“Don’t worry,” he soothed. “I’m sure nothing will come of it.”
“But what if it does?” she said, now heartsick with worry.
“Well my mother has advised we should marry to properly legitimize the union.”
“But that won’t make Nicholas legitimate.”
“It would do so for any future children.”
Her gaze snapped to him. “Future children?” Although things had changed between them, the last time she’d asked about children, he’d stated quite emphatically he didn’t want another with her.
Dear Lord, was that what last night had been about, getting her with child to ensure the title remained in the direct line? She hadn’t given a thought to putting in the Dutch cap.
“I know what you are thinking and you couldn’t be more wrong. Last night we were careless. Just because my mother insists we rush to have another child does not mean we will. I feel more certain than she that Nicholas will inherit. Not only will I, but the duke will do everything in his power to make sure our marriage is upheld.” He was all quiet intensity. “The other option was that I permit him to have our marriage be declared null and void and take another wife and get her with child as soon as possible.”
Now that hurt. The thought of Alex married, making love, having children with someone else was like a knife in her heart.
“And how long did you ponder your choices?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her tightly against his chest. “Not one second,” he assured her.
“Do-do you want us to marry—I mean without your cousin’s threat to make our son illegitimate?”
“I will feel no more married to you than I do now. In my heart, you are my wife. You always have been. I just need your assurance that I won’t be standing alone at the altar this time.”
For a moment, she thought this was his attempt at amusement, but his solemn expression and unsmiling mouth stated otherwise.
Inhaling a sharp breath, she asked, “How can you ask that of me? Now that you know the truth, I have no secrets to hide.”
“Are you certain?” he asked.
“Quite certain. Although I should tell you, James doesn’t believe his mother was responsible for the letter and I have come to agree with him.”
“Yes, he mentioned that the evening of the ball.”
So they had already discussed it.
“I was relieved you decided to tell him the truth.”
“I was going to tell you but it appears my brother beat me to it.” It was funny, now that she’d confessed all to family and friends, she felt less burdened by it and less ashamed.
“But you have my assurance, there will be a wedding this time.”
Alex stared intently at her, as if trying to read her mind, see into the heart he’d claimed long ago. He may be willing to give their marriage a real try, but she could see he still didn’t trust her—at least not fully—which meant he truly didn’t understand why she’d left. And because he could not understand, he may not be able to find it in his heart to forgive.
But her assurance appeared to satisfy him enough for he pressed her head back against his chest and kissed the top of her head without saying another word.
Chapter Twenty-One
Alex rarely had cause to go to the back rooms. It was the servants’ haven, a place they were assured their privacy; a place the master seldom tread. Today, however, he’d arrived home and Alfred hadn’t answered the bell, which was rarer than a Whig at White’s, and his housekeeper was nowhere in sight.
The hallway was narrower and darker in the rear of the manor. As Alex made his way toward his butler’s office, he made a note to himself to have more lighting installed.
He passed the still room and business room and was passing Conrad’s office when he heard a voice—feminine given the pitch—behind the solid oak door. He paused and listened. He cared little about how his employees conducted their private affairs when they weren’t at work, but he wouldn’t tolerate the man dallying about on the job. And over the last two months, Conrad’s behavior had begun to make him uneasy. There had been one too many times he’d disappeared from the house and when questioned claimed he’d been in town on manor business.
The last time it had occurred, Alex had vowed to speak to the tailor, with whom Conrad had said he’d had to visit to settle a bill. But these last few weeks, Alex had opted to spend more time with his wife.
He heard it again, his ears confirming the voice was indeed feminine and it was soon followed by a masculine one. They were speaking low enough and the door was solid enough that he couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he’d wager it had nothing to do with work.
Alex rapped on the door.
The voices stopped and the place fell eerily quiet. Alex rapped again, this time more forcefully. “Conrad, are you in there?” Which his steward would have been smart to translate as, Open the bloody door.
It was as if the sound of his employer’s voice set the man in motion. Alex heard the sound of chairs scraping and a door closing before finally, and with what seemed the utmost care, the door slid open only wide enough to reveal his steward’s pale face and sandy hair that looked as if it had been hastily finger combed.
“My lord, I did not know you’d returned.” Conrad stood in the doorway, the whites of his eyes expansive, and a nervous ingenuous smile; sure signs of a guilty man, a man who’s been up to no good.
Alex stepped forward, forcing the man to move aside or get run over. Inside the small office, he surveyed the room, noting the oak desk holding a stack of ledgers and two ink stands. Attached to his office was his sleeping quarters in the back.
“You there,” Alex called out, “show yourself.”
“Your lordship,” Conrad protested.
Alex gave him a look he’d once been told made grown men quake. Beyond that, he ignored him completely.
“If you do not come out now, I will be forced to come for you and frankly, I’d rather not.”
His steward made not a sound, or perhaps it was him whimpering. Alex had thought it was the woman. The door to his private room opened and a figure emerged. Alex started and blinked hard when the light revealed her face.
“Jillian?”
With her hazel eyes filled with fear, she stared up at him. “Please don’t tell Miz Charlotte,” she said before dropping her head.
Words failed him, something that appeared to be happening more and more. He spun to face his steward.
“We were just—I was showing her the office.” His voice trailed off, ineffective and as weak as his pitiful excuse.
“You,” Alex said sharply to Jillian. “Go to your room and be sure, I fully intend to speak to your mistress about this.”
His wife’s maid scampered from the office not giving him cause to repeat himself.
“And you.” Alex returned his stony stare to his soon-to-be former steward. “You will pack your things and leave at once. Am I understood?”
As he’d been hit on his head hard enough to leave him momentary dazed, Conrad stared at him. “You cannot be serious?” he croaked, his expression one of utter disbelief.
Conrad had always been a touch arrogant.
“I assure you I am,” Alex said between gritted teeth.
His steward blinked and shook his head as if trying to clear it. “Surely you are not going to dismiss me over her?” His tone made it abundantly clear in precisely what esteem he held the mulatto maid.
Alex seethed, barely able to hold his temper in check.
Conrad continued down his very short road to self-destruction unabated. “But, my lord, it was she who has been flinging herself at me. You must know how those woman—”
Lightning fast, Alex’s hand shot out and clamped around his steward’s throat. Conrad’s eyes widened to the size of saucers and he made a gurgled sound in his throat, on which Alex tightened his hold.
“Finish that sentence and it w
ill be the last thing you say.”
After a pause, the terrified man nodded mutely.
Alex eased his grip. “Now I am giving you one hour to pack your belongings and vacate these premises. Should I hear you have spoken an ill word about that young woman, I ensure you will not even be able to find employment as a dockworker in all of England. Have I made myself clear?”
Conrad’s head bobbed.
Dropping his hand from around the man’s throat, Alex retreated a step and gave a curt nod. “One hour,” he warned before departing the room.
Charlotte returned home late that afternoon to find Jillian hovering near the bottom of the principle staircase.
After Charlotte handed her bonnet and cloak to the footman, she approached her. Strangely, Jillian stayed back, not offering her usual greeting or smile. In fact as Charlotte drew closer, she saw the terror on Jillian’s face. Her heart sank and landed with a splat.
“My dear, what is the matter? What has happened?” Charlotte could hear the panic in her own voice as she whispered fervent prayers that something untoward had not occurred again. The last time, Jillian had been lucky to escape with only her dress ripped at the shoulder as she’d withstood the pawing hands of the butcher’s son. Charlotte should have known when he’d offered to deliver the meats directly to the house, he was up to no good. But then he’d been so mannerly and polite until the incident.
She’d been forced to switch butchers and insisted Jillian not appear when gentlemen called. Except for Lucas, of course. She’d actually been pleasantly surprised they’d had no trouble with the men here.
Jillian forced a wan smile and tugged the folds of her checkered skirts, but such a look of fear clouded her hazel eyes, Charlotte immediately took her by the hand and led her to the morning room.
After sitting her down and taking the seat next to her on the sofa, Charlotte took her hand in hers. “Now tell me what is wrong.”
Nearly incoherent, Jillian, hands trembling uncontrollably, said in an equally shaky voice, “The master iz gonna send me home.”
Charlotte might have laughed had the matter not been so serious. “Now what would ever give you such an idea?” she asked gently.
Jillian lowered her head, her dark curls veiling most of her face. “He found me in Mr. Conrad’s room,” she mumbled, her sun-kissed complexion giving way to the blush of red.
The knot of dread Charlotte had felt upon first seeing her grew so tight it cut her breath clean in half. She stared at Jillian’s down-bent head.
Oh dear Lord, not again.
“He didn’t—he didn’t…?” Charlotte couldn’t even get the words out, the thought so repugnant.
Jillian’s head shot up, her expression horrified. “Oh no, Miz Charlotte, it was nuttin’ like that,” she cried. “I like Mr. Conrad. He wasn’t trying to force me or anyt’ing like that. Not like the others. He treated me real nice.”
Charlotte tipped her head back and closed her eyes. For a moment, she allowed relief to wash over her. But it was the minutest of reprieves for instantly her eyes snapped open. “What do you mean you like him? Has he—have you…?”
“No,” Jillian denied, shaking her head. “He’s only kissed me the one time.”
“Oh Jillian.” Charlotte moaned her name in despair.
“But, Miz Charlotte, he sed he likes me a lot. He told me I was beautiful.”
She looked so earnest and innocent. And Mr. Conrad was much older. She’d hazard a guess he was close to thirty years if he was a day. Oh he was a handsome one all right. Charlotte had seen the female servants all a titter whenever he strolled by, light-brown hair, startling green eyes. Definitely the kind of face to turn a young girl’s head—and break her heart.
“And my husband, what did he say?”
Jillian’s face reddened as she ducked her head. “He sed he was gonna talk to you ’bout it.”
“And Mr. Conrad?” How had he fared? Did the man still have his position?
Without looking up, Jillian shrugged her shoulders in a helpless, defeated gesture.
The whole thing was a mess. But of course she’d do her best to smooth things over with Alex, which was precisely what she told Jillian before she sent her upstairs to check on Nicholas.
Charlotte found Alex in his study. He sat at his desk rubbing his hands wearily over his face. His head shot up when she entered. Pushing back his chair, he came to his feet. “I’ve dismissed Mr. Conrad,” he said tersely.
The situation had just gotten worse.
“You don’t look surprised,” he said, eyeing her grimly. “I take it your maid told you where I discovered her.”
“That you found her in his rooms, yes she did.”
Casting his gaze off in the distance, Alex’s chest rose and fell on a heavy sigh. “I didn’t even ask her. Did she tell you whether his attentions were unwanted?”
Charlotte could well imagine he’d no doubt been too angry to inquire about Jillian’s well-being.
“No, going by what she told me, Jillian appears to be somewhat infatuated with your steward.”
Alex emitted a humorless laugh and strode toward the window. “He had no right to carry on in my house with one of the servants.”
Charlotte was taken aback at the hard tone of his voice and the impersonal manner in which he referred to Jillian. “Yes, while technically she is my servant and I pay her a wage, Jillian has always been more than just a servant to me,” she replied in a tight voice.
Alex’s spine stiffened as he angled a glance at her over his shoulder. “I am well aware you are extremely fond of her but that doesn’t change the facts. She is your maid, she helps care for our child.”
“She’s a young girl whose head was turned by a handsome man. Such things are bound to happen.”
His eyebrows shot up. He looked positively stupefied. “Are you condoning their behavior?” he asked.
“No, I am asking you to show a little compassion. Did you truly have to dismiss him? Jillian will be crushed when she learns. And I’m sure she’ll feel responsible.”
With a rueful shake of his head, Alex advanced toward her, stopping just short of arm’s length. “The man was playing with her. He would have seduced and left her to stew.”
Ten minutes before, Charlotte had felt much the same but now hearing it from her husband’s mouth, got her back up. “You can’t possibly know that for certain.”
His gaze narrowed. “Do you truly believe he intended to marry her?” He spoke as pigs flying or two-headed cows were more a possibility.
“I-I’m—”
“Because if you do, you are only fooling yourself. Men like Mr. Conrad—”
“What? Would never stoop to marry a girl like her, correct? She may be beautiful enough to dally with, but she would never be good enough for marriage. Isn’t that what you mean?” she charged, fighting a tide of tumultuous emotions.
Suddenly his voice turned urgent. “Charlotte, our situation is not the same. I can’t believe you would compare them.”
“No? Isn’t it the same? The only difference is that I look like this,” she cried, pointing to the paleness of her skin, “and she looks like that.”
“The biggest difference is that I love you and Conrad only wants her in his bed. He was dallying with her.” Charlotte could tell he strived to keep a sensible, calm tone but frustration edged his voice.
Good Lord, she should be happy. He’d just confessed his love for her. Words she’d never thought to hear from his mouth again. But the situation with Jillian reminded her that sometimes love did not triumph in the end.
“But don’t you see, Alex, should anyone discover the truth about me nothing else would matter. It wouldn’t matter how I looked—that my skin and hair are this color. It wouldn’t matter that my father was an earl or that my husband is a marquess and future duke. They would only see the part of me that’s my mother. The part that will never be good enough.” Charlotte willed the tears not to fall.
“I have never
lived my life to satisfy those in Society or elsewhere and I never will. I love you and everything that makes you who you are. And for that I will forever be grateful to your mother.”
“Oh Alex, you say that now but you don’t know what the future holds. They have always accepted you even when your father did not.”
“Will you stop loving me?” he asked.
Startled, Charlotte responded without thought. “Of course not.”
“Then why do you think I’ll stop loving you should things get hard or unpleasant or scandal falls down on our house? Do I appear to be a man lacking in character? A man weak of mind as well as spine?”
“No, you are a good man. You are the best man. But can anyone be sure unless one’s love is truly tested? Maybe I’m selfish, but we are finally together after five years and I simply don’t want to risk losing you again. But I fear I shall in any case.”
The person who’d written the letter was still out there. That she was sure of.
Alex’s face was a myriad of emotions: frustration, anguish and love. He studied her a long time before saying in as defeated tone as she’d ever heard, “Charlotte, if you do not know me well enough by now, then I truly did lose you five years ago. If I don’t have your trust in this, then we have nothing.”
He remained there long enough for his words to settle in and drag her under like quicksand. He then turned and strode from the room, leaving her standing alone and numb. Moments later, she heard the hollow echo of his footsteps as he ascended the stairs.
Shaken, Charlotte made her way to a nearby chair and sat down hard. She pressed her hand over her heart.
Five years ago she’d crossed the Atlantic to America alone yet she’d never felt as alone as she felt at that moment.
Chapter Twenty-Two
After everything they’d been through, she still didn’t love him enough to fully trust him.
The pain of it twisted his insides. Alex remembered the look in her eyes, the wrenching sadness in her face. He was no longer the man she once loved. Somehow, somewhere along their journey to this place in their lives, he had morphed into a man who would judge her and find her wanting. A sheep easily herded by rigid strictures of Society.
An Heir of Deception (The Elusive Lords) Page 27