One Wicked Sin (23 page)

Then Ethan put out his hand in an odd, hesitant gesture, and Arland scrambled up from the bed and he was across the room and into his father’s arms faster than Lottie had ever seen anyone move, and she went out and closed the door softly behind her, leaving the two of them alone together.

T
HE STORM BROKE
with shocking intensity an hour later, lightning ripping the sky and the thunder shaking the house. Lottie cowered under her blankets and thought of Ethan, even now guiding Arland to a safe house under the cover of the thick darkness and torrential rain. She
had not wanted them to go although she knew it was not safe for Arland to stay at Priory Cottage for any length of time. She had stood on tiptoe to kiss Ethan on the lips, and she had felt such fear for him, and anguish, because she knew that Ethan would not want to leave Arland alone and unprotected ever again. She sensed, too, that the time was coming now when Ethan, too, would leave for good. He had said nothing yet, but she knew that his son’s escape must have precipitated his plans, whatever they might be. He would want to ensure that Arland left British shores safely and so he, too, would go. It might not be tomorrow, or even the day after, but it would be very soon and then she would be alone. Ethan would be the father that Arland needed now, and she, the fatherless child, understood how important that was even whilst she greedily wanted to keep Ethan for herself.

Lottie burrowed farther under the blankets at the thought, pulling them up over her head, blocking out the drum of the rain on the roof and the grumble of the thunder as it receded over the hills, trying to block out thoughts that were not so easily banished. The air was cool now, scented with fresh leaves and rain. The chill of it against her face made her shiver. She was cold through and through and not even the heavy weight of the bedclothes could warm her. A mere two months before, standing under the apple trees in the orchard, she had acknowledged that the arrangement with Ethan was temporary, that she had always been alone at heart and that she always would be. Fathers, husbands, lovers came and went. She knew this. Men were an untrustworthy species.

Yet she would not write to Theo to tell him what had happened this night. Her decision had already been made when she gave Arland shelter. That was one betrayal she was not prepared to make, even to safeguard her own future.

She opened her eyes and stared at the billowing curtains. The thunder had gone now and the night was still. She had no idea what her future would hold with Ethan gone. She knew he would pay her off, as he had promised, but after that there was no certainty. Whatever her future would be, she would have to carve it for herself.

“Y
OU WILL HAVE
heard the
on dit
, Miss Palliser?” Mrs. Ormond whispered to Lottie behind the stacked bales of material in Mr. Winkworth’s shop two days later. “Miss Butler, the vicar’s daughter, has tried to elope with Captain Le Grand! They were apprehended on the Abingdon Road and he has been thrown into gaol and she is at home in disgrace. Such a shocking thing! Why, he must be three times her age and no great catch. And before all this dreadful business with the French officers occurred Miss Butler was engaged to a man who had patented a new form of stationary engine.” She shook her head and the ribbons on her bonnet flapped mournfully. “Only think, Miss Palliser, to whistle down the wind a man who had secured a patent!” Her gaze sharpened. “Tell me, did you
know?
”

“But naturally,” Lottie said. “I know
everything
there is to know in this town, Mrs. Ormond, and I tried to dissuade Miss Butler from so foolish a course of action as elopement, but…” She shrugged expressively, inviting Mrs. Ormond to join her in deploring the headstrong nature of youth. “Sometimes the young will not take our advice.”

“I thought that you would know all about it, Miss Palliser,” Mrs. Ormond said. “I know everybody writes to you even though they cannot speak to you publicly.”
She grabbed Lottie’s arm. “Now, tell me about this dreadful business of Lord St. Severin’s son. There have been no further sightings?”

“None at all,” Lottie said regretfully, shaking her head. “It seems that he has completely vanished.”

“Extraordinary!” Mrs. Ormond opined. “Wherever can he have gone?”

“It is a mystery,” Lottie agreed, smiling widely.

“These Frenchmen,” Mrs. Ormond said. “They are so much trouble!”

Wantage that afternoon was only just returning to normality after the excitement of the unsuccessful hunt for Arland Ryder. The parole prisoners had been allowed out of their billets for the first time, the troops had been withdrawn from the town and the shops were full of customers eager to exchange the latest gossip.

“Good heavens, Miss Palliser, who is
that?
” Mrs. Ormond exclaimed, and Lottie looked around and realized that the shop was buzzing with a low hum of excitement and speculation. Mr. Winkworth had abandoned his place behind the counter to join several ladies in the bow window. They were staring past the drapes of silk at a black carriage pulled by four bay horses that had paused in the square outside whilst the coachman asked for directions. The sunlight gleamed on the polished paneling, and the family crest on the side almost blinded the eyes it was so bright.

“Oh!” Mrs. Ormond’s voice was high and breathy with excitement. “Whose carriage can that be? Surely that crest… No, it cannot be! That looks like—”

“The Duke of Farne,” Lottie said.

The ladies broke into the kind of chatter that oc
curred when a fox invaded the henhouse. “The Duke of Farne, here in Wantage, of all places? Whatever can he want?”

Mrs. Ormond swung around on Lottie, piercing her with an accusatory eye. “Surely Farne has not come to see Lord St. Severin? I had heard they were estranged!”

“I know nothing of it,” Lottie said, staring despite herself as the coachman swung himself back up onto the box and the horses moved off. “For once I have to confess, ladies, that I am as baffled as you are. Though perhaps,” she added, “the Duke has come because of Arland Ryder’s escape from gaol. He is the boy’s grandfather, after all.”

There was an indiscreet rush out into the square as each shop emptied of its customers, all peering in the direction the carriage had gone.

“It has turned into Priory Lane!” Mrs. Ormond announced, like the Town Crier. “Miss Palliser, surely the Duke cannot be seeking
you?
”

“It seems that he is,” Lottie said. “Pray excuse me.” She picked up her basket, smiled her thanks to Mr. Winkworth and set off in the direction that the coach had gone. She wagered privately with herself that it would take no more than ten minutes for word of Farne’s visit to be around the entire town.

Margery met her halfway down Priory Passage.

“Ma’am! Ma’am!” The girl fell into her arms panting as though she was being chased. She pressed a hand to her side. “The Duke,” she gasped. “He’s here! He wants to see you.”

“Breathe slowly,” Lottie instructed her, supporting
her along the pavement. “No man is worth choking over, least of all the Duke of Farne.”

She had no cause to review her opinion when she reached the house and found His Grace waiting impatiently for her in the parlor. He was looking around with disfavor, as though, Lottie thought, he could not quite believe that he had stooped to enter such a lowly establishment.

She had never met the Duke of Farne before. They had not moved in the same circles even when she had been a London hostess. She thought that he and Gregory might well be acquainted, for Gregory had lent a great deal of money to the political classes and Farne was high in the government. Looking at him she could see the family resemblance that was stamped on both Ethan and his half brother Northesk. Farne’s face was thinner and more gaunt, his hair a shock of white, his eyes very dark, his expression fierce, his mouth pinched thin like a man experiencing the pains of gout. But that might well be no more than disapproval, Lottie thought. He could not enjoy lowering himself to visit the mistress of his illegitimate son.

Those were, in fact, the Duke of Farne’s first words to her:

“You are my son’s mistress?” he barked.

“I am Charlotte Palliser, Your Grace,” Lottie said politely. “I am not defined by my relationship to Lord St. Severin.”

Farne’s eyebrows snapped down into a frown. His dark gaze appraised her. “I heard that your husband divorced you for adultery,” he said.

“I assume,” Lottie said, holding on to her temper
by a thread, “that, speaking of adultery, you are here on a matter relating to your
illegitimate
son, Your Grace?”

There was a flash of flinty humor in Farne’s eyes. “My, but you are pert.”

“Your Grace,” Lottie said, “you have been in my company no more than two minutes and already you have insulted me deeply. That is not the behavior of a gentleman. Was there something you wanted? Or are you leaving?”

This time Farne almost smiled. “I’ll take a glass of wine, Miss Palliser,” he said, “and thank you for the offer.”

Lottie rang the bell and Margery, almost tripping over herself in her anxiety, brought two glasses of wine for them. Farne took a chair by the window and looked out across the orchard.

“You have a pleasant aspect here,” he said, “though I cannot believe that a small town like Wantage provides the entertainments to which you are accustomed.” He raised a dark brow. “Do you not find it parochial after London?”

“Everywhere is parochial after London, except perhaps for Paris,” Lottie said lightly. She knew this could be no idle chat. The Duke of Farne would hardly drive to Berkshire simply to get to know his son’s mistress a little better. She wondered what he wanted. She wondered if Ethan had heard by now of his father’s visit, and what he would do.

“It suffices,” she said. “For the time being.”

Farne smiled. It was not a comfortable smile. “And yet you could have so much more, could you not?”

A shiver of premonition slid down Lottie’s spine. She took a sip from her glass, buying time.

“Could I?” she said.

“If you are able to provide your brother with more information of the type that he requires.”

Ah, so he had heard of Theo’s recruitment of her to the British government’s cause. Lottie was not surprised. Farne, she thought, was at the very heart of this web to trap his own son. The idea repelled her, and yet she wondered why she had not thought of it before. It was no secret that Ethan and his father were estranged and that for years the Duke had viewed his bastard son as no more than a thorn in his side.

Whilst she hesitated over her response, Farne spoke again.

“Such a conflict of loyalties,” he said softly, “must be difficult to bear.” He shifted. “I told Colonel Palliser that he asked too much of you and that I had an…alternative plan, one that would save you the difficulty of making such a choice.”

The sun was playing in golden patterns across the carpet but Lottie could not feel its heat. She shivered. Farne sounded eminently reasonable, sympathetic even. But the room felt dark, shadowed with menace. Her instinct shouted to her to be very, very careful of what she said. And before her eyes was Arland’s face with its bloodstains and livid bruising.
That
was the reality of what the Duke of Farne would countenance when it came to Ethan and to his son.

“You are most generous to consider my feelings, Your Grace,” she said. “I thank you.”

Farne made a slight gesture with his glass. “I believe that we are all on the same side,” he said.

“Are we?” Lottie shrugged. “I have never pretended to an interest in politics.”

“Perhaps not,” Farne said, “but you do have an interest in money, don’t you, Miss Palliser?”

Lottie met his eyes directly. He was watching her with the cold clear gaze of the predator.

“Always,” she said.

Farne smiled. “So we understand one another.”

“I am not sure that I
do
understand you,” Lottie said. “What are you offering?”

Farne looked offended by such plain speaking. “My dear Miss Palliser—”

“And more importantly,” Lottie finished, “what do you ask in return?”

Farne walked across to the fireplace, where he rested one arm along the mantelpiece.

“It has always been my desire to be reconciled with my son,” he began.

“Has it?” Lottie said. “You astound me.”

Farne flashed her a glance. “From the very beginning I did what was best for Ethan.”

“Conceiving him out of wedlock,” Lottie said, “taking him away from his mother, bringing him up with those who despised him, sending him to a school where his birth would be scorned. Yes, I can see how you tried.”

The Duke gave her a thin smile. His gaze was sharp. “You are hot in his defense. I think you must care for him.”

Lottie caught her lip between her teeth. She had been
too unguarded. She did not want the Duke of Farne, of all people, to know how much she cared for Ethan. But she did most heartily wish to know exactly what fate Farne planned for his son. She gave him a cool smile.

“At the moment Lord St. Severin offers me more than anyone else can,” she said, “so naturally he has my loyalty.”

“An eminently pragmatic approach,” Farne murmured. “Perhaps what I should have said is that ever since my son took up his mistaken allegiance, first to the Irish republican cause and then to that of the French, it has been my most ardent desire to welcome him back into the fold.”

“Yes,” Lottie said. “I can see that he is a great blot on the Farne escutcheon and a great embarrassment to you.”

“But if he could be…persuaded…to change his views…” Farne said. He let the sentence hang.

“Then the escutcheon could be polished to its former glory,” Lottie finished.

“He is blocking my progress to hold Cabinet office,” Farne said, suddenly vicious. Lottie could feel the anger and the ambition in him, as fierce and bitter as the swelling tide.

“There is only so far a man can rise when he has a renegade revolutionary as a son,” Farne said, “and, equally as deplorable, an illegitimate runaway grandson. Soon my chance of high office will be gone.”

“I can quite imagine,” Lottie said. She narrowed her gaze on him, toying with the stem of her glass. “And yet a mysterious accident—a convenient death for either Ethan or his son—would not suit you, either,
would it, Your Grace? Questions would be asked. Your enemies would seize upon it and use it against you, and then you would never achieve the heights to which you aspire. I suspect
that
is the only reason that Lord St. Severin is still with us—that and his own skill in self-preservation, of course.”

“It pleases me,” Farne said, eyes gleaming, “that you understand so acutely the dilemma that faces me, Miss Palliser.”

“You could always let Ethan go,” Lottie said. “Send him back to France. Death and glory on the battlefield would remove your dilemma.”

“Alas, my son could not be relied upon to die appropriately,” Farne said bitterly. “Instead I make no doubt he would go to America. His views match those of a country with such high-minded ideals.” He shifted, leaning closer. “Tell me, Miss Palliser, do you have any knowledge of the whereabouts of my grandson?

You can see how important it is to me to find him first, before those dolts of soldiers shoot him dead and give me another problem to deal with.”

Lottie felt chilled to the bone as she looked into the cold gray eyes of a man who calculated the worth of every member of his family in terms of what good, or harm, they could do to his political chances. It made her skin crawl to see Farne’s total disregard for humanity. Oh yes, he would like to find Arland Ryder before the British troops did. He would take the boy and use him as another lever to try and force Ethan to his will. The thought repelled her. She felt sick, the nausea rolling through her.

“I have absolutely no idea,” she said, “where Arland Ryder is now.”

“A pity,” Farne said. His piercing gaze did not waver. “But perhaps you may remember something useful in time. You understand, of course,” he added, “that the boy
will
be shot if he is discovered? As will anyone aiding and abetting him. Under law—”

Lottie dismissed his words with a flick of her fingers. “I fear that the ramifications of the law bore me almost as much as politics, Your Grace.” She moved to refill his glass. “I am, however, very interested in your other proposition.” She smiled at him. “Let me understand you clearly. You wish me to exert any influence I might have to persuade Lord St. Severin to a different course?”

Farne nodded his thanks as she placed the decanter gently on the side table.

“You are, without a doubt, my best hope to persuade Ethan that he is on the losing side and that a discreet change of allegiance would be in all our interests,” he said.