by Heather Boyd
Miranda held out her hands, frightened momentarily to have Christopher out of her sight again so soon. “Are you sure you want to face your father alone?”
He nodded but bit his lip. “Can Landry come with me?”
Miranda nodded swiftly. “Keep him with you at all times. I trust him.”
“Get the letter first, boy,” the dowager interrupted. “Addison still listens to me. Have him deliver the letter into my hands rather than yours if he protests giving it up.”
“Yes, Grandmother.” Christopher strode out, spoke to Landry briefly at the door, and then disappeared from her sight with her servant trailing after him. Miranda ached to follow.
The dowager met her gaze. “We knew little more beyond the midwife’s confirmation of his existence.”
Miranda frowned. “We? You and Kit questioned the midwife? I thought he seemed so surprised, but I never could read his intentions properly.”
“I imagine my son is rather shocked.” The dowager frowned. “Emily and I acquired the information together, and we didn’t tell him. She has been looking into your disappearance discreetly for many years as a way to give my son the peace he needed to set your marriage aside.”
“Then it was Lady Brighthurst who found Christopher.” Miranda clenched her teeth. Anger bubbled up inside her so strongly she couldn’t breathe. Had the woman tried to erase Christopher from existence so Kit, once he’d given in and had Miranda declared dead, would be free to marry her without any further obstacles? “She found my boy two years ago and never told you.”
Miranda glanced across the room at her mother-in-law and saw only confusion in her old eyes. “She would have told me,” the woman whispered softly in a shocked voice. “She knew how badly I wanted a grandson. If not for you and the money, Kit would have married her long ago. She’s the daughter I always wanted.”
“So he kept her as a mistress instead. That must have been quite the insult.” Miranda shook her head. “No wonder she tried to kill my son. We have always been in her way.”
The dowager’s spine stiffened. “My son is an honorable man. He does not keep a mistress and certainly he would never dishonor our Emily with such a vulgar suggestion. Their love is pure.”
“Please don’t insult my intelligence. I saw them together on my wedding day. They were intimately involved then, and still are.” Miranda paced the room. She had to keep Christopher and Emily apart. But how could she do that when Kit would never believe her? She faced the dowager. “Would you prefer Emily as Kit’s wife even if she had tried to rob your grandson of his life?”
“Well,” the dowager said. But then said nothing more and looked down at her hands a long time. After a time, her head rose slowly. “I cannot countenance such measures being taken for any reason.”
“Then we are stuck with each other.”
The dowager grimaced. “Yes, I can see we may very well be.”
Miranda stared at the dowager. “You know I don’t care about the title or the money. I never did. I just want my son to be happy and safe. To grow into a strong and honorable man in possession of a kind heart.”
“We are in agreement.” The dowager stood slowly, leaning heavily on her cane. “The Taverhams have ever been stubborn.”
“I am aware.”
“They possess not the slightest trace of patience.”
“Don’t I know it,” Miranda said, failing to keep the bitterness from her voice.
“You robbed my son of his chance to know his child and heir these past years. When society learns you not only left him but bore him a son you then hid, he will be made a laughingstock. Speculation will rise again as to why you left.”
“That is between myself and Kit.” Miranda grimaced. “Christopher’s life had been planned down to the last detail long before I was even sure I carried him.”
“But that is what Taverhams do. They plan ahead for every eventuality.” The dowager huffed. “You may be the first Taverham bride who made their husband wait for anything. I never managed such a feat despite my attempts with his father, but perhaps you will have some small success. The boy has remarkable potential, but don’t push his father’s limits too far or you will live to regret it.”
Miranda bit her lip. Perhaps she already did regret surprising Kit in this manner. His face had been one of shock and then anger. She’d expected him to demand an explanation, an apology even, but all he’d done was stare at Christopher as if he were in a nightmare.
The old woman took her leave without a word, her steps slow as she used the cane for support. Christopher must be correct that the old woman was in pain. Miranda would not have guessed, but as she’d avoided the woman since her return as much as was possible, she wasn’t surprised to have missed the signs. Their conversation today was the warmest they’d ever shared, and that was not saying very much.
How strange to find her son so well acquainted with the people she’d warned him to avoid. Now she had to be certain he kept away from his father’s true love.
Eager to discover what was transpiring below, Miranda rushed into the other room where April still lingered so she could help Miranda dress for the day. She ignored the girl’s speculative gaze. Likely she’d listened to Miranda and the dowager’s conversation. Miranda had no time to issue warnings or denials. She had to protect her son.
When she emerged from her room, she gasped to discover Lord Carrington pacing outside her doorway, arms folded across his chest and two children lolling on the carpet. Another two were rushing up and down the impressive stairs of Twilit House and having a grand time being children. Behavior Miranda wholeheartedly approved of.
He inclined his head. “Lady Taverham at last.”
“Cousin.” She curtsied low to him, offering her respect and gratitude as if he were of higher rank to a marchioness and not merely a viscount. “Thank you for keeping Christopher safe.”
“Christopher? Oh, you mean Simon. I see. I see.” He swallowed. “So it’s all true. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with the dowager.”
Miranda winced, moving closer to him. “I am so relieved that you and Agatha had him all along. I must admit I feared for his life when I discovered he ran away from his tutor and learned of the troubling events prior to that.”
Carrington shook his head, much the same as Kit had done earlier. “I had no idea who he was.”
“I am so sorry he deceived you, but surely you can understand he was driven by fear for his life.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “But he says he found his way to Agatha, and I must thank you and my cousin for your kind and generous hearts in taking him into your home after the orphanage was forced to close. A terrible business that. I read about it in the papers last year but never suspected he could be involved. I will scold Christopher for the deception later and the worry and hurt I’m sure he’s caused you both.”
Carrington held up his hand. “Are you saying he chose to be an orphan on purpose?”
Miranda nodded. “So he tells me. He is likely with his father now if you wish to speak with him. I have had barely half an hour with him to discover what else he’s done since leaving his tutor.”
Carrington glanced down the staircase. “I intend to as well.”
She smiled warmly at him. “Cousin, I must ask one more thing of you. Please help Christopher. He must convince Kit to listen to him about the danger or they will both lose each other.”
“Simon—Christopher—has always been wary of strangers, more so than any other child of ours. I guess he did have a reason. I will certainly try to convince Taverham to keep a close eye on the boy.”
Carrington glanced about him. His children were playing and oblivious to the troubles going on around them.
“Any help would be appreciated, and soon.” Miranda winced. “I am sure my husband would rather not see me at the moment, so forgive me if I don’t accompany you. Your children may stay with me while you speak to Kit. I promise you I will watch over your children as closely as you ha
ve my son. I owe you so much more than that, but it is the least I can do for the time being.”
“Thank you.”
When Carrington moved away, Miranda gestured for April to join her in the hall and then sent her down to the kitchen for lemonade and ginger biscuits. Then, because Miranda had never been a proper marchioness even once in her life, she settled beside the youngest child on the carpeted rug and started to tell her the story of the lost prince. A story she’d created so Christopher would know where he came from and never forget who his real family was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“I swear I did not know anything about his true identity,” Carrington pleaded, eyes darting to the doorway behind him. “He never said a word to me.”
Beyond the door to Kit’s study, Miranda’s boy peeked at Kit cautiously around the thick doorframe but did not come any closer. A wise decision given his current mood. The letter was on its way to his solicitor, requesting an urgent meeting to discuss grounds for divorce. There was nothing now to do but wait for a reply and their appointment time being set. Until then, Kit neither wanted to see his wife or her son ever again. And that bloody servant lurking in the boy’s shadow could get the hell out of his house too.
Yet the child would not run back to Miranda. He hovered at the door, glancing Kit’s way with pleading eyes that would make a lesser man reconsider his decision. Pleading would do no good. It wasn’t possible to have a son of that age and not know about it. “Oh, I believe you. You’ve been entirely taken in by their scheme, as I was by her.”
He had to expedite the removal of his wife and her child from his home today before they were seen and people began to talk about this scandal. He didn’t particularly care where they went as long as he didn’t have to lay eyes on her devious, lying face ever again. He gritted his teeth, struggling to keep a growl of anger inside at how he’d been played the fool once more. To think he’d actually begun to suspect he might have loved Miranda. Now such a feeling was out of the question.
Simon peeked at Kit again and then looked to Carrington, eyes pleading. “I told you my mother would come for me. I always knew my father’s name.”
The idea that this child had been convinced he would inherit Kit’s title when he didn’t deserve it was not amusing. He raised his eyes to the roof for help from above but found no comfort there. Keeping a civil tongue in his head would be up to him. He’d explain the facts and leave Carrington to soothe the child later. “You don’t know truth from fiction, Simon,” Kit argued hotly.
“My name is Christopher. Christopher Everett Reed.”
Kit struggled not to react that the boy claimed to possess his first name and the name of his best friend. Miranda had planned her revenge well.
He glanced at the boy. Didn’t he deserve the unvarnished truth? Kit couldn’t allow him to remain in ignorance another day. “Your mother misled you about a great many things. She has swanned about London without a care in the world for the last week. She forgot all about you. You will never inherit my title or lands. You could be anyone for all I know. How do I know she even gave birth to you?”
“Grandmother knew.”
Carrington gasped. “What?”
Christopher lifted his chin stubbornly. “She’s been looking for me. She believes Mama.”
“Poppycock. My mother is too sensible to fall for any flimflam nonsense your mother could concoct.”
“My mother hasn’t spoken an untrue word to you.” The boy stepped into the doorway, hands fisted at his sides. As if he would fight a grown man to protect her honor. “It’s not her fault she couldn’t find me so we could come home together.”
Kit set his hands on his hips, irritated he’d started a conversation with the boy about his mother. Miranda had deceived him so completely that he’d concluded she’d never once been honest with him. “Then whose fault is it?”
“Mine, sir. I was afraid.” He took another pace forward. “Mother was ill, too ill to take care of me, and placed me in the care of someone she trusted.”
Kit scoffed at that. “Really?”
“Yes, sir. She didn’t want to, but was convinced to send me away to be tutored while she recovered by the sea. I was very afraid for her. She was very sick, her lips turned blue so often, and I’d get upset. They said I was making her upset with my crying, and I had to be a brave boy and let her rest.”
Kit, caught up in the boy’s misery, caught his breath. Clearly that part was true. A child so young couldn’t pretend such strong emotions. “Go on,” he whispered.
“There was nothing I could do but keep my promise to study hard and stay with Mr. Fenning until she sent for me. She was ill for a very long time.”
“Where is your tutor now? Why were you at that blasted orphanage? If she loves you so much, how could she have let you spend one day thinking you belonged there?” Kit’s chest heaved. He had visited orphanages in the past. He wouldn’t leave his worst enemy’s child in one if there were another choice.
The boy licked his lips, swallowing hard. “My teacher wasn’t a strong man, and people came to frighten him. He was all I had, but when he set the fire and his house burned down I couldn’t stay with him any longer.”
Kit gripped the arms of his chair, struggling not to show concern over the incident. Incredible as it was, he could almost believe it.
Carrington caught his eye. “Miranda and your mother spoke of this. They want the boy protected.”
Kit leaned forward. “Your tutor set fire to his own home? Why?”
The boy frowned. “I don’t think he wanted to, but they put a pistol to his head and he had no choice but to toss the candle in.”
Kit shuddered. “You were inside?”
The boy nodded quickly. “I always watched for Mama’s coming and my window was open because it was a hot night. They said bad things to Mr. Fenning, and I ran for the woods to get away. After the fire we came to London.”
Kit glanced at Carrington. He didn’t know whether or not the man believed this fanciful tale, but Kit certainly had doubts, “Who on earth would want to harm a child? Miranda has no enemies that I know of.”
“So you chose to become an orphan?” Carrington interjected. “Why not come to your father for protection since I gather you knew who he was all along?”
“He would never have believed me. He doesn’t even now. I would never have gotten past Addison to even speak to him. I almost didn’t get past him today.” Simon inhaled a sharp breath and glanced down at his hands. “I saw Aggie and the orphanage children leave St. George’s church one day. I thought she was Mama for a moment until I saw her hair. One of the children said her name clearly, so I followed her.”
Carrington frowned, holding one hand out to the boy. “Agatha said naught about your true identity either. I take it you kept her in the dark too. How could you know she wouldn’t turn you away?”
Christopher remained behind the chair. “I didn’t, sir. I took a risk that she could learn to care for me. Mama said she had the sweetest disposition of anyone in London. She was my only hope to find my way back to Mother. I didn’t want the mean people to find me first. I didn’t trust Fenning to protect me anymore.”
“Makes a strange sort of sense.” Carrington smiled tightly.
“Leaving one last question.” Kit leaned forward on the desk, his stomach in knots. “How can I believe you are my son?”
Christopher circled the chair. “Am I not born within your marriage and therefore your heir?”
Kit’s eyes widened slightly that a boy of his age knew about the legalities of inheritance. But then with the Lord Carrington adopting the orphans, it was likely a topic he’d heard much of in the last year. “Legally, yes. But you don’t resemble me in the slightest.”
The boy glanced down. “I cannot help the face I was given. Aggie says God designs us as he sees fit and likes variety. Not every child can be as beautiful or handsome as their parents—some must wear a plain face and crooked teeth.”
; Christopher surprised him then by holding out both hands. They trembled slightly but remained outstretched. “My father has the right to punish me for any trouble I’ve caused, and I accept that I’ve been very dishonest.”
Kit swallowed as his throat tightened. He could never raise a hand to a child. “I will not strike you, boy. Your mother will deal with you as she sees fit.”
The boy’s breath shuddered from his mouth and his hands dropped like stones. “Mama does not hurt me either. She’d rather send me to the kitchens to scrub pots.”
Kit stared. Miranda had a unique way of punishing the child. One he’d never heard employed before by someone of her rank. Surely the boy was jesting? “And what else does your mother do to you?”
The boy’s eyes finally rose to meet Kit’s. “She reads parts of Tom Jones to me because you liked it best, tells me about my family, tucks me in at night as I go to bed so I won’t have bad dreams. She drinks tea while I eat breakfast and makes me wash everywhere.”
Christopher’s face scrunched up on the last comment about washing, but every other punishment he seemed happy to endure. Kit had not expected the boy to have had such a warm upbringing with Miranda. Those few facts made him even more curious. “And who else takes care of you?”
“No one. There’s never been many servants in Mama’s employ, at least not before she became ill. Mr. Landry did most anything that required strength greater than Mama’s or outside, or to do with her carriage.”
Before he could ask where Miranda might have obtained the funds to possess a carriage to care for there was a sharp tap at the door. When Kit glanced across the room he spotted Lord Louth poised at the door. Kit scowled. “What are you doing here?”
“Interrupting in time to prevent you from making an ass of yourself.” His gaze shifted to the boy. “Simon? Or is it Christopher?”
The boy smiled. “It is Christopher, my lord.”
“Thank God for that.” He let out shaky breath then wagged his finger. “Crafty little devil, hiding in plain sight all this time with no a word to me about your real name. I would never have guessed you were Miranda’s son by the look of you, but then I never did like the noise you all made en masse and never looked closely. I had no reason to when you were supposed to be somewhere else. You’ve given us all quite the fright.” He smiled softly at the boy and stretched forward his hand to shake. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance again. You’ve grown quite a bit since our last meeting. You were no taller than my knee the last time, I think. Now, run along to your mother and let her know I’m here. She’ll be anxious about that.”