'Twas the Night After Christmas (35 page)

“I remember,” he said hoarsely. “That’s when I met him, when I was six.”

“We were as much in love as ever, and I was so unhappy with your father—” Her breathing grew labored. “We started meeting in a town not too far off. Your father drank a lot, as you may remember, so I would go riding when he was passed out, and . . . well, you can guess the rest.”

“He found out,” Pierce said, his blood thundering in his ears.

“Yes. After that day at the fair.” Her expression grew rigid. “I’d begun to realize how much I was risking, and I’d stopped going to meet Edgar. But the blasted fool wouldn’t be cautious. He came to the fair, hoping to see me and persuade me to run away with him. I told him I couldn’t—it would mean giving you up.” Her tone
turned brittle. “Because a woman may leave her husband, but if she does, she can never take her children with her.”

And he had worried that marriage meant giving up control of his life? What had he been thinking? A woman gave up far more in a marriage than a man ever could.

“We argued, and Edgar left, and I thought that was the end of it.” She stared off beyond him, as if looking into the past. “But someone saw us, someone who knew who Edgar was. And that person, whoever it was, mentioned to Walter about seeing me with my cousin at the fair.”

She pressed her fingers to her temples. “That’s when all hell broke loose. Your father sent footmen to bring Edgar to the house, and told Edgar that if he ever came within a mile of me, he would kill him.”

A shudder racked her. “And then he went on a rampage, convinced, no matter what I said, that we had been seeing each other all along. That’s when he took the notion into his head that you weren’t his.”

“He never did think me worthy of his fine bloodlines,” Pierce said acidly.

“I don’t think it had anything to do with you, my dear. He could see that I loved you, and he knew I didn’t love
him.
And he hated that. It was an easy leap for him to say that I must love you because you were Edgar’s child.”

That made a horrible kind of sense to Pierce. In every memory he had of his father, even as a young child, it had been Mother and him against Father. That had to have rankled.

“So after he dealt with Edgar, he laid down the rules for me. I
was never to see Edgar again. I was never to go anywhere without my husband. And I was not—”

She choked back tears. “I was not to see my . . . ‘bastard’ child. In exchange, Walter would allow me to send you off to school and relations. If we didn’t have another child, he would allow you to inherit. But I was not to write to you or speak to you. He allowed me that last Christmas with you only because the school wouldn’t take you until after the holidays.”

Her gaze met his, glittering with tears. “I treasured every moment of that Christmas. And even after you left, I kept hoping that once you were away, he would relent. But when he discovered I was sneaking letters out to you, he told me that if he ever saw that again, he would do as he threatened—claim I had been married before and in one fell swoop make you illegitimate.”

Pierce stood there, fists clenched, wishing his father were alive so he could kill him with his bare hands.

When the tears began to fall and she patted her pockets, apparently looking for a handkerchief, Pierce stepped forward to give her his.

She took it gratefully. “He was determined to
make
me be the wife he wanted. He knew I would do anything to keep you safe, and he used that. I think he was terrified that if I ever got you to myself, I would run off with Edgar and he would never see us again.”

“Why didn’t you?” he rasped, his own tears clogging his throat.

“And have your inheritance denied you because that . . . that evil wretch thought you weren’t his? Not on your life.” She lifted her chin, her gaze fierce. “I could endure the blasted devil if it
meant keeping you from losing everything. And your children and your children’s children.”

His children’s children.

Great God. That’s why she’d been so hateful to him that day in the study. Because she had seen beyond him to a future that went down generations, a future she’d been bound and determined to save for him. Always stubborn to a fault, she was not going to let Pierce “ruin everything” in a fit of pique at his father. Not after what she’d already suffered to gain it.

The fire suddenly went out of her face. “So now you know. You were punished because I was an adulteress.”

And she clearly believed he would hate her for it. But how could he? It was monumentally unfair that she had been forced to give up the man she loved because her father couldn’t control his gambling. That she’d suffered because she’d confessed all to her husband on her wedding night.

Snatching something precious for herself shouldn’t have brought her to this. “I don’t blame you for what you did.”

“You should,” she choked out. “If I hadn’t taken up with Edgar again—”

“Father probably would have found some other reason to suspect you. Men like that often do.” He pulled her into his arms, his eyes burning with unshed tears. “I don’t blame you for wanting a few moments of happiness in such a miserable marriage.”

“Even if it meant that you—”

“Yes,” he choked out. “Even then.” He held her close, his
heart in his throat. He still thought she would have been better off throwing Father’s rules in his damned face and running off with her true love, taking him with her.

But that was a man’s way of thinking. He wasn’t a woman. He wasn’t a mother, who would do anything for her child.

“I wish you’d told me sooner,” he whispered into her hair.

“And have you learn . . . that I was a vile adulteress? That I risked your entire future for . . . for a sordid affair?”

“With the man you’d always loved?” He drew her back to stare at her. “It wasn’t you who banished me, Mother. It was Father. And I think I’m wise enough to place the blame squarely where it belongs.” He swallowed. “Though I wasn’t always.” He brushed a tear from her cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t read your letters. It was wrong of me.”

Tears threatened to overthrow her again. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” She stepped back and forced a bright smile as she dabbed at her eyes. “And it’s Christmas! I have you for Christmas. At last.”

He choked down his own tears. “Yes, you do,” he managed. “And you always will.” Before she could start crying again, he added, “Which reminds me, I brought you a couple of presents. But one in particular I wanted to give you privately.”

He went over to where he’d set down the box and brought it back to her, then opened it to reveal all her letters. Unsealed. “I want you to know that I read every one, from beginning to end. I only wish I’d read them sooner.”

“Oh, Pierce . . . ” That brought the tears back, and he had
to set down the box to hold her again and comfort her until she stopped crying, all the while cursing himself for not starting to repair their relationship the very day of Father’s funeral. For being so angry that he hadn’t looked beneath the surface.

Once she got control of herself and pulled back from him again, he glanced around them with a frown. “But where is the tree? I thought it would be in here, and young Jasper would be fighting to get at it by now.”

“Oh no, it’s in the nursery,” she managed as she blotted her face again. “Jasper begged us to put it there once he saw it all decorated.” She beamed at him. “He and Camilla are up there now, with Lady Hedon. I came down to give them some time to themselves after we opened our gifts this morning.”

“Who the devil is Lady Hedon?”

Her smile faltered. “You didn’t know? It was your man Manton who brought her here—oh, right, he hadn’t had the chance to tell you.” She took a heavy breath. “Lady Hedon is Camilla’s mother.”

Pierce stared at her, thunderstruck. “Her mother.”

“Yes. Thanks to you, Manton found her.” She gave a small frown. “And now I’m going to be hard-pressed to keep Camilla here. The woman wants to take her back to London and make her part of her family.”

Pierce turned to the door. “The hell she does!”

His mother caught his arm. “Don’t spoil this for her. She has a chance to make her own way for once. To be her own person. Lady Hedon is a widow with no other children and plenty of
money, and she says she wants to leave it to her daughter. Camilla will be able to live as a lady, with her son alongside her.”

“You mean, instead of living a life of degradation and shame as my mistress.”

Mother colored. “Exactly. She deserves better.”

“I know,” he said tightly. She deserved much better than what he’d offered. She deserved what Lady Hedon was apparently willing to offer—freedom. The right to live her life as she chose. He should let her have that.

And he would, if that’s what she really wanted. But he prayed to God that it wasn’t. “You’ll be happy to know that I’ve seen the error of my ways. I’ve come to offer Camilla marriage.”

He would have thought that would make his mother ecstatic, but she merely stared at him with a worried frown. “Why?”

He blinked. “Because I want to marry her, of course.”

“Yes, but
why
do you wish to marry her? If it’s just because you think that it’s the only way you can have her in your bed—”

“No!” He stopped, then said more firmly, “No. That’s not why.”

It dawned on him—that really
wasn’t
why. He did want her in his bed, of course; he’d always wanted that. But there were other things, too. He liked that she smiled at his wit, even when he was being an “overgrown child,” and that she listened to him with an intensity that showed she cared what he said.

Yet it went beyond enjoyment of her very amiable self. For the first time in his life, he was willing to give up a bit of control to be with someone forever. To be with
her.
Because he didn’t mind
giving up control to the woman he knew he could trust absolutely. With his life, his soul . . . his heart.

“I want to marry her because I love her,” he told his mother.

“Well, then,” his mother said with a brilliant smile. “That’s a different matter entirely, isn’t it?”

He damned well hoped so.

T
he Christmas tree sparkled in the nursery corner where they’d placed it. With the candles lit, Lady Devonmont’s ancient glass baubles glittered from every branch, reminding Camilla of a bejeweled music box she’d seen once in a London shop.

She glanced over to watch as Lady Hedon showed Jasper how to tie a ribbon into a bow. This was what she’d always wanted—a family. And now she had it. Yet something was missing.

The viscountess—her
mother,
of all things—caught her staring and smiled. “I still can’t believe I have a grandson.”

“And I still can’t believe I have a mother,” Camilla choked out.

She’d expected to feel more of a connection, an instant visceral recognition of the person who had borne her. But Lady Hedon still felt like a stranger. Far more than Lady Devonmont did.

When Jasper took the bow and ran off to show Maisie, Lady Hedon said quietly, “I didn’t want to give you up, you know.”

“Yes. You said that last night.”

Lady Hedon cast her a sad glance. “But you don’t believe me.”

“On the contrary. Working at the orphanage, I’ve seen how hard the world makes it for a woman having a child outside the confines of marriage.”

“I was so young, only sixteen,” Lady Hedon said, wistfully watching after Jasper. “My parents gave me little choice. It was either relinquish you or be cast out.” Her clasped hands tightened into a knot in her lap. “And having grown up very sheltered as an earl’s daughter, I didn’t know how I would take care of myself and an infant, too.”

“I understand,” Camilla said, though she was really only beginning to. After hearing Lady Devonmont’s horrific story, she no longer felt qualified to sit in judgment of other women’s decisions about their lives.

She did have one question she burned to ask her mother. The entire time since last night that they’d spent coming to know each other, she’d wanted to broach it, but it was a delicate subject, and since Lady Hedon hadn’t brought it up yet . . . “If you don’t mind me asking,” she blurted out, “who is my father?”

Lady Hedon blushed. “I am almost ashamed to tell you. When I do, you will know exactly how much a slave to my passions I was.” She hesitated, then said, “He was one of my father’s footmen.” Pain slashed over her face. “And he happily took a nice sum of money from Papa to make himself scarce.”

“I’m sorry,” Camilla whispered.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I wish I could have given you better news on that score, but I don’t even know where he is now. I haven’t seen him since the day Papa paid him to leave.”

Camilla reached over to squeeze her hand. “It’s all right. One parent is more than I had two days ago.”

Camilla started to pull her hand back, but Lady Hedon caught it and held it. “I never stopped thinking about you. My late husband and I tried to have children but couldn’t, and though I would have suggested looking for you then, I would have had to admit what he never realized—that I wasn’t chaste when we married.”