by Wendy Vella
“My Lord!” she cried out, holding out her arms to her son.
Smiling, Gabriel bowed before rushing to her. “Really, mother. You can call me, ‘Gabe’,” he chided her as he took her into his arms and held her for a moment. He kissed her temple before loosening his hold and stepping back.
Charity returned the hug as best she could. Once released from his hold, she leaned back to regard her only child. “You seem ...” She paused, not quite sure how to describe her son’s disposition.
“At odds?” he guessed, thinking it was as good a description as any for how he was feeling at the moment. I have a son, he thought for the tenth time that day. That feeling of ... he wasn’t sure how to describe it. Pride? Fear? Disbelief? It gripped him again in his gut, reminding him of the sensation of when he’d been punched by his father that day he had inherited the Trenton earldom. At least he could breathe now, though. He did so, taking a deep breath as he considered how to tell his mother his news.
The countess regarded him for a moment, a look of confusion passing over her face. “I would have said, ‘happy’, actually,” she countered, wondering at Gabriel’s comment.
Gabriel nodded at her assessment. “I am,” he agreed, taking one of her hands so he could lead her to the settee where her needlework lay in a heap. He carefully moved it to an adjacent chair. “If you have a moment, I wish to share some news with you,” he said in a quiet voice.
Charity gave him a tentative smile. “I always have a moment—or a whole day—for you,” she replied carefully. “Something must have happened on your trip. Do share your news.”
Having rehearsed his speech the entire ride from the Spread Eagle, Gabriel now found himself unable to simply tell her about the baby he had fathered. “I was in ...” he started uncertainly. “I met a woman ...”
Gasping, Charity raised her good hand to her chest, her face brightening. “You found a bride,” she guessed. “Finally!”
Gabriel started to respond and had to close his mouth. Sarah hadn’t agreed to marry him. He hadn’t exactly proposed, though, either. He had merely agreed to pay for his son’s education. But certainly Sarah would agree to be his wife should he make an offer. He was an earl, after all. “Possibly,” he finally responded, pushing one hand through his curls. He was suddenly reminded of how Sarah combed his hair with her fingers, the nails barely scraping his scalp so darts of pleasure skittered over his head. At one time, her insistence at running her fingers through his hair had annoyed him. Now, he wished she could do it every day.
“So, you’re courting someone?” Charity ventured, hope evident in her voice.
Gabriel considered that option. He hadn’t exactly left Sarah with that impression, either. His expression obviously gave him away, though, when his mother sat up straighter. “You just need to speak with her father, my lord,” she offered, not realizing she had used the honorific again.
“Gabriel, mother,” he corrected her.
Charity straightened, more impatient than ever to learn who might become the next Countess of Trenton. “Gabriel!” she chided him. “At this rate, I’ll be dead before you make me a grandmother!”
Staring at his mother, his eyes wide, Gabriel cocked his head to one side. With her simple words, she had given him the perfect opportunity to explain his situation. “Actually, you already are,” he said quietly, realizing her comment made it possible for him to share his news about the baby before he would have to tell her about Sarah.
A myriad of emotions crossed Charity’s face just then. Confusion, disbelief, happiness, fear ... Gabriel saw it all as his mother took in his flippant comment. “I have a son,” he said, having a hard time containing his pride.
Charity Wellingham stood up so suddenly, Gabriel was caught unawares and struggled to stand up as was proper courtesy. “Is this your idea of a prank, young man?” she got out with a good deal of annoyance, her good arm bending at the elbow so her hand rested on her hip.
Stunned by her reaction, Gabriel flinched. “No, milady,” he replied with a shake of his head. “I ... I have a son. He’s six months old. He’s ...”
“A bastard,” his mother spoke quietly, sinking onto the settee nearly as fast as she had risen from it.
“Mother,” Gabriel whispered hoarsely, pushing a hand through his hair in frustration. He had expected a different reaction from her, although, at the moment, he didn’t know quite why he thought she would be pleased by the news. She was an aristocrat’s daughter. Married to an earl and quite versed in all things proper when it came to matters of the ton.
“One of your mistresses?” Charity spat out, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
“No!” Gabriel replied, frustration causing his brows to knit together and his face to look drawn. He couldn’t exactly tell her the mother was a tavern wench. And I don’t have to. She’s the manager of an inn.
“Then, how do you know the babe is yours?” she countered, a hanky appearing in her good hand from one of her gown’s pockets. She rushed to dab her eyes, obviously embarrassed to be seen crying in front of her son.
Reminded of his first look at little Gabe while the baby suckled Sarah’s breast, Gabriel couldn’t suppress the smile that now showed on his face. Dada, the babe had said as he briefly, very briefly, let go of his source of nourishment and waved a clenched fist in Gabriel’s direction. Gabriel was reminded of a miniature that had been painted of him when he was about that age, a miniature that sat among many on the fireplace mantle in this very room.
He held up a finger as if to indicate his mother should be patient for a moment before he moved quickly to the fireplace. The dozen or so tiny paintings were carefully arranged in clusters atop the mantle, their gilt frames dusted daily by a housemaid. He found the one of him as a babe, looking every bit like Cupid incarnate, and plucked it from its place among the others of him in his youth. Moving back to the settee, he held it out in his palm as he took a seat next to his mother.
Charity gave the painting a passing glance and returned her attention to her son. “What are you doing?” she wondered, the hanky once again dabbing at one of her eyes.
Gabriel held up the miniature and regarded it with a grin.
“He looks exactly like I did at this age,” he said proudly. “Like Cupid,” he added, as if he had to drive home the point.
Rolling her eyes in a most unladylike fashion, Charity gave her son a shake of her head. “Every blond-haired, blue-eyed baby looks like that when he’s six months old,” she countered sadly. “If not your mistress, then who did you bed to produce the bastard?” she wondered, her disappointment still evident.
Tamping down his sudden anger—Gabriel realized he was tempted to lash out at her for her callous remark—he took a deep breath to calm himself. “Sarah Cumberbatch,” he finally said quietly.
Charity gave him an uncertain glance, her face a picture of concentration as she tried to figure out which aristocratic family included a Cumberbatch. “A baron’s daughter?” she guessed, a look of puzzlement crossing her face.
Sighing, Gabriel shook his head. “She is not of the ton, mother,” he spoke, deciding just then that he rather liked the idea of marrying someone for who she was rather than who her father was.
From the sound of the squeak that erupted from his mother, Gabriel thought he might have to locate her vinaigrette. But Charity sat staring at him in disbelief. “A commoner?” she whispered, her arms wrapping around her middle as if she might be sick. And yet, only a few days ago, I thought I would find that wholly acceptable, she reasoned, straightening on the settee. I cannot at the moment ...
“Aye,” Gabriel responded with a nod. “I met her on my way to London a year ago last December. She ...” he was about to say she was a barmaid, but he caught himself. “... She runs the Spread Eagle, a small inn near ...”
“Stretton?” his mother finished for him, her eyes widening.
“Yes,” he agreed with a nod.
“Then she no doubt beds every man
of means who spends the night there!”
The words were so shrill, Gabriel visibly flinched.
“Mother!” he countered, hurt that she would think the worst of Sarah when she hadn’t yet met the woman.
Of course, he had thought the same thing that first late afternoon he’d spent with the blonde barmaid. She hadn’t propositioned him. He had been the one to suggest a tumble, thinking she was someone else. And she hadn’t accepted; indeed, she had replied with an apology because she was working and would be until quite late. Another tavern employee had encouraged her to accept his offer, though.
Remembering back to the busy, smoke-filled taproom where he’d taken refuge from the sound of the creaky wheels of the Trenton coach, Gabriel thought her initial reaction was one of surprise, as if she were never approached about taking a tumble with a traveler. Perhaps it was because of the clothes he wore, the rich fabrics a testament to his wealth. She had probably never been propositioned by a man of his means, he realized. And although her initial behavior had suggested the nervousness of a chit who had never been bedded, she was soon enjoying his attentions, except when it came to his kisses, he realized. But then she was giving him every reason to enjoy hers. None of his mistresses had been quite so enthusiastic in their beds—at least, not with him. “She is ... she is not a lightskirt, mother,” Gabriel said with a shake of his head.
“She took your coin for the tumble, though, didn’t she?” his mother accused, her chin angled up in defiance.
Gabriel frowned at her quick response, surprised the countess would use such language. “I left some blunt, I admit,” he agreed with a nod, his frown still firmly in place. “But ...” He shrugged, not knowing what else to say that might convince his mother that little Gabe was his son.
Charity stared at her son, her eyebrows furrowing. “Do you ... do you have feelings of ... of affection for her?” she wondered quietly, her arms still wrapped about her middle.
Gabriel lifted his head to stare at the coffered ceiling. “I do,” he admitted finally. “And not just because she is the mother of my child,” he added as he lowered his head to regard his mother.
Visibly flinching, Charity stared at Gabriel for a long time. “So, she is ... experienced ... in matters of ...”
“No!” Gabriel interrupted suddenly. “I feel affection for her because ... because we converse easily with one another. Because she is pleasant to look upon. Because she is clever and smart and quite able to look after herself. She earns her living. She doesn’t need me to make her way in this world. Indeed, she is an orphan, but not the least bit sorrowful in her disposition ...”
“So, what does she want?” Charity interrupted suddenly.
“Whatever do you mean?” Gabriel replied, his brows furrowing as he shook his head.
“Why were you there, if not to supply funds for your son?”
Gabriel continued frowning, wondering why his mother would think the worst of Sarah. “I went there of my own accord. I wished to speak with her about ... about what happened in London.” When he saw his mother’s brow arch up in surprise, he added, “About what happened with Lady Carlington and ...” He waved a hand in the air, as if to indicate he intended to speak with Sarah about everything that had happened in London. “Sarah is easy to speak with, and I wanted a ... a woman’s opinion,” he explained simply.
“And you couldn’t do that with me?” Charity wondered, a look of hurt suddenly on her face.
Gabriel cocked an eyebrow in surprise. “I think not,” he replied with a quick shake of his head. “You’re my mother. I have no intention of telling you ... well, never mind,” he said suddenly, clamping his mouth shut as if he was afraid he would admit more of his failings in London.
Charity sighed and leaned toward him, keeping her voice low as she said, “I know a bit about what happened ... in Parliament, at least,” she spoke quietly, as if she thought she might be overheard.
A red flush colored her son’s face. “And?” he replied, surprised by her words.
“You’re young, Gabriel,” she stated with a shake of her head. “Young and headstrong and full of new ideas. The old lords in Parliament were probably quite offended by your enthusiasm. They have probably forgotten they were the same way when they were your age,” she added with a hint of mischief.
Gabriel regarded his mother with an arched brow. How would his mother know how the old men in Parliament behaved? Before he could even ask, Charity shrugged. “Your father was quite like you when he was your age,” she claimed quietly.
Despite their disagreement, Gabriel smiled and nodded, finally appreciating his mother’s words. “But he probably didn’t father a bastard before he married you,” he countered, his hands going to his knees. When he glanced back at Charity, he couldn’t miss how her face bloomed with a pretty pink that made her appear ten years younger. “Did he?” he added carefully. A sudden thought of half-brothers or sisters had him wondering how many others there might be besides the three his investigator had discovered.
Closing her eyes and pinching her lips tightly, Charity shrugged. “You would have been, had he not married me,” she whispered. When she glanced up to look at her son, she found Gabriel staring at her in disbelief.
Had his father been forced to marry Charity Fitzsimmons because he had taken her virtue and been held accountable? Or had he married her because they were betrothed, and he intended to marry her all along?
“He claimed he wanted to marry me,” Charity said quickly, as if she could read her son’s mind. “But, I have thought many times that he would have preferred my cousin, Temperance,” she added, her eyes suddenly closing against another round of tears.
Cousin Temperance, Gabriel thought quickly. Temperance Fitzsimmons, who had married Stanley Harrington and was now the Countess of Mayfield. She lived in London—in Park Lane, in fact, and would be hosting a ball at the end of the following week.
Alistair Comber was a groom at Mayfield House, Gabriel remembered just then. He briefly wondered how his friend from school was doing. Probably better than me, he thought with a bit of jealousy. Probably bedding every willing maid in the Mayfield household. They probably go to the stables in search of him, he reasoned before realizing his mother was staring at him. “I do not think father felt affection for her,” Gabriel said, knowing he spoke the truth. “But, I think he believed you were too ... too good for him,” he managed to get out.
Charity Wellingham stared at her son for a very long time. “Thank you,” she finally replied, unfolding her arms from around her middle and reaching for one of his with her good hand. “So, tell me what your ... your Sarah expects of you,” she urged, her bright eyes coming up to meet his.
Sighing, Gabriel shrugged. “She wants Gabe to be educated,” he replied simply.
Her eyebrows rising in surprise, Charity stared at her son. “And?”
“And, nothing,” Gabriel replied with a shake of his head.
“She has not asked for ... for money?” she clarified. “An allowance. A house?”
“No.”
“A town coach and matched horses? With a tiger and a groom?” she suggested, thinking that would be a reasonable request.
“No,” Gabriel answered, shaking his head, surprised by his mother’s suggestion. He couldn’t imagine Sarah asking for a coach-and-four.
“She has not asked that you wed her?” Charity wondered, her eyes widening in disbelief.
Gabriel sighed then. “No,” he replied sadly. “I would, though,” he whispered. “If she had broached the subject, I do think we could have come to an agreement in that regard,” he said uncertainly. “I mean, I think I could have convinced her to be my wife,” he clarified, nodding as if he had to convince himself.
Stunned that her son didn’t think himself worthy of a woman employed at a coaching inn, Charity stared at her son intently. When had this sudden lack of confidence developed? Gabriel Wellingham had never lacked confidence, at least, not in matters concerning the ton
or in running the earldom. He was quite sure of himself—cocky, even—so it was a bit surprising to find he was unsure in matters of ... in matters of the heart.
Perhaps he really did feel affection for this Sarah Cumberbatch.
But did the chit feel any affection for Gabriel? Was Gabriel really the father of her babe? Charity glanced at the miniature her son still held in his palm and realized he truly believed the baby to be his child. If that was truly the case, then did Sarah see him as a source of funds—for the rest of her life and maybe her son’s? Or was she desperate to receive his funds and use them for something other than her son’s education? Or were Gabriel’s claims that she wanted nothing for herself true?
Despite Gabriel’s assurances that Sarah expected nothing for herself, Charity decided she should discover the chit’s true motives. “I will take my leave of Trenton Manor tomorrow,” Charity said then. “Just a short trip. I expect I’ll be back the day after tomorrow,” she added when her son gave her a startled look. His face suddenly brightened.
“Arranging a liaison, no doubt?” he accused, one eyebrow waggling with mischief as he felt relief that she seemed to believe his claims about Sarah.
Her mouth opening in a large ‘O’, Charity gave her son a light slap on his hand. “I think not,” she replied with a grin. “I am just paying calls,” she claimed with a nod.
Gabriel nodded. “If I do not see you at breakfast, then safe travels,” he offered, his attention once more on the miniature he held in the palm off his hand.
Charity nodded and excused herself from the salon. “Do try to stay out of trouble, dear,” she replied, realizing she meant every word of the comment.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A Letter to Mother
Alistair stared at the closed door for several moments after Lady Mayfield took her leave of the parlor. Quite a lady, he thought before turning to regard the blank sheet of parchment she had left on the escritoire.
He realized he had only written one other missive to his mother during his twenty-eight years. That one had been scratched with a poor excuse for charcoal onto paper found in an abandoned hunting lodge somewhere in Belgium. Alistair had discovered the small building whilst making his escape from the group of French soldiers who had captured him and two others while they were on a reconnaissance mission near Merxem.