The MacFadyns had been gone exactly one day, and still Robert couldn’t get a handle on the horrific tale Carteret had told him. And still he couldn’t touch his wife. He loved her, that hadn’t changed—but he was afraid to hurt her. She apparently had come to terms with what had happened to her, but the feelings were new to him.
Lydia had noticed the change in him. Whenever she looked at him, he couldn’t meet her eyes. She was getting more impatient with his inability to confide in her and there was an uncomfortable distance between them. But he couldn’t talk to her about this. He wouldn’t hurt her like that again. He just had to come to terms with it in his own time.
For most of the day he’d escaped to the privacy of his stables and dreaded heading back home for dinner. The MacFadyns were gone and Miss Mitford had stopped dining with them after Luke left. He’d have to dine with his wife—alone. Lydia was not one to let him continue avoiding her. She would want answers soon. She would demand them. And there was nothing he could say.
When sky darkened, Robert sighed. He couldn’t delay it any longer. He wearily trudged back to the castle. The entire walk home, he tried to think of things he could talk about with his wife. He could tell her about Devil’s Inferno. The prized bay was adjusting nicely at Gosling Park. He could tell her that Edgecroft had finally managed to keep his blasted sheep on his own property. He could tell her other inane and mundane information, but she would see through all of it.
Fortunately for Robert, he wouldn’t have to struggle for things to say to his wife. As soon as he reached the castle, he spotted the Astwick coach being unloaded by his footmen.
Astwick?
Well, at least he wouldn’t be at a loss for words. Robert brushed past his footmen and into his home. Dunsley met him in the front entryway with a beleaguered look. “Lord Astwick has arrived, my lord.”
“I can see that.”
“Lady Masten is entertaining him in the green salon. Also Master Peter and Miss Penelope are there as well.”
Robert nodded to his butler and started down the corridor toward the green salon with a little bounce to his step. Astwick should have sent some warning that he was showing up, but at the moment Robert couldn’t be happier to see him.
He heard Chet’s booming laugh even before he reached the parlor. Without delay, Robert pushed the door open. Peter was sitting quietly in a chintz chair and Lydia was knitting again.
Knitting. Just seeing her do that made his stomach churn.
But he managed a smile for Penny who was sitting on Chet’s lap, showing him her latest watercolor. “And that’s Papa.”
Chet looked up to meet Robert’s eye. “Ah, and here’s your Papa now.”
Penny dropped her masterpiece to her lap and smiled widely when she saw Robert. Then she bounded off the marquess’ lap and rushed into Robert’s awaiting arms. He scooped the girl off her feet and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Hello, my little imp.”
“I was showing Lord Astwick my picture and he was telling me about when you were my age.”
Robert’s brow shot up and he looked at his friend. “I’m sure he was only telling appropriate stories.”
Chet smirked as he stood. “What kind of a lout do you take me for, Rob? I would never tell Miss Penelope anything to impugn your good name.”
Penny wrinkled up her nose, then threw a charming smile at the marquess and whispered, “I hate the name Penelope.”
Chet laughed and Robert could feel the glass in the windows shake from the sound. “I am not all that fond of Chester. That’s why my friend’s call me Chet.”
“Very interesting.” Robert put Penny back on the ground and crossed the room to his wife’s side to drop a kiss on her cheek. “When I last saw you, Astwick, you were touting the merits of the name Chester.”
“Well, of course.” Chet grinned devilishly. “If you want to name your heir after me, I would be more than honored.”
Robert rolled his eyes at that and turned his attention to Lydia. “How are you feeling, darling?”
She met his eyes with a tired expression. “I’m fine, Masten.”
So he was Masten again? Not that he was surprised, but he frowned at her tone. He knew it very well—it was the same one he’d used with her the night before. It belied her words, just as his had done. When she wouldn’t look at him, he felt the chasm between them deepen even further.
Lydia dropped her knitting to the basket beside her chair, stood up, and reached for both Peter and Penny’s hands. “Come along. It’s time to get you back to the schoolroom. I’m sure his lordship would like some time with Lord Astwick.”
When Penny’s bottom lip shot out, Chet chuckled. “Don’t look so grim, Miss Penelope. I’ll see you in the morning and you can show me all the other paintings you’ve done. And Master Peter, when it’s light you can show me that horse you were telling me about.”
Both children nodded enthusiastically and then followed Lydia from the room. Robert took a seat in the chintz chair that Peter had abandoned and frowned at his friend. “Most people send word when they are to visit.”
Chet’s normally gregarious façade vanished and the marquess looked graver than Robert could ever remember seeing him before. “Any word I would have sent would have arrived the same time I did. We need to talk, Robert.”
That sounded serious. And the only time Chet ever sounded serious was when it had to do with his mother. “If Lady Astwick is at it again, I’m sure it can wait.”
“This has nothing to do with my mother. There is a scandal brewing in London, and it has your name plastered all over it.”
Scandal?
Robert grimaced. He’d done nothing to create a scandal. Some people might not approve of his adoption of Peter and Penny, but it certainly wasn’t scandalous. Lydia had done nothing, as she’d been with him ever since they’d left Town. “What are you talking about?”
Chet took a deep breath and then began to pace around the room. Good heavens, this was worse than Robert thought. Chet never paced.
Finally, the marquess pursed his lips and then spoke. “Word about Lady Masten’s delicate condition has spread all over Town.”
Well, it certainly wasn’t a secret. “I don’t see what is so scandalous about my wife providing me with an heir.”
Chet stopped his pacing and faced Robert with a furrowed brow. “Not even when the sire is your brother?”
Robert’s heart stopped. He must have misheard his friend. That was the most preposterous thing Chet had ever said to him, and that was saying something.
There were some things Robert wasn’t certain of. He wasn’t certain if his youngest niece was named Emily or Emma. He wasn’t certain if he and Luke could ever be in the same room together again. And he wasn’t certain what to do about the recent revelations concerning his wife’s tragic past. But one thing he was certain of, more than anything else, was that the child Lydia carried belonged to him. “I don’t think I heard you properly,” he growled.
Chet, who was more accustomed than most to Robert’s temper, shrugged off the warning look in his friend’s eye. “Word has spread all over Town, Rob. Everything—why you married her, the circumstances surrounding that, even that she was…” Chet looked suddenly uncomfortable and he stopped talking.
“…Even that she was what?” Robert clipped out impatiently.
Chet took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and blurted out, “They’re saying that Lucas wasn’t her first lover. And, Robert, they’re saying your wife’s affair with him never ended—that Luke has cuckolded you over and over. They’re saying Lydia’s babe belongs to your brother.”
A muscle began to twitch beside Robert’s eye, so he looked even more menacing when he scowled at his friend. If they, whoever the devil they were, were indeed saying all of these things, the tale could only have one source. Robert’s heart sank in his chest. How could Lucas do this to him?
While Chet and Brendan knew some of the particulars, neither of them would ever say a word to
anyone. Caroline most certainly would never open her mouth about the situation. But most importantly, no one other than himself, Lucas, and James MacFadyn knew that Lydia’s innocence was lost long before his lout of a brother had put himself in her path. And Luke was Hell-bent on saving Robert from himself.
Luke thought Lydia was deceptive, but he didn’t know the whole truth. He didn’t know what the poor girl had gone through. And now he was going to run her name through the mud? Robert knew that he could be in the same room with his brother again, at least once more—in order to strangle the life out of the blackguard.
Quietly, Chet cleared his throat. “You’re not saying anything, Rob.”
Robert’s head snapped toward his friend. “When I find my brother, I’m going to end his miserable existence.”
Cautiously, Chet approached him and pitifully remarked. “So, it’s true.” It wasn’t a question—just a statement and a rather dejected one at that.
Fire nearly shot from Robert’s eyes. “The devil it is! It’s all a pack of lies.”
Chet leaned against the wall and eyed his friend with sympathy. “I don’t necessarily want to bring this up, Rob, but it’s not all lies.”
Robert sank into a chair. Luke knew his weakness—that in tarnishing Lydia’s reputation, he would force Robert to deal with the situation. “I knew he was angry, but to claim to have sired my child. I can’t believe that he’d ruin her all over again, just to spite me.”
“So you don’t believe it’s the truth?” Chet asked.
Robert’s eyes angrily flew to his friend’s face. “Of course it’s not true. The child is mine.”
“You’re certain?”
“If you ever ask me that again, Astwick, we’ll be making a dawn appointment. Do I make myself clear?” Robert’s normally warm brown eyes were close to black as he glared at his oldest friend.
Chet stared at Robert in shock, but then he slowly nodded his head. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to impugn Lady Masten.”
“My wife’s virtue is not in question here, but rather that of my scurrilous brother. I can’t allow him to hurt Lydia anymore than he’s already done. I can’t allow him to damage the reputation of my unborn child.”
“I’m at your service, Robert, whatever you need. I speak for Clayworth too, of course.”
Robert scoffed. What could he do? Half of what his brother said was true. There were people that knew it, and they’d all believe the rest was true—just as Chet had done. Robert couldn’t think of a way to handle the problem honorably. He could challenge his brother, but really, what good would that do? So he’d put a bullet in Luke’s skull, half the Town would still believe the rumors, and both Lydia and their child would still be ruined.
He paced back and forth, alternately rubbing his brow and heaving huge sighs. Could he get Luke to refute his claims? It was better than killing the lout, though God knew he deserved no less. He stopped walking and turned his attention back to Astwick. “I need to get to London. I can’t deal with this problem here.”
Chet nodded in agreement. “We can take my coach. I just need to get a fresh set of horses.”
Robert started for the door and called over his shoulder to his friend. “I can’t wait that long. Leave as soon as possible, and I’ll meet you in Town.”
“Take a pistol with you, Robert. Some strange men stopped my coach on the way here. And Lange said highwaymen of a sort have been stopping coaches with family crests all over the countryside.”
Robert furrowed his brow and nodded. “Carteret said something similar.”
“Carteret!” Chet visibly winced. “Here I am, the best friend you have, racing across the country to warn you about these rumors and the first thing you do is throw his name in my face.”
Suddenly Chet wasn’t his usual, charming self anymore. The mention of Carteret’s name always had that affect him, though truthfully no one knew why. Normally, Robert would have taken the opportunity to chide his friend about his intense dislike of James MacFadyn, but he was too distraught over the disturbing news about Lydia. He eyed his friend with dismay and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Don’t worry about me. I always travel with my pistol.
Lydia ran into Robert in the hallway outside the schoolroom. She looked at her husband with pain in her eyes, unsure what had happened to cause the rift between them. “You should’ve told me that Lord Astwick was coming to visit.”
“I didn’t know.”
“That seems to happen a lot around here. First Luke, now Astwick.” She started down the hallway toward the staircase.
Robert increased his step to keep up with her. “Something’s come up, darling. I need to go to London.”
She stopped suddenly and turned her pained gaze up to him. “You’ll go that far to avoid me?”
He reached out and stroked her arms up and down, “I’m not avoiding you.”
Did he honestly think she would accept that answer? Lydia pursed her lips and crossed her arms across her chest. “Then what would you call it, Robert? You turned your back on me last night. You left at the crack of dawn only to return at dusk to tell me that you’re leaving for London.”
The truth of her words reflected in his eyes and he looked away briefly. Then he pulled her into his embrace and covered her mouth with his. His soft lips melted against hers. She wanted to pull away from him, but she had missed his touch and couldn’t bring herself to end the intimacy she’d craved all day.
Slowly, Robert raised his head, though he still held her against him. “I wouldn’t leave if it wasn’t important.”
Lydia clung tightly to his coat, willing him to stay. What could possibly be so important that he had to leave so suddenly? “You promised you wouldn’t leave again,” she said to his chest.
She felt his arms tighten around her as he rested his chin on her head. “I know I did. Unfortunately, this business can’t be put off. I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart.”
There was a finality to his voice and she stepped away from him, smiling weakly. “You are coming home, aren’t you?”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away, Lydia.”
Robert’s journey was a tiring one. Astride Devil’s Inferno, he ate up the ground toward London. Considering the price he’d paid for the stud, it wasn’t the best choice for this excursion, but Devil’s Inferno was the fastest horse he owned, and time was of the essence.
At night, there was very little sound. All Robert could hear was his stallion’s hooves pounding against the road. The sky was lit up with stars, which would normally have been comforting, but Robert paid it very little attention. He was alone with his thoughts. There was no one to talk to, no one to strategize with. His family’s future lay heavily on his shoulders and his mind spun with different possibilities and scenarios.
He remembered how Penny’s big, brown eyes filled with tears when he told the children he had to return to London. Even stoic little Peter muffled back a cry. And Lydia—his beautiful, adoring wife—had been unable to meet his eyes as he left.
Robert frowned. After everything, how could Luke do such a thing to him? To his family? This situation with his brother needed to be dealt with quickly. He had other pressing problems that required immediate attention. For one, he needed to retrieve that letter he’d left for Lieutenant Warner. The last thing they needed right now was for that monster to re-enter their lives.
Plans of one sort or another rattled around his mind. Short of torture, how could he get Luke to recant his tale about Lydia? And how much damage could be reversed? Some people would always believe the story that was going around Town. That couldn’t be helped. But how could he change the minds of the vast majority of others?
It was Wednesday, Miss Mitford’s day off, so Lydia was spending the day with the children in the schoolroom. The governess had told her that both Peter and Penny were exceedingly talented artistically, and now she saw that it was true. When Lydia looked at Penny’s watercolor of the garden view from the schoolroom win
dow, she was amazed at the expertise. A child of five had captured the soft beauty of Gosling’s garden? At twenty-one, Lydia couldn’t duplicate the work. Peter was working with charcoal and had mastered the elegant lines of the mare he loved so dearly. Perhaps Mary Harris had been an artist and passed on the talent to her children.
Lydia was just about to ring for tea when a soft knock sounded on the door. “Come,” she replied.
Dunsley opened the door and nodded to the countess. “Lady Masten, you have a visitor. He didn’t have calling card, but said his name was Lieutenant Warner.”
Lydia’s stomach drop and she took an awkward step backward. Henry was here? Why? How?
The surprise she felt must have registered on her face, because the elderly butler took a step forward and steadied her with his arm. “Are you all right, my lady?”
She managed to nod. “Yes, Dunsley. Lieutenant Warner is my brother. I just haven’t seen him for seven years.”
Dunsley looked relieved and smiled at her. “I’ve left him in the green parlor.”
Lydia was still in a daze and couldn’t focus on anything in particular. She barely heard herself ask the butler to have tea and biscuits delivered to the green parlor. When Dunsley left the schoolroom, Lydia was assaulted by both Peter and Penny.
“Your brother has come to visit, Mama?” Peter asked with a furrowed brow.
But Penny was bouncing up and down on her toes again. “Does that make him our uncle?” The girl looked excitedly at her brother. “We’ve never had an uncle before.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Who do you think Uncle Luke is then?”
Penny chewed the side of her face in thought. “I forgot about Uncle Luke. We have two uncles!”
Lydia shook her head to try and clear it. “Actually, Lord Staveley would be your uncle as well. I’ll have Mrs. Norris meet you in here momentarily.”
“Mrs. Norris?” Penny pouted. “But I want to meet our new uncle.”
Peter nodded in solemn agreement. “Papa did say I was the man of the house. I’m sure he’d want me to meet Lieutenant Warner.”
Lydia sighed with exasperation. It had been so long since she’d seen her brother. And that night— No, she mustn’t think of that. Lydia shook her head. It was cowardly of her, but perhaps if the children were with her, she and Henry could deal with each other in a civil way. “Henry.” Lydia smiled at her son. “He’d be your Uncle Henry. Very well, you may both accompany me to the green parlor.”
Penny chattered the entire way, though Lydia couldn’t focus on her daughter’s words and would have been hard pressed if quizzed on the content. They reached the green parlor, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. She took a steadying breath and felt Peter squeeze her hand with reassurance.
“You said you missed him. If he’s come back, you won’t have to worry about him at sea anymore.”
Peter was such a tender-hearted little boy. Old for his years, like Lydia had been. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
With courage she didn’t know she had, Lydia pushed the door open and found her brother peering out a window with his hands clasped behind his back, standing with a proud stance. At the sound of their entrance, Henry turned around and smiled at her.
He looked different than she remembered, larger, and his skin was very tanned from living aboard a frigate. His thick, auburn hair had been lightened by the sun to a coppery bronze color, but his steely grey-blue eyes were the same. He wore his regimentals, and gold buttons sparkled against the deep navy of his uniform.
He seemed to be assessing her appearance the same way she was doing with his. “Moppet?” He crossed the room with a smile and opened his arms for her.
Lydia wanted to believe that this was the brother she remembered from her childhood. The one who had protected her and would never have hurt her. She smiled cautiously and stepped toward him. Henry enveloped her in his strong embrace.
“You look so well, Lyddie.”
Lydia stepped back to admire her brother’s appearance. “As do you, Henry. What are you doing here?” Then she felt a little tug on her dress and her eyes flew down to meet Penny’s. “Oh, sorry. Henry, these are my children, Peter and Penelope. Children this is Lieutenant Warner, your Uncle Henry.”
Henry stared at Peter for quite some time, but then eventually smiled at the boy. “The pleasure is all mine.”
“Please—” Lydia gestured to the brocade settee— “have a seat. The children’s governess is off for the day, I hope you don’t mind that they join us.”
“Not at all.” Henry dropped onto the settee and Penny immediately climbed up next to him. She was such a flirt, even at five, though Henry paid the little girl almost no attention. Instead he was intently focused on Peter, who quietly found a spot in a nearby chair. “When I arrived in London there was a letter waiting for me at the Admiralty from Lord Masten.”
Lydia frowned as she took a seat across from her brother. Why would Robert do such a thing and not tell her? “Oh?”
“Yes, he asked me to come here at my earliest convenience.”
She feigned a pleasant smile. “Unfortunately, you’ve missed him. Masten left just yesterday for London on urgent business.”
“Will he be gone long? I am on leave while The Intrepid is in dry dock for repairs. I could stay here and wait for him.”
Lydia’s heart raced and when Penny reached for one of Henry’s gold buttons. What did Robert want with her brother? What would happen if Henry told Robert what had occurred between them? What would Robert think of her then?
She must have hesitated to answer too long, because Penny threw her a pleading look. “Please, Mama. Miss Mitford has been telling us delightful stories about pirates and buried treasure.” The little girl looked up at Henry and batted her big brown eyes. “Have you ever fought pirates, Uncle Henry?”
Henry smirked at the child and tapped her nose indulgently. “Sorry, no pirates. Just the French, but they’re equally bad.”
Penny’s eyes grew round with excitement. “Please, Mama. Can Uncle Henry stay?”
This won’t be like last time. She had swarms of servants around at her beck and call. She wouldn’t let Henry be alone with the children. In fact, she would make sure that she and Miss Mitford never left them unattended.
What had Robert wished to accomplish with this?
Lydia nodded reluctantly and eyed her brother wearily. “Of course, he is family.”
When Dunsley opened the door with tea service, Lydia asked him to have a room prepared for her brother, and she prayed that she wasn’t making a mistake. Lydia poured some tea in a cup and added a biscuit to a plate. If she remembered correctly, Henry required neither milk nor sugar. She handed him the refreshments.
He smiled and took a bite of biscuit. “Ah, you have no idea how good this tastes after being a sea. No weevils.”
Lydia cringed at the thought, but then refocused on Penny who was talking again. “Do you know Fiona?”
Henry shot a look at Lydia for clarification. “Fiona? I don’t think so.”
Lydia explained, “She’s one of James and Bethany’s daughters.”
Henry furrowed his brow at that, but nodded and then turned his attention back to Penny who was happily continuing. “Yes, she’s our cousin. She was here last week and she cried and pouted and threw things—”
“Pen!” Peter scowled at his sister.
“And my Papa said it made him glad I’m his daughter.”
Lydia narrowed her eyes on Penny and frowned. “I think that if your Papa heard you tell someone that, he’d be quite unhappy with you, young lady.”
“But I’m just telling Uncle Henry.”
“I think you’ve told Uncle Henry quite enough. No more out of you.”
Henry looked at Peter, still studying the boy intently. “You seem like a quiet lad. How old are you, Peter?”
“Seven, sir,” Peter answered both quickly and quietly.
“Seven?” Henry repeated and his tanned f
ace began to drain of its color.
Lydia found Miss Mitford in the library and apologized for interrupting the governess on her day off, but pleaded that she watch the children for the rest of the day. “It is very important that you never leave them alone, Miss Mitford.” She sighed while she contemplated the situation at hand. “In fact, would you mind if we moved your bed into the nursery for the next little while, so that you can stay with them at night too?”
That was a most bizarre request, and Lydia knew it. But she felt that there was safety in numbers and that she could best protect everyone this way. Miss Mitford furrowed her brow and looked at Lydia as if she’d lost her mind. “Sleep with the children as well, my lady?”
“I’m not feeling my best, Miss Mitford, and with Masten gone, I’m afraid that if something happened to either Peter or Penny that I couldn’t reach them in time.”
The governess frowned. “I’m just down the hall as it is, Lady Masten.”
“Please, Miss Mitford, don’t ask me to explain.”
Some emotion crossed the governess’ face, though Lydia couldn’t tell what it was, but in the end Miss Mitford nodded in agreement. “Whatever you wish, my lady.”
After depositing Peter and Penny into Miss Mitford’s care, Lydia decided to take a walk in the garden. Her nerves were on end, and she could use time alone to think. As she made her way past the roses, Henry’s voice startled her from behind. “Lyddie, wait up.”
She stopped. She wasn’t quite ready to face Henry alone. But what could she do? Run and hide? She was a bit old for that. Lydia turned around and before she knew it her brother was right behind her. “Yes, Henry?”
He smiled in an obvious attempt to put her at ease. Then he gestured to the castle that towered above them. “I never pictured you living someplace like this.”
“Honestly, neither did I.”
“It will be hard for me to adjust to having so much space. I’m used to the cramped cabin that I share with two other lieutenants.”
“Well,” she teased, “I’m sure I could find something in the servants’ quarters if you’d feel more comfortable there.”
Henry threw back his head and laughed. “It’s good to know you’re not so stuffy, Lyddie. I must say, I was worried about that.” He offered her his arm, which she took with the tiniest bit of hesitation. “I’m glad to have this time alone with you.”
She winced at his words and wished she could keep herself from reacting, though she couldn’t help it.
“That’s exactly what I was afraid of.” Henry sighed as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. “Lydia, words mean nothing, I know, but I am so sorry for what I did to you.”
She stared up at her brother in surprise. Was he actually going to talk about that night? That was the last thing she ever wanted to discuss, with him or anyone else. Only Aunt Agnes knew what happened that night and the two of them swore never to tell anyone.
“I don’t know what was wrong with me, or why I—I wasn’t myself,” he continued with a pained tone.
“I don’t want to discuss this, Henry.”
He frowned, “I’m sorry, Lyddie, but we must. I can’t ever undo my actions, and I’ve been torturing myself over hurting you for years. And then you’d send me socks or a scarf and my guilt nearly killed me.”
Was there another conversation in all the world that was more uncomfortable? “The past can’t be changed, Henry. There is no point in discussing it now.”
Then Henry stopped walking and drew Lydia to a halt. “I know that, moppet. But there are some things that need to be dealt with. I have to know. Is—Is Peter my son?”
A shocked gurgle of surprise slipped from her throat and she stepped away from her brother. “God, no!” Lydia’s face took on an anguished expression. What an awful thought that was. “Neither Peter nor Penny are my natural children. Masten and I adopted them.”
Henry closed his eyes in relief. “Thank God. When he told me his age, I thought I’d die on the spot.” Then he opened his eyes and raked a concerned look over Lydia’s body. “You’ve adopted children? Can you not have them? Did I…do something that damaged you?”
Lydia’s face was flushed red and she turned her back on Henry. Would he ever stop discussing that? She couldn’t pretend as if it never happened if he wouldn’t stop rehashing the incident. “I am perfectly fine. In fact, I’m enceinte now. So, please let’s stop talking of this.”
Henry placed a comforting hand on Lydia’s shoulder. “Do you know what kind of blackguard I felt like? How could I have done such a thing to you, my little moppet? God, Lyddie, can you ever forgive me?”
Tears began to pool in Lydia’s eyes. She did not want to think about that night. Please let this conversation end. And she didn’t want Robert to ever know about it. Aunt Agnes was emphatic that no one ever find out. She’d told Lydia that if people knew, they’d ostracize her, blame her. “Henry, you’re forgiven if you’ll never mention it to anyone ever again.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Thank you, Lyddie. I feel as if a giant weight has been lifted from me.”
Robert made it to London in a day and a half. He was exhausted, as was Devil’s Inferno, but time was of the essence. Without hesitation he directed his stallion down Piccadilly to his brother’s rooms. Luke lived in a stylish building, in an area where many young bucks resided. Robert easily persuaded Lucas’ landlord to let him up the stairs to his brother’s apartments.
It was the early afternoon, which meant that Luke was probably still sleeping off whatever ills he’d been involved with the night before. Robert pounded on the door furiously.
Hopefully, Lucas was suffering from imbibing too much the previous evening. Robert pounded even louder on the door, hoping that the sound was echoing inside what he imagined was his brother’s alcohol-soaked brain. “Lucas! Open the bloody door!” he bellowed.
Robert heard someone stumble inside the room and he prepared himself to set eyes on his barely-dressed, still inebriated brother. But when the door opened, he was surprised to see that Luke was already dressed for the day, and looking as sober as a vicar on Sunday morning. “Robert? Oh, God, you’ve heard.” His eyes dropped to the floor.
After spending a day and a half on the back of a horse with adrenaline pumping through his veins, and now staring at his lout of a brother, Robert felt his hold on his temper snap. Of course he’d heard what Luke had done. Had he honestly thought Robert wouldn’t hear of it? Robert roared into the room, pushing Luke’s chest with both hands. “I should kill you on the spot.”
He expected Luke to fight back or perhaps defend himself, but his brother simply nodded his head in agreement. “Aye, you probably should.”
Robert held Luke’s jacket in his clutches and he growled with all the fury bottled up inside him, “How could you do this to me? How could you maliciously destroy my wife like that?”
Still, Luke couldn’t meet his eyes and wouldn’t fight back. “I have no excuse, Robert. I was deep in my cups, but I shouldn’t have talked to Cecily.”
“Cecily?” Robert spit out. “What does she have to do with this?” He released his hold on his brother and watched as Luke slid noiselessly into a seat.
Luke dropped his head into his hands and shrugged. “I don’t really know. But I’m certain she’s the only one I said anything to. And she’d seemed so concerned and comforting at the time.”
“Why would you tell Cecily Rigsley that you got my wife with child?”
Luke snorted and his head shot up. “I never said that! At least I don’t think I did. I can’t imagine saying such a thing. Honestly, Rob, I don’t know who the father is, but I know for certain it’s not me, if that’s what this is about.”
Robert balled up his fist and spoke through clinched teeth. “Let me make myself very clear to you, Lucas. That is my child. Mine. I sired it.”
“Robert,” Luke replied wearily, “I know you think so, but—”
Robert lifted his brother off the ground
by his jacket and thrust him against the wall. Truthfully, he was pleased to see a look of fear that crossed Luke’s eyes. “I don’t just think so. I have never been more certain of anything in my life. Do you hear me?”
Luke nodded, but looked at Robert pityingly, as if he was sorry for his brother’s blind delusions. Robert dropped him back to the ground with a thud. “If it makes you feel any better, Lucas, I do believe that Lydia was not an innocent when you took her to your bed.”
Luke’s ears perked up. “You do? Then, why…?”
Robert fell into a seat and rubbed his brow. God, he needed someone to talk to. He knew it shouldn’t be Luke, but this wasn’t something he could talk over with anyone else. He closed his eyes painfully. “I have reason to believe that she was violated before she ever met you.”
“Violated?” Luke frowned disbelievingly, up until he saw the tortured look on his brother’s face. “Are you certain?”
Robert couldn’t speak. His throat was choked up and all he could do was nod. It wasn’t until he felt the first tear trail its way down his neck that Robert realized he was crying. He sat up straight and rubbed his cheeks raw. He never cried. Never. This was unacceptable. Another tear fell from his eye. Bloody hell!
“For God’s sake, Robert. If I’d known…” Luke muttered in shock.
Robert glared at his brother and somehow found his voice. “Everything was fine, we were fine, and then you had to go and ruin everything! Like you always do. And now, after all the indignities Lydia has already suffered, she will never be able to show her face in society again—all thanks to you. There will always be talk that my child, my heir, is your bastard.”
“I swear to you, Robert, I never said that.”
“Well, you’re going to help me straighten it out. And then you will refrain from ever speaking ill of my wife again. She’s the kindest, most forgiving soul in the world. I may not be able to fix her past, but I bloody well can protect her future.”
A plan was called into action. Robert, Lucas, Caroline, Brendan, and Chet, fresh from Dorset, converged in the gold parlor at Masten House. Battle lines were drawn up, and everyone knew the role they were to play. It was the first time in years, maybe ever, that all three Beckford siblings had worked together with one goal in mind: protect Lydia and her unborn child at all costs.
For the next few days, Robert and Luke were seen everywhere together: the theatre, Astley’s Amphitheatre, at one club or another along St. James, and even at a musicale featuring the talents of their young cousin Miss Olivia Danbury—much to Luke’s chagrin. Robert’s unforgiving nature was legendary. It would be hard for people to believe that the Earl of Masten would go about Town with the man who cuckolded him, brother or not. That just wasn’t in his nature and everyone knew it.
But it was Caroline’s role that was the most integral in starting to squash the rumors regarding her sister-in-law. Word began to spread throughout the ton. At first it started off slowly. Lady Staveley mentioned to Lady Tatton, a notorious gossip, how sad it was that her brother, Lucas, would never be a father. This was why poor Lucas had never married—he’d been diagnosed as sterile by old Doctor Grant back in Dorset when he was just a boy. Terrible riding accident.
Caroline shook her head sadly when she relayed the same tale to Lady Pennington. Luke had always been such a warm and loving uncle to her three children, and though he was happy for Robert’s good fortune, he was slightly jealous as well. Lady Pennington had frowned at hearing the story. “Dear me, I never would have guessed such a thing. He seems like such a young, virile lad.”
But it was finally after Caroline retold the sad tale to Lady Ridgemont that news flew all over Town like wildfire. Hell hath no fury, and all of that. Lady Ridgemont was only too happy to spread the tale of Luke’s impotency to anyone that would listen. In just a matter of days Lucas Beckford would never again be seen as a handsome devil-may-care rogue. He was, instead, a pitiful shell of a man who could never father a child.
At White’s, Chet was loudly telling a shocking tale to Brendan. Soon a crowd had formed around the two lords, intently listening to every word. “Honestly, Bren, who would’ve thought ol’ Beckford was capable of it, but apparently love can hit anyone.”
Brendan looked dismayed. “You must be jesting. Lucas Beckford?”
“Rob swears he’s heartbroken.”
Brendan snorted. “I didn’t know he had a heart.”
“Apparently Lady Juliet meant more to him than any of us suspected. When things ended between them, he went to sulk over the situation with Rob and Lydia.” Chet swallowed some whiskey.
Lord Grayden, a stocky, auburn-haired viscount, flashed a rakish grin. “I heard that it was an entirely different kind of comfort Lady Masten gave Beckford.”
The room broke into a tittering of laughter, but no one so loud or booming as Lord Astwick. Chet pounded his whiskey glass onto the table and wiped a tear from his eye. “God, I needed that, Grayden…Whoo, that was rich.”
Grayden frowned. “Really, Astwick, I don’t see why you think it’s so funny.”
Chet had to work to keep his self-congratulatory smile in check. He slapped Brendan on the back. “You want to answer that, Clayworth?”
Bren turned in his chair to face the throng that had assembled behind him and Chet. “Grayden,” Bren began condescendingly, “how is your wife?”
The viscount sputtered. “I don’t really see how that’s pertinent to this conversation.”
Bren continued without missing a beat. “I assume Lady Grayden is fine. So, more importantly, how is her sister—Miss Woodcliff, isn’t it?”
Grayden shrugged and realized that all eyes were now on him. “She’s well, I suppose.”
While he tapped his chin, Brendan started toward the viscount with a wicked grin. “Miss Woodcliff is a pretty little thing. Have you ever considered comforting her?”
The viscount’s face was now aflame with embarrassment. “My wife’s sister? How dare you, sir?”
Brendan shrugged and took a puff of his cheroot. He flicked his hand dismissively toward Grayden. “Save your indignation. It’s more likely that you’re aware, more so than any of us, of just what kind of a harridan resides under Miss Woodcliff’s pretty skin. I know that’s the way I felt about my wife’s family anyway.”
Muttering started throughout the assembled men, each thinking of their own relations, and Clayworth’s point made some sense. Regardless of the face you put on for the outside world, your family always knows the truth about you.
Chet had always liked a big finish and he stepped forward. “I wonder how many of you know Lady Masten. She’s a pretty little wisp of a thing, to be sure, and sharp as a tack. I’d wager she knows even more of the scrapes and scandals Masten has saved his brother from than I do. Perhaps if she wasn’t so dedicated and loyal to her husband, she might seek comfort from someone else. But I’d lay odds that the last man on earth she’d turn to is Lucas Beckford.”
The men seemed to be in agreement. Chet and Bren’s arguments held water. The entire situation had run smoothly, and yet the one question Chet was prepared for hadn’t come. No one even questioned whether or not Luke had compromised Lydia. Perhaps it was just old news. Or perhaps no one cared. But the men returned to their drinks and games and previous conversations. The Mastens just weren’t very interesting anymore. Robert would be thrilled.
The scandal had been almost completely squashed. But the battle wasn’t quite over yet, and there was only one lady who could finish the job famously—only one lady who had no motive in helping the young countess. At least not one anyone knew about.
Eugenia Peyton, the widowed Marchioness of Astwick.
Lady Astwick held court in her son’s grand drawing room with several of the most influential Ladies of the ton. She knew what she must do, if she wished to remain in London. What has gotten into Chester? He never demanded anything from her. But
the day before he had informed her that unless she wanted to be shipped off to Wiltshire, she would help Masten untangle this trouble he’d gotten himself into.
Quite frankly, she didn’t see how Masten’s problem was her concern, but Chester had made it quite plain that if she didn’t give her help to the cause, her life would be most uncomfortable. Fortunately, she’d held out long enough to get a promise from her son that he’d select a bride within the year. Lady Astwick would have swum across the English Channel for that promise, so helping Masten seemed quite a simple thing to do in the end.
She looked around the drawing room at her friends and, like any good general, set her strategy into motion. “At the moment, I am concerned about young Lady Masten.” She spoke with a sincerity no one would doubt.
“That scandalous countess everyone has been talking about?” inquired the dowager Duchess of Lynton, a tiny woman with an enormous headdress made of red tulips.
Lady Astwick nodded sadly. “I’m not sure how news of her confinement got around so quickly, but—” she leaned in toward her friends and whispered conspiratorially— “poor girl hasn’t had success carrying any other child to term.” That wasn’t a lie as far as Lady Astwick knew. “And you know how badly Masten wants his heir.”
“That’s not what I heard from Agatha,” remarked the prune-faced dowager Viscountess Ainsley, just as Lady Astwick had anticipated.
Lady Astwick furrowed her brow in mock concern. “That’s just what I’m worried about. The poor girl has done nothing wrong, though her husband’s spiteful ex-mistress has set about to destroy her good name. And I’m afraid the whole ordeal will put so much strain on the countess that she’ll lose this child as well.”
“Spiteful ex-mistress?” asked Lady Audley.
Lady Astwick pursed her lips, as if considering whether to tell her friends the whole story. But of course she would. Then she sat forward in her seat. “Mrs. Rigsley.” No one but Lady Astwick noticed that Lady Audley’s face had gone white at the sound of that name. So apparently the rumors about the mistress and Audley were true, Lady Astwick silently noted as she began to tell her story. “Once Masten left her, she was determined to destroy him. And when she found out about Lady Masten’s delicate condition, she decided this was her perfect opportunity.”
“How did she find out?” the duchess asked skeptically. “I mean if he wasn’t seeing her anymore…”
Lady Astwick nodded knowingly. “Astwick tells me that this Rigsley woman, whoever she is, found Mr. Beckford deep in his cups at some gaming hell. He’s impotent, you know?” She glanced around at the fascinated faces around the drawing room and then continued. “Anyway, Mr. Beckford was apparently feeling sorry for himself after hearing the news of his brother’s impeding heir, and, well, the spiteful harlot decided to spin her own tale.” From what she’d learned from her son, that was mostly true.
Lady Audley looked mortified. “What a despicable woman! To cause such heartache to a gently bred girl.”
Lady Astwick smiled to herself, knowing full well that Lady Audley had an entirely different reason for thinking Cecily Riglsey despicable. “But alas, there’s nothing that can be done about it now.”
“Pish posh!” the duchess exclaimed. “I don’t see how we can let a woman of her standing abuse young Lady Masten in such a way.”
So far things were going well. Lydia had gone from that scandalous countess to a gently-bred girl not to be abused by her husband’s ex-mistress. Lady Astwick feigned surprise. “But what can we do about it? The tale is all over Town.”
The viscountess grinned wickedly. “Then we’ll just have to spread the truth even faster. When my dear Edgar was alive, I can’t tell you the heartache he put me through with women of her ilk.”
The duchess nodded her head enthusiastically. “Here, here. We have to protect our own, Eugenia. We certainly can’t trust men to do it for us.”
Lady Astwick smiled at her friends. “If we can squash it, perhaps Lady Masten won’t suffer and she can carry this child to term.”
“Then it’s agreed.” Lady Audley clapped her hands together. “We’ll save this girl from that wretched woman’s lies.”
Once the harridans-on-a-mission had left his drawing room, Chet strolled languidly through the doors to see his mother looking much like a cat that ate the cream. “Nicely done, Mama.”
She narrowed her eyes on her son. “Just keep your end of the bargain. I want a daughter-in-law and grandchildren, Chester. And I want them before I’m in my grave.”
Chet smirked. “Within the year, Mama. I’ll have a bride within the year, but it’s my understanding that grandchildren will take a bit longer.”
In Robert’s gold parlor, Luke sat with his head in his hands. He was ruined, there simply wasn’t another way to describe what had been done to him. And his siblings were standing in the corner congratulating each other on his premature demise.
“I just don’t understand why it was necessary to un-man me in such a fashion,” Luke complained after the story of his virility, or lack thereof, had swept across Town.
“Because—” Caroline turned her back on Robert to face him, and explained for what must have been the hundredth time— “it made sense. How could you father Robert’s child if you’re impotent. Besides for all I know, you actually suffer from the ailment.”
“Caro!” he exclaimed in shock.
“Well, honestly, Lucas, it’s not as if you’ve been discriminatory over the years. And you have no bastards running around that I’m aware of.”
Luke frowned. “I’m careful is all. And my little sister is the last bloody person I want to discuss this with.”
Robert chuckled from the corner of the room. “I thank you for sacrificing your blackened reputation to protect my child, Lucas. Now, I need to run one last errand before I start back for Gosling Park. I trust you can each show yourselves out.”
Robert strode out the doors and then straightened up and looked his sister in the eyes. “And what will happen when I do marry someday and have a child of my own? What will people say then?”
Then she smiled and swept toward him. “Oh? And have you a candidate in mind? Dare I hope that some lady has finally convinced you to reform your dastardly ways?”
Luke frowned. “Caroline, I’ve not yet said anything to Robert, but would you care to tell me why you’ve installed Juliet at Gosling Park as a governess?”
Caroline pursed her lips, frowned, and turned from him. “She swore me to secrecy.”
“Come now, Caro.” He edged toward her like a stalking lion. “You’ll have to do better than that. After all, you sent me there to find her.”
With a bounce to his step, Robert entered the Admiralty office. The clerk he’d spoken to weeks before stood guard at the front desk and smiled when he recognized him. “Ah, Lord Masten, what can we help you with today?”
Good. The man remembered him. “I need to retrieve that letter I left here for Lieutenant Warner. I’ve had second thoughts about it.”
The clerk frowned. “I’m sorry, my Lord, I already delivered that letter to the Lieutenant about a week after you left it.”
But that was weeks ago—almost a month.
What a fool he was. He should have come here first, but he was so focused on the scandal. What if he’d passed the Lieutenant on the road to London? What if the bastard was at Gosling Park this very moment?
He flew out of the Admiralty and hopped on Devil’s Inferno’s back. He stroked the bay kindly. “Sorry, old boy, but we’re going to have to get home even faster than we got to London.”