The Marquess of Winterbourne—who, for all I knew, was not only bedridden but non compos mentis? Why else would his power have devolved onto Thornbury?
I sat down at the small utilitarian desk in my bedchamber and penned a note, which I carefully folded before writing the recipient’s name on the outside. The Right Honorable, The Earl of Thornbury.
To my gratification, the earl sent for me almost immediately. When I walked into his study, he was frowning, his gray eyes serious. “What’s happened?” he barked. “What’s wrong?”
My note had been terse, stating only that I wished to see him on a matter of some urgency. As before, if he was dissembling, Drury Lane had lost a star performer. I decided to be direct. “My lord, did you give an order for Nick to be taken outside every day, even though there are guests—”
“Are you mad?” he roared, his hands closing into fists on top of his desk. “Outside, with the cream of the ton wandering about the park?”
“Then you did not initiate the order Mrs. Randall passed on to me?”
Thornbury ran a hand through his hair, tousling it rather becomingly, I thought, until he turned his scowl on me. “How could you even think it?” he demanded. “And why didn’t you contact me immediately?” A sharper, even more accusing look. “So what disaster has occurred to send you running to me now?”
When I told him, I heard a couple of “bloodys” among the words he muttered to himself. He finally heaved a disgusted sigh and said, “You told Lady Ariana and Lady Cynthia Carewe that Nicholas was your sister’s daughter Sarah, when your sister is sure to hear of the encounter at any moment?”
My head hung low as I admitted, “Yes, my lord.”
“Will your sister go along with the ruse?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Lady Sandridge. If you tell her the truth, will she corroborate your story?”
Mouth slightly agape, I managed, “You want me to speak to Emilia, reveal that I am here?”
“Better your sister than the entire house-party.”
Which, I supposed, was true. But Emilia was not known for her ability to keep a secret. And she would demand to know why I had run away . . .
“My lord, I cannot!” Unaccustomed to argument, he stared at me as if I must have gone mad. “I would have to explain why I left.” I raised pleading eyes to his face. Slowly, he nodded. Leaning back in his chair, he steepled his hands before his face. Quiet settled around us.
“Hopefully,” I said at last, “Lady Ariana will consider an encounter with a baby and a nurse too insignificant to mention.”
“Which does not explain who ordered Nick paraded before my mother’s guests. A nasty piece of mischief. I intend to track the source immediately.” The earl picked up a bell sitting on his desk, jangling it with vigor. To the footman who answered his summons, he said, “Have Mrs. Randall attend me immediately.” Turning to me, he said, “You will wait. This matter must be settled at once.”
“My lord?” Appalled to discover I was whispering, I firmed my determination and tried again. “My lord, whoever gave the order, for the sake of his health Nick does need fresh air and sunshine. Is there a place more private you might recommend?”
Thornbury, groaning, dropped his head into his hands. “You enjoy courting disaster, Miss Scarlett?”
“I wish to ensure Nick’s continuing good health,” I returned steadily.
“The whole affair is about to blow up in our faces, and you actually want to parade him—”
“A private place,” I insisted, cutting him off.
He lifted his head, regarding me with something akin to disbelief. “Shall I have a sign made? ‘Reserved for use of the infant heir to Winterbourne?’ Or perhaps ‘Reserved for the Deverell bastard?’”
“My lord,” I chided, rolling my eyes.
We were saved from further brangling by the arrival of Mrs. Randall. She had received her orders, she informed us, in a note allegedly signed by the Earl of Thornbury. A note he swore he had never written. Leaving me seriously doubting my instinct to trust the second son of the Marquess of Winterbourne.
Chapter 13
The next morning, ignoring Nick’s need for a daily airing, I moved steadfastly through the routine of the nursery, doing my best to conceal that I was on tenterhooks, expecting at any moment the knock of doom on our bolted door. The summons to revelation of my masquerade. Dismissal. Or worse yet, news that a constable waited for me below.
Not all my fears were for myself, I hasten to say. For if I was torn from my aerie, who would protect Nick?
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I pricked my finger with the needle I’d been using to mend one of Nick’s infant dresses. The knocks reverberated with male decisiveness. Not Josie. Not Mrs. Randall. With a lump in my throat that threatened to choke me, I carefully folded my mending and put it aside. Still seated in the rocking chair, I faced the room’s entrance, chin up. And received the shock of my life as Ivy ushered in . . . Geoff?
He smiled. That horrid predatory grin I had come to despise. “Miss Scarlett,” he purred, “perhaps we might have a word in private.”
With the uncertain aid of the rocking chair’s arm, I hauled myself to my feet, where not even my state of shock could keep me from rounding on Ivy. “There is a bolt on the nursery door for a purpose,” I declared most awfully. To keep strangers out. What part of that do you not understand?”
Ivy’s blue eyes widened until they nearly touched her brows. “But he be a lord, miss. One of the guests. I never thought—”
“Indeed you did not!” I huffed a breath, while fighting to damp down a fury that would do no one any good. “I will speak with Lord Sandridge in the outer corridor. You will bar the door behind me and not let Nick out of your sight while I am gone. Is that understood?”
Ivy ducked her head. “Yes, miss. I’m right sorry, miss.”
I marched past Geoff, not looking to see if he followed me. After hearing the snick of the bolt, I continued down the narrow corridor we had taken the day we peeked at the arriving houseguests. Only when I thought we were far enough away to eradicate any possibility of eavesdropping did I stop and turn on my brother-in-law. “Very well, you may satisfy my curiosity. How did you find me?”
Even in the dim light of the corridor I could see the satisfied gleam in his eyes. “Quite easily, my dear. Innocent words overheard, a question or two, coins slipped into willing fingers. Really, Luce, one would think you’d have had enough sense to lose yourself in Bath.”
Stalling for time, I asked, “Was it Lady Ariana or Lady Cynthia?”
“The Carewe chit, of course. Entirely blameless, I assure you. Complimented me on my lovely little daughter while sitting next to me at dinner last night. Which, as you can imagine, brought considerable consternation, prompting me to inquire—gently, of course—where and when she had seen our Sarah. Her description of the babe’s nursemaid quite took my breath away. You are, after all, somewhat unique among the beauties of the ton, Luce, my pet, let alone in the confines of a nursery.”
There was little doubt about what was coming next—and me without a weapon in sight. I’d have little choice but to scream. And fight. But who would hear? Winterbourne was stoutly built, the door to the nursery wing three inches of stout English oak.
Geoff lifted a hand to a lock of his blond hair, pushing it up to reveal a still-red scar. I supposed I should say I was sorry, but I wasn’t. “Revenge time, Luce,” he whispered. “Accommodate me as I wish, or I’ll lay charges with the nearest magistrate. Baron’s daughter or no, they’ll transport you. How will you like sharing a hold with the dregs of London’s criminals? Male criminals, Luce. You’ll not be so high and mighty then, I’ll wager.”
I suddenly understood the expression about blood running cold.” It was as if I’d been plunged, stark naked, into an ice house. I gulped. Running was not an option. He was between me and the nursery, and behind me were nothing but empty rooms and a corridor that dead-ended against the
attic walls.
Geoff reached for me, triumph radiating from him like an evil sun rising over a hostile landscape.
And then he was gone, writhing on the floor in a sea of profanity more colorful than anything I had heard from my brother or even in the stables. Hands fisted, the Earl of Thornbury stood over him, his voice barely civil. “Sandridge, clean yourself up and meet me in my study in half an hour. Now get out.”
Geoff clambered to his feet, backed up several paces, and after a piercing glare at my savior, took himself off, staggering a bit as he made his way back to the stairs. I never hesitated. I threw myself on Anthony’s chest and clung like a limpet. I did not cry—I was beyond tears—but in that moment I put all my doubts aside. Anthony, Lord Thornbury, had saved me from a female’s worst nightmare. Forever my savior, there was no way I could cast him as a villain.
After a good half minute of burying myself in the comfort of his solid form, I managed to whisper, “How? How did you find me?”
“Josie was bringing up the laundry when she saw Sandridge mounting the stairs to the nursery. Wise girl, she came to me immediately.”
It flashed through my mind that in the past few weeks I had acquired in two maids and a wet nurse better friends than I had known in all my twenty-three years. Thank you, Lord.
“I can put the fear of God in Sandridge,” Thornbury said, “but the lesson is clear, Nell. It is time for this masquerade to come to an end.”
All warm and cozy thoughts of sheltering male bodies and the goodness of friends vanished. “No-o,” I wailed. “I have to stay with Nick. I promised!”
“Hush, Nell,” he murmured. “Give me time to work out details acceptable to all concerned. It has come as a great surprise to family, friends, and myself,” he added on a note of wonder, “that I seem to have a talent for contriving.”
At that point, of course, I would have granted him anything. Fortunately, he did not seem to be as single-minded as Geoff or that could have been a problem.
Thornbury escorted me back to the nursery door, disappearing down the stairs just before Ivy slid back the bolt. I crept into the nursery, seeing the details of my refuge limned by the sunlight pouring from the four dormers into the large corner room. Billowing white curtains, the rocking chair, the table where we ate our meals, the cupboards filled with toys, two small desks, slates at the ready, the fireplace surrounded in a frame of fairytale figures carved in unpainted wood. And Nick in his cradle, sound asleep.
I could not leave him, simply could not. Why I had been propelled onto the convoluted path that led to becoming his mother remained a mystery. A quirk of Fate, an act of God? But there was no doubt that’s what I was. Nick and I were a pair, not to be parted.
Standing just inside the inner door of the nursery, I steepled my hands before my face and faced the truth. Nick was not the only reason I wanted to stay at Winterbourne. At long last, a fresh breeze was billowing beneath the cloak of grief I had wrapped so tightly around me. I had no urge to hit Anthony, Lord Thornbury, with an ash shovel. Nor did I find his touch repulsive.
Far from it.
I thought of the sneer on Lady Ariana’s face as she regarded me at the grotto. Perhaps becoming Miss Lucinda Neville again would not be so terrible.
Nick, what about Nick?
Dear Lord, help! I am torn in so many directions I know not what to do.
The next visitor to the nursery was almost as much of a surprise as Geoff. The soft knock on the outer door broke the quiet somnolence of mid-afternoon, when Ivy, Flora and I were taking a much-deserved rest while Nick and Dulcie napped. Not surprisingly, after the events of the morning, a chill shot up my spine. Go away! Not now! No more.
With Ivy and Flora in their rooms, I had settled into the rocking chair, where I could keep an eye on Nick while indulging in recollections of Anthony’s strong arms around—
The knock came again, this time more peremptory. Mrs. Randall? Lady Winterbourne? One more nasty surprise and I was going to . . .
To what, idiot? Scream, have a fit of the vapors, throw yourself out the window? If you were prone to any of those things, you would have done them when Brant died.
By this time Ivy had roused and answered the door. Remembering my scold from earlier in the day, she returned to say, “Miss, it’s a Lady Trevor and she says you know her.”
Heaven help me! I’m ashamed to say my hands were shaking as I told Ivy to let my godmother into the nursery.
It had only been a few months since I’d last seen my Aunt Trevor, and except for the deep concern in her eyes, she had not changed. Lady Helen Trevor’s brown hair might be streaked with gray, but her eyes were lively, her sharp acumen never in doubt. The years, and what some were pleased to call her “five pledges of affection” had added at least two stone to the slim figure she’d boasted when she and my mother met during their come-out season in London. Of the two, however, I fear my mother could never be the winner in any contest for either charm or empathy. As I dropped into a deep curtsy, I felt tears rush into my eyes.
“Oh, my dear!” she said, and held out both hands.
Gripping my emotions tight, I managed to reiterate the necessary order for Ivy to stay with Nick before inviting my honorary aunt into the privacy of my room. When she was seated in the only chair and I was ensconced on the edge of my bed, we stared at each other for a moment, each, I suppose, wondering where to begin.
“There has been a great deal of talk,” she said when I remained mumchance. “Your disappearance, Sandridge looking fit to bite the head off anyone mentioning your name, your brother searching the length and breadth of the Cotswolds.” She paused, a clear question in her sharp blue eyes.
I would never lie to Aunt Trevor. It was unthinkable. So the whole story came out. She offered a decisive nod when I told her about Geoff, as if she’d already guessed as much. But her eyes widened at the tale of Hartley Deverell’s possible marriage to a woman from Greece and fathering a babe who might be the rightful heir to Winterbourne. Her credulity was clearly stretched when I mentioned the attempt on Nick’s life, as well as Geoff’s renewed assault on my virtue that very morning.
“Merciful heavens, child,” she exclaimed, “why did you not ask for help? Your parents, Trevor and I, would gladly have come to your aid.”
“But, ma’am,” I returned with considerable distress, “Emilia would have found out!”
“Lucinda Nellwyn Neville,” Aunt Trevor declared most awfully, “you have run away from home, causing your family great anguish. You—you, a maiden—have delivered a baby, and passed yourself off as a nurse in the home of one of the ton’s most eligible bachelors—”
“Sunk beneath reproach,” I agreed in a tone that came out more impertinent than penitent.
“And as for the child, you cannot possibly suspect Thornbury—”
“I do not wish to believe it!” I cried. “And yet he has the best motive to wish the child gone.” My shoulders slumped; I hung my head, studying the toes of my slippers where they peeked out from beneath my hem.
“You must know it was Thornbury who sent me to you,” Aunt Trevor said. He heard me mention my concern for my missing goddaughter and decided I was the best person to persuade you to assume your rightful place.”
“I have no place!” I retorted with more bitterness than I intended.
“My dear child, of course you do. You have been hiding from the world for years, and it’s long past time you came back to us. I am sure young Kitteridge was worthy of your devotion, but there is no bringing him back. You have encased yourself in ice long enough. You must move forward with your life.”
I muttered the first feeble excuse that popped to mind. “I do not have the proper clothes.”
“They will be sent for.”
“Gowns suitable for Emilia’s lying-in will scarcely do for a house-party at Winterbourne.”
“We will send to Neville Manor, child—when we inform your parents that you have been found alive and well.”
“And you won’t be. You can visit him any time you like.”
“For the length of the house-party,” I declared with considerable bitterness.
Aunt Trevor heaved a long-drawn sigh. “Oh, dear child, I don’t know what to say. Except . . . the fat’s in the fire. There’s no getting around it. Miss Lucinda Neville cannot continue to reside in the Winterbourne nursery.” Implacable. Inevitable.
Final.
I reiterated my sole valid excuse. “I cannot leave the nursery until I have the proper garments to wear.”
“Agreed. I shall speak to Thornbury immediately. I am certain he will send a carriage to Nether Westcote at first light.”
“And Sandridge Hillcrest,” I said, just to be difficult.
Aunt Trevor stood, sweeping me with an all-too-perceptive look. “I know you too well, Lucinda, my dear. You have given in with the merest show of reluctance—but a flash of your customary stubbornness, when I was expecting a dramatic declaration of your staying in the nursery ’til the babe goes off to school. I do believe . . .” She offered the smile of a conspirator. “Perhaps you are more ready to return to the living than I thought.”
With that, she swept out of my room and into the corridor, where she paused, quite regally, to allow Ivy to unbolt the door. Lady Helen Trevor, who had just upended my life. And set me on a path that had my heart beating a tune merry enough to sail out of my chest on the wings of song.
Chapter 14
That evening, as usual, nursery supper was brought up at least an hour before the family dined. Ivy, Flora, and I settled around the table in the main play room—they no doubt as relieved as I to see the end of a day with far more interruptions to our routine than a proper nursery should have to tolerate. Dulcie was sound asleep in Flora’s room, but Nick would be with us until we transferred his cradle to his bedchamber. Needless to say, I was now leaving my connecting door open all night, no matter how frequently my sleep was disturbed by his howls for food.
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