Wentworth Hall

by Abby Grahame

  A muffled, but angry-sounding, voice came from within. “Yes, come in, who is it?”

  Jumping slightly at the sound of his voice, Therese opened the door with a gulp.

  “Lord Darlington?” asked Therese timidly, trying to muster bravado as she entered his study.

  “Clearly, it is. Who else would it be?” Lord Darlington responded flatly, cold eyes boring into hers.

  Therese, taken aback by his rudeness, fumbled to find the right words. Her eyes darted about the dusty study. Bookshelves lined the walls and there was a crackling fire to his right. Shadows were cast against the walls and they danced and played with the fire’s motion. The windows were covered with dark, crimson velvet drapes. Lord Darlington sat in a high-backed chair behind a desk that was covered in files and papers.

  “Well, out with it, girl!” Lord Darlington snapped. “I haven’t all day to stare at you staring at me.”

  Therese nodded her head firmly, choosing to be blunt. “I would like to leave Wentworth Hall,” she said, trying to sound as decisive as possible.

  “Well, then, thank you for your time and ask one of the maids to help you with your belongings on your way out,” Lord Darlington replied, lowering his gaze back to the papers on his desk, gathering and hitting a stack back into organized submission with a firm thump.

  “I will leave as soon as I receive enough money to set myself up in my own establishment in London,” Therese said, gaining confidence.

  Not raising his eyes from the desk, Lord Darlington arched a single eyebrow. “I’m sorry to inform you that cannot be arranged at this time.” He lifted his eyes from his paper. “Good day and have a safe trip back to Paris.”

  “I’m not leaving until I receive my proper sum. If you do not comply, I will tell Lady Darlington the truth about my mother.”

  Lord Darlington slowly raised his eyes to meet with Therese’s. His look was a combination of fury, belittling amusement, and confusion. Therese instinctively took a step backward.

  “Is that so?” he asked, rising from his desk and standing up straight at full height. With his starched and pressed appearance and stern mannerisms, he was very intimidating.

  Therese resisted the urge to shrink backward any farther. She was tempted to run from the room, but knew what had to be done was imperative to her livelihood. Knowing this would likely be the last time she ever saw him, Therese had to ask, “How could you turn your back on your own child?”

  Lord Darlington had no response, but a look of shame crossed his features for the briefest moment.

  “When I came to you to explain who I was, I did not ask for money. Or a title. I only wanted a father.”

  “How was I to know your mother was telling the truth?” Lord Darlington bellowed. “Many high-born men have been fooled.”

  “I am standing before you now. Do you not see a resemblance? Can you be so hard-hearted?”

  “This from a girl who is trying to extort from me? No, you could never be a Darlington. Our behavior would never be so low.”

  Therese felt ice start to flow through her veins. She hated him. He was so in love with his status he couldn’t see beyond it. Well, soon the Darlington name would be in complete disrepute. Even the Darlingtons wouldn’t want the Darlington name.

  Nodding, she said, “Sir, if you do not do as I ask, I will be forced to inform her of your rather unbecoming behavior.”

  Lord Darlington studied her for a moment, as if considering how to handle the situation. Finally a strange smile broke over his face. “Go ahead. Do it,” he sniffed, appearing suddenly disinterested. “It’s not uncommon for a lord to have illegitimate children. My lady would forgive me. After all, it was almost two decades ago. Old news.”

  Therese was taken aback. She didn’t expect him to say such things… to be so certain. Straightening her back and squaring her shoulders, she shot back, “Fine. She may forgive you. But will society when I tell the newspapers an even better bit of information?” Eyes ablaze, she locked gazes with Lord Darlington, hoping to convey that she would not back down.

  “And what information would that be?” he countered, folding his arms over his chest.

  Therese paused, unsure if she should divulge this secret. Decisively, she shot back, “That baby James isn’t your son… but your grandson. He belongs to none other than your daughter Maggie. Oh, yes,” Therese continued on, seeing she now had the upper hand due to Lord Darlington’s inability to mask his shock, “Your lady lied to you. She covered up for your daughter. Did you really think a woman of her age could bear a child? And didn’t you notice Maggie’s behavior after she came back from France? How she looked at that baby?”

  Lord Darlington blinked a few times, studying Therese. “There is no way anyone would believe those lies.”

  “Lies? Lies! The only person who is lying here is you to yourself. I do not speak lies about this matter. Plus, the newspapers will gleefully print this information. They do not care if it is true or not. They obviously haven’t cared what the truth was in the past. This will ruin you and you know it!” Therese stated, index finger jabbing the air in front of Lord Darlington’s chest, her own chest heaving up and down after her passionate monologue.

  With a quick intake of breath, he raised his hand into the air. Flushed red with anger, his hand froze, quivering in midair. Chin held high, she winced, but held her ground, waiting for the coming blow. The tension in the air was palpable as a few heartbeats passed between them. Lowering his hand, Lord Darlington scowled at Therese, knowing she was correct.

  He returned to his seat at the desk, face still red with fury. Tensely, he opened a locked drawer in his desk and began removing a few items.

  “You will receive a sum of two hundred pounds. Half I have, and the rest will be paid in jewels, which you can hawk as you please once you are far and away from Wentworth. You are to leave now. Not in a few hours, not tomorrow morning, but now. There is a ferry leaving Southampton in a few hours and you are to be present for it,” he concluded, giving intent focus to the files upon his desk, refusing to look her in the eyes. “Gerald will personally escort you. Again, you are to have contact with no one and leave immediately. You will receive your money and jewels once my butler sees that you are properly on the ferry and never to come back or even breathe a word that you had worked here previously. Is that understood?”

  Therese stifled a small squeak of triumph, holding a winning grin back with all of her might. She diverted her eyes toward her shoes, hoping to affect a demure and grateful appearance. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now get out of my study!” he finished with a snap, finally looking up at her.

  “Yes, sir. Right away…” She exited toward the door, slipping out of the dark frame into the hallway. Before she shut the door, she ducked her head back in and added, “I mean, yes, father.” And with that, slammed the door behind her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  LORD DARLINGTON FUMED TO HIMSELF AS he paced from wall to wall in his study. He had never thought his past mistakes would come back to haunt him in this most egregious manner. What if that little French girl was bluffing? She must have been. Also, his wife would never dare lie to him like that… and what’s more, his daughter, though so often reckless, had matured and would have never have been so careless with both her own body and the family name!

  He had to confront Lady Darlington. But he needed to wait to make sure Therese was gone first.

  Once Gerald returned to the study and nodded that Therese had left, Lord Darlington stalked out, slamming the thick mahogany door on his way out. He walked quickly to the garden hothouse, where his wife was so often to be found.

  Lady Darlington stood there, sunbonnet over her dark salt-and-pepper hair, trimming a small rosebush. She hummed softly to herself as she snipped at the pungent red flowers. She wore a flowing yellow dress that covered her, yet gracefully clung to her figure. Lord Darlington stopped at the entrance and studied his wife’s body.

  Although she had
a mature frame, one that had produced three children, it was not the body of a woman who had just brought a newborn into the world. He had seen his wife post-child—her hips appearing wider, breasts plump with milk, and face fuller from nine months of providing food to her baby within. Besides a few extra wrinkles upon her face, Lady Darlington possessed none of these postpartum traits.

  Pursing his lips, he spoke out, “Tell me the truth.”

  Surprised, Lady Darlington jumped, and in doing so, snipped a rose too short and caught her finger in the process. “Ouch!” she exclaimed, brows furrowing as she turned quickly to see who had spoken. Putting her damaged finger to her lip, blood seeping down the side, she mumbled back to her husband, “About what?”

  “The baby,” he replied flatly, looking stiffer than ever. His hands stuck to his hips and his face exuded irritation.

  “What about James?” she asked, moving to find a bandage for her finger.

  “Who is his mother?” Lord Darlington responded, not moving, flinching, or hesitating.

  Lady Darlington stopped searching for the bandage, her back to her husband. Pausing, trying to think of the best words, she stammered out her answer, “What… whatever do you mean?”

  Lord Darlington stepped forward. With wide, meaningful strides, he walked up in front of his wife. Fear entered her eyes as she watched him forcefully grab her wrists and hold them up beside her face. His body quivered with rage, his face turning a deep red. Lady Darlington’s eyes widened, her husband’s face not inches from hers. She glanced up to see a vein in his temple throbbing. She had not seen him this angry in years, and possibly ever.

  “Don’t play coy with me!” he snarled, enraged spit flying from his lips. “Who. Is. The. Baby’s. Mother?” he said, punctuating each word, his voice reaching a crescendo of rage.

  Trying to wriggle out of her husband’s grip, Lady Darlington winced at the pain coming from her wrists. “Unhand me!” she cried, twisting her face away from him.

  “No! Not until you tell me the truth!” he spat, his grip tightening over his wife’s petite wrists.

  Lady Darlington stared at him, pupils dilating out of fear. She took a quivering breath, trying to regain her composure. She looked her husband square in the eye. “You’re hurting me.”

  He paused and gave her wrists one last meaningful squeeze before tossing her aside. “Well, you’ve hurt me. How could you lie? Why would you lie?” he asked, turning his back to her.

  Lady Darlington massaged her wrists, brows knit together in pain, her finger still bleeding. Blood gently seeped down her hand and onto the floor. Realizing Lord Darlington had already come to the conclusion in his own mind, she fought back tears of fright, anger, and humiliation.

  “To save the family name and Maggie’s future. You know just as well as I do that if she had a child out of wedlock, the papers would run our name through the mud. She’d never be able to find a suitable husband, and maybe even little Lila would be adversely affected,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

  “Who is the father?” Lord Darlington asked, hands balling into fists.

  “I don’t know,” she replied, her back still to him.

  “Who is the father?” he asked once more, wheeling on his heel and facing his wife.

  “I. Don’t. Know,” she responded, watching as Lord Darlington walked back over, quickly closing his proximity to her.

  “Who is the father? Stop covering for her!” he shouted into her face, so close that she could smell his breath.

  Palm out, she pulled back and with a quick smack, slapped Lord Darlington across the cheek. Eyes boring into each other, they waited for the other to make a move. Afraid, Lady Darlington wondered if she had made a dreadful mistake.

  With a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “I told you. I don’t know. Maggie refused to tell me who the father is.”

  A handprint was slowly beginning to form in red over Lord Darlington’s already crimson face. “And this is the truth?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

  Lady Darlington nodded and recommenced massaging her bruised wrists. “I wish I knew who the father of my first grandchild was as well, but Maggie absolutely will not speak of him.”

  Lord Darlington nodded slowly. “I see. Well, I am sure I can find a way to make her speak the truth.”

  “She’s liked a locked safe. You’re not going to get anything from her. Believe me, I’ve tried,” replied Lady Darlington.

  Lord Darlington shifted and began to walk from the room, his voice thick with emotion. “You haven’t tried like I will. Oh, she’ll speak. She’ll speak if it’s the last thing she does.…”

  Lila jogged across the expansive green lawn toward Wentworth Hall. This plan was going to work. It had to work. It was the last chance for Maggie, Michael, and baby James to be together, to be a happy family with a new start.

  She stopped and considered what she was about to do. It was such a bold move. And it would cost her. Her parents would probably be furious. They might never even forgive her. But Wes would be onboard. She could count on him, and even if they never forgave her, Lila knew Wes wouldn’t turn his back on her. He’d make sure she’d never be left penniless.

  It had to be done. It was the right thing to do.

  It was the only thing to do.

  Wiping the sweat from her brow, Lila took a deep breath as she pushed open one of the heavy doors leading into Wentworth Hall. The last piece of the puzzle to her plan lay inside. Before going to Maggie, she had to convince one last person of this plan. She had to find Ian, and she had to find him fast. Time was of the essence—if she didn’t move quickly, all could be lost in a matter of moments. Hopefully, Ian and his motorcar would be willing to be of help.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  SOMETHING SIGNIFICANT HAD HAPPENED. Every instinct for gossip that Nora possessed told her so. She’d seen Therese earlier rushing back to the servants quarters and the girl wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Wesley was brooding on a long walk in the fields, and had opted not to take Ian. Lord Darlington’s face was scrunched into a permanent scowl and someone had quite obviously slapped him across the face. Lila had come in and darted up the stairs, seemingly in a frantic search for something or someone. Lady Darlington was lost in thought and kept rubbing her wrists. Maggie was nowhere to be seen at all.

  The result was that Nora found herself squirming in a torment of curiosity. She had to get the facts on this situation. That all this activity was swirling around her and that she hadn’t a clue to what was going on was completely unacceptable.

  She would speak to Therese. Nora sensed that somehow she was at the heart of this. She checked in the nursery and found the baby fast asleep. During those breaks, Therese often went to read or write letters in her bedroom. Climbing the stairs to the servants’ quarters, Nora resolved to demand the truth from the girl.

  She entered their room to find the drawers of every dresser had been pulled open and emptied, and the top of Therese’s dresser had been cleared of everything that had been there except for several sheets of paper folded together. Therese must have left behind one of those letters home that she was always writing.

  Moving to the closet, Nora saw that it, too, had been emptied. “She sure cleared out fast,” Nora muttered. What had sent her running away like this?

  Nora lifted the folded papers from the dresser. Curious as ever, she opened the papers and began to read the top page:

  Dear Nora,

  If you are reading this, then you are already snooping in my things. It is all right. I had counted on it. Forgive me for departing with no parting farewell, but it was at Lord Darlington’s insistence. I thank you for your friendliness to me and would like to do something for you in return. My mother was able to afford her flower shop because of the Darlington family, and I think that the least the Darlington family can do is make it possible for you to have your tearoom. At the rate you are going, sewing when you are able, you will be an elderly woman by the time
you can afford to achieve your dream. But this satire I have written will help your dream come true much faster.

  Yes, your suspicions were correct, I am the author of the satires. But it was not greed that led me to betray the Darlingtons. The satire enclosed here will be my last. And it is my parting gift to you. I believe its contents will explain why I have done what I have. If you take it to them, the Sussex Courier will pay fifty pounds for it. The series has become so popular that if you insist on sixty pounds there is an excellent chance you will get your price.

  Good luck to you, my friend. I hope that someday I might return to London and enjoy a cup of tea and a scone at your lovely teahouse.

  Therese

  So Therese was the author of those scathing satires all the while! Why did she do it? What could possibly have made her despise the Darlingtons so much that she would want to hurt them like that?

  It had to have been for the money. But for that, she could have twisted Wesley around her little finger; he was clearly so enamored of her. Yet she hadn’t given him the least encouragement. Strange.

  Filing the front page to the back, Nora began to read Therese’s last satire. As she scanned the handwritten piece, her eyes widened and her jaw went slack with surprise.

  THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF…

  THE WORTHLESS SAGA

  The Last Rib-Tickling Installment

  of our Popular New Series

  “What Does Another Heir Matter

  When There’s Nothing Left to Inherit?”

  Anyone who has visited Faded Glory Manor lately has seen the depths to which the Worthless family has tumbled.

  Just recently Lady Worthless was seen with her hair disheveled, her collar torn, rocking a bawling baby in her arms. “I’m too old for this!” she shouted as a door fell off its hinges. “I thought I could raise this baby as my own, but I’m simply too antiquated.” She pointed to a gilt-framed portrait of one of the Worthless ancestors—a soldier in a doublet and velvet tights—on the wall, dating back to the 1600s. “I’m almost as old as he is,” she said with a sigh. “At least I feel that way since this baby came along.”