by Jane Lark
He fought to keep his voice level and his expression impassive, “I am afraid there was not time,” refusing to show the kick he felt in his stomach when she mentioned the title.
He could do naught now but accept the child must not be Gainsborough’s but this Duke’s. The sharp pain in Edward’s chest was undeniable, but he refused to heed it, refused to contemplate the questions racing in his head again. There would come a time for him to ask them and have the answers, but for now his role was simply to support Ellen.
Rising, Ellen’s trembling hands held her cloak closed as her chin tilted up. “Is my word not good enough, Mrs Falkes? My son may be lodged with you at His Grace’s behest, but I am still his mother.”
Her determination made the Dame back down. He was stunned into silence too. He hadn’t really seen this side of Ellen until tonight. Mrs Falkes turned and disappeared from the room, mumbling about the choirmaster being unhappy. Apparently the boy had a solo to perform in the King’s chapel.
Ellen’s eyes turned to him as the woman’s footsteps could be heard on the stairs, “I’m sorry, Edward,” she whispered. “I never intended for you to be drawn into this. I did not wish to make you lie for me.”
Stepping towards her, his fingers lifted and brushed her cheek. “You know I would do anything for you.”
His words were interrupted by the sound of light quick footsteps hurrying down the stairs. “My Mama has come?” The voice was high pitched and still croaky with sleep.
“Master Harding, do remember your manners. Your mother is in haste. She will not want you to make a fuss over her.”
Edward felt the breath catch in his lungs. This was Ellen’s son. His whole existence tilted on an unsteady axis.
The door opened wider, readmitting Mrs Falkes, and before her stood a boy, about four foot high, slender, with dark hair and astonishingly pale blue eyes like his mother’s, rimmed with long, black lashes. Those eyes stared at Edward, widening in lack of recognition, then the boy blinked and lifted his fisted knuckles to rub the sleep from his eyes.
“John? Darling,” Ellen spoke, dropping to her knees. “You’ve grown.”
Edward watched the boy’s face transform from mystified tiredness to utter delight.
“Mama!” The boy pulled free from the Dame and ran to his mother, throwing his arms about Ellen’s neck and pressing his cheek to her temple. Ellen hugged the boy in return, tears staining her cheeks.
All caution and concern slid from Edward’s thoughts as he watched Ellen hold her son. His fears were irrelevant before the joy of this reunion. In its place he felt only overwhelming satisfaction and pride. His eyes turning back to Mrs Falkes, he found the woman watching him. His look of fondness for the scene had perhaps revealed too much.
He looked back at Ellen. “Come, Mrs Harding, we should not delay.”
Ellen gave her son one last squeeze, as though to confirm the boy’s solidity and reassure herself this was not a dream, then rose. Once standing, she captured the child’s hand in hers in a way that suggested she was making a mental vow never to let go. “We’re ready. John, we are taking you home for a while, I will explain on the way.” As Ellen began leading the boy towards the door, Edward turned to Mrs Falkes.
“Thank you, Madam,” he acknowledged with a nod. The woman bobbed a shallow curtsy.
“You will keep me informed of what is happening, Mrs Harding?” she said as she rose, following the pair of them with her eyes.
“Of course,” Ellen responded, but Edward could hear in her voice that her mind had already turned to getting as far away from here as possible.
“Madam,” he acknowledged as they reached the front door and Ellen took the boy out.
“My Lord,” the woman replied with a look of caution, her eyes again darting from him to Ellen. She was having second thoughts. He turned, ignoring the risk, and strode off along the drive. Their horses whinnied and stamped, their breath misting in the cold dark air. Glancing back he saw the woman still standing in the doorway, framed by the light of the house. They needed to get the boy away from here, quickly.
As he reached the horses, he met Ellen’s gaze and spoke in a low tone. “I’ll take the boy up before me. Mount up quickly.”
“I will take him. I want to.”
He nodded agreement and offered her his cupped hands.
Her dainty dancing shoe pressed into his makeshift step and he boosted her up.
Then while Ellen settled into the saddle and arranged her cloak to cover her exposed legs as her dress rucked up when she sat astride, he turned to the boy. “Ready, John?”
The lad nodded, looking wide-eyed at Edward, clearly still sleepy.
Edward smiled.
The boy smiled back, silver moonlight illuminating his face—so like Ellen’s.
“Ready, Sir,” he answered.
“Up we go then,” Edward caught the child about the ribs, before lifting him up to the pommel of Ellen’s saddle.
Ellen’s arms surrounded him and he shifted to sit astride.
Edward untied the animals’ reins and passed hers up. When his fingers brushed hers she caught them briefly. He glanced up and met a look of gratitude.
She smiled, let go, then turned her horse and tapped her heels, stirring the animal into a trot.
Edward smiled to himself, clasped his reins in one hand, set a foot in the stirrup and swung up. At least he was earning her trust. With a quick directional tug on the reins he turned the animal, prodding the horse into a canter to catch up with Ellen.
When he reached them she was pulling her cloak tightly about the boy to keep him warm. Edward mirrored her animal’s pace and made a decision not to look back as he sensed the Dame still watching. Instead his eyes turned to Ellen and the boy. The child’s expression was lit by exhilaration as he looked up at his mother with a broad grin.
When they rode out of Eton the sky gradually paled to the light sapphire blue of dawn, while a blushing shade of red stretched from the horizon in the east. The trill of birdsong rose, lifting to its crescendo in a mass chorus to serenade the breaking dawn. The whole night had been surreal.
“Who are you, sir?” the boy twisted to ask, looking sideways in Edward’s direction.
Before Edward had chance to answer, Ellen’s voice filled the distance between them.
“This gentleman, John, is Lord Edward Marlow. He is a very good friend of ours.”
Leaning from the waist Edward bowed slightly, “I am at your service, Master Harding,” and then formally reached to offer the child his hand, their animals’ paces a steady canter. Accepting the gesture with what appeared a keen for excitement smile, the boy took Edward’s hand firmly.
“I am pleased to meet you, Lord Edward. Thank you for escorting my Mama.” The boy’s voice mimicked the severity of an adult.
Edward smiled and let go of the boys hand “You’re very welcome,” then added, “I hope we shall be friends,” before looking back to the road.
“Where to now, Ellen?” In the distance a crossroads loomed.
No answer.
“Ellen?” he encouraged again, but glancing across his shoulder for her response, what he saw was uncertainty, she’d thought no further than this point.
There was only one place he knew they could go where he would feel safe.
His gaze falling down to the child’s he concluded, “We’re heading for the Earl of Barrington’s estate in Yorkshire, my brother’s home, John. But first there is an inn in Guildford I know. We will stop there to break our fast and hire a carriage and then travel on.”
“I’ve never been to Yorkshire, Lord Edward,” the boy countered.
Edward reached across and pressed a hand on John’s forearm briefly, the weight of this new responsibility settling firmly on his shoulders. It instilled a revived sense of purpose in him. “Then we will have an adventure will we not, Master John? Come, we have a long way to travel.” With that he looked forward and tapped his heels urging his stallion to a gallop, throwing Ellen a look ov
er his shoulder that called her to follow and match his pace. In answer he caught another look of gratitude.
“Can we gallop, Mama?” He heard the boy call behind him.
Chapter Seven
Edward watched, waiting silently in the hall of the inn, as Ellen glanced backwards to her son who was still breaking his fast. When she turned to face Edward again she clicked the door of the private parlour shut and leaned back against it, one hand still tucked behind her, no doubt resting on the handle. Always cautious, especially when she felt pressured, he’d noted Ellen seemed to feel better when she knew there was an escape route. The obvious conclusion to be drawn from her pose was that she was still terrified of something, probably losing the boy.
She looked up and met Edward’s gaze.
“How is your head?” She’d shown no sign of concussion but even so he would be happier once she was in the carriage, resting.
“Sore,” she answered with a hesitant smile, “but not a problem,” she continued; then broke into a babble of apologetic words. “I’m sorry I put you in this position, Edward. I did not mean to. I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am, but won’t your brother dislike you taking us to his home? I don’t want to be—” He pressed the gloved tips of forefinger and index-finger to her lips, suspecting these apologies had been damming up in her head for hours. He neither expected nor wanted gratitude. He’d offered to protect her—to help her. He loved her, and with love came responsibility and dependence. She was his responsibility now and so was her son. And he would not admit to longing to know who the child’s father was, not now. The hallway of an inn was not the place for such a conversation.
“My brother is not my keeper, Ellen, he owes me this at least, and Gainsborough cannot reach you on his property. Once there we can plan what to do next in safety. I have hired a postchaise with a postillion rider to speed the journey and four men to accompany us. We have enough to change the driver and rider regularly so we can keep moving, weather permitting. They’ll be armed, and we’ll have at least two outriders just in case Gainsborough plays any unexpected games, so you have no need to fear.” Completing the explanation of his plans, he let his fingers fall and smiled.
She looked at him, visibly nervous and uncertain.
If he’d lived her life he supposed he’d be cautious too.
“How is your son? He’s well? Content?”
“I should have told you, I—” She started apologising again.
Edward shook his head. He did not want to hear it. The only thing he wanted to know was the whys and whose, but it was not the time to ask.
“You had your reasons, Ellen. I’m just glad you came to me in the end. We’ll talk later. For now we should hurry. We aren’t far from London, and we’ve a long way to travel. Have John bring some food with him if he’s still hungry.”
“Edward, you’ve not eaten.” Her eyes held his, full of insecurity.
She must know he had questions.
“I’m not hungry, Ellen. I need to see the horses saddled.”
“You are riding?” She sounded relieved.
Don’t tell me there are even more secrets you fear the boy could tell? The possibilities he’d patched together in his head were now shambolic. He daren’t even try to imagine what more there could be, but if there was more, he wanted to hear it from her, not her son. “Yes, Ellen, I’ll leave the carriage to you and John. I am sure you will prefer to be alone.”
Ellen felt a chill grip her heart. She’d pushed him away.
He was angry, even though he was helping. But he was helping, that was what mattered.
I have John.
Turning back to the door, resting both her fingers and her forehead to the wood she listened to Edward’s footsteps striking the bare floorboards in harsh, brisk strides as he walked away.
She had her son. She could barely believe it. Yet she did not want to lose Edward any more than she wished to be parted from John again. Her fingers turned the handle and released the door.
John’s eyes lifted to her and he smiled.
She smiled too. “Lord Edward asks us to make ready. Shall we pack some bread and cheese into a napkin and take a picnic?”
She’d not seen John for two years. He was so much taller, older. She had only seen him a few times since the day he’d been taken from her, hardly more than a baby. Blinking back tears, she crossed the room to him.
He stood. “Mama, is something wrong?” The concern in his voice reminded her of his father, all bristling honour and pride.
“Nothing is wrong, John, nothing.” Everything is right now I have you. She lifted his chin and kissed his cheek. He was growing up. One day he’d be a man—a man she feared would not respect her once he knew what she was. Casting the thought aside, she hugged him firmly. She would think of the time they had together and nothing else, she was going to make the most of it, however long it lasted.
A few minutes later they stepped from the inn into a sharp wind which swept at her cloak and her skirt, spinning the dust of the courtyard up in a whirl about her feet. Edward was waiting by the carriage door. Clutching John’s hand she ran to it and handed him up, but when her foot touched the step to follow, she felt Edward’s fingers rest under her elbow.
“If you need anything, or need to stop, just knock on the roof by the driver’s box.” His words were a brusque statement, hiding any undercurrent of emotion.
She stopped, looking over her shoulder, opening her mouth to speak, but could think of nothing say. His gaze had turned to the outriders. She’d apologised to him already, more than once, and he’d dismissed it. He didn’t want an apology, yet he probably wanted explanations she didn’t wish to give. When he looked back, all she did was nod her agreement, before climbing into the carriage.
Edward shut the door in her wake and bowed slightly, possibly out of habit. He had no need to bow to a courtesan. He’d not done it before, not unless he’d been jesting. And actually, if he’d slipped into formality, it implied he’d set a distance between them.
Did he no longer feel close to her?
He turned and strode away.
She felt like crying as she leaned back into the carriage’s leather seat and watched him walk across the courtyard, tall, strong and dependable. Confidence and command in his every movement, he called his final orders to the men he’d hired, then slipped his foot into his stirrup and pulled himself up into the saddle, as though it was the simplest thing to do.
The man was beautiful but there was an air of risk about him today—danger—with his jaw unshaven and his dark brown hair ruffled by the chill wind that had caught up while they’d eaten. His hand lifted, signalling to their entourage, and in answer she felt the coach roll into motion. As the carriage pulled away, she leaned forward to keep Edward in view for as long as she could, until he finally disappeared behind them.
John hugged her, drawing her attention back to him. Collecting a blanket from the far seat, she laid it over him. There were hot bricks on the floor to keep them warm.
She had thrust them both upon Edward’s charity when he’d not even known of John’s existence. Now she was obligated to Edward. She felt vulnerable. The circumstances were too similar to when she had lost John. She didn’t know how this would end; what Edward thought.
Her fingers gently caressing John’s ebony hair, she felt his weight increase as he fell asleep. She pulled the blanket up across his shoulders then rested her brow against the side of the carriage, looking out the window.
Edward was riding at their side, slightly ahead, his seat in the saddle perfect, the horse a part of him. He’d thought of everything when he’d organised this, in less than an hour. The thought did not reassure her. If he liked his life so well ordered it was hardly a positive thing, she had foisted herself and John upon him and thrown it out of kilter. He’d hired the carriage and the men. He was taking them as far as Yorkshire. But what then? She didn’t want to think on it. She dare not guess the questions and emotions ci
rculating in his head.
He’d offered her marriage but he’d not anticipated a child to support. He’d told her he loved her, but had John’s existence changed his feelings?
A tear streaked down her cheek. She wiped it away. Now was not the time for self-indulgent tears over a life she’d lost years before. She had John. She must take things as they came, yet she could not help but hope she would not face the future alone but with Edward.
~
Edward was jolted awake as the carriage hit another rut in the road. His gaze on Ellen and the boy, he lifted his head from the padded leather squabs, stretched his neck and arms, and took his feet from the seat opposite to set them on the floor. At their last stop, for dinner and a change of horses, when he’d told her his decision not to stop but press on as the night was bright, she’d insisted he take a rest and sleep. They had fallen asleep too. The boy was cradled beneath her arm, his head resting on her breast.
The child had clung to her all day, or perhaps it was Ellen who’d clung to the boy.
Edward recalled the moment she’d asked him to stay with John while she’d sought out the necessary after they’d eaten luncheon. Edward remembered the feel of a small uncertain hand clasping his. He’d been struck dumb when the child asked how Edward knew Ellen. He’d given a diplomatic answer, which was not an outright lie, explaining that they’d met through a mutual acquaintance.
The boy’s inquisitiveness moved on then to questions on the horses Edward had hired, and Edward had agreed to let John ride for an hour rather than return him to the carriage. A promise Ellen had not liked but did not refuse.
Edward felt a smile twitch his lips, inspired by the boy’s pleasure at the merest thing. It amused Edward. As they’d ridden together, the child on the pommel of Edward’s saddle, observing the wildlife and sharing anecdotes of boyhood carousing, Edward’s own renewed zest for life had grown. He had purpose again, Ellen and this child.
But there are still so many unanswered questions.
His mind searched through the possibilities as he watched them sleep. The boy was like Ellen in looks and nature. He was certainly not Gainsborough’s; he knew Ellen had only been with him five years. Who had sired John? How many men had there been in Ellen’s life? He took a breath. ‘The Duke.’ The Dame’s words still haunted Edward. His brain had been cluttered with unendurable conclusions and suspicions for hours, that torturous emotion, envy, roiling in his veins. He hated thinking of her with others. He’d borne Gainsborough’s taunting, even though it had made Edward feel physically sick, because he’d had no choice, but to think there were others who’d touched her like that was like having a knife driven into his stomach.