by Regina Darcy
“I wish you Godspeed.”
If the whelp was angling for a ride in the carriage, he was wasting his time, Everard thought.
If that had been Jasper’s intent, he gave no indication that he had failed in his efforts. He raised his riding whip in farewell as the carriage pulled away from the street.
CHAPTER 8
Alistair showed Christopher the note that had been found in the basket with the baby. The writing was ill-formed, the spelling inconsistent. “I cannot keep this baby; it belongs to the Earl. I pray that you will give it a good home and kare for it. Don’t sent it to the poorhows; it ain’t the baby’s fault that Lord Christopher took a vantage of me.”
“Alistair, I have no idea what this means. I learned earlier today that I’ve been accused of fathering a baby on a former house parlour maid, Betsy something. Do you know anything about this?”
Alistair was reluctant to speak. “I know what I’ve heard, your lordship.”
“And what is that?”
“That there’s babies born to village girls after you’ve been home on leave,” Alistair admitted.
‘When did you hear this?”
“Only just started hearing it, sir. First time was just after you arrived, after the Earl died. I didn’t pay any mind, of course, but there’s never been a whisper of gossip about you before and I thought it most strange. Then a month or so ago, the blacksmith asked me if I knew what you were going to do about the baby. Of course I said I didn’t know what he was talking about.”
“This tale is all about the village?” Christopher felt trapped. How could he defend himself against a lie that had already been given credence?
“Seems to be sir.”
“Why the devil didn’t you say anything when I was here?”
“You weren’t here long, sir, and you were off to London. And I didn’t give it any credit. But they—the gossipers, sir—said that you must have done this every time you came home on leave, not that you came home often. People were saying that babies were born. It’s a lot of nonsense, sir, but I’ll be bound someone’s behind it.”
Which was what Everard said, later that evening when he arrived. He had delivered Beatrice to the Abbey, as she has wished. Christopher asked how Beatrice was feeling and Everard admitted that she was very pale and quiet.
“I find it very odd that suddenly, just as you’re about to pay court to the niece of the Abbess, the village suddenly is rife with tales of your philandering,” Everard said.
They were in the dining room, sharing a lacklustre meal of turbot prepared by Lily. The lady’s maid was taking care of the mysterious baby.
At least the bread was fresh; Christopher thought gloomily that perhaps he had avoided coming home because the food was so forbidding that it made army grub appetizing in contrast. He shouldn’t complain; Lily was a lady’s maid but she had borne up under the news that there was an infant that had been delivered to the doorstep of the manor.
“Yes, but damned if I know what to do about it. If I start going about the village asking questions, people are likely to say nothing at all. I’ve been away more than I’ve been here; they have no reason to credit me with anything but the same habits that my brother and father have been notorious for.”
“Speaking of your brother, is he here?”
“Jasper? No, why?”
“He said he wanted to be of help.”
“What sort of help can he possibly offer?” Christopher demanded.
“You don’t think he’s suddenly been struck by a fraternal bond of affection?”
“I’m in no mood for jests. I don’t think Jasper is likely to think of anyone but himself. I’d rather he not come here, frankly. His presence will only lend a sense of truth to the story.” When Everard didn’t answer, Christopher looked closely at his friend. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m wondering whether Jasper has had a hand in any of this.”
“Surely not. Even Jasper wouldn’t stoop so low.”
Everard met his friend’s gaze squarely. “Can you swear to it?”
“No, of course not, but how on earth would he go about it?”
“You said that Alistair started hearing the rumours when you returned home following your father’s death.”
“So?”
“So that was when you were going to stay in England and not return to your regiment.”
“It wasn’t as if I had a choice. I inherited the bloody title.”
“Yes, you are now the Earl. Until your father died, you were no threat to anyone. And everything is yours. Don’t you think that such a turn of events could affect Jasper?”
Christopher pushed his plate away. He’d eaten as much as he could to avoid hurting Lily’s feelings, but a fellow could only suffer so much. “ ‘Everything’ being a euphemism for debts and repairs,” he answered. “Certainly the title remains, but the estate is in deplorable condition. My reputation is of outmost importance. No one is going to want to marry their daughter off to a penniless earl who is rumoured to have fathered a village full of babies.”
“This Betsy Parkins . . . what does Alistair say about her?”
“She was a parlormaid, she left in the spring. He knows nothing about a baby; he just said that her wages weren’t paid and she left to find other employment. He believes she was hired on at the tavern.”
Everard looked alert. “The same tavern where you lodged overnight when you returned to the village upon your father’s death?”
“I suppose so; there’s only the one.”
“Interesting.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m wondering whether there’s a scheme afoot to discredit you as a husband. A conniving parlormaid with an inconvenient birth and a story that, at least on the surface, seems to be convincing? Perhaps there’s money involved.”
Christopher gave a short, humourless laugh. “Not from the Davenport estate, there isn’t.”
“Marriage to an heiress frees up the gold.”
“Yes, but I’m not marrying an heiress, or have you forgotten our appointment with the Abbess?”
“No . . . ” Everard said. He stood up. “I’m going to take lodgings at the tavern and see if I can find out more about this parlormaid. I think there’s more to this tale than has been told, and it’s vital that we discover just what’s going on. Someone doesn’t want you to marry Beatrice.”
“Why should anyone object to my marriage to Beatrice? She’s a delightful young lady. She would be a credit to any man and any family.”
“Someone may have eyes on her dowry. It’s no challenge of the mind to consider the names of gentlemen who would value her financial worth and care very little about her character.
Christopher thought, as Everard took his leave, that his friend would fare better at the tavern than he would have had he accepted hospitality at the estate. The fare at the tavern was rather good; in comparison to the food served at the Davenport estate, it was fit for the Prince Regent himself. But he knew that Everard would not be satisfying his palate at the tavern. Everard was a good friend and he was a determined seeker of answers; he had been that way in his studies at Eton, even as a youth, and it was clear that he had not changed. Which was very fortunate, because Christopher realized that he needed someone who would doggedly believe that he was not a villain.
CHAPTER 9
Beatrice displayed an unwonted maturity when she explained to her aunt that she had nothing more to say and simply wished to return to her chamber.
“Beatrice, you are no longer here as a novice,” the Abbess explained.
They were in the office where the Abbess conducted the administrative business of the Abbey. Beatrice had very little to say.
“I’m so sorry that matters have turned out this way, Beatrice, but you know that there are other gentlemen to marry.”
“I don’t wish to marry them. Christopher was exactly what I wanted, at least, I thought he was. Knowing what I know now, I no longer wi
sh to enter Society. I will return here as a novice,” she replied, her chin set stubbornly.
“Perhaps,” the Abbess said slowly. “But not just yet. I encourage you to go to the chapel and pray. But you are not to return to the Order now,” she smiled sadly at her niece. “I’m afraid that a broken heart does not blend well into the religious routine. Have you eaten?”
Beatrice shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
“You must eat something.”
“I’m truly not hungry, Auntie,” Beatrice said. “Perhaps tomorrow. If there’s nothing more, I think I will take you up on your suggestion and go to the chapel to pray. No one will be in there now, and I prefer solitude.”
The Abbess nodded. Leaving her desk, she went over to Beatrice and hugged her niece fiercely. “My dear child, I would do anything to ease this pain.”
For an instant, Beatrice held tightly to her aunt. Then she let go. “I shall overcome it, I suppose. Others have. And they’ve come here, have they not?”
“Once upon a time, yes, the convent was the refuge of those women who were unhappy in love. But that is not the same as a vocation.”
“It will have to do.”
As Beatrice departed from the room, the Abbess found herself missing the impulsive, high-spirited girl who had left the Abbey such a short time ago in search of love. She had left with a girl’s superficial understanding of what it would mean to fall in love. She had returned with a woman’s heartfelt pain that life and love had not turned out as she had dreamed. It was not an uncommon tale and the Abbess was familiar with it, but now it was happening to her niece and she found that the oft-repeated words of wisdom did not ease her own sense of mourning for the girl who was like a daughter to her.
Beatrice, her head bent, entered the chapel. It was a small centre of worship for the public as well as for the novices who felt themselves in need of solace. The chapel was plain, absent of adornment, so that the attention of the faithful was focused on the carved crucifix by the altar. Beatrice genuflected and took a seat near the front.
How could she have been so easily duped by a man who seemed kind and honest? She had been so happy that night…was it really just last night when she had believed that her girlish dreams were about to come true? Christopher was more than handsome, more than assured; he was at ease in the company of others without making the slightest effort to imitate any of them. He was his own man and that, she had learned during her time in London, was not typical of young gentlemen. She recalled the humour in his dark eyes when they had toasted to truth, each understanding the other’s intent. She had believed him.
“I don’t wish to intrude,” said a man’s voice, doing just that, “but I wanted to come and offer you any comfort that I could.”
Beatrice started. Sitting beside her was Jasper, the brother of Christopher. He was a handsome young man, she realized, but what did that signify, she wondered dully. How many handsome young men did she know? Very few, and those she had met had turned out to be unimpressive, except for the Earl of Kent. Christopher had turned out to be a villain.
“Comfort?” she replied.
He nodded soberly. “I thought perhaps we could pray together.”
She started to rise from her pew but Jasper put out a hand. “Please, I beseech you, hear me out. I am nothing like my brother. I grieve at what he has done to you, and to those other poor, innocent girls.”
“Other girls?”
Jasper’s gaze looked as if the subject pained him. “Did he tell you that the estate is in hock because of family debts? So it is . . . he has had to pay out to other women who have borne his illegitimate children. Did you not wonder why he boasted of coming home to England so seldom? It’s because he fears for his life; there are any number of outraged fathers and brothers who have threatened him with bodily harm if he dares show his face.”
“Christopher?” she asked. “That doesn’t sound like the man I met.”
“I’m afraid you have been fooled, Beatrice,” Jasper told her, his voice deepened with regret. “He fooled all of us.”
“Why have you come here to tell me this?”
“So that I could ask your forgiveness.”
“Forgiveness for what?”
“It’s an endless source of shame to me to have such a brother. You can imagine what it’s caused me in Society to be the brother of such a reprobate.”
There was silence. Jasper gazed intently upon the cross as if he were seeking forgiveness from God for his brother’s transgressions.
Finally, Beatrice said, “You cannot reproach yourself for the sins of another.”
“Would that that were true, Miss Beatrice—may I call you Beatrice? But we share, my brother and I, a name. That makes me a party to his vices.”
“Truly it does not,” Beatrice protested.
Jasper looked around. “Perhaps . . . would you think me importunate if I asked you take a stroll with me along the river? It’s quiet there and I often find myself going there for contemplation.”
“I . . . there is no reason for us to stroll. I intend to take holy orders.”
“I see,” he said, stroking his chin. “All the more reason, then, for me to speak to you.”
“About what?”
“Not here,” he said. “To speak of my brother’s vile behaviour in this holy place is a violation.”
She didn’t want to hear any more, but she realized that in order to restore her sense of tranquillity, she had to come to terms with the truth. That toast that she and Christopher had shared at the supper had an ironic meaning now. It was time to accept the fact that truth could not be bargained with.
“Very well,” she said, rising. “I’ll walk along the river with you if you feel that it’s necessary.”
“I do,” he said, following her out of the chapel. She led the way to a private exit, one familiar to her from her years as a novice. The pathway led to a section of the river where the villagers, mindful of the Abbey’s cloistered novices, did not venture.
“Now,” she said once they were outside the Abbey, “please tell me what you wanted to say. I must get back to my aunt; she’ll wonder where I am.”
Jasper smiled. In the dusk, his smile looked reckless and dangerous, not at all the sort of smile she expected from a man wrestling with the burden of his brother’s conduct.
“She won’t wonder once we’re married, Beatrice,” Jasper said triumphantly, as he grabbed her in his arms. His grip was forceful and she could not wriggle free. She tried to scream, but then his hand was over her mouth. There was a handkerchief in his hand; she smelled something unfamiliar, and then she felt herself losing consciousness.
CHAPTER 10
“My lord,” Alistair entered the library where Christopher, trying to take his mind off his problems, was working on the estate ledger. “There’s a messenger from the Abbey to see you.”
Christopher did not dally but instead went immediately to the Abbey where the Abbess received him; despite the hour which would not have been late in London, but was very much so for a religious order.
“Beatrice is missing,” she said immediately. “Do you know where she is? Have you compromised her virtue?”
“What sort of gentleman do you take me for?” Christopher responded, heavily offended. “Everard told me that she had returned with him but I haven’t seen her since this afternoon. How can she be missing?”
“She was going into the chapel to pray. One of the labourers saw her leaving the chapel by the private exit several hours ago; he said there was a gentleman with her. Naturally, I assumed that you had accosted her.”
“Reverend Mother, I would never harm Beatrice. I know that you believe otherwise and I have no way of convincing you of the truth, but for now, it’s vital that we find her.”
“Where are you going?”
Christopher had taken up his hat and coat and gotten up from his chair. “Everard Lancaster is staying at the tavern. I’m going to find him and ask if anyone there has hear
d anything. Beatrice—when you last saw her, what was her mood?”
“She was very sad,” the Abbess said sharply.
“Was she—melancholic?” he asked delicately.
The Abbess knew what he meant. The river had, over time, been a watery and eternal refuge for others who had found life to be past enduring.
The Abbess considered. “No. She was distraught, but she was resolute. She planned to take her vows. I do not believe that she planned to end her life.”
“Good. I’m going to find Everard and together we shall find Beatrice, do not doubt us.”
Everard was in the tavern, partaking of a joint of mutton and potatoes. It looked and smelled appetizing, but Christopher had no thought of food. Quickly he informed Everard of the latest developments.
Everard removed his napkin. “This has the sounds of Jasper to it,” he said.
“But what would Jasper want with Beatrice?”
“My dear Christopher, you are so honest a man that you are blind. Jasper doesn’t want Beatrice, he wants her dowry. And the easiest way to get his hands on her wealth is to take her to Gretna Green.”
While Everard prepared for a journey, Christopher wrote a message and directed the tavern keeper’s lad to deliver it to the Abbey. “The Abbess will be expecting this,” he said when the tavern keeper protested that no one at the Abbey would be receiving anyone so late. “Deliver it to the Abbess herself and assure her that Everard and I will not fail her.”
Everard, holding two fresh horses by the reins, appeared at the front of the tavern. “They can only have two hours advantage,” he estimated as they mounted the horses. “And it’s unlikely that Beatrice has gone willingly. We’ll be able to catch them.”
They rode quickly but cautiously; night had fallen and although it was a moonlit evening, neither wanted to risk injuring a horse that could not see its way in the dark.
As they travelled over the uneven ground, Everard swiftly filled his friend in on what he’d learned at the tavern. No one knew who had fathered the baby left at the manor, nor the identity of the young woman who had written the note accusing the Earl of fathering her child. In a village as small as Davenport-upon-Kent, such secrets seldom stayed secret for long; Everard had sent letters to the county foundling home to discover if a new-born child had been taken. As for Betsy Parkins, Everard’s private conversation with the tavern clientele revealed that the babe, yet to be born, could be anyone’s child. Betsy was known for being generous with her favours.