At Long Last

by Shirlee Busbee

  Tony's teeth ground together audibly, and he snarled, "I do not attack children and I swear I'll not harm a hair on your head—tonight! Beyond that I'll not swear."

  Smiling sweetly, Molly bowed her head. "It will do," she said softly. Grabbing the boy by the shoulder, she dragged him after her as she allowed Tony to hustle her away from the condemning and utterly fascinated stares of the onlookers.

  The moment the little trio disappeared into the darkness beyond the glow of the lanterns, like waking from a trance, everyone seemed to shake themselves, blinking as if they could not believe what they had just seen. A moment later, a babble arose, its tone indignant and from the few words Arabella caught, not complimentary of Tony Daggett.

  "I'm sorry you had to see and hear that," Richard said, as he urged Arabella down the steps toward her carriage.

  She smiled thinly. "Why? It certainly proved your oft-stated opinion of Tony, didn't it?"

  Richard sighed. "It did indeed, but I would not for the world have had you see proof of his true character in such a painful manner."

  "Nothing could be as painful as what he did to me five years ago," Arabella replied in clipped tones. "Now, may we drop the subject?"

  "Of course. I know that it is an unpleasant topic for you."

  Richard was on the point of helping her into the carriage when William Crocker came up to them. His craggy face unhappy, he took one of Arabella's hands in his, and said quietly, "I am sorrier than I can say that you were subjected to that ugly little scene, my dear, but I think that this time Tony was more sinned against than sinner."

  "What do you mean?" Arabella asked painfully, her eyes huge and unknowingly hopeful.

  Mr. Crocker's mouth thinned. "It is not a subject I would normally discuss with a young lady like yourself, but considering your past association with Tony, I believe you should know that wild and reckless and yes, thoughtless, he may have been, but there is no power on this earth that will convince me that one word of that harpy's story is true." He looked deeply into Arabella's eyes. "She was his mistress—that much is true—but I know for a fact that he broke off with her and settled a handsome sum on her months before the pair of you ever became engaged." He smiled faintly. "Meeting you was a facer such as Tony had never suffered before in his life, and within days of your first introduction to him, he had rid himself of Molly Dobson." His expression grew grim. "But even if I personally did not know that he had sent Molly on her way, I will swear on my own children's heads that he would never have denied or abandoned any child of his."

  "Oh, come now, Crocker," broke in Richard, his blue eyes glittering with annoyance, "aren't you letting your affection for him and his grandparents color your views?"

  Crocker's jaw clenched. "No. One thing everyone generally agrees upon is that Tony Daggett is no liar, and if Tony says the child is not his, then I believe him," he said levelly, giving Richard a look that would have made another man find something more interesting to inspect a safe distance away. Glancing back at Arabella, he continued, "There is much said against Tony that is pure gossip and wild speculation—and Tony, I am pained to admit, does little to squelch it. I cannot deny that he was spoiled in his youth, but he has always, even then, had a good and kind heart, and he never lied or made any attempt to hide his many transgressions." He smiled thinly. "Tony would be far more likely to have flaunted his son before all the haughty matrons and stiff-rumped gentlemen than to have ignored him. If you know Tony at all, you know that I speak the truth."

  Arabella didn't want to excuse Tony, but there was much in what Mr. Crocker said. Tony was far likelier to have thrown an illegitimate child in the face of all his detractors than to have hidden him. The fact that he had always been brazen about his less-than-respectable antics and indifferent to the disgraceful tales that swirled around him had been one of the reasons he had become such a favorite topic of gossip.

  Giving Mr. Crocker a small, unhappy smile, Arabella took her hand from his, and said, "Thank you—but Tony and I have nothing to say to each other anymore."

  Mr. Crocker nodded sadly. "Which is a shame—you would have been the making of him."

  Leaving Arabella flustered and miserable, Mr. Crocker turned away and strode up the steps. Richard helped her into the coach and joined her inside;

  There was little conversation between them for the first few miles, Arabella wanting to take comfort from Mr. Crocker's words and yet unable to discover how they changed the situation between her and Tony. Tony had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with her. She bit her lip. No, that wasn't true—he had offered her marriage, and, coward that she was, she had shied away from it.

  She had hurt him—gravely, she realized, but she still could not see how she could have answered him any other way. The past firmly blocked any future between them.

  Sitting beside her, Richard suddenly patted her hands where they lay in her lap, and said, "Do not dwell on it, my sweet. And do remember, please, that the Crackers have always defended Tony, even in the face of the most damning evidence. He is a bounder of the worst sort and undeserving of their affection and loyalty."

  Arabella kept her thoughts to herself. There was no use arguing with Richard about Tony. Richard had always held Tony in contempt, and tonight's offensive scene would not change his mind about him.

  Despite her best intentions, she couldn't help herself from saying tartly, "Isn't it interesting, though, that Tony's, er, sins are little different from yours and those of many other gentlemen in Natchez, and yet no one seems to even raise an eyebrow about them?"

  In the darkness of the coach, Richard flushed. "I don't know what you are talking about," he said stiffly. "I have never acted as Tony Daggett."

  Her expression innocent, she asked, "Oh? You have never kept a mistress? I seem to remember that Molly was even once your mistress. Did you never gamble the night away? Never make a reckless wager? Never return to your home foxed?"

  His voice hardened. "These are not subjects I care to discuss with you."

  Arabella laughed. "Oh, come now. I am not some simple miss who does not know the way of the world. I am a woman grown and in charge of my own life. Besides, you are not just anybody—we have known each other for years and we are related by marriage. I promise you I shall not be shocked. Why shouldn't we discuss such things if we wish? It will be much more interesting than merely making polite conversation."

  "It is unseemly," Richard muttered, "for a gently reared woman of any age to be talking about such matters. If you are not shocked, I am! And I certainly would not want as a wife a woman who gaily chatters about those sort of subjects."

  Her voice cool, Arabella said, "Then it is a good thing that I am not under consideration for becoming your wife, isn't it?"

  "Now, Bella," he began coaxingly, "I didn't mean to put your back up—and as for the other..." He reached for her hand and, lifting it to his lips, pressed an ardent kiss to the back of it. "You know how I feel about you."

  Arabella snatched her hand away. "No, I don't, and I don't care to know. I appreciated your offer of an escort to Greenleigh, Richard, but if you are going to make a nuisance of yourself, and attempt to court me, I would just as soon you get on your horse and ride away."

  "Your father," he snapped, "should be horsewhipped for allowing you to grow up so headstrong and with such a forward manner. You are unnatural, do you know that? At your age, it should be your most pressing desire to wed before you are branded a hopeless spinster. Instead of firing up at me, you should be gratified at my interest." Regaining his temper somewhat, he added confidently, "Without sounding vain, I could list you a dozen young women who would be overjoyed to accept a proposal from me."

  "Then why don't you go escort one of them home?" Arabella asked sweetly.

  Richard took a deep breath. "Bella, I don't want to fight with you."

  "Then don't! Find a topic we can discuss peaceably, and we shall deal quite well together."

  It was obvious that this was not
the way he had expected the ride back to Greenleigh to go, but concealing his chagrin, Richard dutifully began to talk of mundane things: the Crocker ball, the weather, the hope for this year's crops, and several other respectable subjects. By the time the carriage pulled up to the steps of Greenleigh quite a bit later, Arabella was heartily bored and pleased to wave him good-bye.

  * * *

  Boots was feeling rather pleased with himself. Molly had played her part well, and the introduction of the boy had been a masterful touch. The crowd of onlookers had been large and varied, and Arabella's presence had made the entire scene absolutely perfect.

  He frowned. He had not been pleased by Crocker's intervention—or his conversation with Arabella. The meddling old fool could have ruined everything. But all in all, he was feeling satisfied. And any worry that Tony and Arabella might renew their previous interest in each other had been firmly put to rest. Arabella was a proud woman and unlikely to forgive Tony's apparent cruelty to Molly. And, of course, the child was the final blow. Even if Arabella could stomach common knowledge of Tony's women, she would never be able to forget about the boy. Yes, the boy had been the crowning touch, the final wedge between any budding relationship between Tony and Arabella.

  Boots erred in his thinking, and he would have been greatly irritated to know that what he considered a brilliant plan to ruin Tony once and for all had set Arabella to considering seriously what she had learned that night and to painful reexamining of the past.

  William Crocker's words had made a huge impact on her, reminding her of important traits of Tony's that she had forgotten in the midst of all her pain and anger. Tony was many things, but he was not a liar. He was, as Mr. Crocker had stated, far more likely to flaunt his sins than to hide or deny them. Incredible as it seemed, and it did seem so, Tony might have been telling the truth about that night at the lodge with Molly Dobson. Certainly, after this length of time, and all that had occurred, one would wonder why he still so stubbornly persisted in denying having arranged to meet Molly that horrible night.

  Arabella dismissed Tidmore for the evening and sought out her bedroom. She told Martha not to wait up for her, and so she was alone as she undressed and slipped on her nightclothes. Her bed was turned back invitingly, a candle glowed on the table nearby, but despite the late hour, she found herself wakeful.

  Her soft lawn gown floating around her bare feet, she wandered about the room, her mind filled with the most unsettling thoughts. She had always believe that Tony had lied, but suppose he had not? Suppose someone had set up the scene she had found?

  She frowned. But why? Who would be so against their marriage that they would go to such lengths to destroy her belief in Tony? Obviously, someone who didn't want them to marry. But that, she admitted wearily, could have been half of Natchez. Her father and Mary had been violently opposed to the match. As had been Richard. Even Tony's uncle, Alfred, had made it clear that he considered her a fool for being willing to marry Tony; Franklin and Burgess had somewhat less vocally echoed his words. There were others, too: Mr. Haight, the Gayles, and the Dennings—the list was endless.

  Arabella did not want to believe that someone, perhaps even a member of her family, had deliberately set out to destroy her engagement to Tony, and yet she found that she was considering just that idea. Ever since the moment she had seen Tony and Molly together at the lodge, she had believed the evidence of her eyes. She had been, she realized now, too hurt and stunned really to think about it. It had been easier to block the sight of Tony and Molly in bed together from her thoughts and to believe that Tony was every bit as black as he had been painted. Humiliated, wounded beyond words, every time Tony had tried to explain that night, she had thrown his words back in his face. But what if Tony had been telling the truth? It was something she had never, ever considered. And she should have, she thought miserably. If she had loved him as much as she claimed, shouldn't she have at least given him the benefit of the doubt? Listened to him? Not allowed her shredded emotions to cloud her thoughts?

  As she paced, struggling to see her way clear of the maze in which she found herself, one thing became clear in her mind. Mr. Crocker had been right: Tony was not a liar. So, if Tony had said, had sworn, that he had not arranged to meet Molly that night, then he had not. But if he had not, she mused uneasily, then who had?

  Chapter 14

  While Arabella and Richard Kingsley were driving away from Broadmount, Tony was ushering Molly Dobson and her son into the small study that William Crocker had suggested he use for privacy. Shutting the door firmly behind them, Tony sourly observed Molly and the boy as they stood in the middle of the room facing him.

  Barely acknowledging the small boy clinging to Molly's blue gown, his gaze fixed grimly on Molly, he said, "All right, we're alone now. There is no longer any need for you to continue with your act. I want to know what you think you can accomplish by spouting these damned lies. Of even more importance to me is the identity of the person who put this entire idea into that pretty head of yours."

  Molly shrugged. "I don't know what you are talking about—no one gave me any ideas." Her blue eyes wouldn't meet his, and her fingers nervously toyed with the soft dark hair of her son.

  "And I'm sure you'll continue to claim your story is true unless I pay you well enough to change it. How much," he asked wearily, "are you going to cost me this time? How much do I have pay you to find out the truth?"

  "You think that money will solve everything, don't you?" Molly snapped. "Well, it won't! You heard what I said tonight, and I'm not taking any of it back."

  His expression shuttered, Tony stared at her. Someone, he decided thoughtfully, must be paying her an enormous sum. The Molly he had known had possessed a passion for money; her silence could only be because she had been offered a sum he wasn't likely to match. He frowned. Unless, of course, she was afraid. If that were the case, his hopes of getting the truth out of her were nonexistent.

  Trying another tack, he asked, "Who is the boy's real father?" When Molly started to answer, he added sharply, "And don't try to pawn him off as mine. No matter what sort of nonsense you just spouted for everybody, you know damn well that we parted over six months previously to your, ah, surprise visit to me five years ago at the Greenleigh lodge." He smiled mirthlessly. "I may have been half-drugged, but I was very familiar with your body; it was impossible that you were several months pregnant when you staged that ugly scene at the lodge. While others may think that we had been making love, I know that no such act occurred. The boy cannot be mine."

  "So you say," Molly replied coolly, "but you cannot prove it, can you?"

  Tony's eyes narrowed. "I see. You are determined, then, to persist in this lie?"

  Molly smiled. "You are the only one who claims that I am lying—no one else who heard my story tonight believed your protestation of innocence."

  Tony glanced down at the boy, who still clung to his mother's skirts. The child looked sleepy and confused, his wide blue eyes drooping, his soft rosebud mouth stretching wide with a yawn. He appeared to be about five years old and from Tony's limited experience with children, he also looked like he would grow into a handsome youth, his features fine and even, his frame sturdy and straight. Tony could see some resemblance to Molly in the boy's face, but it was not striking. He supposed, because the child possessed dark hair and blue eyes, that the argument could be made that the child looked like him, but dark hair and blue eyes could be found in almost half the male population of Natchez.

  "What is the child's name?" he asked quietly.

  "Marcus."

  The boy glanced up when he heard his name, and Tony sent him an encouraging smile. "It is a nice, strong name," Tony said softly to the child.

  Marcus flashed him a singularly charming smile and then, apparently overcome with shyness, dropped his head.

  Uncomfortably aware of the boy in a way that he had not been before, Tony said abruptly, "Now is no time for us to discuss this. Marcus should be in bed—should h
ave been in bed hours ago. I shall make arrangements for—" He stopped. "How," he suddenly asked, "did you get here tonight? And how did you know that I would be here tonight?"

  Molly looked mysterious. "I have my ways. And as for transportation, there is no need for you to worry about it—I hired my own wagon and a driver."

  "Where are you living these days?" Tony asked, knowing that further questions about her story would gain him nothing.

  "I will give you directions," she said, "for I am sure that this will not be our last conversation together."

  After giving Tony directions to her house, Molly allowed herself and Marcus to be escorted out of the Crocker house and to a spot some distance down the main driveway, to where her wagon had been pulled off the road and parked. The flickering light of a small lantern at the side of the wagon revealed an old black man leaning against the worn sides of the vehicle.

  At their approach the black man straightened up and watched as Tony first helped Molly and then Marcus into the rear seat of the wagon. At a nod from Tony, the black man untied the horse and climbed stiffly into the front seat.

  His hand resting on the edge of Molly's seat, Tony said, "I shall come to see you tomorrow afternoon. Will three o'clock be convenient?"

  "Yes. I shall look forward to your visit," Molly said demurely.

  "I wouldn't if I were you," Tony muttered. "I may still decide to break your neck."

  Scowling, he spun on his heels and walked back toward the lights of the Crocker house. The remainder of the guests had departed, and Tony found his host and Patrick Blackburne waiting for him on the veranda.

  A wry smile on his lips, he walked up the steps toward them. "William, I cannot tell you how sorry I am that you and your guests had to be subjected to that unpleasant scene. I hope that I am not entirely covered with shame."

  William smiled and dropped a comforting hand on Tony's broad shoulder. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I haven't been so entertained since you left for England. By gad, it is good that you have come back and will enliven the neighborhood."