The Puzzle of a Bastard

by Sande, Linda Rae

  “I think he is pleased with you as well,” she murmured. When she noted his anticipation at hearing more, she added, “Your predecessor was not nearly as learned as you, nor was he very... interested. He had no appreciation for antiquities.”

  Gabe stared at her. “Then why would he seek employment at a museum?”

  She shrugged and replied, “He was a clerk. He couldn’t understand why anyone would care to look at old stuff he claimed could be found in the homes of aristocrats.”

  Shaking his head in disbelief, Gabe was glad his father had never taken to collecting more than the usual reproductions of Roman statues that could be found in the halls of most townhouses. “Surely such blasphemy wasn’t tolerated!” he teased.

  Frances did her best to suppress a giggle, happy to know he could find humor in the situation.

  She imagined what it might be like to do this every night. To sit at a table laden with rich foods and glasses of red and white wine knowing her son was being looked after by a nursemaid with a pleasant disposition. To spend her night in an elegant bedchamber in a velvet-clad bed. To bathe in a tub with warm water a phalanx of servants hadn’t been forced to bring up in cans from the kitchens.

  “Now who is the one who looks as if she is far away?” Gabe teased, just before he finished his main course.

  Sure she blushed at having been caught ruminating, Frances shook her head. “I am glad you insisted I come back here.”

  “As am I,” Gabe said, just as a footman appeared with a plate of cakes and dishes of ice cream. He kept his attention on Frances as she watched, wide-eyed, as the footman set the tray on the table and then took his leave. “Do you like ice cream?”

  Frances tore her gaze from the confection and stared at him. “I’ve no idea. I’ve never… tried it.”

  Gabe chuckled, thinking she was fibbing. But then he realized from how she used a spoon to test the small mound of the confection that she probably hadn’t eaten it before. “It’s cold,” he warned.

  He loved seeing her expression of wonder as she took her first experimental taste. Loved seeing how her eyes closed briefly as she savored the flavor of bergamot.

  If they had been anywhere but the dining room—anywhere the servants couldn’t walk in on them—he would have kissed her. Kissed her and used his tongue to taste what she tasted.

  He imagined what he would do if any dribbled onto the bare skin above the neckline of her gown. Of how the cream would taste mixed with the taste of her. Of how her milk-laden breasts would taste should his lips be allowed to move lower. To cover her engorged nipples and suckle them as his hands cupped her breasts.

  “Your ice cream is melting.”

  Gabe blinked, her soft words pulling him from his reverie. He nearly cursed, glad the table hid the evidence of his turgid manhood behind his trousers’ fly. Another moment, and he would have imagined stripping her bare. Licking and kissing her heated skin until she begged for him to make love to her.

  Not that she would do such a thing. This was Frances Longworth. Prickly and particular. Proud.

  “I’ll just pour it onto my cake,” he managed to get out without sounding like a frog in heat.

  “Oh, that sounds delicious,” she replied, collecting a sample of the lemon cake and then dipping it into her dish of ice cream. Once she had raised it to her lips and tasted it, she swallowed and made a murmur of appreciation.

  Gabe swallowed. Hard.

  “When we have finished our dinner, would you be amenable to staying here?” Gabe asked. “At the table? I usually have a small glass of port. Perhaps you would like one as well?”

  Frances gave him an uncertain glance. “I’ve never had port,” she murmured.

  “So this will be an evening of firsts.”

  “Indeed,” she replied, wondering at the fluttering she felt in her chest.

  Chapter 23

  In the Dark of the Garden

  Meanwhile, at Woodscastle

  “Do you usually drink port?” James asked as Emily sipped the dark red liquor from a small cordial glass. He had been surprised when they had both been served the after-dinner drink the very first night he had eaten at Woodscastle. Now that it had happened again, he wondered if all the women who usually resided at Woodscastle drank the stuff.

  “Most nights,” Emily replied. “I like it better than brandy.” She watched to see what his reaction would be, grinning when he gave her a look of disbelief.

  “You shock me, my lady,” he said with a grin.

  “I think we’ve done quite enough of that tonight,” she murmured.

  James was about to agree, but what harm would another incident cause? “Then I suppose I shouldn’t ask if I might join you on your walk in the gardens this evening.”

  “But of course you should. I would love the company.”

  “You’ve not grown tired of hearing me prattle on about the bank?” he countered. He hadn’t been speaking of it all that much, really, but he had found that Emily not only seemed interested, but she was able to answer several queries about some of the people who worked there. If she didn’t know someone directly, she could at least suggest the name of someone who did. “My sister, Sophia, would have been bored to tears.”

  “Remember, both my father and Tom see to investments, and Roger is a banker. If they didn’t speak of matters of money over dinner, I would think that either the country was about to collapse, or my father had lost his fortune,” she replied, her manner so deadpan, James was left believing the latter was possible.

  “You could have been a banker,” he remarked.

  “I could be many things, but my sex prevents it,” she replied.

  “Of course,” he murmured. “Well, at least it doesn’t prevent you from escorting me in the gardens.”

  Emily tittered. “I shall not only escort you, I shall protect you from the beasties that might appear,” she claimed as she stood.

  “Beasties?” James repeated, rising and then offering his arm. He led them from the dining room and then to the back door where her coat and muff were hanging.

  “Mathilda may join us, even though she should be in the barn by now.” Emily allowed James to help her with her redingote.

  “Mathilda?”

  “She’s the milk cow,” Emily replied as she walked with him to the front door, where his greatcoat hung on a peg. “There are usually at least two rabbits, and if there are not, it’s because of the dog.”

  James pulled on his greatcoat with Humphrey’s assistance. “I don’t recall having seen a dog about.”

  “That’s because we don’t have one,” Emily said as she pulled on her gloves. She watched as Humphrey lit a small lantern.

  James was about to ask the next logical question—if not their dog, then who did it belong to?—when he considered another possibility.

  A wild dog.

  “Is it feral?” he asked in alarm, accepting the lantern from the butler.

  A brilliant smile lit her face. “I should hope not. He’s an Old English Sheepdog,” she said before she paused and then added, “Well, I suppose he could be feral, but he’s such a darling—just a big round bundle of fur—no one would take him seriously if he attempted to bare his teeth. Why, I don’t think his teeth would even show if he did, given all that fur on his face. Besides,” she added after another pause, “I truly think it’s Bernard.”

  James gave a nod to Humphrey, who seemed to have trouble keeping a straight face just then, and he offered his arm to Emily. “Bernard?” he repeated.

  She nodded. “He belongs to Sophia,” she said as she took his proffered arm, delighting in James’ look of confusion. “Your sister. You do remember her—you spoke of her over port. A year or so younger than you?” Emily went on as they left the house through the back door. “Lives at Merriweather Manor?”

  The darkness that engulfed them faded as the firelight from the lantern surrounded them, and after a moment, the glow reflecting from the snow on the clouded skies cast the gardens
in an ethereal glow.

  Allowing a deep chuckle, James said, “In my defense, I haven’t seen Sophia in a very long time.” His comment was accompanied by a slight cloud that quickly dissipated from in front of his face.

  Emily sobered. “She wasn’t at Merriweather Manor when you last had dinner there earlier this week?”

  “She had already left for Brighton to pay a call on one of our aunts.”

  Pretending to shiver, Emily said, “Although I enjoy Brighton in the summertime, I cannot imagine spending the winter there.”

  “Me, neither,” James agreed, “but Aunt Jane has taken to living there year-round. When were you last there?” he asked as they passed under the arbor.

  Emily made a sound of disappointment. “For the opening of the Anthaeum. That was over five years ago.”

  “Oh, no.” James’ arm stiffened beneath her hold. “Was your father an investor?” he asked, referring to the huge conservatory that had been constructed in Hove.

  “No, although I think he would have been tempted to invest in another if the Anthaeum had been a success,” she explained. “But he had heard the stories of the problems with construction, and when the engineer quit the project, he nearly cancelled our holiday.”

  “So, were you there when it collapsed?”

  Emily nodded. “Father had already let a townhouse nearby, so as many of us that could go went along with him—we had quite a caravan of coaches—and we made a holiday of it.”

  “Such a spectacular disaster,” James murmured. When he noticed Emily’s quirked brow, he quickly added, “The collapse, I mean. Not your family’s holiday, I hope?”

  “Despite all my siblings and the grandparents and aunts and uncles, we all got along swimmingly,” she claimed. “Just a few days before it was scheduled to open, we drove by the site. It was immense. The dome was a hundred and sixty-five feet in diameter. The installation of the glass had only just begun, and there were workmen climbing all over scaffolding both inside and out, but it looked spectacular,” she recalled with some excitement. “Imagine our shock when we arrived for the opening on August thirtieth only to discover the entire structure was in a heap, half buried in the ground. Father said that was because the iron braces were so heavy and that they fell from such a height as to practically dig their own graves.”

  Although James had heard similar tales from others who had witnessed the wreckage, he loved listening to Emily’s version of it. Despite the darkness around them, her face was lit with enthusiasm.

  “It’s a wonder no one was hurt,” James murmured, secretly glad he had been in Bath and that none of his clients had been investors in the project.

  “Oh, but poor Henry Phillips. He was the botanist who arranged for its construction, and he was left blind,” Emily argued.

  “Blind?”

  “From the shock of seeing what had happened,” Emily explained. “From seeing his lifelong dream crushed into the ground, both literally and figuratively.”

  They had reached the stone bench, and James allowed Emily to sit before he settled next to her and set the lantern on the ground. “I suppose seeing your life’s work—your dream project—all in a shambles would be a shock,” he murmured.

  “At least none of our shocks on this day have been so monumental,” Emily said.

  James had thought to bring up a topic that she might find shocking, but he was prevented from doing so when a slight whine reached his ears. “Did you hear that?” he asked as he tensed.

  Straightening on the bench, Emily glanced around. “Bernard?” she called out.

  A moment later, a huge hairy sheepdog ambled toward them from the other crushed granite path, his tail wagging. When he spotted James, he stopped and cocked his head to one side. He let out a quiet ‘woof’.

  James let out a guffaw. “So this is Sophia’s dog?”

  “Indeed,” Emily said as she held out her hand in the dog’s direction. Tentative, Bernard made his way to stand in front of Emily, his attention clearly on James, as if he didn’t trust the man.

  Once Bernard was seated before her, Emily took his head between her gloved hands and used the tips of her fingers to scratch behind his ears. “And how are you this evening, you big beastie?”

  The dog let out a mournful whine.

  “That bad?” Emily pulled a napkin from her pocket and unwrapped the linen to reveal a slice of meat and a boiled potato. The dog happily finished off the treats in just a few swallows.

  “You’re feeding him?” James asked, his voice tinged with rebuke.

  “I’ve no idea if he’s been staying here in Sophia’s absence, or if he walks here every night from Merriweather Manor,” she replied. “But it’s no trouble for me to see to it he has some food.”

  James allowed the dog to sniff his boots, but he didn’t make a move to pet him. “I suppose if I had that much hair in front of my eyes, I wouldn’t be able to tell where I was,” he murmured.

  Giving him a grin, Emily said, “Well, it appears someone has been seeing to him. He looks as if he’s been brushed.”

  “And judging from his size, I should think he’s being fed, as well.” James turned his attention on the dog. “Bernard, it’s time for you to go home.”

  Bernard’s ears lifted, and he turned to face Emily.

  “You heard your uncle. Go home now.”

  A grunt of amusement sounded from James, but the dog took off, disappearing over the boxwood hedge in the direction of Merriweather Manor. “Uncle?” he repeated.

  He knew he would find her smiling at him even before he turned to face her. The odd sensation in his chest had him taking a quick breath.

  “You don’t like being an uncle, do you?” she whispered.

  James furrowed his brows. “It’s not that I don’t like it, exactly. I just find the children sometimes make me nervous,” he said quietly. “I’m always afraid I’ll curse in their presence or say something inappropriate, and then their mothers will be admonishing me over dinner in one breath and then wondering why it is I haven’t take a wife in the next.”

  Emily stared at his profile for a moment, finally understanding something she had wondered about in Henry. Neither man sought to marry on their own accord. Henry had only done so because circumstances—the need for funds—required him to take a wife. He probably would have remained unattached had he not gambled away his allowance.

  Would James ever be forced to marry? And if so, what would compel him to do so? He had no need of money. No real need of an heir.

  He did need a companion, though. Emily was sure of it. As sure as she knew she wanted a child.

  “You won’t be like that with your own children, of course,” Emily said.

  Allowing a short guffaw, James asked, “How do you know that?”

  “You won’t have a need to meet them for the first time until they return from university, all grown up and ready to collect their inheritance.”

  James wasn’t sure if she was teasing him. “I’m quite sure I would want to at least hold the babe a moment before I leave him in the nursery. Until he’s old enough for Eton,” he argued. “I might even speak with him on occasion before that.”

  Emily dimpled. “And if it’s a girl?”

  Looking as if he’d been slapped across the face, James just stared at her.

  “Perhaps you could teach her to dance,” she suggested.

  “I would hire the very best governess for her, of course,” he said, his voice so quiet Emily could barely make out his words. “I rather doubt I could play patty-cake, though.”

  “I’m surprised you know what that is.”

  “I’m really not that bad with children,” he murmured.

  “I believe you,” she whispered.

  “Enough that you would take a chance with me as their father?”

  Trying hard to suppress a look of shock at hearing his query, Emily allowed a wan grin. “Enough, yes.” She paused and inhaled slowly. “More if you kissed me, of course.”

>   She wasn’t really ready to be kissed, but once her words were out, James had his hands on her shoulders and his lips on hers. From his quick move, she expected it might be a punishing kiss, hard and fast and unforgiving.

  Had he felt pressured into proposing a marriage he didn’t want? Into facing life with children when he didn’t really want them?

  But it was nothing like that. His quick move belied how softly the pillows of his lips pressed to hers. How gentle his hands were as they steadied her shoulders and then trailed down her arms. How slow he inhaled as he pushed his tongue into her mouth and tasted her. How intoxicating his scent was as it enveloped them both.

  She didn’t know how long they sat there, kissing one another in the dark, but at some point, Emily knew they were no longer alone. The air around them had changed, and the sense of being watched had her slowly, regretfully, pulling her lips from his.

  James had noticed the change as well, and he was the first to turn and regard their intruder with a mixture of surprise and humor. “You must be Mathilda.”

  Emily couldn’t help but giggle as the cow seemed to nod in agreement and then make a mooing sound.

  “I suppose you have a treat for her, too,” James murmured.

  “Actually, I don’t,” Emily replied. At his look of disbelief, she added, “I wouldn’t know what to feed her.”

  “So... how do you get her to leave?”

  “Oh, I just walk with her until she’s headed in the direction of the barn.”

  “I suppose it is getting a bit chilly out here,” he murmured.

  “Just watch your step,” she warned as they stood. “In case she’s dropped any pies in our path. Or there’s a rabbit.”

  Mathilda turned and made her way slowly out of the garden on the same path as she had entered it while James and Emily took the other. Once past the arbor, Emily urged Mathilda to continue on as James held the door for her.

  Once inside, James wrapped his arms around Emily and kissed her quickly. He knew the butler would appear at any moment to take their coats.

  “We’ll make plans tomorrow,” he said when he finally stepped away from her.