Scandal's Promise

by Gibson, Pamela

  Pacing, he glanced at the clock, then turned and walked the length of the room.

  This will not do.

  When would he hear?

  Surely Wentworth had kept the child in town and not on one of his brother’s estates outside of London.

  Stop it. Do not pace. Sit and read. Or formulate a plan.

  But when he looked at the clock again, the hands had not moved more than a quarter of an hour.

  Cook would be belowstairs. Perhaps he should venture there and beg a cup of tea and a sweet. But then the footman would have to find him when the note came.

  His shoulder hurt abominably, and he decided to drink brandy instead of his normal dose of medicine. A decanter always resided in the library. Taking a swig, he flopped back in the chair, aware of every tick of the clock.

  Why had he become dependent on the drug when other wounded soldiers had healed, given up medications, and gone on about their business? If Harley Street physicians couldn’t answer the question, then perhaps there was no answer. Did he enjoy the euphoria as well as the pain ceasing? Did it mask some inner shame he could not put a name to?

  Do not delude yourself. You can put a name to it. ’Tis your abominable cowardice that shames you still, both in battle and in your personal life.

  Shame penetrated the layers of the soul and resided there like an agonizing disease until the torment was such that the sufferer would do anything to shake it free. He was ready. If he allowed it to remain, he would wallow in guilt for the rest of his days.

  It was long past time to forgive himself for the sins of the past, his childhood rebellion against a father whose grief burdened his children. For his abandonment of beautiful, kind-hearted Emily when he should have stood up to society and shouted his innocence. For retreating in the face of battle to save his men, even if he did not have the order to do so.

  Yes. He could forgive himself now because he had a future with a child who was not of his blood, who had wormed his way into his heart and brought it back to life when he’d thought it dead. He would have to endure a hideous torment first, but when it ended, he could move forward, and if he was very, very lucky, Emily would come back—to him and to George.

  Satisfied, he awaited the return of Ralston with a calmer demeanor.

  He would get through this.

  He would survive.

  Chapter 35

  Emily pretended to doze during the trip back to Langston Grange, lest Mama feel like lecturing her. In her corner, she closed her eyes. No tears would show if her thoughts turned to the worst day of her life.

  Worst? Even the day she’d finally been told Cardmore had ruined Caroline Woodley and was honor bound to marry her, she’d wailed like a babe in the privacy of her room, but to the world she’d stiffened her lip and ignored the gossips. This time, she’d heard lies directly from Andrew’s lips, a man she’d allowed herself to fall back in love with, thinking he needed her, as did George.

  No one needed her, not even the widowers who Mama had once recommended. If any were still searching for a wife, they had not remained in town but had gone off to their country seats for the holidays.

  A final lurch told her they’d arrived. She fluttered her eyes for effect and stifled a yawn behind her gloved fingers.

  Mama peered into her face. “I daresay you could sleep during a cavalry charge. But are you rested, Emily, or even more tired than you were before?”

  “I am quite refreshed, Mama. But I do hope Aunt Lily has tea and cakes ready. I am famished.”

  The door opened, and a footman handed down Mama first. When it was her turn, she nearly missed the bottom step. So much for feigning sleep. She was positively groggy with the need for her own bed.

  She took Mama’s arm, and together they mounted the front steps where Aunt Lily awaited. “How was your journey? Not too long, I hope. At least the roads are good.” She looked past Emily’s shoulder. “Where is . . .?”

  “Papa remained with the carriage to give instructions to the stablemaster, Aunt. He’ll be along directly.”

  Mama sniffed. The bond between sister and brother was still strong. Emily wondered if Mama was a tad jealous since it was well known her marriage to Papa, while cordial, had not been a love match, and while they were fond of one another, they’d never been close.

  Mama entered the house and went straight up the stairs to the family parlor. Emily paused in the foyer and rubbed the back of her neck as she perused the hall. “You did it? You’ve decorated, and with me only helping at the start. And look at this? Satin ribbons twined among the green boughs. How beautiful it is.”

  “You can thank the servants. I only directed their efforts. Come with me into the drawing room. I’m dying to hear what’s happened.” She tugged Emily through a door into a formal public room and closed the door. “Has George been found?”

  Emily sank onto a settee and threaded her fingers through the curls over her ears. “Not when I left. I expected Ralston to send word, but none came.”

  “Ralston? Why not Cardmore?”

  Swallowing to hide her disappointment, she told Aunt Lily everything that had happened, from her meeting with Andrew at the musicale to the revelations in the library.

  “Oh, my dear, you are sure you heard right?”

  “Yes. The man lied to me on more than one occasion, trying to make me believe he had never touched Caroline and George was not his son. To explain his original disdain toward the child, I presume. And then when Nigel Wentworth spewed his venom out of revenge for Caroline, Cardmore contradicted him at every turn, offering Ralston to corroborate his statements.”

  “But, Emily, perhaps that was the real lie.”

  “He claimed so, but how can I believe anything he says now, Aunt? I wanted to believe him, but I cannot. In addition to lying, he is addicted to his medication. I’ve seen him swallow nearly half a bottle of laudanum at one time.”

  “Are you sure?” Aunt Lily narrowed her eyes. “I know many who take it to calm themselves, or to improve their mood—not only for pain—but I would not call them dependent.”

  Emily picked up a porcelain figurine and turned it over in her hand. “He claims he is going to go through a procedure outlined by a physician from Harley Street to rid himself of the need. But not yet.” She set down the figure. “He always has an excuse. I-I have given up on him, Aunt. I will not put myself through grief again over him.”

  She stood and took a hesitant step toward the door, but Aunt Lily stayed her with a hand on her arm. “Shall we wait and see what the outcome of all this drama is? I am sorely afraid for the boy, but if he is returned, he may need you. He is fond of his father, but more fond of you, my dear. He may need a substitute mama until he recovers from his ordeal.”

  Emily nodded. She’d thought of that. Told Mother. For George, she could endure Cardmore’s presence, but her ears would be closed to any entreaties.

  What about your heart?

  Her misery had gone on too long. Feelings of inadequacy had plagued her after Andrew left her for Caroline, and it had taken years to rebuild her confidence. The fact she’d never accepted another offer made others think less of her. And yes, there had been a few from persons she had no interest in. Did she care? Had she reached the point in her life where she was happy with her own company, happy being Aunt Lily’s companion? Not entirely. Sometimes she felt like a flattened cloth doll—something was missing inside, and she didn’t know how to make herself whole.

  She would not think about it now.

  Mama called out, wondering where Emily was.

  “We’d better go. If I think of anything I’ve left out, I shall tell you after dinner.”

  “Very well.”

  Emily ran her fingertips under her eyes and opened the door with Aunt Lily following. Mama sat at the tea table with Papa
nearby with a plate of sweets.

  “There you are.” He set down his plate, struggled to his feet, and bypassed Emily to give his younger sister a hug. “How do you fare? Can you not endeavor to visit us more often in London?”

  “You know I cannot abide London.”

  “Then we must spend more time in the country.” He laughed and pinched his sister’s cheek, then met his daughter’s eye. “What say you, Emily? Would you like to see more of your family? And whyever did you remain here during the season? You are still unwed. My beautiful daughter, heading off to lead apes. I shall not allow it.”

  “’Tis an old-fashioned term, Papa. I prefer spinster. The word carries more dignity.”

  “Dignity you have aplenty, my girl. But there’s no need for you to be a spinster.”

  Mama poured a cup of tea and added two lumps of sugar. “Seat yourself, Langston, and drink your tea. You and your sister can catch up later. For now, we are all in need of a bracing cup and a peaceful rest.” She nodded toward her daughter. “Except for Emily, who slept the minute the carriage was away.”

  “It was dawn, Mama. I was barely awake. The clip-clop of the horses lulled me into a doze.” And gave her a great deal of peace.

  Now her legs itched to walk, but the light already grew dim. She sedately drank her tea, then made the excuse she needed the necessary, and instead hurried to the kitchens where she donned an old cloak, slipped outside, and sped along the path to the lake. Alice usually accompanied her when Mama was home, but today Emily needed exercise to relax her mind. And she naturally wandered toward the one place she sought when she needed to think. Her childhood refuge, only without Andrew.

  The lake was still in the late afternoon, the sun about to dip below the horizon. The smell of pines seemed commonplace with all the greenery in the house. She picked up a handful of stones and skipped them across the surface. The ripples quickly faded, but lulled her into a calmer state.

  Had Wentworth returned George? Lord have mercy, the poor child had to be frightened out of his wits. First to be thrust upon a stranger and told the man was his papa and then to be kidnapped and locked in a dark cupboard. Now to be taken away by yet another stranger—unless it was Lord Nigel who took him the first time. No, Mrs. Townsend had said the man had been masked, had on rough clothes, and was dark haired. Nigel was tall, angular, and fair.

  Her thoughts strayed to Andrew. Living here in close proximity, she would of course see him from time to time, but she could avoid all private discourse. Their relationship, distant for so long, had finally been bridged. But the bridge, by necessity, could be withdrawn. They would now look at each other as if from across a moat, and there was no turning back.

  Unless George needs me.

  If only she could find a way to see the child on a regular basis without Cardmore. The art lessons with Aunt Lily might be the proper ploy. If the child was musically inclined, she could give him lessons on the pianoforte. Once he was packed off to school, it would be another matter. She would have to stiffen her emotions and learn not to miss him.

  George, that was.

  But she wasn’t deceiving herself. She would miss Andrew as well.

  Because I am a fool.

  Chapter 36

  Time continued to crawl, even after Ralston joined him. Andrew wore a path in his library carpet, and Ralston fiddled with a pack of cards.

  “We are not waiting any longer.” Andrew stopped his pacing and faced his friend. “He’s going to run, Ralston. I feel it in the marrow of my bones. Now that he’s been assured I am George’s father, he’s strengthened his belief that he can exact more revenge by taking the boy from me, precisely as I took Caroline from him.”

  “What can we do? We don’t know where he’s stashed the child.”

  Andrew narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. “I think I know someone who can tell us.”

  Ralston sat up straight. “Who?”

  “The only man we did not question when George went missing, both the first time and the second. A man familiar with my habits and the layout of the house, and had access to those who knew the secrets within its walls. The man I’ve come to rely on, who I’ve considered my friend as well as my servant.” He stood squarely in front of Ralston’s chair. “My valet, Lester.”

  “What? Why do you suspect him? Did you not hire him here in London, and was he not highly recommended?”

  “Yes to both questions. But I did not interview his previous employers. I took the written references on faith, being in no condition to be wandering off to talk business to anyone. When we interviewed the servants, we omitted Lester because he was new. Thinking back, I recall him coming out of my study when he had no need to be in there. Soon after, I found one of the threatening notes. I’m telling you, he’s the one.”

  “Is he here? How do you want to handle this?”

  “I’m not sure. Perhaps by telling an additional lie.”

  He rang and asked the footman to bring Lester to him. When he walked into the room, Andrew—standing by the door—closed it and secured the lock.

  Usually calm, the man seemed surprised by the locked door. “What can I do for you, my lord?”

  Andrew smiled. “Please sit, Lester. Here, by the fire.”

  Lord Ralston grinned with an expression reminding Andrew of a crocodile he’d seen drawn in a travel book. Lester sat on the edge of the chair, his back straight, wariness in his eyes as he looked first at Ralston, then Andrew.

  “Now then . . .” Andrew strolled over to the fireplace and idly picked up the poker, holding it loosely in his hands. “I believe you should hear what has transpired since you dressed me for the musicale.”

  “Why, sir? I have no need to hear the details of your life. I’m here to serve you.”

  “It gladdens me to hear of your loyalty, Lester. But I believe it is important for you to know George has been found.”

  The man’s eyes widened before he let out a sigh and seemed to school his features. “I am happy to hear it, my lord. I am fond of the child.”

  Andrew slapped the poker against his palm. “Then if you are fond of him, can you tell me why it is you took him through the dark stairways between the walls and stuffed him in the priest’s hole in the chapel?”

  “My lord! I did no such thing.” He stood and straightened his jacket, appearing to search for an escape.

  “Is that so? I have it on good authority you did that and more. Notes in my post come to mind.”

  “You’re mistaken.”

  “Sit down.”

  His shoulders slumped, and he sat. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his forehead.”

  “Warm are you?” Andrew waved the poker for effect, and the man’s eyes bulged in alarm. “You should be. You see, Wentworth has told all—his part and yours in the kidnapping. He is prepared to return the boy to us.”

  The man cracked his knuckles and then clasped his hands so tight they were white. “That’s a lie. I know naught about this.”

  Ralston spoke up. “Why would he lie? I was there. He was most forthcoming.”

  “But . . .”

  “I played right into your hands,” Andrew sneered. “You came to me with written references which I did not confirm. I’d only been back a few weeks when you miraculously knocked at my lodgings. How fortunate, I thought. He’s exactly what I need.”

  Lester’s gaze flew to the locked door, and he leaped up and ran for it. Andrew was faster, knocking Lester’s shoulder with the poker, giving Ralston time to stand in front of the door.

  “Now you will sit down, and if you do not want to find yourself in Newgate, you will tell me exactly what I want to know.”

  Rubbing his upper arm, Lester stumbled back to the chair and plopped down. Andrew handed him a tot of brandy, which Lester swallowed.
“Now then. I grow weary of waiting for Wentworth. You will tell me where he is keeping the boy.”

  His head drooping, Lester nodded. “He’s in Whitechapel. Near the Sudley docks. The boy is on the first floor of an abandoned brothel. I believe it was called The Swan.”

  Andrew removed his cravat. “Stand.”

  Lester rose, his breathing rapid. “What are you going to do? The man is the child’s father.”

  “Ralston, give me your cravat.” His friend unwound his neckcloth and held it out. “Bring me the ladderback chair by the window.”

  Andrew unraveled his own neckcloth and pushed Lester into the chair. He bound his wrists behind the chairback. His ankles were tied together and tethered to one of the chair legs.

  “While we are out, you can sit here in this warm room and contemplate your sins. ’Tis more accommodation than you gave the child or poor Drake.”

  “I admit I took the child, but he was unharmed, wasn’t he? Wentworth was to collect him from the chapel, but the weather delayed him, and you found him first.” He swallowed. “Drake wasn’t my doing. That was Wentworth. He stayed in a cottage, then moved to another. He waited for an opportunity to grab the lad, which was only right.” Lester sniffed. “You should not keep a child from his rightful parent.”

  “Your tongue seems to have loosened. When we return, I vow you will be handed over to the runners.”

  “Wait! You said you would let me go.”

  Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Did I. It seems I have become good at storytelling. Perhaps I should write a novel.”

  They made sure the man was securely trussed, then left by the mews where their horses were housed.