Keepsake (The Distinguished Rogues Book 5)

by Heather Boyd

  Christopher turned to Kit. “May I go, Father?”

  Kit wasn’t the boy’s father to say yea or nay to him, but he nodded slowly. He’d enough information for now.

  When the boy was gone, Miranda’s servant following close behind, Kit stood, hands curling into fists. “You knew about him?”

  “Wait.” He dug into his pocket and extracted three envelopes. “I had hoped to have more witnesses than us but…” He passed them over. “With compliments of Lords Applebee, Sorenson, and Watts. I trust you recall the names of your former guardians. These letters were placed in my safekeeping some time ago.”

  “What do they want now?”

  “Read them and see,” Louth advised cryptically.

  Kit opened the first, sinking down into his chair as he read Watts’s words. As soon as he’d finished the first, he ripped the second one open, then the third. By the end he was both enraged and mortified. “They knew about Miranda’s son too. How dare they meddle in my life? Those bastards.”

  “There’s an ill-fitting description if ever there was one.” Louth moved to stand beside the chair Simon had hidden behind.

  Kit glared at him. “Do you know what these claim?”

  “The boy is your son. Make no mistake it is the absolute truth.”

  “Truth?” Kit swallowed to sweeten his mouth. “I have heard nothing but fanciful tales all day and my patience has reached its limits. Why are you involved with my wife? Are you her lover?”

  Louth’s cheeks pinked. “Never. She’s been faithful to you.”

  “And yet you have become a great influence on her life. She trusts you. Confides in you. What else can I think when there is such a great intimacy between you?”

  Louth stiffened. “Believe me, I wasn’t an entirely willing holder of those letters nor her secrets.”

  “Yet you said nothing.”

  Louth sighed deeply. “I gave my word to Miranda not to interfere even if I thought her barking mad to avoid you. The last few days I’ve had men scouring London on Miranda’s behalf, praying I was not too late to protect your son.”

  Kit folded his arms across his chest. Louth’s loyalty to Miranda was something he’d realized for himself, but the depth of their connection he had not. “You should have told me. About everything and from the start.”

  “And betray her trust as you did?” Louth scowled. “Have her hate me so much her heart would falter when she thought of me too?”

  “I am not responsible for Miranda’s ill-beating heart. It is merely an illness and wholly unconnected to me.” He shook his head. “I’ve yet to hear just reason for Miranda’s flight from our marriage. I’ve no idea what imaginary wrongs I inflicted on her. I’m the wounded party here. She left me. She gave birth to a child without telling me. It is me that should be heartbroken.”

  Louth’s eyes narrowed. “But how could you be heartbroken if you never loved her?”

  Kit struggled for a response to that, remembering his earlier tears with some discomfort. He couldn’t account for them and was glad any trace had vanished.

  Undeterred by his silence, Louth drew closer, eyes boring into his. “How could you ever be so destroyed by the one you loved that remaining or going back sent you into spasms of fury? She ran away with nothing to support herself with. Only the clothes on her back. Believe me, I have argued with her for many years about returning, and it did no good. I gave her money enough to keep a roof over her head, clothes on her back, and tutors for the child so he would be prepared for when her heart softened and they returned to you.”

  Louth glared for a moment before continuing. “But I’ve seen her at her worst over you. Shrieking mad over a report of you in the scandal sheets. Don’t think she hasn’t had good cause to be jealous.”

  Kit blinked. “Jealous?”

  Louth came round the desk. Stopped right before him, chest heaving, his fingers curling into a fist. “You cared nothing for her feelings. You never deserved her. She gave you everything and you showed her that her gifts, the dowry you needed, her body, her love, meant less to you than nothing.”

  “How would you know what I supposedly did to her?”

  “I was there. I saw you making love to another woman on your very wedding day. Have you no shame? Why wouldn’t she have cause to hate you for that betrayal?”

  Kit shook his head at the ridiculous suggestion. “I did nothing of the sort.”

  Louth’s eyebrow rose. “The rose garden, at dusk, in the arms of a woman who claimed to be a friend to Miranda.”

  Kit frowned and then his memory came flooding back. “You saw that?”

  “Oh, I saw the pair of you cavorting in the garden so intimately it made me ashamed to call you a friend all these years.” He shook his head. “And so did Miranda, Lord Applebee, too, and several others. They saw you abandon your wife, your vows, on the very day you married her. That is why she couldn’t stand to be near you. That is why she ran off into the night with nothing. You shattered her heart.”

  Kit shook his head, heart racing at the idea of how that forgotten event might have appeared to Miranda, to anyone else. “It wasn’t what you thought.”

  A muscle in Louth’s jaw tightened as if he were on the verge of causing Kit bodily harm for denying it still.

  Carrington stepped close to Louth and placed a restraining hand on the man’s arm. “This isn’t our business, Louth. Let it go.”

  “I’ll keep silent no longer.” Louth shook his head stubbornly. “A grappling pair of dogs had more grace that night. I saw clearly enough to know your hands were on the woman’s breasts and your mouth against hers.”

  Kit swallowed in shock. That was more than he remembered had happened. But he was only half-guilty. Louth must have had an incomplete view of that encounter to think that he’d ever want to seduce another woman. He pushed Louth back with the tip of one finger to increase the distance between them. He would not fight a friend over a mistake such as this. “And then? Did you see how it ended?” He couldn’t have, as Kit hadn’t made love to anyone that night. Miranda most likely hadn’t either, or she wouldn’t have run off believing he’d betrayed her.

  Louth said nothing.

  “You did not see me break my vows that night,” Kit stressed. “Because I didn’t.”

  “No, but…” Louth frowned. “It was clear what happened next. You had Miranda’s hand in marriage; her dowry would save your estate. You barely spoke to her after the ceremony and then you ran off to rut with that other woman.”

  “Partially true. I had to leave the estate discreetly and I did not speak to Miranda again that day. The rest is a lie.”

  Kit scrubbed a hand over his face. He’d been found guilty without a proper hearing—accused and condemned for merely being a good friend.

  He squinted at Louth. “You took Miranda away from me for no good reason.”

  “No. I took nothing. I found her wandering the road a mile from Twilit Hill, still clad in the gown she’d worn for the wedding the day before. My carriage almost ran her down. When I stopped, she was so distraught, so unable to speak clearly for her tears that I intended to put her in my carriage and take her back to her father rather than to you. But Lord Applebee came along then and once he’d seen what you’d done to that proud woman, he placed her in his carriage and swore she’d never need to go back to you ever again.”

  Kit grimaced at the scene described. Applebee hadn’t looked at him in a friendly way since the wedding, and Louth’s recounting explained a great deal about how Miranda had disappeared so completely from the district. His guardian had intervened. If they had just let him explain, he might have had a chance to fix his marriage. He could have saved them years of estrangement.

  He would have known he had a son long before today.

  He had a son. He had his heir.

  He had everything he’d ever wanted, except for a wife to love him. He sat down with a groan, thinking of his letter on its way to his solicitor. He’d been very clear in his wis
hes and reasons for seeking a divorce. The solicitor would know precisely how he felt about Miranda, his doubts about Christopher’s parentage, and why he was now eager for an end to his marriage. “It’s too late to prevent a scandal now,” he whispered in shock. “I’ve already sent word to my solicitor to begin divorce proceedings.”

  Louth reached into his inner pocket again and removed a letter he then tossed on the desk. Kit squinted at the handwriting and recognized his own. The letter Kit had ordered sent to his solicitor. The one he had just regretted writing. Relief filled him. “How did you get this?”

  “It seems your mother intervened with Addison in the nick of time and had the post delayed. Of course, you can still claim the boy isn’t yours and send it along, but if your mother agrees the boy is her grandchild, why can you not?” Louth frowned. “Don’t ruin Christopher’s life just to hurt Miranda by pretending you’re not his father. Miranda wanted your child. She just couldn’t bear to live with you believing you loved someone else.”

  With that parting remark, Louth turned on his heel and left. After a few attempts to speak and failing to find the words, Carrington followed, quietly shutting the door behind him so Kit would not be disturbed.

  Unfortunately, Kit was already very disturbed. For the first time in his life he didn’t know what to do first. He placed his hands over his head and curled forward. What the devil was he supposed to do with a son, or a wife, when he hardly dared believe he knew either well enough to ever trust?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Miranda rapped on the study door and entered when she heard Kit’s gruff invitation. She had never been in this room before and had needed Addison to guide her here when he’d delivered the summons an hour ago, shortly after she’d dined with her son alone in her bedchamber. She stepped into the room, heart thumping wildly.

  Kit glanced up quickly and waved her to a chair. “Sit.”

  Miranda drew closer and perched on the edge of a chair, aware that Kit was boring holes into her head with his hard stare. He’d locked himself in here since Lord Carrington and Lord Louth’s departure and she’d not heard a word from him since, not even to kick her out onto the street as she was sure he planned to do soon.

  Her trunks were packed in readiness for that moment.

  He shuffled the papers on his desk, laying out three stacks very precisely. She gave them a cursory glance. “You wanted to see me?”

  His finger tapped the closest paper. “Tell me what happened that night.”

  She would not tell him of her heart breaking as she’d run from Twilit Hill, away from the betrayal she’d witnessed. “I don’t recall.”

  “I want to know about the night you gave birth to my son.”

  Miranda’s heart lurched, and she clutched the seat as a wave of relief swept her. Kit had claimed their son. She took a moment to collect herself and Kit said nothing more. She thought back to that night and what she remembered of it. “I’d been in labor since the morning before. Sorenson had brought a midwife to attend me, and the housekeeper had experience too, so I was in as good a hands as anywhere.”

  “Who else was there?”

  “A few servants and your other two guardians.” She raised her head. “They wouldn’t leave.”

  She glanced down again when Kit’s jaw clenched tightly. “Around six of the second day, the midwife was getting anxious, and Applebee came in to see what the delay was. I remember they argued about him being in the birthing chamber. It wasn’t allowed, you see, and the midwife was shocked and rude to him. I was so tired by then and just wanted it to be over and hold our child in my arms. Applebee took over and he remained for the birth. He held my hand.”

  “Sorenson’s recounting is much more lurid than your clipped retelling. He was afraid for you.”

  She glanced up at her husband. “I don’t remember that. As soon as I held Christopher in my arms, I forgot all about the pain or the worry. The midwife said that’s common.”

  Kit grunted and drew another letter toward him. He peered at the sheet. “Applebee writes, She screamed in agony.”

  “Lord Applebee, though a dear man in most circumstances, thinks stubbing his toe is akin to being murdered.” She smiled fondly at the lord’s grumblings. “The pain was nothing unwanted and easily recovered from.”

  “And the names chosen for my son. Whose idea was that?”

  “Yours. You told me once what names you’d prefer for your son. You were so sure about many things.” She rubbed her hands over her thighs as her palms grew slick. Her heart was racing and she couldn’t stop it. “Your guardians would have had Christopher named after each of them. I was very sure that would displease you.”

  “Immensely.” He grunted again and stacked each sheet atop the other. He left a paper on the desk, a fourth she hadn’t noticed. There was a long list of sentences scrawled on the sheet.

  “Since I apparently have a son and heir, things will proceed a great deal differently than I once envisioned our future might be. You deprived me of him for the first years of his life, and I cannot forgive you for that. As such, I will expect now to make the decisions for Christopher’s upbringing. Given what he’s claimed about being almost burned to death in a fire, deliberately lit or vividly imagined, you’ll understand my desire to protect him from any evil influence no matter where I find it. I trust you’ve no objections. Carrington will send over the boy’s things tomorrow from Berkley Square, and those children will visit Christopher here once a week for as long as they are in town.”

  Miranda swallowed the hard lump in her throat and focused on her hands and keeping her disappointment from showing. It was exactly as she’d expected Kit to do even if she hadn’t run away from their wedding. That he’d decide Christopher’s life without consulting her about anything in the least was what she’d feared most in coming back. That he’d rule their son’s friendships and discard those that brought little chance of social advancement. She hoped the lesson’s she’d taught Christopher about respecting the feelings of others lasted in the years to come. At best she hoped to see their son at holidays or on his birthday. Keeping Christopher away from his father had given her precious moments that would have to be enough to last her a lifetime.

  She nodded slowly, heart breaking over the loss of her son. She had no illusions she’d see much of the boy now. He belonged to Twilit Hill and those concerns took precedence over a mere mother.

  “Good.” Kit’s chair creaked as he shifted. “You may go.”

  “I’ll have Addison summon a hack if you’ve no objection.”

  Kit stood quickly, rounded the desk, and caught her arm. “The most strenuous objection. You are not leaving my house ever again, Miranda.”

  She stared at him in horror and jerked her arm free. “You cannot keep me prisoner.”

  “I don’t have to. My heir will reside under my roof. If you want a chance to see him, you’d better grow accustomed to staying here.”

  Miranda opened her mouth to protest but when she looked upon her husband’s face, truly took in his wild, disheveled appearance, she thought better of speaking out. He’d claimed her son as his heir, intended to watch over him. In the end, that was all Miranda wanted. She could bear living with Kit and his anger as long as her son was happy here and safe.

  Although she wanted to run from the room, from her husband and his disapproval, she left the room with all the dignity she possessed and headed for the staircase. Behind her, the study door slammed shut and she jumped at the noise. Kit was indeed furious if he’d succumbed to the childishness of slamming doors.

  She passed Addison in the hall, who watched her without speaking as she made her way to the staircase. At the top, she heard her mother-in-law speaking and Christopher’s piping voice in reply. Miranda turned toward the sound.

  “This will be your room for the night,” the dowager told Christopher as she led him into a near-deserted portion of the town house well away from Miranda’s bedchamber. She stopped at the door and stared aro
und the barren room, wishing there was a way to brighten the space.

  The room was so far away from her own that she feared Christopher wouldn’t feel safe at night. Her heart ached for him. He would be very lonely with only the company of servants to comfort him if he should have bad dreams or be afraid.

  At that moment, Peter Landry hurried in, juggling an arm full of objects. Coals for the fire, water to wash. A towel draped over his shoulder. Miranda caught the fabric and folded it neatly just to give herself something to do. “Lord Carrington will deliver your things tomorrow, my love.”

  Christopher glanced around, a frown forming on his face. “I’ve not spent a night alone in a long time. It’s quiet here.”

  Miranda dug her hand in her pocket. “I know and that’s why…” She held her hand out to her son with a smile. He grinned when he saw her gift and twisted it so his baby rattle made the familiar sound. Christopher had asked her to keep it when he’d gone away to study with Fenning.

  “Why are you giving him an infant’s toy at his age?” the dowager asked, her lips turned down in dismay.

  “It’s mine.” Christopher held it beneath her nose and shook it till it twinkled again. “See the pattern. Lord Sorenson says the scene is of Twilit Hill.”

  The dowager huffed but she did take a peek at the plaything. “Be that as it may, I’d prefer not to have so much noise about Twilit House just to amuse you.”

  Christopher giggled at her suggestion and carefully placed the object on his windowsill. “There, now I really am at home.”