“Which of the horses do you like best, lad?” he asked Jasper. “The black gelding perhaps? Or the gray stallion?”
“I like the little brown one over there,” Jasper said, pointing to a Shetland.
“Ah, the pony. I have a Welsh pony in my stables at Montcliff. You should ride it sometime.”
“He doesn’t know how,” Camilla said.
“Why don’t you teach him?”
“Because I don’t know how, either.”
Pierce gaped at her. “You don’t know how to ride?”
She eyed him askance. “Until six months ago, I lived in London all my life. I didn’t need to ride there. Mostly I walked. If my destination was too far away, there was always some equipage to take me long distances.”
“But when you were a child, surely—” He broke off, cursing himself for being oblivious. “No, I don’t suppose there are many mounts for children in an orphanage.”
“None, actually,” she said with clearly pretend nonchalance.
He always forgot how different her life had been from his. And suddenly it seemed a damned shame. “You should ride at Montcliff.”
“Someone would have to teach me. Besides, I spend my days with your mother, and she has difficulty riding.” Her tone turned wistful. “No, I think riding isn’t destined to be one of my abilities.”
“The hell it isn’t. I’ll show you how to ride.”
She uttered a sharp laugh. “You’re returning to London soon, remember?”
And you’ll be going with me.
He’d nearly said it aloud. Damn it, but he couldn’t let go of the idea of making her his mistress. It tantalized and intoxicated him. Ah, the things he could teach her, introduce to her . . . do with her.
And the first thing would be to buy her whatever damned horse she desired. She’d be a glorious rider; he was sure of it. He could easily imagine her riding to hounds, her hair streaming out behind her and her cheeks flushing with pleasure.
But first he had to convince her to go with him, and that would take some doing.
“Mama can’t ride—her spectacles would fall off,” Jasper announced. “But I want to learn.”
“Of course you do,” Pierce said, biting back a smile. “And you shall. I’ll speak to Fowler about it.” He cast her a long glance. “About both of you learning.”
“Pierce—” she began in a low voice.
“Good morning, my lord, and welcome!” cried the horse trader, who’d finished with his customer and had now spotted Pierce. The man hurried up to them. “Looking for another horse to buy?”
“Perhaps, Whitley,” he said with a smile. “My cousin was quite pleased with the purchase I made for her. So was her new husband.”
“Good, good. That bay mare was an excellent choice. Glad she went to a good home.”
Pierce laid his hand on Jasper’s shoulder. “We’re here because my young friend Master Jasper wanted to see your stock.”
“Did you, now, lad?” Whitley said with a toothy smile. “And are you fond of horses?”
Jasper’s eyes were huge. “I like that pony over there.”
“I see,” Whitley said with a covert glance at Pierce, who nodded. “Would you like to try it out for me? I could use an expert opinion.”
“He’s not old enough,” Camilla broke in.
“Nonsense.” Pierce patted her hand. “I’d been riding for a year by the time I was his age.”
“I don’t know, Pierce, I—” Realizing she’d used his Christian name, she said quickly, “My lord, perhaps it would be better if he just looked.”
Whitley was a sharp fellow and instantly assessed the situation. “It’s a good pony, madam. The young master would get great enjoyment out of it.”
She blinked. “Oh, I’m not planning on purchasing—”
“The boy wants a ride, that’s all.” Pierce cast Whitley a warning glance. Later Pierce could point out to her the advantages to being his mistress, for Jasper as well as her. But no need to spook her now.
Pierce looked at Jasper. “Would you like to ride the pony?”
“Oh, yes, my lord. Ever so much.”
“Good, then it’s settled.”
Camilla’s grip tightened on Pierce’s arm. “Are you sure he’ll be all right?”
“He’ll be fine just riding about the paddock, won’t he, Whitley?” Pierce said in a voice that conveyed what would happen if the boy was harmed.
“I’ll treat him like me own, madam,” Whitley said, obviously used to anxious mamas. He helped Jasper down from the fence, then ordered his youthful helper to fetch the pretty little Shetland from the pen. As Whitley brought Jasper over to the pony, Pierce felt that same persistent nagging at his memory.
It wasn’t because he’d bought a horse from Whitley; that had happened in a barn. It was this particular situation—a paddock and a boy going to ride.
“Oh, I do hope Jasper doesn’t get frightened,” Camilla said. “He’s so young.”
He scarcely heard her. “Camilla,” he said as his mind sifted through his memories. “I think I might have ridden a horse at this fair, too, years ago.”
She looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
“When I came here with Mother. I remember it.” More of the past came into his mind, and he closed his eyes, trying to summon up the scene. “She told me . . . yes . . . she said she wanted to purchase a real horse for me. Not a pony.”
His eyes shot open. “No, that can’t be right. It was only after spending so much time at the stud farm that I started enjoying riding. Before that, while I was still at home, I wasn’t fond of it and Mother knew that. She would never have considered buying me a larger horse.”
“Then why would she have said it?” Camilla glanced over to where Jasper now sat in the saddle, looking like a sultan on the throne, his hat perched rakishly to one side. Apparently reassured that he was all right, she added, “Why would she have had you ride at all, if not to try out a horse for purchase?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I just remember being led around the paddock while Mother watched.” He caught his breath as memories flooded him. “No, she didn’t only watch. She argued with her cousin.”
“Her cousin?”
“A second cousin, if I remember right.” He shook his head. “I’d forgotten all about that. He was standing near the fence. At the time, I didn’t think it odd, but now . . . Why was Mother’s cousin at the fair? To my knowledge, he didn’t live nearby.”
“You’re sure it was him?”
He nodded. “I’d met him at Grandfather Gilchrist’s funeral tea when I was six. One of Mother’s aunts introduced us. I only knew him as Mr. Gilchrist. That day at the fair, Mr. Gilchrist stormed off before I was done riding, and when I asked Mother about it she said they were arguing because he wanted to buy the horse, too. Only . . . ”
Oh, God.
“Only what?” she prodded.
“I never made the connection before—it was so long ago. But a few days later, he showed up at Montcliff. I heard a servant tell Father that Mother’s cousin was waiting for him in the drawing room. Father went in and Mother followed him, and there was a great row with the man. I couldn’t hear what it was about.”
His stomach clenched, just as it had then. “But I do remember that Father was furious. He threw Gilchrist out and ordered him never to return. Said he wasn’t welcome at Montcliff.”
Camilla shot a quick glance to where Jasper was waving at her. She waved back as she asked in a low voice, “Did your parents explain what the problem was?”
“I asked Father. He told me to mind my own affairs.” A chill swept through him. “Since he was always saying that, I thought it was just grown-up business. He’d always hated Mother’s family. But now I wonder if it might have been more than that.”
“Why?”
“Because just a few weeks later, I was packed off to school. And I didn’t see my father again for thirteen years.”
19
Camilla stared at Pierce, worried by the way he’d turned still as stone. Glancing over to where her son was happily riding, she forced a smile for him, but her blood was pounding so fiercely she could hardly keep her countenance. The same idea as before leaped into her head, but this time she felt she should mention it.
“Have you considered the fact . . . ” She paused, wondering how someone suggested such a thing to an earl. “Is it possible that—”
“I’m not my father’s son?” he finished in a strangled voice.
She nodded.
“I never considered it before.” A muscle ticked in his jaw, once, twice. “But it would make sense. It would explain why he hated me, why he banished me from my home after that day Gilchrist came to see him. Perhaps Mother’s cousin knew who the man was. Gilchrist might have tried to blackmail her or threatened to go to the scandal sheets with his knowledge if Father didn’t pay him.”
“Or Gilchrist might himself have been the man.”
He sucked in a breath. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Cousins are often thrown together. Look at you and your Waverly cousins. He might have seen her at any family affair.”
“Except that I was definitely born after my parents married—ten months after the wedding.” He blinked. “Or so I’ve always been told. But a few weeks might have been glossed over. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that I was born earlier than they said. And that’s easier to swallow than the possibility that Mother—”
“I know. It doesn’t seem like her to break her marriage vows.”
He cast her an earnest glance. “You’ve considered this before.”
She reddened under his gaze. “Only after she told me that your father kept her from you. But you look so much like him.”
“That’s what everyone says. I can’t see it, though. Aside from our coloring being the same, I don’t think we look alike in any other way.”
She wasn’t so sure about that. She’d have to get another look at his father’s portrait. And portraits weren’t always true, either. “Still, I just can’t imagine that your mother . . . would take a lover.”
“Nor can I. She would have risked much to have an affair. If I am a bastard, I had to have been conceived before the marriage. And he would have known she wasn’t a virgin on their wedding night.”
“There are ways to . . . well . . . ”
“Yes, I know. To disguise it. Because surely if he’d guessed it then, he wouldn’t have waited until I was eight to banish me.” He drew in a deep breath. “And there’s another flaw in this theory.”
“What’s that?” she asked. Mr. Whitley was drawing the pony to a stop; it appeared that Jasper’s ride was just about over.
“I can see how Father would hold her sin over her to keep us apart, especially if I wasn’t his son and he couldn’t stand the sight of me. But why did she go along so completely? She never wrote, never visited. I didn’t see her for thirteen years.”
“Perhaps he threatened to divorce her.”
He stared blindly at the horses. “Divorces aren’t easy to gain, especially if he had no proof that he’d been cuckolded. And it would have created a huge scandal, even if it could be done. He wasn’t fond of scandal, trust me.”
“Besides,” she said, “given the choice between a divorce and losing her son, I can’t imagine your mother choosing to lose you, especially if the earl wasn’t really your father. Although if she knew she couldn’t support you . . . ”
“All right, let’s say he threatened to divorce her and leave us both destitute. She might have done as he demanded to prevent that, but it would only have worked until I was grown. Once I reached my majority, I inherited money from my grandmother, and that would have kept us both comfortable enough until Father died and I could inherit the estate.”
“Could he have threatened to disinherit you?”
“No. The estate is entailed, and both it and the title go to his heir. The law says that his heir is the eldest son born into the marriage, and I was born on the right side of the blanket. Even if he divorced her, I would have inherited everything eventually.” His voice grew choked. “So why would he let the bastard he hated inherit, while he got rid of the wife he wanted to keep under his thumb? No, divorce couldn’t have been what he threatened.”
“He must have threatened something to make her comply.”
“Yes, but what? And why did she keep complying even after I had come into my majority?” He swallowed convulsively. “Why did she choose him over me?”
“How do you know that she did?”
His face clouded over. “Because of what she said to me when I was twenty-one and traveled here to confront Father.”
“What was that?”
But he didn’t answer. He merely nodded to where Jasper was running toward them.
“Mama, Mama, I rode the pony! Did you see?”
“Yes, muffin, I saw!” she said with a tremulous smile. She caught him up in her arms, and tears started in her eyes as her gaze met Pierce’s haunted one.
She hugged Jasper tight to her breast. How could a mother ever give her child up? It was unfathomable. It would kill her to lose Jasper.
If it had been her, she would have run off with her son and never come back.
Camilla sighed. Easy for her to say. She wasn’t a countess with a husband who had riches and power beyond measure.
“Stop squeezing me, Mama!” Jasper exclaimed, wriggling out of her embrace. “I’m not a baby anymore. I rode a pony!”
She let him slip to the ground, though her heart was in her throat. “Yes, you did. You rode it very well.”
“Did you enjoy the pony, lad?” Pierce asked, obviously attempting to hide the strain in his voice.
“Oh, yes, my lord. He comes from way up in Scotland, and his name is Chocolate because he likes chocolate drops.” As Pierce went over to Mr. Whitley and had a short, murmured conversation with the man, Jasper added, “Do you think he could pull a sleigh, Mama?”
“Probably not by himself,” she said absently, preoccupied by Pierce’s tale.
When Pierce returned to her side, he looked solemn. “We’d better go back. They’ll wonder what has happened to us.”
She nodded, but she knew that wasn’t why he wanted to return to the booth. He wanted to question his mother. To get answers.
As Jasper skipped ahead of them, she said in a low voice, “I know you want the truth, and I don’t blame you. But you mustn’t question your mother about this until you can do so in private, preferably back at Montcliff.”
“Why?” he ground out. “No matter how I look at it, she made the choice to abandon me, at least after I was grown. Because he demanded it. Perhaps she felt some ridiculous guilt over going into the marriage with a babe in her belly. Or perhaps Gilchrist threatened a scandal. Either way, she acquiesced to his separating her from her own child.”
“You can’t be sure of that. You can’t be sure of any of it.”
“I know that she didn’t fight for me, and if I’m to believe that she wanted to, then he must have threatened her with something. What? Or was she just too spineless to stand up to him? Damn it, I want to know. I deserve to hear the truth.”
“Yes, but not now,” she chided. “She’s part of a community here. Surely you’re not so angry at her that you would wish to see her shamed in front of people who respect her.” When he said nothing, she added, “And whether you like it or not, you’re part of the community here, too. You have to behave with decorum, if only because you’re the Earl of Devonmont.”
He walked on in silence for a few moments, then scowled at her. “I hate when you’re sensible.”
She let out a relieved breath. “What a pity. Because I love when you are.”
“Do you?” He gazed, unsmiling, at her and lowered his voice to a husky murmur that made her pulse quicken. “Last night I wasn’t being sensible, and you didn’t seem to mind that too much.”
Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks
, she jerked her gaze from his. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
“Yet it did.” He looked as if he was about to say more. Then he glanced down to where Jasper had slowed to listen to them, and he seemed to think better of it.
They walked in silence a few moments, picking their way over the slushy ground and trying to keep Jasper from getting his little shoes too wet in the icy weather. With only a week left until Christmas, there were holly berries adorning every other booth, and pitchmen trying to coax young men into buying gimcracks and scarves and such for their sweethearts.
But Camilla wasn’t feeling very festive at the moment. The impending storm between mother and son had put her in a quandary. She cared deeply about them both. They would expect her to take a side, but how could she?
Pierce stared ahead at the booth offering ballad sheets for sale. “I suppose there’s another reason I shouldn’t confront my mother before God and everyone.”
She glanced at him. “Oh?”
“If I shame her publicly, you and Jasper will suffer embarrassment, too.”
“I don’t care about that,” she said.
“I know you don’t,” he said irritably. “You never care about yourself. But that doesn’t mean I should allow it. I may be a selfish arse, but considering the damage I’ve done to your reputation already by singling you out in front of the old ladies—” He halted at the ballad sheet booth. “Great God. I have an idea. Wait here.”
He disappeared into the booth and came out a short while later with a package wrapped in brown paper. “Come on,” he said brusquely. “And let me do the talking when we reach the booth.”
That sounded worrisome. But now they were headed into the most crowded part of the fair, and it was hard to converse, especially since the number of fairgoers had increased substantially, undaunted by the winter chill.
Up ahead, she could see Lady Devonmont and the ladies inside the church’s booth. They looked to be doing a brisk business in stockings.
’Twas the Night After Christmas Page 18