A sentimental and womanly statement, he thought dismissively.
“If it would have made Gertie happy, I would have professed it to the world,” he said. “But as such, it shall remain locked in my bosom.”
Feeling the weight of sadness, he glanced down at his hands.“I take it that I am not to know this child of mine?” he asked.
“Alas...” She replaced the veil over her face. “I should depart. If I could...if you should ever require anything of me, Lord Barclay, I would be only too glad to be of service.”
He grasped her hand before she could leave. “If you find an opportunity, if you could convey—tell Gertie I wish her well. I wish her all the happiness she can find.”
The Marchioness nodded. She sauntered to the door and left without further word. Phineas stared at the floor, the rug upon it a colorful blur before his eyes. A range of emotions—anger, despair, and sorrow— threatened to assault him. How dare Gertie try to keep this child from him? How dare she sacrifice her own happiness for this child? How dare she allow Alexander to believe the child to be his own?
The last thought made the hairs on his neck stand on end. But with his outrage came compassion and sympathy for what Gertie endured. As he recalled their last exchange, he realized her pain. He had been too taken aback by her rejection at the time to recognize how much she suffered. The grief hung heavy upon his heart as he thought of her agony, but she had a consolation—a child that she could love. He had nothing.
“Phineas?”
He looked up to see Georgina standing at the door. He must have looked a sorry sight for she hurried to his side.
“Phineas, who was that woman? What did she have to say to you?”
“I had but met her acquaintance today.”
“And who is she?”
“I will not reveal her.” He straightened and faced his sister. “Come, did you not to intend to seek my company to the milliner?”
She eyed him skeptically.
“One must always look her best in a crim con suit, eh?” he prodded.
Georgina agreed and they set off for the shops in Mayfair, but it proved a futile distraction. He could not stop thinking of Gertie and how she was now forever lost to him.
Chapter Seventeen
GERTIE WATCHED AS THE serving maid poured the burgundy into Alexander’s glass. It was one of the finest bottles she could procure, and she expected that Alexander would take to it favorably.
“The Herrefords have an heir—two, in fact, as Lady Herreford produced twins,” Belinda remarked over dinner.
Alexander scowled and reached for the wine. Gertie kept her gaze to her soup.
“And they have been wed but a year,” Belinda added. “I wonder if you should consult a physician, Alexander?”
It had been the first time the Dowager Lowry had contemplated the possibility that the lack of an offspring might be attributable to her son.
“He must first need plow the right field,” Sarah muttered as she watched her soup sliding off the spoon.
Alexander glared at his sister. Sarah responded with a defiant look.
“I beg your pardon?” Belinda asked.
“I have no wish to marry Mr. Rowland,” Sarah declared.
By the look in her sister-in-law’s eyes, Gertie realized what her sister intended to employ.
“No one else has asked for your hand,” Alexander responded evenly.
“Because you have discouraged them all!”
“Mr. Rowland is a good prospect,” Belinda defended.
Sarah grimaced. “I bear him no affection! I loathe his presence!”
“He will care for you well,” Alexander said. “I have no wish to discuss this further. The matter is settled.”
“You care only that he has money that you might lavish your mistress with gifts!”
Alexander became livid as Belinda’s eyes grew wide.
“Mistress?” Belinda echoed.
“He has entertained her for nearly a six-month,” Sarah supplied. “Lowry has no heir because Alexander has been sowing his seed elsewhere.”
The nostrils of the Dowager flared. She turned to Alexander, who finished off his glass.
“You would bring such disgrace upon our family?” Belinda demanded. Gertie had never seen her in such a state of anger. “Have you no shame? No regard for the Lowry name?”
Alexander poured himself another glass. “It is of no significance.”
“No significance? You would leave Lowry without an heir? Do you realize who shall rule over us if you should die? Your duty–”
“I know my duty.”
“This is unacceptable. Who is this strumpet?” Belinda turned to her daughter. “How long have you known of this and not spoken of it to me?”
Sarah avoided her gaze.
Belinda turned her accusatory glare at Gertie. “Have you known all this time?”
“Lowry will have an heir,” Alexander stated. “If you but possessed a little patience, mother...”
“Patience? It has been three years. I have been naught but patient! And to think how much effort I have expended to assist the family—how much it tries my nerves to think our future has not been secured—yet you deliberately deny me ease of mind.”
An uneasy silence descended over the dinner table. Alexander ground his teeth and poured himself more of the wine.
The dinner could not end soon enough, but Gertie was satisfied that Alexander had consumed more than half the bottle. After dinner, he secluded himself in his study. Gertie sighed with relief for if he had taken himself to Blake’s, who knew when he might return. She sat in her bedchambers, waiting for Alexander’s footsteps in the hall. She would open her door as he entered his chambers and invite him into her bed.
But when she finally heard his footsteps, she found herself without the will.
“Come along, Gertie,” she coaxed herself. “It will be no different than before.”
Which was a lie, for Phineas Barclay had changed everything. How she missed him! She had not seen or heard from him since she last saw him at the orphan asylum.
The child. Her unborn child. She placed a hand to her belly. Finding resolve, she rose to her feet. The door to her chambers swung open then, and in its frame stood her husband. From the glassy look in his eyes, she surmised that he had had more to drink. Wordlessly she waited for him to approach, her heart quickening but not from anticipation. He staggered towards her.
She closed her eyes as he kissed her, slobbering over her face. Even when he hadn’t been inebriated, his kisses could not compare to those of Barclay. She tried her best not to push him away and allowed him to stumble her into her bed. He fell on top of her and began pulling up her skirts. Closing her eyes, she turned to her memories of Barclay in an attempt to transport herself away from the moment. How her body had craved for his touch and all the wonderful ways he could make her feel...There would never be another like him.
Her eyes flew open upon feeling penetration. Above her, Alexander grunted and huffed as if from arduous exertion. Her saving grace was that it did not take Alexander long to finish. He collapsed on top of her. She pushed him off. She reached under her bed to pull out the chamber pot and retched.
THE DOWAGER LOWRY HUMMED as she worked upon her embroidery in the drawing room. Gertie noticed Belinda had been in good spirits ever since Gertie had announced that her menses had not come. She had waited only a sennight after that first night with Alexander. As soon as she had made her announcement, he had ceased to visit her bedchambers. Gertie hoped that he had retained his mistress over his mother’s objections for she wanted no more of his attentions.
“As I shall have more money than matter to spend it upon, I think I shall choose the most expensive of gowns,” Sarah declared as she sullenly leafed through a collection of wedding gown plates.
Gertie, knitting a cap for the baby, said nothing. She felt sorry for Sarah, but her sister-in-law’s despondency and self-pity had made her more cross with Gertie.
The
butler entered the room to state that a Mrs. Georgina Westmoreland was here to see Lady Lowry.
“Absolutely not,” Belinda replied. “Who does that woman presume she is coming into a respectable household?”
“I will see her,” Gertie declared, drawing gasps from the two other women.
“You will not allow that woman another moment in our house.”
Gertie gazed at Belinda without uncertainty. A calm had come over her in the last sennight. It was as if the strength of Lady Athena had finally seeped into the bones of Gertie Farrington.
Turning to the butler, Gertie said, “You may show her into the library.”
Belinda and Sarah let loose a cacophony of protests, but Gertie left the drawing room without addressing them. She, and not they, was the Countess of Lowry.
“Our tea will be served shortly. Will you partake?” Gertie asked as she entered the library.
Georgina turned and smiled, and Gertie was reminded instantly of Phineas. The brother and sister shared the same disarming smile.
“Thank you, no,” Georgina replied. “You are kind—as you were that day I met you—to grant me an audience.”
“Will you not sit?” Gertie gestured to a sofa.
Georgina obliged. “You will think me forward in coming to you. You do not know me well, and our families have not been the best of friends.”
“I harbor no ill will towards the Barclays,” Gertie assured her as she, too, sat down.
Georgina nodded. “In truth, I know not what good will come of my speaking with you. I only know that I feel compelled by my love for my brother.”
“How fares the Baron?”
Georgina colored. “My other brother—Phineas.”
Gertie took a deep breath. Of course Georgina had meant Phineas. All the same, she had hoped it would not be.
“How is Lord Barclay?” Gertie rephrased politely.
Georgina stared. “Do you not know? He is misery itself.”
Gertie felt herself grow pale. “Indeed? I’m sorry to hear it.”
Her curt reply seemed to surprise Georgina.
“Phineas would not explain much to me,” Georgina said, “but he need not have.”
Gertie rose to her feet and turned away. She could feel Georgina’s stare upon her and wondered what the woman knew.
“You could do much to ease his pain.”
“I doubt it,” Gertie replied, grateful her voice did not tremble as much as her insides. “I have not heard from him in over a fortnight.”
“That is because he has taken himself to Bath to nurse his grief. And he detests Bath.”
Gertie felt her heart breaking once more. She had allowed her own misery to consume her, not thinking it was possible that he suffered as well. The thought of his agony was too much.
“I know not what your brother has told you,” Gertie said, “but I think you must have misunderstood him.”
“I understand him to be deeply in love with you.”
Gertie nearly choked on her breath. The tears pressed hard against the back of her eyes.
“Are you not in love with him?” Georgina asked quietly.
“It matters not,” Gertie replied weakly.
“I would not recommend any woman to suffer what I have, but the laws can be a remedy.”
Gertie shook her head. “Our situations differ.”
“Lady Lowry, I know you little, but what I have seen, pleases me. And I think that you are not without sorrow in the absence of my brother. I would see both of you happy.”
“As would I,” Gertie relented. “And I have considered it many, many times. But it were not possible. Not for us. I think Phin—your brother will forget me soon enough.”
“I think not. He may have taken many a woman to bed on whim, but love—love he takes not lightly.”
“He did not pursue me afterwards with much effort,” Gertie said with a touch of bitterness as she recalled how easily Barclay had capitulated to her demands. She had expected him to make at least one or two attempts to convince her otherwise. Apparently, it had been rather easy for him to give her up.
“Yes, which is unlike him, such that I think it can only be the greatness of his love and respect for you that he has not.”
“Mrs. Westmoreland, you are a romantic.”
“A trait I inherited from my father. You would not think it for he, as well as my mother, had reputations as libertines and debauchers. But my father was madly in love with my mother. After she passed, I think he was beside himself, attempting to erase the memory of her through the companionship of others.”
Gertie remembered well what Phineas had shared regarding his father. She remembered every moment with Phineas.
“Mrs. Westmoreland,” Gertie began.
“Pray address me as Georgina. I shall not be Mrs. Westmoreland for long.”
“I commend you for your devotion to your brother, but if you understood my state—you see, I am expecting a child and I am resolved to be happy in my marriage and my new...situation.”
The revelation drew a gasp from Georgina, who knitted her brows in thought.
“It is useless to persuade me otherwise,” Gertie finished, her tone unwavering though she felt like crumbling inside.
“I did not know—much felicitation to you and your family.”
Gertie smiled wanly. “You are welcome to stay for tea.”
“I wonder that the Lady Dowager and Lady Sarah would welcome me?”
“You are my guest,” Gertie insisted.
“Thank you, but I shall not trouble you further.”
Georgina rose to her feet and headed towards the door. She hesitated, then glanced back at Gertie. “I do hope you achieve the happiness you desire, Lady Lowry.”
Gertie could not move herself to walk Georgina out. She could see herself becoming friends with Georgina, but Mrs. Westmoreland had the most imploring eyes—eyes that could wear down her resolve. It was best not to foster relationships that would only ignite painful memories. She had made her decision, and there was no turning back.
Chapter Eighteen
“THE BIGGEST LOAD OF copper we have ever come across,” Robert was saying. “Why, it shall sustain our mines for years to come!”
Phineas, reviewing the clothes his valet had laid out upon his bed, listened with half an ear. He picked up a silk waistcoat and tossed it aside onto a chair.
“I have been speaking with Mr. Wempole, a banker here in London, to finance improvements to our smelting house,” Robert continued. “I should dearly like for you to be part of the discussion.”
“Robert, you know that I am in London but a few days. Once I have dispensed of my properties here, including this apartment, I am taking Prudence to Scotland.”
Robert shook his head. “I think you shall enjoy Scotland as much as you enjoy Bath.”
“Nevertheless, Prudence wishes to see the lakes of Scotland. Did you know she is quite the poetess? I am sure the landscape will inspire her pen.”
“And since when did you take in interest in our little sister?”
“A young woman should not be confined to lessons in French and dance alone. There is more to the world than Lowry—or even London.”
“And you intend to learn her the other worlds?”
“I have no intention of corrupting her if that is what you fear, but I intend that she learn more of human nature than what is taught by her governess and tutor.”
“No, no, I think it splendid that you will be playing the father to Prudence. I said as much to my wife when she voiced concerns.”
Phineas smiled. “Did you indeed? I knew you would grow into the role of the Baron in time.”
“But I’ve no skill at negotiating. Will you not meet with Mr. Wempole? He will be at the Bennington soiree tonight.”
Phineas paused, the memory of the Bennington ball pressing on his conscience. “Robert, I trust your abilities.”
“Georgina may be there tonight, and she would be delighted to see you.
I take it you received her letter regarding her successful petition for divorce?”
“And happily ensconced with her lover now.”
“Yes, well, I have not decided whether I like the fellow, but he cannot be nearly as bad as those that Abigail has entertained.”
“I shall pay Georgina a visit on mine own. I have no interest in attending a soiree.”
Phineas returned to examining which of his attire he wished to pack for the trip.
“If you would but accompany me at this one meeting—to ensure the discussion starts off properly, I think that would leave me with greater confidence to finish the matter.”
“And why do you think I should prove persuasive with this Mr. Wempole? I am no favorite among men.”
“Have you seduced his wife before?”
“What does she look like?”
“It is unlikely. She is near sixty in age and has the gout.”
“Robert–”
“Surely you do not intend to evade all the places where you and the Countess...”
Phineas looked sharply at his brother.
“Georgina told me...you cannot fear crossing her path.”
“Fear?” Phineas echoed. He longed for the sight of her. Even in Bath, when he knew it to be impossible, he would round the street corner thinking how marvelous it would be if he should come across her. It was true he left London for he could not bear seeing her and knowing he could not have her. But escaping London provided no relief. The memory of her plagued him everywhere.
But he had assured the Marchioness of Dunnesford that he would cause no pain to Gertie. How he had longed to write to Gertie, to ask after her and hear how she fared. He contemplated if they could be friends for he missed her company as much as he missed her body, but such notions were beyond foolishness for a man of his understanding.
“I should not have spoken,” Robert apologized.
“One meeting,” Phineas said. “And that is the last concession you will wrest from me.”
He picked up a waistcoat he had had worn at that little posting inn where his life had changed, fingering the fabric as if he could feel her essence upon it. He knew that time would heal his broken heart, and a small part of him wished that his heart might never heal completely. He never once regretted his love for Gertie, and there was a bit of satisfaction that he could help bring about that which she had longed for, that which would make her happy. Beyond anything, he wanted for her the greatest of happiness.
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