The Black Sheep's Return (16 page)

‘Good evening, my dear,’ her aunt greeted when Freya swept into the family drawing room and Miss Bradstock didn’t look in the least bit exhausted now. ‘Most becoming,’ she whispered as if she thought Freya needed encouragement.

‘Good evening, Lady Freya,’ the Duchess greeted her with a warm smile.

‘Good evening, your Grace,’ she said and shyness threatened to undo her new ease with
her hostess and never breach her old formality with Lady Henry Seaborne.

‘I have to thank you for rescuing my precious grandchildren from what they assured me, when they got over their shock at having a grandmama to tell, was a very bad woman indeed,’ Lady Henry said and Freya didn’t think she’d ever seen her ladyship so happy.

‘Anyone would have done as much, your ladyship. My aunt deserves more thanks than I do for keeping a cool head through it all,’ she said with a wry smile for her own panic every time she thought Cleo might have alerted whomever she was taking them to that the children had been counter-abducted as they flew here as fast as horses could bring them.

‘I wasn’t the one who rescued them when they were alone in a strange city, Niece. You must learn to take praise where it’s due,’ Miss Bradstock ordered, as if being too humble was as irritating as the arrogance Lady Freya Buckle had once been so famous for.

‘And I can never thank you enough,’ Richard Seaborne added quietly from the corner of the room he was lurking in to help his mother and sister to glasses of sherry wine.

‘No, you can’t,’ she agreed shortly.

‘That might be taking things a little too far the other way,’ Aunt Carolina observed.

‘He doesn’t deserve anything better from me,’ Freya said haughtily.

‘Well, no, but it might be more comfortable for the rest of us if you pretended during dinner,’ Jessica said mildly.

‘Perhaps I shall, then,’ Freya conceded and gave him an ungracious nod.

‘I will abase myself more privately later, my lady,’ he said and she glared at him, hoping he knew hell would have to freeze over before she allowed it.

‘I’d buy a ticket to witness that,’ his mother told her wayward son rather sternly and someone must have told her what he’d accused Lady Freya of doing. Freya’s cheeks burned at the memory of standing there with her mouth open while he raved at her.

‘No doubt Lady Freya will sell you one for a very small fee,’ he said wryly.

‘If it saves me from being alone with you, sir, the whole household is welcome to shadow my every move until I leave here as early as possible in the morning.’

Mr Richard Seaborne frowned and looked hunted when his little sister demanded why
he’d grown so bear-like during his long absence as if someone had to take pity on him.

‘He was always gruff and disagreeable like this when he knew he’d done something wrong as a boy, Penny,’ her mother intervened, as if she understood the tension and anger snapping like summer lightning between Lady Freya Buckle and her prodigal son.

‘Memory must have gilded you in my eyes, Richard,’ Penelope informed her eldest brother without noticeable awe.

‘Unlikely it will do so in anyone else’s after today’s events,’ he admitted.

He was so heartbreakingly different from Orlando tonight, his borrowed evening clothes fitting a little too tightly over the shoulders to indicate he was broader there than even powerful Jack Seaborne. Their height must be comparable though, since the dark coat and knee breeches enhanced the fine masculine figure both cousins boasted. Orlando’s wild and overlong locks were trimmed and tamed into something very close to the famous Brutus cut made so fashionable by Beau Brummell and the Prince of Wales. Jack must have left his valet behind to produce such a pattern card of a Corinthian out of such wild material in such a short time, Freya reflected, and
wondered which was the real Rich Seaborne. This one, she supposed glumly, and longed for the dear ease of her lover over the elegance of this stranger.

They processed into dinner at last, Richard escorting his mother as the rest of them found spaces at the round table in the family dining parlour. Every course was a finely produced triumph and Freya managed to eat enough to keep her growing babe happy as the gentle hum of conversation Jessica instigated relaxed her frayed nerves. They adjourned to the family sitting room afterwards to listen to the reasons why Richard Seaborne had hidden away for so long and Freya and her aunt tried to leave the family to hear the tale, but he insisted they stay and both were curious enough to do as he asked, this time.

Rich wasn’t even halfway through his tale of a wicked and murderous nobleman, a lovely damsel in distress and his very different life, designed to keep his wife and son from harm by their enemies, deep in the forest before a trio of travel-worn and weary gentlemen interrupted him and he had to begin all over again for the benefit of Jack, Duke of Dettingham, Alex Forthin, Earl of Calvercombe and mysterious Mr Frederick Peters, whom
Rich introduced as his very good friend and preserver after shaking him by the hand, as if there weren’t words enough to say what service this man had done him in the past.

‘Jack,’ he said simply when he was done greeting his friend and Freya’s eyes watered as she took in the wordless awe both cousins felt at finally being together again.

Lord Calvercombe stood by and watched proceedings with a cynical eye, as usual, but seemed genuinely glad to see Rich home when he wondered aloud why such a rogue as Alex Forthin had been invited to share in ducal hospitality for the night.

‘Because I married into the family to be assured of it whenever I need to escape my tumbledown inheritance, Diccon,’ Alex observed cynically, but Freya could see a new ease about him that spoke of supreme contentment with his wife and his lot in life.

‘My sister would have something scathing to say about that order of priorities and so would I, if I believed a word of it,’ Rich responded.

‘All very well, but what have you been about and why are you here when we three have been riding the length and breadth of the country
these last few days in order to save your sorry skin?’

‘I was explaining all that when you so rudely interrupted me.’

‘Then go back to the beginning, so we’ll all know exactly what you’ve been up to,’ Alex ordered laconically as he accepted a selection of pies and cold meats Hughes and his minions brought, then gently but implacably ordered them to be gone and not listen at doors.

‘Do make yourself at home in my house, won’t you?’ Jack said mildly as he sat on the sofa next to his lady and stretched his booted legs out towards the fire with a satisfied sigh.

‘I’d much rather be in my own with my darling wife, but since I’m here I might as well make myself useful,’ Alex said with an easy grin Freya hadn’t thought the austerely formidable former soldier capable of until today.

‘How far have you got with your tale, then?’ Mr Peters reminded Rich and the mood sobered as Richard Seaborne resumed his tale of attempted murder and an unimaginably wicked scheme to deprive his beloved stepson of life before Hal was even born.

Freya was so outraged by the tale she almost gave herself away by doing as the Duchess did instinctively and rubbing a gentle hand
over her pregnant belly to assure herself all was well with her own baby. The fury she felt at anyone endangering an unborn child helped burn away her last whisper of jealousy of Rich’s wife. Imagining what the painfully young girl had been through while she protected her child as best she could, then nursed a gravely injured young buck back to health made her understand why Annabelle then let Rich sacrifice so much to keep them safe. Of course the girl would have fallen for the real man under all the cynical charm and restless dash a younger and less tried Richard Seaborne must have rejoiced in—how could she not when older and wiser Lady Freya Buckle had done exactly the same six years on?

‘You didn’t dare admit your son’s identity in case the supposed Lord Lundy gained guardianship of him, I suppose?’ she asked when Richard reached the end of the tale he was prepared to tell with today’s events and hers and Aunt Carolina’s rescue of his family.

‘I still can’t,’ he said bleakly.

That wouldn’t matter to a woman who loved him, Freya concluded. She could quite happily accept Hal as Richard’s heir in place of her own child, should it be a boy. If only there was a chance she could be Richard Seaborne’s
beloved second wife she would accept his children joyfully. She recalled the dark accusations he’d made this afternoon and knew she couldn’t marry a man who thought so little of her, even if he wanted her to.

‘W
e three may be able to help you announce Hal’s true parentage to the world and still be safe in your own home, Seaborne,’ Mr Peters said in his usual quiet way.

‘Listen to him, Rich,’ Jack urged to silence the denial he sensed on Rich’s tongue that he would ever put his son in danger. ‘It’s the most damnably unlikely story I ever heard, but I was there when it played out so I suppose it must be true.’

Jessica tutted at his language, but Lord Calvercombe nodded to confirm his presence as well and add his four-pennyworth to the debate and Rich stood tense as ever in front of the fire, warming his manly coat tails and looking
so endearingly familiar Freya almost forgave him for not being Orlando for a moment.

‘All three of us visited my chambers on our way through town to make sure no urgent messages had arrived from an agent I had trying to prove who was behind the attempts to lure you out of hiding and capture your supposed son three years ago,’ Mr Peters began.

‘He
is
my son in every way that matters,’ Richard bit out stiffly.

‘Of course he is and none of us wish him otherwise,’ Lady Henry said as if it wasn’t ever in question from the moment she knew about Annabelle’s son.

‘Unless he demonstrates the murderous tendencies of his cousin, of course,’ Alex Forthin put in laconically.

‘Hal doesn’t have it in him to be so evil,’ Freya flew to his defence and felt his lordship’s thoughtful gaze on her as if she’d written a banner declaring her infatuation with that entire offshoot of the Seaborne clan and waved it under his aquiline nose.

‘Francis Martagon arrived at my chambers as soon as whoever he had watching them got a message to him that I was back in London,’ Mr Peters went on doggedly with his story and
Freya cast him a grateful look for distracting everyone so effectively from her blushes.

‘What the devil did he want, then?’ Rich growled.

‘A peace treaty apparently,’ Lord Calvercombe said with a frown that spoke of his mixed feelings about the bizarre idea. ‘He’s willing to trade information about his father-in-law’s kidnap of Mr Telemachus Seaborne three years ago and his subsequent efforts to track you down and dispose of you and the true Martagon heir, in return for our promise not to prosecute him for the attempted murder of Mrs DeMorbaraye-Martagon and her unborn child and the attack on you six years ago.’

‘Why the deuce should I promise any such thing?’ Richard argued.

‘If Francis relinquishes all claim on the Lundy title, estates and monies, then you can return to your old life and Hal will be safe,’ his mother pointed out gently.

‘He tried to kill Annabelle as well as Hal. He needs to die for that alone and how can I ever be sure my son will be safe while Martagon is alive and at large?’

‘In a half-hearted sort of a way,’ Jack surprised them by pointing out when he would usually be the first man to condemn such a
heartless act. ‘He’s a weak fool and even I couldn’t bring myself to hate him as I wanted to, Rich,’ the Duke explained with a wry shrug that explained his bafflement better than words.

‘He intends to sue his wife’s latest lover for criminal conversation and divorce her. His only hope of doing so safely, considering who the lady’s father is, has to be with our help,’ Alex said impassively and, warrior that he was, he obviously found it easier to keep hating his enemies than the Duke of Dettingham did.

‘Strider will fight him with every mean trick and moral blackmail he can lay his hands on and he’s got enough money to buy the best,’ Rich said.

‘Nothing will make his daughter a Marchioness again if Martagon admits he isn’t the true heir and never has been,’ Lady Henry pointed out pragmatically.

‘How could I be certain Hal is safe with Strider running about loose with revenge on his mind? The man doesn’t have a conscience or a heart,’ Rich said, the stark choices he faced over the last years clear on his face once more.

Freya felt her own heart threaten to soften,
so she reminded herself what strong and abiding love this man still felt for his late wife and how little he had for her. Nobody listening to him accuse her of that venal scheme this afternoon would suppose he’d made love to her as if his next breath depended on making it wondrous and magical for both of them. She could hardly believe it herself. Any doubt she had suffered that she was right to take herself and her unborn child out of his life and stay away had been scoured away by his mistrust.

‘Mr Francis Martagon also offers you enough information to keep Strider busy fighting for his life and his fortune against a host of charges, from embezzlement of Home Office funds, blackmail, murder and treason down to swearing false oaths. If the man has any sense, he’ll flee on the next ship he can find to anywhere the British law can’t reach him—if you agree to Martagon’s bargain, of course,’ Mr Peters concluded.

‘And what of the unreliability of his testimony? He was the one who arranged for my wife to be murdered and her unborn son destroyed along with her in the first place.’

‘That’s the beauty of his evidence,’ Alex grudgingly intervened. ‘None of it comes directly from him and flows from a prolonged
examination of his father-in-law’s shady business dealings on his part.’

‘What an uncomfortable nest of vipers Lundy Court must have been these last few years,’ Penelope Seaborne observed quietly.

Freya was reminded how acute all these Seabornes were when schoolgirl Penelope saw things more clearly than most seasoned adults. She must leave as rapidly as possible come morning, before one of them put two and two together about her and Richard Seaborne and reached the answer she dreaded.

‘So he gets away with it, then?’ Rich said with a fierce frown.

‘The bargain we drove lets him take his elder daughter with him. He believes that child is actually his, and promises to live in seclusion with her on a small Irish estate I doubt Hal will ever miss. He seems to genuinely love the little girl and believes it his duty to save her from a mother who hates her as well as her latest daughter. I pity the poor mite who finally brought all this about, but the erstwhile Marchioness’s lover, Menkinthwaite, is willing to take the babe into his household and bring her up as a poor relation, since she carries his stamp as strongly as I’m told your little girl carries yours, Rich,’ Jack explained.

‘It sounds too easy a bargain on Martagon for my taste,’ Richard responded bleakly and Freya thought she wasn’t the only one who set his reluctance to agree down to the attack on the wife he obviously missed so deeply he longed to be avenged on her would-be murderer.

‘Then think of the alternative, Richard,’ his mother urged and surely that wasn’t sympathy and understanding in her eyes when they briefly lighted on Freya? ‘You’ll face a sensational court case where little Henry’s birth and his mother’s character and conduct are publically pulled to pieces, then picked over by the gossips. Then there’s your hasty marriage to her before her first husband’s babe was even born to explain and all the legal tangles and scandal that will provoke and your poor wife not even here to defend herself.’

‘Never fear, I am here to do that,’ Alex argued with a combative glint in his blue eyes that made Freya shudder for his future safety.

‘I can only imagine what my sister Persephone would say about such a reckless and witless statement, Calvercombe,’ Richard replied and Freya let out a sigh of relief. ‘We both loved her, Alex. I’m so very sorry that we couldn’t save her when my Sally decided
to come into the world feet first, or get word to you of her death.’

‘I knew she was dead somewhere in my heart when I came home to find her gone without a single word to me for so long, Seaborne. She would have found a way to let me know all was well with her if she was still alive. Annabelle wouldn’t let anyone suffer if she could prevent it and knew I would miss her. If Annabelle loved you, I suppose you must have hidden depths the rest of us can’t see.’

‘High praise indeed,’ Rich replied with a rueful grimace.

‘More than you deserve after today,’ Jessica told him severely.

Freya saw all the Seabornes who weren’t here to witness Rich’s homecoming wait for enlightenment and decided she couldn’t endure reliving the terrible moment when he showed how little he thought of her this afternoon.

‘If you will all excuse me, it has been a very long day,’ she said with as much dignity as she could muster and an open yawn. ‘We were up at dawn, so I suppose it’s little wonder the children fell asleep as soon as they were safely tucked up in bed tonight.’

‘And it’s about time I was tucked up in mine
as well, my dear, so we’ll go up together,’ her aunt said as she stood up to support her niece. Freya knew how lucky she was to have Carolina Bradstock as her dear aunt by now and gave her a grateful smile.

They said their goodnights while Freya ignored Rich as best she could. Tomorrow she must convince her aunt nothing could change between them, but tonight she was weary beyond physical tiredness. Richard Seaborne, with his careless elegance and assurance of his own superiority, wasn’t her lover. This hard-faced aristocrat was as remote from Orlando as his woodland home was from the gracious Palladian mansion she now recalled being pointed out to her as Seaborne House, the home of Lord Henry Seaborne’s eldest son.

Away from him and alone at last, Freya drifted about her comfortable room carrying out the little tasks she once took for granted someone else would do for her. It was foolish to feel so weary and not go to bed, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep. She ran a hand over her still-relatively-flat belly and wondered if her tiny child slept when she did and woke when she was awake. It amused her to think of a very individual being finding its mother’s odd way of doing things unacceptable and going its own
way even before it was born. If Aunt Carolina was right about Seabornes, it would do plenty of that once it was in the world, so she might as well get used to the idea of another arrogant and determined Seaborne doing its best to rule its mama’s life and be ready to remind it she was no pushover herself.

At least sitting dreaming of her child distracted her from the aching hurt Richard Seaborne had dealt her earlier and she couldn’t let herself examine that right now. She took the pins out of her neat chignon and tried to remember how it was arranged so she could copy the style herself. Once the heavy mass of it was free she combed it lock by lock, then began the hypnotic business of brushing until it was a smooth and shining mass about her shoulders. The routine soothed her into a place where she could think about the father of her baby and not hate him for refusing to love her. She could even feel sorry for him at this distance. Grief for his lost wife and natural stubbornness meant he would never meet his latest child.

She would carry his babe alone and the very idea of wedding Richard Seaborne simply to ensure this child bore his name revolted her. She would have wed Orlando Craven as equal
partner in his simple existence. She could endure a life where she was his helpmeet and not his darling but, without that mutual need and shared labour to bind them together, marriage to rich and impeccably connected Mr Richard Seaborne would be nigh intolerable to her.

Lady Freya couldn’t endure her old life back now Orlando’s simple lifestyle had taught the wealthy daughter of an Earl to value her privacy and independence, but there was no Orlando. Rich Seaborne was about as noble as a man came without a title to label himself with and a dynastic marriage could never be enough for her now. A quiet knock came on the door and she called an absent invitation to enter, expecting the maid sent by her hostess, who was clearly unaware proud and finicky Lady Freya Buckle had learnt to dress and undress by herself since they last met.

‘I can manage perfectly well, thank you,’ she said without turning round to encourage idle conversation.

‘Almost too well, I suspect,’ a deep masculine voice said and Freya gasped and swivelled on the dressing stool to glare at him for invading her privacy.

‘Leave!’ she ordered furiously.

‘In a minute,’ Rich told her as if he had every right to stay.

‘Now. The Duke and Lord Calvercombe will drag you out of here by your ears when I rouse the household with the scream I’m about to shriek if you don’t go immediately.’

‘I’m sure they would love to, but if you were going to scream you would have done so by now,’ he said with the assurance of a rake certain charm would get him what he wanted.

‘I shall leave you to a petty triumph then, Mr Seaborne. I hope it amuses you to know you harried a single lady from her bedchamber in the middle of the night,’ she said as she reached the door.

‘Stay,’ he gasped and tugged on her hand so she swung round to meet his eyes and saw a desperate plea there. ‘Only hear me out, Perdita; then I’ll leave you in peace.’ She stayed silent, wondering why she was tempted to let him explain the inexplicable. ‘Please?’ he added sneakily and won at least that by not arrogantly demanding she listen to him.

‘I will stay for a while,’ she conceded and let him close the door because she wanted this conversation in private, or so she assured herself as the latch clicked into its well-honed notch and they were private once more. ‘I can’t
imagine you have anything to say that I wish to hear and my name is Lady Freya Buckle. Perdita didn’t exist.’

‘Then I have a fine imagination,’ he said softly and she called on Lady Freya to face him with all the hauteur and scepticism at her command.

‘You have,
Orlando,’
she said with as much irony as three words could bear.

‘A man can’t live another life for so long without becoming what he pretends when he begins it.’

‘I almost understood that. Rumour was right about your glib tongue at least.’

‘Apparently my fame precedes me, then.’

‘You’re infamous, Mr Seaborne, and now free to take up your old life.’

‘Perhaps I don’t care about the things Rich Seaborne found diverting now? Do you pine for your old dreams six years on, Lady Freya? I suppose you were in the schoolroom when I was out in the world earning my wild reputation.’