A Compromised Lady (34 page)

For everything. There will be no going back.’

Verity blinked. ‘Thea, what are you talking—?’ She broke off and heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Here he is! Richard—do come and talk some sense into Thea. She is insisting that she must return to London.’

Thea faced Richard. His face was weary, as though he had slept as little as she these past two nights.

‘Perhaps you would walk with me in the garden first, Thea,’ he suggested. ‘Almeria is unlikely to depart for another hour at least.’ He turned to his sister-in-law. ‘If you will excuse us, Verity?’

She smiled. ‘Of course. I must go upstairs to the nursery and see to Will. You will not let Thea go without saying goodbye?’

He shook his head. ‘No. Off with you. I’ll take care of Thea.’

He meant that in every sense of the phrase. He wanted to take care of her. Always. But he could see in the lift of her chin, in the set of her mouth, that her decision was made. But why? She knew he loved her, and he no longer held the least doubt that she loved him. So it must be fear that he could not truly accept her, that he would resent her past…

The fragrance of the gardens breathed around them in the soft sunshine. He took her to the knot garden, dreamy and pungent with herbs, its low lavender hedges weaving about the rainbow-filled fountain at its heart.

Sitting on a wooden bench, she told him without preamble, truth like a slashing knife cutting across the song of the water. His brain froze with shock and for a moment he was utterly speechless as he grappled with it.

Finally, ‘A child?’

She nodded.

Numbed, he took a very deep breath and waited for the knowledge to sink in, to feel something.

Anything. He did not know how he felt. Anger, perhaps. Confusion, certainly.

‘Why did you not mention this earlier?’

‘I…I did not know.’

‘A little hard to miss, I would have thought.’ For the life of him he could not prevent the sarcasm slicing through. He saw her flinch, knew that it had cut deep, but still he could feel nothing. Until she lifted her eyes and he saw her pain.

And even then, he did not know what the emotion was that he felt. Only that it was likely to tear him apart.

‘When I…when the baby was born…I…they gave me laudanum…straight after the delivery. Before I even held the…her. I didn’t hold her. When I woke up finally, it was the next day…and they told me—’

Her voice cracked and before he could think, he was kneeling beside her, enveloping her cold hands in his, knowing only that she was hurting, that she had never told anyone this.

She dragged in a breath and continued in a hard little voice. ‘They told me the baby had died. Had died and was buried. They would not even tell me the child’s sex. They said…they said it was better not to know. When I asked about the grave…they said it died without baptism, that the grave was unmarked.’

‘And you did not know this yesterday?’

‘Not…not definitely,’ she whispered.

Understanding flared then. ‘The letter?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. One of Lady Chasewater’s notes had made me wonder. Apparently she discovered after Lord Chasewater’s death that the child lived.’ She shuddered. ‘I did not wish to believe her, but I knew my father could have covered it up, so—’

‘You asked him?’

A savage laugh ripped from her. ‘Asked him? No. He would have lied. I searched his study for information. When I had it, I hired a runner to find her for me. I knew the school she was, is, placed at. And her initials. At first I merely wished to ensure that she was safe, and happy. But now—’

Struggling to cope with the enormity of what she had told him, Richard held her hands gently, feeling her tension. There was more. He knew that.

‘What now?’ he asked quietly.

‘You must see, Richard…I cannot leave it like that. Apparently my father has provided for her all this time, but—’

‘Of course,’ he said. Typical of Thea. She wished to support the child herself. He could understand that. ‘We can arrange to have all her expenses met. Set aside some of your fortune as a dowry so that she can make a respectable marriage. You can make enquiries about the school. If you are not happy, she can be moved. This need make no difference—’

‘It makes every difference,’ said Thea. ‘She needs a family…a mother, at least, so—’

‘No!’ Denial burst from him. ‘Dammit, Thea! It’s too much! No man would stand for it! If you really wish it, then you may visit your child occasionally. Anonymously. You cannot ask me to accept the child of the man who raped you!’

‘I have not asked that of you, Richard,’ she said steadily. ‘And I will not.’

He took a ragged breath. ‘I…I beg your pardon, if I misunderstood.’

She shook her head. ‘No, you have not. Only that I am not asking you to accept Sophie.’

‘Sophie?’

‘That is my daughter’s name.’

‘Then—’

‘Richard, I cannot marry you—’

‘You are refusing my suit because I will not—cannot!—accept your…your child?’

‘No. I am refusing your suit because I will not ask you, or any man, to accept my base-born daughter. She is mine. And her illegitimacy is at least partially my fault.’

He could hear the pain. Feel it. Hers as well as his. And, steady despite the pain, he could hear her determination.

‘Your fault?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. Had I not let David know the truth, I think I would have been too frightened not to marry—she would have been legitimate.’

Conflicting emotions stormed inside him. He couldn’t name even one of them. All he could think was that he had lost her, that her decision was made and that there would be no turning her back from it.

‘Thea, I need to think,’ he said very softly. ‘I am sorry if—’

Thea’s breaking heart stilled. He was going to apologise.

‘No!’ she said vehemently. ‘You will not apologise!’ Tears stood in her eyes. She held them back, refusing to let them fall. ‘You are such a good man! You offered so much more than I had any right to expect, but…it is just, there are some things…’

Some things that one’s conscience cannot bear. Some things that one cannot negotiate on. She left the words unspoken. She had said enough. Had she still doubted that Richard loved her, his shattered eyes and white face would have convinced her.

He turned away. His voice harsh, he said again, ‘I need to think.’

She could not speak for the choking grief in her throat, could barely see him for the tears crowding, spilling over in silent loss. He walked away towards the house and the rainbows shimmering in fleeting loveliness in the fountain dissolved in mist as she whispered, ‘God bless you, Richard.’ She would not see him again and force him to say the words.

An hour later she was in the chaise travelling back to London with Lady Arnsworth. Verity and Lord Blakehurst had farewelled them. Richard was nowhere to be seen.

After an appalling journey, during which Lady Arnsworth progressed from reasonably subtle hints about the supposed forthcoming nuptials between Thea and Richard, to outright demands to know why in heaven’s name Thea had not leapt at the chance to re-establish herself fully, Thea found herself back in Grosvenor Square late in the afternoon, facing Lord Aberfield. His shock was palpable as he read the report she had given him.

‘You…you hired a Bow Street runner?’ He seemed unable to believe it, his eyes wide with disbelief.

She shrugged, determined to seem unmoved. ‘It seemed the obvious way to discover the truth.’

She had not given him a chance to deny it all, simply flinging the report at him and demanding to know why he had lied to her.

Suddenly he seemed an old man as he sank down into a chair. ‘Dorothea—you didn’t think to ask me?’

Disbelief lashed her. ‘Ask you? You lied to me. All these years I believed that she had died! Who arranged that?’

At that he seemed to recover slightly. ‘We were trying to protect you!’ he said angrily. ‘Good God!

It would have been better if the child had died! As it is, I have paid for her education and seen to her future. You need not concern yourself. She will remain at the school and be trained as a governess—’

‘Have you ever seen her?’

‘Seen her?’ Had she suddenly grown three heads he could not have looked more shocked.

‘Visited her,’ said Thea evenly. ‘Does she know that she has a family?’

Lord Aberfield frowned. ‘This is excessive sensibility, Dorothea. Most ill judged. It is unnecessary to see the child. Indeed it would be most improper! One does not visit a child of that sort. Better that she remains in ignorance of her background. To regard her as a member of the family—impossible!

To visit would only breed a…a spirit of resentment.’ He shook his head. ‘That is not how these things are done. If you wish, you may see Miss Dale’s reports—’

‘Does she think that Sophie Grey is your daughter?’

Aberfield’s lips thinned. ‘Very likely. I merely entered the child as my ward. I did not consider her parentage to be any of Miss Dale’s concern.’

‘Very well. Then you will write a letter to Miss Dale, asking her to release Sophie Grey into my custody, as her mother.’

‘What?’

Thea faced him squarely. ‘She is my daughter and I am well able to provide for her.’

‘She is already provided for! For God’s sake, girl! Think! Do you believe that Blakehurst will countenance this? He will never marry you—’

‘There is no betrothal, nor has there ever been. We are agreed that we shall not suit.’

‘What? Almeria Arnsworth assured me before you left London that—’

‘She was mistaken, my lord,’ she said quietly. ‘There is no more to be said. The child is mine. You will write that letter. After which you need never see me again.’

‘Dorothea—there is no need for this. I take it you told Blakehurst the truth, that you are not…that you…’He wiped his brow. ‘Naturally he would not accept your, er…explanation, but I could still see him. After all, the match is still very much to his advantage, so I could—’

‘Explain that you had given Lallerton permission to address me and he interpreted that as permission to rape me?’

‘For God’s sake, girl! All this talk of rape! You were betrothed! Naturally I would have preferred that he waited until you were married before bedding you, but it was not rape!’

Her stomach churned. ‘Of course, you would know, my lord,’ she said with savage irony. ‘You were the one being held down, begging him to stop.’

He flinched. ‘Dorothea—think!’ he said. ‘Years it’s taken me to win back the position I lost when you refused Lallerton in a fit of missishness. And now it will be known that my daughter has a bastard!’

‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘I am willing to use another name. No one need know. Unless you refuse to write that letter to the school. And you will also write a declaration that the child is mine. To be witnessed and held by my lawyer.’

‘Damned if I will!’

She shrugged. ‘No. Damned if you don’t, my lord. And damned if you don’t release enough of my money for me to live on comfortably. Because I will make the whole thing public.’ Remembering something, she added, ‘With Lady Chasewater’s help.’

She watched with calm interest as his eyes bulged. It might take a few moments for him to realise, but he had no room to manoeuvre. The risk of scandal was too great. Without a word she strolled over to the chair by the window and sat down.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he barked.

‘Waiting for you to come to your senses and write the letter to Miss Dale,’ she replied. ‘You really have no choice.’

‘And what about this other document?’ he snapped.

She frowned thoughtfully. ‘I shall speak to my lawyer and have it properly drawn up and brought to you for signing. There must be no doubt that you acknowledge the child to be mine and in my sole custody. For now the letter to the school will suffice.’

‘And you promise to stay away from us and use another name?’

‘You have my word. I do not wish to cause trouble. All I want is my daughter.’

Thin lipped, he stalked to his desk and began to write, the scratching of the pen the only sound.

Finally he stopped writing and looked up.

‘Do you wish to read it before I seal it?’

She shook her head. ‘It should not be necessary. You cannot possibly desire a scandal over this.

And there will be one if you have attempted to trick me.’

Silently he reached for the pounce box, sprinkled sand on the letter, then sealed it and held it out.

She stood up and drew on her gloves and went to receive the letter, tucking it into her reticule.

‘Thank you, sir. My lawyers will draw up the other document as soon as possible. If you should wish to contact me at any stage, you may direct your request to them. I dare say we will not meet again.’

‘Damn it, girl! You can’t disown your family for a bastard child you didn’t even know existed!’

She smiled then. ‘Yes, sir, I can. As easily as you disowned your daughter for a sin she did not commit. Goodbye, my lord.’

Her interview with David the following morning was worse. She could no longer feel anything with Aberfield. But David…

‘For God’s sake, Thea!’ he implored. ‘Where will you live? Under what name? You realise you will have to pretend to be a widow? And what of Richard Blakehurst? I had hoped—’ He broke. ‘Thea?’

Pain streaked through her, all the hurt and misery that she had refused to feel.

‘It is at an end.’

Not that she blamed Richard. It was not his fault. She had never expected him to accept her child.

No man would be prepared to do such a thing. She had known that when she had made her decision.

David came to her and took her hands gently ‘Are you sure this is necessary? I understand the child has been well provided for. She will be safe enough. For once in his life, perhaps the old man is right. Would it not be wiser—?’

‘To leave her without a family?’ asked Thea quietly.

‘Damn it, Thea! That was not your fault!’

She shook her head. ‘Yes, it was, David. Had I not been such a naïve little fool and realised that I might be with child, I would have agreed to the marriage. There would have been no other choice.