“And you never learned why?”
“I eventually concluded that my husband had gambled away my dowry and now resented me because I was of no further use to him. So I concocted a plan. I would appeal to Aunt Bertha for more money, then bargain with it for Garath’s and my freedom. I smuggled a letter out to her, begging her for help.”
Amanda discovered that she had once again scooted to the edge of her chair. This time she didn’t even try to relax. “What happened?”
“Unbeknown to me, Aunt Bertha had died. My husband had purposely kept that knowledge from me. But my letter fell into the hands of my dear Robert, who by then was a widower, and he immediately began making plans to help Garath and me escape.”
“What did he do?”
“Sadly, he vastly underrated my husband’s potential for evil. He arrived at our doorstep one evening with a bag full of money and a proposal that my husband trade Garath and me for the gold.”
Amanda flinched. “No doubt your husband felt insulted.”
Blackbourne’s mother nodded, then turned her head to stare out the window for several seconds. When she turned back to face Amanda, tears traced paths down her sunken cheeks. She silently accepted the handkerchief Amanda handed her and wiped her face before continuing her story.
“He had Robert escorted into another room. Then he sent for me. He told me what had happened and announced that he was willing to let me to go with Robert if I left Garath behind. I, of course, refused.
“Then he assured me that if I remained, Garath would suffer for my actions on a daily basis, whereas if I left our son behind, he would be treated with all the respect due a possible heir.”
“What a terrible choice he forced on you,” Amanda murmured.
“Actually, there was no choice. My husband was furious that I had gone behind his back and I think he would have killed me if Robert had not still been in the house. Too, I knew he would live up to his word and treat Garath badly if I stayed.”
Amanda sighed. “So you left your son behind. But what about the money Robert had brought with him? Did your husband keep that?”
“Of course. He claimed it was for Garath, but I knew better. I knew he would gamble it away. But I hoped that in a few months he would need funds badly enough to let me reclaim my son. In that regard, I made a terrible miscalculation.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not only did my husband keep Garath, but he also spread gossip about me, claiming that I had run away with my lover. My reputation was instantly destroyed. My family would no longer receive me and I was totally dependent on Robert’s generosity. We did, in fact, live together as man and wife after a number of years had passed. We would have married after my husband died but by that time, Robert’s health was failing. I nursed him through the final two years of his life, which I was pleased to do. I felt that I had, in some small way, repaid him for all he had done for me.”
“But apparently he died and left you destitute,” Amanda noted.
“He had intended to provide for me, but his health deteriorated quickly and somehow he never got around to it. And I’m sure he never expected his children to toss me out of our house once Robert was gone. But they did, of course. You know the rest of the story.”
“And you know, I assume, that your son believes you deserted him to run away with your lover?”
“So I assumed. Do you think he would be willing to listen to my story?”
“I don’t know. He was here earlier and was quite angry to discover that I was sheltering you. He’s returning later this evening. I’ll see if I can persuade him to talk with you.”
“Thank you, but I don’t hold out much hope that he’ll listen.”
Neither did Amanda, but she didn’t want to say so. She pushed her chair back and stood. “I fear I am tiring you, my lady. I’ll leave you to rest for a while and will see that dinner is brought to you later.”
“Thank you, my dear. I appreciate all you’ve done for me. I hope you do not live to regret it.”
“So do I,” Amanda murmured to herself as she let herself out the door and into the hallway. “So do I.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Amanda spent the remainder of her day rehearsing what she would say to Blackbourne in the various scenes that insisted on playing out in her mind. In the worst case, she would order Blackbourne out of her house. In the best case, Blackbourne would be tenderly reunited with his mother.
Amanda didn’t know what she would have done without Rebecca, who sat with Lady Blackbourne for half the afternoon and spent the remainder of the day attempting to soothe Amanda’s worries about what would occur when Blackbourne returned that evening.
“You mustn’t worry to the point of making yourself ill, my dear,” Rebecca had warned Amanda after finding her pacing back and forth across the width of the drawing room. “Lord Blackbourne was merely surprised this morning when he discovered his mother was in the house. He will have had time to think before he returns and I’m sure he will agree that you had no choice but to respond to his aunt’s request. In addition, taking in his mother was a clear example of Christian charity. Surely he will not be greatly upset when he returns and finds you have not turned her out.”
“I hope you’re right, Becky, but I fear Lord Blackbourne is going to be furious with me. After all, he believes his mother deserted him when he was a child. I’d like to think he will be in a forgiving mood, but I don’t expect such good fortune.”
Rebecca shook her head. “You are too much the pessimist, my dear. Lord Blackbourne will have had time to consider his reaction and he will be much more reasonable. I will not be at all surprised if he is pleased to discover that you haven’t turned his mother out into the streets.”
* * * * *
“What the hell do you mean, you haven’t turned her out?” Blackbourne demanded that evening after Hammond had shown him into the drawing room where Amanda and Rebecca waited to receive him. He stood in the center of the room, glaring at Amanda, who was seated on the settee. “I believe, madam, that my instructions were quite clear.”
Amanda clasped her hands tightly where they lay in her lap, hidden in the folds of her gown. She didn’t want Blackbourne to see her white knuckles and realize how nervous she was. “I’m sorry if you’re upset, my lord, but I really feel that you should speak with your mother and let her explain the circumstances that led to her leaving you.”
“Explain? How does one explain deserting one’s child, leaving him alone and defenseless among grown men who wished him nothing but harm? How does one explain fleeing to the arms of your lover instead of staying behind to protect your child from abuse? You will forgive me, madam, if I prefer not to hear her lies.”
“But—”
“Spare me any futile attempt to excuse her behavior, Amanda. You may have allowed her to sully your ears with her lies, but I am not so gullible. I lost my faith in her when I lay alone in the dark, night after night, frightened, aching from my father’s and brothers’ beatings, praying from twilight until dawn that she would come for me, that she would take me with her, away from those monsters who appeared to want me dead. Had it not been for my escaping to the Clemmons’ house on occasion, I’m not sure I’d be alive today.”
Amanda clasped her hands even tighter. Her heart broke for the horrors Blackbourne had endured as a child, but she realized that if he didn’t put the past behind him, his father and brothers would have succeeded in ruining his life after all. She looked into his eyes. “I realize it must have been terrible for you, but—”
“No,” Blackbourne interrupted. He glared at Amanda through narrowed eyes. “Don’t try to defend her to me. There’s no excuse for what she did. I won’t have her around you.”
Amanda lifted her chin, determined not to let him intimidate her. “You have no right to dictate to me what I may or may not do, my lord.”
Blackbourne took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “You are correct. I have no right to dictate to
you, but I have every right to determine what is best for my ward. I will not have David exposed to a woman like my mother and if I must remove him from your care, I will do so. I will give you one more day to consider your actions. If you’re still sheltering my mother when I return here tomorrow evening, I’ll take David away from you.”
Rebecca jumped to her feet. “My lord, you surely don’t—”
Blackbourne tossed up a hand to cut her off. “I have no quarrel with you, Miss Thornton, but this is not your affair. I suggest you do not attempt to make it so.”
Rebecca pursed her lips and sat back down.
Amanda felt a chill run over her, followed by a rush of heat. She didn’t doubt for a minute that Blackbourne would follow through on his threat to take David. She moistened her lips, then nodded. “Very well, my lord. I understand.”
Blackbourne stared at her for several seconds. “I sincerely hope you do, Amanda, because I will return tomorrow evening. I recommend that I not find my mother still under this roof.”
Amanda lowered her gaze to her clasped hands and forced the words through her numb lips. “Have no fear, my lord. You will not find your mother under this roof at this hour tomorrow.”
Blackbourne’s sigh sounded like one of relief, but still Amanda did not look at him. She was too afraid he would read her thoughts in her eyes. “Good evening, Lord Blackbourne.”
He didn’t move immediately. Amanda wondered if he was waiting for her to look up, for her to say something more. But she continued to stare into her lap until he finally turned and strode across the room, pausing in the doorway. “Good evening to you, my lady. Until tomorrow evening then.”
She waited until she heard the front door close behind him before she looked up and into Rebecca’s worried expression. “We’ll get very little rest this evening, my dear Becky. We have a great deal to accomplish in the next twenty-four hours.”
Rebecca nodded slowly, then pushed herself to her feet as though a great weight rested on her shoulders. “I can imagine what you have in mind, my dear, and while I regret its necessity, perhaps it’s for the best.”
Amanda also stood. “No doubt it is, my dear Becky. No doubt it is.”
* * * * *
Blackbourne was far too furious to go to any of the social functions that were underway that evening. Instead, he went to his club, but even after downing a couple of glasses of brandy, he couldn’t forget the look on Amanda’s face when he’d delivered his ultimatum.
“Blast it all,” he murmured. “Why couldn’t my mother have stayed out of my life? She was quick enough to leave me alone and defenseless when I was a boy. Why should everyone expect me to take care of her now, after all these years, just because her lover died and left her destitute?”
The fact that his reasoning seemed less than convincing, even to himself, did nothing to improve his mood. He left his club and went home where he shut himself up in the library and drank a full bottle of port before at last stumbling up the stairs and falling, fully clothed, onto the bed where he immediately passed out.
Even being intoxicated, however, didn’t prove sufficient to keep the nightmares at bay. He’d experienced them over the years, of course, but with decreasing frequency after he’d talked his father into buying him a commission in the army. He’d left home knowing his father and half brothers hoped he wouldn’t survive the war, but he hadn’t cared what they thought as long as he got away from them.
Over time, as the dreams diminished in frequency, he’d gradually forgotten their impact, but tonight they came back as fiercely as if he were still a young boy wondering why his mother had deserted him. Only this time when he awoke, he didn’t remember the fear, the pain, the foreboding that usually accompanied the dreams.
Tonight he recalled his mother’s face, her eye black from her having stepped in front of a blow that had been intended for him. He remembered her sneaking him out of a side door as his father and brothers lunged in the front door, drunk and looking for someone handy to take their anger out on. She’d risked her own life time after time to save him from pain.
He had never blamed her for running, only for leaving him behind.
He groaned and raised himself up on an elbow to look around the chamber. A brace of candles burned on the small round table near the window and Stephens leaned back in a straight chair, apparently waiting for him to awaken. When Blackbourne pushed himself up in bed, Stephens raised his brows. “Ye ain’t gonna shoot the cat, are ye?”
Blackbourne scowled. “I’m not going to be sick, if that’s the meaning of your question.” At least he hoped he wasn’t. It was difficult to tell for certain because his mouth felt as though he’d stuffed it full of cotton and his stomach persisted in gurgling in a quite unnatural manner.
“Well, if ye’re gonna cast up yer accounts, let me know and I’ll fetch the chamber pot. Do ye need some hair of the dog?”
“No, but I wouldn’t mind a sip of your infamous remedy.”
“I thought ye might.” Stephens stood and picked up a glass that had been sitting on the table. The thick liquid it contained looked like strong tea, but Blackbourne had never asked what else it contained. He figured he was better off not knowing. He pushed himself up to sit up on the side of the bed and took the glass.
“Trouble with a female?” Stephens asked.
Blackbourne gulped down the foul-tasting concoction, then handed the glass back to his hovering valet. “Why aren’t you in your own bed instead of hanging about in my chamber waiting for me to wake up so you can accost me?”
“I don’t know as I’m accosting ye, milord, because I don’t know what that means, but it’s me duty to get ye ready fer bed, and that’s what I aim to do. That is, if ye don’t intend to sleep in your fancy duds fer the rest of the night.”
Blackbourne suppressed another groan. “What’s the time?”
“Reckon about two hours past midnight.”
“I’m going to stay up for a while. You go on to bed.”
Stephens frowned. “Something’s on yer mind, milord. And if I had to guess, I’d lay odds on that something being a wench.”
“What’s on my mind is none of your affair, Stephens. Now be off with you. I can take care of myself for the rest of the evening.”
Stephens shook his head, then shrugged as though to say he had tried his best and could not be blamed for the actions of someone who was clearly a candidate for Bedlam.
“Out,” Blackbourne bellowed.
“Aye, milord,” Stephens replied calmly, then slowly exited the room.
Only when the chamber door had closed behind his impertinent valet did Blackbourne try to stand. He grabbed the bedpost and hung on for a few seconds while the room righted itself, then made his way over to the chair Stephens had vacated. After seating himself, he leaned back, gazed into the flickering flames of the candles and allowed his mind to drift backward in time.
He could no longer remember the first time he’d decided to pretend that his mother was dead. Had it been the day he’d overheard the Clemmons’ housekeeper whispering to the butler that Lady Blackbourne had been seen riding upon a fine horse in a park in London, her lover riding beside her?
Or perhaps it was the day when one of his half brothers had pushed him down and the other had kicked him so hard that he had passed blood for nearly two weeks. No, because at that time he’d still been hoping she would return and whisk him away, even if it were in the dead of night.
Then he’d convinced himself that she would come for him under cover of darkness, so he’d tried for weeks to stay awake, sitting up in the dark, fully clothed, listening for the sound of her tread in the hall outside his chamber door, shivering from fear as the old house’s creaking and rustling sounds elicited thoughts of ghosts or worse.
Try as he might, he couldn’t recall the specific occasion when he’d finally decided he could never again expect his mother to intervene on his behalf. The hopelessness had come on him too gradually, until at last he’d re
alized that if he was to survive, he must save himself.
Fortunately, he’d grown a great deal in height by that time and stood several inches taller than his father and his brothers. He’d also grown strong. Even when he was forced to fight both his brothers at one time, he could get in enough licks to ensure that they didn’t attack him on a whim very often.
“Damnation,” Blackbourne muttered. He didn’t like reliving those days, but unfortunately his mind persisted in taking him down paths paved with recollections that slashed and burned. “Maybe I could use some hair of the dog after all.”
He stood and grasped the brace of candles, holding it high so he could look about the room. Stephens, bless him, had possessed the foresight to leave a bottle of brandy on the bedside table. A couple of glasses later, Blackbourne decided he wasn’t going to get any rest until he’d come to some sort of decision about his mother that would accommodate Amanda’s damnable need to care for those less fortunate.
“Very well,” he said, downing his third glass, “I’ll call on Amanda tomorrow and tell her she’s welcome to keep my mother for as long as she wishes just as long as she doesn’t expect me to visit the sickroom.”
Having come to a conclusion that eased both his mind and his conscience, he set down his glass and crawled under the bed covers. “Sleeping in my fancy duds,” he remarked to the room in general just before he drifted off to sleep.
* * * * *
It was noon the following day before Blackbourne awoke. His head ached and his stomach roiled, but he forced himself to get up and ring for Stephens.
The valet appeared with a pot of coffee and a plate of unbuttered toast. “Reckon ye’ll need something to wake ye up and something to settle yer stomach,” Stephens remarked, putting the tray on the table. “I see ye slept in yer clothes. Want I should help ye get undressed?”
“I want coffee first. Then hot water.”
“Aye, milord.” Stephens poured the coffee, then disappeared to fetch the water.
Two hours later, Blackbourne had managed not only to subdue his headache and his queasy stomach but also to bathe, shave and tie one of the most challenging of the cravat styles—the Mathematical. He felt quite proud of himself when he pulled his team to a halt in front of Amanda’s town house.
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