The Memory of Your Kiss (18 page)

He introduced himself to the vicar, a Mr. Milton, who cordially welcomed him and readily called for his wife to produce the fifteen-month-old toddler, William. She arrived with the child on her hip, but struggling to be let down. Zachary could not help smiling at the brown-haired, blue-eyed baby who certainly did remind one of his father.

“He’s a very active little boy,” Mrs. Milton said with a laugh. She set him down and he promptly made for the coal bucket near the fireplace. “Oh, no. You do not want that, young William.” She grabbed him up and, sitting on a straight-backed wooden chair, pulled the child onto her lap.

“I must admit,” the vicar said, “that we have wondered about the lad’s connections. We knew of his father’s passing, of course, and we continued to receive compensation for his care, but—” His voice trailed off.

Zachary explained that he had been in the Peninsula, but that he was now able to see to his responsibilities as the child’s guardian. “I hope it will not prove an inconvenience to you if I should remove him to London.”

“We shall miss him, I’m sure,” the vicar said, “but there are always children like young William here who need a home and who have relatives willing to pay for their care.”

Rich people able and willing to farm out their by-blows away from society’s offended eyes
, Zachary thought. It occurred to him that that could have been Lucas’s fate had Zachary not returned to Spain when he had. This thought was downright frightening.

Two days later he still had not come up with a solution to the problem of young William. The truth was he had not yet settled on what to do about his own child. For the time being he was well cared for in the elder Quintins’ household. Zachary’s mother had seen immediately to the hiring of a nursery maid for her grandson—once she recovered from the shock of his existence.

On returning to England, despite being eager to see his family, Zachary had, along with Gordon, McIntyre, O’Brien, and Lucas, spent a day and a night in an out-of-the-way coaching inn on the outskirts of London before showing up at his parents’ house. After booking rooms for his travel companions and a bed-sitting room for himself and Lucas, Zachary had asked McIntyre and Gordon to go
into the city to locate and return with Harrelson and Richardson. These two were duly informed of the plan to protect the name of the baby Lucas, and Zachary was gratified, but not surprised, that they readily fell in with the secret marriage story.

“We are just glad we can now talk about it freely,” Richardson said with a wink. “I suppose the peer will be none too pleased when he hears his fair-haired boy defied an official army edict, but at this point, what can he do?”

Zachary sat on a couch with Lucas on his lap. “If we keep as close as possible to the truth, there should be no slip-ups. And I am sure that one day Lucas will be as grateful to you as I am, won’t you, my son?”

The baby smiled and rattled off a few unintelligible syllables.

The men all grinned at him foolishly, then Richardson added, “I must say, Quintin, you could not deny this one even if you were so inclined.”

Harrelson pulled a watch from a pocket. “You know, Adam, if we left within the hour, we could make it back to town in time to make it to a couple of clubs and begin to circulate this story—or at least hint at it.”

“Just don’t do it too brown,” Zachary warned.

The next morning Zachary, O’Brien, and Lucas appeared on the doorstep of the Quintin townhouse. The footman who answered the knock had been with the family for many years. He looked with surprise from Zachary to the baby in his arms and babbled something to the effect that the elder Quintins were still at breakfast.

“We shall announce ourselves, Thomas,” Zachary said to the footman. “You see to O’Brien here. And see that we are not disturbed in the breakfast room.”

“Yes, sir.”

Holding Lucas close, Zachary strolled into the breakfast room to the familiar scene of his father behind a newspaper and his mother, her back to the door, sorting through the morning mail.

Sensing the door opening, she said, “Thomas, did I not hear the door knocker? Who in the world would call at this hour?”

“I don’t know, my lady. Who?” Zachary asked.

His mother whipped around, her eyes widening. “Zachary!” she gasped and half rose from her chair, then caught sight of the baby in
his arms. She paled and put a hand to her breast. “Oh. Oh, my goodness gracious.”

His father, responding to his wife’s outburst, looked over the edge of his newspaper and abruptly set it aside. “Oh, I say. This is a surprise.”

“Rather,” his wife said faintly, but she quickly rose and addressed her son. “Good heavens. Why did you not write us?”

Zachary closed the door to the breakfast room. He leaned awkwardly to kiss his mother’s cheek and gestured for her to sit again as he took a chair at the table with Lucas on his lap. “This is Lucas, your youngest grandson.”

“I can see that,” his mother said. “He is the very image of you as a baby. But why—? Who—? Where is his mother?”

Zachary’s father frowned. “I say, son, this is most unusual.”

“Yes, Father, it is. But you know from your years in India that a war is likely to produce some very unusual—even bizarre—circumstances.”

Lucas began to squirm, so Zachary reached for a piece of bread and broke a bit to hand to the baby. Zachary was aware of his mother’s watching this action with surprised interest.

“Mother. Father. I shall give you the truth, but I must have your solemn word that it does not go beyond this room. Not Mary, not Julia, nor the boys. Only you.”

His parents exchanged a look, then spoke in unison. “All right, son.”

As succinctly as he could, he explained the circumstances of his relationship with Elena. When he finished, his parents sat in silence for a few minutes, his mother with tears in her eyes. The only sound in the room was baby Lucas, prattling.

“Did you love her?” his mother asked softly. Zachary knew the question came from his parents’ own history: The Lady Leanora had given up much to marry her heart’s choice.

“I think so,” he answered honestly. “She was fun, exciting, and we got on well together. I certainly returned to Spain for her. Elena and I
would
have married. I would have brought my wife and son home to England.”

“Well, that is good enough for me,” Horatio Quintin said. “I shall tolerate no untoward talk about my grandson.”

“There is sure to be talk,” the practical Lady Leanora said, “but I have no doubt we can quell it. Now—let me hold this baby.”

Zachary breathed a sigh of relief as he handed over his son and listened to his parents reveling over how beautiful, how alert, how active, and how smart he was. He had never truly doubted their acceptance, but he had, nevertheless, been apprehensive.

Prior to his meeting with Sydney, Zachary thought it prudent to learn what he could about the Countess of Paxton. With this in mind, he called on Lord Nathan Thornton and his bride, the lovely Lady Allyson. Nathan, younger son of the Duke of Halstead, had distinguished himself in the last year by helping to uncover a French spy. Zachary thought that eventually he would dearly love to hear all of
that
story, but for now there was the more pressing issue of his guardianship of all things Paxton.

Lord Nathan and Lady Allyson received him in a family sitting room in Rutherford House, home of her parents. The couple occupied a settee covered in rich blue and silver brocade. Zachary sat in a dark blue upholstered chair nearby.

“We are still looking for a place of our own,” Lady Allyson explained. “Papa and Mama are in the country at the moment, so we are rattling around here by ourselves.”

“By ourselves—with a staff of twenty or so,” her husband said.

“I have come on a specific mission, my lady,” Zachary began.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Zachary. Don’t you dare carry on with that ‘my lady’ and ‘my lord’ business with
us
! It is
Allyson
and
Nathan
.” She looked to her husband for confirmation.

He merely shrugged. “It’s easier to let her have her way.”

Allyson ignored him and said, “Your mission, Zachary?”

“I should like to know about your friend Lady Paxton.”

“Sydney? Why? Are you interested?”

Nathan shook his head. “My wife is a typical woman. She thinks every eligible male needs to be leg-shackled.”

“No, it is not like that at all—” Zachary started.

Allyson interrupted. “Oh, I
am
sorry, Zachary. I quite forgot that story Adam Richardson—Viscount Kirkly—was telling at Almack’s last night. It is true then? A secret marriage?”

Zachary nodded. He hated lying to these two, but already too many people knew the real story. “About your friend—” he prompted.

“What would you like to know? And why?”

“You know her late husband was my cousin?”

“Yes, of course I knew that. So—”

“So I am trustee of the entire Paxton estate—and guardian of the very young current earl.”

“Oh, my goodness. I did not know that.” Allyson was quiet for a moment and Zachary wondered how much she was editing what she might tell him. She shrugged and looked at Zachary directly. “Well. Sydney is a very bright, very capable woman.”

“Not unlike her friend here,” Nathan said, patting his wife’s hand.

“Yes, I know that,” Zachary replied. “I knew her briefly in Bath before she and Henry were married.”

“Then you must know she is a very generous and caring person who will not hesitate to help others.”

“Allyson,” her husband admonished, “stop beating about the bush. Tell him about you and Sydney and the Fairfax sisters.” Nathan turned to Zachary. “My wife and Lady Paxton are the principal patrons of the Fairfax sisters and their charity work.”

“We help out now and then,” Allyson said.

Her husband snorted. “Now
there
is an understatement if I ever heard one.”

“What sort of charity work?” Zachary asked.

“Helping abandoned women and children, mostly,” Allyson said.

“Rescuing street urchins,” Nathan added, and somewhat to his wife’s embarrassment proceeded to relate the story of the boy Walter.

Zachary could not help smiling. “That sounds like the Sydney I knew in Bath.” If the others noticed his use of Sydney’s given name, they politely overlooked it. He hurried on. “Do the Fairfax women take in these women and children on a permanent basis, then?”

“Sometimes,” Allyson answered. “Most often they attempt to find homes for the children or positions for the women. Older boys are often apprenticed to tradesmen.”

“You approve your wife’s involvement in such matters?” Zachary asked Nathan. He knew immediately he had said the wrong thing, for Allyson sat straighter and had a challenging glint in her eyes.

Nathan chuckled. “As I said earlier, it is much easier to let her have her own way.”

“ ‘Let her’?” Allyson glared at her husband.

“Anyway, they do good work,” Nathan said.

Zachary took his leave soon after that. So Sydney, the rescuing angel of Bath, had turned into the crusading Countess of Paxton. He wondered what sort of social censure might come with that role. Something to ask his mother.

S
ydney
sat at the huge oak desk in the Paxton House library, going over the account books yet again as she waited for the arrival of Major Quintin. She was nervous. She knew the major could find little fault with the accounts of the vast Paxton enterprises, for most showed modest or comfortable margins of profit, but how closely might he look at individual entries?

A knock at the library door heralded his arrival. But instead of ushering in Major Quintin, Roberts, the butler, bore a tray with a letter.

“This just came by special messenger, my lady.”

“Thank you, Mr. Roberts.”

Her immediate thought was that Major Quintin was postponing their meeting. Drat the man! She had been in a fret ever since that brief meeting in the theatre and he would make her wait even longer?

The message was not from Major Quintin, but from Viscount Hoffman. Since Henry’s funeral, she had seen Lord Hoffman perhaps three times as they happened to be at some crowded social gathering at the same time. She felt her brow wrinkle in wonder and quickly read the missive.

As she read the letter again, her initial fear hardened into a knot in her chest. Her first instinct was to rush upstairs to the nursery to check on Jonathan. But that was silly. She had been with him only half an hour ago and all was well. Besides, just after Henry’s death, she had hired three additional footmen whose primary duties were as bodyguards. One or more of these stalwart fellows was on hand whenever Jonathan was taken out of the house—even for a simple airing in the small park at the center of the square in which Paxton House was located.

As she tried to tamp down her fear, Roberts appeared to announce the arrival of Major Quintin. She hastily tucked the Hoffman letter in her pocket and assumed her hostess mask.

She was momentarily startled at Major Quintin’s appearance, for instead of the military uniform in which she had always seen him before, he was attired in civilian dress: doeskin pantaloons, a dark green tailored jacket, and Hussar boots. It struck her that this man would be incredibly attractive no matter what he wore. They exchanged polite greetings and she instructed Roberts to produce a tea tray.

“Right away, my lady.”

“How would you like to proceed, Major?” She gestured at the desk. “I have the ledgers all right here—they include everything but the household accounts at the Hall. These go back only three years, but others are in storage at the Hall and will be made available to you as you wish.” She knew she was speaking too fast, babbling, in fact, trying to cover her nervousness, trying to appear wholly at ease. But she could feel that letter in her pocket and she worried about what he might see in the books.

He held up a hand. “I will look at them in due time. Right now, I should like to be introduced to the current Earl of Paxton, if he is available.”

“I think he is probably making life rather difficult for Nurse Watkins. Half an hour ago, he was wearing nearly as much of his lunch as he actually ate.” She tugged on the bell pull and murmured instructions to the footman who responded.

Ten minutes later a nursery maid arrived with Jonathan in her arms. Sydney immediately took him into her own. The child babbled and Sydney said, “Actually, once in a while nurse and I can understand a word here and there. He does know how to say ‘Mama.’”

At this, the little boy said, “Mama” and the three adults in the room all laughed.

Zachary shook the child’s small hand and said in a formal tone, “I am pleased to meet you, my lord.” He turned to Sydney. “A fine lad. He looks just like—like Henry, but he has your eyes.”

She beamed and, with a kiss, handed her son over to the maid. Returning to the subject of the ledgers, she waved a hand toward the desk. “You will find here reports from the farms—proceeds from crops, sale of wool, and so on. I will be happy to leave you alone to peruse them at your leisure.”

“That is very thoughtful of you, my lady, but if I am not intruding on your time unduly, I should like to go over them
with
you. This whole business is outside my usual realm of expertise, so I am sure to have questions.”

“In that case, Major, we can work over here at the map table—more room to spread them out.” She felt herself slowly relaxing, though she was very much aware of his mere presence in the room.

When their hands chanced to touch as they gathered up the books, she was startled by that same thrill his mere touch had given her in Bath so long ago. She quickly jerked away and she could see her action puzzled him. Soon they were seated side by side at the map table.

She sought to lessen the tension that she, at least, felt between them. “I must admit, Major, that when I first learned that Henry had named you guardian of all things Paxton, it came as a surprise.”

“It was not a position I sought. However,” he paused and held her gaze forcefully, “I accepted it. I did not expect—Henry did not expect—that I would ever have to assume it. Now that it is upon me, I intend to fulfill this duty as I would any other.”

Was he warning her? She shifted her gaze and murmured, “Of course, Major. I quite understand.”

He leaned back in his chair and seemed relaxed. His voice held a trace of the teasing challenge she remembered from Bath and there was a distinct twinkle in his eyes. “I wonder, Lady Paxton—would it be dreadfully offensive to your sense of social decorum if we went back to being
Sydney
and
Zachary
in private discourse?”

She smiled. “I should like that.”

Roberts brought the tea tray in and set it at one end of the table. Sydney got up to pour a cup for each of them, then resumed her seat and began to explain the books.

“This red volume provides a quick summary of everything. These gray ones are numbered and labeled: farms, mills, mines, other properties—all of which are doing reasonably well despite the general state of the economy.”

“And this tan book?”

“Frankly, that one causes me some concern.”

“Why?”

“As you may or may not know, Henry was keenly interested in transportation—I suppose because getting goods from mills and mines to ports and markets is always a problem.”

“And?” Zachary prompted.

“And he invested rather heavily in a canal system and in two companies—that is, two men, George Stephenson and Richard Trevithick—who are producing locomotives that run on rails.”

“What is your concern?”

“In three years we have seen no return on these ventures. None.”

Zachary rubbed his chin. “Hmm. I think my father has money in the Stephenson concern. He may know something about it. However, rail transport—other than within mines—is new. Sometimes it takes years for such innovations to catch on.”

She nodded absently. Every time she shifted position in the chair, she felt that letter in her pocket. She remembered Henry’s saying Zachary would protect Jonathan. But could he? Would he? Zachary had parental duties of his own now.

They continued to study the books for over an hour. That is, Zachary studied and Sydney answered his occasional question. She was deeply conscious of their physical closeness—the familiar warmth and scent she associated with him. But there was something else, as well. Almost a meeting of minds—a sense of shared purpose. But even as they worked, her mind kept drifting to that letter from Viscount Hoffman.

After a while, Zachary said, “The numbers are beginning to dance around like butterflies in my head. If you will agree, I should like to take these and spend some time truly examining them.”

Apprehension assailed her, but what could she do? Legally, he could do whatever he wanted. Asking her permission was a polite fiction. She shrugged. “Of course. You may do as you please with them.”

He frowned slightly, but said, “Thank you.” He stacked the books neatly, then reached for his teacup.

“Let me refill that,” she said, going into her hostess role again.

“Please.” He sat back, his arm draped over the back of his chair. “There is another matter I should like to discuss with you.”

“Oh?”

“I do not mean to plague you with what might be a painful subject, but this has to do with Henry’s other son. As you know, I am guardian of that child, too.”

“Yes. I do know that.” She did not elaborate. She did not want to admit that, since that last night before Henry died, she had studiously avoided thinking of that other side of her husband’s life. She knew he had provided for the child and that was that.

“I recently visited both Lady Ryesdale and the child. His name is William.”

Sydney wanted to say, “I do not want to know his name. He is nothing to me.” But she did not say this; she merely nodded and waited for him to go on.

Which he did. He told her as much as he knew of Lady Ryesdale’s position and the arrangements for care of the child.

Sydney listened quietly, then said, “How very sad, but the child seems to be getting adequate care. Frankly, I am wondering what this has to do with me and
my
son.”

“Perhaps nothing,” he said. “But I know of your involvement with the Fairfax women and I was wondering if you thought they might be willing to take in this child on at least a semi-permanent basis? That way, Lady Ryesdale might at least
see
her child occasionally.”

“‘Semi-permanent’? Is that not an oxymoron?” She grasped at the inane to allow herself time to consider what he had said. He “knew of her involvement with the Fairfax women”? What did that mean? Was he investigating her? Why? How? Ah, Allyson. She should have foreseen this.

He smiled fleetingly. “I suppose it is contradictory. But what do you think?”

Sydney sat silent, unconsciously toying with a strand of hair at her ear. What
did
she think? It was surely most unusual to ask a wife—a widow in this case—to be involved in such a situation, and Zachary’s bringing it up to her merely confirmed for her that Zachary had known of and condoned Henry’s betrayal. On the other hand, Louisa and William were being treated with unnecessary cruelty, or at least crass indifference. Finally, she said, “I will ask Miss Fairfax and her sister. Perhaps they can handle this matter for you.”

He gave her a questioning look, but said only, “Thank you.”

As he rose to take his leave, she rose as well. Again, she felt Hoffman’s letter against her leg.

“Uh—there is another matter,” she said, and sat back down.

“Another matter?” he echoed, resuming his own seat and turning to look at her directly.

Now that she was actually facing the issue head on, she could not keep the tremor out of her voice. “Did—did Henry tell you about his—your—cousin Percival Laughton?”

“Yes, he did. But I knew of him long before, of course. His father tried to embroil my mother in an attack on her brother, Henry’s father.
That was a huge error on his part. My mother may have been estranged from her family, but she loved them. Percy has been known to applaud his father’s efforts and bemoan their failure.”

“Read this.” She thrust the letter at him and watched as he read it, then reread it.

“Hoffman is right to worry. Percy is capable of almost anything. I trust you have taken precautions?”

She explained and was gratified at his nod of approval. He patted her hand and said, “Try not to worry. My friends and I will look into his activities. Tell your people to be extra alert, though, what with the chaos of this royal visit and all.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Just discussing it aloud helps, I think. I did not want to worry Aunt Harriet.” She was keenly aware of his nearness, his touch, and she remembered the ease with which they had once discussed any number of topics.

His gaze searched her eyes, then shifted to her lips. Was he remembering that kiss in the park, too? Suddenly her mouth felt dry. Involuntarily, her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

He rose abruptly and gathered up the ledgers. “I must go. I shall return these day after tomorrow.”

Outside, Zachary found his coach had returned and waited for him as he had instructed. He climbed in, leaned his head against a squab, and cursed himself. How was it that she always made him feel like a green schoolboy? He had wanted to kiss her as they sat there together. He had wanted desperately to kiss her, even though she had made such a fool of him three years ago.

He shook his head and deliberately turned his thoughts to the substance of their meeting. Perhaps Henry and Phillips had been right after all to put such trust in a woman. Sydney certainly
seemed
to have mastered the nuances of Paxton business affairs. He knew of few women who would have the expertise—let alone the interest—to jump into this male arena. He was sure his mother would have relied on the steward and the lawyer, but Sydney, Lady Paxton, had apparently initiated the purchase of steam-driven weaving machines. And what were those changes in workers’ living conditions she had mentioned? Mill workers and miners were but foot soldiers in a different kind of army.