Mary Balogh: At Last Comes Love

You would not like that, would you? Let us be rational and sensible instead. I have a proposal to make to you." "Now, see here, Sheringford," Norman said. "You are not in any position – " "Oh, /do/ be quiet," Caroline said.

Norman shut his mouth with a clacking of teeth. "This is it," Duncan said. "You return to London, be quite open and frank with anyone who will listen – and everyone will – about where you have been and why you came here, and then declare that you were quite mistaken, that you are convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that Toby is /not/ yours, that he was conceived in sin while Laura and I were lovers before we ran away together. You will publicly repudiate him and refuse to accept him as your son or to take any responsibility for him. Then you may carry on with your life in any manner you please." "This is /preposterous/, Randolph," Norman cried. "He is in no – " "You would be well advised to button your lips, Pennethorne," Moreland said. "How can I repudiate my own son?" Turner asked, licking his lips. "He is /mine/, Sheringford. I – " "You /what/, Turner?" Duncan asked him. "You watched him being conceived?" Caroline clapped both hands to her mouth.

Norman gaped.

Turner blanched again. "There will be some snickering behind your back, I do not doubt," Duncan said, "over the fact that I was cuckolding you even before I ran off with Laura. But it will be no more than most people already believe. And you will get off lightly, Turner. The ladies will weep over you. You may even put it about, if you wish, that you blackened both my eyes while you were here. I will not contradict you, and I daresay my brothers-in-law will not either." Turner continued to stare at him. "Take it or leave it," Duncan said. "If you leave it, Turner, the entire /ton/ will know the whole truth. Doubtless most of them will believe the story even if it comes only from my mouth – people like to believe the worst of others, as you may have noticed. But when other, well-respected voices are joined to mine – the Duke of Moreland's, the Earl of Merton's, Baron Montford's, the Marquess of Claverbrook's, Sir Graham Carling's, not to mention their wives, I doubt you will be able to find a corner of England in which to hide from the scorn and scandal that will be the inevitable result. The law and the church may give you Toby, but your life will be worthless. The choice is yours." "I /wish/ someone would tell me," Norman said, "what this is all about.

You do not have a leg to stand on, Sheringford. You are a child kidnapper and a rogue. You have hidden the very existence of a child from his lawful and loving father for almost five years." Everyone ignored him.

Turner licked his lips again. "He is my /son/," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "But he is not, is he?" Duncan said. "Not in any way at all. In all ways that matter he is mine. He even has my name. He was christened Tobias Duncan Pennethorne – my natural son, who will be loved all his life as dearly as if he were as legitimate as my other children will be." "And whom his new mother and uncles and aunts love dearly and have welcomed into my family too," Merton added. "Randolph," Norman said, "would you – " But Turner had turned on his heel and was striding back in the direction of the house. "Caroline," Norman said, "would you – " "Oh, be /quiet/!" she cried, turning on him, her eyes flashing. "Cannot you see that he is blackmailing Randolph and that Randolph has no choice but to allow it? You do not believe Laura would have run away from him if the child had really been his, do you? And he is not Lord Sheringford's either – he was besotted with /me/ at the time. Oh, I wish in my heart I had never suggested that Randolph bring Gareth to London.

I might have /known/ he would be too jealous to make the idea work and that Laura would be too squeamish. And I might have /known/ that she would run to Lord Sheringford and that he would take her away and abandon me to /you/. Oh, do stop gaping in that ridiculous way, Norman, and come along, or Randolph will leave without us." And she went hurrying back along the avenue, all delicate, feminine little steps and flouncing muslin.

For once Norman was speechless. He looked at Duncan, his lips working soundlessly, and then went scurrying off after his wife. "/Dash/ it all," Merton said when he was out of earshot. "Neither one of them gave me enough excuse to break his nose. My knuckles will itch with frustration for a week." "A woman's way of doing things is never quite satisfactory to a man's way of thinking," Moreland said with a sigh. "I still prefer your original plan of pounding Turner to a bloody pulp, Sheringford, while Stephen and I tossed the dice over who would have the pleasure of breaking Pennethorne's nose. But Margaret's plan really was the better one. Turner has been thoroughly and permanently vanquished, and not a drop of blood shed. /Damnation/! Why could he not at least have taken a swing at you?" "At one point," Duncan said, "I really thought he was going to. Alas, he remembered his true nature in time. Maggie has made Toby safe, but I /wish/ her plan could have included just a small degree of violence. Or, even better, a whole lot of it." Moreland clapped a hand on his shoulder. "And talking of Margaret," he said, "I daresay she and Vanessa are having a very bad time of it, waiting to hear what happened out here." "Yes," Duncan said, closing his eyes briefly.

Was it really all over? As easily as this?

Could he now return to Maggie and to Toby and assure them that their life together as a family was secure at last?

Where were they? In the nursery?

He hurried off in the direction of home without even stopping to thank his brothers-in-law for offering such formidable moral support.

He was running by the time he had crossed the bridge.

The carriage, he could see when he reached the terrace, was already disappearing down the driveway.

He took the steps up to the front doors two at a time.

Margaret had not moved from the chair in the nursery where she sat with Toby. Vanessa was standing at the window looking out, but there was nothing of any significance to see. The nursery was in the west wing with a view over the stables and the west lawn.

Margaret imposed deliberate relaxation on her body so that her anxiety would not convey itself to Toby, even in sleep. But, oh, it was so difficult to wait.

Bullies were usually cowards. Perhaps extreme bullies were extreme cowards. She fervently hoped so. She had based her whole plan on the theory. She had talked Duncan and her brother and brother-in-law into following her plan – Nessie had needed no persuading.

What if she was wrong?

She /hoped/ the encounter would not turn violent. Men always found it easier to use their fists than to be rational. Perhaps it was as well that Caroline Pennethorne was with them. Perhaps her presence would force them all into talking rather than using their fists.

Her rational mind told her that Toby was safe, that her suggested plan of action was bound to work. But it was hard to trust cold reason when so much was at stake. Randolph Turner had the legal right to take Toby no matter who his real father was. And he had wanted a son desperately enough to concoct that ghastly scheme. Perhaps he did not care what people thought of him. Perhaps … The nursery door opened quietly. Even so, Toby stirred. He rubbed an eye with one fist, burrowed closer for a moment, and then turned his head to watch with sleepy eyes as Duncan approached.

It was hard to read his expression.

Vanessa turned from the window. "Papa," Toby said, "has the bad man gone?" Duncan's eyes met Margaret's briefly before he bent forward slightly and set a hand on the boy's head. "He is not really a bad man, Tobe," he said. "Just a rather annoying one. He is a cousin of mine and used to annoy me dreadfully when we were lads. He still does, but he is harmless. Yes, he has gone. I sent him away along with the two people who were with him. They will not be back – they will never be invited. You are perfectly safe here with Papa and Aunt Meg to look after you." "Not Aunt Meg," Toby said. "She is not my aunt. She is Mama. Where is Uncle Stephen? I want to ride on his shoulders, not just on his back. Do you think he will let me?" He threw back the blanket and climbed down off Margaret's lap, eager to resume his day.