Song Of The Nightingale (DeWinter's Song 1) (8 page)

9

When Ambrose came rushing into the library, he stared at the crying infant in the duke’s arms and blurted out: “Your grace, I saw the young lady run out—has she left her baby with you?”

“It appears so, Ambrose,” Raile said dryly. “I believe that she is crazed.”

“Her coach has already departed. Shall I have Atkins fetch her back, your grace?”

“By the time he saddles a horse, she will have disappeared. She said she brought a wet nurse,” Raile said in distress as the baby’s howls became louder.

“There is a woman waiting in the great hall, your grace.”

Raile thrust the still crying infant into the startled butler’s arms. “Give this child to her and bring her to me at once.”

While Raile waited for the wet nurse to appear, he moved to the window and pulled the heavy drapery aside. He relived the incident with Miss Maragon, hoping to make some sense of it. Why had she accused him of being her baby’s father when they both knew that wasn’t so? He could easily prove he had been out of the country when the child was conceived. His eyes darkened. The girl played a dangerous game if she thought to pass off her brat as his.

The door opened, and a tiny birdlike woman moved forward slowly. She held the baby tenderly, and Raile was relieved to see the child had quieted.

He gave the woman a searching glance and motioned for her to be seated. “May I know your name?” he asked, sitting on the edge of his desk, knowing the movement was intimidating. He would have his answers from this woman.

Her eyes darted about the room nervously, and she had a hard time meeting Raile’s gaze. “My name’s Heloise Gibbins, your grace.”

“Tell me what you know of Miss Maragon.”

Now the woman did meet his eyes. Heloise was still of an age to appreciate a handsome man. She found herself giddy and lighthearted when the duke looked at her.

“I have just lately become acquainted with Miss Maragon, your grace. I was only employed to look after the baby until you could find someone to replace me.”

“Tell me all you know about her,” he insisted. “And, I’ll know if you are not speaking the truth.”

“I truly know little of her, your grace. I was asked by the midwife in our village if I would consider making a journey of some distance with a woman and a newborn infant. Since my sister was willing to stay with my three children until I returned, and I needed the wages, I agreed to come. I must say Miss Maragon hardly spoke, and I often saw tears in her eyes. I didn’t know what to think of her.”

“Where did you meet her? At the Maragon country estate?”

“No, your grace. I met her in the village of Tibury, when we boarded the coach that brought us to Ravenworth. I can’t tell you much more than that.”

Raile drew in an impatient breath. “Are you being deliberately vague?”

She shook her head vigorously. “No, no. I know only what the people in the village knew, because the woman kept to herself. That is after her husband deserted her— or we thought he was her husband, but perhaps he wasn’t.”

“Do you know who the man was?”

“No, your grace. And as to the woman, I only saw her once at a distance, when she was heavy with child. Then I never saw her again until four days ago.”

“Are you certain you’re telling me everything you know, Mrs. Gibbins?”

“I swear I am, your grace. Except... on the journey here, the woman would only hold the baby when I was too weary. It was as though she didn’t want to be near the child. Do you not think that odd?”

Raile stood up. “I will allow you and the baby to remain here until such time as the truth is uncovered.” He moved to the bell cord. When Ambrose appeared, Raile instructed him to turn the wet nurse and the baby over to Mrs. Fitzwilliams.

An intriguing challenge had opened up before him, and Raile was determined to untangle the mystery of Miss Maragon and her child.

That evening when Raile made his way toward the formal sitting room, his path was momentarily blocked by Lavinia’s maid, Meg Dower. The maid was clubfooted and had difficulty walking. She dipped an awkward curtsy when she saw Raile and disappeared in the shadows near the window.

Raile had always found something distasteful about Meg Dower. The woman was devoted to Lavinia and had been with her since before her marriage to Raile’s father. Raile did not trust her. Meg never looked directly at anyone, and on occasion, Raile had seen a cunning light in her eyes. It was well known that the maid was Lavinia’s ears and eyes and would lurk around corners, spying for her mistress.

Raile entered the sitting room, where he found Hugh and Lavinia waiting for him. He didn’t relish spending another evening with his stepmother and half brother. But they were his only family and his cross to bear, he thought.

“Good evening, brother,” Hugh said lazily. “I was beginning to think we would have to dine without you tonight.”

Hugh’s blond hair and blue eyes were a startling contrast to Raile’s dark coloring. While Raile wore sober black, Hugh was dressed in the dandy fashion. He was decked out in tight blue pantaloons with a French-cut matching jacket. His cravat was elaborately tied, his hair cut in the Grecian style.

Raile flipped up the tail of his coat and sat down. “Since we have to live together, we should attempt to be amiable,” he stated.

Lavinia approached her stepson with a provocative smile on her lips. “Raile,” she said in a silky smooth voice, “we don’t have to live under the same roof. It’s been months since I’ve been to London because the house your father left me is depressingly small, and in an unfashionable part of town. Why don’t you allow me to occupy your London house, so I can enjoy the Season? You know I detest the country.”

“I told you, Lavinia, my London house is being renovated. You wouldn’t find it pleasant with workmen invading your privacy for the next two months.”

“There’s the town house on Percy Street that came to you through your uncle,” she reminded him.

“Knowing I would never want to live there, I instructed my solicitor to sell Uncle William’s London house, Lavinia. I have already pensioned off his servants, and the new owners will take occupancy next week.”

Her eyes hardened. “I don’t see why you spend money on this musty old castle, when it could be better spent on new carriages and horses. I am mortified to ride around in that old coach that was your grandfather’s. And just look at this gown—it’s positively ready for the rag heap.”

As usual, Lavinia was exaggerating. Raile glanced at the pink satin gown that was adorned with sparkling jewels. Just last week he had paid the bill for several new gowns, including that one.

“You must have patience, Lavinia,” he told her. “When the repairs are completed, you shall have your new coach.”

“You have money for the coach now,” she said in an accusing voice. “Why do you make me wait? I am well aware that your mother left you a considerable fortune. Your father would have expected you to take care of me and your brother.”

Raile smiled with irony. “Do you really believe my father would have expected me to furnish you with a new coach and a new wardrobe with money left to me by my mother?”

Lavinia whirled around. “You are just being mean, Raile. Most probably, you resent every morsel of food that passes between my lips. You want to bury me in the country so you can gloat over my misery.”

Raile drew in a resigned breath, but did not reply.

“You go to London when it pleases you,” Lavinia continued. “Do you think I don’t know about your fancy piece and the house you bought her? It’s nicer than the one your father left me. And I have been told you buy her gowns and fine jewelry that would put mine to shame.”

“Lavinia, I am not prepared to discuss my private life with you. If you find life tedious here, you should feel free to leave.”

“Mother,” Hugh drawled, “you know Raile’s first commitment is restoring this old castle. Your needs will just have to wait.” He wrapped his arm about his mother’s shoulders, his eyes mocking as they met his brother’s. “It rests with Raile to play the family benefactor.”

Raile moved away, wishing he could avoid a confrontation just this one night. Perhaps he should send Lavinia and Hugh to London so he wouldn’t have to listen to their complaints.

Hugh’s voice droned on. “Even if our wants are many, Mother dear, Raile’s needs come first.” He shrugged. “We, Mother, are reduced to poor relations, living off Raile’s charity, thus forced to dwell in virtual seclusion until it pleases him to let us out of this prison.”

Cynicism twisted Raile’s lips. “As I told you, you are both welcome to strike out on your own if you find living here unbearable. I do not keep you here against your will. I didn’t even invite you.”

Mother and son exchanged glances. They had agreed not to antagonize Raile—not yet anyway—since they had neither the means nor the inclination to move out on their own. Lavinia had discovered that Raile was not as easily manipulated as his father and uncle had been. There was a strength in him that sometimes frightened her. Until she discovered his weakness, she would have to curb her impatience.

She decided to move on to a safer subject—or so she thought. “I was most curious on hearing from Meg that an infant girl has been placed in your keeping. You know how closemouthed Mrs. Fitzwilliams can be. When I pressed her for information about the baby, she would tell me nothing. I wonder why you keep that sour old woman around.”

Raile smiled. “Fritzy is as much a part of Ravenworth Castle as any one of us—perhaps more than some.” He raised a dark eyebrow. “I have always applauded her loyalty.”

Hugh dropped down on the green sofa and leaned forward, his eyes dancing with humor. “I have heard that the women are beautiful in France. Can it be, brother, that you have been dallying your way across the continent? Do you have some young Frenchwoman’s brat in the family nursery?”

“I am as mystified by the incident as you,” Raile said dryly. “Tell me, do either of you know a Miss Maragon?”

Raile was watching Hugh for a reaction, and he noticed that his brother paled.

“Do you know her, Hugh?” Raile pressed.

“I may have been acquainted with her. But I know so many women,” Hugh admitted anxiously. He looked at his mother, worried about what her reaction would be if she learned the truth.

Lavinia watched Raile’s face with growing concern. “You don’t mean some little chit has tried to pass off a bastard child as Hugh’s. I will not hear of it!” Her eyes snapped with anger as she rounded on Raile. “You dare not bring a baby into this house and try to foist it off on my son.”

Raile ignored Lavinia’s outburst and moved to stand over his brother. “She’s not some chit, but a young girl from a good family. Tell your mother and me about Miss Maragon, Hugh.”

Hugh smiled nervously. “I liked her well enough, as I remember.”

Raile pinned his brother with a hard look. “I know well, Hugh, about your responsibilities where women are concerned. Have I not taken the blame for many of your indiscretions? It was the result of your disregard for women that I chose to leave England.”

“Whether you believe it or not, Raile, I always regretted that misunderstanding with Uncle William. I hope you will not hold me responsible for the misdeeds of my youth.”

Raile looked at Lavinia, who was squirming uncomfortably. She had hoped this conversation would never arise. She should have known Raile would not forget how she had lied about him to his uncle.

“It was not a misunderstanding, Hugh,” Raile said in a cold voice. “Your mother can confirm that if there is any doubt in your mind.”

“I am not answerable for what my mother does. And it isn’t my fault that most women find me irresistible.” Hugh’s laughter was amused. “And I find them equally irresistible.”

Lavinia saw what Hugh had not—she saw the dangerous fire in Raile’s eyes, and she decided to save her foolish son before he went too far.

“Raile, I have suffered gravely for causing the rift between you and your uncle. But you are stronger than Hugh, and if your uncle had banished my son, he would not have fared as well as you did. You came home a hero, did you not?”

“You have a convenient little mind, Lavinia,” Raile said in warning. “Have a care that you do not push me too far.”

The threat hung in the air until Lavinia blurted out: “This conversation grows tedious. Can we not speak of more agreeable matters?”

Raile turned back to his brother, ignoring her. “Tell me, Hugh,” he asked, “could that baby in the nursery be yours?”

Lavinia tried to intervene again. “Now see here, Raile DeWinter—“

“I’m going to ask you just one more time,” Raile interrupted. “Did you father Miss Maragon’s child?”

Hugh toyed with the gold button on the sleeve of his coat. “I have found that I am fertile, so I will not deny it is a possibility that the child is mine. I do recall that the girl was a virgin when we became ... intimate.”

Raile glanced up at Lavinia. “Madame, your son has gone too far this time—he impregnated a woman from an old and respected family. He will now face the consequences.”

A feeling of uneasiness moved over Lavinia’s heart. She had always turned a blind eye to Hugh’s obsession with women because she had never felt threatened by any of them—none had challenged her place with her son. But this might be another matter altogether.