Slightly Noble

by Lilly Gayle

  She glanced at Jack. Had he and his friend not happened along when they did, she would not have married Lord Ruston, no matter how high his rank. She would have followed through on her plans to live in Shrivenham until after Will’s birth. Then, she would have returned to her father’s townhouse as a widow. No doubt, her father would have pawned her off on a baron or some other lesser peer who would not mind saddling himself with a widow—so long as she were rich or her father provided an adequate dowry—which he would have done. He was a parvenu, desperate to climb the social ladder despite his lack of a pedigree. She did not doubt his love, but she could no longer be a part of his plans, whatever they might be.

  Heart in her throat, she straightened her shoulders and met her father’s gaze. “I met Jack—Ardmore in London nearly two years ago. Ironically, it is true. His aunt, Lady Margery, saw us together, and she will attest that she met me then, even though she did not. She will also attest to the fact Jack returned to London some six months later, which is also true, but she will say the war in America prevented us from getting married earlier.” Despite Jack’s sharply indrawn breath and the tension radiating through his bicep, she continued. “As for my prolonged absence from society, I believe the reasons will be quite obvious once people learn I am a mother. But I will tell anyone curious enough to ask that while I waited for Jack to return from America, I stayed with a spinster from a good family.”

  “And who is this spinster?” Jack asked before her father could pose the question.

  “Daphne Dupree.” She smiled. “I was traveling with her when we met, and she is most definitely a spinster.”

  “Sister Mary Daphne?” Her father’s eyes widened. “Isn’t she the nun who was supposed to send letters?” He folded his arms over his chest, resting his clasped hands on his slight paunch. “What ever happened to her? To her sister? I am outraged no one told me you had concocted your own plans until after they were underway and had already gone awry. The reverend mother was concerned as well. She knew nothing about you going to Shrivenham, and she never mentioned Sister Mary Daphne or any letters you were supposed to have written.”

  “I do not understand myself.” She had been so consumed giving birth and adapting to life with Jack that she had little time to ponder what might have happened to the kind nun. “Sister Mary Daphne seemed so dedicated to her cause. I wonder what happened to her.” She looked at Jack.

  He shrugged. “I assume she absconded with my money and had no more use for the convent or her vows of poverty.”

  “Jack!” Surely, he did not believe that. “What if something bad happened to her? Do you think we could go to Shrivenham later this week and pay her sister a visit?”

  “I do not see why not. If Sister Mary Daphne did not return to the convent, I would like to know what she did with the money. I would most assuredly like to know that she gave an adequate amount to her brother so he does not suffer the loss of his horses.”

  “What about the other women and their babies, the ones she said she helped? What if there is no boarding house? What if her sister is running a baby farm?” Fear raked icy fingers down Abby’s spine. She dared another glance in Jack’s direction, and the compassionate gleam in his eyes set her fears to rest. No matter what had happened to those women, Jack would make things right. He would no more abide by the farming of babies than he would the mistreatment of a woman. “If I could just visit with Lydia and make sure she and her child are safe, I will be most grateful.”

  “I do not need your gratitude, Abby.” His palm curved over her shoulder, drawing her closer. “If the nun lied about her charity for unwed mothers, she might very well have lied about your friend Lydia as well. But we will get to the truth. I promise.”

  Abby’s chest tightened. She had to believe the nun had kept the money and not returned to the convent, so she could devote her time and resources to her unwed mother’s charity. It was the most logical explanation. It was also the only one Abby could consider without bursting into tears.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she prayed for Lydia and her child, and she prayed she would not have to face Lord Drury or Lord Ruston.

  ****

  Abby stood between Jack and her father outside Lord Covington’s townhouse on Upper Grosvenor Street in Mayfair. Liveried footman stood on either side of the iron gate, and gas lamps set every window in the sprawling brick mansion aglow. Her stomach churned. Jack looked up and whistled.

  “This place would put Ram’s Head to shame, even in her better days.”

  “You should see his country estate.” Abby swallowed her nerves and glanced at her father.

  He patted her shoulder. “Everything will work out swimmingly. Just follow my lead.”

  “Where you might lead is as terrifying as the thought of running into Lord Drury,” she mumbled.

  “I am right here beside you.” Jack placed his hand at the small of her back and nudged her forward. She glanced up. He looked down. And winked!

  Heat shot to her cheeks and flared lower. She stumbled on a loose cobblestone, but Jack’s firm grasp held her upright.

  “Breathe,” he said with a smile. And the next thing she knew, the butler was announcing their arrival.

  Clinging tightly to Jack’s arm, she walked in between him and her father, moving forward inch by painful inch in the receiving line. Lord Chivington stood next to his wife. Beside her was their oldest son and heir, the marquess, Lord Sherwood. All three greeted Abby with cool reserve until her father stepped forward to shake Lord Chivington’s hand. Then, he turned to introduce Jack in such a pompous way that Abby wanted to hide her face in shame. Jack, however, took it all in stride.

  He offered a gloved hand to the duke and then the marquess. “A pleasure, your grace. Lord Sherwood.”

  He then turned to Lady Chivington and raised her gloved fingers to his lips. Her face flushed crimson, and a girlish giggle escaped.

  Lord Chivington smiled. “It is good to meet you, Lord Ardmore. I knew your father well at one time, but I hear he had been quite ill before his passing. May I offer my condolences?”

  Abby stiffened, fearing how Jack might respond. He patted her gloved hand as if to reassure her and nodded to the duke. “Thank you.”

  “I understand your mother passed recently as well, in America,” Lord Chivington added, a curious glint in his eye. “Such a tragedy. I had not seen her in years either.”

  Abby did not suppose he had. She had been living in Charleston for the past twenty years. No doubt, Jack’s cousin had spread as many rumors as possible, not that she had ever heard a whisper of scandal. In fact, she had never heard of Lord Ardmore or his family before meeting Jack. So perhaps, his aunt had not lied about the former viscount becoming a recluse and not telling anyone he had banished his wife.

  “It was difficult on us all.” A nerve visibly twitched in Jack’s jaw, and tension radiated from his bunched muscles through the sleeve of his frock coat. He was as tightly wound as a jungle cat preparing to pounce on unsuspecting prey. Abby feared that if someone else mentioned his parents, he would snap.

  She thrust herself into the conversation to take the focus off Jack. “I wish I could have met her. The former Lord Ardmore’s sister, Lady Margery, told me that after her brother became ill, neither he nor his wife ventured out very often, except when she traveled to America to visit friends.”

  Jack glanced sharply at her, no doubt concerned over how easily she had lied. But she would lie, cheat, or steal to protect him as he had protected her. With a vapid smile and flutter of her lashes, she prattled on about Charleston and society as if she were some empty-headed debutante who had personally attended a southern ball.

  Lord Chivington smiled politely but looked rather bored. “Indeed.”

  Lady Chivington reached over and patted her shoulder, all aflutter with the possibility of some new scandal. “Odd, that the late Lady Ardmore never mentioned friends in America. But I am sure she would have adored you, Miss Halsey. Oh! I mean, Lady Ardmore.�
�� Her tinkling giggle was as phony as her smile. “Your new title will take some getting used to.”

  “For me as well,” Abby replied with her own fake smile.

  “And I would love to hear about the former Lady Ardmore’s adventures. We were great friends at one time, but after that awful scandal with Lord Ardmore’s brother-in-law, Mr. Flick, she became less sociable.” She pinned Jack with curious eyes, and Abby could almost see the wheels spinning in her devious mind. “Despite the scandal, Lady Margery became quite active in our little social circle, until recently. Has she taken ill too?”

  “No.” Jack’s expression was as readable as a block of ice.

  Abby forced another smile. “She did accept your invitation for tonight’s soiree.”

  An unpleasant glint flashed behind the duchess’s pale eyes. “Really? I must confess that I never check with my housekeeper on such mundane matters. And as I had heard she and her son would be leaving Ridge Point, I did not expect her to accept my last-minute invitation.”

  Before Jack could respond with some remark sure to put her in her place, Abby once again intervened. “They will be staying at least another week until other arrangements can be made. You see, my husband is as generous toward his relations as his father was.” She looked up, and despite Jack’s glower, it would have been impossible for him to miss the pleading look she cast his way. He shook his head and his expression softened. Then, he smiled and…

  Did he just wink? Again? A flush shivered over her, warming her cheeks.

  ****

  The marquess snorted behind his glass, drawing Jack’s attention away from his softhearted but scheming wife. “I say, Ardmore, it is a jolly good thing you returned home when you did. Your cousin was making himself quite at home in your absence. A word of advice?”

  Jack leaned closer. Lord Sherwood lowered his voice. “Keep an eye on Flick and on the family silver if you intend to let him and his mother stay on at Ridge Point. He is quite the gambler and not a very good one.”

  Morris Flick was a useless waste of skin, and despite Abby’s pleas, he would never let that bastard oversee the repairs at Ram’s Head. He would rather leave Lord Gilchrest’s twin brother in charge of the estate. Edward Gilchrest had been left brain damaged by a fever when he was a child, and he still had more sense than Flick. Jack nodded. “I’ll keep your warning in mind.”

  “Do come and sit with me later in the evening,” Lady Chivington said to Abby with a calculating gleam in her eyes. “We simply must catch up.”

  Abby flushed but boldly held the older woman’s gaze. “Where is Lady Edwina? I have missed her so.”

  The duchess laughed, a tittering sound that grated on Jack’s nerves. “Oh, you know our dear Eddy. Her dance card is full, and she is enjoying every minute of the attention. See?” She nodded and Abby turned her head to follow the older woman’s gaze. “She is dancing with the Earl of Glamorgan, he is the Marquis of Worcester’s heir, and Worcester is heir apparent to the Duke of Beaufort.”

  Abby smiled, but it did not appear genuine. “I am sure she could have any man she chooses.”

  Jack nearly laughed aloud. Despite her need for acceptance amongst the peerage, Abby was quite the rebel, a polite rebel, but no less rebellious.

  A disapproving frown marred Lady Chivington’s powdered face. “True, but she is also an obedient daughter who will one day be a duchess. I expect nothing less.”

  Enough was enough. Jack could no longer tolerate the vapid woman’s condescending remarks and veiled insults. He smiled as politely as he could, although he was sure it looked more like a snarl. “If you will excuse us, I believe I owe my wife a dance.”

  Before another word could be spoken, he nodded to Lord Chivington and the marquess and swept his wife onto the dance floor. The look of surprise that briefly flashed behind her eyes was almost worth the reprimand he was sure to get because of his rude behavior. Despite her rebellious streak, Abby had been a most obedient daughter, but unlike his mother, she did not quietly do as she was told. She protested and argued every step of the way, and she would, no doubt, argue with him for many years to come.

  He chuckled and pulled her close as he waltzed her across the floor.

  “What is so funny?” she hissed under her breath, though her eyes danced with merriment.

  He dropped his mouth to the side of her face, grazing her ear with his lips. A delicate tremor shook her, and his rod stood up and took notice.

  “You, my spirited little rebel. You stood up to that old bat with the utmost decorum and class. What happened to the scared little monk I married.”

  “Damn you, Jack,” she whispered as he pulled her flush against his chest. “It was not a monk’s robe. How many times must I tell you?”

  He smiled, all the way down to his toes. “As many times as I have to tell you that I am no pirate. And watch your tongue, my lady. You are my viscountess now.”

  “I am not just a viscountess,” she whispered, her tightly corseted belly brushing against his erection. “I am Lord Captain’s lady.”

  He groaned and very nearly lost his footing. This time, Abby chuckled, and a mischievous glint shone in her eyes. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

  “What?” he whispered, once he finally found his voice.

  “I knew my big pirate of a husband was not the graceful dancer he was pretending to be. It was only a matter of time before he tripped over his own big feet.”

  “Then perhaps I should prove you wrong.” Pulling her more firmly into his arms, he swept her across the dance floor.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Midway through a waltz, Jack stumbled to a stop. Abby would have teased him once more about his big feet, had she not noticed the expression on his face. Jack looked as if he had seen a ghost.

  Her eyes followed his shocked gaze to a broad shouldered gentleman with dark hair lightly sprinkled with gray who was talking with Mr. Stanley. Was he surprised to see his friend? He shouldn’t be. Although Mr. Stanley had worked as Jack’s quartermaster for the last six years, he was still the son of an earl and a notable member of society. But who was the man to whom he was speaking? He was a bit older than Jack and Mr. Stanley but no less handsome. Beside him, a voluptuous woman with reddish-brown hair artfully coiffed and curled to perfection smiled up at him.

  “By God, I would not have believed it if I had not seen it with my own eyes.” Even as Jack spoke, he pulled Abby’s hand through the crook of his arm and dragged her across the dance floor.

  Mr. Stanley spoke to Abby and stepped back as Jack let go of her arm and clasped the handsome gentleman’s broad shoulder. “Gilchrest, you English dandy, how in God’s name did Nikki drag you out of your damnable castle?”

  Lord Gilchrest had vouched for Jack when he was called to lords. But who was the woman? She smiled up at Jack as if he were the only man in the room, making Abby’s blood boil. Gilchrest glowered. “Lady Gilchrest to you, you disreputable pirate.”

  Abby froze, her heart pounding in her chest. Until this moment, Jack had managed to behave in a somewhat civilized manner, but now, he was insulting a peer whom she thought was his friend and speaking most informally to his wife. Then Jack pulled Lady Gilchrest into his arms in a bone-crushing embrace that drew curious gazes from the crowd gathered nearest the dance floor.

  “Jack!” Lady Gilchrest touched Jack’s cheek, and Abby’s heart dropped to her silken slippers. “It is so good to see you looking so…noble. But I must confess I prefer your captain persona.”

  Gilchrest snatched her hand away from Jack’s face, and Abby tensed, expecting the men to come to blows. Instead, Gilchrest flashed a dazzling white smile that took years off his face and shook his head at his wife. “Nicole, he is not a salty old sea dog anymore, and you must remember to call him Ardmore.”

  Jack turned to Gilchrest. “After vouching for me before Parliament, you said hell would freeze before you returned to London. However did Nik—um—Lady Gilchrest convince you to return?”


  “What makes you think I did not convince her?”

  Jack snorted. “I know you.”

  “Then you should know I can talk Chad into anything,” Lady Gilchrest said, her throaty laugh burning a hole in Abby’s chest.

  She could not see Jack’s face, but she heard an answering smile in his voice when he said, “You could talk the hind legs off a donkey, Nikki.”

  “It seems you know my wife rather well,” Gilchrest said with a stiff smile.

  “Wife!” Jack spun around, his face flushed and his eyes, apologetic. “Abby, I am so sorry.” He pulled her hand through the crook of his arm, dragging her to his side before turning once more to face Lord and Lady Gilchrest. “Where are my manners? This is my wife, Lady Ardmore. Abby, this is my good friend, the earl of Gilchrest and his wife.”

  “Wife!” Lord and Lady Gilchrest exchanged astonished glances before looking once more at Jack. Lord Gilchrest laughed. “Dear God, man, I had not expected such news from you.”

  “It did take a bit of encouragement,” Mr. Stanley added before turning to wink at Abby. She nearly swallowed her tongue. First Jack and now Mr. Stanley. It was as if this entire evening were a game to them. Only she did not know the rules.

  “Do be quiet, Quent,” Jack grumbled before clearing his throat and adding, “We also have a son. His name is Will.”

  Lady Gilchrest blinked. “Oh.”

  She looked at her husband. He turned to Mr. Stanley, who chuckled. “That did not take any encouragement on my part.”

  Lord Gilchrest and Mr. Stanley laughed. Jack flushed. And heat rushed to Abby’s cheeks, setting them on fire. These people were sure to question the expediency of her marriage and the paternity of her child. She held her breath, dreading the knowing looks sure to follow.

  Lord Gilchrest reached for her gloved hand and kissed her fingers with nary a raised brow or condemning glint in his ice blue eyes. “Congratulations, my dear. It is indeed a pleasure to meet the woman who could capture the heart of a cantankerous privateer like Captain Jack.”