To Claim the Long-Lost Lover

by Jude Knight

  Sarah pulled her hands from his grasp and slid them around him, resting her head upon his breast when he used his to hold her closer. “You are here now,” she reminded him.

  “Which brings us to the present,” said the Duchess of Haverford. “You met my goddaughter at a dinner here in London and discovered that she was not, in fact, married. How did you feel about that, Lord Bentham?”

  Nate moved so he was facing the ladies again, looking at them over his wife’s head. “That is not quite correct, Your Grace. My father suggested I come up to London to look for a wife. I had no interest in doing so. I already had a wife, whether that was legally true or not, and I had no intention of breaking the vows I made to her on our wedding day. But then…”

  This memory was a pleasure after the harder ones that had booby-trapped the afternoon. Nate could feel the smile growing until a grin stretched his mouth. “Then he said that I need not consider Lady Sarah Winderfield, and I knew she had not married anyone else. I could not get to London quickly enough. When I arrived, I was told the Winshires were still out of town. I had no idea that my wife and her sister were in residence, or that they would be at dinner that night.”

  He placed a gentle kiss on Sarah’s hair. “I saw her, more beautiful than ever, and I knew I had to try to win her back.”

  He was focused on Sarah, who had raised her mouth for his kiss heedless of their audience. He didn’t see Lady Sutton rise and round the table that separated them; didn’t know she was beside him till she tapped him on his shoulder and held out her arms for him.

  “Allow me to give you a belated welcome to the family, my dear Nate. May I call you Nate? And may I apologise for what my husband and son did to you?”

  He returned the hug wholeheartedly. “Yes, to the first, my lady. Mama, if I may be so bold. And no need to the second. I realise you were not consulted, and it is not your fault to apologise for.”

  The other ladies were lining up to give their own greetings. Lady Georgiana slapped him on the back and told him he was a good boy, and he should call her Aunt Georgie and her companion, who gave him her hand and a smile, Aunt Letty. The younger Lady Sutton said it would be less confusing for everyone if he just addressed her as Sophia. Miss Grenford declared that she was Jess to her friends. The most terrifying of them all, the Duchess of Haverford, wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye, insisting that he must call her Aunt Eleanor from this day on.

  Someone must have notified the servants that the trial was over, for maids and footmen appeared with sumptuous refreshments, and the warm welcome to the family continued as two of the younger ladies poured and another two served everyone with their choice of tea, coffee or chocolate.

  Nate found himself sitting on a little two-seater couch with Sarah at his side and a plate of sweet cakes and finely-cut sandwiches on a little table before them. The other ladies settled with their own choice of drink and edibles.

  The Duchess of Haverford—Aunt Eleanor, and how the men he’d known in the navy would stare at him addressing a duchess in such an intimate fashion—called the meeting back to order.

  “We have the essential elements of Nate’s and Sarah’s romance, ladies. Now we need to decide what to emphasise, and what to conceal.”

  Rosemary heaved a deep sigh. “It is such a romantic tale,” she declared.

  In a lesser lady, the smile the duchess gave might have been described as wicked. “Precisely,” she said. “And that is how we shall present it.”

  “I propose,” said Lady Sutton—Mama—“that we blame all the negative elements on Lord Sutton and the old duke, and credit Nate and Sarah with all the heroism.”

  “Of course,” said Aunt Eleanor.

  21

  Curse all women to hell, and his sister to the deepest of the fiery pits. He should never have trusted the evil bitch. Never.

  The Beast strode up and down the tiny room that he’d rented in a respectable boarding house in Southwark, too angry to sleep or even to sit still. Elspeth had double-crossed him. She had argued against his manifold stratagems to punish the two ducal families who had opposed him, and had then disappeared. The very next day he found his schemes collapsing around his ears as one ally after another was arrested.

  Her betrayal was the only explanation, though he could not find out where she was. Just as well, perhaps, since his need to punish the ugly cow might have tempted him to risk his own escape for the pleasure of choking her to death with his own hands.

  Instead, he had escaped before the Runners came to his own door, taking all the wealth he had in cash and portable objects, disguising himself in the salesman identity he had prepared for this very eventuality.

  At least Elspeth knew nothing about Stephen Wheeler, manufacturer of fine buttons, nor about the plump and juicy bank accounts and investments the Beast had in that name. He even had a house in the Midlands, where Wheeler would be welcomed when he returned from a prolonged overseas trip.

  Which would be within the next few weeks. Only one thing still kept him in London, trusting in his disguise to keep him from arrest. He waited for word that the men he had hired had carried out the Beast’s final commission.

  His last piece of unfinished business was the boy Tony. He had people watching the house to try another kidnapping as soon as the boy left it, but if that was out of the question, the sharpshooter he had hired would ensure that, if the Beast could not have Tony, neither would that prissy arrogant ass Aldridge.

  22

  Both campaigns proceeded smoothly.

  “The Beast has disappeared,” Wakefield reported. “We can find no trace of his movements.”

  “Annoying,” commented the duke. Uncle James. Nate was still coming to terms with addressing him so intimately.

  “Dealing with others in the plots he set up is easier without him,” Jamie, the duke’s eldest son, pointed out. “Many of his allies are turning on him.”

  “Yes,” Wakefield agreed. “And their information is making it easy to mop up those who don’t.”

  As to Nate’s and Sarah’s marriage, it was a romance to be celebrated and not a scandal to be decried, just as Rosemary had said. “Mama, Aunt Eleanor, and Aunt Georgie decree it to be so,” Sarah told Nate. “Their equally powerful friends concur. Therefore, everyone who wants to be accepted in Society is in agreement.”

  Only close friends and immediate family were able to speak to the couple in question. Nate and Sarah were under firm instructions to be seen from a distance. They rode by in a carriage too quickly to do more than nod at any greeting. They visited the duck pond in Green Park with their son and Nate’s sisters surrounded by Winshire’s fierce servants, who politely requested any who dared approach to respect the family’s privacy and move along. They appeared in the Winshire box at the Opera with Lord and Lady Lechton, arriving after the curtain rose and leaving before it fell, and thus avoiding any contact with the curious or intrusive.

  Visitors who arrived at either the Winshires or the Lechtons were informed that the little family was taking the time to enjoy their reunion, and were not accepting callers.

  “Everywhere we go,” Jamie’s wife Sophia said, “we are besieged with questions.”

  Charlotte laughed. “We tell everyone how delighted we are that the Benthams have found one another again and been reunited with their son.”

  Ruth’s eyes twinkled. “And if they wish to know more, Nate, we refer them to your father.”

  Nate grinned. Lord Lechton, clearly besotted with his grandson, described in detail to anyone who would listen to him the boy’s amazing accomplishments and Lady Bentham’s many virtues.

  “He would be less delighted,” Nate whispered to Sarah, “if your female relatives had not absolved him of any responsibility for our separation.”

  Sarah was more sympathetic. “You did not know my grandfather,” she argued. “Your father was bullied into signing those papers, Nate, as you well know. Quite right for all the blame to placed where it belongs. On my father
and grandfather.”

  The only flaw in Lechton’s happiness was that ‘the fruit of his loins’ had refused to obey the paternal command to bring his wife and son to live in Lechton’s household. “We are going to Winds’ Gate for Christmas with Sarah’s family,” Nate told him. “We will visit you in the new year, Father. We have signed a lease on a townhouse here in London, to start in March. We will come up to town for at least part of the Season.”

  Sarah, always kinder to Lechton than Nate felt able to be, added, “You will be pleased to know, sir, that we are seeking a country house in Oxfordshire, midway between Swinwood where my mother lives and Three Oaks at Lechford. We will not be more than a couple of hours away, so you will be able to see Elias often.”

  With that, Lord Lechton had to be content.

  By the evening of the famed end-of-season ball, the Polite World’s excitement over finally meeting Lord and Lady Bentham was at a peak. Nate teased Sarah, “My head aches at the mere thought of all the gawking and gossiping ton. I might take a tisane and go to bed instead of dressing for the evening.” He was only half joking.

  His man Jackson treated the comment with the contempt he felt it deserved, only recommending, “Keep still, my lord,” as he shaved his master in front of one of a pair of mirrors, while Wilson dressed Sarah’s hair in front of the other. The couple had fallen into the habit of partially dressing one another, then donning robes to avoid lacerating the sensibilities of their servants. And of Nate, come to think of it. He had no wish for Jackson to be present in the room when Sarah was unclothed.

  Sarah laughed at Nate’s teasing. “It will soon be over, dearest. That is lovely, Wilson.”

  Nate, at a point in his shave where turning his head might have unfortunate consequences, tried to catch a glimpse of his wife, but she had whisked herself away to the bed with Wilson in attendance, and he had to wait for Jackson to pat him dry before he could turn and see her.

  Lovely in a green gown embroidered heavily in gold and silver, and trimmed with delicate falls of lace, she stood patiently waiting for Wilson to finish fastening her laces and her buttons. Her hair was dressed high; curls studded with diamond-headed pins, finished with a fantasy of a tiara in gold with pearls, diamonds and emeralds. The tiara was part of a set: a dainty necklace circled her throat and earrings dropped from her lobes. The matching bracelet sat on the dressing table, waiting for Sarah to don her gloves.

  “Stunning,” Nate told her. Beyond stunning, if there were such a thing. Every time he saw her, he felt it as a benign blow to the head that managed to send him dizzy without causing pain.

  “I have remembered another great advantage of marriage,” Sarah crowed. “I am now permitted to wear a tiara! Isn’t the set delightful?”

  “Delightful,” he agreed, though he meant her rather than the jewellery her uncle had given her the day before.

  He allowed Jackson to tie his cravat and to hand him the waistcoat he was to wear—green like his lady’s gown and embroidered to match. The coat came next, and his gloves. By the time he was finished, so was Sarah, and she tugged him in front of the mirror so that they could admire one another and the picture they made together.

  She was bubbling with excitement, and if Nate did not feel quite so pleased with the idea of the coming evening, that was of no account. Sarah was happy and therefore so was he.

  * * *

  It had been a wonderful evening. Sarah thought so, and all the ladies agreed when they gathered with their husbands and children at Fournier’s pastry shop early the following afternoon. They were all leaving town the next day, and the children had been keen for one more meeting before they went their separate ways.

  Pouring rain put the park out of the question, the children declared their own nurseries boring, and everyone decided that another foray to the purveyor of wonderful little cakes would be delightful.

  Once again, the children had their own table. This time, Tony had been included, carried out to the carriage and into the tea rooms by a pair of footmen. Elias sat on one side of him with Lechton’s two older daughters beside him, and on the other side of Tony were the two Ashbury girls.

  The nursemaids sat close by, with the littlest Lechton daughter and the Sutton’s pride and joy, each sitting on their own nurse’s knee, babbling and waving energetically at the other.

  Sarah’s eyes kept sliding to the two sweet baby girls. She would like one just like that. Elias was precious and much loved, but she had missed his entire infancy. Beside her, Ruth was watching the babies, too, her hand unconsciously cupped across the abdomen where her own baby thrived and grew towards its birth.

  Sarah found her own hand creeping to her stomach. Perhaps, even now…

  While the women rehashed the ball, and shared the various attempts of the worst of the gossips to find some scandal broth to spice up their evening, the men were commiserating with one another about the fight in the slums being over, or at least that was how it sounded to Sarah.

  Not her father-in-law. He was making a last-ditch attempt to persuade Nate to change his mind about spending Christmas at Winds’ Gate, until Uncle James intervened. “The Benthams will come to us this Christmas, Lord Lechton, as we have planned.” He added, kindly, “You and your wife and daughters are very welcome to join us at Wind’s Gate next year for Christmas. I shall not expect you to change your plans this year.”

  A wail brought the adults’ attention to the children. The middle Lechton child, Lavie, was standing on her chair weeping as if her heart would break, an orange stain running down her pinafore from a ball of flavoured ice that decorated her chest, a splosh of orange liquid on her cheek showing the point of impact.

  Since Elias was the only child to have an orange-coloured ice, the culprit was obvious.

  All of the other children turned wary eyes on their parents, and Elias turned white. “I am sorry, Mama,” he said, as Libby hurried to soothe her daughter and the nursemaid efficiently mopped away the worst of the mess.

  Sarah and Nate moved to flank their son, and Elias seemed to shrink in his chair, looking up at his father. He didn’t hesitate, though he gulped before he spoke. “I did not mean to do it, Papa. I was showing Tony how I could make the ball of ice jump, and it jumped too far.”

  “Then you owe Lady Lavinia an apology, Elias,” Nate told him gravely.

  “We do not play with our food, Elias,” Sarah added. “To help you remember that fact, on our next visit to Gunthers or Fournier’s with your aunts, you will not be permitted to have an ice.”

  Tony was hunching as if he thought, if he tried hard enough, his head might retract like a turtle’s into its shell. “It was my fault, my lady. I wagered he could not flick the ball up off the spoon and catch it again.” He swallowed. “I deserve to be punished, too.”

  By the time Charlotte had been summoned to pronounce judgement on her protégé, and both boys had apologised to a tear-stained but composed Lavie, the babies were raising their voices in a wail that proclaimed tea time was over. The whole party packed up, shrugged into coats, raised umbrellas and began to decamp from the front door.

  The unmarked anonymous carriage that raced to a halt in front of them seemed to come out of nowhere. Before most of them could push their way from the shop, the carriage door flew open and a man put down one foot and reached out to grab Elias, who had been one of the first to leave, hand-in-hand with Lavie.

  From inside the window, Sarah could see it all—Elias being dragged towards the carriage, Lechton throwing himself on the would-be kidnapper’s arm, two of Uncle James’s guard suddenly surging into action from the other side of the carriage, one knocking the driver to the ground and taking the reins, and the other dropping from the roof onto the shoulders of the man hanging out of the door.

  The family spilt out onto the footpath, clustering around, all talking at once. Sarah had almost reached her son when Lechton gave an exclamation and threw himself on top of the boy. As two red stains bloomed on the back of her father-in
-law’s jacket, Sarah realised that the sound she had heard was gunfire.

  Cousin Jamie pointed up to the roof of the building across the street. “There!” he shouted, and raced off with several of the other men beside him. Nate was kneeling next to his father, as Ruth helped Elias out from underneath him. “Your son is unhurt,” she assured Sarah, giving Elias into her arms. She sank down beside Nate.

  “Is Grandpapa dead?” Elias wanted to know. Sarah met Libby’s eyes, and they were asking the same question over the top of Lavie and Norie, who were burrowed into her arms.

  “Papa and Auntie Ruth are helping him,” Sarah consoled them all.

  They moved Lord Lechton carefully back into Fournier’s out of the rain. Val raced off to the Ashton carriage and came back with Ruth’s medical kit. Nate and Ruth sent the other adults off to a far corner to look after the children and wait.

  At one point, Nate caught Sarah’s eye and shook his head. At another, Jamie and Drew returned to report they had caught the sharpshooter. “He and the kidnappers were paid by the Beast,” Jamie said.

  “But why?” Sarah had finally released Elias, who was sitting with his arms around two of his little aunts. Drew beckoned Sarah and Charlotte to follow him a few paces away from the children and whispered, “They were after Tony. He told them if they couldn’t get the boy to kill him. I’m sorry, Sarah. They didn’t know there were two boys.”

  It was all just a tragic mistake, though Sarah couldn’t help but be glad that both boys had survived. “You will have to make sure Tony is somewhere Wharton will never find him,” she said to Charlotte.

  After a long time, Nate approached Libby. “I am so sorry, Libby,” he said. “We could not stop the bleeding.”