by Allison Lane
Fitch had turned up new information about Barnett. The viscount was weaker than even Jack had suspected. Rather than deal with his mad niece, he had handed the responsibility to Craven. It was Craven who had embezzled Marianne’s allowance and falsified the reports to her trustees. He had also embezzled a large sum from Barnett. Craven had now disappeared, taking the spoils with him. Barnett swore that the plot to lock Marianne away had also been Craven’s.
Marianne had accepted Fitch’s evidence and dropped the demand that Barnett repay the missing funds. His other financial problems were severe enough to keep him from London, so she need never meet him again.
Barnes announced a visitor.
“Miss Witt!” exclaimed Jack when a gray-haired lady entered the room. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw your marriage announcement in my neighbor’s copy of the Morning Post and had to meet your wife,” said the lady.
Jack shook his head. “Marianne, this is Miss Witt, my old nurse, whom I’ve not seen in twenty years. Miss Witt, my wife, Marianne Caldwell.”
Marianne poured tea, but said little as Jack and Miss Witt reminisced. Her mind reeled with questions, for Lady Hartford had not known Miss Witt’s direction the last time they had spoken.
“There is something I need to tell you, Jack,” Miss Witt said once she’d finished several biscuits and two cups of tea. “I had to remain silent at the time, but old threats no longer matter. A wasting sickness will finish me in a few months. It seems right to set the record straight while I still can.”
Jack scoffed, but she held up a hand. “We won’t argue. I’ll not die tomorrow or even next week, but it will not be much longer. Before I go, you deserve to know about your mother. I was in the next room when Deerchester banished her. He threatened me with death should I ever reveal the truth, but that no longer matters.”
“What happened?” Marianne asked. Jack seemed speechless.
“He had always been a brutal man,” said Miss Witt.
“I thought him mostly cowardly.” Jack’s voice trembled.
“And so he was. But a cowardly man is dangerous, for he despises his weakness and goes to great lengths to hide it. Often that means exercising power over those who cannot fight back. So it was with Deerchester. You weren’t his only target. He savaged many a girl, but his wife was his most frequent victim.”
Jack was visibly shaking.
“Then why did he send her away?” asked Marianne softly. “Brutal men like having a handy victim.”
“She betrayed him. Deerchester is not Jack’s father.”
Marianne gasped.
Jack’s teacup fell, bouncing twice across the carpet before breaking against a table leg.
Miss Witt shook her head. “The argument that day was vicious. He must have beaten her badly, for she was heavily veiled when she left the next morning. The staff had long suspected her betrayal – Deerchester had been gone when you must have been conceived – but no one knew who was responsible, and few would have betrayed her if they had known.”
“Have you any guesses?” Jack’s voice was rough.
“No. I had worked at Deerchester when Wilcox was a babe, but moved on when he turned five – he was deemed ripe for a tutor by then. She rarely left the estate in those days, and never without Deerchester in attendance, though that might have changed when he was away. I returned a fortnight before you were born, but she was ill and did not receive me until her confinement. She showed none of her usual spirit, hardly surprising under the circumstances. Deerchester threw her out a week later.”
“Did she protest?” asked Marianne.
“Who would dare? She knew better than anyone the cost of crossing him. But she did refuse to name her lover."
“So he beat her, then threw her out.” Jack clenched his fists.
“That wasn’t her punishment. She was glad enough to escape his heavy hand. But he refused to send you with her, though he hated the sight of you. You were evidence of his weakness, proof of her defiance. It is for that reason that I came to beg your forgiveness. Had I told you the truth when you reached your majority, you could have sought her out so she could see that you are an upstanding man, despite Deerchester’s influence. Instead, I let fear lock my tongue. But perhaps it is not too late.”
“It is never too late. Where did he send her?”
“Scotland, though I don’t know where.”
“I will find her. Deerchester’s solicitor will know her direction. He must be sending her money – her family would have had him up on charges otherwise.”
“Thank you,” said Miss Witt. “I always liked your mother and tried to make her lot easier. When I returned for your birth, her laughter was gone. It pained me. I can only pray she found peace.”
Miss Witt departed a short time later, leaving Jack and Marianne alone.
“I wonder who your father was,” she said slowly.
“Reeves. It has to be. It would explain so much.”
“Your tutor?”
He nodded. “And Wilcox’s long before I was born, so he was in the house. Even before he became my tutor, I considered him a friend. He often spoke of Mother, spinning tales of her goodness – at a risk, I must admit; no one was allowed to mention her name. And he taught me so much more than ciphering and history. Things like honor and compassion. I wish I had known.”
“It is not too late.”
“In his case, it is. He died ten years ago. I wonder if Mother knows.”
“She must. He would have sent her reports on your progress, so their cessation would have announced his death even if his solicitor knew nothing. Miss Witt was only partially right, you know. Your mother lost you, it is true, but she left you in good hands – your father’s hands.” She smiled. “This is truly a week of miracles.”
“Not really. You convinced me that life was worthwhile as long as we are together. Once I stopped agonizing over my breeding, Fate relented and revealed that it is no threat.”
“Righ—” She froze as the realization hit.
“What?”
“No wonder Deerchester was so furious about our marriage.”
“He has always hated me, and more so now that Wilcox is gone. It must grate that his heir is not of his blood.”
“Precisely. But think, Jack. Have you ever met Miss Somerson?”
“No.”
“When did he begin pushing that match?”
“About a year ago. What—”
She shook her head. “You described him as sneaky, and this proves it. He tried to cut you out of the succession.”
“He can’t.”
“Not in the short term. It’s far too late to disown you. But I suspect Wilcox died more than a year ago. Furious to find himself with an heir who carried none of his blood – I don’t believe for a moment his protestations of poverty, by the way; that was a ploy to garner your sympathy – he concocted a dastardly plan. He cannot wed, for his wife remains alive, so he schemed to shackle you to his mistress, someone he could trust to bear only his children. That way the earldom remains in his line, and he can take his revenge on you for not being his.”
“Good God! But I can’t believe even Deerchester would be that sneaky.”
“Trust me. Angela recognized her name. Miss Somerson is your age, has been Deerchester’s mistress for several years, and has borne him two sons. What better way to keep the Deerchester title and blood together?”
Jack nearly choked.
“But that threat is now averted. With you, the earldom will start a new line, free from the problems of the past. What a legacy to leave to your children.”
“Speaking of which, I feel a sudden urge to secure this new line.” His eyes glinted in a way she recognized after two days in his bed.
She grinned. It was definitely a goal worth pursuing.
Copyright © 2002 by Susan Ann Pace
Originally published by Signet Regency (0451207432)
Electronically published in 2006 by Belgrave Ho
use/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
