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

Whoever said that love brought happiness and contentment, she mused, as she took herself to bed, facing another restless night in spite of Hal’s good news. It had brought her nothing but indecision and despair.

Now it threatened to tear her heart in two.

Discreet inquires of Eaton, butler at Faringdon House, elicited the information that it was customary for the young maid who cared for the child to take him for an airing in the park on fine mornings, before the fashionable crowd began to gather for their promenade. Armed with this knowledge, Henry and Eleanor took the barouche on the following morning to make contact with the girl. Whatever had disturbed Eleanor seemed to have released its hold on her, Henry noted, but she kept her distance from him, mentally if not in person. Approachable enough, but cool. And the shadows beneath her eyes were stark testimony to the fact that she still was not sleeping. Whatever relief his news had brought her, there was still something that troubled her. She would not confide in him, of course. So, waging a war against frustration, Henry decided to await the outcome of their morning’s task and simply engaged her in trivial conversation and observations on their mutual acquaintance as they turned into the gates of Hyde Park.

They had not far to go before sighting the two figures whom they sought. Early as it was, it was very quiet with few interested parties to watch and comment on the scandalous developments within the Faringdon family.

‘Stop the carriage,’ Lord Henry requested his coachman.

They pulled to a halt near to where Sarah walked along the grass at the edge of the carriage drive, trim and composed as ever in a plain dark pelisse and an undecorated straw bonnet, holding the hand of the golden-haired child who attempted to pull her in the direction of the squirrels that hopped and chased around a distant stand of trees. She was laughing at his enthusiasm and inclined to follow his lead, but turned her head as the barouche drew up along side her and instinctively pulled the boy close to her side.

‘Sarah.’ Eleanor deliberately kept her voice low and undemanding as she leaned to smile down at the pair. ‘A lovely morning for a walk. I think John would like to run rather than walk—at least he is still small enough that you can catch him.’

The young woman looked up, a fleeting shadow of concern crossing her features, but then as she recognised the Marchioness of Burford she smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, my lady. He is always full of energy.’

Eleanor put aside her parasol and reticule and descended from the carriage without waiting for Henry to assist her. ‘I would like to talk to you. It concerns the child.’

Sarah immediately stepped away, casting an anxious glance at Lord Henry who also joined them on the carriageway, and swept the protesting child up into her arms as if she sensed danger. Even, perhaps, an abduction.

‘Don’t be nervous.’ Eleanor reached out to touch the young woman’s arm in reassurance. ‘I intend no harm to either you or the child. This is a public place and you are in no danger from me. I wish you nothing but well. This is Lord Henry, brother to my late husband. You must remember him from your visit to Burford Hall.’ Henry bowed, deliberately remaining beside the carriage. To approach might be seen in the light of intimidation. ‘Perhaps you would consent to ride with us a little way. And then we will return you back to Faringdon House. I am sure John would enjoy to ride in the barouche. My own son likes nothing better.’

‘It is very kind of your ladyship, but…’ Sarah’s anxieties were clear.

‘Please, Sarah. It is most urgent.’

‘Very well.’ How could she refuse a request from the Marchioness herself? Reluctantly the young woman allowed herself to be handed up into the barouche with John ensconced on her lap, looking round with wide-eyed interest.

‘We need to know, Sarah.’ Eleanor took her seat and turned to face her as the barouche moved off at a sedate pace. ‘You must know that it will not be to the disadvantage of yourself or the child. Will you help us?’

‘If I can.’ She was nervous. Her eyes moved from one to the other as she waited. ‘But I do not understand what you could want from me. I am only the nursemaid, employed to care for the boy. How can I possibly help you?’

Henry’s voice was gentle and full of understanding as he broached the issue. ‘Let us be open and honest from the beginning, ma’am. You should know that I have spoken recently with Julius Broughton.’

There was now a distinct flash of panic in her eyes. Eleanor knew that if the barouche had stopped, Sarah and the child would have fled. But it was not possible so she simply sat, her hands white-knuckled as they clasped around the small body on her knee.

‘I know that he and Octavia are brother and sister,’ Henry continued.

‘Oh.’ It was little more than a sigh.

‘I also know that there was never a marriage between my brother and the lady. That, in fact, Octavia is the wife of Sir Edward Baxendale. The Reverend Broughton has admitted as much.’

Eleanor leaned forward to touch the girl’s unresponsive hand where it clasped around the child. She was startlingly pale, but made no reply. There was no need. The truth was obvious in her face, in her teeth buried in her bottom lip.

‘We need to know about the child, Sarah,’ Henry continued. ‘Is he Sir Edward’s son?’

Sarah was silent for a long moment, studying the boy’s upturned face as he laughed, enthralled by the speed with which they were travelling. Then she looked at his lordship, at his stern face but kind eyes. ‘No.’ She shook her head, compelled to reply. His eyes and voice might be compassionate, but she knew that he was determined to learn the truth. She made the decision to tell it. ‘No. He is not Edward’s son.’

‘Then…is he…is John the son of Thomas, my husband?’ Eleanor dared to ask the next question. ‘Did Octavia bear Thomas a son out of wedlock?’

Sarah transferred her gaze to Eleanor’s taut features, only able to guess at the emotion that surged within her at such a question, but could find no words to reply. She snatched away her hand from the comforting grasp, to hold the child close as she hid her face against the curve of his neck.

Watching them together, the light dawned for Eleanor. How could she not have made the connection? She had seen it before, and commented on it, without understanding its significance. It was as clear as faceted crystal in the morning sunshine.

‘Of course,’ Eleanor said softly. ‘He is yours, isn’t he? You are Edward’s sister with the baby, who lived with him at the Great House.’

‘I must not say.’ Sarah’s voice was muffled against her son’s head.

‘I should have guessed days ago,’ Eleanor persisted. ‘You are so loving, and caring of his needs. When Octavia was so uninterested—’

‘Octavia cares nothing for him!’ Eleanor’s words brought an instant reaction. Sarah raised her head, lips thinned in anger, her words bitter. ‘He is mine! Never hers! I should never have gone along with it. It was a terrible thing to do. I am so sorry…’ Tears began to stream down her cheeks, as much in anger as in grief.

Eleanor produced a handkerchief and tried to calm the girl’s anguish. Henry instructed the coachman to turn into one of the quieter drives where no one would be witness to her distress.

‘Will you tell us, Miss Baxendale?’ Lord Henry asked, giving her the respect of her true name.

‘I dare not. Edward…’

‘I will do everything in my power to protect you from Baxendale,’ Henry tried to reassure her as the pieces of the puzzle began to fit together in his mind. Sarah’s participation in Baxendale’s intrigue, willing or otherwise, would prove to be the final key to the mystery.