A Scandalous Secret (8 page)

‘I suppose,’ she said slowly, ‘that one must make allowances. My nerves are a little overset, I fear.’

‘Naturally so.’ Dorinda smiled softly. ‘I am glad, though, that you do not blame Mr Markham too much. I was beginning to think that you did not like our new friend - though it seems that he has made a conquest of your son.’

‘So it seems.’

Dorinda then went off to inform the servants that the search for the missing earl was now at an end, and to hasten back to her little girl’s sickroom. Elizabeth, too, traded one worry for another. While it was inevitable, she supposed, that Nicky and Mr Markham would meet, it could not but be unsettling. Surely the gentleman must have remarked the strong resemblance between himself and the boy. Or was it only
her
eyes which could so plainly perceive the father in the son?

* * * *

Unlike his new acquaintance, Dominick arrived home fishless but unscolded. Entering the spacious hall, he came upon his aunt, who was dusting a silver candlestick with a fine lace-edged handkerchief.

‘Really, Aunt Winnie,’ he remonstrated, placing an arm affectionately about her shoulders, ‘will you never allow the servants an opportunity to do their work for themselves?’

Aunt Winifred ceased her dusting, but seemed in no way perturbed by his feigned reproach. ‘I never met a servant yet who did any job thoroughly. But why should they care much for what’s not their own?’

‘Perhaps,’ he suggested, with the lift of one expressive eyebrow, ‘because they are paid handsomely for doing so?’

‘Aye. Maybe.’ She turned to enter the drawing-room with him, adding, ‘You seem in much better spirits today, praise be. I was growing tired of your blue devils. Caught a trout, have you?’

‘No.’ He grinned. ‘A friend.’

That’s a new set-out for a fisherman,’ his aunt said, settling herself on the edge of a chair.

‘Perhaps not.’ Dominick took the chair opposite. ‘Did not Christ promise to make his disciples “fishers of men”?’

‘And who might this new friend be?’

‘None other than the Earl of Dansmere.’

Aunt Winnie was suitably startled. ‘What! The countess’s boy?’

‘The very same.’

‘How came you to meet him, then?’

Dominick proceeded to entertain her with a lively description of his encounter with Nicholas, which had the old woman chuckling appreciatively.

‘He sounds a regular little scamp!’ she declared indulgently when he had finished.

‘I should have given him a proper dressing-down,’ Dominick admitted, ‘even if he is a member of the peerage. He probably had everyone at Merrywood hunting for him.’

‘It sounds very much like the kind of coil you’d have got yourself into at his age! What’s the boy like?’

Dominick leaned back in his chair, narrowing his eyes as he concentrated on his mental image of Nicky. ‘He is the most engaging little imp imaginable - pluck to the backbone. I’d have known him for her son anywhere. Those eyes—’ He stopped, aware of the disturbing turn his thoughts had taken, and that he was in danger of forgetting both his aunt and the boy.

‘I suppose he has his mother’s golden hair, as well?’ Aunt Winnie asked. ‘You did say she was fair-haired, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ he said, his mouth twisting bitterly. ‘But I suppose the lad must take after his father in that respect. His hair is chestnut-coloured.’

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when his aunt, who had been sitting stiffly in her chair, leaned towards him. Her eyes fixed upon him like a hawk at a snake. It was her odd manner which stopped his words even before she spoke.

‘Chestnut hair?’ she croaked. ‘Did you say chestnut hair?’

‘Why, yes.... Whatever is the matter, Aunt?’ He was genuinely concerned now, for she was more agitated than he had seen her in many years.

‘Dominick,’ she answered presently, drawing in her breath sharply before she continued, ‘how old did you say this child is?’

He frowned, perplexed by her unusual curiosity about such details. ‘I believe he is just over seven years.’

‘And precisely how long ago was it,’ she persisted, in rather grim tones, ‘that you met the countess?’

‘It is almost eight years—’ he began, then stopped. He felt his cheeks grow warm as he realized the import of Aunt Winnie’s pointed questions. ‘Aunt!’ he cried. ‘You surely cannot mean to suggest... Why, it is impossible!’

She leaned closer to him, her gaze more penetrating than ever. ‘Is it, Dominick?’ she asked. ‘Tell me honestly. Is it
impossible
for him to be your son as well as hers?’

He sat perfectly still for a long moment. His thoughts rolled over one another like tumblers at a circus. Indeed it was
not
impossible; and, as the image of little Nicky’s features grew stronger within his mind, so too did the conviction that it was not only possible, but all too probable, that the earl’s chestnut hair was in fact inherited from his father. Dominick Markham.

‘Oh my God!’ he groaned. He buried his face in his hands, attempting to control his emotions.

‘Well, I suppose I have my answer.’

He looked up at Aunt Winnie’s stern countenance, unsure if shame or astonishment were uppermost in his mind. ‘I am sorry, Aunt,’ he managed at last. ‘But it never occurred to me, even for a moment, that my ... connection ... with the countess could have resulted in anything such as ... That is, I—’

The old lady’s features softened somewhat as she perceived her nephew’s evident distress. ‘There’s no need to explain, Dominick,’ she said. ‘You are a man, after all, and you’ve always had more than your share of good looks. You can’t help but attract the girls, and I did not suppose that you’ve lived the life of a monk. As for the woman - I can hardly call her a lady! - who encouraged you in such behaviour.... Well, I will say no more on that head.’

‘Thank you, Aunt Winnie.’ Dominick was grateful for her restraint in that quarter. For some reason, he could not bear for anyone to speak ill of the countess, even though his own thoughts about her were far from flattering. ‘It is all in the past now, and to blame either of us is so much wasted time.’

Winifred Trottson sat erect and unwinking in her chair. ‘Deciding the portion of blame between you may be useless,’ she agreed, ‘but, though your affair with the countess is in the past, your son is very much in the present.’

‘If he
is
indeed my son. At the moment, this is all conjecture. The truth could be quite otherwise.’

‘What do
you
believe, Dominick?’

The question caught him off guard. He hardly knew what to believe. At first glance, it seemed too fantastic to be true - that he could be the earl’s father. And yet, now that the idea had been thrust upon him, it was impossible to dismiss. Aside from the boy’s hair, which might be mere coincidence, there was little evidence. Only, there was that instant bond he had felt, which was undeniable. Was it just because he had once loved the mother, that he felt so drawn to the son? Or was there another reason? His heart whispered that it was so. But it might be for no better reason than that he
wanted
it to be so. How could he be certain?

‘I do not know,’ he muttered eventually, not meeting his aunt’s glance.

‘Then I think you had better lose no time in finding out.’ Aunt Winifred said, rising to look down on him with grim determination.

‘What do you mean?’ He was alarmed by her attitude. She could be a formidable woman when she chose to be. She now had about her the distinct air of a bull eyeing the entrance to a china shop.

‘I believe,’ she told him, ‘that it is high time I paid a visit to your fine friends at Merrywood.’

Chapter 5

The next morning was another wet one, with as fine a shower as ever England had produced. Nicky, still smarting from his punishment of the previous day, was even more disappointed to realize that it was unlikely that Mr Markham would call about their plans to go fishing - even if Mama approved, which was very doubtful. By mid-afternoon, however, the weather had cleared miraculously.

The grown-ups were seated in the drawing-room. Nicky was too young to be so languid. He was on the floor entertaining Achilles, his Uncle Alastair’s pampered hound, by tugging gently at the dog’s long, droopy ears. At the sound of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels approaching the house, however, he abandoned Achilles and flew to the window.

‘It is Mr Markham!’ he exclaimed, with patent delight. Achilles sniffed and buried his head between his paws.

‘Indeed it
is
Mr Markham.’ Dorinda corroborated his statement as she came up behind him and peered over his head.

‘Do come away from the window,’ Elizabeth begged them both, ‘before he sees you.’

‘There is an old lady with him,’ Nicky announced, ignoring this request.

‘It must be his aunt,’ Dorinda said, her nose pressed against the pane. ‘It
is
his aunt.’ She spun away from the window like a whirling dervish, dragging Nicky along with her and depositing him unceremoniously upon a chair, while she seated herself beside her sister. ‘It is quite incredible,’ she concluded breathlessly.

‘I thought,’ said Oswald, polishing his quizzing-glass, ‘that she was some sort of eccentric who visited no one.’

‘Precisely,’ Dorinda concurred, nodding. ‘I cannot conceive what it might mean. But what fun! Do you not agree, Lizzy?’

‘I am positively ecstatic,’ Elizabeth replied, with a pronounced lack of enthusiasm. Dominick had obviously informed the old lady about Nicky, and she had come here to - to what? What did she hope to accomplish?

Miss Winifred Trottson and Mr Dominick Markham were announced, and Elizabeth found herself confronting two persons who were eyeing her with something less than good will. From feeling sick and frightened about the encounter, she suddenly became most indignant. Her courage rose to this most awkward of occasions. How dare they presume to judge her?

Amid the introductions, Nicky’s voice was heard as he hopped from his chair to greet his new friend.

‘Is it too late for fishing, sir?’

All eyes turned to the little boy, and Elizabeth was nearly overset once again. Seeing the two together for the first time, the resemblance between them was - to her eyes, at least - quite uncanny. There was a difference, however. The child’s face was as innocent and eager as it could be; the man’s was set and angry, although it seemed to soften magically as he addressed his son.
His son!

‘I fear that we will have to delay our expedition until the morrow,’ Dominick answered Nicky’s question.

Nicky reluctantly agreed with this. Mr Markham then introduced his aunt, whose eyes sparkled as they glanced from the boy to her nephew and back. Nicky greeted her readily enough, then immediately turned his attention again to Dominick. He proceeded to monopolize that gentleman with his enthusiastic plans for their projected outing.

‘Your son is quite delightful, Lady Dansmere,’ Miss Trottson said as the women settled down for an interesting chat.

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Elizabeth replied, casting a fond glance at the subject under discussion. ‘I cannot pretend to be impartial, but I do think Nicky is the sweetest boy in the world.’

‘He has won my nephew’s heart, and no mistake.’

‘The feeling appears to be mutual,’ Dorinda put in with a smile. ‘But Mr Markham seems to have a way with children. He is a great favourite with my daughter, as well.’

Aunt Winnie nodded. ‘Aye, he can charm the Devil himself when he chooses. But he ought to have children of his own by now. I’ve told him often enough it’s time he married and set up his nursery. But he pays no heed.’

‘It seems, then, that he and my sister have something in common.’ Dorinda sighed in mock despair. ‘Since the late earl’s death, she has had scores of offers from some of the most eligible men in the kingdom. But she remains as insensible as an icicle.’

Elizabeth frowned at this. ‘You exaggerate, Dorrie.’ Then, to Miss Trottson, ‘My sister has made it her life’s work to marry me off to any man who will have me - provided that he has two arms, two legs and a decent title. A head, I believe, is not required.’

‘You see how she is, Miss Trottson?’ Dorinda complained to her guest. ‘No man is good enough for her.’

‘Maybe the countess is more sensible than you give her credit for,’ the old lady said, treating Elizabeth to a curious look which might almost have been respect. ‘Good husbands ain’t so easy to find, and in my opinion, it’s better not to wed at all than to be shackled to some of these fribbles I see about me nowadays.’

‘I quite agree,’ Elizabeth said, rather surprised to discover that she liked the old woman - or could have, under other circumstances. ‘Marriage has a few too many pains for me to attempt it again without the most careful consideration. After all, I require not only a husband for myself, but also a father for my son.’

‘That’s important to you, is it?’ Aunt Winnie asked.

Elizabeth opened her lips to answer, but Dorinda forestalled her. ‘I often think my sister will allow Nicky to choose her husband for her.’

‘The boy has your eyes,’ Miss Trottson mused. ‘I suppose he got his chestnut hair from his father?’

This was too much for Elizabeth, who began to temper her first favourable impression of the other woman. She stiffened at once, and gave her inquisitor a stare direct and fearless.

‘I believe,’ she said, ‘that my great-uncle Silas had chestnut hair. Did he not, Dorinda?’

Dorinda’s brow furrowed in an effort of concentration. ‘I can barely remember him,’ she confessed. ‘I do not recall him having much hair to speak of - and when I met him, what there was of it was grey.’

There was obviously no help to be had from that quarter, so Elizabeth decided to turn the conversation - with near-disastrous results.

‘Pray tell me, Miss Trottson,’ she enquired, saying the first thing that came into her head, ‘how is Mr Markham’s brother?’

There was a moment of absolute silence, broken first by Dorinda.

‘I did not know,’ she said, in some surprise, ‘that Mr Markham had a brother. I am sure I never heard him mention it.’

Nor had anyone mentioned it to Elizabeth - except one evening eight years ago. Good God! What had she done? She was in the suds now, and no mistake.