by Lynn Kerstan
“Dammit, she isn’t yours,” he blurted.
For a long moment, Jillian studied her clenched hands. Then her brown eyes lifted to him defiantly. “My natural daughter, no. But Anna is very much mine.”
Avoiding her gaze, the Earl discovered a speck of lint on his sleeve. “Why did you lie to me?” he asked in a muffled voice. “Certainly, you made me think—”
“I’d given birth to a bastard child,” she finished bluntly. “Yes, that’s what I wanted you to believe.”
“But why? Surely you can’t have thought I’d . . . Lord, what did you think?”
“That you would take her away from me, of course. Good heavens, what else could I think? From the moment we met, before you knew the slightest thing about me, you’d already made up your mind what to do with me. I was certain you’d interfere. And ruin everything.”
Wearily, Mark sliced his fingers through his hair. “I thought you an untutored young woman sorely in need of a husband and children. Good Lord, I’d never have dreamed of thrusting you into Society had I known the truth.”
“And if I’d told you everything, at the beginning, what would you have done?”
He had no answer. He had no idea.
Jillian bit her lip. “When I came to London,” she said in a trembling voice, “I’d no intention of hiding Anna or pretending she didn’t exist, but before I dared mention her, you’d already convinced me it was too dangerous. I was sure you’d take her away from me, and I’d have done anything . . . anything . . . to prevent that.” Tears streamed down her cheeks and she rubbed them away angrily. “But now you’ve found out.”
In his whole life, Mark had never felt so cold. He could think of nothing to say, and he heard his own voice, terse and forbidding, snap words that seemed unconnected to his mind. “If you wish me to forget the child’s existence, I shall endeavor to ignore her.” Furious with himself, he stared at a point just over her head. “Devil take it, Miss Lamb, I only came here to see how you were doing. Make sure you were getting along. Find out if you needed anything. Cows. Sheep. An increase in your allowance.”
Jillian lifted watery eyes and their gazes met for the first time. And held. “Really? You’ll go away and not bother us?”
“Yes.”
A profound silence engulfed the room.
“Not even a bailiff?” she said after a while.
“Not even that,” he agreed.
Jillian released a long sigh as her lashes closed, severing the inexplicably intimate contact. “Shall I tell you about her, then?” she asked timidly.
Relieved, Mark crossed his ankles and sat back more comfortably. “I’d like that, but you don’t have”
“I expect you have a right to know, and I want to tell you. I should have done so at the beginning, before you and Aunt Margaret were embarrassed—”
“Don’t,” he begged. “Margaret bears you no ill and assures me that I am fully responsible for messing everything up.” He smiled wanly. “Indeed, she wonders that you endured me as long as you did. I know she’d be pleased to hear from you.”
Pulling a crumpled handkerchief from her apron pocket, Jillian blew her nose. “I’ve wanted to write her,” she admitted, “but I thought perhaps it would be best not to.” She cleared her throat. “I did tell her the truth about Anna, just before I left, and she seemed to understand, although she said I ought to tell you, too. But I could not, and she promised to keep my secret.”
Mark choked back an oath, hurt and offended that Jillian trusted his aunt and not him. Was he such a monster?
“Women understand these things better,” Jillian said, as if sensing his reaction. Nervously, she stood and moved behind her chair, holding on to the back with both hands. “Anna is the daughter of my governess, Annalisa Lindstrom. Da brought her from Sweden when Mother died. She was an orphan, only fifteen when she came, and never spoke of her family. I’m certain she was reared in a proper household, though, because Annalisa was nearly as impeccably mannered as you are. She knew everything—or seemed to—and educated me better than any school could have done. It seemed so unfair that she would spend her whole life taking care of me without a life of her own, but then she fell in love.
“It only lasted one summer, about the time I’d started to think about young men without also thinking about putting frogs down their backs. It was so romantic. He was excessively handsome and ever so courtly. I used to hide out when they met in the garden and listened to them talk. He wanted to marry her, and I heard him propose time and again, but she wouldn’t agree. He was far above her touch, she always said. I never understood what that meant. How could anyone be too good for Annalisa? But I did understand that his parents would not approve. They didn’t like me, either, and his father used to run me off when I trespassed on their estate. I know it’s wrong to hate anyone, but I’ll always despise the Marquess for what he did to his son and then to his granddaughter.”
The Earl’s head shot up. Lassiter. “Those green eyes,” he whispered. “I knew I’d seen them before.” He drew a long, ragged breath. “Dear Lord. Anna is Jamie’s child.”
Jillian regarded him somberly. “Yes. You told me once that you knew him.”
“We were at Trinity together.” Mark felt his eyes burning. “I can’t believe it. Jamie has a daughter. God, it’s . . . like a miracle.’
“You are pleased? I thought you’d be horrified. She is still a bastard, you know. Jamie was off to the Navy before Annalisa knew she was pregnant. She wrote to him, of course, but we had word he’d been killed at Trafalgar before her message could have reached him. His last letter to her was delayed by the war for months and only arrived after she was gone. Jamie proposed again and promised they’d marry when he came home, his parents be damned. Yes, I read the letter and have saved it for little Anna. It’s the only thing she will ever have of her father.”
On his feet, Mark paced the room in a surge of energy. “Jamie’s daughter,” he said again. “To think there is something of him still alive!” Suddenly he whipped around. “You haven’t told Lassiter?”
“Certainly, we told him, for all he cared. Da was off on one of his expeditions when the baby was born, and the midwife put her in my arms while she tried to save Annalisa. She had a raging fever and wouldn’t stop bleeding. God, it was awful. I was seventeen and scared out of my wits. The baby was crying and Annalisa was screaming, and then she didn’t make any sound except a rattling in her throat, and then she died.” Jillian’s knuckles were white as she clenched the chair. “We found a wet nurse and cared for the child until Da came home a few months later. By then I loved little Anna like my own daughter, but Da said we had to give her over to her own family. It was the hardest day of my life, except for the day Annalisa died, when we took the baby to meet her grandparents. They refused to acknowledge her. A year later, when her eyes turned to green, we were sure they could not fail to admit she was a Lassiter, so we tried again. They ordered us out of the house.”
Recalling his last encounter with the drunken Marquess and his dull-witted wife, Mark had no reason to doubt it. Lifting his head, he looked into Jillian’s haunted eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
“I already explained that.” She turned her gaze to the floor. “Before I came to London for the allowance, things had got so bad that Anna tried to rescue us on her own. She wrote a letter and had it delivered secretly to the Marquess. The torn pieces were sent back to me in an envelope. Anna is very smart, My Lord, and wise beyond her years. Whatever she begged of her grandfather, it was refused, and I could not bear to have her put through that rejection again. If you knew about her, I was certain you’d insist on forcing her into her grandparents’ custody whether they wanted her or not. Perhaps I was wrong, but with Anna at risk I couldn’t take the chance, even if it meant lying to you.”
“Did you imagine I’d never find out?�
� he asked with a frown. “I am your guardian.”
“And so was your father, but he didn’t know. I expected you’d send me home with no questions asked if I made myself sufficiently repellent. When that didn’t work, I tried going along with you, thinking you’d eventually lose interest in the whole business and let me quietly slip away. But suddenly all those men were proposing to me and I felt as if I’d been caught in a whirlpool. Finally, I had to tell you the truth.”
“But you did not,” he reminded her. “Why did you want me to think she was your own child?”
“To give you an absolute and permanent contempt of me,” she said bleakly. “If you thought I’d borne a bastard child, I fully expected never to see you again.”
“I . . . understand.” And he did understand. A few months earlier, he’d likely have done exactly what she feared. One way or another, he’d have compelled the Marquess of Lassiter to acknowledge his bastard granddaughter, or given the child up to . . . whom? Not to Jillian Lamb, that was certain. At the time, he’d thought her a bad-tempered, uncontrollable, irresponsible farm girl.
So wrong, again. When was the last time he’d made a right decision? He crossed to the window and stared past a neat herb garden toward a small enclosed pasture. One sheep, somehow different from the others, stood alone in the corner with its head bowed.
“Miss Lamb,” he said with austere formality, “I came here with no intention of disrupting your life. That has not changed. But I hope that in the future you will not hesitate to call upon me if you need anything.” He sighed. “For now, your foster daughter could not be in a better place, but you must admit that when she is older—”
“I know,” Jillian interrupted wretchedly. “Sometimes I lie awake at night wondering what will become of her. Anna is so splendid, My Lord. All the best of her father and mother. How unfair that she will never have a real family or a name she can call her own.”
And how unfair, thought Mark, that Jillian Lamb should sacrifice her own future—without regret or a second thought—for a child not her own. How could he help her? The both of them?
Anna, resplendent in a ruffled turquoise dress and white slippers, burst into the room. “Tea!” she announced loudly. Mrs. Enger followed, accompanied by a maid, both carrying laden silver plate trays. “Peach tarts,” the little girl informed the Earl, plucking one from a dish and offering it with a flourish. “You’ll like these, and you can have all of them except one for me and one for Jilly.”
With charming aplomb, Miss Anna orchestrated the distribution of tea and sweets until both trays were nearly empty. It was impossible to resist or refuse her, and Mark was relieved when Jillian suggested a walk. For some reason, in spite of his stiff demeanor and monosyllabic responses to her bright chatter, Anna seemed to like him. Firmly clutching his taut fingers, she led him outside and to the paddock he’d noticed through the window, the one with the lone sheep in the corner. Jillian trailed along, and the three of them leaned companionably against the wooden gate.
“That’s our sulky ram,” chirped Anna.
“Indeed.” Now that he thought of it, the isolated sheep did look different from the others. So that was a ram. From this distance, he couldn’t see enough of what mattered to tell.
“He’s in love,” the child confided, “and we can’t get him to top the other ewes.”
Speechless, Mark looked at Jillian. Her cheeks were rosy pink.
“Anna, if you want to stay outdoors, go change out of your good dress,” she directed. With a loud groan the child scampered off, and the Earl caught a mischievous glint in two coffee-brown eyes.
‘‘We call him Ramses the Reluctant because he won’t do his duty,” explained Jillian in a suspiciously artless voice. “This is the first time it’s happened here, but Jock says it’s not uncommon. Now and again a ram fixes on one of the ewes and refuses the others. Usually, if the apple of his eye is removed from the paddock, the fellow will get on about his business, but sometimes he goes into a decline. We’ve tried everything, but Ramses just stands there in the corner with his head down. It’s pitiful. He scarcely eats . . . see how thin he is.”
Without question, the ram was miserable. His legs were spread wide, as if in male discomfort, and he faced the comer, nose pressed against the thorny hedgerow, clearly sulking for the one lover he wanted and could not have.
Mark knew exactly how he felt.
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE EARL PROPPED his chin on his folded arms. “Surely a romance between sheep is fleeting, Miss Lamb. Why not simply leave him alone with his lady-love until he gets over the obsession?” He gestured to the immobile, unremarkable creatures in the adjacent pasture. “Do you know which one she is?”
“Certainly.” Jillian chuckled. “Before Ramses is put to the ewes, Jock stains his belly with a yellow dye which rubs off on his . . . ah . . . conquests. His sweetheart looks like a ripe lemon with legs. The thing is, if Ramses had his way, there’d be one lamb to show for the entire season. On a sheep farm, My Lord, fidelity is not a virtue.”
Mark felt his neck go hot. He was also damnably curious to see what made one female sheep irresistible. They all looked alike to him, dull-eyed and singularly devoid of personality. “Er . . . where is she?”
“Long gone to a neighbor’s pasture. When temptation is removed, the gentleman usually drowns his sorrows in unbridled lust, but not our precious Ramses. He’s eating his heart out, poor baby. I only wish we could send him off with his beloved to live happily ever after, but a tup is vastly expensive and for fifteen hundred pounds one hopes for a real Don Juan. Jock says that if he doesn’t snap out of this unmanly melancholy within the week, specific portions of his anatomy will be served to the pigs for dinner.”
“I’d be pleased to provide you with another male sheep if you need one,” he said in a muffled voice. “As a . . . well, call it an apology, for my . . . for everything.”
“An apology?” Stepping back, Jillian looked him over head to toe. “Who are you?” she asked, dimpling.
“As to that,” he admitted with a lopsided smile, “I’m not altogether certain. When I figure it out, perhaps we can begin again, you and I.”
“Oh dear.” She cocked her head. “I was just getting used to the old Mark Delacourt.”
“Only consider that the new one might be a notable improvement.” He was uncomfortably aware that it was certain to be. “Perhaps I’ll end up as a country squire or even a shepherd.”
Leaning over the fence, Jillian cupped her hand to her mouth. “Run for your lives, sheep!”
Mark contrived to look offended, but his eyes shared the joke. “Notice they aren’t moving,” he said. “Actually, do they ever?”
“I’ll have you know those are our racing sheep.” She pointed to three ewes shuffling lazily toward an especially lush clump of grass. “Place your bet, Sir.”
“A guinea on the—how the devil do you tell them apart?—the one on the left.”
Looking surprised, she touched his forearm lightly. “My Lord, do say you’ll stay with us, at least for tonight. It will be such a treat for Anna. You can tell her stories about her father.”
Unaccountably flattered, Mark wished he could agree. “I rather expected to find you aiming a musket between my eyes and ordering me off the place.” With a mock curtsey, she pursed her lips. “But that would not be seemly, My Lord. And besides,” she added with a sigh, “you are my legal guardian.”
“No, Miss Lamb, I am not. Although I can do nothing to sever the legal ties, for all practical purposes you may consider the guardianship at an end.” He winced at the look of sheer pleasure that lit her face. Damn, but she was glad to be rid of him. “Naturally, I shall continue to invest your fortune,” he said curtly, “unless you wish to make other arrangements. Barrows can see to all correspondence and order the release of funds when you require them.�
�� He smiled a bit forlornly. “You needn’t look as though I’d just freed you from Turkish slavery.” Jillian regarded him solemnly. “I do not wish to be your ward,” she said, holding out her hand. “I much prefer to be your friend.”
Swallowing hard, the Earl grasped, her fingers. “Likely I’ll come running to you, at least by post, to ask your advice,” she warned him. “Don’t encourage me to do so, unless you are willing to be pestered constantly.”
“I’d like to be . . . pestered.”
“Then you will stay with us, perhaps for a few days?”
Mark shook his head. He could not stay in a house, unchaperoned, with Jillian Lamb. Never mind that he’d done so in London. Things were different now. Now he wanted her. “Impossible,” he clipped, stuffing his overheated hand in his pocket. “Foxworth is expecting me. At The Laughing Pig.”
“I think not,” she advised him with a grin. “As we speak, Foxy and Jock are blowing a cloud behind the stable.”
“The devil you say!” Spinning around, he saw his carriage drawn up to the house and servants busily unloading his cases. The horses were already unharnessed.
“So now you’ve no excuse,” she exclaimed. “And surely you will not disappoint Anna.”
Wearing a lime-green smock, the little girl was happily stroking the muzzle of a patient gelding while the ostler tried to lead him away. Mark smiled as Anna kissed the horse goodbye, and a moment later she was at his elbow.
“Will you come see the puppies?” she entreated. “And tell me about your horses? Jilly says I can have a pony sometime.” She tugged at his sleeve. “My birfday is the last day in June,” she added pointedly.
“I’ll alert Tattersall’s,” said the Earl with a lift of his eyebrow. The little devil. Not hard to tell who had raised her.