“Seems to me you’ve been excellent at waiting,” Lisette mumbled as she buttered her toast.
Jane chose to ignore the reference to the many years she and Dom had spent apart. That was different. She’d thought she was waiting for the only man who’d ever loved her. But she’d been wrong about his feelings, or else he would have come for her when he had the chance.
What if he wants you as his wife now that he’s gained the title?
That was all she’d been able to think about since their kisses yesterday, but the answer was always the same. Years ago, Dom had dictated the terms of their “friendship” without consulting her. He now wanted to dictate the terms of the search for Nancy. If Jane married him, she could only imagine what else he would dictate. He’d wrap her in cotton wool while trying to manage everything alone.
At seventeen, she might have put up with a husband who commanded her entire world and treated her like a wide-eyed innocent who must be led through life. But that was before she’d learned the truth about her parents’ death.
Now, at nearly thirty, she would rather eat glass than be married to a man like Papa. She’d spent the years since Auntie’s death running a household however she pleased, and very competently, too. So why should she have to put up with the dictates of Dom the Almighty?
He had even tried to prevent her from coming here to York with him yesterday. Lord only knew what ridiculous restrictions he would put on her as his wife.
“Despite all Dom’s grousing about my inability to show up on time, he and Tristan are late,” Lisette said. “Who knows when they’ll be here? Perhaps, Jane, you should use the time to rest.”
“I’m fine,” Jane said. “I couldn’t possibly sit still right now.”
“Are you sure? Forgive me, my dear, but you look quite tired. Lady Zoe’s butler said you didn’t arrive from Rathmoor Park until nearly five A.M.”
Jane nodded. “I had a few more matters to take care of than expected. With Nancy and me both gone, the household was at sixes and sevens, and I had to invent some reason for her sudden trip to Bath that wouldn’t alarm the servants.”
That had been no small feat, since she’d also had to question Nancy’s maid. The nature of the questions had only put the poor woman into a more anxious state, but it couldn’t be helped. Especially once Jane learned—
A knock at the door made her jump. She hurried to open it, relieved to find Dom and Tristan standing there. But the looks on their faces struck dread in her heart. Tristan wouldn’t meet her eyes as he came inside. Dom, however, met her gaze with a look of banked anger that heightened her alarm.
“Is that sausages?” Tristan said, hurrying to the table. “Thank God. I’m half-starved.”
“You live in a permanent state of starvation, I declare,” Lisette said behind Jane. “Sit down and eat before it gets any colder.” She paused. “Dom? Will you have some breakfast?”
“In a minute.” His eyes never left Jane’s. “First I need to speak to Miss Vernon. Alone.”
That did not bode well.
The duke rose from the table. “We probably need to . . . er . . . check on the horses, eh, Tristan?”
Grimly, Tristan nodded. Pausing only to make himself a sandwich out of sausages and toast, he wrapped it in a napkin, shoved it into his coat pocket, and hurried for the door.
“I should probably go make sure our servants are being adequately fed downstairs,” Lisette mumbled as she, too, rose and went out.
Jane’s maid was with Lisette’s maid and the duke’s valet in the taproom. At the moment, Jane wished she were with them.
After everyone left, Dom closed the door, and her heart began to thunder in her chest. If he was bending the rules of propriety to closet them alone together in an inn room, he must have found out something awful indeed.
Still, he said nothing at first, removing his greatcoat and throwing it over a chair, then staring at her for a long, tension-fraught moment that rattled her nerves.
“What is it?” she rasped. “What did you learn?”
“A number of things,” he said, his voice hard. “We were lucky to find an ostler here who’d seen Nancy leave with a gentleman about her age. Fortunately, he recognized the man—a local fellow. He was even able to give us directions to the chap’s lodgings.” He clasped his hands behind his back, looking very investigator-like. “Were you aware that Samuel Barlow now lives in York?”
A sour sickness churned in her stomach. Good heavens, not Samuel. Anyone but Samuel. “No, I did not . . . realize that.” As Dom kept staring at her skeptically, she thrust out her chin. “Do you think I’m lying?”
“I don’t know. Are you?”
“Certainly not!” Moving away from his disturbing gaze, she began to pace. “I only knew that Samuel no longer lived at the Blakeborough estate. He lost his commission in the navy a few years ago and then was disinherited by his father. Perhaps you heard about it.”
“I haven’t traveled in those circles in some time, remember?” he said tersely.
She colored. “Well, no one outside of his family knows what caused the estrangement between him and the old earl. I asked Edwin once, but all he would say is that their father didn’t approve of Samuel’s way of living. Judging from gossip, Samuel had become quite the . . . er . . . rogue in recent years, but I never heard what happened to him after his family cut him off.”
As something occurred to her, she faced Dom. “Still, he and Nancy were always good friends. Perhaps that was the impetus for their meeting . . . to share a meal or something. You went to his lodgings. Was he there? Was she there?”
“No.” Dom approached her, his eyes like shards of ice. “Barlow was seen leaving his place the morning of her arrival. And he hasn’t returned since.”
“Oh no,” she breathed.
“It took us half the night, but we checked with every coaching inn in York and finally found the one from which they left for London.”
“London?” This got worse and worse. “They left together? You’re sure?”
“Very sure. They went off in a post chaise. What’s more, Samuel was quite specific about their needs when he hired it. He said he required the most comfortable one the inn had.” Dom stared her down. “And do you know why he had such a specific request?”
Jane swallowed. She was afraid that she did.
When she didn’t answer, he added, “Because, or so he told the innkeeper, his ‘wife’ was pregnant.”
7
DOM COULD TELL from Jane’s expression that she knew of Nancy’s condition. Of course she knew. She’d probably known all along.
Betrayal sliced through him. “When were you going to tell me?” With leaden legs, he walked to the window to look out over the bustling innyard below. “When did you first find out?”
“Only a short while ago,” Jane said hastily. “And Nancy was by no means certain. She said she might be pregnant. If I’d been sure I would have told you at once, but I didn’t think it wise to stir it all up if it came to naught.”
“No, much better to imply that this disappearance was some fey whim of hers. Much better to leave out the most important part of this entire affair.” He could hardly speak for the pressure on his chest. Nancy could very well be bearing George’s son. “Much better to let me go on thinking that I have a new life, when in reality it may be over before it even begins.”
“Oh, Dom, I’m so sorry—” she began in a soft voice.
“Don’t.” He turned from the window to shoot her a baleful glance. “Don’t you dare pity me.”
She flinched. “I’m not, I swear. But I doubt that it will come to anything. Nancy has conceived three times already and has never carried the babe beyond the first few months. There’s no reason to believe this time will be different.”
“Isn’t there? This time the child may not be borne of George’s inad
equate seed, which makes a great deal of difference. Because it could mean she has a better chance of carrying the child until birth.”
That arrested Jane. “I-I don’t understand.”
“Of course you do.” He paced the room, unable to keep still. “Nancy came running right here to Samuel Barlow the moment you left Rathmoor Park. She probably wanted to tell him in person that he was going to be a father.”
Jane’s mouth dropped open. “That’s absurd! If she was having Samuel’s baby, she would have tried to cover it up. She wouldn’t have hurried off to meet him, rousing everyone’s suspicions.”
There was a certain logic in that, but he couldn’t think past the idea of Nancy pregnant. Nancy having a son that could be passed off as George’s.
Nancy’s son inheriting Rathmoor Park while Dom, once more, lost everything.
The thought fueled his mounting rage. “If she was having George’s baby, why wouldn’t she share it with the world? Why keep it a big secret?”
“I told you why! She wasn’t yet sure.” Jane tipped up her chin. “And she didn’t keep it that big a secret. I knew. Mrs. Patch knew. And Nancy’s maid definitely knew.”
“Yet none of you said anything to me about it.”
As the bitterness in his voice registered with her, guilt flashed over her face. “We had our reasons.”
“Oh? What might those be?” When Jane turned her face from his, a ball of ice settled in his belly. “Damn it, what possible reasons could you have for—”
“We were afraid of what you might do if you knew!”
“Do!” he cried, recoiling from the knife she’d just thrust in his gut. “Like what? Kidnap her? Murder her?”
“No, of course not!” Her vehemence only slightly dulled the blade of her betrayal. When he just stood staring at her, her cheeks reddened. “But I know that in cases like these, it’s customary to . . . have the lady in question undergo a physical exam to make sure that she is indeed bearing a possible heir.”
He stiffened. “It certainly is. So why would you wish to deprive me of that opportunity? It’s my right.”
“I know, but such an exam, as well as all the uproar that news of a possible heir would cause among the family and staff, might lead her to miscarry again.” She steadied her gaze on him. “I was protecting my cousin, that’s all.”
“From me?” He could hardly breathe for the twist of pain in his belly. “You think me that much a monster? You think that once I knew the situation, I would still force a pregnant woman to undergo an exam that might cause her to lose her child.”
“No! Well . . .” She rubbed her arms fitfully. “You might have thought you had no choice. I didn’t want to put you in the position of having to decide, when there could be no reason. And I certainly didn’t want to risk her losing the baby.” She dropped her gaze. “I know you’ll think it awful of me, but I wanted her to have it—even if it meant you had to go back to being plain Mr. Manton.”
There, in the starkest of words, was the truth. Jane didn’t care if he lost everything again, as long as her precious cousin got to bear a child. George’s child.
Or perhaps not George’s child.
Raw fury burned his throat. He ought to be more sympathetic toward his sister-in-law. But it was hard to be so when it could spell the end to all his hopes. Especially when it could also be part of a scheme dreamed up between Barlow and Nancy to rip the estate from him. The estate he deserved to have, damn it!
He dug his fingernails into his palms. “So, in your zeal to protect Nancy, you decided it was acceptable to overlook her many deceptions.”
Jane cast him a mutinous glance. “What deceptions? I only spoke to the servants last night—”
“Last night?”
Briefly she got the look of a hare caught in a trap. Then she smoothed her features. “When I returned to Rathmoor Park to get my things, yes.”
“You went to the estate in the middle of the night,” he said incredulously. One more thing she hadn’t informed him of. “Tell me you didn’t go the two hours back alone on horseback, the way you came to Winborough.”
“Of course not. That would be reckless.” As Dom began to breathe a little easier, she added, “I went in Lady Zoe’s coach and took a footman with me.”
“And that wasn’t reckless at all,” he said sarcastically. The thought of her traveling for hours late at night on dark country roads with only a servant to protect her curdled his blood. “Are you mad? Anything could have happened to you, for God’s sake!”
“Do not shout at me, Lord Rathmoor!” She planted her hands on her hips. “You don’t have the right to command me. If I wish to take a ship to India to learn blowhunting from Bedouins, I can do so with or without your approval.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “There are no Bedouins in India; they reside in Arabia. And it’s not ‘blowhunting.’ I believe you’re referring to blowguns, but—”
“I don’t care! The point is that I don’t need your permission to do anything.” She cocked her head. “Besides, Lord Olivier’s footman and coachman are former soldiers. I’m sure they would be just as useful to me in a fight as any fine gentleman.”
He grimaced. She was probably right about that.
“And in any case,” Jane went on, “your sister saw no problem with it.”
“She wouldn’t,” he said dryly.
Lisette would do just about anything to keep Jane happy, as long as it meant reuniting Jane with him. Yesterday, he’d felt the same way. Their kisses, which had haunted him all night, had made him almost certain that Jane still had feelings for him.
Clearly he’d been wrong. If Jane could keep such a monumental secret from him, knowing what it could mean to his future . . .
“You ought to be glad I went,” Jane continued. “I learned quite a bit. The servants confirmed what I suspected—that they had always just assumed that Mrs. Patch accompanied Nancy for her shopping, but they never knew it for a certainty. In fact, they didn’t really know how Nancy spent her time in York.”
“Which supports my theory as easily as yours. Nancy could have been spending that time with Barlow.”
“She came back with packages,” Jane said stoutly.
“Her maid was with her, right? Meredith could have shopped for her while Nancy joined Barlow.”
Jane’s lips thinned. “You’re determined to believe Nancy a harlot.”
“You’re determined to believe her a saint.” He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from shaking some sense into her. “And what about Meredith, anyway? We can’t question her because she has conveniently disappeared from Nancy’s employ. When did that happen? After George’s death? Later?”
“Shortly before I came to stay at Rathmoor Park,” Jane said sullenly. “But the present maid gave me Meredith’s address in London, which means we can question her whenever you like.” Her smile was cool. “You see? I’m perfectly willing to follow this wherever it takes us, as long as we base our conclusions on facts and not on your obvious bias against Nancy.”
“I do not have a bias against Nancy,” he gritted out. “But considering what’s at stake, and this new information about the babe she bears—”
“Possibly bears. We’re not even sure of that! Her new maid said that her mistress had shown signs of being with child, but they weren’t so pronounced as to make it certain. And even around her, Nancy was cautious about claiming absolutely that she was pregnant.”
“That doesn’t mean she wasn’t.”
“No, of course not. But you’d think that if she had been sure, she would have written to her supposed lover to tell him. And according to her maid, Nancy never corresponded with any gentlemen.”
Dom shook his head. “Just because her maid didn’t see such letters doesn’t mean they never existed. Perhaps that’s why Nancy was so familiar with the schedule for the mail co
ach—because she preferred to post and receive her mail in person.”
Jane lifted her gaze heavenward. “Has it occurred to you that perhaps her association with Samuel wasn’t romantic? They’ve known each other for years. So perhaps she went off with him to London because . . . I don’t know . . .”
“Because she was completely unaware of how it would appear for her to be seen traveling to London with a known rogue,” Dom said coldly.
A sigh escaped her. “I know how this looks, but you still have nothing but the words of an innkeeper and an ostler. What if they confused the situation? Or they lied? Or—”
“Come now, Jane, you’re not that credulous,” he said softly. “It wouldn’t be the first time a woman decided to pass her lover’s child off as her husband’s so she could inherit.”
“That’s not even logical! For one thing, if Nancy had . . . shared a lover’s bed while also sharing George’s, no one could ever know for certain whose child she bore. So why run off to London with her lover to have her baby, and draw attention to herself? She’d be better off staying at Rathmoor Park.”
“Unless she knew she’d conceived the child too long after George’s death to be able to pass it off as his.”
The color drained from Jane’s face. “That is a truly horrible assertion.”
He strode up to her. “Think, Jane. If she disappears for the next six or eight months, an examination is impossible. She could simply show up with a baby she claimed as George’s, and none could prove otherwise, no matter what their suspicions.”
She snorted. “No doctor worth his salt would confuse a newborn for a three-month-old.”
“Ah, but it needn’t be so great a difference for her to be worried. The law says that the babe must be born within forty weeks of the husband’s death to be considered his, which means she can’t bear the child even one week later. So why should she risk its being declared illegitimate, when she can put the matter in doubt by giving birth in secret whenever she pleases, then coming out of hiding to declare that the child was born before the forty weeks were done?”
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