Lord Braybrook’s Penniless Bride (22 page)

‘Asleep, is she?’

Christy nodded.

‘Likely she needed that.’

‘Yes.’ She had screamed and raged after Sarah’s death. At their father. Blaming him. For everything. For her life. For Sarah’s life. Even for Sarah’s death, which had certainly not been his fault. And hating him for not caring enough to attend the funeral. For being more concerned about appearances. He had ignored her after that.

Beth spoke again. ‘I made up Miss Emma’s old bed. It’s all ready. No need to undress her. Just slip her shoes off. Even popped in an old dolly of Miss Emma’s. Something to cuddle.’ She shrugged. ‘Better’n nowt.’

‘Yes.’ Bracing herself, Christy rose, Nan a limp weight in her
arms. Together she and Beth tucked Nan safely into bed and stood looking down at her.

‘You’ll sit with her, m’lady?’ Beth asked.

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll fetch some tea for you. Anything else?’

She started to refuse, then a picture on the wall caught her eye. A portrait. Rather amateurish, but recognisably Serena. Without answering, she stepped closer. It was signed,
ET
—Emma Trentham.

‘Yes. Yes, there is something, Beth. My sketching things.’

Before memory faded for her or Nan.

It was dark before she had finished and the lamps were lit. Beth had brought her meal on a tray along with some soup for Nan, who had woken for long enough to be changed into a nightgown and tucked back into bed after having the soup.

She had fallen sleep clinging to Christy’s hand, the kitten on the pillow beside her. Eventually the viselike grip had eased and the small hand relaxed on the covers. Now Christy sat staring at her sketchbook, knowing it was inadequate, but unable to do better.

‘Will you remain here tonight?’

The deep quiet voice from the doorway startled her, so that she nearly dropped the book.

‘Yes,’ she said turning to face her husband’s disapproval. He didn’t look particularly disapproving just now, but he’d made his attitude clear that afternoon. ‘She’s only a little girl. Someone should stay with her.’

‘One of the servants—’

‘She trusts
me
.’

His mouth twisted. ‘Sensible of her. Your maid told me what happened. Are you all right? She didn’t hurt you?’

She thrust away the warm little feeling of delight that he’d asked. Duty. Cold, hollow duty. ‘I am quite uninjured, thank you.’ The sin of
her
birth could be hidden. Nan’s couldn’t. That was the only difference.

He came and squatted down beside her chair, reaching to cover her hand with his. His presence nearly overwhelmed her.

‘You’re sure? Your maid said the child was beside herself.’

The warmth of his hand stroking. He was only touching her hand, yet the gentle caress awoke other memories in her body. Fingers sliding on slick, wet flesh, seeking the hot, fierce joining of their bodies…It was only sex. It was not important and she was a fool to wish otherwise.

‘Christy?’ His lips spoke her name, but all she could think of was the dark, heated demand of his mouth on her breasts. Her own hunger answering his. And the longing and hunger that he did not answer.

‘I’m perfectly all right,’ she managed. She tried to focus on Nan, asleep in the bed.

‘What’s that?’ Before she could stop him he had twitched the book from her lap and was examining her truly dreadful portrait of Jane Roberts. She had only met Jane twice and those last terrible memories had kept intruding, so that she had finally given up in despair. Just as she had with the sketch of Sarah…It was as like Jane as she could make it.

Julian was utterly silent as he looked at the sketch. Silent and unnaturally still. Would he understand why she had done it? To give Nan a way of remembering Jane clearly and knowing that someone else remembered her mother?

He handed the book back to her and stood up.

‘Did you draw Sarah?’

Her throat ached. ‘Yes. Before I could forget.’

Something passed across his face.

‘I sent for Nan’s aunt and uncle. They will come tomorrow. They are willing to take her.’ His voice was distant and expressionless.

Pain sliced soul deep. She was going to fail in everything, then?

He went on. ‘No doubt you will wish to meet them, assure yourself they will care for the child.’

Soothe my conscience?
‘Thank you, my lord.’

He frowned, but did not correct her. Instead he reached out to stroke Nan’s cheek with a careful finger. She didn’t stir, but the sleepy kitten yawned pinkly and dabbed at his hand with a lazy paw. He touched it with that same finger and straightened.

‘Goodnight, Christy.’

‘Goodnight, sir.’

He left the room and she heard his swift strides on the bare boards of the nursery, the sound of the outer door closing behind him. He was gone, and she wasn’t going to cry. She
wasn’t
, curse it!

Julian forced himself to focus on his agent’s report. He had an hour before the Carters could be expected and he ought to spend the time profitably. Workers’ cottages. Needing repair. Before winter. Estimates of cost. Which had to be balanced against the money he had available for the repairs. It could be managed. With Serena remarried, the estate no longer provided for her.

But his thoughts refused to focus. He’d scarcely slept. Without Christy his bed was cold and empty. Which was ridiculous! It was no emptier, or colder than it had been before his marriage. It was exactly the same bed, with the same blankets and exquisite linen. Not to mention the same richly embroidered counterpane. Besides which, Christy had never been in his bed. He’d been going to her bed and returning to his own to sleep. Or not.

It wasn’t only last night he’d slept badly. He kept waking and reaching for her in the night. When had he ever done that after leaving a woman’s bed? When had he ever wanted to hold a woman—just hold her—while she slept? Why was everything suddenly so damned complicated? If only Christy would fit into the neat little box labelled ‘wife’.

What was she doing this morning? He assumed she was still with Nan. He shut his eyes, trying to banish the image of his wife sitting by the sleeping child’s bed. Of course Christy would sympathise with Nan’s predicament. But it didn’t alter reality.

He shoved his chair back from the desk and stood up. Why was he so on edge about a simple question of duty? He was doing the right thing in ensuring Nan’s well-being. He was being generous in making a financial settlement on her. Providing a separate allowance to her aunt and uncle for her upkeep was more
than generous, and adding a little extra as an incentive for them to treat her well was more than anyone would expect of him.

Except his wife.

He understood that. With her experience she did not see things in the same way.

Coldly?

Rationally. The solution she had proposed was unthinkable.

No. Not unthinkable. Royal bastards have always been well provided for.

I’m not royalty, and she isn’t my daughter!

No. She’s your sister. And it didn’t matter a damn to Christy when she believed Nan
was
your daughter.

That in itself staggered him. Believing Jane to be his ex-mistress and Nan his daughter, Christy had still befriended them.

He walked over to the window, staring out at a blustery day. He was doing the sensible thing. The right and proper thing. Only he couldn’t forget the blank, shuttered expression in Christy’s eyes as she applied the term
by-blow
to herself.

By-blow
—with all it implied. Tainted.
Filius nullius
—a child with no legal existence. Better unborn. Or dead. Like her sister.

He saw again Nan’s pale face against the pillow, her eyes red-rimmed, and Christy sitting beside her. His Christy, sweet and affectionate. So blazingly honest and independent. Did he really want to contemplate his world without Christy in it? It might have been an easier world…No—it was too late for that. Christy was his.

I love you…

The opening door interrupted his churning thoughts.

‘The Carters have arrived, my lord.’

His gut clenched. ‘Show them in, please, Hallam. And send a message up to her ladyship asking her to bring Miss Nan down.’

‘Certainly, my lord.’

A moment later the Carters were ushered in, dressed in what Julian assumed to be their Sunday best. Prosperous. Respectable.

Julian knew them by sight and reputation. Carter was Sir John’s tenant, not his. He knew them to be well thought of. Upright. Decent.

He went forwards, holding out his hand. ‘Carter. Mrs Carter. Thank you for coming. Please sit down. Lady Braybrook will be down shortly.’ He hoped.

Carter frowned. ‘Very kind of your lordship.’ His wife murmured her agreement, and they sat down on a sofa, perching on the extreme edge and looking excessively uncomfortable.

‘Please accept my condolences on the death of your sister, Mrs Carter,’ said Julian politely.

The woman flushed and Carter spoke sharply; ‘As to that, it’s all for the best, no doubt. We’re decent, God-fearing folk, an’ there’s no denying that Jane—’ He broke off, eyeing Julian in some trepidation. Julian said nothing, and Carter went on in a hard voice. ‘Well, she’s dead now, and a body shouldn’t speak ill, but there’s no cause for grief. The Good Lord moves in mysterious ways.’

Julian wondered if Carter felt God’s wasp had left half the job undone. Hoping to reduce the tension, he began to talk about the harvest.

Carter was expounding his views on the advisability of planting more apple trees when the door opened and Christy came in, hand in hand with Nan.

While Julian had not expected Nan to rush forwards with shrieks of glee to greet her relations, it came as a kick in the gut to see her shrink closer to Christy’s skirts at the sight of them. Shy, he told himself. She would adjust soon enough. But how did a child adjust to guardians who openly described her mother’s death as divine retribution? He rose to present them to Christy.

The Carters greeted her civilly, but Julian caught the surreptitious and curious glances. Like the rest of the county, they were doubtless wondering exactly how she had prevailed upon him to offer marriage.

‘And here is Nan,’ said Christy, urging the little girl forwards gently. ‘Come, Nan.’

Nan’s murmured greeting tore at something in Julian. He smiled at her, but her eyes were downcast.

Carter grunted. His wife remained silent.

Christy’s chin lifted. Julian stiffened, but her voice remained calm. ‘She is a little shy at the moment. I am sure you understand her distress.’

Carter cleared his throat. ‘As I was a-saying to his lordship, sometimes these things are all for the best. ’Tis hard on a respectable man to knowin’ his sister-in-law isn’t no better than—’

He caught Julian’s eye and subsided. ‘Well, mum for that. I’m sure your lordship has more important matters to see to. I understood from your lordship’s note that you wish to put the girl under our care?’

Julian nodded, and said slowly, ‘Yes. That did appear as the best solution.’

Carter’s heavy shoulders squared. ‘We’d best discuss ways and means, then. No denying it’ll mean an extra mouth to feed.’

Christy spoke again. ‘Mrs Carter—the care of Nan must come upon you. What do you think?’

Carter cleared his throat. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, m’lady, but I’m master in my own home,’ he told her bluntly. ‘’Tis my decision, and no other’s.’

‘Carter!’ Julian’s voice slashed.

‘My lord?’

‘You will remember, Carter—Lady Braybrook’s sole concern is Nan’s well-being.’

Carter’s face reddened. ‘Beg pardon, my lord. I meant no disrespect.’

Julian nodded. ‘Very well. Naturally I am prepared to contribute a weekly sum for Nan’s board. In addition, a capital sum will be held in trust for when she weds, or comes of age.’

Carter scowled. ‘Well, now. I don’t say something for the girl’s keep would come amiss,’ he said. ‘But there’s no need for the rest. Setting her up over my own childer. Don’t seem fitting somehow for a child like that.’

‘Fitting?’ Christy’s voice had lost all semblance of gentleness, slicing into the sudden silence.

Mrs Carter spoke up. ‘A child of sin,’ she said. ‘We don’t need paying to do our Christian duty.’

Julian flinched. The word
duty
had never sounded colder. And Nan had shrunk back against Christy, as though someone had raised a fist to her.

‘Of course not,’ said Christy, her hand going to Nan’s shoulder. ‘But St Paul believed that without charity,
love
, that is, even giving your body to be burnt would be an empty act.’

Mrs Carter’s lips pursed. ‘We’ve said we’ll take the girl and do what’s right,’ she said in a low, hard voice. ‘Bring her up strict among godly folks. ’Tis only right we do our best to make sure my sister’s sin don’t go no further. Look at that ribbon in her hair! Vanity!’ She almost spat the last word.

‘That ribbon,’ said Christy, ‘was her mother’s last gift to her!’

Carter turned to Julian. ‘Best we take the girl now, my lord. She’ll forget quick enough.’

‘No.’ Christy’s voice was sharp. Peremptory.

Julian took a deep breath. They couldn’t have this conversation now. Not with Nan present.

Christy rushed on. ‘A note came up from the Dower House, my lord. Your stepmother wishes me to take Nan to visit her. I sent a note back promising to do so.’

For a hastily concocted excuse, Julian thought, it was superb.

Carter frowned. ‘Better not, my lady, beggin’ your leave. Give the girl foolish ideas above her station. Best she comes with us now.’

‘Aye,’ said his wife. ‘Start as we mean to go on.’

It made sense. Julian knew that. It was the sensible, rational way forwards, only—

‘I am afraid my stepmother would have Lady Braybrook’s head on a pike,’ he said politely. ‘And Nan’s belongings will not be packed.’ He couldn’t believe he was saying this, and, judging by their expressions, neither could the Carters. ‘I will send a message when all is arranged. Thank you again for coming. Let me show you out.’