Slightly Noble

by Lilly Gayle

  Beside her, her husband stiffened. Lord Drury looked down at the top of her bowed head. His lip curled in distaste, and he gave her the same look of annoyance he often gave his mother. Then he raised his chin and looked at Abby. “You, no doubt, have met my wife, Miss Halsey. Oh, forgive me. It is Lady Ardmore now.” He chuckled, a vile rather than humorous sound that made Abby’s flesh crawl. “And this is my wife, Lady Drury. She is the former Lady Victoria, the Duke of Rathbone’s daughter.”

  “I have not had the pleasure,” Abby said, though the words hung in her throat.

  “Not surprising.” Drury smiled, a slick stretching of his thin lips. “She is Welsh, but her father is quite wealthy, not unlike your own, but Rathbone is from an old, noble family with direct blood ties to the Queen herself, a true peer in every sense of the word.”

  “Quite a fitting match, I’d say.” Jack smiled and somehow made his compliment sound insulting. Then he turned sympathetic eyes on Lady Drury. He reached for her hand and brought her gloved fingers to his lips. “It is a pleasure meeting you, my lady.” He then performed the same gallant act on Lady Edwina who flushed and fluttered her lashes every bit as much as Lord Drury’s wife had. “But if you ladies would excuse us? I would like to dance with my beautiful wife once more.”

  Mr. Stanley smiled and bowed to Lady Edwina. “If it would not be too forward of me, might I have the pleasure of your company on the dance floor?”

  Lady Edwina fluttered her lashes again. “I do not believe we have been properly introduced.”

  “Mr. Stanley is Lord Willoughby’s son,” Abby said, finding strength in Jack’s firm hold on her arm. “Besides being the son of an earl, he is a dashing sailor and quite the gentleman. A most appropriate dance partner.”

  “Indeed?” Lady Edwina smiled, and her lavender blue eyes shone with pleasure.

  “Absolutely.” Mr. Stanley took her arm and led her onto the dance floor. Lord Gilchrest and his wife followed.

  After a final withering look at Lord Drury, Jack guided Abby onto the dance floor as well.

  Chapter Thirty

  Lies! It was all lies. He was a liar and a fornicator! He had promised to love the boy as his own, but that was hardly a promise worthy of trust. Men seldom loved the children of their own loins. Why would anyone believe a man could love a child he had not sired?

  Daphne Dupree snorted. She had not truly believed Lord Ardmore would honor his vows. He had only wanted the boy so he might inherit another estate. That property was now his, but he had not taken his family there. Nor had he taken them to his crumbling estate in Ram’s Head. Instead, he had taken them to his ship in Seile. Now, he had delivered his wife and child back to her father’s hearth, which proved, he no longer wanted her.

  Fornicators! They were all lying fornicators, and women were foolish creatures. Foolish and sinful.

  Ah, but blood would wash Abby clean of her sins. As for the baby, it might already be too late. A child born into wedlock at least stood a chance in this wicked world, but Abby’s child had been conceived in sin, and now he was destined to live a sinful life.

  Oh, if only Ardmore had honored his vows. Perhaps then, the child might never have learned of his wicked beginnings. But alas, that was not to be. Sin always came home to roost. Now, it was her job to set things to rights and make the mother repent. And it was time to send the sweet little boy to Jesus. Jesus needed angels—sweet, innocent cherubs.

  But was it too late for Abby’s son to become one of Jesus’ littlest angels?

  Daphne pulled the hood of her dark cloak over her head and peered through the hedgerows. Abby sat on a stone bench inside the garden wall of her father’s house, holding her son’s back to her chest. The child chewed his tiny fist and cooed. Daphne sighed, and her shoulders slumped as a weight lifted from her shoulders. It had taken some time to find Abby and her child, but she had finally returned to her father’s home, just as Daphne predicted.

  Had her father taken her in willingly? Or had Abby begged for forgiveness?

  No matter. She would beg soon. And she would receive blessed forgiveness through a blood cleansing.

  Daphne nodded to her companion, prepared to move forward, but Abby and her son were not alone. There was a young woman with them in the garden. Her words froze Daphne in her tracks. “It is getting cool. Shall I take Master Will inside now?”

  Abby pulled the edges of a blanket up over her son’s chest. “Not just yet, Miss Parsons. He is full and happy, and I hope he will drift off to sleep without any fuss. He has become so stubborn of late, fighting sleep as if he fears he will miss something.” She smiled and stroked her son’s head. “He has his blanket, but I am feeling a bit chilled. Would you mind fetching my cloak?”

  “No, m’lady.” The nurse turned and followed the garden path back to the house, leaving Abby and her son alone in the garden.

  Ahh, but she is not alone. Is she?

  Daphne smiled, watching from the other side of the hedgerows. The moment Abby began to sing to her son, Daphne signaled her companion once more. They slipped through a break in the hedges, tiptoeing over freshly fallen autumn leaves to flank Abby on either side. It was time for her to disappear. And this time, like the other two times, there would be no letters. There was no proof she had ever written letters to the reverend mother or her father. Sister Mary Daphne had seen to that.

  Ha! Sister. Daphne shook her head. She was not a nun. She wore the somber garbs of a novice, but she had never taken her vows. Nor would she. She had a much higher calling. She was a disciple of Jesus, working for him and helping him find new babies to turn into cherubs. And Jesus wanted another angel.

  She motioned behind her, signally her accomplice. His heavy footsteps alerted Abby. She tightened her hold on her small son and gasped. “Mr. Piebald! You are the coachman Sister Mary Daphne’s brother hired.”

  He doffed his cap and nodded. “Yes’m.”

  “But what are you doing here? And what happened to Sister Mary Daphne? Do you know where she is?”

  He smiled, exposing snaggled, discolored teeth. Abby started to rise, but he motioned her back down. She lowered her hips, her arms tightening ever so slightly around her son.

  “Well?” she snapped. “Where is she? Why did she not return to the convent?”

  “It be the babies,” he said. “She was thinking of the babies.”

  As Mr. Piebald spoke, Daphne inched up behind Abby. She pulled a small glass vial from her robe and tipped the contents onto a white cloth.

  Abby’s shoulders sagged. “Then she is not a baby farmer. I am relieved to hear that. But why did she not give my letter to the reverend mother or my father?”

  Mr. Piebald flashed a wicked smile. “You’d best be asking her that yerself.”

  Before Abby could respond, Daphne covered her mouth and nose with the cloth. Abby gasped. Her body stiffened. And despite a valiant effort to hold onto her son, he slipped from her grasp and into Mr. Piebald’s waiting arms. Then with barely a whimper, Abby slumped limply to the ground.

  Mr. Piebald held the child at arms’ length as if he was a mangy dog. The boy started to whimper. Daphne slipped the cloth and vial into her pocket and reached for him, comforting him as only a loving mother could.

  “Hush now. Shhh.” She held him to her breast, rocking him and loving the feel of his warm little body. He popped his tiny thumb into his mouth, and his eyes drifted closed. Within seconds, he was sleeping like the angel he would become.

  Heart pounding in her chest, she nodded to Abby’s unconscious body. “Quickly now, Mr. Piebald. Get her to the carriage before the maid returns. We must be on our way.”

  The coachman nodded and scooped Abby into his beefy arms as Daphne looked once more into the face of her sleeping angel. A smile spread across her face. Yes, he would make such a beautiful cherub.

  ****

  Damn. I am well and truly under her thumb.

  Jack shook his head. He’d been unable to resist Abby’s pleas, and so he
had agreed to let Morris and his aunt live at Ram’s Head. Now, here he sat, with Mr. Lambert and his cousin in the library. His aunt was not in attendance, but Morris grudgingly admitted she was thankful to have a home more befitting of their social status.

  “Although, the estate is in sad disrepair.” Morris brushed an imaginary speck of dust from the lapel of his expensive frock coat and looked around the room with his lip curled in distaste. “And the allowance you have agreed to provide will not permit me or my mother to live in the manner to which we are accustomed.”

  Jack arched his brows. He would provide them both with an adequate allowance so long as Morris kept up his end of the bargain, but he would not grant them unlimited access to money. “My generosity does not extend to extravagant excesses and shopping trips to Paris.”

  Morris harrumphed. “Mother has enough clothes. I, on the other hand—”

  “Have more than enough.” Jack stared until Morris lowered his gaze. Then he rose to his feet, shook his solicitor’s hand and left.

  Mr. Lambert had drawn up a fair contract, and if Morris was a successful manager, both he Aunt Margery would receive a substantial bonus at the end of Morris’ ten-year commitment. That should be enough time for his podsnappery cousin to either prove his worth or bankrupt the estate completely.

  Jack snorted as he climbed inside his coach and settled against the cushions. If he were right, he would have to use his personal funds to salvage the viscountcy when Morris was done with it. But if Abby were right, Morris would come up to snuff and turn his life around, using Jack’s money of course. Either way, Morris won.

  So, I have no reason to feel guilty. He smiled. And the generous offer I made to my worthless relatives will make Abby quite happy.

  And making Abby happy made him happy.

  “Damn.” He shook his head. When had it come to that? When had he fallen so completely in love with her?

  He pondered his feelings, trying to make sense of them as the coach turned down a well-worn road that led to Banbury. Abby knew he had gone to Ram’s Head to make the arrangements with Morris and his solicitor, but he had not told her he was going to stop by the Hog and Heifer to inquire after Sister Mary Daphne while he was away. According to Abby, the nun’s brother owned the tavern. Perhaps, he knew what had become of her.

  At the very least, Jack could learn if she had repaid her brother for the loss of his horses. And if the man knew where Jack could find his sister, Jack might also be able to locate Abby’s friend, Lydia. And wouldn’t that make Abby happy?

  He smiled, just thinking about the methods in which his lovely wife might show her appreciation. Still smiling, he entered the tavern. The tantalizing aromas of roasted pork and malty ale assailed his nostrils. Stomach rumbling, he slid into a corner booth and waited for a barmaid to take his order. Then he watched and waited.

  A balding man behind the bar issued orders like a ship’s captain, demanding obedience and respect. When Jack finished his meal, he left some coins on the table and approached him. “I am looking for Mr. Dupree.”

  The beefy man with the fly rink of shaved hair circling a polished bald head turned. “I be Dupree.”

  Jack extended his hand. “I am Viscount Ardmore of Ram’s Head. I am looking for your sister.”

  The man blinked twice. “Millie is dead.”

  Millie must be the sister who owned the boarding house in Shrivenham. Had her sudden death prevented Sister Mary Daphne from returning to the convent? But why hadn’t the nuns at the Sisters of Mercy known of the tragedy? Jack briefly bowed his head. “I am most sorry to hear that.”

  Dupree blinked again and frowned. “She been gone a good six or seven years now.”

  It was Jack’s turn to blink. His confusion quickly faded, and a knot formed in his gut. It was the same type of visceral warning he often got when his ship or crew were in danger. “I was told just a few months ago that she ran a boarding house in Shrivenham.”

  “It ain’t been a boarding house for years. Millie turned it into a confinement house after her husband died. She wanted to help unwed mothers what couldn’t keep their babes.” Dupree snorted. “I don’t suppose your kind would care, but Millie did. She knew about the dead babies littering the allies and canals throughout the cities. It be so common, it ain’t even newsworthy to men such as yourself. But being as she couldn’t have her own children, she ached for those what were lost. And she ached for the women who kilt their babies cause they couldn’t afford to keep ’em.”

  Sympathy tugged at Jack’s heart. Abby had been one of those unwed mothers, trying desperately to make the best decision for her child, no matter the personal cost. But before he could respond, Dupree snorted again, condemning him with his eyes.

  “It be your kind what come up with legislation to deter illegitimate births. But them Bastardy Laws condemn unwed mothers to impossible situations and protect society gents from financial responsibility. Them laws force women out of employment and bar them from the workhouse. They got no choice but to become prostitutes, pay baby farmers, or kill the babes at birth. My sister provided a safer solution. Then that Dryer woman got caught starving babies she took in and tossing their little bodies into the Thames like garbage. She was charged with neglect and only served six months.”

  His face turned red and his eyes glistened. “Then everybody started looking at Millie like she weren’t no different. But she weren’t no baby farmer. She helped her girls find real employment so they could keep their babies.”

  Apparently, Millie had been as dedicated to her cause as Sister Mary Daphne claimed, but she’d been dead for years. So, why had the nun pretended Millie was still alive? Had she been carrying on her sister’s good works without her brother’s knowledge? Or had losing her sister been more than the nun could handle?

  Sister Mary Daphne’s sheets might be flapping, but she was sailing in circles.

  Jack cleared his throat. “I do not doubt your sister’s dedication, but I am actually looking for your other sister. Sister Mary Daphne.”

  Dupree blinked. “Daphne? She ain’t no nun, though she did spend time at the Sisters of Mercy after…” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “She stayed with them several times.”

  The foreboding knot in Jack’s gut tightened. “But she was there just a few short months ago.”

  “I suppose they are still hopeful they can save her. But she is a lost soul.” He glanced around the dimly lit tavern and then nodded toward a back room. “I would rather not say more in public.”

  The nun had not seemed overly friendly, but neither had she seemed dangerous. Still, a frisson of fear shivered over Jack’s skin. Ignoring the chill, he nodded to Dupree and followed him into the back room behind the bar.

  Dupree shut the door and slipped behind a small desk cluttered with papers. Jack sat opposite. The old wooden chair creaked as he lowered his hips and leaned back against the slatted back. He affixed his gaze on Dupree. “Do you know where your sister is now? She claimed Millie is still running the boarding house and that the two of them are helping unwed mothers pose as widows so they might find lodging and employment.”

  “That was accurate enough a few years back,” Dupree said with a sad sounding snort, “but the house has been boarded up since Millie’s death, and Daphne does little more than tend the graves.”

  A chill shivered over Jack’s skin. “Graves?”

  “Millie, her husband, Harold, and the baby are buried in the garden behind the house. The boy, Micah, was Daphne’s child.” He sighed again and shook his head. “Daphne worked for Sir Bolton. After he took advantage of her, Millie and I sent her to the Sisters of Mercy. Since Millie and her husband couldn’t have children, they claimed Micah as their own. Daphne stayed at the convent, but she visited the boy often. A year later, Harold died in a hunting accident and Millie converted the boarding house into a confinement house. Two years after that, Micah drowned in the garden pond while Millie was watching one of her charge’s children.” />
  Another deep sigh wracked his body, and his shoulders slumped. “Daphne blamed Millie for Micah’s death. She was so angry and despondent, I sent her back to the nuns, but Daphne refused to take her vows. Then after Amelia Dyer was arrested for starving children she had taken in, Daphne became enraged and accused Millie of killing her son and other babies as well. A few days later, she suffocated our sister in her sleep.”

  Jack leaned forward, gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his fingers throbbed. Daphne had spent hours alone with Abby. She had given her tonics and had tried desperately to get Jack to leave her in Sheep’s Crossing. Had she wanted to harm her? Or just separate mother from child as she had been separated from her own child?

  His pulse jumped. “Why was she not arrested? Why has she been posing as a nun at the Sisters of Mercy and left to roam free?”

  Dupree lowered his gaze. “The inquest was inconclusive. Although Millie’s eyes was bloodshot and she had bitten her bottom lip, the constable believed it was because she had been drinking excessively since Micah’s death. And since she had been taking laudanum to help her sleep, he did not pursue the matter further. But I weren’t sure. So, I sent Daphne back to the nuns for a third time. They offered counseling and guidance, but Daphne is always borrowing my coach and driver so she might visit Micah’s grave. I don’t know why she would pretend our sister is still alive, but she borrowed my coach and driver again yesterday so, she has most likely returned to Shrivenham.”

  Jack rose slowly to his feet, his pulse pounding in his ears. “Do you believe she is dangerous?”

  Once again, Dupree lowered his gaze. “The constable did not believe she was capable of murder.”

  “Damn it, man!” Jack leaned forward, slamming his palms on the desk. Papers scattered and Dupree jumped. “I did not ask what the constable thought. I asked what you think!”

  “I, sir, believe my sister is quite mad. A year after Millie died, Daphne said Micah had been conceived in sin, and he would have been better off had Millie done like Amelia Dryer and given him to Jesus.” A sheen of moisture shimmered in Dupree’s gray eyes when he looked up to meet Jack’s gaze. “I do not know if she is a danger to others or not, but if she is not at the convent, then she is most likely in Shrivenham.”