A Worthy Wife (24 page)

“You’ll come back?”

Lud, had he just promised to return? “I couldn’t leave poor Victory wandering in that cave, could I?” And he could not leave the boy looking so uncertain, so fearful. “I’ll come back. Go to sleep now.” He put his spectacles back in his pocket so the boy would not think he was going to cheat and finish the tale on his own.

“Were you very clumsy as a boy?” Andrew asked, hiding a yawn behind his hand.

“Very. Are you?”

“Not anymore, now that I have my spectacles.”

“Good. Go to sleep.”

“Did you like school?”

“Some of it.” Kenyon realized that the boy was trying his damnedest to stay awake, and not for the pleasure of his father’s company, he’d wager. “Now shut your eyes. I’ll stay here to make sure you don’t have nightmares.”

Relieved, Andrew lay back on the pillows. “Mama says it’s the fever, not that I am a coward or anything.”

“Of course not. Even Sir Timothy must have had nightmares now and again, facing a dragon as big as the sky.”

A few moments went by, but this time the quiet was companionable, peaceful. The earl was congratulating
himself that he had survived the encounter, perhaps even alleviated some of the sprout’s anxieties, when Andrew whispered, “Good night, Father.”

“Good night…son.”

So Kenyon came back the next night, and the next. If he didn’t sit up with the boy, Aurora would, he knew. He told himself he was protecting her health. And he told himself she would be pleased. Hell, he even told himself he wanted to know how
Sir Timothy and the Terrible Dragon
turned out. He did not admit that he liked spending time with the lad, or that he was worried Andrew was not strong, or that he knew his wife’s door would be closed to him anyway.

During the day, Kenyon was busy about the estate; he should not have left it in a hireling’s hands for so long. With so much to do, he seldom saw his wife, who was in the nursery more often than not when he returned to Windrush. So was the rest of the household, he realized, even Kit, now that he was mobile. They were all taking luncheon and tea in Andrew’s room, playing games, singing songs, admiring Lucy’s pups.

No one asked Kenyon to take part in the nursery gatherings. No one asked him if he wanted company through his long, nightly vigils. And no one asked him if he’d ever had the mumps.

Chapter Twenty-Four

He was puffy, peevish, and as hard to please as any sick little boy. In his fevered dreams, Kenyon thought his wife had left him. She had, but not the wife who mattered. “Aurora!” he cried out.

“Yes, dearest, I am here.” And she always was, sitting by his bedside or stretched out beside him, ready to stir at his slightest movement.

“You won’t run off?”

Having answered the question infinite times in the past few days, Aurora told him, “Not till you’re well,”

Soothed, Kenyon went back to sleep, only to dream that they’d stolen his son, his baby. “Andrew!”

“He’s fine, Kenyon. Almost entirely recovered.”

He squeezed her hand, pulling her closer so he could see if she was telling the truth. “He’s not gone?”

“He never was as sick as all that, my dear. The doctor says he can resume riding lessons next week. Shall I bring him in to visit? I know he’s worried about you, too.”

Kenyon moved his head up and down, nearly groaning at the pain. With his privates so swollen, he might never father another child. He prayed the good Lord’s rod and His staff to comfort him, for his own sure as Hades did not.

So Andrew came and climbed aboard the huge four-poster bed that had belonged to five generations of Windham earls. He fixed his glasses more firmly on his nose and started reading.

“That’s ‘chivalry,’ cub, not ‘shivery.’”

Aurora tiptoed out of the room, free to tend to the rest of her household for an hour or so. Andrew already
believed his father hung the stars, for while he was recuperating, it was: Father says this, and did you know that Father once did that? The boy had slept most of the days away, waiting for his father’s nightly visits. Aurora would have been jealous, but she was so pleased for both of them. Andrew would watch over the earl for her, and keep him from fretting.

Before she left, Aurora turned and fixed the image in her mind of Kenyon and his son, snuggled together on the big bed. He was such an admirable man, her husband. He was unshaven and ornery and unwilling to admit he’d been wrong about the boy, but Aurora thought she’d never seen such a handsome, heart-pleasing sight. She shook her head, to think the clunch had tried to deny himself such love. Her so estimable spouse could be a jackass, but Andrew did not seem to mind, and neither did she.

For the next few days, Kenyon kept Andrew with him whenever he could. He did not want any highwayman teaching his son to ride, nor his soldier-brother instructing him on land management. He did not want his spoiled sister near the boy at all, with her moods and megrims and bad manners. He didn’t even want to share the brat with Aurora’s aunt and uncle. What if Andrew contracted another chill out on their gathering expeditions? No, the boy was better off right here where Kenyon could watch him.

The others had other thoughts on the matter. Soon the whole menage was gathered in the master bedroom most of the days, laughing, playing games, re-enacting battles with the toy soldiers, chasing Lucy’s puppies. Frederick was chasing Lucy, but only Aunt Ellenette cared. Nialla and Kit were seldom more than a foot apart, and Brianne and the highwayman were still trying to best each other at every activity. Kenyon did care about both situations, neither match being what he would have chosen for his siblings. He could do nothing while so incapacitated, though, except keep them here, like the boy, where he could watch them. He did not want any sneak thief stealing his sister’s reputation, and he did not want any air-headed adventuress taking advantage of his brother’s vulnerability. There was safety in numbers, at least, even if Kenyon’s room was so crowded he could not sleep.

At night things were looking up; the swelling was going down. And he had Aurora to himself. Unfortunately he could barely keep his eyes open by then, but he tried, drinking in the sight of her trying on a sari from her mother’s trunk or sitting by the fireside, reading more of her mother’s letters. Most were letters from school friends, telling of their lives, their marriages, and children, not adding one whit to what Aurora and Kenyon knew about Elizabeth’s circumstances. She’d saved the letters, though, as a reminder of the home she’d never see again. That told them something.

At the bottom of the satchelful of letters, Aurora found a thin bundle tied in a frayed ribbon, as if these letters had seen frequent rereading. They were addressed to “My Dearest Elizabeth,” and signed, “Yours forever, George.”

They had to be from Lord Ratchford, Lord Phelan’s brother, the one Lady Anstruther-Jones had thought Elizabeth would marry. They’d been childhood friends, Aunt Thisbe had told her, and would have announced an engagement but for mourning his father. Then something happened—an argument, Aurora’s aunt thought—and he went off to inspect his new properties without leaving an itinerary or an indication of his return. Before he did come home, Elizabeth had married Avisson Halle and sailed off to India. The last letter in the pile was a message of desperation. Furious that she had not waited for him, George called Elizabeth heartless and inconstant, cruel and craven, not to tell him to his face that she loved another. George vowed to be faithful to Elizabeth in his heart until his last breath, but he would marry the first woman he met in London to assure the succession, now that he had no hopes of marrying for love.

“How sad,” Aurora murmured, wiping her eyes. “To think of such a great passion coming to naught. It’s just like a novel.”

“A bad novel. I prefer dragons, myself.”

Aurora ignored his callous remarks. “I wonder what
they argued about. I doubt it would be another woman, the way he swears his loyalty to her.”

“Who can tell with a female? If she loved him all that much in return, she should have waited…unless she could not. Do you have your mother’s marriage lines?”

“Yes, in her Bible. Why?”

“And do you have your birth certificate?”

“Of course. It’s signed by the British consulate in India. You’re thinking…?”

“Quite. What if Elizabeth found herself in an awkward situation, with no way to reach her lover? She might have taken the only chance to avoid a scandal and give her child a name, albeit the name of a ne’er-do-well who would have found her small dowry worth his freedom. Go compare the dates, Aurora. I think we are getting closer to solving the mystery.”

She returned with the papers, pale and chewing on her lip. “Not many seventh-month infants survive, do they?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Then I am a bastard?” Oh, Lord, she thought, how could the Earl of Windham be married to a female born on the wrong side of the blanket? He’d be shamed in front of the
beau monde,
and he’d hate her for that. Perhaps the marriage could still be annulled, if his condition precluded the much-delayed consummation. He’d hate her for that even more, since it was her idea to bring Andrew home. “Oh, I am so sorry.”

“Why? Your parents were dutifully married, and your father, your mother’s husband, acknowledged you as his.”

“But in truth I am baseborn.”

“So what? Half the births in the
ton
come early. No one suspected for all these years that Halle was not your true father, so why should they question it now, when all the participants have passed on? Besides, you should be happy that scoundrel wasn’t your real sire.”

“And you don’t mind?”

“What, that my wife has the blood of one of England’s finest families in her veins? You’re the same person you were ten minutes ago, aren’t you? The same managing female with the same generous heart.”

He patted the space beside him on the bed, and Aurora joined him there. Sheltered in his arms, she realized it really did not matter who her actual father was. “But, you know, I wouldn’t be surprised if George found out about the child. He must have sent Lord Phelan to India to verify the rumors.”

“What he must have done was planned to settle money on Elizabeth’s and his daughter. Ratchford was always warm in the pocket.”

“But I bet Lord Phelan convinced my mother to say I was dead. She was already ailing and needed a way to keep me safe from Halle. She couldn’t send me to George, of course, for he was married by then, but her sister and Uncle Ptolemy would never question my parentage. They could change my name, and Halle would be none the wiser.”

“Unfortunately, neither would George. I’d wager Phelan never told him the truth, perhaps out of spite. Remember that Lady Anstruther-Jones thought both brothers were in love with your mother. Or else perhaps Phelan was simply trying to keep the money out of Halle’s hands.”

“So he let George die thinking my mother and I were both lost to him?”

“And the money would stay in the family coffers. Ratchford’s heir was not terribly robust, if I recall, so Phelan might have been hoping to succeed to the title and estate himself.”

“Yes, but once he’d notified George of the child’s supposed death, what further interest could Lord Phelan have in me?”

Kenyon thought a moment. “What if George left an inheritance and never changed his will? By keeping the secret, Phelan made sure the money was never paid out. There would be no benefit to him—and embarrassment to the Ramsey family name—in bringing you to the court’s attention. Neither you nor your relatives would have thought to look into Ratchford’s will, of course, so he was safe. But then you grew up.”

“To a marriageable age.”

“Exactly, and Phelan realized he could share the bounty if he found the right swine to marry you.”

“Harland Podell.”

“Right. I’d be surprised if Podell ever makes it to Jamaica, knowing as much as he does about Phelan’s plans.”

“What, you think Lord Phelan is dangerous?” Extortion and criminal connivance were one thing; murder was quite another.

He pulled her tighter to his side, wincing at the discomfort. “Not to you, my dear, for Ramsey lost all chance of sharing in the inheritance when we wed. Your demise would only make me a richer man, if I pursued the matter.”

“I suppose that’s why he is hiding out now, so we cannot ask questions about Harland, or about George and his will. No one would have thought to make inquiries if you hadn’t been so suspicious.”

“Well, this is all conjecture on our part. We’ll know more when my solicitor communicates with Ratchford’s man of affairs, or Ned finds Phelan for us.”

Aurora was thinking of what she would do with an unexpected inheritance. She’d be advertising her mother’s sins, for one thing, and wreaking havoc in the new Lord Ratchford’s life. He was her half brother. His children were her nieces and nephews. It seemed her family was growing by the day, and they would all be affected by stirring up the scandalbroth. “I need to think about this.”

“Of course you do, but not tonight. Tonight you should be thinking of your husband, and how much he is longing to hold you.”

“But you are holding me, silly.” And his hand was stroking up and down her arm, making her feel as if she were the one with the fever.