The Bridal Contract (Darrington family Book 3)

by Sandra Sookoo

  Oliver glanced at Carruthers, who shrugged, then back at the rather drab woman still standing on his stoop. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. This is most definitely not mine.” As gently as he could, he returned the crying, trembling bundle into the woman’s care. “Who are you?”

  “She’s not a ‘this.’ Her name is Daniela.” The hint of a French accent clung to her words. The woman returned the child to his arms. “As for who I am, you may call me Mrs. Blaine. I work for an orphanage in Salamanca.”

  “Ah, now there’s a place with history,” Oliver inserted quietly. It was there Felix had been injured and there his partnership on the battlefield had ended with his brother.

  The woman cleared her throat. She delivered a sharp glance. “Yes, well. Three months ago, Daniela was left on our doorstep with this note in her pocket.” Mrs. Blaine delved into the battered, leather case hung over her shoulder then withdrew a creased envelope of ivory vellum. “It’s addressed to an Oliver Darrington and had enough funds included to ensure that she found her father.”

  Cold dread trickled down his spine. When he attempted to give the sobbing babe back to Mrs. Blaine, she shook her head and instead shoved the letter into his hand. “I cannot possibly be her father. She looks nothing like me.” He peered at Susan as she joined them in the foyer. She merely frowned.

  “It matters not to me. The note proclaims your mistress was her mother. I’ve found you, and now my responsibility is over.” She made ready to depart.

  “Wait. I have a few questions.” At his wit’s end, he turned to Susan. “Please, take her for a moment.”

  Thankfully, the housekeeper took pity, on him or the child he had no idea. Once he was free of the tearful, snotty mess, he removed a pair of reading spectacles from his jacket pocket then took the scrap of paper from the envelope. It had been folded and refolded many times, and the strong handwriting on the page was unfamiliar. One name jumped out: Maria. He glanced again at the child, who’d calmed in Susan’s care. She might not resemble him, but she certainly favored his former mistress, the woman he’d sought comfort with for two years during his stint in the Peninsular War. Oliver had stayed on to continue the fight and to further enjoy Maria’s hospitality.

  The feeling of foreboding grew. It churned in his gut as he scanned the brief note.

  Oliver, I know this meeting will be abrupt. I can do nothing about that, especially after we parted on such stormy terms. I was never meant to be a mother, though I tried to do right by Daniela for a while. I cannot be who I am when the girl is around, so I’ve sent her on to you. You are the most responsible person I know. See that she receives all the best. Remember me fondly and have a good life. With love, Maria.

  He turned the paper over, but there was nothing else written. She’d also never confirmed the child was his. “I’m sorry you’ve come all this way, but I cannot possibly take in a child.” After he’d refolded the paper, placed it in the envelope then held it out to the messenger, she shook her head. He sighed, and without recourse, deposited the missive into a jacket pocket. He took off the glasses and consigned them to the same pocket.

  Mrs. Blaine shook her head. “I am sorry, Mr. Darrington. This isn’t up for negotiation.” She stooped then brought forward a tiny valise, which she handed to him. “Here are her possessions. I do need you to sign a few pieces of paper saying you received the girl and will care for her to the best of your ability.”

  Heated panic uncoiled from his belly and spread outward. “I’m not a parent, nor did I father her.” At least he didn’t think so. He’d left Spain three years before, and as far as he knew, Maria hadn’t had a child at that time. Of course, this one was a good year older than the length of their relationship, which was enough evidence he needed to know he hadn’t fathered the girl. Apparently, his former mistress had been adept at keeping secrets. He gestured at her with his chin. “Besides, I’m planning to sail again soon. A ship is not the place for a child, and a girl to boot.”

  Mrs. Blaine merely blinked, and if possible, her expression grew more severe. “That is not my problem.” She pulled a sheaf of papers from her case. “I do have other appointments today. Shall we conduct this inside?”

  Susan shoved the girl into his arms. “I’ll go see to tea.” She hustled into the house, closely followed by Carruthers.

  Oliver attempted to juggle the child, who had begun to cry once more, as well as the paperwork Mrs. Blaine handed him. “Maria and I didn’t exactly part as friends. I cannot imagine why she wanted me to take care of her child.” He felt the need to stress that word.

  “I do not assume to understand the wishes of women in that profession,” Mrs. Blaine rejoined in a tone that said exactly what she thought of such women. “I only know these were her wishes and I have done what I promised to do. What you do with the child once I leave is your prerogative.”

  The noise from the child’s wails jarred his brain. “I have no familial claim.” He trailed after Mrs. Blaine, and when Carruthers showed the woman into the parlor, Oliver joined her there.

  “That knowledge will not change my mind.” She spread out the paperwork on a low table then removed a pen and inkwell from her bag. “If you feel you cannot take her in, deliver her to another orphanage. Lord knows there are too many to count here in England. Sign, please.”

  He had no recourse except to put the child down on the floor. The moment her tiny feet touched the Aubusson carpet, she sobbed even louder than she had while in his arms. Oh, when would Susan return? Perhaps he could convince her to remove the girl to a different portion of the house, anything to stop the caterwauling.

  “What exactly happened to Maria?” Oliver accepted the pen. Really, the family solicitor should glance through these papers before he did so much as drop a first letter.

  “How should I know? Those sorts of women come and go whenever a new protector arrives.” Contempt darkened her expression. “Such men need to be brought low by the consequences. There are responsibilities in this life, after all.”

  “You’ve overstepped, Mrs. Blaine.” His glee at sounding like a proper viscount was short-lived as Oliver looked at Daniela. She’d sidled closer to Mrs. Baines, who ignored her, which only served to bring on harder tears. There was no trace of him anywhere in the girl’s features, but then, the timing was such there wouldn’t be. He tried not to dwell on that relief too long. Was this Maria’s way of getting back at him for leaving her? She’d always been the vindictive sort. Anger burned through his chest. Did she fully expect him to raise another man’s bastard under his roof? He recalled her tantrum when he announced his intention of leaving Spain in order to sail without her. A wry grin touched his lips. Of course she expected him to do the honorable thing. He wasn’t strong of will like Felix or impetuous like their sister Charlotte. His biggest fault lay in his inability to tolerate conflict or drama. Plus, his unerring sense of honor demanded he take in the waif, at least until he could make other plans for her. Regardless of her parentage, the child had nothing to do with current circumstances.

  Daniela happened to peer up just then. Moisture spiked her long lashes and streaked her cherub cheeks. Though her chin quivered and the noise she produced echoed in the previously quiet room, compassion washed over him. He’d had a happy and wonderful childhood, full of love and affection and all the adventure his heart had needed. Who was he to deny this little one a decent start at her own?

  He scrawled his signature on the few papers before his common sense could talk him out of it. The sand had barely had time to help the ink dry before Mrs. Blaine yanked the documents from the table then deposited them in her bag. “What else do I need to know about the girl?”

  “There is nothing to know. Children don’t come with instructions, Mr. Darrington. From what I was able to coax out of the girl, she rarely saw her mother. Spent most of her days playing with the few other children in the immediate area or with an older woman who watched her most times. You knew her mother. At least that’s something.”
She made her way to the door just as Susan returned with the tea things.

  “Won’t you stay for a bit of refreshment?” Oliver asked, though he couldn’t wait to be free of the dour woman. “Please,” he tacked on as an afterthought. Playing at niceties would be what Felix would have done.

  “No, thank you. I have a schedule to keep.” Mrs. Blaine swept into the hall with the still-sobbing Daniela following at her heels.

  Oliver uttered an apology to Susan. He increased his pace to catch up to Mrs. Blaine. “What do I feed a child? Where shall she sleep? This house isn’t fitted for the younger set.” The questions tripped off his tongue. “Dear Lord, what about schooling?” Even worse, what would his mother say once word of his stunt leaked out to London? He groaned. The potential for scandal hit him hard in the gut.

  Have I done the right thing?

  “You’ll sort it out, Mr. Darrington. Good day.” She wrenched open the front door, waving off Oliver’s assistance at the same moment a liveried messenger, no doubt from his mother, arrived, his hand raised as if to knock.

  The young man tipped his hat. “Special letter from London, my lord. For you. My orders were to deliver it as soon as you moved in.” He handed over the missive.

  “Thank you. Would you like to enjoy refreshment?” Oliver murmured as he struggled to hide his shock.

  “I’d better not, my lord. Mrs. Darrington wouldn’t like it.” The messenger nodded then took his leave. Both he and Mrs. Blaine cleared the gate at the end of the walkway the same time.

  “I want to go!” Daniela cried as she ran down the sandstone bricks toward the gate, which Mrs. Blaine closed firmly behind her.

  Oliver heaved a sigh. Should he go after the child? Perhaps if she managed to manipulate the latch? He ripped open the letter and a curse left his mouth when he spied his mother’s signature at the bottom. One phrase leaped out. “I demand you join me in London so you can pay a proper visit to your mother.”

  What else could go wrong, and it not even noon?

  Chapter Two

  Miss Eloisa Hawthorne tapped the end of a pencil against her chin as she stared at her sister, Helen, or more to the point, stared in her general direction but didn’t see her. All her energy went into formulating a reply in letter form to the dissolute lord who had the gall to think he’d marry Helen a month hence.

  “What are you thinking?” Helen asked from the foot of Eloisa’s bed. The girl had pulled up her feet and tucked them beneath her while she made herself cozy with a book in hand.

  “How best to eviscerate Lord Everly and his intentions in this letter but be clever enough that he won’t be certain I have.”

  Helen frowned. Her pretty brown eyes reflected sadness. “You know that won’t matter to Charles. He’s adamant this union occur.”

  “Our brother is desperate, plain and simple.” Eloisa tossed aside her pencil and notebook. “Just because he needs to cover his enormous gaming debts doesn’t mean he should essentially sell off his youngest sister to a veritable pig of a man.”

  “Or any man for that matter,” Helen rejoined.

  “Exactly.” Eloisa shivered. Lord Everly was an earl of some influence. However, he was also a fat pig of a man, known as much for his gluttonous ways as he was for a deplorable temper and horrible treatment of anyone who served his needs. “I wonder if this plan was Charles’ idea or if Cecilia concocted it.” It was no secret that her sister-in-law disliked anything that took the focus from her. Having two other women under her roof hadn’t settled well.

  “Who can say?” A note of finality crept into Helen’s voice. “What’s done is done.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it.” Her skirts twisting beneath her, Eloisa scooted down the bed, until she could put an arm around her sister. “I promise you won’t need to be that man’s wife.” Though how she’d accomplish the feat, she had no idea.

  She peered at Helen and couldn’t help but grin. Just turned nineteen, the girl possessed a lithe figure, sparkling brown eyes and thick, brown hair the color of coffee. She was as different from Eloisa as day was to night. Eloisa touched one of her blonde-brown curls and sighed. Where Helen was taller than average girls and held an air of the passion of the Mediterranean, Eloisa would forever be petite in height and as pale as any Englishman. Obviously, Helen had taken strongly after their mother’s Italian heritage.

  “You deserve more than Charles is handing you.” Eloisa shook her head. Their brother’s gambling had gotten worse since the family moved from London to Brighton three months ago. Charles hated the seaside town, hated being away from the bustling metropolis, and perhaps that was how he dealt with it. But to think the answer to his problems was to trade Helen for coin? Bah. She’d lost respect for him in that moment. “Too bad there are only a limited amount of honorable, decent men in this world.”

  Helen uttered an unladylike snort. “Spare me another speech about how much a paragon your dead fiancé was.”

  Grief speared her heart as it always did whenever Peter was mentioned. “I cannot help that I loved him grandly. That feeling likely won’t fade.”

  “He was your first love. That may have been grand, but I doubt he’ll be your only love. You’re allowed to let yourself care for another.”

  “What do you know of love? You’re but a child.”

  “I had a couple of romances.” Her sister’s smile turned enigmatic. “In fact, I’m flirting with one now.”

  “Botheration, child.” Eloisa shook her head. “Don’t be naughty.”

  “Don’t be a stick in the mud. Being naughty is half the fun.” Helen bounced off the bed. When she turned to her sister, her eyes blazed with hope. “Second chances can be especially sweet, sometimes stronger than the first. You should live again.”

  “I’m living quite well, thank you.” Her retort sounded on this side of prudish. Second chances were fine indeed, though she’d always carry his memory deep in her heart. No doubt Peter was the reason she’d never actively encouraged suitors. She’d achieved the age of nine and twenty without finding another man who set her insides aflame. Yes, she’d done her fair share of flirting at routs and parties. One couldn’t just lock oneself away indefinitely, but she’d promised Peter she would only love him and that was the end of it. “None of it negates the fact I do miss him.”

  “Dearest sister, I say this with the utmost affection, I think you miss the idea of being in love. It’s been years. Time to seek out comfort with another.”

  Oh, the viewpoints of the young. “I’m not sure anymore.”

  Melancholy washed over her. Had he lived, they would have married two years ago, just before Christmas, but the Peninsular War claimed his life. A sad smile touched her lips. In one of her fond imaginings, she liked to dream they’d had a child. It wasn’t that great of a stretch. Warmth invaded her cheeks. She’d laid with Peter the night before he’d gone off to war, promised him everything that night, but fate hadn’t followed through. That fact had had to be carefully hidden. If not, she’d be branded, and that would have been worse than what really had happened. Though here were times she wondered what life could have been. That coming together hadn’t resulted in a child, and perhaps that had been for the best. If it had, she’d have a daily reminder of what she’d lost; but on the other hand, a living memento would have been nice when missing him grew unbearable in the alone times.

  “I suppose you’ll always miss him. I can scarcely recall his features myself, but then, I was still in the schoolroom when you courted.” Helen twirled around and her sky blue skirts flared about her shins. “Imagine the possibilities of a new love.”

  “I’d rather not, thank you.” Eloisa slid from the bed then walked to the window. She pushed open the glass and leaned out enough to catch the gentle breeze. “I’ve too much to attend to and don’t wish for the distraction of a suitor.” Besides, if she did find herself in love with another, would he want her still when he discovered she wasn’t as pure as the driven snow?

&nbs
p; “That’s what you always say,” Helen replied with a decided pout in her voice. “I’m in the mood for a right good party. I want to order a fine gown and wear jewels in my hair. A new engagement on your part would be just the thing.”

  This time Eloisa rolled her eyes. “If you don’t leave me in peace, it’ll be your engagement we’re celebrating, and I’ll wager no amount of new gowns or fripperies will take the sting out of this ill-fated match, even if Charles did have the coin for such extravagances.” Another thread of panic wrapped around her spine. Her baby sister was too young, too sweet and too vital to waste on Lord Everly. “I’ll think of something. Never fear.”

  “You always do.” Helen hugged Eloisa’s back. “I’m sorry you’ve had to beg off your duties at the lending library to take care of this.” Her full lips tilted downward with a frown. “I know how much you enjoy that position.”

  “Mr. Dunderson wasn’t best pleased when I asked to be excused again today, but he told me to come back when domestic affairs were settled.” The older gentleman had given her the position shortly after she and her family had arrived in Brighton. It would be the height of bad form to disappoint him, and she did so enjoy keeping the books categorized just so. She glanced back at the bed and her notebook. Yet she couldn’t fail her sister either. “I’d like to hope for a dose of brilliance for that letter.”

  Helen squeezed her shoulder. “You’re ever so clever. You’ll think of something. I hope.” Her voice wavered on the last bit.

  “I’m planning on it.” Except, a bizarre cacophony of sound drifted to her ears through the open window. Nothing would be accomplished with that noise. She cocked her head. “Do you hear that?”