My Darling, My Disaster (Lords of Essex)

by Morgan, Angie

  Gray shifted uncomfortably in the chair, his starched shirt and cravat feeling more inflexible than usual. The mention of the bandit reminded him of something he’d thought of the evening before, after happening across Lord Maynard’s carriage.

  “They were unharmed, thank you, but I must ask that you be vigilant. The bandit is attacking conveyances at the moment, however homes may well be a future target.”

  He wanted to ask if they had Higgs lock the doors at night, but it wasn’t his place. He had learned to tread lightly here, though it was, at times, a struggle.

  “Of course,” Lady Cooper replied, another smile tugging at her lips. She was a handsome woman. Gray put her at just over five and thirty, her husband, Sir Cooper, perhaps ten years her senior. That they had remained childless for the length of their marriage had been one of the reasons Gray had thought of them first.

  “You worry for her safety, of course,” Lady Cooper said, that secret smile growing fuller over her lips. “But you needn’t. She is well-kept and cared for here.”

  Gray sat forward. “I did not mean to suggest otherwise.”

  “I understand,” she said, reaching for a small silver handbell upon the tea table. Lady Cooper gave it a ring and then set it down again. “Truly, your concern is most welcome, Lord Northridge. It makes me happy to know you care so deeply.”

  His heart started to thud in his chest as approaching footfalls sounded from the front hall.

  He sprang to his feet as the sitting room door opened. A young maid entered, her hand guiding forward a little girl with a head full of unruly blond curls. She turned her enormous blue eyes up to Gray, and he expelled the breath he’d gathered in his chest as he drank in the sight of his daughter.

  God, she was so small and perfect, and yet she seemed to have grown at least another few inches since the month before when he’d paid his last visit. He stood still, afraid to move.

  “Come here, darling,” Lady Cooper called, holding out her hand.

  Sofia hurried from her nursemaid to the sofa, where she promptly buried her head in Lady Cooper’s side.

  “Now, now, no need to be shy. You know Lord Northridge. He’s come to say hello,” Lady Cooper said, pinching Sofia’s rosebud cheek gently and working a giggle out of the little girl.

  “Hello, Sofia,” Gray said, and he dropped into a crouch, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve brought something for you.”

  He reached into his coat pocket and produced a small bouquet of flowers he’d stopped to gather along the way to town. He had no idea what three-year-old girls enjoyed, but he figured flowers were a decent bet.

  Sofia peeled herself from Lady Cooper’s side and came toward the bouquet of daffodils and crocuses in his outstretched hand. She looked so little like her mother, he thought, as she reached for the flowers, her fingers closing around the stems and pulling them from his hand. Marianna had brown eyes and hair and had fancied herself Italian, although Gray had often been able to trace the Irish brogue she worked hard to keep hidden. He’d never said anything to her about it. It hadn’t mattered to him what her background was. She had been his mistress, and happy with the role.

  For a time.

  “Thank you, Norry,” Sofia whispered, her little nose already stuck in the center of the bouquet.

  If possible, Gray’s heart swelled larger than before. Norry. It was what she called him, Northridge apparently too difficult for her tongue to work out. He didn’t mind the nickname. In fact, he rather liked it. He didn’t want her to grow up calling him “Lord Northridge” or “my lord” anyhow. “Norry” would do just fine.

  “Papa” would be better, but Gray knew it was an impossible wish.

  The Coopers were an upstanding and respectable couple, and Sofia was well cared for and loved here. She would grow to be the daughter of an esteemed gentleman landowner and well-known scholar. Lady Cooper herself had been a fine mother to her for these last three years, and her candor regarding the truth of Sofia’s birth had been nothing short of angelic.

  No. Gray had chosen his daughter’s home well, and the Coopers had never once grown tired of his visits, or seemed put out by his arrival, usually at least once a month. It was never enough, however. Not for Gray.

  “Sofia has been under the weather for a short while,” Lady Cooper said as the little girl held the flowers aloft for her to smell. She leaned down and took in a deep breath. Lady Cooper then pretended to sneeze, which sent Sofia into a fit of giggles.

  “Has she?” Gray asked, eyeing his daughter’s pink cheeks. They appeared to have a healthy flush, nothing feverish. “What is wrong?”

  “Oh, she’s quite well now. Just a cough. Do not worry, we had Doctor Jensen pay a visit to listen to her lungs.”

  Gray relaxed, though the thought of a doctor listening to Sofia’s lungs reminded him too much of Brynn and the many physicians who paid visits to do much the same.

  “Thank you,” he said, though perhaps unnecessarily. Sir and Lady Cooper loved Sofia just as much as Gray did—why wouldn’t they see to her health? But, as always, Lady Cooper was gracious and merely smiled.

  “Lord Northridge…” She stopped and turned to the nursemaid. “Thank you, Becky, that will be all for now.”

  The maid bobbed a curtsy and left, closing the door behind her.

  Gray watched as Sofia sat down on the rug between he and Lady Cooper, and her pudgy little thumb and forefinger began to pull each petal off. He stifled a laugh.

  “Lord Northridge,” Lady Cooper began again. He shifted his attention to her. “You do know that my husband and I are very happy to have Sofia in our family. You’ve given us something we were never able to give ourselves, and for that, we are eternally grateful. However…I cannot help but think… Well, I know I may be wrong to say this, but…”

  The pure joy that fed like a stream into Gray’s heart whenever he had the opportunity to visit Sofia turned stagnant. He frowned at Lady Cooper as she struggled to find the words she wanted to say. He feared he knew what they were going to be.

  “You do not want me to see Sofia any longer,” he said. He had whiled away many idle hours while trying to fall asleep at night with the fear that one day the Coopers may well ask him to keep his distance. For Sofia’s sake.

  Granted, the excuses surrounding his frequent visits would be more difficult to explain once she grew older. But they had many years yet. And perhaps the Coopers could merely say Gray was a family friend. An uncle of sorts.

  I do not want to be her uncle.

  He did not want a false status within her heart.

  Lady Cooper’s lips parted, her expression of horror and confusion plain. “Not see her? Oh my goodness, no! Not at all! Please, never think that!”

  Gray exhaled yet again, relieved, though still confused. “Then what do you mean to say?”

  She stood from the sofa, her hands clasped before her, and lowered her voice. “Only that it’s so clear how much you adore her. I cannot help but think that you might wish for…something more than your regular visits.”

  He rose from his chair slowly. “Something more?” He eyed Sofia to make certain she was busying herself with the flowers, and softened his voice as well. “Lady Cooper, do you mean to suggest I should take Sofia from Breckenham? From her home here?”

  “Do you not wish for it?” she asked in return.

  Gray was at a loss for words. His heart screamed yes, but logic and propriety dictated the opposite. He could never claim Sofia as his.

  Marianna had never announced that she was expecting their child. When Gray had started to note her widening middle and fuller breasts during the nights he visited her apartments in Knightsbridge—apartments he kept for her—he had said nothing. He knew better than to tell a woman she was gaining. However, when the protrusion of her belly began to take definite shape, he had asked her point-blank.

  He would never forget the way she’d responded. A wave of her hand and a nod of her head, as if he’d asked if it was rainin
g outside.

  “Just a few more months. I’ll take care of it, darling,” she’d said, pecking his cheek.

  Just like now, Gray had not been able to speak. Only feel.

  “It does not signify if I wish for it or not,” he finally said to Lady Cooper. “I am unmarried. The child is…” There was no need to say illegitimate, even though at Sofia’s age, she would be blissfully unaware of what the word meant.

  Claiming an illegitimate child after he was married would be scandalous. Claiming one before would be utterly ludicrous. He cleared his throat. “Sofia is happy here, and I am grateful for our arrangement. I will make every effort I can to visit.”

  Lady Cooper nodded, but her frown told him she was not fully satisfied with his answer. Gray suspected she worried that he would have a change of heart and take away the daughter they’d come to love as their own. As much as he dreamed of it, he could not be a father to Sofia without bringing shame and scandal down upon them all. No, she was better off here with the Coopers. In one sense, it would be better if he severed all contact, but Gray couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t imagine going without seeing those laughing blue eyes. It was as if she’d lodged herself well and truly into the folds of his heart.

  He wondered if all fathers felt this way.

  “Perhaps you would like to take her out into the gardens for some fresh air?” Lady Cooper suggested.

  “I’d like that very much,” he said.

  Gray scooped Sofia up in his arms, and she squealed in delight. It had taken her all of five minutes to warm up, her natural childish curiosity winning out over initial shyness. Her chubby arms wound around his neck, and he resisted the shocking urge to nuzzle the crook of her dimpled elbow. It astonished him that he had had some part in creating such a perfect human being. Instead, he breathed in her fresh, clean scent and allowed his cheek to graze the spun softness of the golden curls she’d inherited from him.

  He noticed that Lady Cooper, while she had not accompanied them into the garden, kept watch through the open bay windows. The garden itself offered a modicum of privacy, bordered by lush green hedges, and only one corner of it was visible from the road. Gray made sure to keep well away from that side—he did not need to cause any heartache or scandal for the Coopers.

  “Shall we play catch?” he said, finding a red ball lying beside a rose bush. Sofia’s eyes lit up as he threw the ball. She chased after it, giggling, and tried to hide it behind another shrub.

  “Norry, ball,” Sofia said.

  He supposed he was meant to find the hidden ball and did so to the child’s great delight. Their game lasted for a few minutes before she became distracted by a butterfly and ran toward one of the rose bushes at the far end of the garden nearest the gate to grasp it.

  A startled wail escaped her lips, her blue eyes filling with tears as she clutched her fingers to her chest. Gray rushed to her side only to discover that she had pricked herself on a thorn. “There, there, Norry’s got you, little one.”

  He wiped the tears from her eyes, dismissing the hovering maid and signaling to Lady Cooper standing anxiously at the window that all was well. Drawing his handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed the tiny bloodstain and bent his lips to her fingers. He took a perch on the low garden wall before pulling a package from his pocket and opening the wrapping to offer Sofia a sugared date. Her tears disappeared.

  Gray smiled. “All better.”

  Unable to help himself, he pulled the little girl into his arms and sat her upon his knee, where she promptly stuffed the fruit into her mouth and chewed happily. He had never felt such a sense of contentment—the perfection in the moment something to be savored and tucked away for the times he could not see her.

  A smile still on his face, he looked up. The smile froze as his eyes clashed with a pair of somber green ones. Time stood still for an endless moment as Lana, standing on the road in front of the Coopers’ home, slid her gaze from him to the child in his arms, and then back to him. Gray knew the resemblance between them would be evident, even to a stranger. Once more, he found himself at a loss for words. But this time, there was nothing he could say. His mind was utterly blank.

  “Lady,” Sofia said, looking through the gate with a winsome wave. Startled, Lana raised her fingers in return and then caught herself. With one last unfathomable look, she hurried away. Gray wrenched his eyes from her retreating form and stood, allowing the child to go to the waiting maid. He swallowed hard.

  Damn it all to hell. What had Lana been doing here? Had the incorrigible woman followed him? His stomach twisted into a knot, followed by a hot sweep of anger that drained away as abruptly as it came.

  She knew his secret. With a sinking heart, he wondered what she would do with the knowledge, and what the price of her silence would be.

  Chapter Six

  A flood of emotions crashed through Lana as she rounded the corner, out of sight of the pretty manor house and out of sight of what she’d witnessed. Her heart was racing at an erratic pace, and her breath came in short, sharp, painful bursts. She had never had a panic attack—Irina was more prone to them—but she was certain that she was about to swoon. Leaning against a low stone wall in the shadow of a large oak tree, she hauled deep gulps of air into her aching lungs.

  She shouldn’t have followed him. She shouldn’t have been so absurdly curious about his whereabouts. Or let her feelings dictate her actions. She shouldn’t have engaged with Lord Northridge whatsoever, or let him get under her skin. Now she’d risked her safety and Irina’s just to feel vindicated in her opinion of him. She’d thought he had a mistress, and indeed, she had found him with someone of the opposite sex. Only, it’d been a child. His child. Of that, she had no doubt.

  She recalled the cherubic features of the little girl. Two or three years, at the most. She was the spitting image of her father, down to the wide blue eyes, the blond hair, the stubborn chin, the full, rosy lips. And if she’d had any uncertainty as to the child’s identity, the doting expression on Lord Northridge’s face as he held her would have left little doubt.

  Lana thought back to the woman she’d glimpsed watching from the window. She’d appeared older, too old to be the child’s mother and Lord Northridge’s mistress, but Lana claimed no understanding as to the desires of men. Her mind raced with scenarios, but they all came back to one thing: she had just stumbled upon Lord Northridge’s secret.

  A secret that could put her out of her position, and in danger.

  Lana cursed herself savagely. She wanted to stomp her feet in frustration—if only she hadn’t been so provoked by the man in the first place, she never would have followed him. But now he would undoubtedly take swift action against her. Lord Northridge was volatile enough to retaliate, even if he had kissed her. He’d been angry then, but now… She worried what he’d choose to do. Her fears swelled, threatening to suffocate her.

  She was a servant.

  She had no other home to flee to.

  Viktor Zakorov was in London, and her uncle was most certainly not far behind.

  Sweat broke out in a hot wave beneath the uncomfortable bodice that seemed to tighten with each breath. Lord help her, she truly was about to swoon. Steadying herself, her hands gripping the stones behind her, she closed her eyes as her knees threatened to give way.

  “Miss? Miss? Are you unwell?” The voice pierced through the fog suffocating her brain. Lana blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dappled afternoon sunlight. A young woman’s concerned face swam into view as she extended a vial of hartshorn and a fan toward her. Lana declined the smelling salts but accepted the fan gratefully. Her benefactor wore a wide-brimmed hat and light veil to protect against the sun.

  “Thank you, my lady,” Lana said, bobbing a quick curtsy. Another woman accompanied the young lady, undoubtedly her chaperone. The comely girl was impeccably dressed and bore an unmistakable stamp of nobility. Her manner, however, did not. She was warm and friendly, despite realizing that Lana would be no one of con
sequence.

  Lana held the fan out, attempting to return the item. Sparkling blue eyes behind the veil echoed the unaffected smile stretching on the young lady’s lips. “Please keep it. I find myself prone to the vapors on exceedingly hot days. I have a number of fans and will not miss this one.”

  “Thank you,” Lana said with another bob of her head.

  After a pause, the woman said, “Are we acquainted?”

  “Pardon?” Lana asked, her attention divided. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Lord Northridge chasing after her, but was relieved to see only an empty lane. She did not have the wherewithal to handle him right at that moment.

  “I know you.”

  Lana froze at the three innocuous words that shook her to the core. She exhaled before replying, trying to bring her frazzled nerves under control to deal with the new and immediate threat of recognition. “I do not expect that we socialize in the same circles, my lady.”

  “Perhaps not, but you remind me of someone. She was someone I met a year ago in St. Petersburg. Truly, you could be sisters, the resemblance is so striking.”

  St. Petersburg. Lana sucked in a short breath, her back and shoulders tensing with worry and no small amount of fear. For months, she had been so careful. To be discovered now would be frightening, especially with Zakorov so close. Panic set in like a cold chill in her veins. She tried not to show any emotion as she slowly lifted her eyes to the woman standing before her. The lady was frowning, as if still struggling to place her. Her determined gaze swept past Lana’s plain navy blue gown and her capped head, and returned to scrutinize her features.

  Although she did not recognize the young woman’s face, Lana knew that it was a high probability that they could have met if she had indeed been to St. Petersburg.

  Lana dipped her head again. “I am afraid that’s not possible, my lady. I am from Moscow.”

  “Moscow, you say?” the lady asked. Her expression then lit up. “Ah, that’s it then! You’re Lady Briannon’s maid! She pointed you out last Michaelmas at Ferndale’s annual ball and said that you were from Moscow. I was certain I knew you from somewhere.”