Love's Promise (42 page)

“I’ll still manage his funds, but I’ll be very generous. You’ll simply send me a letter every quarter, letting me know how much money you require. And there’ll be a stipend for you, as well, to cover your expenses.”

“You don’t have to pay me for watching him. I’m happy to do it.”

“But
I
have to be assured that you’re settled. It’s important to me. I don’t want you fretting over your finances ever again.” He gestured at the envelope. “If it’s distressing to you, you needn’t correspond with me directly. My clerk’s name and address are there. He’s very competent. He can handle your requests, or he can pass on messages if you have a question or need my approval for something.”

“Where would you like us to reside?”

“You can stay here with Phillip if you like. Or you can return to Wainwright Manor. If you feel it would be disconcerting to Thomas, we can purchase another property.”

“I’ll reflect on it.”

“And I’d like him to go to school someday. To a real school, where the boys from the best families go. But not until you decide he’s ready.”

“I’ll reflect on that, too.”

After that, there wasn’t much else to say.

They stared and stared, remorse and regret flitting between them.

His cheeks flushed, and he said, “I guess I’ll be off.”

“Thank you for coming. You’ve been very kind.”

He scoffed. “I’m just doing what I should have done from the very start. I don’t know what I was thinking. I
wasn’t
thinking; that’s the problem.”

She agreed, but when he was being so repentant, she didn’t suppose she ought to mention it.

“If you ever need anything” he continued, “contact me immediately.”

“I will,” she fibbed, positive that, other than a few notes exchanged through his clerk, she would never speak with him again.

There was an agonizing pause, where she expected that he would go, or that she would walk out herself, but neither of them could make the first move.

“I wish things had been different between us,” he said, and from his tone of voice and warm expression, she could tell he was sincere.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“Yes, it does. I plan to set up a trust fund for our child, and I’ll pay you a second stipend for raising him. I have to ensure that the two of you are secure.”

She couldn’t listen to him waxing on about the cold, impersonal details of financial arrangements he’d made for their child, and she whipped away, showing him her back.

“You’ll have to talk to Phillip about it. I’d rather not discuss it with you.”

“I understand. My apologies.”

He stepped nearer, approaching until he was directly behind her. For a wild instant, she was certain he was going to touch her, that he might rest a hand on her shoulder or arm. If he did, she would shatter into tiny pieces.

“Have you...that is...”—he was stammering, discomfited—“are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”

“Either one would be fine.”

She’d had a vivid dream that the baby would be a boy, and if it was, she would name him William after her father.

Henley was quiet for a long time, then he murmured, “I always wished we’d have a girl who looked just like you.”

There was no reply she could give to such a statement, and she stood, her head bowed, suffering an emotion that was close to humiliation, when she couldn’t figure out why she would feel badly.

“Would you go?” she begged, afraid she might burst into tears.

He tarried, the moment ripe with opportunity, then he departed without another word.

Michael trudged out into the drive, where his horse had been brought from the stable. The cold December afternoon was very short, the sun dropping in the west, and he had to get back to the coaching inn where he’d rented a room for the night.

To his surprise, Phillip and Anne were waiting for him, snuggled together, bundled up in their winter coats.

He tried to remember why they’d all fought, why he’d been angry enough to kill Phillip, the friend he’d always cherished, but his motives and choices were lost in a fog of regret.

He walked over to them, and he wanted to tease Anne and joke with Phillip, as he might have in the past, but levity was impossible. The encounter was very reserved, very awkward.

“How is your arm?” Michael inquired of Phillip.

“It’s healed; it’s fine.”

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know that. I never meant to hurt you either. As if I could have shot you! I felt as if I went mad for a time.”

“So did I,” Michael admitted. “I was completely insane. I’m so sorry.”

“Water under the bridge, Michael,” Phillip charitably said, displaying much more courtesy than Michael deserved.

“All is forgiven,” Anne added, her gaze kind and reassuring.

“Fanny looks healthy,” Michael said. “Take care of her for me. And Thomas, too. Watch over them.”

“I will,” Phillip said. “Don’t worry.”

“Notify me when the baby arrives, and if they need anything, contact me at once.”

“I heard about that school in Cornwall,” Anne mentioned, “that you shut it down and brought the boys back with you. What will you do with them?”

“For now, they’re at Henley Hall, and we’ve sent out letters to their families, but I may keep them at the estate. I’m starting a school of my own—in the Dower House. It hasn’t been used in years. The ones who don’t go home can stay there.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“There’s no need to be.”

Her praise embarrassed him. There should be no congratulations for his doing the right thing.

“Are you happy, Anne?” he asked, even though he could see the answer.

“Very.”

“I’m glad you did this. I’m glad you picked Phillip.”

“So am I.”

He would have liked to hug her, but they’d never enjoyed that sort of easy affection.

“What will you two do now?” he queried.

“We’re going to spend Christmas here with Fanny and Thomas,” Phillip said, “and we’ll wait until the baby is born in the spring. Then we’re off to Italy for our honeymoon.”

“I’m jealous.”

He forced a smile, wishing he was going to Italy, wishing he was going somewhere where he was wanted, where he was needed.

“And how about you?” Anne said. “What will you do with yourself?”

“I have to visit Henley Hall, to deal with all those boys. Then...I haven’t decided. I guess I still have to marry. I suppose I’ll fuss with it again.”

“But not to Rebecca?”

“No. Definitely not Rebecca. Not after what she did to Thomas.”

He was too chagrinned to admit that he had nowhere to go for the holidays. He refused to return to the Duke’s, and he’d like to have remained in the country with Phillip and Anne, with Fanny and Thomas, but he’d squandered their good will.

“I didn’t intend for any of this to occur,” he told them, desperately yearning to confess. “I loved Fanny. I realize it sounds foolish now, but I wanted you to understand that I truly cared for her.”

“We know you did,” Anne said.

He went over to his horse, and he retrieved a small box from the saddle.

He handed it to Anne.

“What is it?” she inquired.

“It’s a Christmas gift for Fanny.”

Anne frowned at Phillip, a silent communication passing between them as to whether they should give it to her or not. It was wrong for him to leave a gift for Fanny, and they all knew it.

“You don’t need to tell her it’s from me,” he offered.

Phillip took it from Anne, and he stared at the wrapping as if trying to peer through it to the inside.

“It’s something very dear to her,” Michael explained, “that she had to sell for cash a few years ago, when they were very poor. I located it for her, and I thought she might like to have it back.”

Phillip considered, then agreed. “I’ll see that she gets it.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“And
I
have something for you,” Phillip said. He reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope.

“What is it?”

“It’s a copy of an old letter from one of my father’s spurned lovers. She was a princess he seduced once upon a time.”

“Really? Why show it to me?”

“Anne and I talked it over, and we decided you should have it. Let’s just say that—if the contents are true—it will make you doubly glad that you’re not marrying Rebecca.”

“What are you trying to tell me?”

“Read the letter,” Phillip urged. “You’ll understand.”

Michael nodded, then mounted his horse.

“Write to me,” Anne insisted. “Keep me informed of where you are and what’s happening with you.”

“I will,” Michael replied, though he would never correspond with her.

If they remained cordial, there’d be chatty notes about Anne’s life, which would include news he couldn’t bear of Fanny and his child.

What if, someday, Fanny fell in love and married another man? What if he ended up raising Michael’s son? Michael would die of agony. Better to never hear, to never know.

He clicked the reins, and his horse trotted down the lane toward the road. As he was swallowed up by the trees, he drew to a halt, and glanced over his shoulder.

Phillip and Anne were just going in, arm in arm, whispering, their heads pressed close. The door was shut behind them, and Michael scanned the windows, hoping he might catch a final glimpse of Fanny, but she was nowhere to be found.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“Miss Camilla,” the butler said, looking extremely agitated, “I need you down in the parlor. Now!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Lord Henley is here, and he’s...he’s...taking inventory.”

“Inventory of what?”

“The furniture. He has several clerks with him, and they’re jotting down assessed value.

Henley was downstairs? He was snooping through her belongings?

The nerve!

“Did he say why?”

“No and I don’t have the authority to toss him out.”

She sighed with aggravation. “I’ll be right down.”

“Thank you.”

At her party the prior evening, she’d had too much to drink, and she was feeling poorly. She yanked a brush through her hair, and swiped some color on her cheeks and lips, then she started down, but as she swept into the parlor, the scene was every bit as bizarre as the butler had described.

Henley was standing in the middle of the floor while three men proceeded to inspect her possessions as if they planned on taking them.

“Henley, what are you doing?” she cried.

Over in the corner, a clerk was riffling through her desk, and suddenly, he chirped, “I’ve found it, milord. I’ve got it.”

“You’re certain?” Henley asked.

“Yes.”

Henley went over to scrutinize what the man was holding, and Camilla frowned. It seemed to be her copy of the contract that had given her the house and allowance in exchange for custody of Thomas.

“Yes, this is it. Good work.” Henley stuffed it into his jacket.

“What was that?” Camilla demanded. “What have you taken? Why have you come?”

“I’m here to right a few wrongs,” Henley cryptically replied, “and we’re selling the house.”

“Selling the...house? You can’t. You gave it to me.”

“We didn’t
give
it to you, Miss Carrington. We simply let you live here.”

“So...what are you planning? Are you buying me another?”

She rippled with anticipation, as she imagined something newer and bigger. Perhaps they were so delighted with Thomas that she was being rewarded!

“No, we’re not,” he responded. “In fact, I’m giving you notice.”

“Notice of what?”

“You have to move.”

“Move? But where would I go?”

“Anywhere you want. I don’t care.”

Swiftly, she calculated the income she received from the Wainwrights and how insufficient it was to cover her expenses. If she had to begin paying rent, how would she get by?

This was a disaster!

“You expect me to take on my own housing costs?”

“Yes.”

“But how will I afford it?”

“Fortunately, that is not my concern.”

“My allowance will never stretch that far.”

“Your allowance...” he reflected. “Did I neglect to inform you that it’s ending?”

She gasped. “You can’t stop it.”

“Yes, I can.” He looked at the men. “Would you go upstairs and complete the inventory? Be thorough, would you? When she vacates the premises, I don’t want her to take anything that’s not hers. I need a meticulous record.”

They scurried out, and as their footsteps faded, he closed the parlor door.

“Do you ever wonder where your sister is?”

“Fanny? No.”

“Do you ever worry as to how she might be faring?”

“Why would I?

“Why would you, indeed?”

“It’s a rough world out there for a single woman,” Camilla declared. “I can’t help it if she has no idea how to carry on. She certainly had plenty of suggestions for me after my parents died. She was so sure that she knew it all; if she’s followed her own advice, I’m positive she’s thriving.”

He stared at her as if she were vermin, as if she were a bug he’d like to squash. “I’m curious as to why—when you were aware that she was pregnant and destitute—you tossed her out on the street without so much as a coat to keep her warm.”