The Christmas Countess. Adrienne Basso
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child. I must find her. I must meet her. Please, will you help me?”
A wary expression, quickly suppressed, flickered across Daniel’s face. “I have lived outside of England for eight years, yet even I know of the Earl of Hampton. He is a powerful, wealthy man, with influential friends. It won’t be easy.”
“I don’t expect it to be,” she answered, a sad, bitter smile forming on her lips. “All I know is that it shall be worth it.”
Cameron Sinclair, Earl of Hampton, was enjoying a quiet afternoon at his gentleman’s club, reading a fresh copy of The Times and drinking a glass of exceptionally fine port. Since his household was comprised and dominated by females—his mother, his sister and his daughter—he had found over the years that in order to maintain his sanity it was necessary to on occasion seek the exclusive company of men.
“For you, my lord.”
Puzzled, Cameron lowered his newspaper and lifted the note off the silver salver the servant extended toward him. Social invitations as well as letters of a business nature were sent to his London home. This was the first time he had received such a formal document at his club.
Curious, he broke the seal, which he did not recognize, and read the note. Mr. Daniel Tremaine requests a private meeting with you on a matter most urgent and personal.
The name was also unfamiliar to the earl. “Is the gentleman who gave you the note here?”
“Yes, my lord.” The servant bowed low and discreetly pointed to a young man, conservatively and expensively dressed. He was tall, lean, with short dark hair and handsome angular features. Cameron judged him to be two or three years his junior. He did not recognize him, further deepening the mystery.
“Is he a member of White’s?” the earl asked.
“No, my lord. He was admitted today as a guest of the Duke of Aylesford.”
Cameron’s brow rose with interest as he contemplated the information. The duke was a shrewd man, known for his successful business investments as well as his high social standards. There were not many who could count upon him for such a personal favor.
“Tell Mr. Tremaine I will meet with him.” Cameron folded his newspaper and placed it on the nearby table. “Is there a room available where we can have some privacy?”
“The corner study is currently unoccupied. I will escort the gentleman there and make sure you are not disturbed.”
“Excellent.”
The earl strolled casually through the club, finding the snug corner study empty as the servant had promised. He waited but a moment for the other gentleman to join him.
“I am Daniel Tremaine,” the man said, coming forward to offer his hand. “Thank you for seeing me, Lord Hampton.”
Putting a pleasant expression on his face, Cameron shook hands. “Your note said it was urgent and private, yet you have the advantage, Mr. Tremaine. I do not recall making your acquaintance.”
“Actually, we are related, though rather distantly. Fourth or fifth cousins, I believe.”
“Ah,” Cameron replied in a noncommittal tone. Perhaps Tremaine wished to presume upon that exceedingly weak family connection for a favor, something the earl decided he would consider, if the request was reasonable. “I understand you are a guest of Aylesford’s.”
“Yes. The duke and I have joined together in a few business ventures that have proven lucrative for all parties.” The comment was not made in a boastful manner, but rather stated simply as a matter of fact.
“I am most intrigued by successful business ventures,” Cameron responded with a congenial smile, appreciating a soft sell when it came to investments. “However, all proposals are first reviewed by my man of business. I can give you his name and address if you wish to send along a report that you would like me to consider.”
A frown insinuated itself between Tremaine’s brows. “I am not here to discuss business. The matter is personal, and truth be told, rather delicate. It concerns your daughter, Lily.”
A tap came at the door, and a servant entered, bearing a tray with a wine decanter and two goblets. Tremaine declined a glass; Cameron did the same. The earl exchanged a glance with the servant, narrowing his eyes with impatience. Understanding the silent command, the servant nodded and quickly exited the room.
“My daughter is six years old, Mr. Tremaine. You cannot possibly wish to make an offer for her.”
“I know her age,” Tremaine responded in a brittle tone. “I also know that she is not your natural child.”
Cameron stared at Tremaine, his gaze steady and sure. Tremaine stared back.
“Nonsense,” Cameron stated firmly, because he did not know what else to say.
“Hardly nonsense. ’Tis the truth, and we both know it.”
The silence was charged and heavy as the earl contemplated Tremaine with an unfriendly gaze. “Blackmail, sir? I thought you said your business ventures were lucrative. Is this the means by which you have built your fortune?”
Tremaine did not even blink. “Strange, my lord, that you do not deny it.”
Cameron did his best not to react. “To do so would only give further credence to your outrageous lie.”
His expression inscrutable, Daniel Tremaine leaned closer. “Six years ago, in Cornwall, on the 26th of August, Mildred Blackwell gave a newly born infant girl into your care. She told you the babe’s mother was unmarried, of genteel birth, and in need of assistance. For whatever reasons, you and your wife decided to help. However, when you brought the child to London the following spring, you declared the little girl, whom you had named Lily, was your daughter, born of your wife.”
Cameron’s chest tightened. It took every ounce of his hard-earned self-control to remain seated. Good God, did he know everything? “Why should any of this matter to you, Tremaine?”
“Lily’s natural mother is my sister.”
For the first time, there was a crack of emotion on Tremaine’s face. As he leaned back in his chair, he looked vulnerable for just an instant. Then all too soon the intent, determined expression returned in full force. Cameron was not surprised Tremaine was so successful in business. ’Twas a useful talent to be able to contain and mask one’s emotions at will.
The earl cleared his throat. “What do you want?”
“My sister, Rebecca, would like to meet her daughter.”
The earl’s angry, disbelieving reaction was swift, instinctive, protective. “You need to get one thing perfectly clear, Tremaine. Lily is my daughter. Not, your sister’s daughter.”
“Understood.”
Drawing his frayed temper back under control, Cameron pulled down the cuffs of his tailored linen shirtsleeves, stalling for time. “Enlighten me. What does your sister expect to accomplish?”
A light of doubt entered Tremaine’s eyes. “She wants only to meet the child.”
“Lily is six years old. ’Tis a bit late for a burst of maternal instinct.”
Tremaine’s face clouded with anger. “I shall allow that insensitive remark to pass, my lord, but caution you to make no more. Rebecca was told the infant did not survive. She only recently discovered her child’s fate.”
“How?” Cameron asked in disbelief.
“Mildred Blackwell was our great-aunt. She wrote a letter to my parents outlining the plan to give the baby to you. It was found among my father’s personal papers.”
The earl rose from his chair. “While not entirely unsympathetic to your sister’s plight, you must consider my position. I lost my wife three years ago. Christina adored our daughter and Lily was very close to her mother.