Gayle Wilson

by Lady Sarah's Son

  When she had given her oath to Amelia to keep the details of Andrew’s birth a secret, it had seemed such a simple promise. She had not thought twice about making it. And now, no matter how much she might regret it, she was bound by that vow.

  So stupidly bound, but bound all the same, she thought, taking a deep breath. She had struggled with her conscience, wanting desperately to tell Justin the truth. She had told herself that Mellie had not meant she should keep the secret from her own husband. That was against every moral precept she had ever been taught.

  Of course, so was breaking an oath, she admitted. Especially one made on her mother’s grave—to her dying sister. Besides, why should Justin believe her, even if she told him the truth? As far as he knew, as far as anyone knew, Amelia had been dead and buried months before Andrew’s birth. Would Justin not despise Sarah even more for seeming to try to push her own sin off on her dead sister?

  She shook her head, the movement very slight. She was overwhelmed again by the moral dilemma her circumstances had created. She was Justin’s wife, something she had wanted to be for as long as she could remember. As long as she had known what being a wife entailed. Yet she was not. Not in any way that truly mattered. And unless he somehow discovered the truth about Andrew, she knew that she never would be.

  “I’ve been learning to mill ’em down,” Andrew announced as he rushed into the room, bringing the freshness of the outside air in with him. “Wynfield is teaching me.”

  The use of Justin’s title was a compromise they had come to together, Sarah supposed. They had certainly not discussed with her what Drew should call the earl.

  “I was watching you through the window,” she confessed.

  “Did you see my left?” Andrew asked.

  He had stopped at the desk and picked up the magnifying glass she kept there to decipher the former steward’s nearly illegible handwriting. She frequently checked the progress of the estate against past records, which had been meticulously inscribed in his crabbed hand. As she had learned more about estate management, she had had just reasons to be pleased with the comparison. At least until the sudden and severe drain on its resources caused by her marriage.

  “It’s a fine left,” she said, smiling. “And on whom do you plan to use it?”

  “I used it on the groom,” Andrew said. “When we were sparring.”

  “Sparring?” Sarah questioned, unfamiliar with the term.

  “Pretending to box,” Andrew explained. “It’s what Wynfield did at Gentleman Jackson’s in London.”

  After all, she thought, reading his tone, she was only a girl and could not be expected to know about such important things. She hid her smile, watching him lower the glass over a variety of objects on the desk.

  “Wynfield milled ’em down,” Andrew said, enamored of the colorful phrase he had obviously heard only today.

  “And was more frequently milled down himself.”

  At the sound of that deep voice, Sarah glanced up in surprise. And exactly as it had the first time she had seen him at Meg’s, her heart reacted in a highly inappropriate manner. After all, this was her husband. Of almost two months. Whom she had seen perhaps a dozen times in that span. And from whom she could not have pulled her gaze away had her life depended on it.

  He was thin, she thought. Far too thin. Of course, as hard as he was working, perhaps that should not be so surprising. Since he had spent many of those hours outdoors, his skin had not lost the bronze it had acquired in Spain. There was now, however, a grayness in the slight hollows in his cheeks, despite the tinge of red that seemed to heighten his cheekbones.

  Cheekbones that were too prominent, she decided. If she had believed his skin stretched too tightly over the underlying bone when he had first come home, what should she think now?

  “That’s a whisker,” Andrew accused, his eyes glowing as they did whenever he even talked of his hero, much less when he was confronted with the reality.

  “Andrew,” Sarah admonished.

  “But it isn’t true, Sarah. You were a good boxer, weren’t you?” Andrew demanded. “Before they cut off your leg, I mean.”

  This time, Sarah didn’t dare open her mouth.

  “Not nearly so good as Jackson,” the earl said easily. “Or as some of the others who practiced there.”

  He looked up at Sarah, and she wondered what he could read in her face. Shock at Andrew’s openness about the loss of his leg? Concern for his health? From a wife who had no right to express that concern. They had simply made a bargain, a business arrangement. She had only to look at and listen to the ecstatic Drew to know that Justin was carrying out his part of it.

  The child accompanied the earl almost everywhere, even occasionally allowed to tag along during the long days he spent at Wynfield. And Justin was careful to take Drew along when he visited his tenants and hers. They both knew that would eventually lead to what she had wanted for her son: acceptance by the district, however grudgingly given, because its beloved earl accepted him.

  She had also fulfilled her part of their agreement, of course. The sums of money that had been withdrawn from her accounts in the last two months were staggering. More than once Mr. Samuels had spoken to her about it, but she had told him that the earl was to have what he needed. And whatever it cost, she thought again, looking down at Andrew’s face, it was well worth it. More than worth it. Besides, Justin .had very honestly warned her of the expense of what she’d proposed.

  They had both kept to the terms of their agreement. Their bargain had not, however, included any provision for friendship. Or anything else.

  “I’m going to London tomorrow,” Justin said. “I have some business with my bankers that can no longer be delayed.”

  She nodded, understanding that he was not seeking her permission, but rather informing her.

  “I could go with you and keep you company,” Andrew offered. “So you won’t be lonely. I have never been to London.”

  The earl smiled at him. “We’ve already discussed this, Drew. Another time. Another trip.”

  “Have you ever been to London, Sarah?” the child asked.

  “Yes,” she said softly.

  Images of the last time she’d been in London were suddenly in her head. Justin, incredibly handsome in his regimentals. A crowded ballroom. A proposal of marriage. How different from those memories was the painful situation between them now.

  “I was there a very long time ago,” she said.

  Her eyes rose to her husband’s, but as soon as they had, holding on his face for only a second, he turned from the doorway and stepped into the hall. Sarah thought there was a small, but rather sharp intake of breath when he moved. The sound was gone so quickly she could not be certain—not even when she thought about it later, reliving the scene in her head countless times—that that was what she had heard. Or certain it had any significance. She listened as his uneven footsteps faded away.

  She looked back at Andrew, who was again applying her magnifying glass to the papers on the desk. At least Justin’s absence would give her some time with Drew. She didn’t begrudge the boy the obvious joy he felt in the hours he spent with the earl, of course, but she had missed him. Perhaps she missed being the center of his world as well. What had once been their small world. Which was now shared by a man who seemed an enigma. And far more distant, even living under the same roof, than he had ever been before.

  The days of the earl’s absence passed slowly. In the week since Justin had been gone, she and Andrew reestablished their old camaraderie. There was no doubt, however, how much the little boy missed him.

  Drew chattered about Wynfield constantly, recounting every moment they had spent together and devising things that he planned to suggest they might undertake together on his hero’s return. Since they had been given no estimation as to when that might be, the days stretched long and empty for both of them. Sarah had not realized how much she looked forward to those occasional glimpses she had had of her husband. Or how
much she had cherished them when they occurred.

  “When is he coming back?” Andrew asked plaintively after the tenth day without any communication from the earl.

  “When he completes his business, I suppose,” Sarah said, looking out on the rain-swept vista of the cold December day. She wondered if Justin would even consider traveling in these conditions. And if he did, whether he would be warm enough. And if he were working as hard in the capital as he had here.

  She knew that he had put into effect a great number of projects at Wynfield before he had left, despite the inclement weather. Of course, if you were willing to spend enough money, there were quite enough workers in the district who were willing to brave the elements to earn it.

  The improvements the earl was instituting at the Park were resulting in a boost for the entire local economy. Probably another reason for his popularity, Sarah thought. Her lips curved into a slight smile over the irony that although it was her money being spent at Wynfield, it was doing nothing for her own acceptance in the district. And truthfully, she didn’t care.

  “We could write to him,” Andrew suggested. “I am not entirely sure that I told him what I wanted for Christmas.”

  “I should hope you did not,” Sarah said. “Little boys who demand Christmas treats frequently don’t receive them.”

  “But how should he know what I truly want if I don’t tell him?” Andrew asked.

  . “Whatever you receive from the earl you should be very grateful for,” Sarah admonished.

  “Of course, I will,” said Andrew, “but I cannot see how it should hurt if I give him a hint about what I really want.”

  “You could give me a hint,” she suggested, smiling at his undeniable logic.

  “And you will tell him? You will write to him in London?”

  “Perhaps,” she said.

  “You only want to know what you should give me,” he said.

  Sarah laughed. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “But this is a special thing. And only Wynfield can give it to me,” Andrew said.

  “I see,” said Sarah.

  “I hope you are not...” Andrew paused, searching for the proper word.

  “Disappointed?” she suggested.

  “Jealous,” he supplied.

  “Jealous?” she repeated in astonishment. And then she realized that there was some part of her that was envious of the closeness of Andrew’s relationship with the earl. But not, she admitted, on the grounds Andrew feared.

  “Because I like him so very much,” Andrew explained. “I love you just as well, Sarah. You need not be afraid of that.”

  “No, dearest,” Sarah said, looking down into earnest blue eyes, “I’m not afraid of that.”

  “It’s just that I am growing up, you know.”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice.

  “And... I have never before had a papa.”

  “He isn’t your father, Drew,” she said softly, her heart contracting with how much she loved him.

  “I know. We have talked about that,” he said.

  Sarah wondered what that conversation had been like, considering Andrew’s tendency to speak whatever was on his mind.

  “But...” Again he hesitated, his small face still serious. “He is very close to one,” he finished wistfully. “As close as I shall ever have to a father, I expect.”

  There was nothing she could say to that. After all, this was part of what she had hoped for when she had made her offer. She put her hand behind Drew’s head and drew him close enough to press her lips against his curls. He allowed the caress, and then, straightening, he pulled away from her.

  “I’m not a baby anymore, Sarah,” he said.

  “I know,” she agreed.

  Her eyes again sought the chilled and desolate landscape outside and wondered, as longingly as Andrew, when the earl would be coming home.

  “Why, Sarah,” a pleasant voice admonished. “So early at work. And so industrious.”

  It was a voice and an accent Sarah would have recognized anywhere. Her eyes lifted, widened in disbelief. A smiling David Osborne stood in the open door of the estate office.

  He was wearing a caped greatcoat unbuttoned to reveal a coat of bottle-green superfine and a striped waistcoat that elegantly spanned a still slender waist. His cravat was high and heavily starched, reaching almost to his smoothly shaved chin. Even his eyes smiled at her, as if he were truly delighted to see her again.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, a frisson of fear flickering through her body. All the memories of that terrible time in Ireland were suddenly in her head.

  “Is that any way to greet your dear brother?” he chided, amusement lurking in his eyes.

  “You are not my brother, dear or otherwise,” Sarah said.

  “But I am the father of your...foster son, is it?”

  Sarah knew the uncertainty in his voice was as false as his smile. As false as everything about him. Unconsciously, she contrasted it to another masculine smile, and as she had from the moment of her introduction to Osbome, found it wanting.

  “An inconvenient foster son. Especially now,” he added softly. Despite the softness, there was a hint of malice in his tone. It did not match the smile that lingered about his lips.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Sarah said. She wondered if he had somehow heard of her marriage and meant to make mischief. “What are you doing here?” she asked again.

  “Times are hard, Sarah. If one can’t count on family in difficult economic situations, then who can one depend on?”

  “You have no family here,” she said coldly.

  “I have a son,” he said. “Or have you conveniently managed to forget that truth in the midst of all your other lies?”

  “Rather the reverse, I should think,” Sarah said, but now she knew what this was about. Just what it had always been about with Osborne. He was single-minded in pursuit of his objectives, and one of them had always been the Spenser money. That was the reason for his original courtship of her. And of Amelia.

  But he had very rightly come to fear Brynmoor’s rage, which was why he hadn’t made any demands on the marquess, even after successfully stealing his daughter. That original plan had been destroyed by her father’s announcement of Mellie’s death. Perhaps there had been some method in his madness after all.

  “You have so much, Sarah, and I so little. Only the dear memories of your sister’s love. A son I never see. A child who doesn’t even know me. That’s precious little to show for my life. And not of much...practical worth,” he added, smiling. “So I find I must throw myself on your mercy.”

  “No,” Sarah said.

  “You haven’t managed to spend it all, have you, Sister?” he said, smiling again, obviously not at all dismayed by her refusal. “But of course, you have a new husband. An expensive one, I understand. Is that what’s behind your hesitation?”

  “My husband,” Sarah said, feeling her anger rise, “and his affairs are none of your concern.”

  “As long as the estate can afford him.”

  She clamped her lips over the rejoinder she longed to make. It had nothing to do with him if her husband had need of her inheritance. Or if she were spending it a little prematurely.

  “Does your father know what you’re doing with his money?” Osborne asked. “Buying yourself a husband, I mean. I promise you, my dear, I could have been had much more cheaply.”

  “I’m sure you could have been,” she said. And then she realized that she had just acknowledged he was right: her marriage had been very expensive. “Only I wasn’t interested in that arrangement, of course.”

  “As long as your husband doesn’t take away from what is due to my son,” the Irishman said, still smiling, “I don’t suppose I can complain about your... self-indulgence.”

  There was so much blatantly wrong with the conclusions inherent in that statement that Sarah was momentarily rendered speechless. “My self-indulgence?” she repeated incredulou
sly.

  That was the accusation that hurt most, of course. But Osborne’s suggestion that she was buying herself a husband at Drew’s expense was equally ridiculous. As was the implication that David was the least bit concerned about his son.

  “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but this is the same man you were so enamored of when we first met, isn’t it? Of course, now he has a title as well. Much better than a lowly soldier’s rank. Congratulations, Sarah. You’ve gotten what you wanted.”

  This time Sarah held her tongue. Nothing she had said had been to her advantage. She didn’t know where David had acquired his knowledge of her affairs, but if he had spent any time in the district before he’d made his appearance here this morning, then she could be sure he had been given an earful.

  “My primary concern, in addition to my own financial situation, is that my son is being taken care of. I have always had the utmost confidence in your love for Andrew. But now...now I suppose, as his father, I must ask the question, no matter how uncongenial it seems. Is your new husband good to the boy?” Osborne asked. “We both know that sometimes stepparents are indifferent to the welfare of their stepchildren.”

  “You may rest assured that is not the case here,” Sarah said.

  Her distaste was growing the longer she looked at that still-handsome face. In contrast to Justin, Osborne seemed unmarked by the passage of the years. He looked exactly the same as when he had courted her. Of course, his experiences had not been those Wynfield had endured. David Osborne did not believe in enduring. Not for love or duty.

  “Then he’s fond of the child,” David said.

  “Very fond,” Sarah said challengingly. “You need have no concern on that score. Or on any other.”

  As if you had ever been concerned for Drew, she thought, but she was trying to say as little as possible. The quicker this was over, the better. She was only thankful David had chosen to make his appearance while Justin was away.

  And then, thinking how convenient that was, she wondered if he had known the earl was in London. After all, the David Osbornes of the world seldom relished dealing with someone like Wynfield, who seemed incapable of being cajoled or intimidated.