‘Yes, a bit of delayed morning sickness,’ Pavia admitted with a hint of embarrassment tinging her cheeks.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll have you looking fine in no time.’ Cam helped her wash her face and restore her hair with a comb from his pocket until she looked presentable. No one would ever guess what had happened in the woods.
‘Thank you.’ She handed the comb back to him and he tucked it away, understanding she was thanking him for these small kindnesses as well as the larger ones he offered her today.
He squeezed her hand, an unexpected rush of emotion tightening his throat. ‘This time tomorrow everything will be all right, Pavia.’ It felt right to use her name, right to hold her hand and to offer comfort. Perhaps it was nothing more than the pleasure of having someone to take care of again. In the military he had troops to care for. Since he’d been home, he’d had no one to look after, no one to lead. And yet, perhaps this was something more than filling a void. Maybe it was a sign of how things could be between them, the first step on the road to the intimacy of the marriage they would share whether either of them had planned it or not. He’d entered the glen with despair, but he was leaving it with a spark of hope.
‘I want to believe that.’ Pavia said softly.
‘If you can’t believe my words, believe this.’ He leaned in, capturing her mouth in a soft kiss full of promise and full of reminders of what they’d once shared. They would have passion between them and a baby. It was a start, Cam thought.
‘Go back to the party, Pavia,’ he whispered. ‘I will come for you in the morning. Put your affairs in order.’
It was an interesting choice of words. It was what people did when they prepared to exit this life. Their old lives were dying. Tomorrow, their new life, whatever it might be, would begin.
Chapter Seven
‘I am going to marry Pavia Honeysett.’ Cam stood with ramrod-straight, military precision before his grandfather’s desk in the Earl of Aylsbury’s study and voiced the words with all the conviction at his disposal. If his grandfather sensed any weakness, he would exploit it to the extreme, as would his father and his uncle, who flanked him on either side in tall, leather wing-backed chairs. Cam had no illusions his family would respond well to this announcement. It was a deuced situation to be in, to have to advocate so thoroughly for a position one had only barely been able to comprehend hours ago.
Cam had given himself the night to grapple with the news before approaching his family. He would need all his wits and all his patience this morning. He had a plan, he needed to hold to it no matter what threats and obstacles they put in his way, just like any other campaign he’d waged on the battlefield—his child was depending on it. His toes curled inside his boots as the reality swept him again. He was going to be a father.
‘The hell you are, boy.’ His grandfather didn’t waste time with more subtle arguments. ‘We don’t need her money, she has no connections of value to us and, even if she did, she’s a half-breed.’ He thumped his fist on the desk. ‘What we need is the alliance with Caroline Beaufort. You’ve dithered enough in that regard. Clearly, you are ripe for marriage if you’re so eager to throw yourself away on the Honeysett chit. We can announce your engagement to Caroline tonight. You can wed in June, the first big wedding of the Season. Your grandmother and mother will be in alt planning it and I’ll sign over that property in the Lake District you’re so fond of as a wedding gift, eh? You can take Caroline and honeymoon there.’ This was always his grandfather’s strategy: to sweeten the angry pot with a treat, a tempting morsel that made acceptance seem reasonable. His grandfather smiled and put his hands palms down on the desk, a signal that business was completed to his satisfaction. ‘I think a toast is in order, gentlemen.’
‘No, we are not done here.’ Cam interrupted abruptly. ‘I am marrying Pavia Honeysett. She is carrying my child.’
‘Says who?’ His grandfather did not blink at the disclosure, although his uncle and his father shifted in their seats, an uncomfortable look passing between the two brothers.
‘Pavia herself,’ Cam answered steadily. ‘She has no reason to lie. With her money, she could surely aim higher than a man with no title.’ And surely she’d wanted to, intended to, until she’d discovered herself pregnant. The Marquis of Chatham was evidence of that. She’d pursued him up until she could not pursue him any longer, when proof of her situation had made itself entirely clear.
His grandfather considered this, tapping his index finger on the polished surface of the desk. ‘I don’t doubt she’s pregnant. Are you sure it’s yours?’
Cam’s fists tightened at his sides. It took all of his patience not to leap the desk and plant the man a facer, grandsire or not. ‘You will not speak of her like that.’
His grandfather gave a condescending smile, offering an aside to Cam’s father. ‘The cub grows claws, Eustace. You’ve raised a fiery one.’ Then to Cam, ‘How do you know it’s yours? I hear she’s dangling after the Marquis of Chatham. Perhaps it’s his? As you say, it hardly makes sense that she’d claim you’re the father when she could marry higher. Unless...’ The Earl’s eyes narrowed critically. ‘Chatham has refused her and now she’s trapped, desperate to pass that baby off on whomever she can find. Those nabob types are always looking for a way in.’ He slid a look towards Edward, his heir. ‘This is how the aristocracy dies, my son, polluted by poor marriages.’
Cam couldn’t resist. ‘I thought it was from refusing to adapt to times. Closed systems atrophy.’
His grandfather’s blue eyes shot him a hard look. ‘You haven’t answered me. I am afraid, for the sake of the earldom, I must insist, Camden. Tell me, how do you know it’s yours? A girl like that will say anything.’
‘Because she was a virgin when we lay together.’ It took all his willpower to say the words like a man and not like an embarrassed boy. It was rather difficult to put this part of his life on display in front of his grandfather, his father and his uncle. It was one thing to know they all knew he wasn’t untried. He’d been in the military for ten years after all. But to discuss it and his partners openly was another thing.
His grandfather’s eyebrows raised in displeasure. ‘Did we not teach you better than that, Camden? A virgin? Really?’
‘You did teach me better, sir. Which is why I am offering for her now. A gentleman protects a lady’s reputation with his name and that of his child’s,’ Cam said firmly. ‘I am obtaining a special licence and we will be married as soon as possible. I am standing here today to inform you of the news. Do not confuse that with asking for permission. I am far from the age where permission is needed. How you react to the news is up to you.’
‘Cam...’ his father broke in, a warning in his voice.
‘No, Eustace,’ his grandfather interrupted. ‘Let the cub be clear on what his defiance will cost him. We will not acknowledge her. If she comes to town, flaunting the Lithgow name, we will give her the cut direct. She is not allowed to claim any ties to us. As for you, cub, you will not support a wife not of my approval on any allowance from the earldom. I will cut you off, effective as of today, and there will be no support of your candidacy for a seat in the Commons from us.’
This was expected, but not less hurtful because of it. His family was stepping away from him, distancing themselves, as if he’d not shared a lifetime with them, and his father sat silent while it happened, refusing to champion his son. ‘I wouldn’t want it any other way,’ Cam answered with steely certainty, not if they were unwilling to acknowledge his wife, his child, his choice. ‘Those plans were your plans. My plans are somewhat different.’
‘And the tea heiress’s plans?’ His grandfather chuckled coldly at that. ‘Do you think she wants to spend her life following the drum? Chasing you around Europe, hoping you don’t end up dead and leave her stranded in some godforsaken part of the empire with a babe on her hip and no decent way to support herself?’ He pointed a
long, bone-thin finger at Cam. ‘Don’t think we’ll take her in if you die.’
‘I wouldn’t want you to. Do you think I’d want my child raised in this loveless mausoleum of a home?’ He needed to leave. His anger was starting to brim, all the old frustrations of being under the thumb of his family coming to the fore. Cam turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.
‘Young man, you have not been dismissed!’ his grandfather’s voice boomed.
Cam paused and turned back, a cold smile on his face. ‘Yes, I believe I have.’ He straightened his shoulders. He should have done this years ago, asserted his right to manage his own life. Freedom was starting to feel good. Already, he felt lighter, more directed. He had the freedom now to claim a life of his choice. Only, it wouldn’t be a life truly his own. His life now belonged to Pavia, to his child. Some might say he’d traded one responsibility for another, one family obligation for another. Cynics would say that choice had come with too great a cost.
His father caught up to him in the hall, a hand on his sleeve. ‘Wait, Cam. Don’t do this. If you walk out the door...’
‘There will be no walking back in,’ Cam finished the sentence for him. ‘I didn’t think there would be.’
‘I need you to see reason. You’re not thinking clearly.’ His father’s eyes weren’t filled with concern, though. They were filled with contained anger. Anger at his son. This was not a plea. It was a scolding.
‘I am thinking like a father, like the father I wish to be,’ Cam retorted. He gestured towards the study. ‘You did not stand up for me in there. You have never stood up to the old man. You let him plan your life, pick your bride and you were willing to let him do the same for your own son.’
Something dangerous passed across his father’s features. ‘It is how things are done in successful aristocratic families. We are lucky to have a patriarch who has survived so long to give this family direction.’ His father grabbed his arm. ‘Cam, look around. There are families losing everything these days. The peerage is under attack. In a couple of generations it could be gone.’
‘Because it chooses not to adapt, Father. Times change. People must change, too,’ Cam answered, wrenching his arm away.
‘What about your mother? This will break her heart. You are her only child.’
Cam was ready for this, too. Long had his darling mother been a pawn in these battles of power, leverage for coercion and compliance. ‘She will always be welcome in my home, as will any of you. She can choose to come and visit her grandchild.’ Would she? Was his mother capable of an act of defiance? Was his father? Such an act seemed in doubt based on this morning’s performance. ‘Grandfather might be banishing me, but I am not banishing you.’ The import that this relationship was only one way now came with a sharp realisation. Was this the last time he’d see his family? He’d often had that thought over the years each time he deployed. How ironic if it turned out not to be a foreign bullet that ended their contact but a simple civic matter of matrimony. But he couldn’t let it weaken him. He’d made his choices; now they’d have to make theirs. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Father, I have a bride to collect. I’ll send my valet for my things this afternoon. He’ll bring word when the ceremony is to be in case you change your mind.’
At that, his father let him go. Of course. His father had never fought for anything. Not for him, not even against him. His father had sat there today and let the Earl malign the mother of the earldom’s first great-grandchild and then cut his grandson from the family. Cam took the front steps rapidly, wanting to be away from this place.
Today and always, his father had been the picture of a perfect second son. He’d done his time in the military with an aplomb that matched Cam’s own career, come home and married dutifully, served in the House of Commons protecting the family interests and watching the heir’s back. No one would say he was a weak man. His opponents in the House found him a formidable champion for his causes. But today, Cam had seen his father in a true light—a man who put duty first, a man who was willing to sacrifice his own son in homage to that duty.
It was a rather sobering realisation to fully understand he was just a piece on a chessboard to Aylsbury, a knight to command, to be used in service to the family as Aylsbury saw fit and nothing more; he was not a beloved grandson, or a treasured son. Just a piece to be used for the greater good of the earldom. Cam swung up on his waiting horse and gave a last look at the Aylsbury town house with a vow to do better. He would not make his father’s mistakes. His child would be treasured. His child would know a father’s love and a father’s devotion to the person that child was and not as a placeholder in a legacy.
* * *
‘This is the best you could do, Pavia? A grandson of an earl? A major in the Hussars?’ Oliver Honeysett sneered over the rim of his teacup while his wife, Sabita, kept her eyes downcast, perhaps in embarrassment over her husband’s flagrant and rude bluntness, a bluntness that both shamed Pavia and insulted Cam. ‘This is not what was agreed upon. A marquis, Pavia. You said you could deliver a marquis,’ her father said, spearing Cam with his dark eyes. The man should meet his grandfather. They would get on famously.
Pavia was not intimidated by her father’s outburst. She moved to speak, but Cam reached out a quiet, silencing hand and took her own, letting the gesture speak of their unity. He would be damned before he’d make his wife have to defend herself while he sat silent beside her. ‘We are anticipating a blessed event and wish to be married well in advance of it.’ He would be delicate even if her father was decidedly not.
Pavia’s mother gasped, a sound of utter surprise. ‘Darling, is it true?’ Her dark eyes came up to take in her daughter’s gaze with a mix of joy and hurt—she hadn’t known, yet the thought of a child pleased her, softened her, even as she realised she had not been confided in during this recent crisis. It was another reminder to Cam of how much Pavia had shouldered on her own in the past few tension-ridden weeks. She’d been entirely alone in her anxiety, her fear, her uncertainty.
There was no joy, however, from Oliver Honeysett. The thought of soon becoming a grandfather did not soften him. Perhaps it did not even occur to him. The man exploded from behind his desk. The rant that followed was not unlike the rant Cam had heard earlier from his grandfather: that this betrayal was a deviation from the grand plan; Pavia had shamed him, had selfishly set her needs above the family’s. ‘And you, Major Lithgow, you are nothing more than a fortune hunter,’ Honeysett accused, the vein at his temple throbbing. ‘You will not inherit anything on your own, so you thought to move on to an innocent girl with a pile of money.’
‘I am sorry you think that,’ Cam replied evenly. He was not about to disabuse the man of the notion this was a situation of his own making. He would not transfer the blame to Pavia by telling the man his daughter had danced half-naked in a taproom. Acknowledging the realities of the situation could change nothing. In truth, it didn’t matter who’d started this gambit. He and Pavia were in it together, now.
Cam was more than happy to bear the brunt of Honeysett’s cruel words if it spared Pavia. She was dressed prettily in an afternoon gown of white muslin with large green leaves appliqued at the hem and a green ribbon in her hair to match, but she was already pale beneath the tan of her skin and her eyes were tired. He wondered if she’d been sick again this morning.
‘I don’t want your money.’ The words were boldly spoken from a man who’d just been cut off from his own resources Cam knew exactly how much it cost him.
That took some wind from Honeysett and Cam knew he’d just neutralised the man’s last weapon. Her father had thought to bring him down with that dart. A fortune hunter would have been cowed. Still, Honeysett was determined to brazen it out. ‘Good. You won’t get a penny from me, Lithgow.’
Cam managed a smile not unlike the one he’d used on his grandfather. ‘I am glad that’s settled, then.’ He rose and held out his hand to Pavi
a. ‘We will be going now. I have a special licence and we’ll be married in the morning.’ He’d ridden to Lambeth after leaving his grandfather’s in order to prevent his grandfather from any chicanery that might forestall his ability to acquire the licence. ‘You are welcome to attend, or not. We will remove to the country for a honeymoon. I have a place outside of Taunton in Little Trull. She will be well cared for.’ The last was said with some bravado of his own. Some way, somehow, he would see that last come true. He had not thought about the particulars involved in taking a wife, not past acquiring the licence, claiming Pavia from her home.
Honeysett speared his daughter with a challenging look. ‘You’ve heard the terms, girl. If you go with him today, those terms will apply to you. No money, no welcome in this house. Do not come running to us when he leaves you for a new tour of duty, or when he insists you accompany him to some far-off land. Are you truly willing to give up all of this?’ He waved a hand to include the luxury of the town house, the fine silk of her gown and her mother’s. ‘Everything you have, you owe to me. He cannot provide all this for you.’
Silence stretched between them, father and daughter, eyes locked in quiet combat. Then Pavia rose, giving Cam the first glimpse of her strength, her fortitude, even her stubbornness in the face of adversity, and Cam understood how incredibly hard all this must be for her. ‘No, thank you, Father. You have provided all this for me, I will not argue that, but your price is too high.’ Cam understood that price. He had walked out on his family, too, but he had his career, his gender to fall back on. She had nothing, and no one, but him—a man she didn’t know. A stranger who had given her a child. She was trusting him with everything. Damn it all, he would be worthy of that trust.
One Night with the Major Page 7