Nodding to acquaintances, he and Ralston sipped and made small talk with their hostess. A few ton favorites were still in town, possibly because of a few special entertainments celebrating the end of the war. Crystals gleamed in candle-lit chandeliers, and bejeweled matrons in the latest fashion drifted around the room. Greenery brought from the countryside gave the room a warm holiday feeling. He’d even spied a kissing bough over one of the doors.
“My lord, I am happy you were in town and could accept my invitation.” Their hostess beamed at him and nodded to the young girl at her side. “May I present my niece, Lady Charlotte? This is the Earl of Cardmore.”
Andrew bowed and kissed the hand offered. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Charlotte. Do you play the harp?”
She shook her head. “No, sir. I dabble at the pianoforte. Not the harp.”
“But she has an exquisite singing voice.” Her aunt patted her arm. “I have convinced her to sing a carol, accompanied by our guest artist tonight.”
“I shall look forward to it.” Andrew glanced toward the door, and his heart nearly stopped. Following close behind a bearded man he didn’t know, Lady Emily drifted in, accompanied by her mother.
When had Em come to town?
“Excuse me.” He bowed again and made his way toward the door. Ralston, talking to a man in regimentals, caught his gaze and looked in the direction he walked. The unknown man moved away into the crowd, and Andrew found himself face-to-face with Emily and her mother.
“Lady Langston.” He bowed. “And Lady Emily. What a pleasant surprise to see you both here.”
“The surprise is mine, I assure you.” Lady Langston’s tone was frosty, and he expected Emily to look away. She did not.
“I didn’t know you would be at this entertainment, Lord Cardmore.” Emily studied him critically as if expecting to see a different person. Did she know about the promise he’d made to Ralston? How could she? He had not conversed with her before he left town.
“A great deal has happened since George’s abduction. I have much to tell you,” he stammered. Lady Langston glared at him as if he’d grown horns.
“I want to hear everything. You haven’t found him yet, then?”
“No. But I’m hoping to see someone here tonight who may have answers. I feel confident I will know more quite soon.” He slanted a glance at Ralston.
His friend seemed deep in conversation with the stranger and then edged toward the hallway, signaling Andrew to follow. “If you’ll excuse me. I hope to call on you tomorrow, Lady Emily.”
“You are not welcome at our home, Cardmore,” Lady Langston hissed.
Emily placed her hand on her mother’s arm. “It is my home, too, and I do wish to hear your news. If Mama does not want to receive you, perhaps we can meet in Hyde Park near the serpentine. Send me a note as to the time.”
She pulled a sputtering Lady Langston away, even though he sensed she wanted to know everything now. She would have to wait. They had not yet found Wentworth.
He joined Ralston at the door.
“Our quarry is here. I told him I wanted a private word with him. He was perplexed. I said it was of the greatest importance. I do not believe he knows you are here. When he entered the room, your back was turned.”
“He is here? I didn’t see him enter.”
“You practically bumped him on your way to greet Lady Langston and Emily.”
“The robust man with a beard was Wentworth? I would not have known him.”
“Thankfully I am not a besotted fool who sees only the lady who lights my life. If you had taken a good hard look at him, you would have recognized him. By the nose alone.”
Guilty as charged. He’d seen only Emily in the doorway.
They headed down the hall to the library. The door was closed, and when Andrew opened it, Wentworth stepped back in disbelief. “You!”
“Yes, me. Fit as a fiddle you see. Your damage wasn’t nearly as great as the French saber that cut me in battle. But I am healed and ready to do battle again. Where is George?”
“I do not know who you are talking about.” He looked at Ralston. “Is this the urgent matter you wished to discuss?”
Ralston hung back.
It’s my fight, and he knows it.
“I want my son. Tell me where he is.”
“Your son? Why do you think I have him?”
“Because I suspect you still hold me responsible for your loss of Caroline’s favor.”
He grew red in the face, and his breaths quickened. His hands fisted next to his body.
“You’re bloody right, but it’s not her favor I lament. I hold you responsible for her death. You abandoned her, left her in that monstrosity of a house with your sanctimonious father, and it was a miracle she escaped that religious zealot and went back to London to live in the townhouse for a few months. Your dear papa hated her because she refused to be subservient and laughed at his religion. Fortunately, he didn’t force her to return when she left.”
“How do you know these things? Did you not go to America?”
“When she came to London, I had not yet departed. She wrote to me. Miserable and alone. You didn’t care. You had no interest in her. You provided a meager allowance and turned your back.” He stopped and took several deep breaths as if trying to control his emotions. “She loved me. Then you compromised her. I had no chance.”
Andrew stepped forward, looking right into his face. “You’re deluding yourself. She never loved you.”
“She did. She was heartbroken when her fool of a father turned me down when I offered for her.”
“Because you had no prospects, and Caroline coveted money, as did her father. She was a damn good actress. She should have been on the stage.”
“No, she was going to run off with me. But you had to force her into marriage. She was afraid of you—what you might do when you returned.”
This conversation was going nowhere. “Listen to me now, Wentworth, and then tell me where the child is. Caroline Woodley trapped me into marriage. I was betrothed to Emily Sinclair and wanted no other. What do you not understand? You fought a duel over nothing. I tried to tell you at the time, but you wouldn’t listen.”
“She loved me, I tell you.” His voice was raised. Ralston had not closed the door. Hopefully some wandering soul would not intrude.
“She wanted nothing from you but entertainment,” said Andrew.
“Oh, I entertained her, I did. Put my cock in her and gave her a child. George is my son, not yours. The boy should be with his real father. He’s stashed where you will never find him, and I will take him back to America where I have rights. When you die, he will return to step into your title and his English inheritance, and I will help him spend his money.”
“You care for him, then?”
He laughed. “The brat has value. I care for the money he’ll inherit. Soon, too, by the looks of you.”
Andrew swallowed and prayed the lie he was about to tell would get his child back. He took a deep breath, moved closer to Wentworth, and sneered.
“George is my son. Not yours. On our wedding night, Caroline had her menses. A week later I put my cock in her, as you crudely put it. She was quite happy and announced six weeks later she was with child.”
He fisted his hands. “You lie.”
“No, I do not. George is my son. My natural son. Tell me where he is and promise to leave town, and I will not hand you over to the local magistrate.”
“He’s mine, and you will not have him. He is the picture of his mother. He’s all I have left of her.”
Andrew clamped his hand on Nigel’s arm. “Tell me now, Wentworth, where he is, or I shall immediately inform the authorities. I will shout your perfidy to the rooftops and make a grand scene. Your brother, the
marquis, will disown you for what you’ve done.”
He faltered and seemed taken aback. “How do I know you’re not fabricating a story to get what you want?”
“Do you know the date of George’s birth?” He was gambling here that Wentworth had left England by then.
“Not exactly.”
“It was ten months to the day from the date of our marriage. Woodley sent a note to tell me where George’s birth and baptism was recorded when he sent the boy to live with me. Ralston was there. He can confirm the notation in the parish register.”
“’Tis true,” Ralston insisted.
Nigel wilted before him. Andrew pressed his advantage, taking a more moderate tone to hopefully get the information he desperately needed. If Nigel believed him, he would know he had no moral claim to the boy, and certainly no legal one. He would be branded a kidnapper.
“I love my son, Nigel. As you loved Caroline. You must let her go, marry, have your own children. There’s nothing like seeing a small boy look up at you with awe and pride. George is to have a pony for Christmas. Do not deny him his birthright. What can you give him that I cannot? ’Tis true, while I took my rights as a husband, I came to resent my wife for the entrapment. She didn’t want you, but she didn’t want me either. She loved only my prospects and my future title. But I care for George, Nigel. I’m telling you the truth. Caroline would not want you to do this.”
“You left her. You weren’t even there when George was born,” he sputtered.
Another lie formed on his lips. “I also love my country, and duty called. Surely you can understand my priorities.”
He held his breath, sensing a change in Wentworth’s demeanor. His mouth was set in a hard line, and his weight shifted from one foot to the other.
“You swear he is your natural son?”
“As many times as I had her under me, I can truthfully say there was no time for any other man.
He looked away, breathing hard. “I must think. Away from here. I’ll send you my response tomorrow.”
“Is he safe? Well?”
Nigel snorted. “I’m not a monster, Cardmore. The boy is unharmed. Not particularly comfortable and wailing so much I had to smack him.”
Andrew’s hands fisted as rage threatened to choke him. Ralston strode over and grabbed his arms, ushering him toward the door.
“We will await your word.” Ralston opened it wide, and Andrew’s heart nearly dropped to the floor with what awaited him there.
Lady Emily stood outside, tears running down her cheeks.
Oh God, had she heard everything?
She turned and disappeared down the hall.
Emily would never believe him now.
He wanted to run after her, but Ralston restrained him. “Come. We have plans to make. You can explain everything to Emily later.”
He was right.
They left the party and hastened home.
Chapter 33
Emily ran until she reached the ladies’ retiring room. She’d told her mother she needed to adjust her corset and had wandered down the hall, hoping to find Andrew, who’d left the room a few minutes earlier.
The voices near the library had drawn her. Andrew had confronted Nigel Wentworth, someone she’d met years ago and barely recognized. Ralston, his back to the door, had stood to the side.
Eavesdroppers never hear anything good.
Who had said that? Her mother? Aunt Lily? Some long-dead philosopher? Whoever it was made a correct statement because she’d remained outside the open door as voices rose and a speech she’d never thought to hear tore her heart to shreds.
I never touched her.
Hadn’t he said those very words while sitting by the lake when he’d explained the reason for the grief he’d caused.
George is not my natural son. Caroline was with child when I married her.
He’d denied fathering George over and over, claiming ignorance as to who the child’s real father was. Now he’d told the truth, and deep down she was glad of it, because Nigel Wentworth should not have the boy. He belonged with Andrew, his legal and natural father. She was sure now he only denied parentage so she would not think ill of him for virtually abandoning the child all those years.
She dried her tears and calmed herself, brushing water onto her face. Taking several calming, deep breaths, she sat on a chair, grateful no one else was in the room. The strains of a familiar carol, played skillfully by the harpist, met her ears. Mama would be cross. And why not? She’d been right all along regarding Cardmore’s character. When the song ended, she gathered her dignity and walked sedately into the music room. Spying a chair Mama had reserved for her, she made her way to it and smiled.
“It took longer than I expected to fix my problem,” she whispered to her mother. “I am comfortable now.”
“I was about to go looking for you.”
“No need.” Another song began, and she scanned the room. There was no sign of Cardmore, Ralston, or Wentworth.
Good. I can enjoy the music even though my heart is breaking.
He’d proposed but never said he loved her. She’d assumed he did because she loved him. How foolish to want a man who told only lies and cared only for his medication. Maybe that was a lie, too—telling Ralston he would attempt a change.
Tears formed again, and she took a handkerchief out of her reticule, dabbing at her eyes. Nothing could make the knot in her chest go away, or the pain rising in her throat. Thankfully they sat near the back of the room, and no one stared at her. When “The Coventry Carol” ended, everyone clapped vigorously.
Mama looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Are you quite all right? I thought I saw a tear on your cheek.”
If she answered, her voice would crack. She forced a smile and nodded. Swallowing twice, she whispered, “The music. So poignant.”
“Indeed. The harpist is gifted.”
Mama wanted to remain for the light repast, and when the evening ended, Emily glided out the door with her composure intact. On the way home, Mama lectured her about Cardmore.
“I do not want that man in the house. You must not encourage him. I realize you have known him since you were children, but he discarded you like rancid fowl. You must not receive him.”
She bit her lip, willing it not to tremble. “I shall not. I promise. I was only being polite.”
“What was all that about, and who is George?”
She could not tell her mother everything, but she’d say enough so she would not be badgered with questions. “George is Cardmore’s son who’s come to live with him. When the boy went missing, Cardmore and his friend Lord Ralston entreated everyone to help find him. Of course, Aunt Lily and I did what we could.”
Mama sighed and looked away. “I didn’t know the babe lived. What a tragedy. Has the boy been restored?”
“I know not. I believe Cardmore is in London because of a-a lead.”
“I see. Well, I certainly do not wish ill for any child. I hope he is found safe and sound and can be restored to his parent, such as he is.”
Emily sat in silence the rest of the way. Perhaps she should go back home even if Mama would think it odd she’d came to London to shop and hadn’t yet.
I want to know what happens to George. Perhaps Ralston will keep me informed. He knows I care about the child.
“You are very quiet. Are you upset because Cardmore was there? I know you were happy that Lydia declined.”
As a young girl, she’d thought Mama’s direct gaze penetrated her brain and saw what thoughts swirled there, when in fact, Mama knew if she continued to stare, Emily would eventually tell her what was on her mind. The trick worked now as Emily unburdened herself—partially, at least—hoping Mama would sense her hurt and not scold.
“Andrew an
d I had become in charity again. Initially, ’twas the little boy who drew me. He was literally dropped on Andrew’s doorstep and seemed shy and frightened. I brought him toys, and Aunt Lily recommended a village woman to be his nurse. I-I’ve grown quite fond of him.”
Mama appeared to be listening without judgment, although a grim expression thinned her lips.
“You’ve not fallen back in love with him, have you?”
Ah, the question she knew would be asked.
“Yes and no. You see, pathetic creature that I am, I never fell out of love with him. When he married Caroline, he hurt me terribly. I allowed anger, despair, even hatred to enter my feelings. I have no use for those emotions now. When I look at Andrew, I see the young boy who grew up to be my best friend, whose misery at the hands of his pious father elicited a need in me to comfort and protect him. Those feelings grew into love.”
She stopped to search her mother’s face in the dim light, but could see only the outline of her features, not the expression. “One does not douse love like a candle flame. It stays deep in your heart, ready to come alive at the merest provocation. But if you are concerned I will act on that love by mooning after a man who has proven over and over to be unworthy, you need not. I shall be polite, as you taught me. Aunt and I shall receive him if he calls because he is a neighbor and Aunt and I are fond of the child and choose to be part of his life. Aunt Lily as an art teacher. Me”—she faltered—“me, as a substitute mother until Andrew marries again.”
The lengthy recitation elicited no verbal response from Mama, but her gloved hand squeezed her daughter’s gently. Emily sighed. She did not like hiding things from her mother, and now she would not have to.
Arriving home, the carriage stopped, and Emily and her mother alighted. At this late hour, sleep beckoned. She kissed Mama on the cheek, thanked her for her forbearance, and climbed the stairs. Alice waited to help her undress and handed her a nightgown warmed by the grate.
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