The Reluctant Suitor

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  His tongue replaced his finger and moved with intoxicating slowness over a pliant peak, causing Adriana to catch her breath at the sensations he created within her. At the gentle urging of his hand, she readily opened herself to him, making no pretense as to her own desires and cravings. Threading her slender fingers through his thick crop of hair, she whispered with bated breath near his ear, “If this is wickedness, my love, then surely I am doomed, for I have become your most ardent slave.”

  Bentley had taken Philana to the Wyndham residence in London two days previous. The following morning a small army of servants accompanied her to the Kingsley residence in Mayfair a short distance away. She wasn’t looking forward to sorting through the possessions of her late niece, but she had determined to put the ordeal behind her. Even as loyal as their servants were, she couldn’t leave them with such a perplexing task, for they wouldn’t have any idea what to do with the furnishings and everything else that had belonged to the young couple other than pack it all up and load it into endless carts. If there was anything that could be donated, sold, or thrown away prior to storing it in the attic or upper rooms of their house on Park Lane, then it would indeed save on the labor of getting it up there and the available space.

  What Philana came across as she directed the servants in the careful wrapping of family portraits made her cease her work and return to the Wyndhams’ Park Lane mansion posthaste. The next morning, Bentley lent her a helping hand into the landau, and just before dinner that evening, she arrived at Randwulf Manor. After hurrying up the stone steps to the front portal, she swept into the house and then went in search of Colton, having been told by Harrison that her son was working in the library on documents he intended to present before Parliament.

  Having missed the earlier sessions because of his most recent wound and his three-month recuperation during his honeymoon, Philana knew that Colton felt pressed to make up for lost time. In that quest, he had also been making preparations to move his family to their London mansion where they would remain, at least for the most part, until August when Parliament would again adjourn well in time for the hunting season.

  Adriana had spread a quilt out on the oriental rug in the library and had settled on it to play with Genie. The two of them were well in view of Colton whose laughter was often evoked by the playful antics of the child, who seemed to delight in wrinkling her tiny nose and flirting with either him or the lady.

  When Philana entered, Adriana rose immediately to her feet and lifted the happily squealing Genie in her arms. “Mama Philana, we weren’t expecting you back for several days.”

  The baby was especially delighted to see her grandmother whose eyes seemed riveted upon her. Placing a trembling hand beneath her tiny chin, Philana lifted the small face to catch the dwindling light from the glass-paned doors. As she studied the girl’s face intently, sudden tears brightened her blue eyes, and then a joyful grin swept over her whole face.

  “What is that you’re carrying there?” Adriana inquired, inclining her head toward the small, cloth-covered painting her mother-in-law held close to her breast.

  “A portrait, my dear, one you and Colton must study very carefully before I ask you whether or not I’m mad.”

  “You, mad?” Adriana chortled at the woman’s humor. “Well, if you are, Mama Philana, then the rest of us must be raving lunatics. Tell us, what madness are you imagining?”

  With a graceful sweep of her hand, Philana motioned them toward the settee. “Please, take a seat there together,” she urged, and as they complied in some bemusement, she propped the cloth-covered painting up in a wing chair located across from them, and turned up the wick in a lamp residing on a table next to it. When the couple had settled themselves, she presented her request. “I would like both of you to tell me if you recognize the child in this portrait.”

  Again the two exchanged bemused glances before Colton gathered his brows and acknowledged, “After being gone so many years from home, Mother, I don’t have much of a recollection of family members. I seriously doubt that I’ll be of much help identifying the person in the portrait.”

  “Do your best, dear,” she urged with a confident smile. “ ‘Twill not be as difficult a task as you might imagine.”

  Slowly Philana lifted the cloth from the portrait and stood back in nervous anticipation to allow her son and daughter-in-law to study the painting as long as necessary. Yet as soon as Adriana and Colton saw it, they frowned in confusion and then peered up at Philana.

  “Where did you find that?” Colton asked. “And how can it be? We never had an artist in here to paint Genie’s portrait.”

  Philana lifted her trembling chin as tears began to stream down her cheeks. “It isn’t Genie, my son.”

  “But who . . . ?”

  “ ‘Tis Edythe, when she was just a little older than Genie is now.”

  The jaws of the couple fairly sagged in astonishment for barely an instant, then Colton leapt from the settee and, in two long strides, reached the chair. His wife wasn’t far behind him. Snatching up the portrait, Colton tilted it in order to catch more of the light as Adriana looked over his arm.

  “I could almost swear that’s Genie,” he declared.

  “ ‘Tis quite a shock when you first see it, isn’t it? And then you find yourself wondering how anyone could have painted our darling little girl’s portrait without our knowledge.” Philana was having difficulty controlling what could only have been joyful tears and hurriedly dragged a handkerchief from her purse. “After the servants discovered it, I had to find better light myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”

  Colton’s brows gathered in confusion. “But how do you know for a certainty that it is Edythe’s portrait?”

  “Her name and the date are on the back, dear. It was painted when she was only one year old.”

  “What are you thinking, Mother?” Colton queried, not wishing to voice any conjectures that might upset her.

  Philana didn’t hesitate to express her opinion. “I believe without a doubt that Edythe gave birth to Genie before she died. God only knows what miracle brought the child into our home, but that is what I believe with all my heart.”

  “And the child who was found with Edythe?” Adriana probed, and then turned to peer up at her husband. “Do you suppose your conjectures were right after all about Alice Cobble losing her child and then stealing another to give to Pandora? If her babe did indeed die as you suggested, then she might’ve carried it with her with the intent of stealing another wherever she could and leaving her dead infant in its stead. A live newborn would’ve been the only sure way she’d have received what Pandora promised her. If she came upon the soldiers while they were chasing the Kingsleys’ coach or rummaging through it, she’d have likely hidden herself for fear of being killed and then searched the conveyance after the soldiers took their leave just to see what she could find. The physicians did say there was evidence that someone had helped Edythe deliver her babe after the coach overturned, because the cord had been cut and tied. If Edythe was indeed in the process of giving birth when Alice searched the conveyance, then Alice would’ve probably been overjoyed at the prospect of getting her hands on a live newborn to take to Pandora.”

  “That sounds logical to me,” Colton acknowledged, “especially since the boy who was found with Edythe bore the Wyndham mark on his rump. That’s what I’ve been trying to remember since Pandora’s visit. There was no other way the babe could’ve had that mark. Father would never have bedded Edythe, and I certainly didn’t.”

  A smile traced across Philana’s lips. “Edythe was too much of a lady and too much in love with Courtland for me to consider that she’d have gone behind his back to do such a thing. Sedgwick never gave me any reason to believe he had ever been untrue to me. We were always together, mainly at his insistence. Ofttimes, he avouched that I was as much a part of him as his own heart.”

  “Of course you were, Mama Philana,” Adriana reassured her gently, slipping an a
rm around the older woman’s waist. “Throughout all the years I can remember, that seemed the way of it. He loved you very, very much.”

  Philana nodded, growing firm in that belief. “Alice likely put the Wyndham birthmark on her son’s backside while he was still alive, but couldn’t take it off once he died. If you suffer any doubt, consider how long Genie’s mark has lingered just since Alice’s departure. All Alice would’ve cared about anyway were the coins she’d been promised. I just hope she didn’t kill my niece in her greed.”

  “ ‘Tis unlikely she did, Mother, considering that Courtland and the driver were both dead,” Colton replied. “Still, if she did kill Edythe, then she should pay for that crime. I will notify the authorities to be on the watch for the woman.”

  “Even if Alice did kill Edythe, she’ll lie and say she didn’t,” Philana stated with conviction. “And who of Edythe’s family is in a position to say she did? No one.”

  “Now that we have the portrait, we’ll be able to offer some evidence that Genie was Edythe’s daughter, and that Alice gave the babe to Pandora.” Colton nodded thoughtfully. “Of course, even if we do manage to find Alice, we’ll have to wade through her lies to get to the truth, but a threat of a hanging might just shorten her lying tongue.”

  Philana heaved a lengthy, wavering sigh. “I feel as if a terrible weight has been lifted from my shoulders. All this time, I’m been grieving over Edythe and her family when her daughter has been here all along offering me solace. It truly seems a miracle, and tonight I shall begin, and continue henceforth, to express my heartfelt gratitude in my prayers, first because we have Genie with us, and second, because there’s reason to believe she truly is Edythe’s daughter.”

  Felicity watched the entrance of the mill as the last of the workers filed out and then, in heightening impatience, perched upon the window seat in her father-in-law’s bedchamber as she awaited Roger’s departure. He had told her earlier that he would have to take the cart on an errand after the mill closed, and that he wouldn’t be home for supper. His absence would give her another chance to look through the ledgers on the remote possibility that she had overlooked some pertinent information that would help identify the people whose initials matched the ones she had found.

  As anxious as she had been to return to the mill and peruse Roger’s ledgers after her first search, he had seemed reluctant to break away from his office, as if compelled to stay and finish his work, whatever that was. He had ordered her to bring his food to him at noon, more than the usual he had said since he would have someone helping him, but, once again, she had been warned not to go much beyond the front door.

  While delivering his food, Felicity had espied quite by accident a small vial of a liquid substance wedged between books in the glass cabinet behind his desk. Roger had been talking to workers down the hall at the time and had had his back to her. Deeming it fairly safe to creep to the bookcase, she had opened the door very quietly and slipped the bottle into her apron pocket before gently closing the cabinet. At his sudden approach, her heart had nearly leapt into her throat, but she had raced out, telling him over her shoulder that she had forgotten his bread and had to run back to the house to fetch it, which had actually been the truth and a fortuitous oversight she had decided after espying the vial. In the house, she had dribbled a tiny portion of the contents into a clean vial and then had slipped the original back into her pocket before racing back to the mill. Roger had been nowhere in sight when she returned the vial to the bookcase in his office. Leaving the basket of bread on his desk, she had scampered out.

  Anxious to know exactly what the substance in the vial was, Felicity had immediately taken what she had collected to Mr. Carlisle and asked him to identify it if at all possible. He had first sniffed it and then tasted a tiny bit on his tongue. Then he had smiled with a kindly twinkle in his eye and announced that it was merely laudanum, nothing more. Greatly relieved by his answer, she had dared hope that Roger really hadn’t poisoned his father in spite of her recent suspicions.

  Felicity straightened on the window seat as she realized that Roger was finally emerging from the mill. He seemed in some haste as he donned his frock coat and began to arrange his cravat. He raised a knee to climb into the cart, but halted abruptly, lowered his foot to the ground, and then, after glancing around, began fastening his breeches.

  Felicity raised a brow curiously, wondering what he had been doing this time, if it had merely been an oversight after visiting the privy or if he had been involved in something a bit more sordid; but then, she wasn’t really interested in his prurient diversions. In fact, if he found a mistress who’d demand all his attention, she’d be greatly relieved. At least then she wouldn’t have to worry about her baby.

  Felicity waited a quarter hour after the cart disappeared from sight before she finally deemed it safe to leave the house. Where Roger was concerned, it was wise to be cautious, she had learned. He was not always predictable, especially when it came to remembering things. As much as he thought himself mentally astute, in her opinion he fell far short of that mark. If he had forgotten anything and been forced to turn back for either that or some other reason, she didn’t want him to catch her with her nose in his ledgers.

  Felicity flitted across the moonlit yard, and then pressed back into the deeper shadows of the overhanging roof for another moment or two to make certain that no one was roaming about. Reassured that she was all alone, she thrust a hand into the pocket of her apron and withdrew the weighty ring of keys she had found in Edmund Elston’s tall secretary in his bedchamber. She had absolutely no idea what the individual keys opened, but she was curious to find out. After her last intrusion into the mill, Roger had never left the spare key in the house again, and she had not been able to find another until she had thought of searching through Edmund’s room. The Elstons, she had come to believe, were mean and conniving men, and because of that reason, she felt a need to protect herself, or they’d likely dispense with her in one fashion or another.

  Finally finding a key that would unlock the front door of the shop, she slipped inside, closed the portal behind her, and then secured her privacy by latching it. To further provide for her safety, she closed the shutters over the windows. She had no wish to be unduly surprised if Roger returned sooner than expected. In providing an alternative way of escape in case she’d have to race out the rear of the building, she searched through the keys again until she found one for the back door. She just hoped she’d have time to lock it behind her before her husband entered the premises.

  Keenly aware that she’d have to snuff the flame posthaste if she heard the cart returning, she lit the lantern hanging over the desk. Moments later she became totally immersed in the ledger, noticing that more expenditures had been entered, this time exorbitant amounts. Beside them were the initials E.R. She also saw where a smaller sum had been deducted, in itself quite hefty. M.T. had been marked on the line near the latter. Yet, as many times as she searched through the entries, even going back repeatedly from front to back through the ledger, she just couldn’t seem to find names to match.

  Restlessly she paced the confines of the office, thoughtfully flicking the end of a pen against her cheek. E.R.! M.T.! Who were these people to whom her husband was giving large sums? If he paid for either the furniture or the new room with any of the mill’s funds, surely he’d have been given a receipt with a name on it or some such thing.

  Returning to the desk, she braced her hands on its edge and stared at the book upside-down, racking her brain as she ran through a mental list of Roger’s acquaintances. Basically, he had no friends to speak of, especially among the male populace. Women, it seemed, were merely a tool he used for his lascivious purposes. Bereft of close companions as he was, he had to be paying business acquaintances for services rendered and undisclosed. But here again, she wasn’t cognizant of any who had initials to match those noted in the ledger.

  “E.R. and M.T.,” she hissed, angry with herself for not being
able to find any clue to the identity of the two. “E.R. . . . E.R. . . . E.R. . . . Elston? Elston?” Her eyes brightened as the thought came, “Elston, Roger?”

  Though she knew it was only a twinkling of a possibility that the initials were actually his, only reversed, she searched her memory for someone with the remaining initials, T.M., when turned about. The only name she could recall was the one Mr. Carlisle had given her, Thaddeus Manville, the apothecary from London. And it just so happened that Roger was fond of going to London, and Mr. Manville was especially partial to Elston’s woolens. Or was he?

  A dull thud from somewhere nearby caused Felicity’s heart to lurch in sudden trepidation. Hurriedly she turned down the wick in the lamp and crept to the front windows, where she peered out through a niche in the shutters. As frantically as she searched the darkness beyond the mill for Roger’s cart, she couldn’t see any sign of it. Another thump snatched a gasp from her and made her whirl abruptly about as she realized she had mistaken the direction from whence the first sound had come.

  Cautiously she tiptoed into the hall, half afraid that Roger had gone around behind the mill and entered from the back. “Roger? Is that you?”

  Once again, her heart nearly jumped from her chest as another bump intruded into the answering silence. It seemed to come from Roger’s newly furnished private chamber, a room she had never been permitted to see, much less enter. She crept to the door and jiggled the handle. Promptly, three loud thumps came against the door from the interior of the room.

  “Is anyone there?” she called through the portal, but immediately felt like a dunce for asking such a ludicrous question. Of course, someone was there, and whoever it was obviously wanted out!

  Not more than two days ago, Felicity had been ordered by Roger to go to the alehouse and fetch him a brimming pitcher of the dark brew. Upon her return, she had found him standing at the door of his new room with an arm raised and his hand on the molding above the portal. At her entrance, he had made a show of yawning and stretching, which had seemed rather far-fetched considering she had seen enough to know he had shoved something onto that narrow strip of wood. In spite of his silly pretense, it had been all-too-apparent what he had been doing . . . what else but hiding a key? Perhaps it was just as well that she hadn’t remembered that incident right off. Otherwise, she’d have already been confronting the person imprisoned in the room.