Love's Promise (34 page)

“Is that right?” He didn’t appear to be convinced.

“Yes.”

“I met Thomas. He seemed like a very smart boy who would have acclimated to whatever was thrown at him.”

“Yes, he’s quite smart.”

An image flashed, of Thomas getting into the coach with Lord Henley and Lady Rebecca, his furtive wave to Fanny, his apparent comprehension that he had to pretend he didn’t recognize her.

The memories crowded in on her, her heart pounding, the room very warm. She was perspiring, her nausea flaring. Through it all, Phillip kept watching her with his astute, vigilant green eyes.

“You didn’t mind when Lord Henley demanded you sever all ties with your nephew?”

“It wasn’t up to me. I’m not his mother.”

“Didn’t it seem wrong to you? Didn’t it seem cruel?”

“Well...yes, but I didn’t have any choice.”

“I know Michael—probably better than anyone. We’ve been friends since we were very young.”

“Have you?”

“I’m curious about your relationship with him. I’m surprised that he took you to his house in the country. I’m very familiar with that place; I’ve visited there before when he’s had female...
guests
.”

He was hinting that he was cognizant of the house’s purpose, that Henley would have escorted her there for only one reason—that being a sexual liaison—but she was too embarrassed to provide the information he sought.

“Would you excuse me?” she said. “I’m really beginning to feel unwell.”

“Of course.”

He rose, as she pushed back her chair and ran from the dining room. She raced up to her bedchamber and stumbled to the chamber pot, where she proceeded to vomit up every bit of the chocolate she’d managed to swallow. Then she fell into bed, and in seconds, she was asleep.

Much later, she roused to note that Mrs. Bailey had been in to clean up the mess, that she’d laid a cool cloth on Fanny’s forehead and covered her with a quilt.

Fanny stirred and was about to sit up, when she glanced over and saw that Phillip was seated in a chair next to her.

“Are you feeling better?” he queried.

“Yes,” she fibbed.

“I had a talk with Mrs. Bailey—after you dozed off. She’s had ten children. She’s very knowledgeable about feminine troubles.”

Fanny smiled wanly. “Is she?”

His cheeks flushed slightly. “I guess there’s no polite way to ask this so I’ll come right out and say it: How far along are you? Mrs. B figured it between three and four months.”

She stared up at the ceiling, too humiliated to speak.

Very gently, he inquired, “Is Michael Wainwright the father?”

She knew she should deny that she was increasing. She knew she should never name Lord Henley as the father, for once the damning words were uttered aloud, they could never be retracted.

Yet, she’d been holding in a terrible secret, and she was so desperate to confide in someone who would listen.

“Yes, he is,” she admitted. “He’s the father.”

“Did he...did he...force you?”

She recalled the first time, when she’d taunted him by claiming she’d had dozens of lovers, when she’d had only a virgin’s inkling of what he’d truly do.

Had it been force?

“No.”

“Does he know about the baby?”

“I never had a chance to tell him.”

He sighed and pulled his hand from hers, and he gazed at the floor, pondering, working it out in his head.

“Well,” he finally mused, “he certainly needs to be informed. Would you like me to notify him for you?”

She lurched to a sitting position. “Please don’t. I know it would be wrong to keep it a secret, but I’m afraid he’d take any baby from me, as he took Thomas from Camilla. I’ve lost everything I ever loved. I couldn’t bear it if I lost my child, too.”

He stared at the floor again, assessing the pattern in the rug. Ultimately, he stood, and he urged her to lie down, and he drew up the blankets.

“I want you to rest,” he said, “and don’t fret. You’ve been trying to figure things out on your own. You haven’t had anyone to speak for you or take your side.”

“It’s been so difficult.”

“You must allow me to handle this issue for you.”

“But you can’t tell him!” she insisted, panicked. “Promise me you won’t!”

“Michael Wainwright will never hurt you again,” he vowed. “He will never take your child. I swear it to you. I will not let him. As your brother, I swear it.”

He seemed impossibly regal, determined, and principled in his intentions, and she yearned to believe him. She would trust him, would seek his advice and accept his aid whenever he chose to render it.

“Now then,” he said, “Mrs. B is waiting in the hall. She’s dying to bring you some tea and toast. She claims it will settle your stomach.”

“That’s very sweet of her.”

“You’re to do whatever she suggests, then you’re to nap all afternoon.”

“Where will you be?”

“I have some...business that needs tending. I’ll check on you when I return.”

“You aren’t going to see Lord Henley, are you?”

“I wouldn’t dare anything without your permission.”

He placed his palm on her head, like a priest giving a benediction, and she felt better and more optimistic than she had in years.

Her eyelids drooped, and he tiptoed out.

Phillip marched down the stairs, quietly calling for his horse to be saddled, for his coat to be brought. He’d thought he was going to France with his father, but circumstances had certainly altered his plans.

He’d spent most of his life excusing Michael, ignoring his faults, looking the other way when he was being obnoxious. Michael had behaved very badly toward Fanny, and he had to take responsibility for his conduct, had to act as any other gentleman would.

Michael would do the honorable thing and marry Fanny, or he would answer to Phillip. He would not leave her alone and unwed, as his brother, John, had done with Camilla Carrington.

Michael would marry Fanny or else.

He was just donning his coat, when Anne entered from the rear of the house. After how she’d disavowed him to the Duke, Phillip was amazed that she had the temerity to show her face, and in light of his pending confrontation with Michael, it was the worst possible moment for her to have arrived.

She floated in, as gracious as ever, and she was smiling, still steeped in the fantasy she’d concocted where she presumed they could trifle forever without penalty. The woman was mad as a hatter.

“You’re not angry with me, are you?” she asked. “I’ve been sick over our quarrel yesterday. The Duke was such a beast. I told you he would be.”

She moved as if to snuggle herself to him, but he stepped away, and a whisper of worry sneaked into her expression.

“What are you doing here, Anne? I can’t have you stopping by without an invitation.”

She glanced at the stairs, apparently hoping they’d go up to his room.

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “You know it’s difficult for me to get away. I have to drop by whenever I can manage it, or I won’t be able to see you at all.”

“I might have someone else visiting me. It would be awkward.”

He hated to be unkind, but he had to shatter the dream world she’d constructed. Her presence pained him too grievously, and he didn’t want her to ever come back. He couldn’t bear it.

“Someone...else,” she mused, studying him. “You mean a...a...another woman?”

“Yes.”

“But I thought you were...we were...”

He shielded any hint of the affection he’d always felt for her. He had tamped down that fire, and soon, it would be extinguished altogether.

“I am my father’s son, Anne,” he gently reminded her. “I have many lovers; you know that about me. It’s hardly a secret.”

She was very hurt by the blunt remark, which dismayed him, but he forced away the wave of sympathy that tried to bubble to the surface. He’d offered her a new life, had offered her passion and friendship and even marriage, but she’d tossed them back in his face.

He wouldn’t offer again.

“You’re aware of what a rake I can be,” he continued, “although I must admit that I differ from my father in that I’m usually diligent about not siring any unwanted children. I apologize for my carelessness with you.” He shrugged, praying to God she wasn’t pregnant. “I’ve been a tad reckless in our copulation, but you’ll notify me if there are any...consequences, won’t you? We’ll confer and see what can be arranged.”

“Consequences,” she mumbled, and she scowled. “Why are you behaving like this?”

Fortunately, he was precluded from responding, because Fanny appeared at the top of the stairs. She started down, then halted, not sure if she should interrupt.

“Why are you out of bed?” he asked, smiling at her. “You’re supposed to be taking a nap.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, “I didn’t realize you had company.”

Anne peered up, and she was pale as a ghost, her astonished gaze indicating that she was positive she was observing one of his paramours. Phillip wondered if she might faint.

“Anne,” Phillip said, “you remember my sister, don’t you? Miss Carrington?”

“Your...sister?”

“Yes. We’ve discovered that she is a sibling.”

“Oh...”

“Did you need something, Fanny?” Phillip inquired.

“Nothing important. I’ll speak with you later.”

She flitted off, and Anne was silent until Fanny’s footsteps faded, then she queried, “Why is she here?”

“Because your father and brother have been extremely cruel to her, so she’s living under my protection, and they will have to answer to me.”

“What have they done that was so awful?”

“Besides leaving her destitute, starving, homeless, and ruined? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be going, and I simply can’t have you stopping by in the future.”

“How can you say that? How can you want that?”

“We had a brief fling, Anne, but it’s over. I’ve proposed to you several times, but you won’t have me. You’ve been very clear.”

“But I don’t want our affair to end.”

“Well, I do.” He took her hands in his and squeezed tight. “I love you, Anne. I love you more than life itself, but you don’t love me back.”

“I do love you!” she insisted. “I do!”

He thought she probably meant it. In her convoluted, snobbish world, where displays of genuine emotion were frowned upon, she’d view her tepid involvement as proof of strong sentiment.

He sighed, feeling very sorry for her. What would become of her? What sort of existence would she have from this point on?

Sadly, it was no longer any of his concern.

“Anne, I want more than you can give me, and I’m not willing to settle for half a relationship. I won’t sneak around behind your father’s back, as if we were a pair of guilty adolescents.”

“I can’t marry you,” she said, her frustration evident. “You heard the Duke; he won’t give us his permission. You’re asking me to choose you or him, and I can’t.”

“I realize that, which is why I’m severing our liaison. I was hoping to wed you, but I’m not a fool. I won’t pine away for what will never be.” He drew away from her and went to the door, eager to be off to his meeting with her brother. “You need to go home now, and please don’t return.”

“You can’t be serious.” She looked shocked and stricken. “These interludes with you are the only thing that brings me any joy.”

“I know that they are, but they have to end. If you call on me again, the servants will have been instructed not to let you in.”

“Phillip! Don’t do this to me!”

“I have to, Anne. It’s for the best.”

“Phillip!”

He was torn by her wounded expression, by her visible anguish, and before he could relent, before he could change his mind, he hurried out the door, leapt onto his horse, and trotted away.

“Mr. Sinclair to see you, Lord Henley,” the butler said. “Will you speak with him?”

“Why not?”

Michael poured himself a brandy and drank it down in a swift gulp. He poured another and drank that, too, then he trudged to the sofa and slumped down.

In four days, he’d be married, but it seemed like a dream—or perhaps a nightmare.

He understood why Rebecca had come to fetch him to London, why the Duke had sent her, but he couldn’t quit thinking about Fanny. What if he never got over losing her?