He glanced up to see Mrs. Wilson and her husband watching him. Wilson had an arm around his wife’s waist.
“We owe you our lives, sir. How can we ever repay you?”
Beau shared a look with St. Albans. “With information. We need to talk about your daughter.”
“Our daughter? Philippa?”
“Yes,” Beau said. “Please come back to my home with me.”
“Who are you, sir?” Wilson asked, not sure what to make of the request. “What’s this about then?”
“Beauregard Boudreaux. I’m the man who’s going to save your daughter’s life.”
* * *
Philippa came downstairs looking for Beau. She’d taken extra care with Louisa’s help this morning to wear her best day gown in a lovely hunter’s green and her hair was pulled up and threaded with crimson ribbons. Even her slippers were exquisite with embroidered leaves upon the toes.
She felt beautiful and she was admittedly excited to see Beau’s reaction to her. After the night they’d shared, she’d been so worried he would pull away, that the allure of bedding her had faded. But after this morning, she’d been delighted to see the intimacy between them had only grown since they first met at Castleton Abbey.
She’d just reached the bottom steps when Stoddard opened the front door.
“Oh my word, sir!” Stoddard’s startled gasp sent Philippa rushing next to him.
Beau stood there, his face blackened with soot and his clothes equally as sullied. Behind him was the Duke of St. Albans and…her parents?
“Mama! Papa!” She cried out she took in their own disheveled appearances.
Beau moved aside to allow her parents to enter. Philippa rushed forward, throwing her arms around them.
“We’re all right, love.” Her mother assured her in a soothing tone.
Philippa stepped back. “What happened?”
Her father shared a glance with Beau. “Someone set fire to the shop. We were trapped upstairs. Mr. Boudreaux saved us, Pippa. We would have died if not for him.”
She turned to Beau, her eyes filling with tears of unspoken gratitude.
He nodded at her but something about the way he looked at her made her heart still. She saw, or maybe she just wished she saw, a look of soft, tender promises that made her ache deep inside.
When Beau spoke, his voice was rusty, and he coughed. “Stoddard. Bring us a basin of hot water and fresh towels. We’ll need tea and sandwiches too.”
Stoddard bowed and departed as Beau led everyone to the drawing room. Philippa sat with her mother on the settee and held one of her shaking hands. The duke stood next to the fire. He was the first to break the uneasy silence.
“Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, I need to hear about how you came to have Philippa as your child.”
Philippa stared at the duke. “What?”
Her parents looked uncertain how to answer him.
The duke shook his head. “The time for deception is at an end. We are not enemies of your child, as you can clearly see, but she does have enemies. Until we know everything, she won’t be safe. So, the truth now, if you please.”
“He is telling you the truth.” Philippa insisted but her mother squeezed her hand.
“Hush, child,” her mother said gently, then nodded at Philippa’s father. “Best we should tell them, Mason.”
Her father frowned. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded and cleared his throat. “Twenty years ago, Beth and I were living in the mill house near Lord Monmouth’s estate. We had just given birth to a son.” He looked down at his feet. “A few days after the birth, the midwife came to see us. The night had been full of storms and the skies had just cleared when she arrived around midnight.”
“This would be Lucy?” St. Albans asked.
Her father nodded. “I’ll never forget. She stepped into the moonlight and I was shocked. She held a newborn babe in her arms.” Philippa started to shake her head as she sensed what he was about to say.
“That babe was you, Pippa. She brought you down from Monmouth’s estate fresh from your mother’s womb. You were the most beautiful baby we’d ever seen.”
“No…” Philippa’s vision spun a little and she shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.
“Lucy told us your life was in danger. The earl’s wife had born twins… The firstborn, a son, was stillborn. And then you came. Philippa. Lucy said you were a fighter, but your father, the earl, needed an heir but had only you. He threatened to kill you that night. Lucy begged us to save you. But in return…” Her father choked on the words.
“The cost was your own son,” said St. Albans. “Correct?”
Her mother nodded and took up the story. “Our poor Roddy. We wanted to be able to see our son, but the earl forbade it. We never saw our boy again after that night. The earl gave us coin to start a new life far away from his lands, so we took you and left for London. Lucy came to visit us until you were five or six, then she stopped. She didn’t want the earl to know she’d stayed in contact with us lest it put your life in danger again.”
“Lucy…” Philippa whispered as old memories tinted with love filtered through her mind. The woman had called her a great warrior and had brought her dolls.
“You remember the necklace we gave you at sixteen?” Her mother asked her.
“Lucy gave it to us,” her father said. “It was your mother’s, your true mother. She’d taken it when she’d learned Monmouth was putting your mother’s jewels and clothes in storage. He never noticed it went missing”
“But you are my mother,” she told Beth, her throat aching as she fought back sobs.
“You have two mothers, Philippa. The one who bore you and the one who raised you, and we both love you with all we have. Your birth mother never left you. She’s been here all along guiding you to the other half of your family.” Beth’s eyes traveled to the duke and Philippa’s gaze followed.
“You are…?” But she dared not finish.
“I’m your grandfather,” the Duke of St. Albans said. “I’ve been waiting twenty years to meet you, my child.”
Philippa could see he wanted desperately to hug her, but she didn’t move. This was too much. She looked to Beau. “Did you know?”
“Who you are? No,” he replied. “I never could have imagined the truth, even though it was staring me in the face.”
“But why take your son?” asked Philippa. “Why not remarry? Produce a proper heir?”
Philippa’s father ran a hand over his jaw and sighed. “Lucy told us the earl had trouble bedding women. It had something to do with his blood flow. She said he would likely never marry again because he would not be able to produce another child. But he was obsessed with not letting his fortune and estate go to some distant cousin. Taking our Roddy was his only choice. He wanted his lands and money to go to a boy he’d raised as his own, even if he wasn’t his blood.”
“Have you seen him, our Roddy?” Beth said with broken longing. “We’ve only heard a bit early on from Lucy.”
“Yes. He’s a good lad, kind and intelligent. There’s nothing of Monmouth in him, thank God. I see now there’s only the both of you in him,” St. Albans assured them. “He’s a sunny young man with a bright smile and a warm heart. I’m proud to consider him my grandson still. You should be proud as well.”
Beth’s lips quivered. “I wish we could see him.”
“Perhaps, once this is all over,” Beau said. “But for now, our priorities must be focused. Monmouth must be made to account for what he’s done. If we can have him arrested, everyone will be safe.”
“Until that time,” St. Albans added. “Mr. and Mrs. Wilson as well as Philippa will move into my residence.”
“Oh, we couldn’t,” her father said.
“I insist. We’re family now, even if it is rather unconventional.”
Beau watched Philippa as she blushed. Leave him? Could she do that after everything they’d shared? She didn’t want to; of that she was certain.
“What do we do now?” Beth asked.
“We set one last trap, one that will force Monmouth into the light. Something public, something important where he fears we will unearth his secrets for the ton to see.”
“What would that be?” Mason pressed.
Beau looked to Philippa. She stared back at him, confused by the sudden determination in his eyes. When he spoke, his words sent her world spinning.
“A wedding…between Philippa and myself.”
Chapter 15
“A wedding…” Philippa echoed. The word bounced around in her head until her skull began to throb. Everyone was staring at her, expecting some kind of answer. It was too much.
She was the daughter of a long dead woman she would never know. She had a father who tried to kill her—twice. And the parents who raised her weren’t her parents at all.
“No,” she whispered. When she saw their confused faces, she repeated herself. “I’m sorry, my lord, but no.” Then what she’d said sunk in and she was mortified. Philippa surged to her feet and fled the room. For a second she stood in the hall, unsure of what to do.
Leave. That’s what she needed to do.
She was halfway up the stairs when she heard booted steps following behind her. She increased her pace, but a pair of arms banded around her waist, halting her. She struggled against the hold.
“Philippa,” Beau’s gentle, soothing voice made her still, despite her panic. The fight left her as he turned her around and she buried her face in his chest. She didn’t want comfort from him, yet she needed it. Being around him left her feeling like she was stuck in a surreal dream, a place where wonderful things were everywhere, but always just out of reach.
“I’m sorry. We threw a lot at you just now. It’s only natural to react this way.” He stroked her back. She stiffened, but then she sank into him again. His strong arms gave her all the support she needed not to fall completely apart.
“Beau, we cannot marry.”
“Why not? I’m rather fond of you. We get along rather well. You’d be safe, and we both know it would be wise, in case you are with child.” He threaded his fingers through her hair until they reached her scalp and he began to give her the most wonderful massage.
Philippa pulled away from him so she could face him clearly and force him to listen to her. “We shouldn’t marry just to stop Monmouth and Sommers, or because I might have a child.” She drew in a breath, and noticed his brows knit together. A sudden hardness entered his gaze. “Marriage is an act of love, Beau. It’s a union of two hearts. It’s not supposed to be mercenary.”
“We can have it annulled after, if you wish.” Beau said quietly, yet the suggestion cut her far deeper than the idea of marrying just to catch her would-be murderer.
“’Tis madness,” she replied.
Beau continued to massage her scalp. “No, it makes sense.”
“But you wouldn’t want to marry me. Not without the threat of Monmouth looming overhead, or if I wasn’t St. Albans’s granddaughter.”
“I would want to.” Beau lifted her chin, so she lifter her face to him. “I would not tie myself to you unless I wished to. Otherwise, I would have proposed another option. My suggestion is based only out of a desire to be your husband.”
There was some emotion in his eyes, half veiled, that she couldn’t read. “Do you love me?” she asked.
“Do you love me?” he countered.
“I…” She didn’t know the answer. She felt something for him, something deep and frightening. Something so strong that if she was to give it a name, it would perhaps give it too much power.
If it wasn’t love, could love follow? Did she want it to?
“Is this truly happening?” she asked. “Am I really St. Albans’s granddaughter?” If it was true, then she was the cause of every danger, the cause of Lucy’s death, the cause of her parents’ shop being destroyed and their lives almost taken. She was responsible for all of it. The knowledge was a punch to her stomach, and she could barely breathe with the weight pressing down upon her lungs.
“Quite certain. The midwife who brought you into this world was murdered and one of the last things she said was that you were one of a pair of twins. Sommers killed her under Monmouth’s orders. We’re certain of it. That the fire started at your parents’ shop early this morning was an attempt to remove them as well. They knew the truth and were the last ones left with the answers.”
He lifted her chin, his gaze confidant, but she reminded herself she was the granddaughter of a duke, she was not subservient to anyone any longer, not even Beau. Before she agreed to anything, she needed to so something first.
“I should like to speak to my parents. Alone,” she informed Beau.
“Of course. Your grandfather and I will give you all the time you need.” Beau escorted her back to the drawing room. “Your Grace, let us give them the room for a minute.”
St. Albans bowed to Philippa, a sad smile on his lips. She couldn’t help but think back to the night she’d dined with him and the connection she’d felt. It was as if some part of her had recognized him as kin. Once they were gone, she turned to her parents, seeing them with new eyes. They weren’t her flesh and blood, but they were not strangers. They had raised her and loved her as their own. And yet…
“Philippa.” Her mother opened her arms and Philippa was frozen for but a moment, then it didn’t matter. This was her mother.
“Mama,” she cried out as she embraced her. Her father joined them, wrapping his arms around them both. They smelled like smoke, but they also smelled like home.
“Oh dear, we dirtied you.” Her mother moaned, noting the ashes from the fire now coating her clean skin and new dress.
Philippa shook her head. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.” The reality of this morning was starting to sink in. Her parents had almost died, and she hadn’t even known.
“What happened?”
“We woke to the smell of smoke.” Her father’s voice rose a little and was hoarse. “We opened the door but the hall to the stairs was clouded and we could see the fire. We stayed in the bedchamber where we put clothes under the door to stop the smoke but…” He paused, cleared his throat. “We would’ve died if Mr. Boudreaux hadn’t arrived. We owe him our lives.”
Philippa’s eyes filled with tears. Beau had saved them.
“Father, is it true? Did I really come from Lord Monmouth’s house?” She couldn’t yet say that monster was her father. He wasn’t, even if he had sired her.
“Yes.”
“Why did you agree to it? I wasn’t yours and you lost your son in the bargain.”
Her father’s eyes were soft as he touched her cheek.
“Your life was in danger. Beth held you in her arms and you sucked on her finger. Brand new to the world, you were. Not even an hour old and you were hungry for food and love. We were offered the means to start a new life, and we knew we could keep you safe, love you with all our hearts. It didn’t matter that you weren’t ours by birth.”
“But your son…” Philippa could not believe the sacrifice they had made for her, a child they had only known a few minutes.
“We knew Roddy would be safe, and he would have a life we could never give him. Lucy told us he grew up to be a fine man, handsome and caring, despite Monmouth. But we didn’t dare believe it until Lord St. Albans told us. He will be an earl someday. He will have money, a home, a chance to marry a woman he loves. Parents, proper parents that is, do what they must for their children. When we took you…” Her father paused. “I hate admitting that we accepted coin from that man, but we used that money to buy a life in London for you. Clothes, a good tutor, whatever we could without raising the suspicions of those around us.”
“We still have much of the money,” her mother said. “We were planning to use as your dowry. Five thousand pounds. We’d hoped for you to have a beautiful trousseau and anything else a young bride might wish for.”
The mention of that reminded her of h
er marriage proposal, even if it had been an entirely unconventional one.
“Do you think I should marry Mr. Boudreaux? I understand we must find a way to lure Monmouth and Sommers out, but there must be another way to do so without a marriage.”
“He has a deep affection for you, Philippa. He spoke of you as we rode here in the duke’s coach and…”
Her father’s face turned ruddy, and her mother continued where he could not. “His eyes lit up as he spoke of your bravery, of your sweetness. I believe he might be in love with you.”
“He can’t be.” Philippa argued. “I know he likes me, and that he has affection, but…”
Her father chuckled. “Men often don’t recognize love until they are about to lose it.”
Her heart fluttered as she dared to dream that her father might be right. “I never believed marriage was to be a part of my future,” she admitted.
He touched her chin the way he’d done since she was a child. “For what it’s worth, I believe he’s a good man and marriage to him would be a good choice.”
“Love is always a risk, my dear,” her mother added. “But the rewards can be infinite.”
Philippa played with her skirts as she thought it over, then squared her shoulders. “Then I shall do it.”
Her mother burst into a smile. “A wedding, Mason. A wedding!”
“Yes, love, a wedding.” Her father agreed and pulled them both into his arms for another hug.
A wedding to Beau Boudreaux… London’s most notorious bachelor.
* * *
St. Albans cleared his throat. “Beau, my boy.”
“Yes?” They stood outside the drawing room, both silent until that moment. Beau felt nervous… Had he ever felt that way around St. Albans? Not that he could recall.
“Are you sure about this? The marriage, I mean.” St. Albans’s doubting him stung more than he expected.
“You believe I shouldn’t marry her?” He was too afraid to ask where the duke’s uncertainty lay, either in Beau marrying his granddaughter, or the marriage as trap to bring Monmouth and Sommers to them.
Boudreaux’s Lady Page 17