His shoulders relaxed as he shook his head. "I thought it might be something like that."
A sudden thought flashed in her mind. A heart-stopping one. "Is that what you are trying to do? Seduce me for your friends?"
He shook his head violently. "No, no. Hell no," he protested.
She was a little hurt by his fervent denial. And he must have seen it as he rushed to reassure her.
"Not that I wouldn't want to seduce you." His face flamed red. "Not seduce. Not seduce you. Court you. I don't want to seduce you. I'd like to court you."
"Oh?" she asked and raised one of her eyebrows.
"Oh God. What have I said?"
Mary felt like laughing but took pity on him. "It is alright, Kenny. I understand what you are trying to say."
He relaxed and muttered. "Thank God one of us does." He took another breath and then blow it out. "They wanted me to try and seduce you. But I just wanted to meet you. Last night I was sure it was you I saw on stage. But this morning I wasn't so sure."
"Oh?" she asked.
He grimaced as he shrugged his shoulders. "I had a bit more to drink last night than I usually do. And I had convinced myself that it was the good English liquor that had me seeing you last night as Rosalind."
She smiled up at him. "And now you are sure."
He smiled back. "And now I'm sure."
Chapter 4
8:30 PM
Rodney was a little surprised by the coach Mary had led him to. From the look and smell it was brand-new. And impressive matching greys were hitched to the convenience. But he kept his thoughts to himself as Mary peppered him with dozens of questions about his time in the Navy.
In less than ten minutes they were pulling to a stop in front of a nice Brownstone terraced townhome in the moderately affluent part of Bloomsbury. Bedford Place square, if he wasn't mistaken. Mary led him up the front steps to one of the smaller of the townhomes. A grey-haired woman of about fifty met them at the door and took their coats and gloves.
"Mrs. Bastion, I would like for you to meet an old friend of mine, Lord Hamstone. My lord, Mrs. Bastion is our cook, housekeeper, and godsend to me and my roommate."
"A pleasure," Rodney said and nodded his head slightly. Since she had dropped her Italian accent, he assumed that the members of Mary's staff knew of her true identity.
"Milord," the woman returned somewhat hesitantly.
"Is Abigail asleep, Mrs. Bastion?" Mary asked as she started toward the back of the house.
The woman's face lit up. "She's in your bed, Madam. But I can't be saying if the little tike is sleeping or not."
Something cold and indecipherable wafted through him. Like someone walking over his grave. Did she have a child, or was the “little tike” her roommate’s?
Mary’s laugh jerked him back the conversation as he followed her. "We'll be in the kitchen having a cup of tea."
"Madam," the woman’s yelp startling both Rodney and Mary. They turned as one and regarded her. "Wouldn't you rather have me bring the tea to the drawing room?"
It would be the more appropriate place for him and Mary to have their conversation and tea. But this was Mary's house so he would allow her to decide where they would go.
"No need to go to such trouble, Mrs. Bastion. The Earl and I are old friends and can fend for ourselves." She then glanced at him and he saw indecision on her face. "Unless you would prefer. . ."
Rodney held his hand up to stop her. "The kitchen is fine with me. I've spent most of the last eight years of my life on board one ship or another, and I can assure you, I prefer a cozy kitchen to a drafty drawing room any day of the week."
"Then the kitchen it is," Mary said. There was relief on her face when she turned and once again headed toward the back of the townhouse. The look on the housekeeper's face was one of resignation. Which told Rodney that she was used to her employer doing unconventional things.
"Mrs. Bastion, would you check on Abigail and make sure she is sleeping?" Mary called over her shoulder as she disappeared through a door and down a set of stairs.
"Yes, Madam," the woman called back as she scurried away.
Once again Rodney wondered whose child Mary was talking about. He wanted to ask, but knew he had no right to do so. He quickly found himself ensconced in a comfortable kitchen and seated at a scarred but sturdy table as Mary rushed about preparing tea for the two of them. She then retrieved a platter of cakes the cook had apparently left for her. It was an extremely domesticated tableau. And one that made Rodney feel decisively lonely.
"So, what have you been doing since you got out of the Navy?" Mary asked as she poured him a cup of tea.
"Mostly just repairing the damage my father did to the earldom," he replied automatically. Something he wouldn't have done with anyone else, except with the most intimate of friends, and immediately wondered if he had made a mistake by doing so. After all, he hadn't seen Mary in eight years.
"What damage?" she asked. “Your father was the most conscientious landholder and peer I have ever known, or heard of. He didn't gamble, rarely drank, and was fastidious about being proper and correct in everything he did."
Rodney smiled and relaxed, pushing thoughts of the child sleeping upstairs from his mind. This was the same Mary he had known as a child. She already knew all of his and his family's secrets. Not that there were scandalous skeletons hiding in the closets back at Hamstone Manner.
"Apparently my father became a bit eccentric the last few years of his life. He began speculating on wild financial ventures. Some paid off. Some did not. Unfortunately, there were more losses than gains over the years."
"Oh God, Kenny, are you telling me that you're destitute?" she asked. A true sound of concern in her voice.
He smiled and shook his head. "No, not that. But it was a near thing. I was told that after my mother died, he changed. He began ignoring the estates and investing heavily in unsafe adventures. Then when brother, Gregory got sick a year later, he became withdrawn, and turned the days-to-day responsibilities of running the estates over to the land agent and a new friend of his.
When Gregory died, the agent, and not my father, was the one who sent me the letter to tell me that Greg was dead, and that I was now the heir. Unfortunately, the letter didn’t catch up with me for nine months.”
Rodney looked away and forced back tears as he remembered his father’s final few days. “When I got home, I learned that he had lost huge amounts of money on many of his investments. And that his,” so called friend” had promised to help my father make all his money back.”
"And did he?" she asked.
He huffed humorously. "No. It was a scam as far as I can tell. But unfortunately, I can't prove anything. And since my father knowingly went into the venture with this man there is nothing the authorities can do about it."
"Do you know who this man is?" she asked.
He eyed her cautiously, and then nodded his head. "Seth Binsby," he said and watched her closely for her reaction.
It was swift and volatile. "That wart. He's the scum of the earth! What in the world was your father thinking to go into business with him?"
"Apparently, he wasn't thinking. At least not clearly." Rodney was relieved to hear her verdict on the man. It meant his belief that she was not the man's new mistress was true. "So, you know Mr. Binsby?"
She huffed and looked like she was going to spit. "Unfortunately," she snapped out.
"How do you know him?" he asked.
“He's another patron at the theatre. And another like your friend, Lord Campton."
Rodney felt his eyebrows snapped together. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded.
She physically shuddered and then took a long drink of tea. He was about to snatch it away from her when she finally lowered it and regarded him over the rim. "He has asked me to be his mistress on several occasions." She shuddered again and swallowed what looked like a foul taste in her mouth. "I refused of course."
Rodney felt his heart
lurch and begin pounding against his ribs. The very thought of the reprobate propositioning Mary was repugnant.
"I have no need for his money, or his protection, as he puts it. I never have. Even in the beginning of my career I always had enough money to support myself. The last thing I wanted was to have another man trying to control my every action the way my father had."
Rodney mulled over her comments over for several seconds and then decided that she needed to know about the rumors the man was spreading around town.
"Are you aware that Binsby is putting about that you are his new mistress?"
Her eyes popped open and her face flushed a blotchy red. He had seen the same look dozens of times in their youth.
"That weasel! That low-life piece of filth. I'll, I'll . . . murder him. I'll tear him from limb-to-limb," she yelled as she slammed her teacup down. He was surprised it didn't shatter into a million pieces.
Bolting from her chair, she began pacing back and forth in front of the table with her hands fisted tightly. "That son-of-a-bitch is trying to destroy my career so I'll have no choice but to go to him for protection."
"Auntie Mary," a hysterical child voice ripped into the room.
Both he and Mary pivoted toward the door as a small, blonde haired girl of six or seven barreled into the room. Tears streaming down her face as she glared up at Rodney and ran headlong into Mary's legs. She clutched Mary’s legs tightly while scowling at him.
"Leave my Auntie alone," she screeched at him.
Rodney was struck dumb by the girl glowering at him. She was the spitting image of Mary at that age. The coldness he had felt earlier returned with a vengeance. Mary had a child. It was the only explanation for such a resemblance. Then the girl’s words penetrated his befuddled brain. She had called Mary, Auntie, not mommy.
Mary drop down to her haunches in front of the child and pulled her into a smothering hug. "It's alright, sweetheart. It's alright. He's not hurting me."
The girl sniffed several times while still regarding him cautiously. Finally, she pulled her attention from him and turned to Mary. "Then why were you yelling at him?"
"Oh, baby, I wasn't yelling at the earl," Mary said and then glanced over at him. "Well, maybe I was. But I'm not mad at him. I'm mad at someone else who said some un-nice things about me. That's all poppet."
Abigail, if he remembered correctly, sniffed again as she burrowed deeper into Mary's legs. "Is he going to fix it?" she asked.
"Yes," Rodney offered before Mary could.
The little girl pulled away enough to stare at him. She had a very disconcerting and direct gaze. "Are you going to beat him up?"
"Abigail!" Mary squealed. "We don't go around beating people up."
The child turned back to Mary and fixed her with a disgruntled look. "Then how's he to fix it?"
"I'll have a very long talk with him," Rodney said. "It is how gentlemen resolve disputes between one another."
The girl turned to him and contemplated him for several seconds as she fidgeted in Mary's arms. "But he's not a gentleman. Is he? If he were, he wouldn't be saying bad things about my aunt."
A smile tugged at his lips, but Rodney repressed it as he didn't want the child to see him laughing at her. "No, he's not," he conceded. "But I'll still try to talk to him first."
She stared unblinking up at him. She then blurted out, "You should just run him through with your sword. It's what a real knight would do." He began coughing violently to cover up the laughter threatening to burst forward. Oblivious to his efforts she turned back to Mary and demanded one of the cakes on the platter she had just set down on the table.
"Just one. Then off to bed with you, you little hoyden," Mary said and laughed.
One cake turned into two and a small glass of warm milk. By the time she had finished, Mrs. Bastion had found her missing charge and escorted the girl back to her room.
"She's not mine," Mary said as soon as the excited chatter from the little girl faded into the night.
He opened his mouth to protest. But he wasn't sure what.
"I saw the look in your eyes when you saw her. She looks just like me at her age. But she isn't my child. Although, I often find myself wishing she was."
Rodney nodded his head but remained silent.
"Do you remember my little sister, Jocelyn?" she asked.
He nodded. "She was a year younger than you. If I recall."
A sad smile darkened her face. "She fell in love with a rich merchant's son six months after I ran away. They were married against my father's wishes. But his family adored her. So did her husband. They were extremely happy and Abby was born nine months after the wedding."
"She looks just like I remember your sister looking," he said. Mary and her sister had passed as twins for several years. He was at first relieved that Abigail wasn't Mary's child. And then in the next moment he was disappointed. She deserved to have the kind of happiness a child could bring into one's life.
"Then about a year ago Jocelyn's in-laws drowned in a boating accident. They left their entire estate and fortune to Clarence, my sister’s husband, and their granddaughter. Which wouldn't have been a problem if Clarence hadn't become terribly ill a month later."
This was more than about a niece that looked just like Mary. And Rodney had a horrible feeling he knew where this was going.
"Clarence and Jocelyn had their solicitor write out a new Will. In it they made Abby their sole beneficiary and named me as her guardian."
"Why?" he asked abruptly. Her chin rose and he realized how it might have sounded. "Not that you won't make a wonderful guardian. But why the rush? I'm getting the impression that there were circumstances that made them want to ensure the girl's future."
She relaxed a little and nodded sadly. “The rest of Clarence's family is apparently not very trustworthy. Jocelyn once described them to me in a letter as little more than thieves. They feared that if they got their hands on Abby that they would steal all of her money before she came of age."
"It's not an unusual story. I've heard similar ones any number of times over the years," he told her.
"So have I," Mary replied. She took a breath and then continued. "When Clarence became ill, they sent Abby to stay with me. They also sent a letter I was to open if something should happen to both of them. In it, Jocelyn begged me to raise Abby as my own. And to make sure neither her in-laws nor our father were able to follow through with their threats to raise Abby if something should happen to them. Provisions were also made through their solicitor that if the unthinkable should happen then I was to be her legal guardian."
He reached over and clasped her hand where it lay fisted on top of the table. He didn't need to ask if the unthinkable had happened, nor why her sister did not want their father having control of the child. He could also tell by her expression that the unthinkable had happened.
"Mary, I'm so, so very sorry," he said. It was lame and totally inadequate but he couldn't think of anything else to say.
A tear trickled down her cheek and she sniffled loudly as she fought against the torrent of emotions. When she once again had control, she spoke with a broken voice.
"Jocelyn was the only one in the family who knew about me." She looked around the kitchen as if she was looking for something. "She and her husband saw me perform on a number of occasions." She turned back to him and her eyes were bleak. "She was here the night I premiered in London for the first time. She was so proud of me."
Her concentration broke and a muffled sob gurgled up from her soul. "After the show we stayed up all night laughing and talking about our childhood. And about all our dreams and hopes for the future." She looked up and whispered softly. "Oh God, she had such plans for her life. And for Abby."
Tears were now streaming down her face and he could do nothing but hold her hand and offer what comfort he could. Just as he had done on another night so long ago.
Finally, she looked back down at him. Her eyes seemed to be imploring him to unders
tand. "I have to give Abby that dream now. I have to."
"You will, Mary. I know you will. You've made your dreams come true. You'll do the same for her."
She stared at him for several long minutes. Her chest rising and falling rapidly as she struggled to regain control of her emotions. Suddenly a familiar determined light entered her eyes and she seemed to be steeling herself for something.
"Will you help me?" she abruptly asked.
He blinked several times as another familiar old feeling washed over him. The one he usually got when she was about to embroil him in one of her crazy schemes. But he couldn't deny her. He never could.
"Yes, of course," he said and blinked several times. "I'll do whatever I can to help you."
A deafening silence raged around them as they stared into each other's eyes. Finally, she drew a deep breath and let it out. "Help make me respectable again."
Startled, he jerked backward as he stared at her. Had she just asked him to marry her? It was what he had wanted at one time. But did he still want it now?
"How?" he asked for clarification.
She gathered herself for a second and then leaned forward in her conspiratorial posture. Something he had been all too familiar with in their youth as well.
"I'm leaving acting for good. In fact, yesterday was my final performance. In two days’ time, I leave for a trip to Italy to see my ailing mother."
His right eyebrow shot up.
She huffed and squeezed his hand. "It is all a ruse. Once Abby and I are out of London I plan to turn north and find a small village like Hamstoneshire and settle there as Mrs. Mary Jamison. The widow of Johnny Jamison, Naval Lieutenant who died during the war."
His eyebrows came together. “Is he dead? Or will he show up someday to claim his rights as your husband?”
Her bourgeoning smile faltered. “We kept in touch for a while. Then three years ago I got a letter from his commanding officer that that he had been killed during a sea battle.”
The Earl's Night of Being Wild (The Fallen Angels NOVELLA series Book 3) Page 3