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

by Michelle Willingham

  “Well enough, thank you.” Jack tried not to stare at her bosom. Did it look larger, as if she had been nursing an infant until recently? “Have you been well since I saw you last? I am sorry to have been out of touch for so long. My cousin’s death was a great shock. A year later, I can still hardly believe he is gone.”

  Was that part of the reason for his intense, contradictory reaction to his cousin’s widow?

  “You poor dear!” Lady Eustace rang for a servant. “Can I offer you some refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?”

  Her offer of wine tempted Jack. It might ease the awkwardness of this interview. But he had resolved to mend his ways for Sarah’s sake. He did not want to disappoint Annabelle by coming home with spirits on his breath. “Tea will suffice for me, thank you.”

  This was not a social call, Jack reminded himself. He wanted to steer the conversation back to her. “You certainly look well. The country air must agree with you. Did you spend a great deal of time at your estate... in Berkshire, isn’t it?”

  Her answers to his questions might provide valuable information to help determine whether her ladyship might be Sarah’s mother. Though a glance around her well-appointed sitting room made Jack doubt she would have had trouble supporting a child.

  Lady Eustace laughed as if he’d just made an amusing quip. “Do not be coy, sir. It does not suit you. I know you do not care a fig about my well-being or where my estate is located. It happens to be a pretty little place near Peterborough.”

  Before Jack could claim his interest was perfectly sincere, the lady breezed on. “You are here on account of that baby abandoned on your doorstep. It is a matter of much entertaining speculation among all the ladies of my acquaintance.”

  “It is?” Jack’s face grew uncomfortably warm.

  “Certainly.” Lady Eustace gave a shrill hoot of laughter that grated on Jack’s ears, especially compared to Annabelle’s warm, rustling chuckle. “At dinner parties, while the gentlemen linger over their port, it makes such an amusing topic of conversation.”

  Why did it trouble him to be the object of gossip? Jack assumed his rakish behavior had made him that for years. It was little Sarah about whom he could not abide having the ton tattle. And Annabelle—how long would it be until her role in his household came under scrutiny?

  “Very well, then.” He turned severe. “I shall be blunt, if that is what you wish. Did you give birth to a baby girl three or four months ago, and recently leave her in front of my house?”

  Lady Eustace appeared more amused than intimidated by his interrogation. “Of course not. I can prove it, if you should be so tiresome as to require that. If I had borne the child, I should have been delighted to keep her. I would not have troubled you with her for all the world.”

  Jack had the impression she expected him to approve. But he hated the thought of Sarah growing up without his knowledge.

  “If you want to locate the child’s mother,” Lady Eustace continued, “I suggest you look for a younger woman of limited means or one who hopes to attract a husband. An illegitimate infant would prove troublesome in either case.”

  Her ideas made sense, though they did not describe the sort of lady with whom Jack usually consorted.

  Her ladyship seemed to guess what he was thinking. “Hardly your kind of woman or the charming Mr. Fitzwalter’s. Did he tell you your friend consoled me for a time after you and I parted ways?”

  Was she trying to make him jealous? If so, it was not going to work. “How very obliging of Rory. Either he did not consider the matter worth mentioning or I did not consider it worth remembering.”

  That was not a very chivalrous remark, but Jack found himself annoyed by the way she had trivialized a matter of great importance to him.

  If she resented the insult, Lady Eustace gave no indication. “Well he did, and a fine job he made of it too, I must confess. I cannot imagine either of you consorting with the kind of woman who would leave her child on a man’s doorstep. That is why I have laid a considerable wager on Lord Gabriel being the father.”

  “I hope it is money you can afford to lose,” Jack snapped. “The child looks nothing like Lord Gabriel or any of the Stanfords. She has fair coloring and is very pretty.”

  Lady Eustace laughed again as the tea tray was brought and placed on a low table between them. Once her manservant had retired from the room, she poured a cup for Jack. “My dear Mr. Warwick, I do believe you want the child to be yours. How deliciously out of character for you!”

  Jack opened his mouth to deny her teasing charge, only to find the words would not come out. For a great many reasons, he had privately acknowledged that Sarah was most likely his daughter. Now he realized Lady Eustace was correct—he wanted the baby to be his.

  When he took the cup and saucer her ladyship handed him, she ran one finger over his hand in a subtle but seductive caress. He pulled back from her predatory touch and bolted a mouthful of hot tea.

  “You know,” his hostess purred, leaning forward to display a provocative expanse of plump bosom, “I find the idea of a domesticated Jack Warwick very stimulating. I would not be averse to continuing our lovely liaison where we left off.”

  It took all Jack’s self-control not to spew his tea all over the lady. Instead he tried to swallow it and ended up nearly choking.

  Lady Eustace seemed to find that amusing as well. “Forgive me if I startled you. I do hope you will consider my invitation.”

  The habits of several years tempted him to seize what her ladyship offered. Perhaps if he satisfied his carnal appetite, he would stop entertaining such improper thoughts about Annabelle. Yet as he pictured her in his house, caring so devotedly for little Sarah, he could not imagine being satisfied with any other woman.

  Once he caught his breath, Jack tried to extricate himself as politely as possible. “I appreciate your directness and I am flattered by your tempting offer. However, until the child’s mother is found I must concentrate on insuring she is properly cared for.”

  Her ladyship did not appear too disappointed by his refusal. No doubt she had another gentleman or two ready to console her as Rory had.

  Having found out what he’d come to learn, Jack was eager to get away again, as quickly as civility would permit.

  He drained his tea and was preparing to leave when Lady Eustace astonished him with another proposition. “This whole business has made me think how agreeable it might be to have a little daughter of my own. I should be delighted to take the baby off your hands. Then you would have the satisfaction of knowing she is well cared for at no expense to you or your friends. And you would not have to trouble yourselves about locating the child’s mother.”

  It was evident her ladyship believed she would be doing them a great favor. If she had made him the same offer on the day they’d discovered the baby, Jack could not deny he might have been tempted to accept. He had no doubt Lady Eustace would find a capable nursemaid and spare no expense to dress little Sarah up and eventually make certain she acquired all the necessary accomplishments.

  But she would not be the one to feed the child by hand, change her soiled linen or walk the floor with her if she cried at night. Jack doubted her ladyship was capable of providing the kind of love a child needed.

  He could not bear the thought that Sarah might one day learn the story of her infancy and feel she had been passed from hand to hand like an unwanted parcel. More than that, Jack suddenly realized he could not bear the thought of giving her up to anyone.

  With deliberate care, he set his cup and saucer down on the tea table. Then he rose from his seat and bowed to Lady Eustace. “Thank you for your generous offer. But I suggest you provide such an excellent opportunity to a child who is unwanted. Now, if you will excuse me, I must get back to my daughter.”

  “The nerve of that woman!” Jack fumed as he and Annabelle drove around Hyde Park in an open carriage the following day. “She made it sound as if she would be doing me a favor by taking Sarah.”

/>   Annabelle had wondered about his interview with Lady Eustace. Since returning from her house, Jack had been more attentive than ever to the baby and unusually solicitous toward her. He’d insisted on watching the child so she could have a nap. Then he’d made her promise to fetch him during the night if Sarah fussed. Though his offer had touched her, she would rather have walked the floor for nights on end than knock on Jack’s bedroom door and have him answer it clad only in his night shirt. She was not certain she would trust herself to behave sensibly in such a situation.

  This afternoon, Jack had insisted Rory and Gabriel mind the baby so he could take Annabelle out for a drive in the fresh spring air.

  He’d told her about his meeting with Lady Eustace, waxing indignant at her offer to take little Sarah. Though Annabelle’s heart rebelled at the thought of surrendering the child to another woman, she told herself she must consider the situation rationally.

  “Would Lady Eustace not be doing all of you a favor?” she asked. “Sarah in particular? Her ladyship has the means to provide for a child and she wants one. Sarah deserves to be raised in a home where she is wanted. There was a time I would have given anything for that, though I knew I was fortunate to have a roof over my head and enough to eat.”

  Even before she finished speaking, Jack began to shake his head. “You do not know Lydia Eustace. She wants a child today but next week or next month the novelty might wear off. Even if it did not, what kind of home would that be for Sarah with men coming and going, never staying.”

  Though Annabelle was pleased to hear him taking such a passionate interest in the baby’s welfare, she knew he was in no position to cast stones. “You were one of those men not so long ago, in case you have forgotten. And if Lady Eustace had a child, perhaps she would consider remarrying to provide her with a family.”

  Jack gave a harsh bark of laughter. “I doubt it. Lydia Eustace enjoys her independence too much to give it up for one man when she can change lovers as often as she changes her hat.”

  “I thought that was precisely the sort of woman you liked,” Annabelle reminded him. “When did you become such a paragon of moral rectitude?”

  Jack bristled visibly. “Is that not what you want—for me to give up my rakish ways and become a responsible citizen?”

  “Not if it turns you into a self-righteous prig!” She hurled the words at him, then immediately regretted them.

  No wonder Jack had assumed she hated him and mistakenly attributed it to her grief for her late husband. Annoyance with him had become a bad habit—a defense against any return of her childish infatuation with him. Was it fair to take out her fear and frustration on him?

  He had never asked her to idolize him, never set out to win her heart. Her feelings for him had grown of their own accord without any intentional encouragement, just as Frederick had fallen in love with her when she only had eyes for his cousin. It had been a cruel trick of fate, like the lovers in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Only this time there was no fairy potion to undo the mischievous love spell.

  “Forgive me, Jack!” She shook her head. “I did not mean that. I fear I have still not recovered from the other night and it is making me irritable for no reason.”

  That was partly true. Fatigue did seem to heighten all her emotions and churn them into a highly combustible brew.

  The thunderous look on Jack’s face eased. “Of course I forgive you. We have been friends for a very long time. You may be the first true friend I ever had besides Frederick. It will take more than the occasional harsh word to destroy that. Besides, considering all I owe you, I should be happy to bear whatever abuse you care to heap on me.”

  Part of her was pathetically grateful he had not taken offense to her insult. A long-neglected corner of heart warmed to hear that Jack considered her his first true friend. How she wished she could have been satisfied with that friendship, instead of tormenting herself by wanting more. Perhaps it was not too late for her to do that, especially now that Jack was trying to reform.

  His brows knit together over his straight, jutting nose. “Do you truly believe I should give Sarah up to Lady Eustace? It might provide her with an easier life than you and I had, but I want better for her.”

  “I know you do.” Annabelle marveled at how quickly and easily the baby had captured his affection. There was a time she might have been rather envious, but she was determined to put that behind her, just as Jack was his self-destructive ways. Besides, she had come to care about little Sarah too much to begrudge her a father’s love. “But will it be so much better to hand her back over to a mother who’d abandoned her? Even if the woman is given the means to care for a child, her actions make me doubt her judgment and stability.”

  Recently Annabelle had begun to imagine a different plan. Since Sarah’s mother was proving so stubbornly difficult to locate, perhaps Jack and his friends might let her keep the child. Not at Bruton Street of course, but perhaps at a snug little cottage in the country. She had been too guilt-ridden to let Jack assist her financially until now. But for Sarah’s sake, she would. Raising the child would be more pleasure than penance. Yet it still might ease the burden of guilt she had carried since her husband’s death. The more Annabelle considered the idea, the more it seemed the best solution for all concerned. Perhaps this was the right moment to suggest it.

  As she tried to decide how to broach the subject, Jack responded to her earlier remark about Sarah’s mother by shaking his head. “Don’t you recall what you told me just after we first found the baby? You said she looked healthy and well-cared for. You said her mother must have only given her up because she was desperate and wanted her daughter to have a better life than she could provide.”

  Had she said that? Though it was not untrue, Annabelle wished she could take it back.

  Jack continued in a thoughtful, earnest way quite unlike his usual manner. “To me it suggests Sarah’s mother cared more for her child than for her own feelings. Perhaps her methods were imprudent, but her heart was in the right place. And I must confess, I probably gave her reason to believe I would not accept my responsibility if she approached me directly.”

  “Perhaps,” Annabelle conceded in a doubtful tone. “But—”

  “I have come to a decision,” Jack announced. “One of which I am certain you will approve. When I find Sarah’s mother, I intend to marry her so we can bring our daughter up in the kind of stable, loving family you and I never had.”

  His declaration descended on Annabelle’s pretty, domestic fantasy of a future with little Sarah and pounded it to rubble. A crushing weight pressed down on her chest, making it painful to breathe and difficult for her heart to beat.

  “Well?” Jack smiled at her like a child expecting praise for a good deed. “What do you think? Is it not an ideal solution?”

  Chapter Seven

  SURELY ANNABELLE WOULD approve of his idea.

  Jack waited expectantly to hear her response. Did it not fit with everything she wanted for him and for Sarah?

  “Marriage?” Annabelle’s tone did not convey approval. It sounded more as if she were questioning his sanity. “That is a very serious step.”

  “So it is.” Did she suppose he did not know that? “I thought you wanted me to be more serious and responsible.”

  “I did.” She insisted. “I do. But...?”

  “But what?” Nothing he did seemed to please her.

  It had become increasingly frustrating as he found himself wanting her approval more than ever. Jack recalled the way she used to look up to him when they were younger—as if he could do no wrong in her eyes. It had been a heady feeling for a lad few others had paid any attention to. He could not recollect precisely when her attitude had changed but he wished he could recapture it. He’d hoped his plan to marry Sarah’s mother might accomplish that.

  “You don’t want me to return Sarah to her mother. I refuse to give her to Lady Eustace or some other stranger. I cannot ask you to continue caring for her indefinitely
. What other choice do I have?”

  Annabelle’s features settled into a look of sadness and hurt that puzzled him. “When you put it like that, I suppose there is no other choice. But to wed a woman you do not love—are you certain that will create a happy home for your daughter? I know you would not want her to experience the difficulties of your youth.”

  Why must she drag that up? She was the only one in whom he had ever confided his anger, hurt and shame over the disaster of his parents’ marriage. Even with Frederick he had maintained an air of cheerful indifference. Knowing the troubles of Annabelle’s life, he had sensed she would understand in a way his cousin could not. He’d also wanted her to know she was not the only one who felt unwanted.

  Now she was using his secrets against him when he most craved her support. “It will not be the same at all! Whatever my feelings for Sarah’s mother in the beginning, I will give her no cause to stray as mine did. In time, I am certain I will come to care for her and she for me. I did not take to Sarah right away, if you recall. But since then she has come to mean a great deal to me.”

  “I know.” Annabelle acknowledged his change of heart, yet she still did not seem persuaded by his argument. “But love is not so easily bidden. Sometimes we love others we have no business caring for. We may not even want to feel the way we do. While there are others we may want to love with all the reason in the world. The heart can be a stubborn organ, you know.”

  “I am quite capable of controlling myself!” Jack knew all too well that desire could be a powerful, contrary urge—flaring in unintended directions, sometimes even forbidden ones. In his case, it originated in a willful organ far south of the heart. At that very moment, in fact, it roused at the sight of Annabelle’s full, luscious lips. How it might feel and taste to kiss them?

  “Besides,” he continued, “I do not believe it was a lack of feeling that destroyed my parents’ marriage—not in the beginning at least. Would my father have been so daft as to fight a duel over my mother if he did not care for her? Perhaps the secret of a stable, contented marriage is not to care too much. Respect, tolerance, courtesy—they may be a firmer foundation upon which to build a lasting, comfortable union.”