The Memory of Your Kiss (20 page)

“It’s a house. In Spitalfields.”

“Spitalfields! Good Lord. Why would you buy property in that area?”

She took a deep breath and explained. “Penelope and Priscilla Fairfax needed a larger facility to serve more children and this was right next door and available and—”

He held up a hand. “And it needed renovation and then they needed extra staff and then—”

She gaped at him. “You knew about it?”

“No. I am guessing.”

“You—you won’t insist we give it up or sell it, will you? I shall happily take a reduction in my personal allowance, but, please, do not say Fairfax House must cut back or sell its addition. They do so need the space.”

He hesitated. On the one hand, he found her nervous worry amusing and endearing; on the other, he was annoyed and even hurt by it. “You haven’t a very high opinion of me, have you?”

“I-I don’t know what you mean.” She averted her gaze.

He waited, silent, until she brought her gaze to meet his again. “Why else would you seek to play games with these accounts? Hiding expenditures about which you knew very well I, as your son’s guardian and trustee of Paxton’s interests, should have been consulted.”

“You were not here,” she protested.

“You made no attempt to keep me informed,” he countered. “Even now that I
am
available, you have sought to somehow hoodwink me.”

Again she averted her gaze. “I apologize. I—uh—it will not happen again.”

“No, it won’t,” he said. She looked up, apprehension clear in her eyes again. He kept his voice level and firm. “I will not countermand any decisions you have made thus far, but in future, I expect you to abide by the spirit of Henry’s directives. You may not like me—you may not trust me—but you must consult me.”

“Yes, sir.” She sounded resentful.

The tension was palpable. Gone was the friendly ease with which they had dealt the day before. He stood. He wanted to say something—anything—that would restore what they had once had, but then he reminded himself that that interlude in Bath had been a charade, a merry fling before her marriage.

“I shall take my leave, Lady Paxton. I trust we understand each other well enough now.”

She started to rise. “Yes, I think we do. Oh, wait.” She sank back down. “I must tell you—”

“What?”

“I—uh—spoke with the Misses Fairfax regarding Lady Ryesdale’s son. William.”

He resumed his seat. “Will they take him?”

“Well, yes, they
would
, but—”

“But what?” he interrupted. “Surely they are not squeamish about the circumstances of his birth. Not in that part of town.”

“No, they are not.”

“Then what is it?”

She held his gaze steadily now. “I think another arrangement can be made if Lady Ryesdale is amenable.”

“And what might that be?” He was unable to hide his skepticism.

Now her words came out in a rush. “William should come here. He is Henry’s son. Jonathan is his brother. They should grow up together. If Lady Ryesdale agrees, that is.”

Zachary was flabbergasted. Two days ago she had seemed scarcely willing to acknowledge the other child’s existence. “Are you out of your mind?” he blurted.

“Major Quintin!” Her eyes flashed anger. “That is the second time in a matter of only a few minutes that you have questioned my intelligence or my state of mind.”

“I do apologize. But what you are suggesting is bizarre. Good grief! Have you given any thought at all to the talk there would be?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “No doubt it will cause a stir for a few days. However, society tolerated for years that
ménage à trois
in the Duke of Devonshire’s household—his wife, his mistress, his legitimate and his illegitimate children all together at Chatsworth in happy bliss—or so we are led to believe. The
ton
will surely overlook my seeing to the care of one small boy.”

His voice softened. “Have you considered all the likely consequences? What it might mean for your own family?”

“I am sure Aunt Harriet will agree with me. Celia will treat it as what it is—a nine days’ wonder. Geoffrey won’t care. The girls are still several years away from coming out—this will be old news by then. Jonathan will gain a playmate. I think one day he will applaud his mama’s decision.”

“It is an extremely generous proposal,” he said, still trying to think it through.

“It needs only Lady Ryesdale’s approval,” Sydney said.

“You would receive her here?”

“Of course. Where else would she see her son?” She laughed. “I am not the Duchess of Devonshire. Louisa—Lady Ryesdale—will not be
living
here, merely visiting regularly. Surely that cold termagant
who is her mother-in-law can have little objection to Louisa’s paying morning calls on a fellow member of the
ton
. Can you at least present the idea to Lady Ryesdale?”

He nodded.

Sydney went on. “Should she object, William will be welcome at Fairfax House, but, honestly, Zachary, he would be better off here.”

Her use of his given name told him that they might be in the beginning stages of restoring the ease they had once enjoyed in each other’s company.

S
ydney
paced in the formal drawing room as Aunt Harriet and Celia sat more or less calmly doing some needlework.

“Are you having second thoughts, my dear?” Aunt Harriet asked.

“Yes. I mean no. Not really. I am doing the right thing. I know that.” Sydney glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I am just anxious about this first meeting and they are late.”

Three days ago she had received a letter from Zachary saying that Lady Ryesdale had readily accepted Sydney’s plan for William. In fact, he wrote, she had been exceedingly grateful and he enclosed a note from her that expressed just that sentiment. Now, Zachary was to have gone into Surrey to bring the child here. It had all happened much more quickly than Sydney had anticipated.

“They are not so very late. You know how undependable coach travel can be. Come. Sit. Pick up your book and read us another of Mr. Wordsworth’s poems. Perhaps a shorter one this time.” Aunt Harriet spoke as she might have to a ten-year-old and Sydney reacted dutifully and began leafing through the book.

Celia set aside her embroidery and said, “I should wonder if you were
not
having second thoughts. This is truly an extraordinary undertaking.”

Sydney lifted her head. “You disapprove?”

“I did not mean to suggest that,” Celia replied. “No. I quite admire
you for doing this. I am not at all sure I could have behaved with such generosity in similar circumstances.”

Sydney, feeling a little sad and envious of her cousin, said, “Oh, Celia, you need never think of such.
Yours
will be a love match. Your Trevor is besotted with you.”

Celia blushed and said, “He has not asked me yet, you know.”

“He will.”

Sydney started to elaborate on this when Roberts entered to announce, “Lady Ryesdale, Major Quintin, Mr. and Mrs. Milton, and Master William.”

Sydney stood to greet them. Zachary again wore civilian dress, but looked as disturbingly attractive as ever. He gave her an encouraging little smile that threatened to turn her knees to jelly. Lady Ryesdale, in a gold colored day dress, was the same beautiful woman who had knelt at Henry’s bedside. The Miltons were in their thirties perhaps and were dressed conservatively, she in a gray dress with white lace at the collar and cuffs, he in a black coat and trousers. Mrs. Milton carried the child, who wore a blue coat with a matching wide-brimmed hat.

Zachary introduced the Miltons as the vicar and his wife who had cared for William since his birth. When all were seated in a grouping of two couches and several chairs, a momentary silence ensued, broken only by William’s unintelligible chatter as he indicated he wanted down.

“No, Willy. Not yet,” Mrs. Milton murmured to him, untying and removing his hat.

It was at this point that Sydney had a good look at the child—and nearly fainted. Except for those blue eyes, which he had clearly inherited from his mother, William looked exactly like Jonathan. Henry had passed on to both his sons his brown hair, the shape of his head, the arch of his brows, even the curvature of his lips. Sydney sat speechless. She glanced at Zachary; he gave her a slight nod of understanding. She thought he might have been waiting for her to make this discovery. She tried to think of something to say, but her mind was blank.

Lady Ryesdale, with tears in her eyes, leaned forward to look around Mrs. Milton and William, with whom she shared one of the couches. “I do not know how even to begin to thank you, Lady Paxton,
for what you are doing. Please believe me when I tell you I do know what is at stake for you in all this.”

“It is not so very much,” Sydney said. “Perhaps I was remiss in not taking action sooner. Major Quintin deserves credit for bringing the matter to my attention.” Looking at Zachary, she thought he looked slightly embarrassed.

“He was marvelous!” Lady Ryesdale said. “Just as Henry once said he would be. Why, he even thought to bring Mr. and Mrs. Milton along to ease the transition for William.” She grasped the baby’s outstretched hand.

Recalling that Zachary’s letter had said he would go to Surrey, retrieve the child, and pick up Lady Ryesdale on the way to Paxton House, Sydney surmised that Lady Ryesdale had not yet held her son, and Sydney’s heart ached for her. Sydney sucked in her breath as Lady Ryesdale held her arms out to William. She released her breath and noted a similar reaction from Mrs. Milton as the child hesitated but then allowed himself to be held by a virtual stranger. Again, Sydney noted tears in Lady Ryesdale’s eyes.

Sydney said, “Aunt Harriet, if you will ring for some refreshments, I will show Lady Ryesdale and William to our nursery. Mrs. Milton, you are most welcome to accompany us.”

“Thank you, Lady Paxton, but I think I will bid Willy good-bye here.” She leaned close and kissed his cheek. “It is always so hard to say good-bye to them, isn’t it, dear?” She addressed her husband in a tear-filled voice.

He reached from his chair near her and patted her shoulder. “That it is, my love. But our Willy’s replacement is due in Surrey very soon, you know.”

She nodded and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief.

Sydney led the way upstairs and Lady Ryesdale, hugging her son, followed closely. The baby looked alert and aware of his surroundings, but strangely issued no cry of protest at leaving the Miltons behind. She showed them the bedchamber first.

“There was another crib in the lumber room and this room is quite large enough to accommodate both comfortably.”

“I like that William will not be alone at night,” Lady Ryesdale said, patting her son on the back. “I think he is accustomed to having other children around.”

Sydney waved a hand at a connecting door. “The nursery maid’s room is right through there.”

When they reached the playroom of the nursery suite, Sydney introduced Lady Ryesdale to Bessie Watkins. “Miss Watkins has agreed to see to the care of both boys,” Sydney added.

Bessie Watkins had red hair with a few strands of gray, a profusion of freckles, and friendly brown eyes. She curtsied to Lady Ryesdale and said, “It’s like I told Lady Paxton—two ain’t much more work than one. Now three? That would be another story altogether. Just let me look at this fine young fellow.” Up to now William’s back had been to the nurse. On seeing him full on, she gasped. “Oh, good heavens! Oh, my goodness!”

“What? Is something wrong?” Lady Ryesdale asked.

Sydney smiled. “No. Watkins is just surprised. And here’s why.” She plucked her own son from a fenced-off area of the room that had a thick padding on the floor and was strewn with colorful toys. “Lady Ryesdale, Master William, allow me to present Jonathan, ninth Earl of Paxton.”

Lady Ryesdale’s gasp was an echo of the maid’s. “Oh, my. They-they are so very alike. They might be twins!”

“Except for Jonathan’s tattoo and the difference in eye color,” Sydney noted as she sat on a couch and motioned for the other mother to join her. They sat half turned toward each other, with the little boys facing each other, flailing their arms, kicking their feet, and “talking” in their own respective languages. Nurse Watkins quietly slipped out of the room.

“Did you know?” Lady Ryesdale asked.

“Not until William entered the drawing room below several minutes ago. Major Quintin had seen both children, but he did not tell me they were mirror images of each other. Of course Henry knew, but he failed to inform me of that fact. To be perfectly honest, Henry rarely talked of you and William to me.”

“That does not surprise me, Lady Paxton, as he rarely spoke of
you
to me.”

They smiled ruefully at each other, then Lady Ryesdale said, “I fear we are likely to be the subject of
on dits
at every
ton
gathering in the next few weeks.”

Sydney nodded. “At least until some duchess runs off with her
coachman or Lady Caroline Lamb does something even more outrageous than before in her pursuit of Lord Byron.”

Lady Ryesdale smiled. “Shall we pray for a scandal, then? What think you, my darling William?” She nuzzled her child and he giggled, setting off answering delight in Jonathan.

“In any event,” Sydney said, “I think if we ignore the gossip and carry on as though our relationship is quite natural, the harpies will find other prey.”

Lady Ryesdale nodded. “A good idea.” She glanced at a large clock on the wall that would eventually serve yet again to teach Paxton children how to tell time. “Oh, dear. The time. I must get back. The dowager does not know where I am.”

Nurse Watkins returned and Sydney and Lady Ryesdale put their sons into the play area, Lady Ryesdale doing so with a lingering caress of her son’s hair. Both boys seemed to find the idea of a playmate intriguing.

“So far, so good,” Sydney said. “However, I’m sure they will have their share of tears and quarrels.”

“Undoubtedly.”

As they left the nursery, Lady Ryesdale stopped in the hall to say, “Lady Paxton, I must tell you again how very grateful I am to you.”

“Really, there is no need,” Sydney said. “And since our sons are brothers and we will likely see a great deal of each other in the coming years, might we be
Sydney
and
Louisa!"

“I should like that. I feel we might have been friends under different circumstances.”

“We still can be.” Sydney reached to squeeze Louisa’s hand briefly.

When Zachary had returned Lady Ryesdale to that mausoleum that was the Baron Ryesdale’s London home, and then seen the Miltons established in a coaching inn, he returned home quite pleased with himself and this day’s work.

He went immediately to the nursery, where he was not surprised to find his mother on a couch entertaining Lucas. On seeing his father, Lucas emitted a squeal of delight and reached toward him. Zachary swept him into his arms and made silly noises against the baby’s neck. This, of course, brought forth further squeals of delight.
Lucas loved it when his father helped him “fly like a bird”—that is, when Zachary, holding him in a horizontal position, would swing him around.

“Enough, Lucas,” Zachary said with a laugh. As he sat next to his mother, he changed Lucas to the “horsey” game in which Lucas “galloped” on his father’s outstretched leg as Zachary held him by the hands.

“How did it go?” his mother asked. Zachary had told his parents earlier of Sydney’s plan to take in William.

“Very well, I think. Lady Ryesdale and Lady Paxton got on better than one might have expected and they reported that William settled in quickly.”

“Well, they have to get along, don’t they?” his mother said. “They are in this now for a long, long time—twenty years and more until those boys are grown.”

“Hmm.” Zachary shifted Lucas to his lap, where the baby quieted after a bit and actually fell asleep as Zachary and his mother continued to talk.

His mother went on, “I wonder if Lady Paxton really thought this through?”

“I thought you approved of her taking in this child.”

“I do—though it is not my place to approve or disapprove. Nor anyone else’s, but you know that will not stop the tabbies from having their say.”

“Sydney realizes that.”

“ ‘Sydney’?” His mother raised an eyebrow.

He gave himself a mental shake for that slip. “I—uh—knew her in Bath before she married Henry.”

“I see.”

Zachary feared the ever-so-astute Lady Leonora saw far more than her son wanted her to. Her next words confirmed this.

“Did you know then that she was to marry Henry?”

He sighed.
In for a penny, in for a pound
, he thought. “Not until I saw her walk down the aisle. But she knew,” he added bitterly. “It must have been a great joke to her.”

“Oh, Zachary. I am so sorry. I knew you were terribly unhappy when you were here before your return to the Peninsula. I suspected some girl was the cause.”

“It showed that much?”

“Only to your mother.” She sat in thought for several moments, then said, “Tell me about that sojourn in Bath, if you will.”

So he did. And in the process, he found himself finally letting go of some of his bitterness. When he was finished, his mother was again quiet for a while.

She shook her head. “I am trying to understand this. Henry told you he had arranged a marriage to a woman named ‘Bella’ who turned out to be your ‘Sydney.’ Do I have that right?”

He nodded glumly.

Just then the nursery maid came in. “It’s time for Master Lucas’s nap,” she announced, then abruptly lowered her voice. “Oh, I see he is already having it. Would you like me to take him, sir?”

“Please.” Zachary handed Lucas over and the maid left with him. Zachary leaned back on the couch.

“Are you still in love with her?” his mother now asked quietly.

“In love with her? I-I don’t know. How could I have been in love with Sydney when I went back to Spain to marry Elena? My behavior was no better than Henry’s, was it?” It occurred to him that here was the crux of his uncertainties about himself. For over three years he had held Henry in contempt even as he envied the man his wife, yet had his treatment of women been any better? Henry had married one woman while he had been in love with another. Had Zachary been about to do the same thing?

His mother interrupted his musing by grabbing his arm and saying vehemently, “Don’t you dare make that comparison. Henry betrayed sacred vows. I have no doubt
my son
would have abided by his. Sydney was lost to you. Life does go on. You are human, Zachary. You met Elena when you were extremely vulnerable. I think she might have been too. You needed each other. From all that you’ve told us of Elena, she was a wonderful young woman. I think I would have welcomed her as a daughter just as I love the grandson she gave me.”

“I am sure you would have—if I could have persuaded her to give up the fight for Spain, that is.”

“Back to Lady Paxton.” She spoke slowly. “I am inclined to think there is some sort of misunderstanding here. She does not strike me as the sort who would enter into a malicious joke that would bring another pain.”

He reached to hug her. “Ah, Mother, some things never change. You are an incurable optimist.”