by Wilma Counts
“Miss Hero!” the maid Dorcas called. “There’s a real fancy lady askin’ to see you.”
“A fancy lady?” Hero asked blankly.
“Came in a closed carriage with a crest, but I didn’t reco’nize the crest. Not from anywhere near here. She gave me her card.” Dorcas held out a salver with the card on it.
Hero glanced at the card and drew in a sharp breath. She had thought she would have more time. “Oh, dear. Show her to the drawing room and offer her tea or lemonade. I will be with her shortly.” Her calm demeanor in front of servants belied the absolute terror clawing at her innards.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Hero dashed up to her room, snagging the first maid she saw in the hallway to help her change into a more presentable garment. She washed her face and hands and tucked in stray strands of hair, then declared herself as suitable as she was likely to get on such short notice. She entered the drawing room to find a woman in her late sixties, sitting on the horsehair settee, imbibing a cup of tea.
“Hello,” Hero said.
The woman, dressed in an expensive, stylish travel outfit of deep blue, rose as Hero entered the room. Her white hair was arranged in a style befitting a woman of her age. “I am Lady Renforth, Dowager Countess of Renforth,” she announced. “My son is the Earl of Renforth. I shall get right to the point. It is my understanding that you delivered my granddaughter, Lady Barbara Gaylord, of a child, nearly five years ago. Is that correct?”
Hero curtsied to the older woman. “I helped a young lady I knew as Barbara, yes. Please do sit down, my lady.” Hero gestured her back to the settee and seated herself on a nearby chair.
The woman murmured, “At last, a straight answer.” She closed her eyes for a moment as she sat back down. “I am here about the child. Mrs. Knowlton informed me that you handled things in that regard.”
“Yes. I did. But before I share those details with you, may I ask why over four years have passed with no one taking any interest?”
Lady Renforth sighed. “I am sure that seems strange to you. Indeed, it seems incredible to me. My son, Barbara’s father, is a hard man—very like his father was. When his daughter fell in love with a young man and turned up with child, he more or less washed his hands of her. Mind you, his wife—his second wife—was instrumental in his doing so. Barbara was the child of his first wife, who, by the way, died giving birth to Barbara. The current countess simply could not abide the fact that Barbara was prettier, more personable and charming than her own daughter, Georgiana, who was scarcely three years younger. Her solution to Barbara’s unfortunate condition was to just send the girl away! I still find it hard to believe they were so very cruel.”
“You knew nothing of this?” Hero asked.
“No. I stayed in the country that year while the others went to the city for the Season. I had suffered a bout of influenza that winter and just did not feel up to the long journey from Lancashire. I missed my Barbara—we were always very close. Why, I think she spent more time with me in the dower house than she ever did in the main house. I hoped she was having a good time going to balls and routs.” She paused, apparently dwelling on memories, then she sighed again. “Barbara wrote me regularly, but then her letters stopped. Eventually, my son wrote me that he had allowed Barbara to join a friend on the friend’s father’s Irish estate, but that the ship on which they traveled had gone down in the Irish Sea with no survivors. I cried for months.”
“I’m so sorry,” Hero said softly. “When did you learn the truth?”
“Only a few weeks ago. It pains me to tell you, but I had a terrible row with my daughter-in-law. I made the mistake of criticizing the wanton behavior of her daughter Georgiana, and she told me, ‘Well! Your darling Barbara was no angel, either’ and she blurted out the truth. My son was furious with her—and I must admit that I was furious with both of them. Why—why had they not sent her to me? They were quite self-righteous in their defense—trying to protect the family name, the effect of scandal on Georgiana and the younger children, and so on. All rather specious in my opinion. So here I am, trying to ferret out the rest of the truth.”
“Why?”
Tears welled in Lady Renforth’s eyes. “Because I loved Barbara as the child of my heart. I simply have to know what happened to her and her child.”
“Does your son know you are on this quest?”
“He knows and he heartily disapproves. But I am my own person now. I was not always so. I married very young—an arranged marriage in which I had no say-so. But the marriage settlements left me rather wealthy in my own right—much to the chagrin of both my husband and my son. My husband was rather a cold, harsh man. So is his son, I am sad to say. It took me a long, long time to discover the strength I, as woman, had. I tried to pass that along to Barbara.”
“If it is any consolation to you, I think you succeeded in that regard, my lady.” Hero proceeded to tell her as much as she remembered of the young woman she had known only as Barbara.
“And what happened to her child?” the countess asked.
Hero squirmed in her seat and hesitated, but finally said, “The child is with me. I could not bear to see her go the way of so many abandoned children. She is a very bright, happy little girl. I would hate to see anything happen to change that.”
“She is here? Oh! Please, m-may I see her?” The woman’s lips trembled as she asked.
Again, Hero hesitated. “I would not want to see her upset.”
“Nor would I, Miss Whitby. Nor would I. But, please, I beg you.”
Hero rose to give the bellpull a tug and when a maid answered, she instructed her to have Nurse Henson bring Annabelle to the drawing room. A few minutes later Henson arrived with Annabelle in hand, and Hero dismissed the nurse.
“This lady would like to meet you, my love,” Hero said to Annabelle, who had turned unexpectedly shy.
Lady Renforth gasped. “Why, she looks exactly as Barbara did at that age! Exactly.” She extended a hand. “Please come and sit by me, my child.”
Annabelle looked up at Hero for reassurance. Hero gave her a little nudge. “It’s all right, darling.”
Annabelle climbed onto the settee and sat very sedately, her hands in her lap, and looked up at this strange lady. “Why is the lady sad?” she asked Hero. “She’s crying.”
“I’m sure those are happy tears,” Hero said. “She is happy to see you.”
“Yes. I am very, very happy to meet you,” Lady Renforth said, reaching to touch Annabelle’s blond curls hanging down her back. “What is your name, child?”
“Annabelle.”
“Ah!” The countess nearly choked and in a tearful voice said, “Why that is my given name.”
“Annabelle knows that her mama gave her that name.”
“My mama is in heaven,” Annabelle explained. “She died when I was borned. That’s why I live with Auntie H’ro.”
“Oh, I see,” the countess said. “And do you like living with her?”
“Oh, yes. We have fun. I have a kitten and a pony and we go to the beach and shopping in town and she shows me how to do things.” Her face wrinkled a bit and she glanced at Hero. “But she makes me do my numbers and letters.” Then her face brightened again. “She reads me a story every night.”
“How very nice,” the woman said, with an appreciative glance at Hero.
Impulsively, Hero decided to introduce the visitor fully to the child. “Annabelle, Lady Renforth is your mama’s grandmother. She is your great-grandmother, and she came all the way to Cornwall just to meet you.”
“Really?” Annabelle was obviously delighted with this idea. “Does this mean I am not a orphan? Freddie said I am a orphan.”
“Freddie does not always get things right, though, does he?” Hero asked, sidestepping the issue.
“No, he does not,” Annabelle said emphatically. “He told me
Bitsy is a boy cat, but Mr. Stewart said that’s not true. It isn’t, is it?”
Hero shared a smile with Lady Renfort. “No, darling. Your Bitsy is a little girl, just like you.”
“I thought so. Can I go play now?”
“May I,” Hero corrected automatically.
“May I?”
“You must pay Lady Renforth a proper goodbye.”
Annabelle jumped down from her seat and curtsied prettily to the guest. “I am very pleased to meet you, my lady,” she said formally.
“And I, you, my dear,” the countess said. “Could—could I give you a hug?”
Annabelle looked at Hero, who nodded. The countess hugged the child tenderly and Hero could hardly hold back her own tears at seeing those in the other woman’s eyes. Still, she could not help wondering what was in store. Would the countess try to take Annabelle away from her? How could she—unmarried daughter of a country doctor in Cornwall—fight a member of the aristocracy? Her heart clenched in fear.
When Annabelle skipped out of the room, pausing to give Hero a kiss on the cheek, the countess said, “I believe, Miss Whitby, that you and I have much to discuss.”
Hero replied bluntly. “Yes. I suppose we do. Are you going to try to take Annabelle away from me? I warn you, I will fight you tooth and nail. My father’s brother is a London solicitor. And the scandal would exceed anything your son and his wife ever envisioned.”
The countess gave her a wan smile. “Having seen how you deal with her, I would expect nothing less from you, Miss Whitby. The truth is that I just want the best for my Barbara’s child—and for the rest of my family as well. Were I to create an uproar over Annabelle, my son would be absolutely apoplectic. The scandal would reflect adversely on his other children, whom I do love—including Georgiana. I cannot forgive what my son and his wife did to Barbara, but I cannot undo it, either.”
“There is that,” Hero said in a neutral tone.
“Over the last several weeks, I have given the matter a great deal of thought,” the countess said. “A great deal, once I learned of the child’s existence. My son wants nothing to do with her, and he is unlikely to change his mind. He is that self-righteous and he was that angry with his daughter and her young man. I want only the best for Annabelle—and I think you do too.”
“Yes, of course,” Hero murmured, wondering where on earth this was going.
“I want to be a part of her life,” the countess begged. “She is my Barbara’s child. If I must take legal action to do that, I will, but having seen how you love and care for her, I would not want to do that. But—I will, if necessary, scandal or not.”
“What do you mean ‘part of her life’?”
“I want to visit her occasionally—two, maybe three times a year—just to see how she goes on. I want to know her and her to know me. Perhaps when she is older, she can visit me in Lancashire. You could accompany her, of course. Ultimately, I will see to her education—including a governess immediately, if you agree. An exclusive boarding school later, of course.” She paused for a moment. “As I said, I have thought this through rather thoroughly.”
Overwhelmed, and not a little relieved, Hero nodded. “I have no objection to what you propose. However, I will never, ever have Annabelle subjected to slights of any kind. If your son were to create a fuss over what you propose, I would think it best that she remain right here in Cornwall until she is of age and can make her own decisions.”
“My son,” the countess said bitterly, “just wants to sweep Barbara—and her child—under the rug. Oh, yes, he knows there was a child. But he and his wife abide by the lie they fabricated. Is that not a terrible thing for a mother to admit about her son? It is sad but true. However, I cannot forget that sweet, sweet girl. I loved her so dearly. I promise you—I promise—I will see no harm come to her child.”
Hero felt tears coming to her own eyes at seeing this woman’s pain. They made plans to meet the next day for lunch at the inn, where Lady Renforth had already booked rooms. Hero would bring Annabelle, and the three of them would visit Barbara’s grave and spend the day getting acquainted. And, yes, Lady Renforth would welcome the company of the ubiquitous Bitsy.
* * * *
Having seen Lady Renforth off, Hero practically danced back into the house; she was feeling absolutely exultant at the way things were turning out with Annabelle, and she wanted to share her euphoria. As she passed through the hallway on the ground floor, she saw that Adam’s door was ajar.
She tapped on it lightly and called, “Anybody home?”
“I’m right here.” His voice came from the terrace, but immediately he was opening the door to her and smiling down at her. “Do come in. You look as though something has gone well for you.”
“Adam, you won’t believe what just happened!”
He grinned. “So tell me then. I assume it has something to do with that elegant traveling coach I saw when I came in a while ago.”
“That carriage belongs to Annabelle’s great-grandmother.” She stepped into the center of the room.
“And that is good—why? I know how anxious you have been about that sprite.” He closed the door and leaned against it, just looking at her, waiting for her to go on.
“I was so worried. Terrified, actually. But it is going to be all right.” She told him the whole story of Lady Renforth’s visit.
“What a wonderful outcome,” he said, coming to put his arms about her and give her a tight hug. “Wonderful.”
She lifted her head to gaze into his eyes—those blue eyes that never failed to mesmerize her. There was a long pause, then he lowered his mouth to hers in what she later supposed had been meant as a casual congratulatory kiss. It quickly turned into something else. Her arms slipped up around his neck and she pressed her body against his, needing to be closer, ever closer. For the minutest fraction a second, some analytical part of her brain told her this was not real, that it was happening merely as an aftermath of the tension she had felt earlier. She ignored that and gave herself up to the sheer passion of the moment, opening to him as he probed for entrance, and their tongues joined in a primal dance.
He broke the kiss, but only to sprinkle kisses on her eyes, her cheeks, her nose, her neck, that tender, erotic spot just beneath her ear, the exposed flesh above the neckline of her dress. His hands played up and down her back, gripping her buttocks to pull her even closer. She could feel her whole body responding, straining toward him—her nipples hardening, a burning need in her groin. Both of them were breathing hard, and Hero could hear her own involuntary whimpers—pleas for more. Then she felt the hard evidence of his arousal against her belly, and she tried to jerk away in a panic.
He refused the separation, still holding her close. “Hero? What is it, love? What just happened?”
“I cannot do this. I-I thought I could. With you. But I can’t. I just can’t.”
“You can’t?” His voice was flat, with a hard edge to it. “What does that mean? Good God, Hero, you’re no green girl given to teasing a man to distraction. You want it as much as I do.”
“No. I mean—I don’t know. Forgive me.” She stifled a sob and tried again to jerk out of his arms. She wanted to flee to her own room. She wanted the comfort of his embrace. The memory of pain and humiliation assailed her.
He refused to release her. He merely held her closely for a few moments, until her panicky breathing turned more normal. Then he led her to the couch and sat the two of them down, still keeping her close.
“I think I may understand,” he said quietly, tentatively. “Someone hurt you very badly, didn’t he?”
She nodded, unable to look at him. “Y-yes. There was more than one.”
”Oh, my God!” She heard his anger and disgust, but knew instinctively it was not directed at her. “Tell me about it,” he said.
“I-I can’t,” she whispered. “I-I’ve
never told anyone.”
“Tell me, Hero,” he pleaded. “I think you and I may have something wonderful and precious between us, but your fears are keeping us from realizing it. Tell me you agree.”
She nodded, but still could not look at him.
“Tell me.” With his arm around her shoulders, he gave her a firm shake.
“It—it’s so ugly—so sordid.”
“What happened may be so, but, Hero, you are not. You are beautiful and good and loving and lovable. You are a wonderful person, my dear girl.” He kissed her on the temple. “Now just tell me. It’s time you told someone. Get it all out.”
She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “I was almost fifteen. My mother was very ill—I did not know it at the time, but she was dying. Diana was married by then, Michael was away at school, Jonathan was about the age Annabelle is now, and Papa was very busy with his practice. Still, he and I cared for her. And then—” She stifled a sob and went on more calmly. “Then Mama decided I needed to get away. She insisted. She sent me away.” This came out as a wail of despair.
“Where?” he prompted with a little jiggle of her shoulder.
“To visit her friend, the Baroness Portman in Somerset. I had been before. The oldest daughter, Marie, was my age and a special friend. Her brother was three years older.”
“Oh, my God. I know where this is going,” Adam said, his tone sounding anguished.
She nodded glumly and went on, almost in a monotone. “Reggie—his name is Reginald—was home for a school holiday and two of his friends had come with him. Marie and I went out riding with them often. We always had a good time on our rides and the visit was doing what Mother had hoped it would do—take my mind off troubles at home. Marie was not feeling well one day, so I—foolishly, perhaps—went alone with the three of them. I mean, they were gentlemen, were they not?” She glanced at Adam for corroboration of this point, but found his expression harsh and inscrutable.
“Then what happened?” he prompted.
“I did not realize they had tapped into Reggie’s father’s liquor supply even before the ride—and they were sharing a flask as we rode along. I was just so stupid—so naïve! They chatted and entertained me with tales of their exploits at school. We were all laughing. Then we stopped to rest the horses—as we always did—and that’s when it happened.”