Unmistakable Rogue

by Annette Blair

  Reed blushed, surprised and chagrined that he could.

  Sennett nodded sagely. “Cannot say as I’m surprised.”

  “No, sir, that’s not the problem, though, it’s worse to my mind.”

  “Well, spill it, man.” Sennett settled into his chair. “I cannot be expected to guess.”

  Reed told him everything—mostly—about the notes, the empty caskets, his date of birth matching the twins’, so he was likely the Barrington heir, though he had found no actual proof.

  He did not say that Chastity took the children from the workhouse. She had rescued them. She loved them. Until their parents were found, they would need her. He did not lie, he simply failed to mention it—much as Chastity had done—something to ponder in the lonely days ahead.

  Reed sighed. “I’m relinquishing my quest. I’m done with searching. I would like Chastity to get Sunnyledge for her children’s home. I have no right to ask, I know, but in my heart I feel it’s mine to do with it as I see fit. I want her to have it. No strings. Free and clear. Will you do that, Sir, for Chastity?”

  “But you are so close to learning who you are. I thought that meant more to you than anything. Does this mean that you are placing her happiness above your own?”

  “Her happiness is my own.”

  Sennett nodded. “So be it.”

  Reed requested Sennett’s promise in writing and agreed to send his direction as soon as he settled. Then Sennett said something that turned Reed’s blood to ice and killed every bit of hope left in him. It was done then; he and Chastity could never be together.

  Reed headed north, towards Scotland. May as well be as cold outside as in, and as far from sweet Chastity Somers as possible. As he rode, he composed the letter he would send her, someday.

  Chastity dusted the highboy in the putrid-green drawing room, not sure if the room, or her thoughts, were more depressing. The children had behaved badly for every one of the six days since Reed left. They stole food this morning. Chastity had snapped and sent them to their rooms. Reed was right. They needed to be punished.

  The twenty-year anniversary of the old Earl’s death was fast approaching, less than a week to go. Mr. Sennett would either decide that Reed found enough proof to give him Sunnyledge, or—if Reed did not tell him she took the children—Sennett might yet award it to her. She did not think Reed would tell, though she believed in her heart that the estate belonged to him.

  She guessed she had known it all along.

  Maybe she withheld William’s note to keep Sunnyledge. She did not know anything anymore.

  The only way to show Reed that she wanted him to find his heritage would be to find the proof, herself, she supposed. And the children might be cheered by a race against time. Lord knew, none of them could be any more miserable.

  Chastity went to the bottom of the stairs. “Children, come down here please? Matt, Mark, Luke?” Silence. “Rebekah?” Chastity took the stairs. “Where are you?”

  Laughter, giddy, guilty, she heard. What were they up to now? With no one to rob or assault, how bad could it be?

  Bad. She stopped in the doorway to Thea’s room in shock. “What have you done?”

  Matt and Mark stopped snapping garters at each other, and leapt to right a broken pitcher, dribbling water off the dresser. Matt slipped in the puddle it made.

  Rebekah and Luke stopped jumping on the bed, but several more books fell onto the floor, adding to the debris. Clothing, jewelry, gloves, spilled from drawers. A crushed hat retained the shape of a small shoe—a very small one. Ribbons were tied around bed posts. Zeke sported a red one, Bekah, a blue.

  “You are brigands!” Chastity snapped.

  “We don’t need that bastard,” Mark said, dashing from the room.

  Luke slid from the bed and pushed his face against Chastity’s apron. “I miss him.” Bekah whined in agreement.

  If this had to do with Reed’s leaving, why take their anger out on Thea? Was it because they disliked her and loved him?

  “Mark, come back. I have to talk to you, all of you.”

  Surprisingly, Mark came. Chastity tried to explain, as best she could, what she had done to destroy Reed’s trust, to make him angry enough to leave. “I’m sorry that I hurt you all.”

  Matt sighed. “We understand, Kitty.”

  Bekah patted her back.

  “It’s all right, Kitty,” Luke said. “We love you, too.”

  Chastity burst into tears. The children tried to make her smile, so she did. If they could disguise their hurt, so could she. “Guess what we’re going to do.” She needed to breathe some life into them and teach them a lesson. Pleased at their interest, she nodded. “We’re going to clean this mess.”

  Their moans were pitiful. She held up a hand. “Do not fret, there’s enough damage for everyone to have a go at it. I want you to fetch brooms, mops, rags, soap and water.”

  They stood like statues, more uncertain than stubborn.

  “You’d best get moving.” She prodded them, hands to their backsides. “Scoot. Thea could be back anytime.”

  Chastity did not mind admitting that no one would be happier than her, if they never saw Thea Pomfret again, but it would be terrible if the woman returned to this.

  To form a path through the debris, Chastity righted some objects and moved others. She picked up and sorted a childish assortment of cockle shells, dolls and dry flowers, treasures a girl would save and a woman would pack away. She turned over a red velvet box, catching a handful of documents. The topmost bore a broken Barrington seal, arresting her movement, but accelerating her heart.

  Brittle with age, the document recorded the marriage of the Earl of Barrington to Lady Clarissa Hartfield. Ravaged not only by time, the leaf was riddled with short, random slashes, as if someone had stabbed it. Chastity shivered. Why would Thea Pomfret keep St. Yves records? Had their housekeeper been stealing while living among them?

  Box in hand, Chastity went to the top of the stairs. “Matt, Mark? Children, what’s taking so long?”

  “Comin’ Kitty.”

  Remaining alert to their approach, Chastity opened the next document. Lady Clarissa’s death certificate—alleluia scribbled in huge letters across it—had not been desecrated like her marriage lines. What kind of person approved death and defaced a marriage certificate?

  Clumsy with foreboding, Chastity unfolded the next, and when the children reached her, she was startled. “Matt, Mark, go down and secure the locks on the doors, would you?”

  Luke and Bekah helped her drag in an empty trunk to fill with whatever survived their rampage, unless it was books or papers. Those, she put aside to examine. A smaller trunk, they would fill with whatever was damaged.

  She found a death certificate for Vicar Clive Pomfret, Thea’s brother, ‘Repent!’ written across it in the same hand that scrawled alleluia on Lady Clarissa’s. The hair rose on Chastity’s nape. “Lord help us.”

  The children crowded ‘round. “Find somethin’?”

  What had Reed said about God’s man? What did it mean? Regarding the children, she shook her head. “No, I didn’t find anything. Something surprised me is all.”

  When Matt and Mark returned she had them strip the bed and replace the linens.

  “What about me, Kitty?” Luke asked.

  “Go through that pile of books, but bring me those papers sticking out.” Chastity made to put the earlier documents back in the box. But it had an unstable bottom, beneath which she found a stack of letters to ‘My dear best friend,’ signed ‘Your best friend,’ written by a boy and a girl, who continued corresponding into adulthood. Chastity saw sexual references she would not have understood two weeks before. An affair, for the man had apparently been married. The signatures did not change, but the handwriting matured, one of them seeming somewhat familiar. Was it the same hand that wrote the word Repent?

  Chastity felt sullied for the little she read, but what could an intruder expect? Except this was her house, however temporar
y. Though the contents of the box were not hers, the documents, other than the Vicar’s death certificate, should not belong to Thea.

  Chastity tucked the St. Yves documents into her apron pocket. The box, she pushed to the back of a shelf. If Thea did not return, Chastity would burn the letters. If she did, Chastity would return her things, tell her they no longer needed her, and pay for whatever the children broke.

  “Look, Kitty.” Luke sat on the bed with a book, his brothers and sister looking over his shoulder. “It’s got people who lived in 1622, see. Then when their children grew up, it’s got them, and their children, over here. This says 1757, and this one—”

  “It’s a parish register,” Chastity said, wiping her damp palm on her skirt before taking it. She wished she could remember Reed’s age. “But I cannot.”

  “Cannot what?” Luke asked.

  “If I knew the date the St. Yves twins were born, I could look them up.”

  “May 4th, 1787,” Luke said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I saw it on a stone in the chapel when I got the cradle Reed didn’t let Bekah keep.”

  “You’re too smart for your own britches.”

  “Mum always said so.”

  Mark snorted, and Luke took exception. Locked in combat, they rolled to the floor.

  Chastity ignored the spat and continued to search for 1787 listings, the beat of her heart, her only distraction.

  When she found the entry, prickles raced up her arms and legs. She sat on the bed, her fingers trembling as she traced the words. Born this day to the Lady Clarissa St. Yves, twin boys, rescued and given into the sacred keeping of Emily Gilbride, midwife, and Lily Somers, maid. Under penalty of eternal damnation, neither boy will know of the other’s existence or the manner and location of his birth. May 4th, in the year of our Lord, 1787. God’s will be done.

  Chastity’s sob emerged as a strangled combination of elation and regret. Reed was the Barrington heir. She could barely take it in. He had been born in the tower. She remembered his pain as they stood there. He knew, even then. Somehow, in that place, he sensed the truth.

  The next entry made Chastity want to weep the more. Given up to God this day, the Lady Clarissa St. Yves, born April 9, 1769. Died May 4th 1787. She suffered mightily for her sins.

  “She was only eighteen years old,” Chastity wailed.

  “Kitty, look, this letter is addressed to y—”

  “Bekah, let me up. I have to send Mr. Sennett a note.”

  “But Kitty, this is your—”

  “Find Bekah’s shoes, Mark, will you. We’re going to the village, as soon as I— I have to copy something.”

  “It must be good,” Matt said. “You’re smiling.”

  Chastity hugged him. “Yes, I’m smiling. And yes, it’s something good. Wonderful.”

  “But Kitty—”

  “Hush, Luke.” She had never been as happy about anything, except finding the children and loving Reed, as she was to discover Reed’s heritage. Yes, this meant that she and the children would lose Sunnyledge, but he deserved to know who he was. She wished he were here, so she could throw herself into his arms and shout the good news.

  As soon as Mr. Sennett received her copy, he would locate Reed, while she and the children looked for another house. But she could not tell the children yet. They would worry about where they were going to live. They had worried enough in their young lives. She would tell them after she knew where they were going.

  On their way to the village to send the copy to Mr. Sennett, Chastity imagined they were being followed, but on their way back, when a pheasant went screeching into the air, Bekah said, “Luke did it,” making them all laugh and cutting the tension.

  Upon their return, Chastity put them to bed, donned her wrapper and went to the library. Her mind was so full of questions; it would be hours before she could sleep.

  One minute she was elated over finding the proof of Reed’s birth, the next, thoughts of Thea intruded. As far as the woman was concerned, Chastity had gone beyond dislike and was well into frightened witless.

  And Reed. She loved him so much, she could not believe she would never see him again. She swallowed a rising sob. For the sake of the children, she could not mourn. She must look to their future. The memory of his love would always be hers, but she wished—oh how she wished—that Reed’s son slept below her heart, even now. She closed her eyes and placed her hand there, still awed by Reed’s explanation of conception. She imagined herself rocking a babe with honey gold eyes, until a noise outside shot her to her feet.

  Fear, panic, the children’s safety, all filled her mind as she ran to the kitchen for a knife and returned to watch the door. ‘Twas a wonder her teeth didn’t chatter. She had not been this frightened that first night, though she had not known Thea back then.

  The doorknob turned.

  If not Thea, then who? Was a known evil better than an unknown one? She prayed Reed’s locks would hold. Despite herself, she crept forward, knife raised.

  A sudden beating on the door frightened her into a scream.

  “Damnation, Chastity, let me in.”

  With shaking fingers and a sob of relief, she unlatched the door ... and a body hurtled across the foyer, and came to a sliding stop at the base of the stairs. Reed rose on an elbow. “Why do you greet me with a knife every damn time I come through that door?”

  Chastity dropped the knife with a glad cry and threw herself into his arms.

  “Just once more,” Reed said between kisses. “I needed to love you one more time.”

  “Yes,” Chastity said. Before I must leave you forever. She would tell him tomorrow about her find and his heritage. Tonight was for loving.

  Reed carried her up the stairs and into his room. They said little; no time between kisses. “I could not leave without saying good-bye.” He peeled away her clothes.

  “I thought I’d die if I never saw you again. This will do. It will do,” she kept saying.

  “It must,” he confirmed, adoring her with his mouth, knowing he would take his final leave in the morning. “It will.” It was out of their hands now. He would tell her tomorrow that he was giving her Sunnyledge, that they had no choice but to live separate lives. Tomorrow.

  Tonight would be theirs.

  Reed made his way to her breast. How he loved to suckle her. He was hard and ready. She rocked against him, but he slowed their pace. “Wait, love. Let’s make it last. Tonight, I want you to know all the possibilities.”

  “Good Lord, there are more? What sweet suffering.”

  “Incredibly sweet,” he whispered against her mouth, between her breasts, along her belly, and lower still, until she called his name.

  “Come inside me.” Give me your son, she dare not say.

  With a moan, he did, and when she received his seed, she wept with joy, and then she wept for what could never be.

  They loved in that hungry way the whole night through.

  She was gone from his bed when he woke. A bittersweet loving, it had been. A joyful sorrow, she would be to remember.

  Chastity ... stepping out a workhouse window in the middle of the night, dignified, righteous, four urchins in tow ... soapsuds on her lash, arms around his neck, an innocent seductress.

  ... cobwebs and spiders in her hair ... milking a cow named Leonardo ... bathing his wound in tears.

  ... hugging four grubby, dishonest, wonderful children.

  ... cooking a rabbit disguised as a chicken.

  ... burning bread, kissing him, loving him. Making him want, and want. Teaching him to give, and love, and share, and care. She had even taught him that a successful seduction—though he would be hard-put to say who seduced who—does not negate need, but increases it.

  If only she had taught him how to go on without her.

  Bekah came dragging in, head down, shoulders shaking. “Want Weed,” she sobbed.

  “Come here, Poppet,” he said, making sure he was covered.

 
; Bekah looked up, shocked, delighted. “Weed!” She launched herself into his arms. She was a lot like Chastity, as she rained kisses on his face, and he laughed under the onslaught. Surely his tears were from laughter, he thought, as he wiped them away.

  The boys came running. “Reed’s back.” They were all over him. Another pig pile. He laughed again.

  “Are you naked under there?” Luke asked, lifting the blanket.

  Reed slapped it down. “Of course not. A gentleman never asks, or answers, such questions.”

  “A gentleman don’t sleep naked. Does he?”

  “When he’s a grown man, sometimes he does.”

  “When will I know I’m grown enough?”

  “You’ll know.”

  “Will Kitty let me?”

  “You’ll be too grown to need her permission. She’ll know when the time comes.”

  “And if she doesn’t, you’ll make her, won’t you Reed?”

  Reed sat straighter, blanket secure, feeling at a disadvantage having such a conversation, unclothed. “I will not be staying, Luke. I cannot.”

  “Because Chastity didn’t tell you she had a husband who is dead, and he had a letter,” Luke said. “We know. She told us. She cried a lot, but she’s sorry, Reed. She really is.”

  “No,” Reed said, squeezing a shoulder, tweaking a nose. “I forgave her for that. She did not mean to hide anything. I know it, now. No, it’s because of something that cannot be changed.”

  “Dumb reason,” Matt said.

  “Mark said we don’t need you, anyway,” Luke said. “He called you a bastard.”

  Reed chuckled. “I probably am.”

  Mark raised his chin and crossed his arms. “We don’t need you. We don’t need anybody.”

  “You do, but you’ll probably be a grown man before you admit it. I hope you admit it some day, though.”

  “We got somethin’ to show you,” Luke said. “Don’t move.”

  “As if I could,” Reed said, Bekah in his arms. “As if I’d want to,” he said kissing her nose.

  Mark snorted in disgust. “Mush.”

  “Yeah.” Matt grinned and kissed Bekah’s nose too.

  Bekah giggled and scratched her nose against Reed’s chest.