by Ava Stone
Lydia had noticed the change in him. Whenever she looked at him, he couldn’t meet her eyes. She was getting more impatient with his inability to confide in her and there was an uncomfortable distance between them. But he couldn’t talk to her about this. He wouldn’t hurt her like that again. He just had to come to terms with it in his own time.
For most of the day he’d escaped to the privacy of his stables and dreaded heading back home for dinner. The MacFadyns were gone and Miss Mitford had stopped dining with them after Luke left. He’d have to dine with his wife—alone. Lydia was not one to let him continue avoiding her. She would want answers soon. She would demand them. And there was nothing he could say.
When sky darkened, Robert sighed. He couldn’t delay it any longer. He wearily trudged back to the castle. The entire walk home, he tried to think of things he could talk about with his wife. He could tell her about Devil’s Inferno. The prized bay was adjusting nicely at Gosling Park. He could tell her that Edgecroft had finally managed to keep his blasted sheep on his own property. He could tell her other inane and mundane information, but she would see through all of it.
Fortunately for Robert, he wouldn’t have to struggle for things to say to his wife. As soon as he reached the castle, he spotted the Astwick coach being unloaded by his footmen.
Astwick?
Well, at least he wouldn’t be at a loss for words. Robert brushed past his footmen and into his home. Dunsley met him in the front entryway with a beleaguered look. “Lord Astwick has arrived, my lord.”
“I can see that.”
“Lady Masten is entertaining him in the green salon. Also Master Peter and Miss Penelope are there as well.”
Robert nodded to his butler and started down the corridor toward the green salon with a little bounce to his step. Astwick should have sent some warning that he was showing up, but at the moment Robert couldn’t be happier to see him.
He heard Chet’s booming laugh even before he reached the parlor. Without delay, Robert pushed the door open. Peter was sitting quietly in a chintz chair and Lydia was knitting again.
Knitting. Just seeing her do that made his stomach churn.
But he managed a smile for Penny who was sitting on Chet’s lap, showing him her latest watercolor. “And that’s Papa.”
Chet looked up to meet Robert’s eye. “Ah, and here’s your Papa now.”
Penny dropped her masterpiece to her lap and smiled widely when she saw Robert. Then she bounded off the marquess’ lap and rushed into Robert’s awaiting arms. He scooped the girl off her feet and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Hello, my little imp.”
“I was showing Lord Astwick my picture and he was telling me about when you were my age.”
Robert’s brow shot up and he looked at his friend. “I’m sure he was only telling appropriate stories.”
Chet smirked as he stood. “What kind of a lout do you take me for, Rob? I would never tell Miss Penelope anything to impugn your good name.”
Penny wrinkled up her nose, then threw a charming smile at the marquess and whispered, “I hate the name Penelope.”
Chet laughed and Robert could feel the glass in the windows shake from the sound. “I am not all that fond of Chester. That’s why my friend’s call me Chet.”
“Very interesting.” Robert put Penny back on the ground and crossed the room to his wife’s side to drop a kiss on her cheek. “When I last saw you, Astwick, you were touting the merits of the name Chester.”
“Well, of course.” Chet grinned devilishly. “If you want to name your heir after me, I would be more than honored.”
Robert rolled his eyes at that and turned his attention to Lydia. “How are you feeling, darling?”
She met his eyes with a tired expression. “I’m fine, Masten.”
So he was Masten again? Not that he was surprised, but he frowned at her tone. He knew it very well—it was the same one he’d used with her the night before. It belied her words, just as his had done. When she wouldn’t look at him, he felt the chasm between them deepen even further.
Lydia dropped her knitting to the basket beside her chair, stood up, and reached for both Peter and Penny’s hands. “Come along. It’s time to get you back to the schoolroom. I’m sure his lordship would like some time with Lord Astwick.”
When Penny’s bottom lip shot out, Chet chuckled. “Don’t look so grim, Miss Penelope. I’ll see you in the morning and you can show me all the other paintings you’ve done. And Master Peter, when it’s light you can show me that horse you were telling me about.”
Both children nodded enthusiastically and then followed Lydia from the room. Robert took a seat in the chintz chair that Peter had abandoned and frowned at his friend. “Most people send word when they are to visit.”
Chet’s normally gregarious façade vanished and the marquess looked graver than Robert could ever remember seeing him before. “Any word I would have sent would have arrived the same time I did. We need to talk, Robert.”
That sounded serious. And the only time Chet ever sounded serious was when it had to do with his mother. “If Lady Astwick is at it again, I’m sure it can wait.”
“This has nothing to do with my mother. There is a scandal brewing in London, and it has your name plastered all over it.”
Scandal?
Robert grimaced. He’d done nothing to create a scandal. Some people might not approve of his adoption of Peter and Penny, but it certainly wasn’t scandalous. Lydia had done nothing, as she’d been with him ever since they’d left Town. “What are you talking about?”
Chet took a deep breath and then began to pace around the room. Good heavens, this was worse than Robert thought. Chet never paced.
Finally, the marquess pursed his lips and then spoke. “Word about Lady Masten’s delicate condition has spread all over Town.”
Well, it certainly wasn’t a secret. “I don’t see what is so scandalous about my wife providing me with an heir.”
Chet stopped his pacing and faced Robert with a furrowed brow. “Not even when the sire is your brother?”
Robert’s heart stopped. He must have misheard his friend. That was the most preposterous thing Chet had ever said to him, and that was saying something.
There were some things Robert wasn’t certain of. He wasn’t certain if his youngest niece was named Emily or Emma. He wasn’t certain if he and Luke could ever be in the same room together again. And he wasn’t certain what to do about the recent revelations concerning his wife’s tragic past. But one thing he was certain of, more than anything else, was that the child Lydia carried belonged to him. “I don’t think I heard you properly,” he growled.
Chet, who was more accustomed than most to Robert’s temper, shrugged off the warning look in his friend’s eye. “Word has spread all over Town, Rob. Everything—why you married her, the circumstances surrounding that, even that she was…” Chet looked suddenly uncomfortable and he stopped talking.
“…Even that she was what?” Robert clipped out impatiently.
Chet took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and blurted out, “They’re saying that Lucas wasn’t her first lover. And, Robert, they’re saying your wife’s affair with him never ended—that Luke has cuckolded you over and over. They’re saying Lydia’s babe belongs to your brother.”
A muscle began to twitch beside Robert’s eye, so he looked even more menacing when he scowled at his friend. If they, whoever the devil they were, were indeed saying all of these things, the tale could only have one source. Robert’s heart sank in his chest. How could Lucas do this to him?
While Chet and Brendan knew some of the particulars, neither of them would ever say a word to anyone. Caroline most certainly would never open her mouth about the situation. But most importantly, no one other than himself, Lucas, and James MacFadyn knew that Lydia’s innocence was lost long before his lout of a brother had put himself in her path. And Luke was Hell-bent on saving Robert from himself.
Luke thought
Lydia was deceptive, but he didn’t know the whole truth. He didn’t know what the poor girl had gone through. And now he was going to run her name through the mud? Robert knew that he could be in the same room with his brother again, at least once more—in order to strangle the life out of the blackguard.
Quietly, Chet cleared his throat. “You’re not saying anything, Rob.”
Robert’s head snapped toward his friend. “When I find my brother, I’m going to end his miserable existence.”
Cautiously, Chet approached him and pitifully remarked. “So, it’s true.” It wasn’t a question—just a statement and a rather dejected one at that.
Fire nearly shot from Robert’s eyes. “The devil it is! It’s all a pack of lies.”
Chet leaned against the wall and eyed his friend with sympathy. “I don’t necessarily want to bring this up, Rob, but it’s not all lies.”
Robert sank into a chair. Luke knew his weakness—that in tarnishing Lydia’s reputation, he would force Robert to deal with the situation. “I knew he was angry, but to claim to have sired my child. I can’t believe that he’d ruin her all over again, just to spite me.”
“So you don’t believe it’s the truth?” Chet asked.
Robert’s eyes angrily flew to his friend’s face. “Of course it’s not true. The child is mine.”
“You’re certain?”
“If you ever ask me that again, Astwick, we’ll be making a dawn appointment. Do I make myself clear?” Robert’s normally warm brown eyes were close to black as he glared at his oldest friend.
Chet stared at Robert in shock, but then he slowly nodded his head. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to impugn Lady Masten.”
“My wife’s virtue is not in question here, but rather that of my scurrilous brother. I can’t allow him to hurt Lydia anymore than he’s already done. I can’t allow him to damage the reputation of my unborn child.”
“I’m at your service, Robert, whatever you need. I speak for Clayworth too, of course.”
Robert scoffed. What could he do? Half of what his brother said was true. There were people that knew it, and they’d all believe the rest was true—just as Chet had done. Robert couldn’t think of a way to handle the problem honorably. He could challenge his brother, but really, what good would that do? So he’d put a bullet in Luke’s skull, half the Town would still believe the rumors, and both Lydia and their child would still be ruined.
He paced back and forth, alternately rubbing his brow and heaving huge sighs. Could he get Luke to refute his claims? It was better than killing the lout, though God knew he deserved no less. He stopped walking and turned his attention back to Astwick. “I need to get to London. I can’t deal with this problem here.”
Chet nodded in agreement. “We can take my coach. I just need to get a fresh set of horses.”
Robert started for the door and called over his shoulder to his friend. “I can’t wait that long. Leave as soon as possible, and I’ll meet you in Town.”
“Take a pistol with you, Robert. Some strange men stopped my coach on the way here. And Lange said highwaymen of a sort have been stopping coaches with family crests all over the countryside.”
Robert furrowed his brow and nodded. “Carteret said something similar.”
“Carteret!” Chet visibly winced. “Here I am, the best friend you have, racing across the country to warn you about these rumors and the first thing you do is throw his name in my face.”
Suddenly Chet wasn’t his usual, charming self anymore. The mention of Carteret’s name always had that affect him, though truthfully no one knew why. Normally, Robert would have taken the opportunity to chide his friend about his intense dislike of James MacFadyn, but he was too distraught over the disturbing news about Lydia. He eyed his friend with dismay and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Don’t worry about me. I always travel with my pistol.
***
Lydia ran into Robert in the hallway outside the schoolroom. She looked at her husband with pain in her eyes, unsure what had happened to cause the rift between them. “You should’ve told me that Lord Astwick was coming to visit.”
“I didn’t know.”
“That seems to happen a lot around here. First Luke, now Astwick.” She started down the hallway toward the staircase.
Robert increased his step to keep up with her. “Something’s come up, darling. I need to go to London.”
She stopped suddenly and turned her pained gaze up to him. “You’ll go that far to avoid me?”
He reached out and stroked her arms up and down, “I’m not avoiding you.”
Did he honestly think she would accept that answer? Lydia pursed her lips and crossed her arms across her chest. “Then what would you call it, Robert? You turned your back on me last night. You left at the crack of dawn only to return at dusk to tell me that you’re leaving for London.”
The truth of her words reflected in his eyes and he looked away briefly. Then he pulled her into his embrace and covered her mouth with his. His soft lips melted against hers. She wanted to pull away from him, but she had missed his touch and couldn’t bring herself to end the intimacy she’d craved all day.
Slowly, Robert raised his head, though he still held her against him. “I wouldn’t leave if it wasn’t important.”
Lydia clung tightly to his coat, willing him to stay. What could possibly be so important that he had to leave so suddenly? “You promised you wouldn’t leave again,” she said to his chest.
She felt his arms tighten around her as he rested his chin on her head. “I know I did. Unfortunately, this business can’t be put off. I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart.”
There was a finality to his voice and she stepped away from him, smiling weakly. “You are coming home, aren’t you?”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away, Lydia.”
~ 22 ~
Robert’s journey was a tiring one. Astride Devil’s Inferno, he ate up the ground toward London. Considering the price he’d paid for the stud, it wasn’t the best choice for this excursion, but Devil’s Inferno was the fastest horse he owned, and time was of the essence.
At night, there was very little sound. All Robert could hear was his stallion’s hooves pounding against the road. The sky was lit up with stars, which would normally have been comforting, but Robert paid it very little attention. He was alone with his thoughts. There was no one to talk to, no one to strategize with. His family’s future lay heavily on his shoulders and his mind spun with different possibilities and scenarios.
He remembered how Penny’s big, brown eyes filled with tears when he told the children he had to return to London. Even stoic little Peter muffled back a cry. And Lydia—his beautiful, adoring wife—had been unable to meet his eyes as he left.
Robert frowned. After everything, how could Luke do such a thing to him? To his family? This situation with his brother needed to be dealt with quickly. He had other pressing problems that required immediate attention. For one, he needed to retrieve that letter he’d left for Lieutenant Warner. The last thing they needed right now was for that monster to re-enter their lives.
Plans of one sort or another rattled around his mind. Short of torture, how could he get Luke to recant his tale about Lydia? And how much damage could be reversed? Some people would always believe the story that was going around Town. That couldn’t be helped. But how could he change the minds of the vast majority of others?
***
It was Wednesday, Miss Mitford’s day off, so Lydia was spending the day with the children in the schoolroom. The governess had told her that both Peter and Penny were exceedingly talented artistically, and now she saw that it was true. When Lydia looked at Penny’s watercolor of the garden view from the schoolroom window, she was amazed at the expertise. A child of five had captured the soft beauty of Gosling’s garden? At twenty-one, Lydia couldn’t duplicate the work. Peter was working with charcoal and had mastered the elegant lines of the mare he loved so dearly. Perhaps Mary Harris had
been an artist and passed on the talent to her children.
Lydia was just about to ring for tea when a soft knock sounded on the door. “Come,” she replied.
Dunsley opened the door and nodded to the countess. “Lady Masten, you have a visitor. He didn’t have calling card, but said his name was Lieutenant Warner.”
Lydia’s stomach drop and she took an awkward step backward. Henry was here? Why? How?
The surprise she felt must have registered on her face, because the elderly butler took a step forward and steadied her with his arm. “Are you all right, my lady?”
She managed to nod. “Yes, Dunsley. Lieutenant Warner is my brother. I just haven’t seen him for seven years.”
Dunsley looked relieved and smiled at her. “I’ve left him in the green parlor.”
Lydia was still in a daze and couldn’t focus on anything in particular. She barely heard herself ask the butler to have tea and biscuits delivered to the green parlor. When Dunsley left the schoolroom, Lydia was assaulted by both Peter and Penny.
“Your brother has come to visit, Mama?” Peter asked with a furrowed brow.
But Penny was bouncing up and down on her toes again. “Does that make him our uncle?” The girl looked excitedly at her brother. “We’ve never had an uncle before.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Who do you think Uncle Luke is then?”
Penny chewed the side of her face in thought. “I forgot about Uncle Luke. We have two uncles!”
Lydia shook her head to try and clear it. “Actually, Lord Staveley would be your uncle as well. I’ll have Mrs. Norris meet you in here momentarily.”
“Mrs. Norris?” Penny pouted. “But I want to meet our new uncle.”