Scandal's Promise

by Gibson, Pamela

  The trio departed, and Lester entered. He removed a bottle from his pocket and set it down next to the brandy decanter. “I thought you might be needing this, sir.”

  “Ah, finally.” Andrew unsealed the bottle and took a swig.

  Ralston lifted an eyebrow. “How do you know the proper dosage?”

  “Trust me to know what I need.”

  Ralston shook his head and looked into the fire.

  Andrew bit back a retort. Ralston wasn’t the one in pain and had no right to be judgmental.

  Friends, however, have a right to express their opinions.

  Sitting back in his chair, Andrew extended his booted feet toward the fire, waiting for the pain to subside and the soft, mellow feeling that usually followed. Perhaps he would bring the young surgeon from the village back again and quiz him on his theories. He’d consulted him two days after arriving, and the man found no putrefaction or any other indication of an unhealed wound. After proclaiming laudanum was too common and too much in use, he’d departed, leaving Andrew to dose himself as he saw fit.

  People in pain use it and rightly so. Their only other recourse is spirits. Did the quack want everyone who suffered pain to become a drunkard?

  “You’re quiet. Not falling asleep, are you?” Ralston drawled.

  “No, I’m merely reflecting on your disdain for my use of a common painkiller.”

  Ralston sat up in his chair and leaned forward. “I’m more concerned about the fact you need it. Please come up to London with me when I leave and consult a real physician. Your shoulder looks fine. There must be something wrong inside. Someone with more training can advise you.”

  “I promise to consider it.”

  “Good. I hate to see you like this. You’ve been back in England just over a month. Your house is in shambles. I shudder to think about the state of your finances.”

  Andrew bristled. “I’m sending Drake off to hire staff, aren’t I? My finances are fine. I saw my father’s sanctimonious man of business while in London, and he assured me I am one of the wealthiest earls in the kingdom. I’m sure he hated telling me. However, I plan to keep him on, even though he riles me.”

  “Then hiring more staff for this enormous monstrosity of a house shouldn’t be put off any longer. I’m proud of the efforts you’ve taken in the past two days, Cardmore. But you need to do more. Get back to your old life. Marry again.”

  His throat tightened as a vision in a blue dress rose in front of his eyes. Emily Sinclair would not be receiving him, let alone allowing him to woo her, and he wanted no other.

  “I’ll not wed again. I still have nightmares about the first time.”

  Ralston shrugged. “Your choice. A well-bred wife would have this place running as smoothly as a Swiss timepiece.”

  “You, the confirmed bachelor, are advising me to wed? How amusing.”

  “I have a younger brother who has three boys. You have no one.”

  Andrew shuddered. An old wives’ tale about someone walking over one’s grave came to mind. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.

  Some secrets need to stay buried.

  When dinner was called, they consumed the four simple courses set in front of them, each course served with wine. After dining, they adjourned to the library for port and a quick game of cards, which Ralston easily won.

  Rain lashed at the window as the storm outside grew in violence. Lester entered and stood in front of Andrew.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a person downstairs asking for you, my lord.”

  “Who is it? Don’t you know to tell people I’m not at home?”

  His eyes shifted. “I think you’ll want to see this one.”

  “Very well. Put him in the receiving room.”

  The door closed, causing a draft that made the candle flicker.

  “How mysterious,” said Ralston. “I wonder who it is.”

  “No one in the area is likely to call at any hour, let alone this one. I have declined the few social invitations I received since my return, pleading illness.”

  “Clever of you, Cardmore. After seeing you at the mill today, you’ll probably get a passel of invites. Everyone loves a war hero.”

  “Me? A hero? If people only knew the truth.”

  “Stop denigrating yourself. It’s tiresome.”

  Andrew slowly rose from the chair, flexed his shoulder. A mere twinge. “Want to come with me? See who’s braved the weather to call on me?”

  Ralston jumped up. “Better than a verbal joust with you.”

  They trudged down the worn stairs, past a large dusty painting of a hunt, and paused in the hall. Lester stood outside the door, shifting from one foot to the other, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

  “What is it?”

  “The caller is a woman, not a man, and she’s brought someone with her.”

  Ralston’s eyebrow twitched. “Very enigmatic, Lester.”

  Andrew sighed. “Let’s get this drama over with.”

  Lester opened the door and stood back.

  It couldn’t be. But it was.

  His ugly secret was about to be revealed.

  Chapter 5

  A tiny birdlike woman with sharp features stared at him from across the room. Her bonnet and outwear lay neatly on a chair. Next to it was the heavy woolen coat and hat of the young boy with frightened eyes who clutched her hand.

  Andrew’s breath hitched as he looked at the child. Blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears, peeked up at him from a narrow face with a defiant chin. His guinea-gold tousled hair was cut short and his clothes were fashionable, albeit wrinkled.

  The woman raised her head and glared at him. “I beg your pardon, my lord. I realize the hour is late. My name is Bricker. I was told to deliver Master George to you and then be on my way. I’ve taken a room in the village coaching house for the night, and I will return to London in the morning.”

  Andrew forced himself to meet her gaze and speak in a calm voice while turmoil swirled in his gut.

  “You can’t leave him here.”

  “I can and I will.”

  “Why now?”

  “My employer’s wife has passed on, and he has no interest in the child. Madame was the one who insisted on providing the boy with a home. Master George was the only link she had with her daughter.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ve been his nurse since his birth at his grandparents’ London home.”

  “If you are leaving, who will care for him?”

  “With all due respect, that’s your problem, my lord.”

  She turned to the child who began to sob. He buried his face in her skirts and fisted his small hands in the folds, his back shaking.

  Her body vibrated with hatred. “See what you’ve done. You’ve upset him. He’s only six years old and not accustomed to cold toffs like you.”

  Andrew stiffened, repressing the urge to curse. Instead he modulated his tone. “He cannot stay. I have no staff, no nursery. There’s nothing here for him to wear or play with. You must leave and take him back to where you came from.”

  “His valise is outside in the hall. It has his belongings. He hasn’t much. As you would know if you’d deigned to take an interest in him.”

  He supposed the verbal blow was deserved, despite the circumstances now confronting him, but his patience was at an end.

  What the bloody hell am I to do with a child?

  “You’re right. I know nothing about children. You can see he’s distressed. Can you not stay? I can pay you.” Panic gripped his throat, threatening to strangle him.

  “I have another post. And now I must take my leave. ’Tis cold and wet, and I long for my bed.”

  “Don’t go,” imp
lored Andrew. “He’s crying. What does he need?”

  “Give him a bit of soup and a bed. He’ll be right as rain in the morning.”

  She disengaged the boy’s hands and bent down to face him. “You mustn’t cry, Master George. This is your home now. I’m sure his lordship must have a horse or two in his stables. You’ll see what a fine house this is when morning comes.”

  The woman led the boy to a spindly chair and seated him. The child hid his face in his hands and wailed like his heart was broken. With a final pat, she put on her coat and hat and strode toward the door. “My hired conveyance is waiting. I’ll see myself out.” Footsteps echoed in the hall, fading as the woman reached the outer door.

  Ralston stood with his hands behind his back, his eyes wide. The child’s wailing increased, and Andrew cringed. How was he to stop the noise? His valet hovered near the doorway. “Lester. Bring the new housemaid. I believe her name is Matilda. She should be in Mrs. Evans’s quarters or nearby.”

  “Very good, milord.”

  Ralston, who’d been silent during the drama seemed to recover from his stupor and frowned. “Do you even know who this is?”

  “Sadly, I do.”

  “Do you mind enlightening me? I admit, this is more entertainment than I’ve had in a decade.”

  “His name is George.”

  “I believe I got that.”

  “He is—he is my son.”

  Ralston fell into a nearby chair. “I’m astonished. I’d heard Caroline died in childbirth, but I thought the child was stillborn.”

  “He’s very much alive, as you can see. And hear. He remained with the Woodleys. As the woman said, Mrs. Woodley insisted.”

  “And you decided to let him stay there? Why not here?”

  “What choice did I have? Let Father raise him? When word of his birth finally reached me in France, I thought it best.”

  Matilda burst into the room, executing a quick curtsy. “You wanted to see me, milord?

  Andrew nodded toward the child. “I need you to take charge of the child. I haven’t been to the nursery floor in years. Tomorrow, can you see if it’s habitable? But first, can you take him to the kitchen for something to eat? Perhaps your aunt can get him to stop crying.”

  Her eyes were wide as she nodded and strode toward the child. “What is his name?”

  “George.”

  She crouched before him. “Hello, George. I’m Matilda. I have a brother about your age, and I’ll bet you’re hungry. He always is. Come with me, and we’ll see if there’s a biscuit in the kitchen.” She helped him from the chair and took his hand. “I do believe you are taller than my brother. If you stop crying now, you will see a bit of the house as we go belowstairs. The kitchen is warm, and we have a cat.” She pulled him along. “Do you like cats? I daresay you will like this one.”

  They left the room, and Andrew turned and led the way back up to the library. After pouring himself a glass of port, he downed half of it in one gulp and slumped into the chair in front of the fire. Ralston tipped port into a glass for himself and sat across from him.

  “I get the feeling there’s more to this story you’re not telling me,” he drawled. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

  “How astute of you, Ralston.” He hadn’t meant to be sarcastic, but the night couldn’t have been worse.

  “I’m listening.”

  “After marrying Caroline at Gretna Green, we came directly back, staying in separate rooms while on the journey. I was so angry I was afraid I’d do something I’d regret. We spent as little time as possible together, and when we arrived here, I made arrangements for her welfare, bid her goodbye, and joined my new regiment. Several months later, I received a letter from my father, telling me Caroline was at Woodley Park for the final months of her confinement. She delivered a healthy baby boy, but the birth had complications and she died.”

  Ralston sipped his port and peered into the fire. “I thought you said you hadn’t touched her. Did you lie? The affair began before the marriage?”

  Andrew slammed down his drink. “Absolutely not. She was enceinte when I married her. She laughed when she told me—after I put a ring on her finger. This was not a premature birth. The babe was normal size.”

  “But your father thought himself vindicated when he coerced you into marriage because the boy was born early.”

  “He did. He added ‘liar’ to my list of sins. Caroline, of course, fed his suspicions and played her part until the day she left.”

  “And because the boy was born in wedlock, he is your legal son and heir.”

  “He inherits title, lands—everything entailed. Any rightful son I might have will be the spare.”

  “Well that’s a fine quagmire you’ve slid into. Don’t put blame on the boy. None of this was his fault.”

  Andrew ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t blame him. I don’t feel anything for him. Right now, I must decide what to do with him.” His shoulder ached like the devil. “Lester!”

  The valet scurried to the library door. “Yes, milord?”

  “Get the laudanum bottle. I’m in need of a stronger dose than I took earlier.”

  Ralston scoffed and shook his head. “You need to find out what’s wrong and then taper off on that stuff.”

  “Believe me, I would if I could. It’s the only thing bringing relief. And when I’m without it, the pain doubles.”

  Lester returned and handed him the bottle. “The boy has been settled downstairs, milord. The maid and her aunt have made up a bed for him in the corner of the housekeeper’s sitting room.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ralston stood. “I believe I’ll retire for the night. If the rain lets up in the morning, I’ll take my leave.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “I’ll be in Yorkshire for some shooting with John Montague over at Woodhaven Abbey for a few days. Then I’ll look in on my way back to London.”

  “You’re still planning to spend a few more days here before the holidays.”

  “I am.”

  Andrew nodded. “I’ll see you at breakfast then.”

  Ralston paused and leaned against the door. “I almost hate to ask, but do you know who the boy’s real father is?”

  “I do not. I asked Caroline repeatedly, and she refused to tell me. Perhaps she’d had many lovers and didn’t know.”

  “Which explains why she needed to marry in a hurry. If I recall, most of her suitors would have required a long, formal engagement and a lavish wedding. Two baronets and the heir to an earldom panted after her at social events. And wasn’t there a duke? What about Wentworth? He seemed the most besotted. Maybe he’s the one who did the deed.”

  “He was a marquis’s son, but not the heir, and as I said, he had no money. Caroline wouldn’t have been that foolish.”

  “Her parents must have looked over the candidates and picked you as the most likely rat for their trap, given your papa’s wealth and moral proclivities—and your fondness for drink.”

  “And I fell right into the snare, although I honestly don’t know how I became bosky that quickly.”

  “Maybe you had help—someone filling your glass when you weren’t looking.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Ralston bid him good night. Treading up the stairs to his own room, Andrew signaled Lester to help him prepare for bed.

  Rain still pounded against the windows, and wind howled outside. Soon snow might fall—a rare occurrence, but possible in this year without summer. As a boy, he’d loved it when snow covered the countryside with a white blanket. He’d skate on the frozen lake and haul the sled over to the highest hill for a ride down the slope. Emily had shared his love of the season. Emily, who skated better than he did, but who shrieked when they took out
the sled and invariably tumbled into a snowdrift.

  The smile he felt on his face dissolved into a frown. He’d lost his taste for the activities he’d enjoyed as a youth. They’d been joyful because of the girl who shared them, the girl he’d decided to marry at the age of twelve.

  He’d somehow made a mockery of his life. And hers.

  He picked up the port, looking forward to another night of oblivion.

  Chapter 6

  Emily plunked the keys of the pianoforte, trying in vain to learn a new tune. This morning she could not concentrate, no matter how hard she tried. Every chord made her wince. Perhaps lack of sleep addled her brain. Yesterday’s encounter with Drew had kept her tossing and turning most of the night.

  They’d finally met face-to-face. The ground had not opened and swallowed either of them. Neither had run away. No angry words had spewed from her mouth, and Andrew had not dropped to his knees to beg her forgiveness. They’d acted like amiable acquaintances encountering one another after a long absence. Perfectly proper, as if unspoken history didn’t simmer between them.

  Emily glanced out of the window at the gloomy day. At least the storm had passed in the night. She pressed a few more keys, but her fingers would not cooperate. With a final dissonant chord, she rose from the bench and stomped back to the sitting room. Maybe she’d occupy herself with sewing, a skill she enjoyed.

  As she hadn’t remained in town this year for the season, there had been no need to create new gowns. Instead she’d amused herself by taking out her old ones and redesigning them. After studying the latest styles from fashion books, she’d refurbished most by adding or removing embellishments. On one or two, she’d changed the bodice or the drape of the skirt. Not caring how she looked when they were purchased, she’d allowed Mama to select them. Now every gown reflected her own taste.

  Restless, she wandered around the room, trying to think of something to do. Perhaps she was ready to design a gown for Christmas using the gorgeous emerald-green velvet she’d found in London last spring. The heavy fabric would be warm, and she had enough cloth to trim a bonnet when she was finished, provided she didn’t make any mistakes.