Whisper Always

Nigel finished speaking and waited for Cristina to say something. He had to convince her to tell Blake about the coming child. "Listen to me, Cristina, you must think of what is best for you and the baby. Trust him. Tell Blake and let him help you through this. Let him help you decide the best way to handle things."

  "He didn't tell me about Meredith," Cristina whispered, trying hard to conceal the hurt.

  "I'm sure he had his reasons."

  "And I have mine."

  "Cristina, you must tell him about the baby," Nigel implored. "It's for the best."

  "What about the scandal it will cause? Is that for the best, too?"

  "A scandal might be damaging at first, but Blake won't be the first man in this town who wasn't married to his child's mother during conception and I'm sure he won't be the last. It happens. But everything will come right, Cristina, if you tell him. Please, think about it." Nigel advised as he said his good-byes, "I'll be back to check on you in a day or so."

  Cristina didn't answer or look up as the doctor left the room. Alone, she continued to brood over her problem. As far as society was concerned, she was ruined. She was unmarried and carrying an illegitimate child. If the news got out, there would be a scandal like the one Lord Ainsford currently found himself in. But this time, it would be Blake. Blake. How it hurt to think of Blake in the arms of another woman. He had had a wife named Meredith who was killed in a riding accident--crushed beneath a horse. Cristina's romantic dreams died. He had had a wife. A wife he'd never mentioned, just as he had never breathed a word of loving her. Could she risk telling him about the baby? What if Blake decided to keep the baby but not her? Or worse, what if he decided to marry her because of the baby? Could she stand to live with the knowledge that he had married her to quell gossip and not because he loved her. And what of her child? Could he love the child without loving the mother? Would he want his heir without wanting its mother?

 

  Two days later, Blake was waiting for Albert Mead when the office doors of Traherne, Carlisle, Jennings, and Mead were unlocked. He followed Mead into the office, right up to the junior partner's desk. "From your message, I assume you have good news for me."

  "I do, sir." Mead was almost smiling. "You were quite correct. Sir William is alive and living in the United States. New York City, to be exact."

  "That makes it difficult." Blake mentally counted the days before he could reach New York.

  "That's why I sent an urgent message. I contacted an office on Wall Street and learned Sir William is president of one of the city's most successful financial firms."

  "And ... ?" Blake prompted, eager for the excited solicitor to get to the point.

  "He is currently in Paris on business and is scheduled to arrive in London next week. I took the liberty of leaving a message at his hotel in Paris and received a reply late last night. He suggested you meet him at White's next Thursday evening. Isn't that a stroke of luck? I was afraid you might have to sail to the United States to discuss your business." Mead was fairly bursting with pride at the success of his mission. He had tackled an almost impossible task and located the man in only thirty-three days.

  "You've done an excellent job, Mr. Mead." Blake was quick to acknowledge the other man's skill at handling the task assigned to him. "I've another task for you if you're of a mind to take it. Of course, I'll see that you're amply rewarded for your services."

  "Of course, Lord Lawrence, anything to be of help." Mead was eager for another challenge. Being a junior partner in a law firm was not as mentally stimulating as he had hoped.

  Blake removed a velvet pouch from inside his breast pocket and opened it to reveal the emerald and diamond necklace that had returned to Lawrence House by way of Cristina Fairfax's pocket.

  Albert Mead gasped in awe.

  "I want you to trace the history of this necklace, Mr. Mead. I'm aware of its origins, since I had it made especially for my wife, but it was taken from my home some time ago and only recently recovered. I want to know who took the necklace and how he disposed of it. This job will probably take a bit longer. I'll be traveling quite a bit, but you can reach me through the Foreign Office or our embassy. I think I know part of what you'll find, but I want to be certain. And no matter what you find, I want you to be completely truthful with me."

  "You can be sure of that, sir."

  Blake smiled at the solicitor and shook his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Mead, for everything."

  "Thank you, Lord Lawrence," Mead replied sincerely, "for giving me the opportunity."

 

  We heed no instincts but our own.

  --JEAN DE LA FONTAINE 1621-1695

 

  *Chapter Fifteen*

 

  "Congratulations, Lawrence."

  "Don't know what to make of it, Lawrence."

  "Best wishes, old man."

  "Didn't think you'd be one of the ones to leg shackle yourself again so soon. Thought you'd wait until you were in your dotage. But a man must have an heir and at least you've chosen a deb. Pick 'em young, train 'em right, I always say."

  Blake found himself surrounded by well wishers and empathizers as soon as he crossed the threshold of his gentleman's club in St. James. Having just spent the afternoon escorting Rudolf to various functions, he had sought the calm, quiet of his club before heading home to dress for another round of embassy parties. "What are you talking about?" he demanded of Lord Telsham, who had just slapped him on the back in a hearty greeting.

  "Haven't you seen the paper, old man?" Telsham asked.

  Blake shook his head. He'd read yesterday's paper. He had seen the item in the gossip column speculating about his trip to the theater with Cristina and had read the headlines touting the queen's displeasure with the scandals rocking her government. In truth, The Times's lurid coverage of Lord Ainsford's affair had disgusted him so much that he hadn't bothered to read this morning's edition. But he didn't need to read the newspaper to know what was going on in the Foreign Office and the other branches of government. He understood politics. He knew who had the power and the influence to sway the investigation and who didn't. He knew whose reputations were at stake and whose were not. As a member of the government, Blake was privy to more details than the newspapers and he knew that while his behavior wasn't yet suspect, it was only a matter of time before someone connected his appearance at Lord Strathemore's midnight soiree with the item in the gossip column. He could only hope that his aunt's presence in his household and the fact that he had publicly introduced Cristina to the Prince of Wales and had already petitioned the archbishop of Canterbury for a special license would remain unnoticed a while longer. He may have decided on his next course of action but until he had an opportunity to speak with Sir William Fairfax to ask his permission and his blessing on his daughter's impending engagement, Blake didn't want his intentions toward Cristina splashed across the pages of the newspaper for everyone to read.

  Telsham shoved a folded newspaper at him. "Page four. Center column."

  He stood at Blake's side, grinning like an idiot, while Blake unfolded the paper, turned to page four, and read the announcement: "Blake Ashford, ninth earl of Lawrence, son of the marquess and marchioness of Everleigh, announces his impending nuptials to Miss Cristina Fairfax, daughter of Sir William and Lady Fairfax by special license. No date has yet been set. Invitations will be forthcoming." Blake carefully refolded the paper and turned to Telsham. "May I keep this?"

  "Of course," Telsham replied. "Felicitations, old man. May I stand you a drink in honor of your engagement?"

  "Another time," Blake answered. "Thanks, Telsham." Anger surged through Blake, singeing his veins. He clamped his jaw shut, struggling to maintain his composure as he left the club and hailed a cab that would take him home.

 

  "Please inform Miss Fairfax and Lady Wethering that I wish to see them in my study immediately,"
Blake announced as soon as Perryman opened the front door.

  "I believe Miss Fairfax is engaged in bathing, sir. She asked that hot water be brought up less than a quarter of an hour ago," Perryman replied.

  "Very well," Blake said. "Please inform Lady Wethering that I wish to see her immediately and I wish to see Miss Fairfax as soon as she's completed her toilette."

  "Very good, sir," Perryman answered.

  "Was this your idea?" Blake waved a rolled-up newspaper in the air as his aunt breezed into his study in a flurry of satin and a cloud of perfume, her black malacca cane clutched tightly in her hand. "Or hers?"

  "Hello, dear boy, it's lovely to see you, too," she chided, sidling up to him and presenting her freshly powdered cheek for him to kiss. "Will you be joining us for dinner tonight, dear boy, or will you be dining out again?"

  Blake dutifully kissed his aunt's cheek, but he refused to allow her to sidetrack him. He took her by the shoulder and gently turned her, so she could see his face and repeated his question, scowling to make certain she understood he meant business. "I asked you a question, Aunt Delia."

  "What question was that, dear boy?"

  Blake slapped the rolled newspaper against his thigh, then unrolled it, opened it to the announcement of his engagement, and held it up for his aunt to read. "Are you responsible for this bit of fiction or should the credit go to my alleged fianc?e?"

  Lady Wethering drew herself up to her full height and huffed. "I took the liberty of announcing your betrothal." She narrowed her gaze at him. "After you took a few too many liberties with Miss Fairfax's person."

  Blake raised an eyebrow at that. "Cristina told you that?"

  "My dear boy, she didn't have to," Lady Wethering informed him. "My eyes are aged, but they still work well enough. I spend every morning regaling Cristina with reminisces of you. She can't get enough, learn enough about you," she told him. "You've been gone so often of late and she misses you terribly."

  Blake swallowed the lump in his throat and attempted to brazen it out. "That's understandable. She's a guest in my home and I've been a terrible host."

  His aunt snorted. "She doesn't miss you the way a houseguest misses her host. She misses you the way a woman misses her lover. Don't play me for an old fool, dear boy. Don't insult my intelligence. Miss Fairfax isn't an innocent any longer. She hasn't been innocent since the trip to the theater." She pinned Blake with her gaze. "I gave you room to woo the girl, to romance her. I didn't give you carte blanche to seduce her."

  He was angry, but he had the grace to blush as his aunt voiced her opinion.

  "Since you saw fit to bed her without benefit of vows or even a promise of such, I saw fit to remind you of your duty as a gentleman. You will do right by her."

  "I appreciate your concern for Cristina's reputation, Aunt, but I invited you to become part of my household in order to chaperon her, not to act as my conscience."

  "You invited me into your household to prevent gossip and scandal and that's exactly what I intend to do."

  "What gossip? What scandal?" Blake asked. "I've yet to hear a whisper of scandal. With the exception of Nigel Jameson, no one knows Cristina is here."

  "You as much as told the Prince of Wales that Miss Fairfax was staying with you."

  "Staying with you," Blake corrected. "And with my parents in the country. No one suspected anything until this hit the paper."

  "Surely you aren't that naive?" Lady Wethering demanded. "What about Patricia Fairfax's little wager and her announcement at Lord Strathemore's midnight soiree?"

  "How did--"

  "I'm a member of society. I have friends and acquaintances who gossip. The ton has been buzzing about it since it happened. They've been wondering if anyone had taken Patricia Fairfax up on her offer for weeks now and your escorting us to the theater and presenting us to the Prince of Wales did more to increase the speculation than to end it."

  "Bloody hell." He ran his fingers through his hair in a show of frustration. "I've been so busy, I haven't had time to pay attention to the gossip."

  "I have," Lady Wethering assured him. "That's why I took it upon myself to look out for your interests."

  "You were premature, Aunt." He dropped the newspaper on the desk and began to pace. "You made a public announcement, and true or not, I'll be held legally liable. Now, everyone will think I bought her, that I took Patricia Fairfax up on her offer."

  "Did you?"

  "No." He shot his aunt a fierce look. "I didn't. But that's not going to matter to London society."

  "Have you spoken to Cristina? Have you expressed your intentions?"

  "No," he admitted.

  "She doesn't know how you feel about her?"

  "How could she?" Blake asked, plunging his fingers through his hair once again. "When I don't know how I feel? Or what I feel? Or why I should feel whatever it is about her? All I know is that you made a public announcement that's left me with no choice but to offer her marriage. I haven't spoken to her or her father and already I find myself in an untenable position once again." He turned on his heel. "How could you have done this without speaking to me first?"

  "I did what needed to be done when it needed to be done. People talk, dear boy. Servants talk. You don't have the luxury of unlimited time. And although you've anticipated your vows, this way you've done the honorable thing by announcing your betrothal." She smiled at Blake. "Cristina is a lovely girl. You could do far worse. And you know you had to get married some time."

  "I've been married. I know what a disaster it can be. And I've no wish to live through that again."

  "Meredith has been dead for a while."

  "Six years," Blake said. "And even that isn't long enough to make the idea of remarriage palatable to me."

  Lady Wethering sucked in a breath. She'd suspected that her nephew had been unhappily married, but she'd hadn't known how unhappy until she heard the contempt in his voice. "I had no idea."

  Blake shook his head. "My marriage was hell. And now--" He broke off. "I'm fond of Cristina. I didn't expect to be drawn to her in a physical way and I certainly didn't intend to..." He stopped his furious pacing and stood in front of his aunt. "You made a public announcement of our betrothal. I won't dispute it and I'll make sure that no one else does. I'll buy her a betrothal ring and pay for the wedding of the season if that's what she wants, but..." He turned his back on his aunt and toyed with a paperweight on his desk.

  "But what, dear boy?" Lady Wethering moved closer to her nephew and placed her gnarled, beringed hand on Blake's shoulder.

  He took so long to reply that Lady Wethering wasn't sure he'd heard her. "I made a mistake. I've been feeling sorry for poor Ainsford and look at me. At least Ainsford isn't going to have to face his mistake across a breakfast table every morning for the rest of his life."

  "Then you needn't worry, my lord," Cristina replied from the doorway, "because I don't expect you to marry me or share my breakfast table."

  The shocked expression on his face when he saw her spoke volumes.

  She'd just assured him that she didn't expect anything from him. But she had. She'd missed him so much that her heart seemed to leap at the sight of him. And it shattered when she'd overheard him. Cristina drew her pride around her like protective shell. "I apologize for interrupting your conversation, but Perryman told Leah you wanted to see me as soon as I completed my bath."

  "I can explain."

  "You don't want to marry me," she said softly. "There's nothing else to explain."

  "I think there is." He walked over to her, took her by the hand and led her into the study. "Something's happened. Something you should know."

  "I already know, my lord. I saw this morning's paper." She turned to Lady Wethering. "You sent it?"

  Lady Wethering nodded. "I did what I thought was best for both of you. I'm sorry," she said. "I seem to
have meddled where I shouldn't have." She glanced at Blake. "You've much to discuss. I'll leave you two alone."

  "No," Cristina nearly panicked. "Please stay."

  Blake frowned, but nodded to show he was willing to allow his aunt to stay. "I'm sorry you overheard that, Cristina."

  "Well"--she tried to sound bright and cheerful--"you know what they say about eavesdroppers. They never hear anything good about themselves." Unshed tears sparkled in her eyes.

  "I apologize just the same," he said. "I was angry and speaking out of turn. I never meant for you to hear that."

  "Yes, well, I suppose it's best that I did. Otherwise it would be an awkward way to start a marriage," Cristina told him. "Knowing that your husband dreaded the thought of facing you at breakfast every day for the rest of your lives. But you won't have to worry about that, my lord, since there isn't going to be a wedding." Cristina wore her pride like a cloak against the rain. "I knew when I read the notice that there had to have been some mistake because, you'd never even hinted at the possibility of a marriage between us." Say it, Cristina silently begged, tell me the announcement wasn't your aunt's doing. Tell me you didn't mean what you said. Tell me you want to marry me. Tell me you want a family.

  Blake wearily ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed at the pain in the bridge of his nose. "I owe you an explanation."

  Cristina could see the tired lines around the corners of his mouth and her heart went out to him. She wanted to hold him and to kiss away those tired lines. She wanted to love him and have her love returned. She didn't want to hear him explain why that was impossible. She held up her hand. "Please," she said a little shakily, "I don't think I could stand it."

  "I must," he told her. "I was hoping to have some time off when Rudolf leaves--time we could spend together--but I'm leaving for Balmoral in the morning and I don't know when I'll be able to return to London."

  "It makes no difference to me," Cristina told him softly. "I won't be here when you return."