Scandal's Promise

by Gibson, Pamela

  She harrumphed. Was he?

  She folded the letter and set it aside, relief washing over her. The change in Andrew’s personality was pronounced, especially of late. She believed what Miranda had told her—knowledge gained while married to her first husband. So Cardmore was going to London. How she wished she could contrive to go, but getting Aunt Lily to leave the house right now would be impossible.

  Perhaps she could write to Mama, tell her she had shopping to do. She’d stay for a few days and would come back to Langston Grange in company with her parents. Yes, that was what she would do. Aunt Lily might object, but she needed to be near if the child was found, and wanted desperately to know what Woodley would share.

  She hurried to her room and sat at her writing desk, penning a note to Mama. Next, she responded to Lord Ralston, informing him of her plans. She called Alice and handed her two notes—one for the post, one to be delivered. Now she must tell Aunt Lily. She squared her shoulders and headed downstairs to the drawing room.

  Be strong and confident. This is the right thing to do. If they find George, he will need you.

  Her aunt sat reading a book in the drawing room. The tea service had been removed, but a footman brought a cup and set it by Emily’s side.

  Aunt Lily looked up and marked her page. “You decided to come out of hiding.”

  “I am out of charity with Cardmore at the moment and did not wish to see him.”

  “You blame him then for the missing child?”

  No, she did not blame him. She blamed herself for watching Andrew as he climbed the tree to gather the mistletoe for a kissing bough, for imagining the kisses they might share under it. For taking her eyes off George who was fascinated by the rabbits in the forest.

  “I should have taken the child’s hand. Instead I allowed him to wander. I was sure he would remain in sight. He did not. Five minutes nervously watching Andrew climb a tree and the child was gone. I am ashamed, Aunt Lily. And heartsick.”

  “It is not your fault. How could it be? All of us were within shouting distance, and none of us saw him. It was like he was spirited away in a cloud of faerie dust. First there, then not. I do not know what to make of it.”

  Emily sipped her tea, set down her cup, and leaned forward. “I cannot stay here where all I have to do is look outside and be reminded of my folly. I’ve decided to honor Mama’s request and go to London. She and Papa will be returning here soon, but even a brief stay in town may give Cardmore time to find the child, so when I return I can look upon the forest as a place of peace again.”

  “Are you sure? Would you not want to be here if the boy is found nearby?”

  “I think it best to be distracted. Sitting around is too painful.”

  “Will you tell your parents why you’re going?”

  Was she ready to declare her independence? “I think not. Why worry them when, as you say, finding the child is Cardmore’s concern? Mama wanted me to come before seasonal entertainments ended. By now most of the ton are at their country estates. I still have shopping to do. If Miranda and Longley are to stay here, I want gifts for Phoebe and little James, and there is a better selection in London.”

  “I’m not sure I like having you gone. You and I seem to be kindred spirits, following our artistic pursuits. You’re like the daughter I never had, and I will miss you.”

  “And I you. But it will only be for a week at most.” She hesitated. “You could come with me, you know.”

  “No. I cannot.”

  “I’ve never understood your aversion to London, but I will not pry. We are each allowed our secrets, aren’t we?” Emily had several she was tucking away at the moment.

  “You are a good girl, Emily Sinclair.”

  “Thank you for understanding, Aunt.” And not probing too deeply.

  She finished her tea, feeling uneasy about her decision, and went to her room to pack. She hadn’t lied, but she hadn’t been completely candid with Aunt Lily either. She would go tomorrow early, and she should be able to arrive that day. There had been more rain, but it had been light, and the roads were still clear.

  Calling for Alice, she informed her of her intentions and told her what to pack. She would not take the green velvet dress. Her new creation was for a happy occasion, and for now she would assume she would wear it Christmas Day.

  “Will you be attending any balls?”

  “I think not this late. But pack suitable gowns for dining out and perhaps one ball gown in case someone is celebrating an event. Most of my reason for going is shopping, and of course to make Mama happy. She wonders why I stay here, as her taste for the country has waned. But she’ll be happy to see me, and right now I need the comfort of my family around me.”

  “I am sorry to hear about Master George’s abduction. Everyone belowstairs has been talking about it, wondering if their own families are safe, if there is a monster in our midst.”

  Emily widened her eyes in disbelief. People were frightened?

  “I’m going to share with you because I want you to tell the housekeeper and butler to inform everyone this is Cardmore’s dilemma. He has received written threats, vowing revenge for something he cannot fathom. It has only to do with him. No one else. Unfortunately, the worst crime imaginable for a parent has been committed. But the village children are safe.”

  “Yes, milady. I am relieved. Many glum faces downstairs. Now they can look forward to Christmas again.”

  “Indeed.”

  As the packing was under control, she headed for the music room. She was in need of distraction right now. Something to bring joy to her soul. She would practice Christmas carols—those they might, as a family, sing. She had the music for several, and they would lift her spirits.

  She worried now about what Lord Ralston had told her. Confronting Woodley, an unpleasant man if her memory served, would be daunting. But her greater worry was Andrew’s reaction to his loss of his medication. Could he do without it? He’d told her his pain was tenfold when he went too long. Was Miranda’s first husband correct?

  She found a piece of music to her liking and began to play, letting her hands drift over the familiar keys, trying hard to lose herself in the music. But it was to no avail. After pounding out a few dissonant chords, she left the piano, donned her outerwear, and ran outside all the way to the lake. Alone with her thoughts, she tossed pebbles into the gray water, took deep breaths, and then closed her eyes.

  What had she done with her life? Nothing of use to anyone. She had no husband, no beau, no child, no vocation—not that women were allowed to have one. She hid her true nature from her family by pretending to be what they wanted her to be.

  Not any longer.

  When she reached London, she would not be meek and malleable. She would not sit stiffly in a corner with her embroidery or a book, or play sedate melodies on the pianoforte when asked to perform like a trained monkey. She was Emily Victoria Sinclair, a modern woman in a world quickly changing. She was five and twenty and would do as she pleased.

  And if she decided Andrew had sufficiently changed, then she would take him back. She loved him—always had. Even nasty titters from the likes of people like Lydia, Gwen’s sister-in-law, would not deter her from following her heart.

  Feeling better, she straightened her shoulders and headed back to the house. Looking around at the gorgeous greenery in the forest, she made a vow to herself. George would be found and brought home.

  In time, if she could truly trust Andrew again, she might accept his proposal and become the child’s mother.

  She smiled to herself as she strode back to the house.

  Chapter 31

  Woodley resided in a part of town once fashionable but now home to rum culls, men who could afford to provide royally for their mistresses. The door knocker was up, so Andrew used it, knowing he
might have to force his way beyond the front hallway after being announced.

  Ralston hung back but had tagged along in exchange for Andrew’s promise to visit the new physician he’d located. This one had done research into addictive behaviors.

  The door opened, and an elderly butler invited them in, telling them to wait in the hall while he saw if his master was receiving. Andrew handed him a card and folded his arms.

  He’s in. I can smell his breakfast.

  When the butler returned, he told them his master was not at home, a lie told with an expression as bland as the punch at Almack’s.

  “I doubt that.” He pushed the man out of the way and marched forward to the dining hall where he and Ralston found Woodley sitting alone with a plate full of kippers and eggs in front of him.

  “What is the meaning of this?” He remained at the table, knife in one hand, fork in the other, as if ready to do battle with his intruders.

  “Where is George?” Andrew demanded.

  “With you unless you’ve abandoned him like you did Caroline.”

  “He is not with me, and I believe you know where he is.”

  “What nonsense is this? Are you daft? I sent him to you. He’s your heir.”

  Andrew stepped closer, pulled out the chair next to Woodley, and sat down, motioning to Ralston to do the same. “Someone has abducted him. I thought it might be you since the notes that preceded the kidnapping were all threats promising revenge for my sins.”

  Woodley put down his utensils, his eyes wide, his mouth open. “My grandson has been kidnapped, and you think I had something to do with it? I did right by the boy. I sent him to his legal father, a man who’d shown no interest in him. Why would I take him back? I should be thanked for caring for him during the past six years and compensated for the money I spent on him, or I should say, my late wife spent.”

  “You’ll get not one farthing. And if you are not the culprit, tell me who is because I believe you know.”

  The man scoffed. “What kind of fiddle-faddle is this? I should call the watch to remove you.”

  Andrew stared him in the eye and snarled. “You said you brought him to his legal father. That means you know I am not his natural father. Tell me, Woodley, who is?”

  The man swallowed the bite of food he’d put in his mouth and drank from a draft of ale in front of him. “Caroline did not share her indelicate life with me. She only left me to clean up her mess, and it was a royal one that time. I made sure you—ever fond of drink—were good and foxed, and then I put her in your bed and told her to remain silent until you were undressed. Then shriek like a banshee.” He sneered. “Compliant girl, my Caroline, and beautiful, too. If she’d been less of a trollop, she might have married a duke. One was sniffing after her.”

  Andrew stood and loomed over Woodley, his hand fisted and itching to strike. As his arm moved back, it was caught by Ralston. “Stop. You’re here for information, not for blood. Calm yourself.”

  Andrew glanced at his friend, nodded, and sat back down, taking several deep breaths, aware of an ache starting in his shoulder.

  “So let us go over those so-called indelicacies, shall we? Name those you suspected might be the father of her child. Then we shall see if together we can come to a conclusion. Enjoy your breakfast while I give you my list.”

  Andrew and Ralston, who had both been present at ton events where Caroline gathered an entourage, began by naming those who seemed to surround her everywhere. When Woodley scoffed at most, they narrowed the list down to six who were seen dancing with her twice at balls, hinting at a possible betrothal. Woodley, either nonobservant or cagey, made no comment on these until the final four. With angry words, he relented and set his napkin aside.

  “The Duke of Halstead had been quite smitten, even though a widower twice her age. But he was respectable to a fault. He would have wanted banns read and a grand ton wedding needing months of planning. Out of the question for my daughter who was in the family way.”

  “What about Grimstead? He would have inherited a baronetcy and was well-off if I remember correctly.” Andrew had wondered about him. He’d gone to school with the man and was of a similar age. Fond of cards and loose women then. Would he compromise a ton favorite? He hadn’t been particularly handsome, but was considered quite a catch.

  “A possibility. But he was betrothed soon after, telling me he had someone in his sights, and he didn’t drink. It would have been impossible to fool him. Whether she was foolish enough to allow him in her bed, I know not.”

  Andrew winced. He’d correctly assessed his late wife’s character. “And Nigel Wentworth, who was so outraged he challenged me to a duel for ruining your daughter’s good name?”

  “The man offered for her—a third son. Ridiculous. I wouldn’t have allowed her to marry him under any circumstances. He was destined for the army or the church.”

  Ralston spoke up. “What about the Marquis of Sonderby? He claimed to be desperately in need of a wife although he never seemed to find anyone who met his requirements. He might have been a good candidate.”

  Woodley laughed, nearly spilling his ale for pounding on the table in mirth. “The man did not favor women. It was an act to cover his illegal tastes. Caroline might have made him a fine wife. They could have satisfied their hungers separately with an understanding. I assure you, it was not him.”

  “Then we have only Grimstead to call on since Wentworth emigrated to America,” said Ralston.

  “No, Wentworth is here. I saw him quite recently in front of White’s. He tipped his hat to me as my landau passed. He was about to mount his horse.” Woodley drained his cup. “If I were a betting man, I’d put my money on him, although there may have been others she bedded. He was a besotted young fool, close to her in age, and Caroline loved to tease and be fawned over.”

  Andrew’s limbs failed to move. He couldn’t believe it. Wentworth was back? They would still call on both, but the angry pup seemed the better prospect. He recalled a red-faced lad, spouting epithets, furious because his opponent deloped. Could he be the one behind the notes and the abduction? If he truly believed George his son, he might take him thinking himself in the right.

  Forcing himself to move, Andrew hastened to the door with Ralston behind. There was no time to lose.

  They climbed into the hackney and gave the driver Lord Grimstead’s address, knowing it was unlikely he would be home this time of year. Grimstead was married now and had children of his own. When they arrived, the knocker was not up—they’d missed him.

  “We’ll do Wentworth next, but as I thought him in America, I have no idea where he lives. Shall we try his brother’s townhouse?”

  Ralston nodded, telling the driver where to go. This time it stopped before a grand mansion in Mayfair, not far from Cardmore House. The occupants of this residence were not at home either. This close to Christmas, most had gone to their country estates.

  “Well that’s that.” Ralston scratched his head.

  “But if Wentworth is the culprit, he wouldn’t be with his family. His brother is a paragon of propriety. Do you recall anyone who knew him? He was in the same circles we frequented.” Andrew had a feeling this might be the end of his search, and he could not afford to wait.

  “Why don’t I go through the invitations I’ve received and see if there’s a ton entertainment tonight? If there is, I’m sure you’d be received if I brought you with me, and if Wentworth is still in town and up to no good, he might be in attendance. He’d want to give the appearance of normalcy. The invitations are sparse this time of year. We might get lucky.”

  “Excellent idea, Ralston. I may have a few invitations at my house as well. Let’s stop there first. I have only minimal staff at present, but the post is collected and usually sent on. I was told when I arrived that my recent mail can be found piled on
my desk.”

  When they reached his house, Andrew left his outerwear on and headed for the study. There were several invitations. He stashed them in his pockets and returned to the carriage where Ralston waited. While heading to his friend’s lodgings, he studied each one and chose a musicale being held this evening at the home of an acquaintance, but a person he was sure Ralston knew. “I’m sure you will have a like invitation. ’Tis Gwendolyn Pettigrew’s mother, the Dowager Countess of Cumberland. She is fond of such entertainments, and it will be a small affair. Having seen me at the Moreland ball, she may think I am still in town. Wentworth was acquainted with her son as I recall. It’s a good possibility.”

  “The dowager countess? Yes, I know her well.”

  “We can pen our responses and have someone deliver them.” Lady Gwendolyn was a close friend of Emily’s. Andrew recalled she’d recently visited her in Yorkshire.

  “I think we should dine first,” said Ralston. “I’m famished, and we’ll need our strength if Wentworth is present. In the meantime, let me tell you about Doctor Samuels.”

  Andrew grimaced and nodded. A promise was a promise. He’d brought his laudanum with him, and when he was inside his residence, he’d sneaked a drink. He was in a good frame of mind now, pain free, elated to be making progress at last.

  If George is here in town, I will find him if it’s the last thing on earth I do.

  Chapter 32

  The musicale, by no means a crush, had fewer than two dozen people in attendance.

  “Nigel Wentworth is not here.” Andrew scanned the room, looking for a tall, comely lad with unruly hair and ill-fitting clothes. He’d probably changed, of course, but that was what he remembered.

  Spindly chairs set up in rows in the music room told them the crowd would be small, even when everyone arrived. But the champagne was not unwelcome on a day of too many failures.