“Mrs. Ford.”
Rebecca wished she could stop the strange fluttering of her pulse, curtail the heat rushing to her face. She turned around to face him. They were alone in the semi-darkness of the hall corridor, the dark portraits of his ancestors looking down on them. Her gaze fleetingly took in the topboots, the tight buckskin breeches, and the white shirt carelessly left half buttoned. She found herself staring at the dark skin and the corded muscles of his neck.
“I see you were not able to sleep, either.”
She forced herself to look up into the chiseled face and the dark eyes. The way his gaze traveled from the tip of her bare toes to the wayward curls hanging to her shoulders caused Rebecca to swallow hard. She pulled the folds of the robe tighter around her neck.
“I had hoped to speak to you tonight, as I need to return to London for a short while. Parliament will be rising, but I must attend to a few private matters, as well.”
Like a fool, all she could do was nod. Something about him had taken hold of the very breath in her chest.
“I wanted to tell you that you were correct in recommending that James come here for a time before he was sent to Eton.”
“Are you trifling with me, m’lord?” she managed to get out.
“Not at all. What he did today—running away—could have had far more serious consequences in a public place such as London, or at school.”
For the first time since arriving in England, Rebecca felt a ray of hope about Jamey’s future. The earl of Stanmore did appear to care about his son.
“Having activities to occupy his mind—getting him involved in life here at Solgrave—these things will perhaps improve his disposition toward his new life in England.”
“I agree.”
“I have instructed my steward Daniel to hire a tutor for James. I would like you to oversee his selection, though. I recall Birch telling me that you were a teacher yourself in the colonies, so your approval will, naturally, be highly valued.”
“I am honored,” she murmured, again finding herself unable to maintain eye contact with the earl. Fighting him over James had been easy, but facing him alone and…well, dressed as he was, made her tremble strangely. And what made it was worse was that he was being so agreeable!
“I know it is late, but I am going to the library for a glass of wine. If you care to join me, perhaps you can tell me anything else of importance that my people should be aware of in dealing with James?”
Rebecca felt her face grow warm again as a rush of sensations suddenly filled her. The feel of the earl’s strong arms as they had held her in place on his horse, the occasional brush of his chin against her wet hair, the warmth of his coat, the smell of night and forbidden desires—all of these things set her heart drumming wildly in her chest. And then a fear ten years old took hold of her. She shook her head, panic and desire at odds within her.
“I...I am very sorry, m’lord. But it is late and...and it has been a tiring day.” She took a step backward toward her door.
He nodded with a look of perfect understanding. “I have been remiss in not even inquiring after your health. After the hours that you spent in the rain yourself, you—”
“I am fine,” she said convincingly, taking another step back until her hand rested on her door. She needed to get out of this corridor. Away from him. In his presence something she could not understand took control of her senses. It was as if she was losing control of her body. Her reaction to him was absolutely appalling. What was happening to her? “I…I am quite well. Good night, m’lord.”
“Mrs. Ford!”
His call kept her from escaping into her room.
“I believe you should stay. I invite you to stay as long as it takes for James to be perfectly settled in Solgrave.”
“Thank you, m’lord.”
She slipped through the door and closed it behind her. Placing her fingers on her fevered cheeks, she stared with unseeing eyes into the darkness of the room. Standing there, Rebecca wondered if the earl’s invitation had been for Jamey’s sake…or for some interest of his own.
CHAPTER 11
Sir Oliver Birch was both surprised and disturbed by Stanmore’s questions.
Summoned to the earl’s Berkeley Square town house on a Sunday evening, the seasoned lawyer had come sensing trouble. Now, sitting in the comfortable chair in the spacious library and watching Lord Stanmore talk and pace, he knew it.
“If I may repeat what you just told me of this woman,” the earl said thoughtfully, his hands clasped behind his back, “you are absolutely certain she accompanied Elizabeth on the journey to America.”
“Not absolutely certain. But according to the physician who was on the ship, and who is now residing in New York, a woman named Rebecca traveled with her. Our Mrs. Ford certainly fits the description that he gave me. In fact, he was the one that recalled her traveling on to Philadelphia. He told me he only happened to overhear her making her arrangements.”
“Indeed.” The earl stopped by the marble fireplace, a frown creasing his brow. “Why did he ‘happen’ to recall all of this, Birch, ten years after the fact? Didn’t he trust her?”
“I cannot say, for certain.” The lawyer swirled the fine claret in his glass. “But she is…er, was an extremely attractive young woman.” Feeling Stanmore’s fierce glare upon him, the lawyer quickly continued. “Not to mention that she was traveling on to Philadelphia with only the child.”
“How could she get a coachman to take her, unescorted?”
“Things are quite different in the colonies, m’lord. Women apparently travel unescorted as a matter of course.” He hesitated. “But you should have no fears with regard to her reputation. Whether we are speaking of ten years ago or ten days, I am quite certain—and I say this from my own journey with her and from all I heard in Philadelphia—Mrs. Ford has a strict code of conduct. Quite refined, in fact…though thoroughly unpretentious. Her life in the colonies has made her perfectly at ease in her dealings with men, but she also demands propriety at all times from everyone. Why, even the sailors treated her with the utmost respect. I find the woman quite remarkable, really.”
Birch noted the fleeting look in the earl’s dark eyes, but he did not want to hazard a guess as to the meaning behind it. He watched Stanmore move to one of the large open windows and stare out into the park that graced the square. There was no doubt in the lawyer’s mind that this summons had to do with his lordship’s brief but sudden sojourn to Solgrave yesterday.
“Is there a chance that she might have made Elizabeth’s acquaintance in London?”
“I seriously doubt it. You know the social set to which your wife belonged.” Birch shook his head thoughtfully. “Though Mrs. Ford is obviously well-educated and has a disposition that speaks of gentility in her upbringing, she isn’t a member of London society. I believe they must have met during the initial crossing. I, for one, can understand why Elizabeth saw reason to entrust her with the care of James.”
“Can you, Oliver? Then can you think of any reason why this woman has chosen to hide her connection with Elizabeth? From what you said of your first meeting in Philadelphia, she lied to you about it there, and she has yet to admit to knowing her.”
The lawyer glanced thoughtfully at the earl. “It could simply be that her secrecy stems from a lack of trust. Mrs. Ford is obviously devoted to your son. She may well have been as devoted to your wife. Why else would she have accepted the responsibility of raising the child? She obviously had no intentions of personal gain.”
The earl nodded.
“Her loyalties lie with Elizabeth and with James, m’lord. You and I have yet to earn her confidence.” Birch shrugged his shoulders. “But on the other hand, all of my assumptions could be incorrect. Perhaps everything she says is true. We could be mistaking her for someone else who was on that ship with your wife.”
Stanmore stood for a long moment, apparently considering this possibility.
“Tell me what you know of thi
s husband...this Mr. Ford.”
“I know very little,” the lawyer said, relieved that they were moving past her possible fabrication. “They must have married soon after she left New York. He has been dead for some years, though, according to those I questioned in Philadelphia.”
“What else? What did he do for living?”
“There was very little that anyone could add, for certain. Some thought he was a carter, others believed he had been a soldier. Whatever his position in life, he obviously did not leave much behind for his wife. From what I was able to establish, for virtually all the years Mrs. Ford has been in Philadelphia, she has been living on the fruits of her own labors and supporting James and herself fairly successfully.”
“So there were no other children.”
“None that survived, at any rate.”
As Stanmore turned to face the lawyer, his dark gaze was probing. “Anything else about her? Anything about her parentage? Where she was born and raised?”
“The only information I was able to establish with any certainty pertains to the years that Mrs. Ford has resided in Pennsylvania. If I were to hazard a guess, I would suggest that she may have been the daughter of a cleric…and raised in a town not so remote or rustic, either. As I mentioned before, she either had excellent tutors or was sent to a fine school as a girl, for she is certainly learned in a variety of subjects. In Philadelphia there were many who spoke of her proficiency as a teacher.”
Birch crossed his long legs as the earl turned to the window again. He knew that one never questioned Stanmore. Even so, the lawyer was very curious about the nature of the trouble yesterday.
“If I may say, Mrs. Ford struck me as a refreshing change to many English women of her place in life. And aside from one small misrepresentation regarding her past, I believe she is perhaps the most honest and straightforward woman I’ve ever met.”
Watching the peer carefully, Birch saw no disagreement in Stanmore’s attitude. The lawyer let out a silent breath of relief, as he had every intention of keeping Mrs. Ford in Stanmore’s good graces, if he could. In fact, though he would never admit it openly, Oliver planned on finding some excuse to visit Solgrave in the near future. And it wasn’t for the country air that he wished to visit Hertfordshire.
Mrs. Ford might be a pauper, but her lack of wealth was no hindrance as far as Birch was concerned. For the first time in his life, the woman had awakened in him thoughts of matrimony and children. Though he was entirely inexperienced in matters of the heart, the way he saw it, all that was required of him now was spending some time in her company, making his intentions known to her, and receiving some encouraging response from the lady. After that, it was simply a contractual matter, putting the entire affair back in the arena where he operated the most comfortably.
“Do an inquiry this week regarding Lady Nisdale’s finances. In particular, I want to know the total of all her outstanding debts.”
Jolted from his own line of thinking, Birch raised a dark brow at the earl’s comment.
“I can already tell you that it will be a large sum. Dame Fortune has not been smiling on Louisa for some time.”
“You will pay off all of her debts…including her gambling debt.” His lordship’s manner was relaxed, almost indifferent, as he crossed the floor to the fireplace. “Send word to the house when the notes have been collected. There will be a letter waiting here to be delivered to Lady Nisdale when the task has been completed.”
“She should be grateful for such generosity, Stanmore.”
“She’ll be incensed that I am ending our liaison.”
This was just the last of a number of partings of the ways that the lawyer had handled for his wealthy client. In previous situations of this type, Lord Stanmore’s openhandedness had always helped to dry the tears shed afterward. In this case, however, knowing Louisa’s temperament, Oliver was certain that he would have to handle the delicate matter with all the diplomacy and finesse at his command.
“Your timing might be quite good, however,” Birch responded carefully, watching Stanmore’s straight back as he paused before the portrait of his father. “In what I believe might simply be a bid for your attention, I regret to tell you that last night—after attending the opera in Haymarket—Lady Nisdale was observed gracing a certain gentleman’s arm in Vauxhall Gardens.”
“Louisa might do well to pursue that course of action. I no longer have any interest in the woman’s indiscretions.” He turned away from the painting and moved to the large desk. “I have some appointments tomorrow, but on Tuesday I plan to return to Solgrave for a fortnight…at least.”
Birch straightened in his chair.
“Mrs. Ford made some very sensible recommendations to me in Bristol…”
The earl continued to speak, but Birch’s mind was racing in a number of directions at once. And then, suddenly, everything made sense. The ending of the affair with Lady Nisdale. The endless questions about Rebecca. Oliver knew Stanmore didn’t give a rush about spending time with his son. He had said so himself, many times, before and even after finding James. It was Rebecca herself that had caught his lordship’s eye, he thought bitterly.
“Leaving London, m’lord? With the King’s Birthday just a fortnight off? There will be great disappointment among the ton, I should say.”
“With the Parliament rising yesterday, my time is my own.” Disdain was etched clearly on the nobleman’s face as he seated himself behind the desk. “Being considered a catch—as our friend Sir Nicholas so indelicately refers to it—was not a comfortable role prior to my marriage to Elizabeth, and it is not now. My friends will understand and the rest may be damned.” He picked up some correspondence and laid it down in front of him. “I have another task for you, as well, Oliver.”
Birch sat forward on the edge of his own chair, hiding his distress. For the first time in his life…! And now, Stanmore for a rival…! Bloody hell!
“I want you to assume that Rebecca Ford—or whatever her name is—boarded that ship with Elizabeth ten years ago. I want you to find her true name if need be, her parentage, her reason for going to the colonies. I want to know why she decided to stay instead of returning to England with the boy.”
“That could take months, you know.”
“I have faith in you, Oliver.”
Well, there was no sense in arguing the difficulties involved in finding out these things. They both knew that if there was anyone in England who could ferret out such information, it was Oliver Birch of the Middle Temple… and his bloody connections. After all, he’d been able to find Elizabeth and later James—a task that had been considered impossible by a number of his associates.
“Bring me the truth, Birch. I need to know everything about her.”
As the lawyer rose to his feet, he couldn’t help but feel the icy fingers of defeat around his heart. Lord Stanmore was a terribly handsome man. And a generous one. Why, if the most beautiful…and the most worldly…women in London could not withstand the allure of the man, what chance could Mrs. Ford have against him? There was no denying the earl’s desires; he was a man who simply took what he wanted.
And now Stanmore was returning to Solgrave—and not to spend time with his newly discovered son as he would have London society believe. He was returning to his ancestral home to…to dazzle a defenseless woman!
Bloody hell, Birch cursed as he stepped out of the earl’s library. Why couldn’t he leave this one woman alone? Rebecca Ford had none of the experience of Stanmore’s other liaisons. The lawyer was certain of that. And she could have no idea how dismal her life would be when he eventually cast her aside. He only prayed that she was sensible enough to know that there could be no permanent place for her in the life of Lord Stanmore.
Indeed, it was her only hope.
***
The patch of sunlight brought out the golden streaks in Jamey’s mop of hair as the boy sat quietly listening to the new tutor’s instructions. Watching from the large windows of the gal
lery overlooking the walled formal garden, Rebecca felt immensely relieved at Daniel’s choice of Mr. Clarke, formerly of Eton.
Now retired, the teacher had told Rebecca that his long career had concluded just a year earlier. Beekeeping—and the care of his aging mother—were now the only things to “f-f-f-f-fill my t-t-t-time.” Hardly enough for a man of his energies, however, for Mrs. Clarke, his mother, was eighty-four years old and in “p-p-p-perfect health.” So the arrangement that allowed him to ride over to Solgrave several mornings a week from their cottage near the village church suited him immensely.
Daniel had suggested him, and Rebecca had approved his choice. Standing now in the gallery, she smiled at the sight of the teacher’s wild hair sticking out in all directions from beneath the old-fashioned bagwig. There was nothing that was intimidating about this man, she thought, and her observation of Jamey’s reaction to the scholar now reinforced that perception. Small of stature, with bristling eyebrows above kindly gray eyes, Mr. Clarke was the perfect person to introduce Jamey to his new home and his future life at Eton. The stammer, it appeared, only came out when he was addressing women. Why, even his surprising decision to hold their first lessons outside was a mark in his favor!
“Mr. Clarke will not be leaving the boy alone, Mrs. Ford. And Daniel has a footman keeping an eye on them.”
Rebecca turned and smiled at the housekeeper standing by her side. She hadn’t even heard the woman approach. “I’m not overly concerned, Mrs. Trent. I simply wanted to be certain that all was going well. I believe James likes him, but what do you think?”
“Of course, he does!” the woman spoke brightly. “Mr. Clarke is a bit odd, perhaps, but all those bookish types are, from what I’ve seen. But certainly a good fellow, I’d swear. I’ve known him since we were children. I’ve come to tell you that the dressmaker from St. Albans is waiting to see you, Mrs. Ford. I’ve set her up in the sewing room in the east wing. And the woman has already seen to the new shirts you wanted for Master James.”
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