Regency High Society Vol 5: The Disgraced Marchioness / The Reluctant Escort / The Outrageous Debutante / A Damnable Rogue. Mary Nichols
Читать онлайн книгу.
otherwise, but I pray that you were satisfied. I think you deserved more. Perhaps you did love Octavia…but I can never accept that you would have treated me—or her—with such lack of respect. It was simply not in your nature to dissemble and hide the truth. We were always honest with each other.
She brushed away the dampness from her eyes, determinedly refusing to let her thoughts return to her troubled relationship with Hal and his imminent departure. She cradled the sleeping babe more comfortably, humming softly, her cheek resting against his hair.
‘You are so very young, still so unaware,’ she murmured. ‘And so you can never know your father—it will never be possible for you to grow up to experience for yourself his love and care. But I will tell you all about him when you are old enough to understand. I will never let you forget how splendid a man sired you, even though you will never be able to keep his image in your memory, and he will not know you as you grow to manhood.’ Turning her face into the soft curls, she hid the anguish. ‘And neither shall I forget. I shall remember him until the day I die.’ Her voice was soft, even if the words were fierce. The baby snuffled and burrowed against her. ‘You do not understand, but one day you will.’
* * *
Henry stood in the open doorway to the parlour. He had been standing there for some little time, having been dispatched by Mrs Stamford with an urgent request to her daughter. He could not help but listen and watch, uncomfortable at eavesdropping on so private a moment, but caught up in the situation. She was so loving, so tender with the child. The picture they made together, bathed in bright sunshine, gave them the glowing mysticism of a holy picture. Otherworldly. Beyond time. He would have liked to have walked in, enfolded them both in his arms in a symbol of love and possession, but could not, dare not, break the spell. He was shut out from this relationship by present circumstances and past history. His throat dried, his heart beat with a heavy pulse as he controlled the wave of regret and longing that compromised him with its intensity. Into his mind came the memory of the woman and the babe as he had once seen them, when Eleanor had leaned over the crib in candlelight and crooned a lullaby to a restless infant. The image was sharp, clear as the faceted crystals in the chandelier, and it rocked him to his very soul. Such love and tenderness between them. Henry was forced to turn his face away from the brightness before him, to close his eyes momentarily to shut out the promise of what might have been, and yet could never be. He would have retreated, leaving her undisturbed. After all, he did not know what to say to her and in that moment could not trust his composure.
Then, as he would have stepped back, she became aware and turned her head, a little startled. He had no choice but to continue with his errand.
‘I did not mean to disturb you, my lady.’ Eleanor apparently did not notice his hesitation. But his voice sounded strained, even to his own ears.
‘You have not.’ What was he thinking? His expression was bleak, the flat planes of his face stark with an emotion held in check. She hid her own discomfort behind a polite exterior, but could not look at him.
‘Your mother seems to feel that there is urgent need for you below stairs. She accosted me in the hall. Some disagreement, I believe. She would not explain, but she is not happy.’
‘Oh. My mother tends to see household catastrophes where they do not exist.’ Eleanor managed a slight smile as she sighed.
‘I dare not suggest such a thing. I think you had better go.’ Henry’s appraising glance took in her discomfort, her lack of ease in his presence. He wished that he knew why.
‘It will be some trivial matter that Marcle will be able to solve without difficulty. My mama has a need to interfere!’
‘I am aware. But dare not say that either!’
Now she laughed, the atmosphere lightened, as had been his intent. ‘If you would ring the bell for Jennie to take Tom…’
‘No matter. I can watch my nephew for a few moments without danger to him or myself, I expect.’
‘Are you sure?’ He did not know whether he saw amusement or uncertainty on her face as her eyes finally lifted to his, but either was better than her previous withdrawal.
‘No. I can but try.’
She laughed again as she walked to the door, quickly turning her face away. How much had he heard of her foolish conversation with Tom? She was intensely aware of the hot colour that stained her cheeks, embarrassed by her vivid memories of a few moments before.
‘Eleanor.’ His voice stopped her. ‘Will you return when you have dealt with the crisis? There is a matter that I need to discuss with you.’
‘Of course.’ She frowned. ‘Should I be worried?’
‘No. Not a matter of concern—rather one of hope. But there is something you should know that Nicholas has discovered.’
‘Very well.’ Eleanor tucked the child securely into the corner of a chair, supported by a cushion and, with the brief instruction to watch her son, left in the direction of her mother’s raised voice.
‘So.’ Henry eyed the child with some disquiet. ‘What do we do? I know nothing of babes. I suppose I can talk to you. Or perhaps I simply leave you to sit there until your mother returns. And pray that it will not be long!’
A whimper at the loss of his mother was the only response.
‘Don’t cry. Not that. I shall have failed and have to face your mama’s wrath. Come here.’ He bent and lifted the child with definite lack of expertise, but carefully enough, to carry him to the window as Eleanor had done. ‘There—that is far more interesting.’ He looked at the child, noting the features, his heart suddenly clenching in his chest. ‘Oh, God! Thomas. I wish you had not died. You should see your son. So much like you.’ He smiled as the baby blinked owlishly at him. ‘Even to that innocent stare when there is mischief afoot. I predict he will be a handful as he grows—but with all the charm in the world.’ The smile faded, his features taking on an austere cast. ‘And his mother is exactly what you would have wished. I will care for your son—and Eleanor, if she will allow it. For both of them, as you would have done.’
Eleanor returned, the matter of responsibilities for ordering both household and kitchen candles quickly smoothed over, to see Henry in the window, holding the child. She came to an abrupt halt, much as Henry had done earlier. The breath caught in her throat at the unexpected scene. Both dark heads close together, some ridiculous conversation going on, which had caused the child to focus on Lord Faringdon with determined concentration and an instantly recognisable Faringdon frown. The object under discussion appeared to be Henry’s half-hunter repeater watch, which he had opened to chime the hours and the quarters. Tom’s frown suddenly replaced by a grin in which teeth were just beginning to emerge. He giggled at the bell-like tones.
She could weep for what might have been as Henry turned his head at her approaching footsteps.
‘Eleanor.’ The relief was palpable. ‘As you see, I am entertaining your son. Not a tear in sight.’
‘Thank you.’ She was unintentionally abrupt, to hide the emotion that threatened her composure.
‘You had better take him. I might drop him.’
‘You look very competent.’ She held out her arms, then turned her back, concentrating on the child, struggling to keep her voice light. Her heart ached. ‘You said you had something to tell me.’
‘Yes. It will interest you inordinately to know that Octavia’s name is not Baxendale. It is Broughton. Aunt Beatrice remembered.’
‘Broughton!’ Eleanor became very still as enlightenment came to her, her eyes widening. The unexpected news overrode her wayward emotions and her discomfort in Henry’s presence. She now turned to face him, features vivid with renewed hope, but still kept her gaze fixed on Tom’s face. ‘And so her brother? The Reverend Julius, I presume.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then…’ she shook her head ‘…why did