Love's Promise (25 page)

“I’m not your little
missy
. Speak to me with the respect I am due, or don’t speak to me at all.”

“You will not talk to your father. I won’t permit the two of you renege on our agreement.”

“If you think I will sit idly by and let Michael shame me, you’re mad.”

Umbrage careened off her in waves, and he marveled at how her father tolerated her sass. Why hadn’t he beaten her into submission? The Duke would have.

“What is it you want from me?” he snapped.

“From
you
, nothing. From Michael, I want the wedding I’ve dreamed about since I was a child. He will not humiliate me. I won’t allow it.”

“How will you stop him?”

“You can’t seem to control him, so
I
will fetch him home.”

“Will you?”

“Yes, and as a bonus, I shall rid us of Miss Carrington once and for all. When I am finished with her, she’ll never bother us again.”

“What is it that you will require from me in exchange?”

“I demand to be shed of Miss Carrington’s nephew. Michael claims that the boy will live with us after we are married, and I haven’t been able to dissuade him. I won’t have John’s bastard in my house.”

“What would you like done with him?”

“It matters not to me—so long as I am not burdened with his care. Nor should Michael have any continuing contact with him.”

The Duke was of the exact same opinion. Whenever he remembered how Michael had the child ensconced at Wainwright Manor, when he remembered the boy strutting about as lord of the manor, the Duke’s grew enraged.

At the first opportunity, the boy had to be sent far away—the trick being to keep Michael from learning what had happened until it was too late for him to intervene.

“You win, Rebecca. We have a deal. If you rid me of Miss Carrington, Thomas will vanish like smoke, and Michael will never know you had anything to do with it. You will start your marriage in a perfect state of wedded bliss, unfettered by familial obligation.”

“I have your word on it?”

“Of course.”

He extended his hand to shake on the arrangement, but she refused it and scoffed.

“As if your
word
is any good.”

“Why...you act as if you don’t trust me.”

“No farther than I could throw you, but were I you, I wouldn’t cross me. I have a terrible temper; I get even when I’m wronged.”

She left, her heels clicking on the marble as she headed for the front door.

He was humored by her determination and spunk. She was more of an ally than he’d ever imagined she could be, and she would be an even worse enemy, a pesky detail he would keep firmly in mind in the future.

Then again, after they commenced with their secret bargain, after they crushed Fanny Carrington and betrayed Thomas, he’d have leverage over Rebecca and a method to coerce her with the threat that he’d tell Michael what she’d done.

Poor Michael. He was in for it. His affair with Miss Carrington was about to abruptly conclude, and he was about to wed a woman he’d vastly underestimated. The Duke had tried to warn Carrington that she should leave, had tried to make Michael see the error of his ways, but neither had heeded him.

The Duke grinned. He would love to be a mouse in the corner, eavesdropping when Rebecca arrived at Henley Hall.

Anne halted outside her father’s library, and she listened as he conversed with Rebecca, which was odd.

She nearly entered, but caution caused her to hesitate. Instead, she pressed her ear to the wood, and it sounded as if they were talking about being
rid
of Miss Carrington and Thomas.

The very notion, that the Duke would discuss such a dirty business with Rebecca, was disturbing. Her father could be ruthless, but how could he harm John’s son? She, herself, viewed Thomas as a gift, a piece of John that had survived to bring them joy after heartache.

Their chat ended, and as Rebecca’s footsteps approached, Anne hurried back to the stairs, pretending she’d just come down.

“Hello, Rebecca,” Anne welcomed as Rebecca walked into the foyer. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Hello, Anne. I just popped in to see Michael.”

“He’s gone again.”

“So I’m told. Where do you suppose he is?”

She studied Anne, giving Anne the distinct impression that she was being tested, but Anne felt that—no matter the answer—she would fail.

She was trapped between Rebecca and Michael, when she hated to be. Very soon, Rebecca would be her sister, and Anne hoped that they would have a close and cordial relationship. But if Michael was involved with Miss Carrington, Anne would never admit it, and she would never hurt Rebecca by mentioning the liaison.

“I don’t know where he is,” Anne insisted. “Did the Duke have any idea?”

“No.”

Rebecca’s gaze narrowed, providing evidence that she knew exactly where Michael was, and she knew that Anne did, too.

Suddenly, their friendship was on a precipice from which it might never recover. She cursed the Duke; she cursed her brother.

“Would you like to stay for tea?”

“No, I’m inundated by chores—what with the wedding coming so fast and all.”

“Oh, certainly. I understand.”

Rebecca had never previously declined refreshment, and as she left without a farewell, they both recognized it for the snub it was.

Anne blew out a heavy breath, wondering what new catastrophe she’d witnessed. No doubt it was all the Duke’s fault.

She marched down the hall again and swept into the library. Her father was over by the window, staring into the drive, watching Rebecca climb into her coach. He was pensive, his shoulders stiff with tension.

Without preamble, she asked, “What plot are you two hatching?”

As he glanced around, his face gave nothing away. “Whatever are you implying?”

She assessed him, noting the malicious gleam that was always there, but lately had seemed more pronounced.

“Don’t play games with me.”

He didn’t reply, but went to sit behind his massive desk, using it to make her feel insignificant, to emphasize his superiority over her.

“Is there something you wanted?” he queried.

“You saw how riled Michael was the other night. Why occupy yourself with Rebecca in a way that will only anger him more if you’re discovered?”

“Who says I’m
occupying
myself with Rebecca? Why would I? You’re being ridiculous.”

He was smirking, oozing with arrogance.

“Thomas is John’s son,” she reminded him.

“Yes, he is.”

“Why would you work to his detriment?”

“You may clasp him to your bosom if you like, but don’t expect me to do the same. I warned John that the boy...”

He trailed off, appearing uncomfortable with what he’d nearly revealed.

“Warned him about what?”

“It’s nothing.”

Her pulse raced. “You warned him about Thomas? I thought you weren’t aware of Thomas until John’s will was read.”

“Oh...no, I hadn’t the slightest inkling. I was as surprised as you were.”

She was positive he was lying, and if he was, then he’d known about Thomas all along. He had to have been cognizant of Thomas’s dire straits, but had sentenced Thomas to squalor. Miss Carrington claimed that she’d written numerous letters, seeking assistance, but John had ignored her.

Had the Duke interfered somehow? Had he prevented John from helping them? Had John even learned that Miss Carrington had corresponded?

“Don’t harm Thomas,” she implored. “I’m begging you.”

He had no comment, but proceeded to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. He sipped it calmly, as if she wasn’t present.

“Are you quite finished?” he ultimately said. “If so, I’m very busy.”

She peered at his desk, and it was clear of all papers. He was doing naught but scheming and gloating, and she felt as if she was suffocating on his deceits, on his spite.

“I’ve been thinking,” she started.

“About what?”

”I want to marry. I want you to begin making inquiries again. It’s been a few years. There might be someone available now whom we hadn’t previously considered.”

He snorted as if it were a preposterous suggestion.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re an old maid. There’s not a man in England who would have you when you’re so aged. It’s not worth the bother of searching.”

She flinched as if he’d slapped her. “I do believe that’s the cruelest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“You’ll get over it.”

“So your answer is no?”

“Didn’t you hear me? Are you deaf?”

“No. I’m not deaf.”

“Good.”

“If anything happens to Thomas, I’ll tell Michael it was your fault. I’ll tell him you and Rebecca arranged it.”

“Idle threats, Anne, and you exasperate me with them. Be gone.”

For once, she was happy to oblige him. She left without argument, his malevolence wafting after her like an evil cloud.

The afternoon was quickly waning, and she needed to give the staff instructions for the evening, needed to bathe and dress. They had guests coming for drinks, then they were all heading to the engagement supper being hosted by Rebecca’s father.

Except that Michael wouldn’t be there, and Anne couldn’t bear the notion of how awkward it would be to sit across from Rebecca, making excuses for him.

She grabbed her hat and cloak, tiptoed to the front door, and departed. No one noted her passing by. No one saw her go.

She might have been invisible.

“Is Charles at home?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Phillip stared at his father’s wife, Susan. Her smile was icy.

“I need to talk with him right away. Do you know when he’ll return?”

“I haven’t any idea.”

He’d just spun to leave when the butler appeared down the hall.

“Actually, Mr. Sinclair,” the butler said, “the Earl
is
at home, and he’s expecting you. If you’ll come with me?”

At the rebuke—and from a servant no less—Susan tersely claimed, “My mistake, Phillip. He must have arrived without my being aware.”

Phillip glared at her, but didn’t remark on her obvious lie. She was a brittle, bitter woman who loathed Charles—with valid reason. Phillip felt sorry for her, but she aggravated him, too.

She’d birthed no children for Charles, so his natural children were an insult to her and blatant evidence of her barren state. Since it was Phillip’s goal to have his siblings acknowledged, he and Susan were always at odds.

He left her stewing in the foyer and followed the butler to Charles’s library. His father was alone, lounged in a chair by the fire and drinking a glass of wine.

“Phillip,” he said without rising, “how nice to see you.”

“He had a spot of trouble,” the butler tattled, “with Lady Trent.”

Charles and Susan were locked in a constant battle over who would be allowed to visit when she was in residence. The butler had strict orders to have any guests shown in immediately without regard to her wishes.

“Tell her I’ll speak with her as soon as Phillip and I are done.”

The butler closed the door, as Phillip joined his father by the fire. Charles looked calm and composed, as if his wife’s behavior didn’t bother him in the least—and it probably didn’t.

Charles was rarely in London. He and Susan rarely communicated. They never socialized. Phillip wondered if Charles was ever lonely, if he was ever sad over how his life had gone, but he doubted it. His father wasn’t prone to reflection or regret.

“I received your note,” Charles said. “What brings you by?”

“I believe I’ve found one of your daughters.”

“Really?”

“In fact, I’m sure of it.”

He handed over the letters he’d retrieved from Charles’s man of affairs.

“Oh yes,” Charles murmured as he leafed through the pages, “I remember her now. She was very beautiful, very sweet.”

“So is the daughter you sired with her.”

“It says the mother died shortly after the girl was born. What became of the child?”

“She was given to a vicar and his wife to raise.”

“Was he good to her?”

“Yes, although he died a few years ago. She’s had some problems since then.”