Mary Nichols - Regency High Society Vol 5 - The Disgraced Marchioness / The Reluctant Escort / The Outrageous Debutante / A Damnable Rogue

‘It need not shame you, dear Eleanor.’ He encircled her wrists with strong fingers, caressing the soft inner skin where the blood pulsed against his gentle clasp. ‘A great wrong was committed against you. But it is over now. You must try to forget it and live out the rest of your life, secure in your social position, as if your status had never been questioned.’

‘I think it will be difficult. I feel as if my good name and my position within the Faringdon family has been called into question and I have been left feeling—ashamed and unworthy.’

‘I know it. But your family—those closest to you and those who knew my brother Thomas well—they never had any doubts.’

‘No. You did not, I know.’ She glanced up at him, a little shy, a little unsure.

‘No. How could I?’

‘Forgive me, Hal. I could weep.’ She loosened one of her hands to brush a tear from her cheek. ‘Even though the relief is great, I feel sad. Perhaps it is reaction. Perhaps I should be singing with joy!’ Her laugh was a little tremulous.

‘You need to sleep. You will feel better tomorrow. There is one thing, Eleanor.’ His words were very gentle. ‘It should not be a problem, but it would be as well if you were prepared.’

‘What is that?’

‘It may be that Octavia’s son John is indeed the child of Thomas,’ he warned, eyes sombre as he waited to see how she would react. ‘We know that they were attracted and spent time together. But how far did their relationship progress? It could be that she carried Thomas’s child before her marriage to Sir Edward, and it was that fact which gave Baxendale the idea to pursue the claim in the first place.’

‘I see. I had not thought of that.’

‘John could indeed be Thomas’s illegitimate son.’

‘Yes. Will it alter the inheritance?’

‘No. The child will have no claim on the estate—indeed, there will be no actual proof of his sire apart from Octavia’s own words. And how far should we trust her? I fear that she would follow Sir Edward’s instructions to the letter without compunction. And Sir Edward could use the boy’s existence to stir up scandal against the family if his darker scheme to disinherit you failed—as it now must.’

‘Poor child. A pawn in everyone’s game. Do you suppose anyone loves him for his own sake? He is very beautiful.’ Eleanor remained silent for a long moment. ‘If he is Thomas’s son, I think the Faringdons should recognise him as such. And arrange an annuity perhaps.’

‘You are very generous, Nell, and you humble me.’ It took every inch of self-control not to lean forward and kiss away the furrow between her brows. ‘Your spirit is as beautiful as your face. In spite of the agony they have put you through, you can still feel compassion.’

‘He is only a baby after all.’

‘Yes. Listen to me a moment. I think, if you are willing, we should try to speak with the nursemaid again. If we have some evidence to prove the relationship between Sir Edward and Octavia, she may be prepared to say more of what she knows about the child. She clearly cares for him and may be prepared to tell the truth. And perhaps if we met her away from the house, away from watchful eyes and the malign influence of Sir Edward. If I speak with Eaton, he will know if the girl takes the air at a particular time of day, and where. We should be able to waylay her without too much difficulty. Would you agree?’

‘Of course. I truly believe that Sarah knows more than she is saying.’

‘We may be able to persuade her, if she knows that it is for the good of the child.’

Henry raised her hands to his lips and kissed her cool fingers, first one hand and then the other. He could not resist. Even less when she smiled, her amethyst eyes glowing with an intensity of colour at the sudden restoration of hope. ‘You are so very beautiful.’ He turned her hands to press his lips to her palms, marvelling at their softness, the slender elegance of her fingers as they curled around his.

And Eleanor? The burning heat of his mouth against her skin made her breathing as ragged as his.

‘Hal,’ she murmured, closing her eyes against the feather-light brush of his lips, ‘you are so very kind. To me. And even more to a child who may or may not be Thomas’s son.’

‘Perhaps.’ She felt his lips curve against her wrist where he was pressing kisses against the pulse, which beat so hard that it took her breath away. ‘But I do not think that I do it out of kindness. That is too mild an emotion.’

‘Why do you care so much?’ A whispered enquiry born out of the yearning in the depths of her heart.

‘Because I…’ he hesitated, aware of the words that he might have spoken but reluctant to break the spell of that intimate moment ‘…because I care about your happiness. And I suppose that I hold to a belief that every child has the right to know the identity of his father.’

She stilled, froze, the colour in her cheeks and the smile on her lips draining away. It was as if her blood had turned to ice. He watched the transformation with shock. And to be replaced by what? Fear? He could interpret the stark expression in her eyes in no other way.

Abruptly she pulled back, away from him, tugging her hands free.

What had he said? What had he done?

She rose to her feet, an edgy movement quite unlike her usual graceful elegance, backing away from him. ‘I must go, my lord. It is late. You have all my thanks, of course.’

She almost ran from the room, leaving him totally at a loss.

Eleanor fled up the stairs, into her bedroom. She closed the door and leaned against it, her breathing uneven, not simply from her flight. She felt very cold, all the pleasure of the past hour destroyed by that one chance comment. She must think. Must decide. Dear Thomas—he had foreseen that some moment like this might arise in the unknowable future. And now it faced her.

What should she do? She could leave things as they were, the easiest option of course, Tom secure in his inheritance. Indeed, what had changed? Only her perception of the situation. And her knowledge of what was right.

Guilt pooled in her blood, her breath refusing to settle, cheeks ashen.

Every child has the right to know the identity of his father.

She pushed herself from the door to go to the dressing table. Sitting on the low stool, she pulled open the lowest drawer and lifted out a number of flat jewellery cases. The dreaded diamonds and other Faringdon family pieces. Below them was a small carved box, deeper than the others. As she opened it, it released the distinctive scent of sandalwood and she lifted out a silk-lined tray of smaller jewels. Worth a fortune, a king’s ransom, but they did not interest her to any degree as she laid them aside without a passing glance.

Beneath them was a letter on thick cream vellum. Not very old, it was as clean and uncreased as the day it was written, the seals intact. Faringdon seals. The inscription, as she had known, was in Thomas’s erratic scrawl. And the inscription was enigmatic.

Eleanor—

This is for Hal if you should ever consider that he needs to know.

She held it in her two hands, knowing exactly what it contained, torn apart by indecision.

What do I do, Thomas? Remain silent, safe in deceit, safe in the letter of the law? Or speak the truth and risk everything on the throw of this one dangerous dice? If the dice runs true, will the winning not be magnificent, worth every risk? But if it runs against me… What then?

She really did not know what Thomas would advise. Nor did she have any presentiment of Hal’s reaction if she gave him the letter.

Somewhere in the depths of the house a clock struck the hour with quiet chimes. One o’clock. Eleanor sighed. Now was definitely not the time to be making so crucial a decision. With weary fingers she replaced the letter, then the jewels, back into the drawer