Edith Layton (21 page)

“I wanted you married to a good man. I wanted you to have a better life. It’s true I’m marginally freer now, and I can come and go as I please without fear of your knowing and being hurt. But I’m not free, and have accepted that I never will be, because I don’t wish your mother any harm either.”

She saw the truth in his eyes, and nodded.

“Now,” he said soberly. “Please, Annabelle, tell me why you came looking for me. It had nothing to do with this, did it?”

“No,” she said in a small voice, “but it doesn’t matter now.”

His lips compressed to a thin line. His eyes blazed. “Don’t lie. You’ve never been able to successfully lie to me. It was important, but now that you know the truth about my life you don’t trust me anymore, do you?”

She took a deep breath. Her world had been turned upside down, but as the moments ticked
by it righted itself again. So her father had a life’s companion other than her mother. She couldn’t blame him if her mother didn’t, and looking back, she knew with certainty that he’d told her the absolute truth about that. But he had deceived her, if only for her own sake. She’d had enough of that.

“I had a problem, yes,” she told him. “But now I’m glad I didn’t blurt it out. Because now I realize it’s something I have to solve myself. I am a grown married woman now. I have to grow up even more and stop running to you and Mama for help.”

“I’m still your father,” he said. “I’d still lay down my life for you. Are you in danger? I have influence. I like to think I can give you good counsel. I’m still handy with my fists and am accounted a good marksman, if it comes to that. Whatever it is, no matter how difficult, please don’t let all this change your opinion of that. Please trust me.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s better this way, I promise you.” He started to speak but she cut him off. “Now, will you introduce me to your Elsie? And her children?”

He hesitated. After a moment, he sighed. “I will, and gladly. But Francis and Belinda are both away at school. He’s at university, she’s just completing her term at Mrs. Spence’s Academy.”

Annabelle frowned in puzzlement, remember
ing the young boy who’d brought his hoop into the house not half an hour past.

“But I’ll be glad to introduce you to Sophie and Charles,” he said, watching her closely. “They’re our children…Well, but fifteen years, Belle,” he said, in a voice she’d never heard from him. He was pleading. “It’s been fifteen years, after all. With all the best intentions in the world, there are some things that can’t be prevented.”

Her ears buzzed, she felt light-headed. She nodded, dumbly agreeing—until she suddenly remembered how Miles had foregone his own pleasure again just last night to ensure that he didn’t get her with child. So it could be done. Couldn’t her father have done the same? But then, she thought, her heart lurching, perhaps Miles wasn’t as lost in love for her as her father was for his companion. Discipline might come more easily to a man when his heart wasn’t involved.

Enough, Annabelle told herself. This was her father’s life, not hers. She had her own affairs to put in order. Her every impulse was to turn on her heel and leave as fast as she could. That made her understand she should not. Difficult things must be faced, running never solved anything. Her father had taught her that. Most of all, she knew that if she left now, without a word, the children in the other room would feel the pain of it as keenly as she did. That simply wasn’t fair.

As ever, she knew the right thing to do, even if it was the hardest to get through.

“Yes, I’d like to meet…your family,” she told her father as coolly as she could manage. “But is it wise? After all, I didn’t know about them and only learned when you were trapped into telling me. Do they know about me?”

“They’ve always known. You didn’t have to know about them. Given the circumstances of their birth, they had to know about you.” He eyed her closely. “They are not to blame. Will you be kind to them, Annabelle? Because if you can’t be, it might be better if you left now.”

She laughed without humor. “I’m nothing if not socially adept,” she said with calm amusement in her voice. It was the voice she used whenever she faced the world pretending she was untouched and unhurt by it. “Nor would I ever be cruel to a child.”

“Only to a parent?”

She ignored that. “Now, may I meet my half brother and sister?” she asked briskly. “But no matter how charming they are, I can’t stay long. I have a very pressing errand.”

“The one you refuse to tell me about,” he said with bitterness.

“The one I must take care of myself,” she corrected him. “Now please, may I meet your other family before I attend to my own?”

He nodded. “But, Annabelle, remember, if you need me, I am here for you, always and ever.”

“Thank you, I’ll remember,” she said, silently vowing to never do more than that. She’d meet her father’s bastards, and she’d smile at the woman he wished could be his wife, and she might perhaps forgive him for all of that in time.

But as for now, she had to find another to confide in, and she had to find that someone quickly.

A
nnabelle had been drilled in the social graces since her infancy, as certainly her father had been. He’d also had many more years to hone his skills. They were both known to be glib and charming in company. But now neither father nor daughter could find a word to say as they waited for his other children to come into the parlor to meet their half sister.

The boy came in first, hesitant and wide-eyed. His sister crept in after him, looking terrified. Their mama brought up the rear. In that moment not a word was spoken. The earl was watching his elder daughter. She was staring at his other children and their mother. Their mother cast one agonized look at the earl and then looked as though she were about to cry. Her children glanced at
Annabelle, and then away, as though ashamed.

It was that which finally prompted Annabelle to speak.

“How do you do,” she said smoothly, bending from the waist to try to meet their eyes. “I am Annabelle, Lady Pelham. And you are?”

The boy hesitated and then said, “I’m Charles, ma’am. Charles Lund.” He gave her a jerky bow. Then he prodded his sister. She jumped as though stung. “And this is my sister Sophie.”

The little girl dipped a curtsy, then stepped back until she bumped into her mama. Then she stood head down, staring at her slippers.

Neither of them looked anything like her or her father, Annabelle realized with a sudden surge of relief. She honestly didn’t know how she’d have gone on if they had. The boy’s hair was straight and brown and he had hazel eyes. His sister had the same hair, and her eyes were brown. They were sturdy children, rosy-cheeked and healthy-looking, with snub noses. Like their mama, Annabelle realized after another quick glance at the woman. She couldn’t understand how this plain, plump female had captured and held her father’s interest for over fifteen years. But shocked as Annabelle was, she didn’t study her father’s mistress more closely, because her every glance seemed to affect the woman like a whiplash.

Annabelle didn’t want to make the scene any more difficult than it already was—if that were
even possible, she thought, quelling a bizarre rising urge to giggle, or weep.

“And this is Mrs. Lund,” her father said in a strained voice, going to stand beside the older woman. He took her hand. “Here is my daughter Annabelle,” he told her.

The woman curtsied. “Happy to meet you,” she whispered.

There was another silence.

“Sit down, sit down,” the earl said roughly.

Annabelle took a chair, sitting poised on the edge of it. The children huddled together on a settee, staring at Annabelle. Their mother sat next to the earl, then sprang up again. “I’ll just go see to some tea,” she said.

“Thank you, but I haven’t the time for tea,” Annabelle started to say, just as her father said, “No, Elsie. Betty can see to the tea. Just sit beside me now.”

The woman sat again.

Annabelle could hear the tall cased clock in the corner ticking. She wondered why her father didn’t say something. Perhaps he didn’t know what to say? The thought both pained and pleased her. She gathered her wits. She, at least, had the courage to speak, because she, at least, was not responsible for any of this.

“I realize these are difficult circumstances,” Annabelle said, “but it’s past time we met, is it not?”

That statement was met by agonized stares from three pairs of eyes. Her father merely looked beset. Annabelle called on all her training, tried to forget her own distress and think of what to say. A jumble of thoughts came to her. She opened her mouth to say: “I’ve just returned to London; I was on my honeymoon,” when she realized that the children were perhaps her close relatives and yet they hadn’t been invited, so that would a rude thing to say. But their presence on earth was an even ruder surprise to her. It was a ridiculous situation. She foundered, then her training won out.

“I’ve recently returned to London,” she said, looking at the boy, since he seemed to be the bravest of his small family. “I missed it very much. Do you like living here?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“But I was raised in the countryside. Do you like to go there too?” she went on doggedly.

“I like the seaside,” he said. “Papa takes us there in August—” he stopped and cast a wild glance at his father, as though he knew he’d said the wrong thing.

“So I do,” the earl said in an agonized voice. “To Torquay. We have a cottage there, by the sea.”

“A very pleasant place, I’ve heard,” Annabelle said. She’d never been there, of course. She’d heard Torquay was a pretty harbor town, very like Portofino, in Italy, built into a cove overlooking
the sea. It was popular with families of navy personnel, but not persons of her elevated social strata. Whenever she’d visited the seaside it had been to go to Brighton when the Prince was in residence there. How clever of her father to have found a charming vacation spot for his second family, one where he ran no risk of meeting anyone he knew.

The room was silent again.

Annabelle waited for someone else to speak. So did her father. His second family merely sat there looking at her dumbly.

Annabelle wanted to tell them she didn’t blame them; she wished she could tell them not to be afraid of her, because she’d never do them any harm. None of this was their fault. She was the interloper in their home, after all. It suddenly struck her that they might be her father’s favored children, and told herself it didn’t matter. None of it did, actually.

Annabelle rose to her feet. “I only dropped in for a moment,” she said, “and am sorry to have disrupted your day, but I had something I had to tell my…the earl. I’d like to stay and get to know you better, but haven’t any more than that moment, you see. Perhaps one day we’ll meet again.”

Her father’s mistress shot to her feet too.

“Please feel free to come back whenever you wish, my lady,” she said quickly. “You’re
always”—she glanced at the earl and added wretchedly—“welcome, I’m sure.”

“So you are,” he said as he stood up too. “I do mean that, Belle.”

“Thank you. Good day,” Annabelle said, and walked stiffly from the parlor.

The children remained behind with their mother. After a swift glance at his mistress, the earl left the room and went to the door with Annabelle. He didn’t speak to her until he’d walked her down to her waiting carriage. Then he stopped her before she could enter it.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” he said.

She laughed. “I doubt I’d have found out any other way.”

He frowned. “I always wanted to tell you, but the time was never right.”

“Better this way,” she said in a voice that was much too bright. “The time never would have been right, would it? And as a deathbed confession it would be far too melodramatic, too much like something at Covent Garden, don’t you think?” What she’d said reminded her of something, and she felt a lump rise in her throat. She cocked her head to the side. “But how nice for you,” she went on, blinking tears back. “You never had a son with mama, and that is the goal of every landed nobleman, isn’t it? And now you’ve remedied that.”

He blanched. “You don’t have to worry about your legacy, Annabelle,” he said. “I will leave those children provided for, but they can never inherit my title or our estate.”

She blinked, then laughed again, a little wildly. “I never thought of that. You may leave them everything for all I care. You made a fine settlement on me when I married, and I did marry a wealthy man. I was only speaking about—but that doesn’t matter either. Good day, Father, I do have to go home now.”

“Annabelle,” he said, taking her elbow to hold her back. “Listen. I know how painful this was for you, and I’d have given anything to have prevented it.”

“But you did, didn’t you?” she asked with a bitter smile. “You did do everything you could to prevent it. I’m the one who should apologize for oversetting your apple cart. Good day. I really must be going.”

She wrenched her arm from his grasp, and stepped into the carriage. He saw her in, then turned and walked stiffly back up the walk to his other home. Only then did she sit back, feeling as dizzy and weak as she had when she’d gotten ill those months ago. She didn’t allow herself to fully accept what had just happened until her father entered the house and the door closed behind him.

Then she wept a little more.

“My lady?” the coachman asked after a time, when a look assured him his mistress had composed herself. “Shall we go home?”

“No!” she said, but couldn’t think of a destination. She wasn’t ready to face her world yet. She was no closer to dealing with the problem she’d set out to solve. “Around the park,” she told him on an inspiration. “Just drive around the Regent’s Park until I tell you where to go next.”

But she still didn’t know by the time the coach had slowly gone round the park twice. The fashionable of London rode and strolled by her coach window without her seeing them. Annabelle sat back, lost in her thoughts. The day was trickling away. She had to know what to do by tomorrow, and she still had not a hint.

She tried to steady herself. First, she had to clear her mind of the shock it had just received. With effort, Annabelle relegated the astonishing truth about her father to the back of her mind, telling herself there was nothing she could do about that but what she’d already done. She could perhaps learn how to live with it more comfortably and more generously in time, but she didn’t have to do anything about it now. That was the past; it couldn’t be changed. Now she had to deal with the threat to her new life and family.

She could deal with many things, but she was a realist. This was a case of blackmail by a conscienceless villain, something she had no experi
ence with. She needed an ally, if only someone who could give her another perspective, or good counsel, and still keep the matter secret between them. But who? She knew few women well, so her first instinct had been to run to a strong man. She had a bevy of old flirts and a roster of old loves, but she rejected them all, she couldn’t and wouldn’t appeal to them. It would be like being unfaithful, and of all the things she was, she was never that.

Then she reviewed the facts again. Not only her father, but her mother had lied to her, and for years on end. That had to be dismissed from her mind as well.
The facts, Annabelle
! she scolded herself.
Only the facts!

The fact was that there was a man demanding money to keep secret the lie of the illicit life he’d led with her husband’s mother. Annabelle shivered when she realized that the scoundrel was, in his way, no different from her own father. No, she decided, at least her own father had only lied to her…
The facts, Annabelle!
she reminded herself, only the pertinent facts.

She thought about her mother-in-law’s lover for a long time, and again concluded that giving him the money wouldn’t solve the problem. Only frightening him would. But what could she threaten him with? He obviously cared for nothing but his own pleasures, and it seemed the foremost of those pleasures was money.

Secrets, she thought, leaning her aching forehead against the cool glass of the coach window. Suddenly her life had become caught up in a web of secrets. Lies and more lies; she’d done bad things in her own life and wouldn’t deny it, but she’d had her own code and had never lied, she thought virtuously, and smiled. No, she’d lied too, as many times as she’d thought it would profit her. So she should be able to deal with such a man. But try as she might she couldn’t think of any way to do that except either by killing him or by paying him. The one way was permanent. The other was endless.

She knocked on the roof of the carriage. The coachman drew back the flap. “Home,” she said. “It’s time to go home now.”

Miles stopped conferring with a footman and spun around to face the door when Annabelle entered the town house again. He strode to her, his light eyes filled with anxiety as they scanned her. “Are you well? Were you taken sick?” he asked, taking her hand, looking into her eyes.

“No, I assure you, I’m well.”

“Then where were you?”

“I just had business to attend to,” she said weakly.

His mouth thinned, his eyes turned icy bright. She stepped back in surprise. She’d never seen him in a rage before. But he obviously had only the barest control of his fury. “A word then, my
dear,” he said through gritted teeth, “in my study, if you please.”

That was when she noticed the servants clustered at the back of the hall, looking at her. She glanced at the tall cased clock in the corner and bit her lower lip. She hadn’t been aware how much time had passed since she’d left, but now saw she’d been gone for hours.

“Where have you been?” Miles demanded the moment he was alone with her.

“I went to see my father,” she said, taking a seat by his desk. She concentrated on removing her gloves to avoid his angry gaze.

“No,” he said slowly, “you did not. That was the first place I went when you were discovered missing with no word of where you’d gone.”

“Didn’t his butler tell you where I was?” she asked, looking up in surprise.

“Mr. Dean was also gone, and no one in the house knew his whereabouts. Your mother’s still here. She said she was too nervous to go home until you came back. She’s with Camille upstairs, worrying about you. My own mother had to take to her room with a headache.” He strummed his fingers on the back of a chair as he gazed at her, obviously thinking about what to say.

“Annabelle, you are…” He hesitated and changed his tack. “I’d never leave you without word. I’m a married man now, and I know it’s not considerate.” He turned his attention to some pa
pers on his desk, but only randomly stirred them with one hand as he added, “Although, I admit, I might not tell you if I was doing something I thought would upset you.”

She looked at his rigid back. “And that would be…?” she asked lightly, refusing to let her apprehension show in her voice.

“Seeing another woman,” he said as lightly. “So, tell me, what where you doing, and why haven’t you told me even yet?” He turned and looked at her, waiting for his answer.