A Most Peculiar Season Series Boxed Set: Five Full-length Connected Novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors

by Michelle Willingham

  Flattered? Hardly! Yet Jack could not deny an unlikely flicker of satisfaction that public opinion confirmed his own about the baby’s paternity. He had already made his list and was embarrassed by the number of names on it. Not to mention the difficulty he had recalling some of those names.

  “Oh, very well.” Rory’s response sounded more like a groan. “If it will ease your conscience, we can make discreet inquiries. Now will you please let us go to bed and suffer in peace!”

  Jack shook his head. “We must begin at once. The baby needs to be nursed and if we do not find the mother soon, Annabelle says her milk will dry up.”

  Rory shuddered and his face went greener still. “That is far more information than I required. And by Annabelle, I take it you mean —”

  “He means me.” Annabelle strode in from the dining room, leading Jack to suspect she’d been eavesdropping on their conversation. She held the baby in her arms. “I agreed to help look after Sarah last night since it was too late to do anything about locating her mother. I do not intend to remain here, so I suggest you find the woman as quickly as possible, or engage a wet nurse until she can be located.”

  When she entered, Rory and Gabriel rose from the sofa unsteadily and bowed to her with what Jack sensed to be excruciating effort. “Lady Southam.”

  Southam had been Frederick’s courtesy title from his father. For some reason Jack found it impossible to think of Annabelle that way.

  “Please sit down,” Rory begged her through clenched teeth. “We are not in any condition to observe the proper civilities.”

  “I can see that,” Annabelle replied without the least sign of pity for their plight. She strode to the sofa and took a seat between the two sufferers.

  Rory and Gabriel stared at her in horror. Jack expected them to move elsewhere, but perhaps they did not trust their legs to carry them. Instead, they sank back down then inched to the far corners of the sofa.

  Annabelle shook her head, clearly exasperated with the pair of them. “She is only a baby, you know, not a lit cask of black powder.”

  “Have you heard her scream?” Gabriel’s face was deathly pale in contrast to his black hair and the dark stubble on his jaw. “It is as loud as an explosion, but it goes on and on.”

  “She is quiet now,” Annabelle pointed out in an ominous tone. “I believe the poor little thing had good reason to cry yesterday, don’t you?”

  Jack watched with heartless amusement as she put his friends in their proper places. It was no more than they deserved after going carousing last night and leaving him to deal with the crisis on his own.

  “I suppose she had,” Gabriel agreed. Did he truly believe it or was he only afraid of what Annabelle might do to him if he argued?

  “Now I know you all want to point fingers at each other.” She cradled the child in her arms. “But until you find her mother, the fact remains that Sarah could belong to any of you. Is it too much to ask that you at least look at her?”

  That shamed them into glancing at the child, who chewed on her fingers and regarded the two haggard rakes with a gummy smile of delight.

  “All sweetness and light now, aren’t you?” Rory muttered to the baby. “You can’t fool us, though. We have seen what you are capable of.”

  Baby Sarah chortled, as if she understood his wry quip. Then she blew a wet raspberry in reply. Rory pretended not to be amused, but Jack could tell his friend was fighting to stifle a grin.

  Gabriel reached out gingerly to graze his fingertips over the baby’s plump cheek. “How fair she is and what blue eyes. No one could look at her and imagine for a minute she is mine.”

  Was there a faint note of wistfulness in Gabriel’s voice? Jack wondered. Or was he hearing things?

  “She might take after her mother,” Annabelle suggested. “Do you look a great deal like your father?”

  “Not in the least, thank Heaven.” Now that he’d been forced to acknowledge the baby, Gabriel stared at her small face intently, as if searching for a resemblance to someone.

  Jack wondered who.

  “Sarah has been quite agreeable today.” Annabelle smiled down at the child. “But I am certain she must miss her mama and all the familiar sights and sounds of her home, even if she is too young to understand what has happened.”

  Did she speak from personal experience? For as long as Jack could recall she had been a fixture in the household of his uncle’s nearest neighbor. At least in her case, her mother had not deserted her intentionally, like little Sarah’s... and his. Annabelle’s words reminded him of his younger years, and the bewilderment he’d experienced in the wake of his father’s tragic death and his mother’s mysterious disappearance. Unlike the baby, he had been old enough to understand that something was very wrong. His uncle’s stern disapproval made him feel that whatever had happened must be all his fault.

  “It is vital for Sarah to be reunited with her mother as soon as possible.” Annabelle spoke with quiet urgency, looking from Gabriel to Rory. “I trust you gentlemen will put the welfare of an innocent child ahead of your indispositions, which were entirely self-inflicted.”

  “But my head...” Gabriel pleaded.

  “And my... gut.” Rory swallowed several time rapidly.

  “If you do not find Sarah’s mother by tonight.” The rasp in Annabelle’s voice grew more pronounced. “I will not stay to look after her. And since Jack has taken his turn, I suggest he let you both do the honors—even if it means locking all three of you in a room together.”

  Jack doubted she would expect him to make good on that threat. But Rory and Gabriel were not reckless enough gamblers to call her bluff.

  “We’ll go!” Rory raised his palms in surrender. “Only give us enough time for my man to prepare a restorative.”

  His reaction seemed to amuse the baby, who gave a rolling gurgle of laughter.

  Rory glowered at her. “I will thank you to show a little respect for your elders, young lady. When we find your mother, I intend to have words with her, you may be sure.”

  Sarah did not seem the least bit intimidated, but continued to chuckle.

  Annabelle did not appear to find the situation quite so amusing. “By all means take your restorative. Do whatever you must to find the woman and return her baby. I have no intention of spending another night in this house.”

  Rory and Gabriel nodded meekly.

  Annabelle handled his housemates almost as well as she did the baby, Jack realized with a flicker of admiration. She was right, though. It would be best for everyone if she did not spend another night under his roof.

  “Please, Annabelle, you can’t leave us!”

  That evening Jack and his friends returned to report their lack of success in finding Sarah’s mother and to beg for more time.

  “I agreed to come for one night only.” Annabelle spoke in a firm but soft voice, so as not to disturb the sleeping baby in her arms.

  Jack acknowledged her protest with a nod. “You did indeed and we are forever in your debt. Aren’t we gentlemen?”

  His friends nodded and murmured their agreement. Both looked somewhat better than when they’d set out on their search.

  “If you are so deeply in my debt, I wonder that you have the gall to beg further favors.” The moment that word left her lips she wished she’d chosen another.

  Granting favors was a polite way to describe what little Sarah’s mother had done for one of these three charming wastrels. Look what trouble it had brought her! There had been a time Annabelle might have granted Jack her favors without a thought for the consequences. But he had never asked.

  Now he only wanted her in the way her aunt and uncle had—as an unpaid servant.

  Before the men could come up with a persuasive answer, she asked, “Did you make any effort at all to find the mother?”

  “Any effort?” Jack raked his fingers through his golden brown hair, making Annabelle wish she could touch it, just once. “We made every effort—at least I did. I called
on Mrs. Archer and I can assure you, the baby is not hers.”

  Jack’s mention of his former paramour tormented Annabelle like the twist of a knife that had already stabbed her.

  “How can you be so certain?” It was no concern of hers how many women he’d bedded, she told herself as she carefully avoided his gaze. She did not want him to glimpse the distress she had no right to feel. “Did you take her word for it? I doubt it is the sort of thing a woman would readily admit.”

  Jack shook his head. “Give me credit for more sense than that. I did not have to ask her. It is obvious the lady is presently with child—due in the next two months, I suspect. One does not need to be an accoucheur to know it would be impossible for her to bear two babies in half a year. And before you ask, I am not the father of the child she is carrying.”

  That was a solid alibi for Mrs. Archer, Annabelle had to admit.

  “I also called upon an actress of my acquaintance,” Jack continued. “At the time of the baby’s birth, she was appearing at Drury Lane in All for Love.”

  “I saw the play,” said Rory Fitzwalter. “I can assure you the lady was not with child.”

  “Then,” Jack continued, “I spent hours trying to track down Madame Reynard, without success. I finally discovered she is in the West Indies and has been for the better part of a year.”

  Annabelle had heard scraps of gossip about Clarissa Reynard, a courtesan only slightly less notorious than Harriet Wilson and her sisters. Some claimed Madame was a French spy. Others averred she was not French at all, but a butcher’s daughter from the Channel Islands. How could Jack have been intimate with such a creature? The invisible knife in Annabelle’s heart twisted again.

  “Travelling abroad would be good cover for discreetly bearing a child,” she suggested, though her heart balked at the notion that the innocent babe in her arms could have such a mother.

  Rory Fitzwalter gave a skeptical shrug. “If Madame is in the Caribbean, how could she have left a baby on our doorstep?”

  His doubts relieved Annabelle’s mind and made her more favorably disposed toward him. “I take it you had no more success with your inquiries, Mr. Fitzwalter?”

  “I did not, which came as no surprise to me. I tell you there is no possibility of the child being mine.”

  “Then I take it you spoke with all your lady friends?”

  Her question made the gentleman squirm a little. “Of course not. Truly discreet inquiries take time. One does not pose such an intimate question then dash off to the next person on the list.”

  “How many did you speak with?” she asked.

  “Almost two.”

  Annabelle barely stifled a shriek that would have woken the baby. “In other words—one.”

  “Well, yes. But I made very sure. No sense doing a slap-dash job, was there?”

  Lord Gabriel gave a supportive nod but Jack looked as vexed with his friend as Annabelle felt.

  She could not suppress a pang of sympathy for him. He seemed to care about the baby’s welfare a great deal more than the others. He was willing to acknowledge that she might be his child, and he had made a much greater effort to locate her missing mother. Was it fair to penalize him for the shortcomings of his friends?

  “What about you, Lord Gabriel?” She turned to the last of the trio. “Did you do better than your friend?”

  The young gentleman hung his head. “Rather worse, I’m afraid.”

  “Worse?” Annabelle and Jack cried together.

  The noise disturbed the baby. She stirred from her peaceful doze with a soft bleat but did not open her eyes. The three men tensed and froze. Annabelle wondered if they were holding their breath.

  After a moment’s silence to let Sarah settle back down, she resumed her interrogation of Lord Gabriel. “Did you speak to no one at all?”

  “I spoke to a number of people,” He answered in a defensive whisper. “I inquired as to the whereabouts of one particular lady. She is at her father’s estate in the country at present, so she cannot be the person we are seeking.”

  “Where in the country?” asked Annabelle.

  “Surrey, but what does that matter?”

  “It is not such a great distance. The lady could have come into town yesterday to leave the baby or she could have sent someone else to do it. I would not rule her out until you have spoken with her. What I cannot understand is why you wasted valuable time on one line of inquiry. After you learned that lady was unavailable, why did you not go in search of the next?”

  She felt rather hard-hearted quizzing Lord Gabriel so severely. He had an oddly innocent, boyish air, in spite of the dissolute life he led. Compared to Jack’s rugged good looks and Rory Fitzwalter’s distinctive appeal Lord Gabriel had the classic masculine beauty of a Greek statue. Annabelle wondered how many women might have sacrificed their virtue at its altar.

  He stared down at his knees, refusing to meet any of the gazes fixed upon him. “The truth is there are no others. I have never been as much a lady’s man as my friends.”

  “That is nothing to be ashamed of.” Annabelle could not help wanting to comfort him. “But this one lady you were... close to. You must make an effort to be certain she is not Sarah’s mother.”

  He nodded with touching contrition and cast a sidelong glance at the sleeping baby. “I will. But what is to become of the child in the meantime? Jack said she needs milk.”

  “She does.” Annabelle wished it were possible for her to suckle the baby, but that would only create a deeper attachment to a child who was not hers. “Since you have not found her mother, you will have to hire a wet nurse to provide her with nourishment.”

  “A wet nurse?” Lord Gabriel looked mystified. “Where can we find one of those?”

  Annabelle bit back an impatient sigh. “You should get a nice healthy woman in the country to take Sarah until you locate her mother. You must know a lady with children who can recommend someone suitable.”

  “I could ask my sister,” Rory offered, “but she and her family are still at their estate in Somerset. But perhaps my brother’s wife...”

  Lord Gabriel nodded. “Surely one of my female relations would know.”

  They both beamed with approval at her suggestion but Jack shook his head. “Out of the question. The poor little creature has been left with strangers once already. I will not palm her off on someone else just when she has begun to grow used to us. Surely there must be a sober, healthy wet nurse somewhere in London who would stay here to tend the baby for a short time.”

  Annabelle could not conceal her doubts. “If you search long enough, you might find the needle in a haystack, but time is of the essence. Hand-fed babies do not tend to thrive, as a rule.”

  “Perhaps those other little ones do not have as skilled and devoted a person to tend them as Sarah does.” Jack spoke with sincere conviction that Annabelle found hard to resist. “She seems vastly contented in your care. Can we prevail upon you to stay another few days to give us time to hire a wet nurse and search for the mother?”

  “Please,” Rory murmured.

  Lord Gabriel fixed her with a sweetly beseeching gaze.

  Annabelle tried to harden her heart by reminding herself that these three were dangerously skilled at persuading women to oblige them, without a thought for the consequences. But what would be the consequences for this dear little child if she refused? It might serve Jack and his friends right to be kept up all night by her crying. Little Sarah did not deserve to be left to their clumsy, frantic ministrations.

  “I might... if you swear to redouble your search efforts.”

  Jack and Gabriel nodded vigorously while Rory crossed his heart. Their collective relief was absurdly obvious. It was clear they believed they had managed to evade responsibility yet again.

  “And,” Annabelle added, to demonstrate that was not the case, “Lord Gabriel and Mr. Fitzwalter must assist me in caring for the baby tonight.”

  The two men sucked in a sharp breath, as if she
had threatened them with a loaded pistol. But Jack gave an appreciative chuckle. “That sounds like a fine idea. Well done, my dear!”

  Two days later, as the most recent in a long string of unsuccessful wet nurse applicants stalked out of the butler’s pantry below stairs, Jack rubbed his aching forehead.

  “Go ahead and say it,” he muttered to Annabelle. “You told me it would be impossible to locate a suitable wet nurse in the city.”

  “I told you it would be difficult.” She gave his arm a comforting pat. “You have seen for yourself the truth of that. I hardly need to remind you.”

  On the floor between them Little Sarah slept soundly in her wine-crate cradle which Jack had assured Annabelle he intended to replace as soon as possible with a real one.

  Now he cast a troubled but doting glance at the baby. “I was certain if I offered enough money, it would attract a suitable candidate. Instead it has brought droves of unsuitable ones crawling out of the woodwork.”

  “I’m afraid it has.” Annabelle fanned her nose for the smell of the last one lingered in the air. “Though you must admit the experience has helped you decide what qualities you do not want in a nurse for Sarah.”

  “A good long list that is.” Jack sighed. “Intemperance is at the top. I have inhaled nearly enough gin fumes to make me tipsy.”

  Annabelle chuckled in that soft rustle he found so appealing. It made him want to say something else amusing so he could hear it again. “Uncleanliness must come a close second. Another one like the last and I shall need a vinaigrette. Not that most of them can help it, poor creatures.”

  No doubt she had seen poor women struggling to raise large families in the neighborhood where she lived. Once they found a wet nurse for Sarah, he would somehow persuade Annabelle to accept his help to find a better place to live if nothing else.

  He did not tell her that he had assigned his valet to give each of the women a little something for her trouble. He hoped none would spend it at the public house on the corner of Bruton Street.