Scandal's Promise

by Gibson, Pamela

  “I know. I feel sorry for the boy. Did you know Andrew is still considering sending him to his sister Bronwyn? How could he send his own flesh and blood to someone else to raise?”

  Only he claimed the boy wasn’t his blood.

  “Why? Cardmore Hall is large enough to house its master and a child.”

  “I do not know, but I will certainly quiz him when I see him. He sent a note this afternoon asking if we would help him redecorate part of the Hall—make it more pleasing to the eye. He added the nursery would not be included, since George might be living with his sister’s family.”

  “He must have known the nursery would be your first priority. Should we do it?”

  “Mother would be beside herself.”

  “Perhaps that’s why we should.” Aunt Lily grinned.

  Emily pushed back her chair while Aunt Lily signaled for the tea tray to be brought into the drawing room. Usually they weren’t formal, but tonight they’d behave as proper ladies, take tea after dinner in another room instead of at the dining table. Occasionally they took a small glass of Spanish port, but unlike gentlemen at large dinner parties who remained in the dining room, they sipped theirs in front of the fire.

  “Do you think it will snow? The weather has been unseasonably cool for this time of year.” Emily pulled her shawl around her as she followed her aunt.

  “There’s a definite bite in the air. But no, it is much too early.”

  The butler came into the room with a letter on a silver salver. He bowed before Aunt Lily. “A messenger has arrived with a missive for you. He said it is important.”

  She took the letter and tore open the seal. Her eyes wide, she looked at Emily. “It’s from your mother. Apparently your father took a fall and has injured his leg. We must go to London immediately.”

  Emily had never seen her mischievous, devil-may-care aunt weep, but her eyes filled with tears as she handed over the letter. Alarmed, Emily moved the candle for better light. Was Papa at death’s door? After reading it twice, she relaxed her shoulders. “Mama says he’s fine, Aunt. He suffered a bad sprain, but he was seen by a competent surgeon.” She looked up and saw abject pain on her aunt’s face. “We’ll go to London tomorrow. Papa is resilient and a good patient. You’ll feel better once you see him.”

  “I wonder if he tumbled from a horse. He’s never been a bruising rider, but at your father’s age, I cannot imagine he would be doing anything more than a sedate trot.” She swiped at her eyes with her sleeve. “I believe I’ll retire now. I’ll order the carriage. I want to leave early.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Aunt Lily rushed out to make arrangements, leaving Emily alone with her thoughts. Papa had always been a shadowy figure in her life. Leaving child-rearing to Mama, he treated her and her siblings well, but was not close to any except her older brother, Charles. Like Andrew, she was the youngest of three children, but unlike Andrew, her middle brother was only three years older. She and William had been close growing up, but William was in government service and now resided in Canada.

  Aunt Lily adored Papa and would want to reassure herself he was in no danger. But that posed a problem. Emily had hoped to visit Cardmore Hall tomorrow to prod Andrew into purchasing a pony for George. Even if Bronwyn agreed to raise the child, he would still visit his father. He was the heir after all.

  When she returned to her room, she cornered her maid. “We’re going to London tomorrow. Papa has had an accident, and Aunt Lily is worried. Pack for a week, and you may as well include a few gowns suitable for entertainments. If Mama has invitations, she’ll insist I attend them with her.”

  Alice bobbed a curtsy and went to the dressing room to pack.

  It seems Mama will have me in town for a few social gatherings after all.

  Emily sat down at her writing desk. A quick note would let Andrew know she and her aunt would not be at home for at least a week. If by chance, Father was worse than Mama’s letter indicated, they would stay longer. She ended the missive with a plea to consider the pony.

  She sealed her note and took it downstairs. The butler was dousing candles in the dining room. “Please have someone deliver this note to Cardmore Hall after we leave tomorrow.”

  “Very good, my lady.”

  “Will all be in readiness?”

  “It will. Mrs. Whittington’s maid is packing as we speak, and cook is preparing a basket you can take in the carriage.”

  “I shall see you in the morning then.”

  Emily returned to her room and sat at her favorite window, staring out at the gloomy night. No moon was visible, meaning they would probably have rain on the journey. She picked up a book she wanted to read, but after the first few pages blurred, she set it aside. Once in London, Mama would be reluctant to let her return. She’d have to be strong, something she found lacking in her character when in the presence of her mother. Aunt Lily was right. She allowed Mama to make her feel guilty when they disagreed, meekly submitting to her wishes as if she were still a child.

  Am I ready for a confrontation?

  If Mama learned she’d been visiting Andrew and his son, there would be endless lectures. She could feel the words burning her ears, and they hadn’t even departed yet.

  The good side to this crisis was the visit itself. As soon as she knew Papa was mending, she could slip away and purchase more toys. The village shops were adequate but did not carry many items for children. Bookshops in town stocked a wider selection as well. Mrs. Townsend had promised to read to George each day but did not feel adequate to teach him his letters or numbers. Perhaps Andrew would allow her to do it while George was still in residence.

  She smiled to herself as she remembered the boy’s bright eyes and childish squeal when he’d opened the package containing the horse. Children were easy to please. Small items caused such delights, and poor George, bereft of a mother and unloved by his father, must be starved for affection.

  Children needed to be cuddled and cherished. She had been—Mama had seen to it. But Andrew? After his mother had died, there’d been no one. He admitted he knew nothing about the needs of children. Perhaps he didn’t know how to give George affection since he had not had love in his own life.

  Thank God for Mrs. Townsend, a kindly woman with much experience.

  She picked up her book, determined to read at least one chapter. When her eyes began to droop, she gave up and turned to Alice who stood in the doorway.

  “I laid out your night rail and cap. Shall I assist you out of your garments now, my lady?”

  “Yes. I believe I’m ready to nod off.”

  She rose and turned in front of Alice who unbuttoned the back of her dress and unlaced her corset. Standing in her shift, she moved over to the pitcher and ewer and washed her face with lavender soap. The scent soothed her, and she slid the nightgown over her head and down her body. Tomorrow she must rise early so they could get to her father’s London townhouse in daylight. She did not countenance traveling on city streets at night, even with a competent coachman and grooms.

  Her eyes closed the moment her bed-curtains were drawn. She fell asleep and woke only once. She’d awakened on her side with her nightgown bunched between her legs, causing a strange tingle she hadn’t felt there in years. She’d been dreaming of Andrew. They’d been in the meadow next to the lake, lying in the sweet grass, facing one another, and he’d been running his hands over her body, making her moan with pleasure. The stroking had sent pleasurable shivers along her spine, awakening a longing for something she’d missed. Awake, she lay still for a long time, trying to relive the dream, but it faded away.

  Drew, Drew, I cannot love you again, because I do not trust you.

  Her emotions were a tangled mess.

  Perhaps Mama was right. She should reenter society and see if someone might be lookin
g for a woman with more maturity. If she married, she could bear her own children. Her friend Gwen had married for motherhood, hoping for a quiet companionship with her husband. She’d never expected to find love, but when it developed, it had been a bonus.

  Most couples of their class did not marry because their hearts were engaged. They married for practical reasons. There was no reason why she couldn’t be one of them. She would have to rid herself of the dreams of her youth that still haunted her, and those of the man who had been her happily ever after only to turn into her worst nightmare.

  Could she do it? The next few days might hold the answer.

  Chapter 15

  Andrew was outside the stable, inspecting the condition of the paddock, when a rider trotted into the yard.

  Ralston jumped down from his horse and handed the reins to the groom.

  Andrew patted the horse’s muzzle. “You’re early. I wasn’t expecting you until the morrow.”

  “The weather was not good for shooting. John and I spent most of the time indoors discussing new farming theories. He’s most interested in raising beef cattle and has a wild idea called crop rotation. Apparently it’s a new concept being discussed in radical farming circles. No one is doing it yet, but Montague is a great reader and comes across all sorts of crazy notions.”

  “No shooting at all?”

  “One day, and another spent fishing in a good-sized river. Played a few good chess games, too.” He grinned and followed Andrew into the house and on up to his sitting room. “How’s the bantling? All settled in now?”

  “I found a local woman to see to his needs. She was recommended by Mrs. Whittington at Langston Grange.”

  “Emily’s aunt—so you’ve made some inroads there.”

  “If you’re asking if Emily has forgiven me, the answer is no. She barely looks at me. But she seems quite taken with George. Brought him a few gifts and is pestering me to get him a pony.”

  Ralston lifted the stopper on a decanter of brandy and poured a tot. “I think that’s a capital idea. The boy is at a good age to be introduced to horses.”

  Andrew poured his own glass and sat opposite. “The thing is I’ve written to Bronwyn to see if she’ll take him—raise him with her brood. This dismal edifice is no place for a child.”

  “Is your sister in town? A lot of our acquaintances have already gone to their country estates for the holidays.”

  “I believe so. If not, one of her staff will send the letter on. I’ll have to wait a few days before I decide anything further.”

  “Then I’ll remain until you hear. Actually, if your sister’s in London, let’s go there to talk to her. You can stay at my lodgings if you don’t want to open your townhouse. You need to consult a physician about your shoulder. I mentioned it to Montague, and he and his wife agree something’s wrong.”

  His words made sense, but did he want to leave now when it appeared Emily might be willing to be friends again? Even with her disdain, she still knew him better than anyone else, and he trusted her on most matters. She was intelligent as well as beautiful and had no problem with putting him in his place if she thought he was wrong.

  If only I didn’t see Caroline every time I looked at the boy.

  If George’s hair and eyes had been brown, like his own, would he have thought differently? Everyone assumed George to be his natural son. Caroline’s father was the only one left, besides Emily and Ralston, who knew the truth. Emily didn’t believe him. Ralston said he did, but seemed to eye him with speculation at times when talking about the boy.

  His companion set his empty glass down and rose. “I believe I’ll rid myself of the smell of horse and settle in. The day looks like it’s going to be fine. Why don’t we go into the village and nose around a bit at the pub, find out if anyone has a pony for sale?”

  “Today?”

  “All boys must learn to ride. It’s a manly skill. The earlier the better. If nothing is available in the village, we’ll pay a visit to Tattersalls while in London. A pony might be had there.” He paused. “I’m assuming you will heed my advice and visit a reputable physician.”

  Andrew sighed. “Very well. We’ll try to find a pony here, and I promise to visit Harley Street next time I’m in town.” He laughed.

  “What’s so amusing?”

  “I’d already decided a pony would make a fine Christmas present.”

  Ralston shook his head as he followed the butler up the stairs to his room.

  Andrew called out for Lester. “Find my tonic. My arm is starting to hurt.” Arm, body, head, soul. What was left? Ralston was right. He needed to find out what was wrong because he was taking more and more of the drug to make the pain ease. He didn’t want to carry a bottle around with him, but he was almost ready to do so.

  Spirits helped, but he didn’t want to be continually foxed either. The wound in his leg from the duel years ago had mended quickly. Perhaps he’d had better motivation then, wanting to heal as soon as possible to join his regiment and get away from an unwanted wife.

  It had been bad of him to leave Caroline in the country with Father, knowing the man’s religious fanaticism. But he’d been young, arrogant, and livid. She hadn’t remained long. He’d learned she’d scurried off to London to Cardmore House where she set up her household, attending dinners and balls until her condition made it impossible for her to be out in public.

  Father must have paid her bills, or perhaps he hadn’t. She’d had wealthy admirers who sniffed around her skirts even after she was married.

  A twinge of anger still bubbled within, but he was surprised to find it wasn’t as intense as it had been. His time on the battlefield must have hardened him, made him realize that petty grievances were best forgotten.

  Lester knocked and entered with tonic and a letter. “This was delivered this morning by a footman from Langston Grange, my lord.”

  He flicked open the sealed note and read the contents twice before tossing it onto the table. Emily and her aunt were no longer in residence. If Emily’s father was seriously injured, they would remain in London until he was out of danger.

  Maybe it was for the best. She was barely in charity with him. Although he’d seen a hint of longing in her face during their last encounter in the nursery, it had quickly diminished. When he sent George away, she would be cross. Any hopes of renewing their former friendship would be lost.

  He laughed at the last sentences in her note. “I implore you to consider the pony. Remember how you felt when you first rode yours—Redbird? I recall the coachman led you around the paddock. I was terribly jealous. I had to wait ages before I learned to ride. Do your duty.”

  Ralston’s suggestion was a good one. He didn’t know many people in the village, but it was a place to start. The only one who visited there regularly was Lester, and he only went to the apothecary.

  If a child’s horse was available, he and Ralston could have a look at it. No harm would be done. As long as he was responsible for the child—one who clearly carried his name—he would do what was necessary.

  He looked at the other letters, the ones that had come in the post. Unlike his father, who lavished attention on the church but paid little heed to tradesmen’s bills, he preferred to settle his accounts in a timely manner.

  I’m not all bad.

  He set aside the bills to be sent on to the steward for review. Two other letters were invitations to dine with neighbors. He’d pen his regrets. A third was an odd-sized note folded in half on rough paper.

  The message inside made him pause.

  You will pay.

  He sat at his desk and turned over the single sheet. He’d received a few unsigned notes after the duel, comparing him to rude animal body parts and other unsavory images, but those he’d dismissed as tidings from Caroline’s disappointed wooers. Nothing in t
he years since. Some of the men under his command had died in battle, but war was not pleasant, and those serving were aware of the odds. It must be someone’s idea of a jest. But who? And why?

  He refolded it and stuck it in a drawer. He’d show it to Ralston, and they’d have a good laugh. Right now a nap wouldn’t be amiss. After nuncheon, he and Ralston would ride into the village. Perhaps he’d stop and visit the vicar. He hadn’t set foot in a church since his return, but the vicar had called on him twice to ask after his injury.

  What other ghosts must I lay to rest?

  He plodded up the stairs and, on impulse, continued to the third floor. As unsettling as it was, he needed to become further acquainted with George. To the world, he was his heir and would inherit the Cardmore title and all of the entailed holdings. As Emily had pointed out, it would look odd if he ignored him.

  The child was asleep, as was Mrs. Townsend who nodded in a rocking chair near the fireplace. Not wishing to disturb either, he tiptoed only as far as the bedchamber door and watched the child in repose. The boy made a small whimpering sound, prompting the cat—snuggled next to him—to lift her head. The carved horse was near his hand on the other side of the pillow.

  You are a turncoat, Lady Cat, or should I say turnfur. To think you were my bedmate until you found a better companion.

  He turned away and walked quietly back into the hall. “The child is innocent.” Emily’s words entered his thoughts. Whatever the mother had done was not the fault of the child, she’d said. He needed to amend his attitude.

  He would try. But he was damaged goods, thanks to dear Papa. At least Bronwyn understood the needs of a child.

  The warmth of the fire in his sitting room beckoned. Lester was not about, so he took off his coat and waistcoat and tossed his cravat on a table. He stifled a yawn and stood in front of the window. A man dressed in a brown greatcoat and beaver hat strode toward the woods, disappearing among the trees.