Love's Promise (33 page)

Once previously, she’d planned to kidnap him and run away, but she never would. She had nowhere to take him, no way to keep him safe. The whole world seemed allied against her, and it was impossible to keep fighting. Despite her pure motives, she couldn’t win.

She’d lost every person she ever loved, had lost everything that was familiar and good in her life. She’d always tried to be honorable and decent, her only moral lapse being her grand passion with Michael Wainwright, and she didn’t understand why God was punishing her.

What had she ever done to deserve so much anguish?

Lord Henley and Lady Rebecca had been wrapped in heavy coats, as if embarking on a lengthy journey. Lady Rebecca had clutched Henley’s arm, and he appeared to be very comfortable with her. There was no evidence that a short while earlier, Fanny had been the very center of his existence.

As the carriage had passed, Thomas furtively gestured to her. Fanny did the same, then the vehicle rounded the corner and sped off.

Fanny went in the opposite direction, having nowhere to go. Over the prior week, she’d stayed at a charity mission, had slept on the floor, had been given an old cloak and one bowl of soup in the evenings, but she’d been asked to move on so other, more desperate women could take her place.

She was hungry and freezing and terrified over what catastrophe would befall her next. She’d been drifting from shop to shop, begging for a job, but she had quickly discovered that she wasn’t the only poor female trying to find work. Numerous offers had been extended, but none that involved gainful employment.

She had to save herself, but what should she do? No matter what she attempted, it ended in disaster, yet she had to keep on. She couldn’t give up.

A large mansion emerged in front of her, and she dragged to a halt, aware that it belonged to Lord Trent. Soon after being evicted from Camilla’s, she’d learned its location and had strolled by several times, but she hadn’t had the courage to walk up the drive and knock.

What was preventing her? A carriage was parked by the door, so apparently, someone was home.

Lady Rebecca had insisted that Trent never aided any of his natural children, but Fanny was beyond pride or vanity. If they turned her away, she’d be no worse off than before. They might even pity her and throw her a few coins.

She straightened her snarled hair, her grimy clothes, and had marched through the gate, when horses’ hooves clattered on the bricks behind her.

An older woman approached, her groom riding with her. She was perched on a fancy side-saddle, fashionably attired in blue velvet and white lace, a jaunty hat on her head. As she saw Fanny, she reined in, a furious gleam in her eye.

“You there!” she barked. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Fanny curtsied, doing her best to seem polite and meek. “I hope you’ll pardon me, milady, but I seek an audience with Lord Trent.”

The woman inhaled sharply. “You would dare?”

After whispering something to the groom, he helped her dismount, then she marched over, the heels of her boots clicking on the ground. She pointed with her riding crop, pushing at the hood on Fanny’s cloak to reveal her golden blond hair, then she grabbed Fanny’s arm and studied her wrist, verifying the presence of the same birthmark that had interested the Duke.

As if it were poison, she flung Fanny’s arm away.

“It’s obvious you’re one of
them
,” she said. “Who told you to come here?”

“No one.”

“Really?” She scoffed. “You pathetic vagabonds are all alike. What is it you want?”

“I just...just...want to talk to Lord Trent.”

“Well, I am
Lady
Trent, and you shall not. Not ever!”

“Oh...my...”

In Fanny’s ruminations, she’d focused on the fact that people claimed Lord Trent was her father. She had never paused to wonder if there was a Lady Trent. It was clear the woman suspected the reason for Fanny’s visit, and Fanny was mortified to have flaunted herself in such a horrid way.

“By your very existence,” Lady Trent seethed, “you insult me, yet you have the audacity to show up—without warning—on my stoop. Have you no manners? No shame?”

“Forgive me, milady.”

“Forgive you?”

“I shouldn’t have intruded. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You’re sorry! You parade yourself before me; you throw my husband’s infidelity in my face, and you suppose a mere apology will suffice? How dare you!”

She spun to her groom and ordered, “Get this illegitimate beggar out of my yard.”

Phillip sat in Charles’s parlor, staring at the walls and wondering what was taking his father so long to return home. He had errands to run, and he couldn’t continue to wait.

Charles was leaving for France in the morning, and Phillip had decided to go with him. Why not? What was there to keep him in London?

He was still reeling over his encounter with the Duke, and he couldn’t figure out why he bothered with the Wainwright family. Why did he put up with either Michael or Anne?

He had no idea.

Time and distance were the best remedies for what ailed him. He would travel to France for a few months, would drink and lounge and loaf with his father. Hopefully, when he came back to London, his absurd infatuation with Anne would have waned.

He walked to the sideboard and was pouring himself a brandy, when he heard a quarrel out in the drive. Frowning, he went to the window and peeked out.

Susan was berating a girl, towering over her as she delivered a vicious, cutting diatribe. Was it a servant? They were in full view of anyone passing by on the street. What could the girl have done that would warrant such a public reprimand?

He sighed with resignation, then headed outside. He didn’t care if Susan had every right to discipline her employees. It simply wasn’t in his nature to sit by while a female was abused.

As he approached the fracas, it was clear that Susan’s rage had been let loose, and the girl was bearing the brunt of Susan’s years of silent torment. Susan was trembling and appeared so distraught that he worried she might strike the girl with the riding crop she clutched in her hand.

Phillip hurried over, seized the crop and yanked it away. Susan whirled on him, eager to convey a tongue-lashing for his interfering, but when she saw it was he, she halted, looking greatly annoyed by his arrival.

“What is wrong with you?” he snapped.

“This is none of your affair,” she insisted. “Be gone. At once!”

“Calm yourself, and go in the house.”

“You will not order me about.”

“Won’t I?”

They engaged in a visual battle of wills that she quickly lost.

“My husband will hear about this,” she threatened.

“Please tell him all about it for me. I can’t wait to learn his opinion.”

As she realized her predicament, she scowled with consternation. Charles detested her and would never take her side, no matter the issue.

“I hate you,” she hurled, then she whipped away and stomped inside.

The groom was still lurking, and he had the nerve to glare at Phillip and say, “How dare you insult Lady Trent that way.”

“Shut your mouth!” Phillip stepped closer, intimidating with his size, with his position. “Speak to me with the respect I am due as your lord’s oldest son, or don’t speak to me at all.”

“Bloody bastard, I’ll be damned if I’ll...”

Phillip lifted him off his feet and tossed him toward the mews. He collapsed in a heap, then groaned in pain and scurried away. Phillip turned his attention to the woman.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

With trembling fingers, she pushed back her golden hair, and if he’d suddenly come face to face with the Blessed Virgin, he couldn’t have been more stunned.

“Miss Carrington?”

“Mr. Sinclair?”

“Where have you been? I went to Henley Hall to find you, but you had already left. I’ve been searching for you ever since.”

“Oh, my Lord, Mr. Sinclair. I’ve been having the worst time of it.” She clasped his arm, gripping it tightly as if she’d been drowning and he’d effected a rescue.

“Miss Carrington—Frances, Fanny—what are you doing here?”

She sighed with dismay. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Her clothes were filthy and torn, her condition disheveled. Her situation was every bit as wretched as it had been when he’d first met her in the Duke’s dining room so many months earlier. Obviously, she’d suffered even more calamities since that night.

Phillip gazed at her, at the house where Susan was grimly peering out the window. Miss Carrington would never be safe on her own, and he had to take a chance, had to toss the dice and see what numbers he rolled.

“Has someone told you that Lord Trent is your father? Is that why you’re here? Were you going to ask him for help?”

She studied him, not confused by his query. She knew precisely to what he referred.

“Well, my father,” he added, “
is
Lord Trent, which is why I’ve been looking for you.”

“But you scarcely know me. Why would you look for me?”

“Because if Trent is your father, then
you
are my sister.”

“You’re mad,” she breathed. “It can’t be true.”

“It is, Fanny. It really is.”

He extended his wrist, then he took hers, and he held them side by side, their identical birthmarks impossible to disregard.

After scrutinizing them, she frowned. “What does it mean?”

“It
means
that you’re coming home with me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“How did you come to be raised by Vicar Carrington?” Phillip inquired.

“My birth mother died shortly after I was born, and my grandparents left me at the church and asked him to find a home for me.”

“And he kept you himself?”

“He and his wife always wanted another child besides Camilla.”

“I can certainly understand why.” Phillip’s smile was grim. “I knew you were adopted. I knew it!”

He leaned across the breakfast table and patted her hand.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “everything will be all right now.”

“How can it be?”

“Our father will provide for you.”

“Why would he? I’ve never even met him.”

“It doesn’t matter. He owes you support. The amount won’t be enormous, but sufficient to see you settled. And you’re welcome to remain here with me for as long as you like. That way, you won’t have to establish your own household, and your funds will go farther.”

Fanny didn’t know if she’d accept his offer, but she was so overwhelmed to have someone be charitable, with no strings attached, that it was all she could do to keep from breaking down and blubbering like a baby.

“Why are you being so kind to me?”

“Because I could have ended up in dire straits like you, but my maternal grandparents took a firm stand over my father’s seduction of my mother. They kept me and reared me themselves.”

“You were lucky.”

“Yes, I was. However, many of our half-siblings were not. I help them when I can.”

“Are there many of us?”

“More than I care to admit.” He frowned at her plate. “You haven’t touched your food.”

“My stomach is upset.”

“After what you’ve been through, I’m not surprised.”

“I believe I’ll just drink some cocoa.”

She picked up her cup and forced down a few sips, hoping the searing liquid would suppress her morning sickness. With each passing minute, she was feeling more ill, but was valiantly trying to hide it.

After Phillip had fended off Lady Trent and her groom, he’d taken Fanny to his home in Mayfair. A matronly housekeeper, introduced as Mrs. Bailey, had put her to bed. In the morning, there’d been a hot bath and clothes to wear, a delicious breakfast and a new brother who was concerned about her, a new father she was nervous about approaching, and other half-siblings who might wish to befriend her.

Her head was spinning, and it all seemed like a fantastic dream. She was terrified that she would wake up to discover that none of it had been real.

“I’ve been wondering about something,” he said.

“What is that?”

“When you left Clarendon House last summer, with Michael Wainwright, did he take you to Henley Hall?”

“Not the Hall, precisely. To a smaller residence, out on the edge of the property.”

He was very quiet, and finally, he murmured, “Really?”

“Ah...he brought my nephew, Thomas, to stay with me.”

“Yes, I know about Thomas.”

“He’d been lonely at the mansion he inherited from his father, so Lord Henley let us live together for a few months.”

“That was kind of him.”

“Wasn’t it, though?”

“Then what happened? Why did you come back to London?”

“Lord Henley thought it was time for Thomas to return to Wainwright Manor. For school and...well...school.”

She made a vague gesture with her hand. She still couldn’t talk about what had transpired, couldn’t bear to discuss Michael or their affair.

“Why didn’t you simply go to Wainwright Manor with Thomas? Didn’t you want to be with him?”

“I might have enjoyed it,” she equivocated, “but I didn’t suppose I should interfere. Thomas is adjusting to his situation—with his suddenly being a Wainwright and all—and it was confusing to him that I had shown up.”