Impulse (16 page)

“Have you been back there?” Angela asked, seeing the direction his gaze had turned.

He shook his head quickly. “She's not there. There is no use going back.”

“But there are memories. I am sure they wouldn't mind if you wanted to go inside and look around.”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Harrison chimed in. “The Andersons are nice folks. The missus ain't the housekeeper your ma was, of course, but they are good enough neighbors.”

“Some other time, perhaps,” he said, equivocating. “Right now I would rather talk to you.”

“Ah, I see you've still got that silver tongue in your mouth, lad. Come in, then, come in. I've got tea all ready for you.”

Angela, of course, murmured that she shouldn't have gone to so much trouble, and Mrs. Harrison, of course, assured her that it was no trouble at all, and so, exchanging the usual sort of civilities, they went
inside the cottage, Cam stooping so that he could pass through the low doorway. Once inside, Mrs. Harrison settled them on the sofa and bustled about, bringing in tea and cakes from the kitchen. For a time they ate and discussed the sort of things one did on social calls. It was obvious that Mrs. Harrison was both delighted and awed by the presence of a Stanhope in her house, and Cam suspected that she would be repeating details of the visit for some time to come.

Finally Cam settled down to the business that had brought them. “I suppose Kate told you that I wanted to ask you some questions about my mother,” he began.

“Aye, that she did,” Mrs. Harrison agreed. “Though, truly, Cam, I don't know how much I can help you. I wouldn't think I knew Grace better than her own son.”

“If you know anything, you would know more than I,” he assured her, not without a trace of bitterness. “She would never tell me about her life before I was born.”

Mrs. Harrison looked a trifle taken aback. “Wouldn't she, now? Well, now, Grace did tell me a few things. She said she had moved here from Scotland. Now, let's see, did she tell me where she was from? Yes, she did mention it a few times in passing. Not a terribly big place. Carmody? Was that it? No. Carewick? Well, it will come to me in a second.”

“What about my father? Did she ever tell you anything about him?”

A shadow touched the woman's face, and she looked away. “That is something she did not talk about, lad. Never once did I hear her say his name. One time I asked her a question about him. I said something about ‘the boy's father,' and she gave me this flat look and said, ‘The boy has no father.' Well, it fair chilled me the way
she said it, and I knew better than to ask questions about him anymore. She never brought it up.”

“Was I illegitimate?”

Mrs. Harrison looked even more uncomfortable, and shifted in her chair. “She never said. But I—well, after she said that about your father, I thought you must be. She sounded as if she hated the man, and since he wasn't with you, and there wasn't any talk of him…” She shrugged. “It's nothing against your mother. She wouldn't be the first good woman that's happened to.” She sighed. “Nor, likely, will she be the last, either.”

“What
did
she say about her past?”

“She talked sometimes about things she had done when she was a child, about going to a fair or some trick her brother played on her.”

“She had a brother?” Cam leaned forward.

“Why, yes, I believe so.” She frowned, trying to remember. “Mayhap more than one. I'm certain she talked about him teasing her.”

“But she never got letters from her family. No one ever contacted her.”

“Perhaps they had died. Or perhaps there had been a rift in the family. That happens. She never said.” Mrs. Harrison frowned in concentration. “Let's see. It seems to me that one time she did say what her father did. What was it? It was a town kind of occupation, not a country one. A good one, too, no common sort of thing. Ah, I remember. He was a jewelry maker. A goldsmith.”

“A goldsmith?” Cam looked astonished. A goldsmith was an artisan, usually from a long line of goldsmiths, and one had to be apprenticed for many years to become one. It was hardly the same as being a member of the ruling class, but it was a far cry from being a stable lad,
and from taking in sewing and washing, as his mother had done.

“Aye. I am sure that was it. I remember now, we were talking one time about a necklace that Lady Bridbury, Angela's mother, had. A gold one that looked like flowers all strung together, real delicate-like, in filigree, and there were diamonds in the center.”

“That is one of her favorites,” Angela put in.

“Yes, my lady, it's a beauty. And your mum, Cam, was saying how pretty it was and how much work it would have taken. And she said she knew, because her father made such things. He had his own shop. He was a goldsmith back in Carnmore. Ah!” She broke into a smile. “There you go. It came to me, just like that. That was the name of the town where she lived when she was little. Carnmore, Scotland. It wasn't a big place, but no village, either, I'll swear, with there being a goldsmith.”

“No. I dare swear you are right. Thank you, Mrs. Harrison, you've been a great deal of help.”

“I was glad to be of service. But, lad…” She leaned over and laid her hand on his arm, gazing earnestly into his eyes. “You are a fine man the way you are, and your mum was a good woman. Sometimes it don't help to go digging up the past.”

“What do you mean? All I want to know is a little something about myself. Who I am, where I come from.”

“It can happen that you find out more than you want to know.”

Cam frowned. “Are you implying that there is something in my mother's past that was wicked, that would make me think badly of her? Because I promise you,
nothing could do that. I will always respect and love her memory. Nothing will tarnish it.”

“No, of course your mum didn't do nothing wicked. I didn't mean that. I only meant that, well, mayhap there was some reason for Grace not telling you all about yourself. Maybe it was all for the best.”

“I cannot believe that it is better to live in ignorance.”

Mrs. Harrison sat back, sighing. “Ah, well, you do what you think is best, lad.”

They stayed for a few more minutes, talking of commonplaces, and Mrs. Harrison racked her brain to think of anything else that Grace Monroe might have said about her past, but she could come up with nothing. Finally they took their leave and started back toward Bridbury.

Cam rode along in silence for a long time, his brow furrowed in thought. Finally, he burst out, “A goldsmith! Why would she never have told me? It's scarcely anything shameful. It isn't as if he were hanged at Tyburn for being a highwayman. And why would she be living here, a woman alone with a child, struggling to get by, if she had family? Family that could have helped her.”

“I think Mrs. Harrison was probably right when she said there might have been a rift in the family. You know, the more I think of it, the more I think perhaps she married a man that her father did not approve of.”

“Or she didn't marry but came up pregnant, and her family disowned her.” He was silent for a moment. “I still know nothing of my father. And now I know just enough about my mother's family to tantalize me. I am more curious than I was before. Why did she come here? Is my father still alive? And if he is, does he know of my existence? Why did she never try to get in contact
with her family again? After all those years, they might have had a change of heart. It would seem to me that she would have written them and tried to reconcile with them…especially that winter when she was so sick, and she could hardly even work. There were many times when we had nothing to eat. I think we would have starved, had it not been for the kindness of our neighbors. That was when I went to the castle and got a job in the stables. Wouldn't she have written them for help?”

“How do you know she did not?”

“Well, if she did, she got no letter in return. And I think she was too ill to have taken a letter to post it. She would have sent me, and she did not.”

“Perhaps she was too proud, even in the face of starvation.”

“She was a proud woman.” He shook his head. “There are so many unanswered questions.”

“Why don't you go there, then?” Angela suggested.

“What?”

“Why don't you go to that town?”

“Carnmore.”

“Yes. Carnmore. Mrs. Harrison thought it was a small place. How many goldsmiths can there be? If you are right, and you were illegitimate, then they will be named Monroe. You should be able to find them easily.”

“Take a trip to Scotland? Just to investigate my family?”

Angela shrugged. “Why not? Your Mr. Pettigrew can manage your business for a while without you, surely. He demonstrated that ably enough when you were wounded, don't you think?”

“Yes.” He looked at her without expression and said coldly, “And it would also give you a chance to be free of me for a few days.”

Angela turned, startled. “I did not mean that.”

“No? Then perhaps you would like to accompany me.”

Angela's eyes widened. “Oh, no, I—I could not.”

Cam raised a brow sardonically. “As I said, you could be free of me for a few days. No doubt it would be an excellent arrangement.”

They were silent for the rest of the ride home.

 

Angela did not see Cam the rest of the day. He stayed away at dinner, and while the others wondered why he was not there, Angela knew guiltily that it was because she had offended him. No, not just offended him; she had hurt him deeply when she refused his advances the other night. Today, when she did not agree to go to Scotland, she had added to the hurt. She told herself that there was no reason for her to feel bad, that she had made it clear from the start with Cam that she did not want that kind of a relationship. It had been he, after all, who insisted on marrying her. Yet, somehow, she could not keep from feeling sorry that she had caused him pain. Finally, she went on to bed, but she found it difficult to sleep.

 

Kate, going upstairs later, noticed light streaming out into the hall from the study. She walked down the hall to the door to turn out the light, which she assumed someone had carelessly left burning. When she got to the door, she saw that the room was occupied. Cam sat in one of the heavy wingback chairs, a cut-glass decanter of whiskey on the small table beside him, stopper lying next to it.

He looked as if his evening had not been pleasant. His hair was disheveled, and his shirt was unbuttoned
at the collar and the sleeves. He sat slumped in the large leather chair, a short glass in one hand, half-filled with amber liquid. He was gazing somberly at the floor beneath his feet, as if the Persian carpet might contain the secrets to the universe.

Kate, who had noticed her own mistress's somber mood this evening, suspected that Cam's bad mood came from the same source as Angela's. She grimaced and marched across the room to stop in front of him, planting her hands pugnaciously on her hips. Cam glanced up at her indifferently, then down again.

When he did not speak, Kate began. “Well, I can see what
you
were doing this evening instead of going to dinner.”

“How perceptive of you. I always knew you were a clever girl. Now go away. I haven't any interest in sparring with you this evening.”

“That's too bad. I have an interest in talking to you.”

He raised one eyebrow at her. “You've a sharp tongue on you, considering that I am your employer.”

Kate snorted. “I grew up in the house next to you, Cam Monroe. I'm not in awe of you.” She paused, then added, “Anyway, it is Lady Angela I work for, not you.”

“You would go soon enough if I ordered you out.”

“Are you threatening to do so?” Kate looked at him challengingly. “Then you're more fool than I ever thought you.”

He smiled faintly, looking back down into his glass. “I won't dispute you there.”

“And what are you sitting here drinking yourself into a stupor for, may I ask?”

“I have found, my dear Kate, that revenge is not sweet at all. Indeed, it's the bitterest of things.”

“I should think so,” she retorted stoutly, “when you're taking your vengeance on as fine a lady as our Angela.”

Cam cast her a disgusted look. “I did not seek to hurt Angela.”

“Did you think that forcing her to marry you would endear you to her?”

His nostrils widened, and his lips thinned, and for an instant Kate thought that he would lash out at her. But he said only, “I wanted what I should have had thirteen years before. That is what I came back here for.”

Kate merely looked at him, until finally he set the glass down hard on the table beside him, splashing some of the liquid over the top. “All right! Yes, I wanted to make the old man taste some of the gall that I had. He wasn't available, so all I had left to me for revenge was Jeremy.”

“And Angela.”

His jaw clenched, and his hand curled in upon itself, forming a fist. “Angela is armored against pain. One has to have a heart to be hurt.”

Kate drew in an astonished breath. “You think that Angela has no heart?”

“Aye. None of them do. The Stanhopes. The nobility. Nothing matters to them except their precious names.” His lip curled. “Their bloodlines. She never loved me. She played me for a fool and dropped me when her grandfather found out about it. Now she turns away from my touch as if I were a leper—because I am not her ‘equal.'”

“You think
that
is why she turns away from you? What a fool you are! I used to think that it was only
gentlemen who were dolts. But now I see that foolishness is not given merely to the ruling class.
All
men are gifted with it.

“You think she has no heart? You think she did not love you? Why, then, would she have done what she did? Why, in the name of all that's holy, would she have married that cur Dunstan—just to save you? God knows, it doesn't look like it was worth the sacrifice!”