost brother.
They hurried outside to where he and Benjamin had tethered their horses. He helped the boy climb up then he mounted too. As they tugged on the reins, a short, stocky fellow approached.
“Excuse me, sir,” he called up to Soloman, “but aren’t you Soloman Grey?”
Soloman bristled. He never liked to be accosted for it was always due to the old tragedy.
“Yes, I am Soloman Grey,” he snapped. “Who’s asking?”
“I’m with The Times, and I’ve been sent to track down a rumor that has been circulating.”
“What rumor?” Soloman inquired, but he was fairly sure he knew.
“We’ve had sever
al reports that your brother, Caleb Grey, has been found.”
Soloman kept his expression carefully blank. “I don’t have a comment about any such situation.”
The fellow gaped up at the boy then studied Soloman, clearly recognizing the blatant similarities.
“Blimey!” the man muttered. “Is that him? Is that Caleb Grey?”
“Maybe,” Soloman said.
He winked at the boy, and they trotted off together.
ANNABEL WATCHED MR. GREY leave with Caleb.
An odd man had run up to them as they were departing, and he shouted to Annabel, “Miss Fenwick? May I speak to you?”
She wasn’t about to talk to him, and she slammed the door which meant she was trapped in the house with Captain Grey.
“Who was out there?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
He came over, eased her away, and peeked out. The man was on the front walk.
“Captain Grey? Is that you?”
“What do you want?” Benjamin snarled.
“There is a story spreading that Caleb Grey has returned. I’m checking on it for The Times. Is it true?”
Benjamin didn’t reply to the query. “You shouldn’t bother Miss Fenwick, and she can’t have you loitering. Go away.”
“Is Caleb back, Captain?” the man pressed. “Who was the boy with your cousin?”
“Go away or I will make you go.” Benjamin shut the door and frowned at Annabel. “That doesn’t sound good. Have you told anyone?”
“I haven’t, but Caleb introduced himself to numerous people at your home. I’m predicting the servants have been chattering like magpies. Didn’t you ask them to be silent and not to gossip?”
“I ordered them to be silent and not to gossip.”
She chuckled. “Perhaps you’re not as intimidating as you imagine yourself to be.”
They were standing very close, the house very quiet. Peggy was upstairs and wouldn’t reappear while the Grey cousins were present. She was ashamed to face them and afraid too over the consequences that were looming.
Annabel kept two servants, but she’d given them the day off so they wouldn’t be underfoot and eavesdropping if and when Benjamin and his cousin came to see Caleb.
So it was just Benjamin and herself, and there was no one to interrupt or compel them to behave. He was staring at her as he always did, as if he might gobble her up, as if he might do delicious, lewd things to her and never stop.