The Bridegroom and the Baby

by Marcy Stewart

  Afterwards, as they made their way outside through the crowd, their progress hampered by the curious who wanted to make Madeleine’s acquaintance, she grew amused at the variety of ways Ethan worked his cousin’s return into their conversations. Introducing her parents and herself to a prominent maker of muslin cloth and his family, he added affably, “Yes, I’ve enjoyed the Murrows’ visit immensely and am now to see my cousin Connie and her husband tomorrow. They’re coming for their infant daughter; perhaps you’ve heard they left her with us for a while?” He went on in the same vein, each time speaking loudly and jovially, until they reached the sloping grass in front of the church.

  Madeleine became certain the viscount had never lingered so long after service, for the looks they received were colored with curiosity. She recalled what he’d said about his acquaintances: that many of them believed he slayed his own brother to steal the title. Now she came to wonder if that was true, or only a misinterpretation on Ethan’s part. She had no sense of being shunned; she detected only a slight wariness on the part of the villagers, as if they were hesitant to approach. For years after Bettina’s death, her family had been treated in a similar fashion. People tended to flee those who had experienced great grief, she believed. Perhaps they feared misfortune was contagious.

  She felt a measure of relief when the Reddings and Jarrod MacAllister joined their circle, for at least they brought the advantage of familiarity. Her pleasure waned, however, as Alice sought a place on the other side of Ethan, her stark beauty drawing every eye, even Madeleine’s. Miss Redding wore a blue gown nearly the same shade as the viscount’s jacket, and to look at the two of them was to be pierced by azure eyes, hair sparkling with golden highlights, and tall, slender bodies brimming with youthful health. Madeleine could not help finding them daunting and wanted to slink away and disappear into the throng. Certainly, she could fade into anonymity, but neither Ethan or Alice ever would.

  “What have I been hearing about your cousin?” Alice asked, sounding intrigued. “Is she taking her baby away?”

  “Yes, she’s coming tomorrow,” Ethan half-shouted, and flashed a brilliant smile at a passing trio of young women, rapidly adding at the same volume while turning his head after them, “Connie’s missed her child dreadfully and can hardly wait to take her home. She and her husband live near the Scottish border, you know; quite a long journey.”

  MacAllister, who was wearing his black velvet jacket and looking warm in the noonday sun, said, “You must be relieved. Last time we spoke, you thought they had absconded.”

  “Yes, and I’m ashamed for it.” He faced an elderly man walking past with a young lady clinging to his arm and called, “All this time, my cousin was enduring heartbreak, but tomorrow she’s coming to reclaim her child and take her away.”

  “So you’ve said, Ethan,” George commented in a complaining voice. “No need to go on and on about it. What think you of my cane? After seeing yours, I decided to get one. Makes me look mysterious, don’t it?”

  “As mysterious as a pie-eyed dog,” said Mr. Redding, causing his son to frown and shrink a little. “Be certain to bring your cousin to see us when she comes, Ambrose. I’m curious to meet her.”

  “As am I,” Madeleine’s father said, exchanging a meaningful look with William Redding.

  “Certainly, if there is time,” Ethan replied. “Connie wrote of many things left undone at their home; they’ll be in a rush.”

  “Then send word to me,” Redding said. “I’ll come to Westhall. This is one branch of the family I don’t want to miss.”

  Ethan smiled faintly and inclined his head. As he looked up, his eyes hooked Madeleine’s and darkened with exaggerated sorrow, confirming her thought that, did some nervous mother not come forth, poor Connie and James had only one fate in store for them.

  On the journey back to Westhall, it became difficult for Madeleine to avoid Ethan’s glances; every time she looked at his cheerful, self-satisfied face, she wanted to smile. She knew he was proud of how well it went at chapel; had even one person missed his announcement, she would be astounded. How she prayed he was not building his hopes for a disappointment.

  When the coach pulled into the driveway, the viscount and his guests unboarded and repaired to their rooms to freshen themselves for luncheon. Less than a quarter-hour later, she joined her parents and Mr. Brandt in the library. Ethan was nowhere to be seen, and she felt a sharp tug of frustration. She had hurried in order to spend more time with him, but it appeared his attraction for her was not quite so strong.

  Mr. Brandt seemed to guess the reason for her offended look. “Ethan rushed through the hall and went outside just a moment before you came down. He didn’t stop to say where he was going. Mayhaps he forgot something in the coach.”

  Soothed, Madeleine smiled her thanks and was moving toward the settee when Betsy tore through the hall, the ribbons on her cap flying as she cried, “Saints preserve us, saints preserve us!”

  The inhabitants of the library gazed at one another in astonishment, and then, as one, hastened toward the hall, Madeleine’s heart beating like thunder in her chest.

  “What’s wrong, Betsy?” Scott demanded.

  The maid, her hand on the doorknob, swerved. “She’s gone! Rose McDaniel has gone with the baby and I’ve got to search for her! It ain’t my fault—Burns goes to his mother’s on Sundays, and I had my hands too full with all I had to do!” She snatched open the door and moved forward.

  Madeleine stifled a groan. This was not how it was supposed to go. Rose McDaniel had reacted far too fast. Ethan had planned to watch the nursery all day, but he hadn’t expected any untoward actions until nightfall. Oh, the brazenness of her!

  “Wait!” Thomas called after Betsy. “Are you saying the nursemaid has stolen the infant?”

  “I don’t know,” the maid moaned. “She’s just gone. Janice don’t know nothing, she was bathing Clyde when Rose left with the child. I’ve got to find her!”

  Antonia looked so pale that she frightened Madeleine. “Oh, I hope she hasn’t kidnapped Dorrie! Do you think she became so attached that the arrival of Lord Ambrose’s cousin drove her mad?”

  “What cousin?” screeched Betsy, her words barely audible through the open door as she ran headlong down the steps. “It ain’t no pretend cousin I’m worried about. That’s milord’s baby; any fool can see that by how he loves her!”

  * * *

  Ethan’s pulse drummed in his ears and pain roared through his leg as he ran down the drive of his house, checked the lane in both directions, then raced to the stables. No one had seen Rose McDaniel. He gave Viking a distracted pat and ordered Rathbone to saddle Legacy. Fool, fool, fool, thumped his heart. Start a rumor and expect the results to fall at your own convenience. Had a greater idiot ever been born?

  If anything happened to Dorrie, he would never forgive himself.

  But how could he know whether she was safe or not if he never saw her again?

  He mounted Legacy and rejoiced at the punishing ache in his thigh. He deserved that discomfort and more. Guiding the horse from the stable, he clicked her forward.

  In the next instant, he pulled the steed to a halt.

  Rose McDaniel appeared around the back corner of the house, the baby’s basket swinging over her arm. Spotting him, she smiled. Grimly, Ethan dismounted and patted Legacy toward the stable, then walked forward to meet the nursemaid.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded after seeing the baby appeared safe and happy within her basket.

  She shrank from his anger, her smile dissolving. “In the back garden, my lord.”

  “What can you mean, taking the infant outside without telling anyone?”

  “I often bring her outside at this time of day. The fresh air makes her sleepy.”

  He glared into her eyes, his rage and fear too strong to fade all at once, even in the face of her obvious innocence.

  “No one seemed to notice or care until now,” she added worriedly. “Is som
ething wrong? Would you rather I not do this again?”

  “No, no, of course not.”

  Betsy, who had been running toward them, ground to a halt beside him, her hands cradling her cheeks. “You—you! I thought you’d stolen the baby!”

  The nursemaid’s fair skin became paler. “Why would you think that?” Her gaze returned to the viscount. “Is that why you’re upset, Lord Ambrose? You believed I ran off with Dorrie?”

  Ethan sliced a burning look at Betsy. “Never mind, Mrs. McDaniel; forgive us for overreacting. Since the infant’s leaving tomorrow, we’ve become a bit overprotective.”

  “Dorrie’s leaving?”

  “Yes; hasn’t anyone told you my cousin is coming for her?” Evidently not, for the woman appeared dumbfounded. Ethan felt hope rising again; in the past seconds, he’d been to the point of believing Rose McDaniel could not be Dorrie’s mother, given her reaction to their fears for the infant’s whereabouts. But since the nursemaid had been unaware she might lose the baby, she still might stir to action, thereby making her motherhood plain. And this time, he’d be there to stop her.

  His gaze dropped to the babe, who was dressed in pink ruffles and looked fragile and perfectly beautiful. Her eyes were open wide, and her fingers grasped outward as if she meant to grab the entire world and stuff it into her basket.

  His heart twisted at the necessity of putting her at risk, but he knew of no other way to persuade her mother to expose herself. Not that he believed Dorrie was in danger; even if her mother made off with her, the woman would doubtless take good care of the child. It was the not knowing that would haunt him if he failed. He imagined himself ten years hence, then twenty, still wondering what happened to the baby girl who came to rest on his doorstep.

  “No one told me,” Mrs. McDaniel said, her voice hesitant and worried, her eyes shifting back and forth without setting on any one object, magnifying his suspicions tenfold. And then she added, as if in afterthought, “I suppose you won’t need my help after tomorrow.”

  “Your place is secure for a while yet; Betsy is in great need of assistance,” he said, patting Mrs. McDaniel’s elbow. Was that all there was to it, then—she was merely worried about losing her position? He felt foolish for exaggerating the importance of everything, but she had not entirely put him off his guard. “Why don’t you take Dorrie inside; she looks ready for her nap.”

  The servant ducked her head and walked rapidly toward the front door, the basket held stiffly in front of her body. Ethan followed at a more leisurely pace as he struggled to contrive what to tell Madeleine’s parents about his behavior during the past minutes; he distinctly remembered ignoring Mr. Murrow’s, “Is there a problem?” as he ran through the hall.

  To his irritation, Betsy matched him stride for stride, her nervous energy driving him to distraction as she kept wringing her hands and drawing in deep breaths. Finally, he planted his feet and demanded she tell him what was wrong.

  Looking everywhere except at him, she said, “Milord, ah .... when I came out to help you look for Dorrie, I ...”

  “Say what you intend to say, Betsy. I’ve never known you to be speechless.”

  Her pale, scanty lashes turned downward. “It’s only—have you ever said something you didn’t mean, when you wasn’t listening to yourself?”

  “No,” he answered unhelpfully.

  Her eyes flashed. “Well, that’s what I just did, and if you mean to get vexed at me or summat, when I was only trying to help, then—then, a pox on you!” She turned and ran into the house, slamming the door behind her, leaving him with a sense of foreboding along with his irritation.

  Seconds later, he entered the building and immediately knew he was in very deep trouble. A thick silence had fallen over his home, broken only by the sound of persistent, soft weeping. Ethan inhaled a swift, steadying breath and strode into the library.

  Madeleine and her mother were ensconced side by side on the settee. Thomas stood behind them, his hands braced on the wooden back of the seat. Scott, his head turned downward, sat across from them in the armchair.

  At the viscount’s entrance, four pairs of eyes met his with daunting intensity. As he feared, it was Madeleine who wept, and her mother looked to be on the verge of joining her.

  “There you are, finally,” Mr. Murrow said. When Ethan moved toward Madeleine, her father commanded, “Leave her be, Lord Ambrose; she only remains in this room because I’m not heartless, and she begged me to allow it. Truth is, I’d rather be alone to hear your explanation, for I fear it’s not decent for female ears; therefore, I counsel you to speak carefully.”

  Ethan swung his gaze to Scott; hoping for what, he could not say. There was sympathy in that corner, but no help; after a fleeting, wounded look, Brandt dropped his gaze to the carpet.

  “What is this about?” Ethan asked, although he feared he knew what Murrow meant.

  The older gentleman straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. “You lied to us about Dorrie. Your maid let it slip that the child is yours, and though I’ve tried to get a sensible answer from Mr. Brandt and my daughter, neither one is cooperating. My first inclination was to pack our bags immediately and leave; but since Madeleine has obviously formed an attachment to you and beseeched me to allow you the opportunity to explain, I decided to do so, if only to hear your apology. I give you fair warning, though; nothing you say is likely to change my mind.”

  So this was how it ended, he thought, darkness settling around him. He might blame Betsy for her loose tongue and wish to strangle her slowly, but the betrayal could have come from any quarter. Maybe one day he would discover Dorrie’s true parentage, but it would do him no good now.

  He deserved no better than this, to face the future alone without the woman he loved.

  At least he lived. Lucan did not have even that.

  His head began to throb. Without thinking, he lifted a hand to one temple and massaged for an instant, then dropped his arm as Mr. Murrow’s eyes grilled him without sympathy.

  “I did lie to you,” Ethan said in a low, unfaltering voice, and flinched when Antonia gasped. “I do apologize for it, even though the lie was meant to be temporary.”

  “There, you see, Thomas; he planned to tell us the truth eventually.” Antonia’s voice shook, but she sent Ethan an encouraging look. Had his heart been less heavy, he would have smiled at her.

  “It sounds to me as if he makes excuses,” Thomas said.

  Scott moved forward in his chair and entreated, “Please hear him out, Mr. Murrow. I think you’ll understand why he acted as he did. Lord Ambrose is not normally an untruthful person.”

  Ethan had not the heart to comment on this mixed praise, and he went on as if he’d not heard Brandt’s comment. He began by telling the Murrows of the baby’s arrival and concluded with the events of only a few moments ago, leaving nothing out, not even the note with its ambiguous insinuation.

  When he finished, a silence fell for a brief space of time, and he felt compelled to add, “I feel certain I’m not Dorrie’s father—”

  “But you’re not one-hundred-percent sure,” Thomas interjected.

  After a brief pause, Ethan slowly admitted that this was so.

  “Well, I believe your story, and that surprises me probably more than it does you, given the amount and scope of your lies. I’ll go even further: I hope you discover the truth about Dorrie, or whatever her true name may be, though more for her sake than yours. However, whether you do or not has little bearing on my daughter’s future, because her future does not include you.”

  Madeleine flew to her feet and swerved to face her father. As she did, Ethan said quickly, “But if I could prove to you the infant’s not mine—”

  Thomas grunted. “Impossible!”

  “—if you would only give me a little more time—”

  “A true gentleman doesn’t need to research his behavior; he’s certain of it, every moment of the day. But perhaps noblemen don’t fall into that category; you wou
ld know more about that than I. Whatever the case, we’re leaving as soon as my wife’s maid packs the valises.”

  “Oh, Papa!” Madeleine cried, “you cannot do this. I love him!”

  Despite the weight on his shoulders, Ethan could not fail to draw strength from her declaration, although he was not sure he could believe it. She was in the frame of mind to say anything right now. Nevertheless, his eyes locked with hers as he said softly, “And I love you.”

  “Very tender, Ambrose,” Thomas said coldly. “Why not tell her the truth, at least? It’s my money you love.”

  Antonia clutched her handkerchief to her mouth. “Thomas, think what you are saying!”

  “I mean no disrespect to my daughter, for she is attractive and charming enough to capture the heart of a far better man than he!”

  Ethan said, “I can’t deny the truth of that, but I will challenge your former statement. I’d love Madeleine if she were a pauper.”

  “Hah! If she had no funds, you wouldn’t have considered her.”

  “That may have been true at the beginning, but not now.”

  “Save your pretty words for the next heiress, Ambrose.” Thomas circled the settee and offered his assistance to his wife. Reluctantly, her features downturned in sorrow, she took his hand and rose. He then offered his other arm to Madeleine. “Come, child.”

  She shook her head and stepped back a pace. “I’m not going with you, Papa.” The air suddenly shot through with magnified tension; so much so that Ethan felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “I’m staying with Ethan, if he’ll have me.”

  Drawn by the fierce look of loyalty Madeleine swept his way, he went to her without hesitation, seized her hand, and brought it to his lips. “There could never be the slightest question.”

  “Daughter,” Thomas said, “you don’t know what you’re saying; you’re letting your emotions sway you. Allow me to remind you that I’m your father and have only your happiness in mind.”