Regency High Society Vol 5: The Disgraced Marchioness / The Reluctant Escort / The Outrageous Debutante / A Damnable Rogue. Mary Nichols
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‘How can I ever thank you?’ She tightened her grip, oblivious to their closeness, to his own struggle for mastery of his desires, and smiled up into his face. ‘And my child? Is Tom truly safe?’
Henry took a deep breath in an attempt to restore some semblance of order to his thundering heart, without any noticeable effect. Surely she would feel the harsh rhythm that shook him to the core? But he kept his voice calm and unemotional in the eye of the whirlwind that prompted him to sweep her into his arms, to kiss her until all the sadness and heartbreak was finally obliterated. ‘The child’s inheritance is secure since you were Thomas’s legitimate and only wife. The Reverend Broughton was persuaded to put his signature to his own confession, repudiating the documents presented to Hoskins by Sir Edward Baxendale.’
‘Tell me why. How did it happen? How were you able to make Julius Broughton admit to such treachery?’
Henry drew her to the little couch, pushing her gently to sit and taking his own place beside her. He might resist taking her in his arms, but he would not willingly forgo his possession of her hands, which still clung to him as if he were indeed a lifeline in a storm. Her hands were trembling with the force of the relief, but she did not let go.
Henry explained, simply and lucidly, the content of the audience with Octavia’s brother, the Reverend Julius Broughton, detailing all that he had revealed.
‘So there we have it.’ He smiled a little as relief and triumph chased each other across her lovely face.
‘So. Sir Edward blackmailed him into forging the documents.’ Eleanor frowned at the news, looking down at their joined hands. ‘I did not like him. But I would never have thought him guilty of that. All the pain and turmoil he has caused. I know that he has admitted his fault—but I do not think I could ever forgive him. Or Sir Edward. Or those who turned their backs on me and wished me ill.’ She glanced up, a bitter little smile twisting her lips, which touched his heart. ‘You have no idea how vindictive I can feel when I think of the willingness of those friends to listen to poisonous unsubstantiated gossip. It shames me—but I cannot resist it.’
‘It need not shame you, dear Eleanor.’ He encircled her wrists with strong fingers, caressing the soft inner skin where the blood pulsed against his gentle clasp. ‘A great wrong was committed against you. But it is over now. You must try to forget it and live out the rest of your life, secure in your social position, as if your status had never been questioned.’
‘I think it will be difficult. I feel as if my good name and my position within the Faringdon family has been called into question and I have been left feeling—ashamed and unworthy.’
‘I know it. But your family—those closest to you and those who knew my brother Thomas well—they never had any doubts.’
‘No. You did not, I know.’ She glanced up at him, a little shy, a little unsure.
‘No. How could I?’
‘Forgive me, Hal. I could weep.’ She loosened one of her hands to brush a tear from her cheek. ‘Even though the relief is great, I feel sad. Perhaps it is reaction. Perhaps I should be singing with joy!’ Her laugh was a little tremulous.
‘You need to sleep. You will feel better tomorrow. There is one thing, Eleanor.’ His words were very gentle. ‘It should not be a problem, but it would be as well if you were prepared.’
‘What is that?’
‘It may be that Octavia’s son John is indeed the child of Thomas,’ he warned, eyes sombre as he waited to see how she would react. ‘We know that they were attracted and spent time together. But how far did their relationship progress? It could be that she carried Thomas’s child before her marriage to Sir Edward, and it was that fact which gave Baxendale the idea to pursue the claim in the first place.’
‘I see. I had not thought of that.’
‘John could indeed be Thomas’s illegitimate son.’
‘Yes. Will it alter the inheritance?’
‘No. The child will have no claim on the estate—indeed, there will be no actual proof of his sire apart from Octavia’s own words. And how far should we trust her? I fear that she would follow Sir Edward’s instructions to the letter without compunction. And Sir Edward could use the boy’s existence to stir up scandal against the family if his darker scheme to disinherit you failed—as it now must.’
‘Poor child. A pawn in everyone’s game. Do you suppose anyone loves him for his own sake? He is very beautiful.’ Eleanor remained silent for a long moment. ‘If he is Thomas’s son, I think the Faringdons should recognise him as such. And arrange an annuity perhaps.’
‘You are very generous, Nell, and you humble me.’ It took every inch of self-control not to lean forward and kiss away the furrow between her brows. ‘Your spirit is as beautiful as your face. In spite of the agony they have put you through, you can still feel compassion.’
‘He is only a baby after all.’
‘Yes. Listen to me a moment. I think, if you are willing, we should try to speak with the nursemaid again. If we have some evidence to prove the relationship between Sir Edward and Octavia, she may be prepared to say more of what she knows about the child. She clearly cares for him and may be prepared to tell the truth. And perhaps if we met her away from the house, away from watchful eyes and the malign influence of Sir Edward. If I speak with Eaton, he will know if the girl takes the air at a particular time of day, and where. We should be able to waylay her without too much difficulty. Would you agree?’
‘Of course. I truly believe that Sarah knows more than she is saying.’
‘We may be able to persuade her, if she knows that it is for the good of the child.’
Henry raised her hands to his lips and kissed her cool fingers, first one hand and then the other. He could not resist. Even less when she smiled, her amethyst eyes glowing with an intensity of colour at the sudden restoration of hope. ‘You are so very beautiful.’ He turned her hands to press his lips to her palms, marvelling at their softness, the slender elegance of her fingers as they curled around his.
And Eleanor? The burning heat of his mouth against her skin made her breathing as ragged as his.
‘Hal,’ she murmured, closing her eyes against the feather-light brush of his lips, ‘you are so very kind. To me. And even more to a child who may or may not be Thomas’s son.’
‘Perhaps.’ She felt his lips curve against her wrist where he was pressing kisses against the pulse, which beat so hard that it took her breath away. ‘But I do not think that I do it out of kindness. That is too mild an emotion.’
‘Why do you care so much?’ A whispered enquiry born out of the yearning in the depths of her heart.
‘Because I…’ he hesitated, aware of the words that he might have spoken but reluctant to break the spell of that intimate moment ‘…because I care about your happiness. And I suppose that I hold to a belief that every child has the right to know the identity of his father.’
She stilled, froze, the colour in her cheeks and the smile on her lips draining away. It was as if her blood had turned to ice. He watched the transformation with shock. And to be replaced by what? Fear? He could interpret the stark expression in her eyes in no other way.
Abruptly she pulled back, away from him, tugging her hands free.
What had he said? What had he done?
She rose to her feet, an edgy movement quite unlike her usual graceful elegance, backing away from him. ‘I must go, my lord. It is late. You have all my thanks, of course.’
She almost ran from the room, leaving him totally at a loss.
Eleanor fled up the stairs, into her bedroom. She closed the door and leaned against it, her breathing uneven, not simply from her flight. She felt very cold, all the pleasure of the past hour destroyed by that one chance comment.