Climbing into his curricle, he took the reins from the boy he’d paid a shilling to hold the horses and gave one last look at the door to Parks House before giving the matched pair a bit of rein and driving into the London traffic.
Chapter Three
To Merry’s relief—at least, that’s what she told herself it was—Alex spent most of the journey from London to the Wrotham estates on horseback while she, Effie, and Mrs. Potts traveled with the baby in the carriage.
She was grateful for the company, since it didn’t allow her much time for contemplating the kiss they’d shared the evening before. She’d known that asking Alex for help finding Lottie’s father would make for some difficult moments—not least of which would be facing his anger at her hasty departure all those years ago. But the possibility that she’d find herself in his arms again hadn’t occurred to her. Which, in retrospect, was a mistake.
The attraction between them had never been in question.
They’d met at the Duchess of Maitland’s ball the year of Merry’s debut. She’d found the various entertainments of the ton overwhelming after the retired life she’d lived up to that point, helping her father with his studies. There seemed always to be more people to meet and, therefore, more people to be concerned about giving offense to. While she was able to converse about the merits of Sappho’s poetry, she found it a bit more difficult to talk about the latest fashions from Paris and the king’s latest shocking escapades.
But as soon as she’d been introduced to the handsome Lord Wrotham, something had changed.
His self-deprecating humor and genuine interest in her scholarly work had set her at ease. And it was impossible not to notice the way he seemed to be taken with her as well. Of course, she’d put that down to mere politeness until he’d arrived during visiting hours the next day bearing a posy of violets for her. And the next day, and the next.
And before she knew it, Merry was betrothed to Alexander Ponsonby, Viscount Wrotham. And she was as ecstatically happy as she’d ever been in her twenty years of life.
Which is perhaps why, after she’d left him, she did whatever she could to hide away the feelings and memories of those heady days. She buried herself in her work with her father. She no longer attended ton entertainments—much to the consternation of the friends she’d made during her season. And she vowed to forget him.
Then she’d gotten the call from Charlotte, and circumstances had forced Merry into the company of the man she thought she’d never see again.
Was it any wonder she’d fallen into the old patterns of banter and attraction with him?
She caught a glimpse of him out the carriage window, the winter wind billowing out his greatcoat as he rode, as Effie and Mrs. Potts talked about some household matter she didn’t even comprehend.
How was it that five years could pass and a man could be even more handsome than he had been before? Weren’t men supposed to show signs of dissipation after years of hard living? But despite his exploits with the Lords of Anarchy and the various other escapades of his she’d read about in the society columns, Alex seemed untouched.
Whereas Merry saw well enough in her glass that she’d not aged quite so well. Oh, her hair was as dark and lustrous as ever, but she wore it in a more severe style. It wasn’t particularly flattering, but she didn’t need to concern herself with such things anymore. And because she spent so much time indoors, her skin was pale. It had long ago lost the bloom her first season—and, if truth be told, being head over ears in love—had given her.
And yet . . .
She lifted a hand to her lips, which Alex had kissed only the night before.
“His lordship said it wouldn’t be long now,” Effie said, startling Merry out of her brown study.
As if her mouth were on fire, she snatched her hand away and clutched it safely in her lap. Knowing how observant her maid could be, she said in what she hoped was a normal tone, “We’ve had good weather, at least. I was afraid we’d be caught in rain or, worse, snow. We’ve been fortunate.”
Effie nodded. Then, while Mrs. Potts jostled the suddenly fussy baby, Effie said casually, “It’s been many years since we were at Wrotham Keep, hasn’t it, Miss Merry?”
Leave it to Effie to bring up the one subject Merry most wished to avoid.
“Indeed it has,” she said tersely. “But I do not think we’ll be here long. Once we find Lottie’s father and make arrangements for her, I see no reason why we shouldn’t be on our way.”
She’d already discussed the possibility with Mrs. Potts that her services might no longer be needed once they reached the Keep, and the wet nurse had taken the news in stride. As she was open to moving from London to Kent, Merry hoped that Ponsonby would keep her on. Lottie had had enough change in her young life.
“We’re awfully close to the holiday,” Effie continued. “I hope the weather holds long enough for us to get back to London. As it is, there are only five days until Christmas Eve. If we get caught up in rain or snow, we’ll likely have to spend Christmas in an inn. If rooms are available, that is. Mayhap we should just stay put at the Keep until afterward.”
Merry knew precisely what Effie was doing, but it wasn’t going to work. Even though Alex had already invited them to spend the holiday at Wrotham Keep, she had no wish to spend more time in Alex’s company than absolutely necessary. And the fact that his grandmother, who had been the architect of the dissolution of their betrothal, would be there made her all the more eager to get back to London for Christmas at Parks House. Her father might not be the most festive man, but he was far more comfortable for her nerves than the Dowager Viscountess Wrotham would be.
A shout from outside alerted them to the fact that they were entering the woods outside the Keep. And as she looked out, she saw the familiar stone wall that marked the lane leading to the medieval fortress turned manor house. The woods themselves seemed cold and bare, thanks to the dead leaves that covered the forest floor. She imagined being stranded there, and gave an involuntary shudder.
Soon enough, however, the carriage emerged from the darkened wood and onto the macadam of the grand avenue that swept up into a courtyard that stretched across the entire front of the hall itself. The manor house, she remembered, was a redbrick structure, as beautiful as it was imposing, with a stone portico leading to the recessed door and two wings flanking the higher central block. Merry couldn’t help but recall how much fear and excitement she’d felt on first seeing it five years ago. Now, as she glimpsed it while the carriage turned to bring them near the entrance, she only saw the place where she’d given up her one chance at happiness.
She braced herself to see Alex again, but the carriage door was opened by a footman, who said nothing as he let the step down and handed Merry down from the carriage. The wind was cold, and she pulled her cloak about her more tightly as she waited for the others to emerge.
When the footman closed the door before Effie or Mrs. Potts with Lottie could descend, she stopped him. Belatedly she realized that Effie and Mrs. Potts would be taken round to the servants’ entrance, but she wanted the baby with her when she faced Lottie’s father. “What about the child? I thought to carry her myself.”
“Of course, Miss,” the footman said with a blank expression, then he opened the door again and, likely not keen to hold an infant, he stepped back to let her extend her arms to take the child from the wet nurse.
“I shall send for you when we get settled, Mrs. Potts,” she assured the other woman, who nodded.
Lottie was tucked up in a warm blanket, which Merry used to cover her face from the chill of the weather. The baby was warm against her arms, and smelled of milk and that sweet scent that babies had. Merry inhaled it, then lifting the blanket she saw the infant blinking up at her, watching her face with bright eyes. Unable to stop herself, Merry gave her a quick kiss, before she glanced around for Alex. But he was nowhere to be seen.
She allowed the footman to escort her to the steps leading up to the wide
oak door, which was being held open by the butler, Mr. Quick, whom she recalled from her last visit.
“Miss Parks,” he said with the ghost of a smile, “it’s been a long time. Welcome back to Wrotham Keep. I’ll show you to your rooms.” He made no mention of the bundle in her arms, which almost made Merry laugh. One thing Quick could be counted on was to say the right thing. And upon seeing an unmarried lady arrive with a baby in her arms, he chose not to say anything at all.
“Thank you, Mr. Quick,” she said with more calm than she felt. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Lord Wrotham has got to, would you? I believe he arrived just before we did, but he disappeared.”
The butler looked a bit sheepish, and from the direction of what she knew to be the drawing room, Merry heard voices raised in argument. And they weren’t all male.
The dowager had been informed of their arrival then, she thought, with a mixed feeling of dread and anticipation. She’d made a promise to Lady Wrotham five years ago that she’d leave this house and never return. But some promises were made to be broken. And the baby in her arms was far more important than the petty manipulations of a woman hell-bent on managing her grandson’s life.
“I believe his lordship is in the drawing room,” Quick said with a carefully schooled expression. “I shall inform him you’re asking for him. Now, if you’ll just follow me, Miss?” He began walking toward the grand staircase, which was draped in greenery for the season.
When he realized she was still standing near the door to the drawing room, he gave what Merry suspected was a sigh before turning back.
“I should like to be shown into the drawing room, Mr. Quick,” she said apologetically. “I believe introductions should be made to baby Lottie.”
Looking as if he’d rather be anywhere in the world but where he was, Quick gave a regal nod, then opened the double doors of the drawing room and announced, “Miss Merry Parks and companion.”
She would have registered amusement at his characterization of Lottie, but Merry was far too busy taking in the tableau before her.
All three of the room’s occupants had stopped talking as soon as the doors opened, and Merry saw that Alex at least looked happy to see her.
A man Merry assumed to be William Ponsonby stood scowling into the fire with one hand propped against the greenery-bedecked mantel, while Alex looked on from a place just behind him, his posture revealing his frustration. And seated on one of the facing settees arranged before the fire was the dowager Viscountess Wrotham, her mouth tight with annoyance.
“It only needed her entrance to turn this into a full-blown farce,” the dowager said, all but spitting the words. “I daresay it’s your doing that we’re having this ill-born infant foisted upon us, Miss Parks?”
* * *
Alex watched as Merry took in the dowager’s insult without comment. Her eyes, however, showed a certain degree of antipathy for his grandmother. It only bolstered his theory that something had passed between them five years ago that led to Merry’s decampment.
Now, however, he needed to rein in Lady Wrotham before she insulted Merry so much that she washed her hands of the entire family. “Miss Parks is only doing right by the child’s mother, Grandmama. As am I, given that my own cousin is the one who caused that lady’s demise.”
He’d informed both William and his grandmother that he’d brought not only Merry with him to the Keep but also William’s daughter. At the mention of Charlotte and the child she’d borne, his cousin had gone pale. But he’d had no chance to speak before Merry entered the drawing room with the infant in her arms.
“Not a lady, as I understand it,” the dowager shot back with a scowl. “In my day, if a chit was unwise enough to fall from grace, she had the decency to call herself what she was. In this case, a sl—”
“Grandmama,” Will said, “that’s enough.”
Will offered their grandmother a look Alex hadn’t often seen directed at Lady Wrotham by her family. “I will ask you not to speak of Charlotte that way. If any wrong was done, if anyone fell from grace, it was I. She only had the misfortune to fall prey to my seduction. And if you’re going to parse language, you are incorrect on all counts. For not only is the child—Charlotte’s child—mine, but Charlotte herself was my wife.”
“Wife?” The dowager looked as if she’d just had a mouthful of curdled cream. “You don’t mean to tell me that you married her? After all I’ve said to you about your duty to the family? After all I’ve said about the importance of bloodlines and breeding? William, how could you?”
“Charlotte Smithson is . . . was . . . an honorable lady. She had the misfortune to fall into my path at a time when I was . . .” William thrust a hand through his blond hair, looking as if he wanted to disappear. “I was in my cups, as usual, and I convinced her to go with me to Scotland. It was foolish, but that’s not unusual for my past behavior. I barely remember the journey or the wedding. And we were back in London only a few days later. I left her at her family’s home without meeting them—but promised to return later that day.”
“Why didn’t you go back?” Alex asked before Lady Wrotham could speak.
Looking miserable, William said, “I was waylaid by friends at my club. The longer I was away from her, the more I decided it would be better for her if I just left her alone. Then, the next month I had the carriage accident.”
“And I got word of it in Paris and had my man of business send you to get sorted,” Alex said with a sigh. He hadn’t realized until now just how much of a role he’d played in keeping Charlotte from finding his cousin. If he’d not interfered, William might have been in London when she set out to look for him. Even so, his cousin might have tried to find her on his own. “But you never tried to contact her? Didn’t it occur to you that she could be with child?”
William sighed. “I didn’t think. It was selfish and stupid. It felt like I’d dreamt the whole thing. And the more time passed, the more I convinced myself that she was better off without me.” His misery was evident in his face, which was tight with remorse. “I’d give anything to go back in time and do it all again. To be there with her before the baby came. Before . . .”
Clearly unable to let him suffer alone, Merry crossed to where William stood. As Alex looked on, she reached out to touch his cousin’s shoulder, all the while holding Lottie against her chest with the other arm.
He’d known she had a great capacity for compassion, but her compassion for his cousin made Alex marvel anew at her generous heart. William had abandoned her dearest friend. A friend whom she herself had been with on her deathbed. And yet, here she was showing him kindness. Whether it was for the child’s sake or out of her own good will, it was something to admire. Certainly his grandmother had never shown herself to be so forgiving.
“She did look for you,” Merry said in a low voice as she stepped closer to William. “She was puzzled and confused by your disappearance. But more than anything else, at the last, she wanted you to see your daughter. She made me promise to bring her to you, no matter what sort of bitterness I harbored for you.”
“I don’t deserve her,” William said in a low voice, though he cut his gaze toward the baby, whose face Merry had uncovered and who was sleeping peacefully despite the adult conversations around her. “I . . . Charlotte shouldn’t have sent her to me. I’m no good at caring for myself. Much less an infant.”
“You told me you haven’t taken a drink in eight months, Will,” Alex said, unable to stop himself from giving credit where it was due. “You may not be fully recovered, but you’re on the mend. And I believe the responsibility will give you a reason to keep to the straight and narrow.”
They were quiet for a moment, watching the baby sleep, her mouth puckering as she dreamed.
“Would you like to hold her?” Merry asked William, her voice pitched low, whether to keep from waking the baby or to avoid his grandmother’s earshot, he didn’t know.
William took a step back, as if the baby would leap
out of Merry’s arms into his. “I don’t know,” he said nervously. “I don’t . . . I mean to say . . .”
Alex was struck with bemusement as he watched his cousin’s obvious fear of the baby. Perhaps he should introduce him to Vessey with his natural ease in the company of the infant, he thought wryly.
“It’s not hard,” Merry said. “Just put her head in the crook of your elbow like this.” She illustrated her words by moving closer to him and doing just that. Despite his reluctance, William didn’t drop the child, but held her in the crook of his arm, using the other to lift the weight of her bottom half. “That’s it,” Merry said as Will stared down at his child for the first time.
“She’s so tiny,” Will said in a half whisper. “And wrinkled.”
And Alex realized he was, perhaps, witnessing the transformation of his cousin from troublemaking bachelor to new father. The enormity of the scene made him swallow. He imagined a similar scene, only he was the one taking his child from Merry’s arms, and it was their own child.
Merry huffed out a laugh, clearly unaware of the direction Alex’s thoughts had taken. “She’s a newborn. She’ll get bigger. And her skin will smooth out a bit.”
And, as if in an effort to permanently quash his sentimental mood, his grandmother’s voice rang out.
“If you are all finished playing out that very affecting scene,” Lady Wrotham said pettishly, “we should discuss what’s to be done with the child. I should like to see the marriage lines to begin with. For there may be some way that we can disentangle William from this business yet. I urge you not to get attached to the child, William. After all, you’re in no position to raise a child on your own.”
At his grandmother’s words, William’s eyes blazed. “You will keep a civil tongue in your head when you are speaking of my wife and daughter, Grandmama.” And as if the very act of taking her in his arms had settled him, he continued, “I will take care of my child. And if you cannot take my word that the marriage was legitimate, then you may go to the devil.”
With This Christmas Ring Page 4