Great God, that was a serious courtship. “Attempted? How, exactly?”
“Well, as best I could determine from the man’s wife, who’d been admiring him from afar all those years, your mother and Gilchrist ran off to Gretna Green and actually got across the border, before her father caught up to them and made them come back. One of your mother’s other relations confirmed that. The family managed to hush it up, and it rapidly became apparent why, when the earl proposed to your mother.”
“Ah, yes,” Pierce mused aloud. “By then, the earl must have agreed to pay off Grandfather’s debts in exchange for Mother’s hand in marriage.”
“That would explain why she married him.”
No, Pierce thought with a sinking in his stomach. The babe in her belly explains why she married him.
Gretna Green was a long way off, after all. Plenty of time to consummate the wedding before it took place. Then she would have been too ashamed to admit to her father that she wasn’t chaste. Or perhaps she had admitted it, and Grandfather Gilchrist hadn’t cared. After all, he already had an earl waiting in the wings.
Or had he? “Did Mother know the earl before she eloped?”
“Yes. Apparently the reason your mother and Gilchrist ran off in the first place was because the earl had taken a fancy to her, and since her father didn’t approve of her marrying Gilchrist, the couple feared they would never get to marry unless they eloped.”
“Did my father—” He checked himself. “Did the earl know about her connection to Gilchrist?”
“That, I could not discover. All I know is that he met your mother at some grand ball during your mother’s come-out. According to Gilchrist’s wife, a friend of the family even then, the earl was instantly smitten and pursued your mother relentlessly. When she ran off, he was told she was visiting relatives, and as far as Gilchrist’s wife knew, he believed it.”
“But then Gilchrist came along years later and threatened to tell my father that she’d borne him a bastard,” Pierce mused.
Manton snorted. “A bastard? If that’s what you’re worried about, my lord, you can set your mind to rest. The earl was engaged to your mother for six months before they married—it took that long to prepare the large wedding that your father insisted upon. Unless Gilchrist found a way to get around her father and see her during that time—which I seriously doubt, considering their previous attempt at elopement—you are almost certainly the earl’s son.”
That’s what Mother had claimed, too. He’d thought she might be lying, but perhaps she hadn’t been.
Still, if Mother had shared Gilchrist’s bed while they were eloping and Father found her unchaste on their wedding night, he might have suspected her of infidelity later with someone. Father had to have believed Pierce wasn’t his, despite all evidence to the contrary. That was the only explanation for why the man had despised his own heir.
But it still didn’t explain why Father had spurned him only after Pierce turned eight. Had Gilchrist tried to blackmail Mother by threatening to tell Father that he’d been the one to take her innocence? Given the Gilchrist family’s predilection for gambling, perhaps the man had needed money and had thought that a way to gain it.
And if Mother had stood firm against his threats, then he might have gone to Father, threatening a scandal if Father didn’t pay him off.
But then what could Father have been holding over Mother’s head to make her cut off her son so completely? Knowledge of some botched elopement wouldn’t have made any difference in their marriage.
Unless . . .
A cold chill passed through him. “Are you absolutely certain that Gilchrist and my mother didn’t make it to a church or even an ‘anvil priest’ in Gretna Green?”
Manton’s eyes narrowed. “Gilchrist’s wife said they didn’t.”
“What else would she say? If Gilchrist had managed to marry my mother, even in one of those havey-cavey Scottish weddings, and it became known, his marriage to this other woman would be entirely void. She would be left with nothing.”
Manton’s gaze locked with his, reflecting the same horror Pierce felt. “And your mother’s marriage to your father would have been entirely void as well.”
“Exactly. Except that my mother wouldn’t have been the only one left with nothing.”
As the full ramifications of that hit him, Pierce’s heart plummeted into his stomach. At last he knew what Father had held over Mother’s head. And perhaps even what Gilchrist had told Father that day at Montcliff.
Pierce rose, his mind racing. If his theory was right, it changed everything. He had to see Mother. He still had a couple of stops to make on the way out of town, and he’d promised Sharpe . . .
That was one promise he must keep. The Waverlys were his family, too, after all, and he was just beginning to realize how important a part they had played in saving him from his father’s wrath.
“Forgive me, Manton, but I have to go.”
Manton rose as well. “Of course, my lord.”
“You will keep this to yourself, I assume.” With a sudden sick feeling in his gut, he remembered that Manton’s brother had always hated him. What if Manton—
“You have nothing to fear from me,” Manton said fiercely. “My clients always have my complete discretion. Sir Jackson would never have recommended me to you if he didn’t trust that.”
“True,” Pierce said tightly, only slightly reassured.
“Besides, I know better than you think how family arrangements can destroy people’s futures.” Manton looked as if he were debating something, then added softly, “My father had another family, a mistress and two illegitimate children—my half brother and half sister. It is because of them that I am estranged from my brother. Father left them provided for, but George refused to honor the agreement. It has wreaked havoc on all our lives.”
Pierce instantly understood why the man was telling him this family secret. Manton clearly knew that the best way to reassure a man that his secrets were safe was to offer one of his own.
Feeling more easy about Manton, Pierce turned for the door, and Manton said, “Did you wish to hear about the other investigation you charged me with?”
“Other investigation?”
“The one concerning Mrs. Stuart.”
“Ah, right.” He’d forgotten about that. It felt like years since he’d asked Manton to look into her background. And now it seemed rather . . . sordid.
“I don’t have much to tell you,” Manton went on. “When I spoke yesterday to the couple who run St. Joseph’s Home for Orphans, they were evasive. They admitted that she’d worked there and had an exemplary record but said they had to check their files concerning how she’d ended up there. They said they would report to me this morning about whether they could even speak of the matter. That’s one reason I’m here. I thought you might wish to attend the meeting with me.”
So he could find out if Camilla was the daughter of a whore or a princess? He didn’t need to know that, because he already knew he wanted her in his life.
It didn’t matter who her parents were. It didn’t matter how she’d come to be at St. Joseph’s. Pierce knew the kind of woman she was, inside and out. She was the kind of woman who stood up for those who wouldn’t or couldn’t stand up for themselves. The kind of woman who took delight in a simple pastry, who could tease a lord about naughty books in one moment and defend the man’s mother in another.
The kind of woman who still believed in love. And who apparently had been fool enough to fall in love with him.
The least he could do was accord her privacy in her personal affairs. She had never asked him to find out who her parents were, and she could have discovered that herself when she worked at St. Joseph’s, if she’d wanted. So he was far overstepping his bounds by pursuing this. He certainly hadn’t asked about it for her sake. He had done so for his own, so he could feel safe in marrying her.
Well, no more. If any problems ever arose out of her murky background, they would
face them together. Assuming she gave him that chance.
When he saw her, he would tell her that if she wanted Manton to pursue the matter, he would arrange it. But it would be her private affair. Because it truly was none of his concern.
“No,” he said. “I don’t need to be there for the meeting. And neither do you. I’ll pay you for what you’ve found out so far, but unless I’m directed otherwise by Mrs. Stuart, we’ll leave the past in the past.”
“Whatever you wish, sir,” Manton said, a decided note of approval in his voice.
Clearly they were both in agreement on this—there were some Pandora’s boxes that should never be opened.
• • •
“What do you think?” Lady Devonmont asked as she held up a delicate figurine in the early evening of the night before Christmas. “Too extravagant for the tree?”
Camilla gazed at the glass angel and remembered Pierce’s words about angels and devils. Perhaps if she’d never looked past the flip words to the clear heartache behind them, she wouldn’t now be sitting here with her own heart bleeding.
“Camilla?”
“Hmm? No, not too extravagant.” She stared at the countess. “We should have gone to London. He shouldn’t be alone for Christmas.”
The countess sighed. “He isn’t in London, my dear, and he’s certainly not alone. He’s at Waverly Farm. And it’s better this way. I’m willing to take some risk in telling him all, but . . . I can’t bear to do it amid all the madness at the Waverlys’. There’s more of them now, and I’m sure they think I’m—”
She pasted a determined smile on her face as she turned back to the boxes of baubles. “It doesn’t matter. But I would rather have him to myself when I talk to him.” She cast Camilla a long glance. “And you said you didn’t want him thinking you were interested in being his mistress.”
“I know. We made the right decision not to go. It’s just—”
“Mama, Mama!” Jasper cried as he ran in ahead of Maisie. Bored with the tree decoration, he’d gone out earlier to feed Chocolate sugarplums. “Someone’s coming!”
Camilla’s heart leaped into triple time, and she surreptitiously smoothed her skirts. “His lordship has returned?”
Maisie flashed her a pitying glance. “It’s not his carriage. Though it’s quite a fine one, I don’t recognize it.”
“Well, then,” the countess said smoothly, “let’s go see who it is.”
The four of them headed out toward the entrance hall, reaching it just as two people entered. It was a gentleman about Pierce’s age and a woman of about the countess’s age, dressed entirely in deep mourning, down to her ermine fur muff. A very odd couple, who looked a bit startled by the foursome coming to greet them before they could even be announced.
The countess came forward with a smile. “Good day, sir. I am Lady Devonmont. May I help you?”
He gave a bow, and his gaze flicked briefly over Camilla and Maisie. “My name is Dominick Manton, and this lady is Edith Perry, the Viscountess Hedon.”
Lady Hedon gave a quick nod to everyone. Camilla couldn’t tell if it was because she was haughty or shy. Mr. Manton, a rather handsome fellow with eyes of a remarkable green, seemed oddly uncomfortable with his surroundings, too.
He nervously scanned the entranceway. “I was hoping to find Lord Devonmont here. I was told, when I met with his lordship at his town house this morning, that he was heading here directly.”
“His lordship is coming! His lordship is coming!” Jasper burst out.
“Jasper, we have guests,” Camilla chided him. “Hold your tongue.”
“Yes, Mama.” But his smile didn’t fade.
Camilla’s heart began to pound, and her ladyship cast her a look of mingled panic and joy as she said to the man, “Are you sure he—”
“His servants told me that he was, and I saw his equipage being loaded. Plus, he said he had to head off. But perhaps I was mistaken in where he was going.”
“Perhaps,” Lady Devonmont said. “Is there something I can do to help you?”
Mr. Manton glanced to Lady Hedon as if for direction.
“I see no need in waiting for his lordship,” she said, her eyes darting from Maisie to Camilla, and then settling on Jasper most oddly.
“Very well.” Mr. Manton smiled at them all. “I assume that one of you other two ladies is Mrs. Stuart?”
Camilla blinked, then stepped forward. “I’m Camilla Stuart, sir.”
As Lady Hedon’s wan cheeks grew even more pale, Mr. Manton said, “Is there somewhere we can speak privately, madam?”
Camilla looked to the countess, who said, “Why don’t you take the small parlor, dear? I’ll have refreshments sent in.”
“You are Mrs. Stuart’s employer?” Lady Hedon asked, obviously bewildered by her ladyship’s manner.
Camilla couldn’t imagine what business it was of hers but was gratified when her ladyship said, “I think of her more as a friend than an employee.”
“That’s good,” Lady Hedon said, to Camilla’s surprise.
Camilla led the guests into the little parlor, burning with curiosity to know what this was all about.
After everyone was in the room, Mr. Manton closed the door. “Before I explain myself, Mrs. Stuart,” he said, “I wish to assure you that I didn’t intend for this to happen. After his lordship asked me to look into . . . er . . . how you came to be at St. Joseph’s—”
“He did what?” she asked, not sure whether to be outraged or touched. It vastly depended on his reasons.
“Oh, he thought better of it later,” Mr. Manton hastened to add. “He told me to halt my investigation until he could speak to you about it, but by then the wheels were turning.”
“What wheels?” she echoed, thoroughly at sea.
“What Mr. Manton is trying to say,” Lady Hedon put in softly, “is that some months ago, after my husband died, I went to St. Joseph’s looking for you, but they weren’t sure where you worked anymore. So when Mr. Manton came to the orphanage this week asking questions, they arranged to meet with him and then hastened to me to ask if I wished to be there. I said yes, of course.” Her tone grew arch. “Mr. Manton didn’t show up for the meeting, so I went to his office, but—”
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” Camilla said, becoming more bewildered by the moment. “But who exactly are you, and why are you looking for me?”
Lady Hedon swallowed, then stepped forward to seize Camilla’s hands. “I, my dear, am your mother.”
25
Christmas Day
It had been snowing now for hours. It was melting almost as soon as it hit the ground, but it still made travel more difficult. And Pierce had only himself to blame for his being so late.
His stops in London had taken more time than he’d expected, and then he had stayed far too long at Virginia’s. Uncle Isaac and his new wife, Hetty, had shown up for the occasion, and he’d been forced to attempt to explain what was going on between him and his mother, which he hadn’t done very well.
There was too much he had to leave out, too much he couldn’t say until he had more answers. He’d talked briefly with his uncle, hoping that he could shed some light on the past, but Uncle Isaac could say only what Pierce already knew. When Pierce was eight, Mother had asked Titus to raise him with his other children, and Titus had agreed.
After Titus died, Uncle Isaac had been asked to take up the mantle, and he’d done so, hoping that Pierce could be like an older brother to Virginia and the late Roger. Pierce had done his best with that.
Indeed, it was precisely because Virginia was like a sister to him that he’d had so much trouble getting away. And baby Isabel hadn’t helped matters any. The child was so amazingly winsome. He kept holding her, thinking that he and Camilla might have a little girl, too. And marveling that for the first time, the thought of having a child didn’t completely terrify him.
But he shouldn’t have lingered so long with his cousins because he’d been forced to drive thr
ough the night. It was nearly eight o’clock on Christmas morning, and his coach-and-four was only now approaching Montcliff.
Were they at breakfast? he wondered as the carriage halted and he leaped out, carrying a box in his arms. Mother and Camilla tended to rise early, so he wouldn’t be surprised. And it was Christmas morn, so Jasper had probably been up with the chickens.
He strode into the house and stamped the snow from his boots but found it oddly quiet. “Where is everyone?” he asked the footman who took his greatcoat.
“Her ladyship is in the drawing room, milord. And Mrs. Stuart—”
“Thank you,” he said, hastening off in that direction with his box. They were undoubtedly all in the drawing room, if that’s where they’d put the tree.
He couldn’t remember what they’d said about that, but Mother used to put it there.
Evergreens were draped on every available space, but for the first time in years, the smell of fir and cedar didn’t plague him with bad memories. Not now that he understood so much more.
He walked into the drawing room, then halted. Mother was sitting at the table alone, drinking tea and eating toast. The tree was nowhere in sight, but its absence didn’t register nearly as much as Camilla’s.
She must be getting dressed or something, which was just as well. What he had to say to Mother would best be said in private.
“Pierce!” she cried, a smile breaking over her face. She rose, then seemed to remember the circumstances under which they’d last parted, and her smile faded a little. “We . . . didn’t expect you.”
“I tried to get here for Christmas Eve, but I stopped at Virginia’s and—” He was babbling, for God’s sake. Fighting for calm, he set down his box and went over to her. Might as well get right to the point. “Mother, I don’t know how to tell you this, but since you refused to tell me anything about Gilchrist, I had an investigator look into your friendship with him.”
He expected her to try to escape the conversation, as always, but she just stared at him, her eyes wide. “I see. And what did he learn?”
’Twas the Night After Christmas Page 25