A Suspicious Affair (21 page)

Marisol found herself blushing like a schoolgirl. She sipped her tea to hide the embarrassment. “And I am sick to death of being
your gracee
d. Please call me Marisol, my—Carlinn.” With a faint tinge of color still in her cheeks, Marisol changed the subject away from the personal: “Do you think this will be the last of the threats, then?”

“Only time will tell, but you are an easy mark. The female could not have been acting alone—remember the stallion—hence you cannot bank on her maternal feelings winning the day. I would not want us to relax our vigilance entirely, but yes, I believe you can rest easier.”

Kimbrough went home to get his own much-needed rest, but sleep did not come. He kept thinking of lovely Marisol—No, “Duchess” seemed to suit better, especially when she was acting the gracious lady, thanking him for his efforts. He lay in his bed, thinking of her waking up every hour, in his arms, thanking him for his efforts. Every hour ought to do it, for a start. And oh, the efforts he’d go to for her had him breaking out in a sweat. Strange, he’d never once thought of taking Edelia Sherville to bed, only to wife. Of course, no man wanted a wife who was the subject of lascivious imaginings, did he?

Marisol wasn’t getting a good night’s sleep either, and not just because she remembered how the earl had kissed her hand and whispered, “Rest easy, my dear.” “My dear” was much nicer than Duchess or Marisol. But she still couldn’t rest easy, not with the baby crying all night.

It wasn’t her baby’s crying that kept her up, though, but the crying of the baby left outside the Castle door.

Chapter Twenty-One

A bastard? You mean I went through all that and almost got trampled for Arvid Pendenning’s bastard?”

“Yes, and I paid four hundred pounds for him. Isn’t he precious?”

Well, no, he wasn’t. He was dark and scrawny, with Arvid’s narrow eyes and pouty expression. His name was Arlen, the note said, and he was three weeks old. He was also a fussy baby who wouldn’t eat well, according to the wet nurse, and hardly slept, according to everyone else in the house. Arlen was quickly settled into the nursery, out of earshot. Poor Sal was in despair, trying to keep her new little herd together and under her watchful eye. Rather than make the crippled dog go up and down the stairs all day, Marisol had brought both children into the morning room, where her maid Sarah was rocking Arlen in a cradle and she was singing to Nolly, to give the exhausted nursemaid Rebecca time for a nap.

When Lord Kimbrough was announced, Marisol dismissed the maid, telling her to go spend time with her recuperating husband. The earl approached the cradle and peered down at the new infant. It was Denning’s, unmistakably. One could tell from the petulant curl to the infant’s lip. “Fertile bastard, Denning. Sowing his seed in three women at once. His wife, his married mistress, this other woman. Who knows how many other little butter stamps might turn up.”

“I wonder who she was, poor thing, that she had to give up her baby.” Marisol carried Nolly over to the earl’s side and looked down at her husband’s illegitimate child. Nolly crammed a fistful of her Norwich silk shawl into his mouth while she was staring into the cradle, wondering if the woman missed Arvid, if he had been kind to her.

“She must be from the lower orders,” Carlinn speculated, “that she needed money. A wealthy woman would have gone off somewhere to have the child in secret, then put him out to an orphanage or foster home. If she couldn’t, ah, get rid of the problem beforehand.”

“I suppose we’ll never know. Do you think you could recognize her again?”

Carlinn looked up and started to extricate the shawl’s fringe from his ward’s mouth. “Silly lad. A gentleman might devour a beautiful lady with his eyes; he doesn’t try to swallow her apparel.” He turned back to Marisol, who was smiling at his flummery. “No, I cannot say I’d know the woman again. Her bonnet hid most of her face, and then she kept her head down. Not that I would have recognized Denning’s lightskirt anyway.”

“Mr. Dimm might have. I suppose that’s why she wrote that no Runners should come to the park. What does he think? He never mentioned that Arvid had another woman in keeping. I wonder if he knew.”

“He didn’t say, just that he was going to Bristol on a hunch. Something about wrapping a string around a stone or such.”

When the new baby started mewing, Marisol handed Nolly to the earl, as casually as she’d hand him her cape or gloves. She bent to pick up Arlen before he could work himself into a red-faced squall. “Hush, poppet, hush. Everything is going to be all right now. I know you miss your mama, but we are trying our best.”

“The doxy didn’t seem to have any better luck with the brat than you. Maybe that’s why she gave him away.” The earl was bouncing Nolly in his arms, getting chuckles and gurgles. “Now, this is what a baby should be!”

“Of course. Too bad they can’t all be dukes.” Marisol laughed, sitting again and rocking the infant in her arms. Sal dropped down at her feet, tail thumping against the carpet. “I wonder what the mother would have done if we hadn’t paid her?”

“Sold him to gypsies, or left him on some parish doorstep, I suppose.”

“And we’d never have known. We’d have kept thinking someone meant to hurt Nolly, when the unfortunate girl only wanted Arvid’s son to be taken in.”

“If that was meant to remind me that I counseled against paying their demands, I stand rebuked.” He was dangling his watch in front of Nolly, and told the boy, “Your mother’s a hard woman, Your Grace. She never forgets a fellow’s lapses, and never misses a chance to gloat. You’d better eat all your porridge or you’ll hear about it the rest of your life, how you could have been as big as Uncle Carlinn if you’d only listened to your mama.”

He smiled over at Marisol, who really wished he’d stop teasing; it did peculiar things to her insides, like turning them to jelly. “But you were right that Nolly was in no danger,” she admitted.

“Ah, a gracious concession. Did you hear that, Duke? In the past six months I have been right one whole time! Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Gudgeon, you’ve been everything wise and kind and brave, and well you know it. I’d tell you how I have come to appreciate you, but shan’t, for fear of swelling your head even further.”

“A compliment, almost. Nolly, my lad, I think she likes me!” And he tossed the laughing child up into the air.

Blushing furiously, Marisol ordered him not to play so roughly unless he wanted his shirtfront decorated in a fashion Brummell could never approve. Carlinn hastily replaced the child on his lap, where Nolly was content to play with the gold buttons on his waistcoat.

Marisol had rocked Arlen back to sleep in her arms, and now hummed softly to him. Lord Kimbrough watched and listened, until a fierce jealousy swept through him. Denning had two children now, and he was dead! As the earl stared at the duchess, the infant’s dark hair a contrast to her golden curls, he got even angrier that it was Denning’s child she was cuddling, Denning’s bastard besides.

“You cannot keep him, you know.”

That brought Marisol’s head up with a jerk. The infant thrashed a bit, but stayed quiet. “Excuse me?”

“You cannot keep him, I said. It’s too much of a burden. Nolly already takes much of your time and attention. Think of him.”

“Are you suggesting I would neglect my son?” she asked, her voice dangerously low.

“No, of course not. I’m only saying that you have enough on your plate without Denning’s bastard, too. Why, it will be hard enough to reestablish yourself in Society as is. The ton will forget everything in time if you let them, even Arvid and his lovers, but dragging around the duke’s baseborn brat will remind them all over again. You know they won’t think kindly of you for making them admit such things happen.”

“Why do you persist in this humgudgeon about my vying for Society’s approval? I am content here, where I have family and friends and worthwhile endeavors. Let them sneer at me in London. I do not care.”

“Very well, I believe you, but think about the boy then. He’ll never be accepted. You cannot pass him off as your own; he’ll never be anything more than Arvid’s bastard, second-rate goods. And his whole life he’ll look to Noel, the duke, the heir, the favored son. No boy could help being envious, jealous, no matter what you do for him. That’s a hell of a legacy for Arvid to leave the boy, a terrible thing to do to a child. You couldn’t be so selfish. You must not keep him.”

“Are you quite finished now, my lord?” Her tones could have turned Bath’s hot springs to ice. “Are you done with telling me what I may and may not do, even though you have absolutely no authority over me?”

Carlinn kept his eyes on Nolly. “Good intentions. Only thinking of you and the boy,” he muttered.

“Are you through? Are you ready to listen to what
I
have decided about Arlen?”

He nodded. But he did whisper in Nolly’s ear, “Hard as nails. Remember, I warned you.”

Marisol cleared her throat. “Rather than being selfish, my lord, I have been drowning in guilt that I cannot warm to this child the way I ought. I look at him and I see Arvid, his perfidy, his nastiness. I see a mother no better than she ought to be, maybe even a murderess. Little Arlen is not to blame, of course, but he is not an easy child either. Perhaps if he were soft and sweet…but he is not. Fortunately my maid Sarah is good with him, better than Rebecca, Nolly’s nanny. And Sarah has asked if she and her husband can take Arlen with them when they go to Yorkshire. Her husband’s injury—Well, the doctors are not certain there will be children for them. Sarah and Ned want to change his name to Leonard and make him their own son, no one’s cast-off by-blow. I would be his godmother, and pay for his schooling and such.”

“And I’ll stand for his first pony! Brilliant, my dear, brilliant! I should have known you’d do what was best for everyone.”

“Yes, you should have,” she said dryly, then added, “We have sent for Mr. Stenross, to check into the technical aspects of the thing so there is never a question about Arl—Leonard’s legal parents, and we’ll wait to speak to Mr. Dimm. What if he finds the mother and she wants the infant back?”

“She sold him, for heaven’s sake. She won’t want him returned. At most she might demand more money, but baby-selling is still a crime, if nothing else. We can threaten her with gaol if she won’t sign Stenross’s papers. The problem is if he doesn’t find her and the woman sells information to the papers, just to hurt you.”

“Me? None of this was my misdeed! I didn’t bear an illegitimate child, I didn’t kill my lover, and I didn’t trade my son for a sack of gold!”

“Yes, but people will talk. You can’t like being the latest
on dit
forever.”

*

No,
he
couldn’t stand being the brunt of tittle-tattle, Marisol knew. Kimbrough was the one who was so concerned with the proprieties that he’d be mortified to find his name in the gossip columns again. He was just like the dowager, who couldn’t get Arlen out of the house fast enough, lest she be reminded of her own son’s debauchery. And Kimbrough’s sister’s come-out would be ruined by the hint of scandal, old or new. Carlinn would never do anything to reflect poorly on Bettina’s chances of making a brilliant match. He’d never do anything to tarnish his family name or cut up his peaceful existence.

That night it was Marisol’s own crying that kept her awake.

*

Carlinn rode out early the next morning, as was his habit. He took the new gray to evaluate the stallion’s recovery, and was pleased to see that the horse was skittish, not mean. A firm hand was enough to keep him under control, even when a rabbit ran across his path. He’d be a safe enough mount as long as the rider didn’t lose concentration. The blackmailers could have got him cheap, though, for the otherwise magnificent animal must have been a hazard in the city. With a gun being fired purposely near him, or at him, the wonder was that no one was killed. It was also curious that no one had seen or heard the shooting. Dimm’s relatives and associates were still looking into it.

Carlinn rode toward the Castle, expecting to be invited in for a second breakfast. He left the stallion at the Denning stables, after giving instructions for its tending, and carefully brushed off his boots on the way to the front door. Her Grace was sleeping late this morning, however, according to the butler, and asked not to be disturbed. Nolly, Carlinn’s second choice, was having a bath, then a nap. So the earl asked after Foster, and was shown up. Foster’s smile of welcome only dimmed a bit when he realized the earl was by himself.

“Deuced good to see you, my lord. Dashed flat sitting around, I can tell you. Can’t even read the newspapers without someone turning the pages; I tried doing it with my teeth. Only got newsprint on my nose.”

“Would you like me to read to you then? I have a bit of time.” The longer he stayed, the more likely that Marisol would be up and about. “You must be wanting to hear the latest war news.”

Foster rubbed his bandaged hand along the counterpane of his bed. “Well, ah, thing is, your sister kindly offered to stop by this afternoon and do the reading.” His face cleared. “But how about a game of chess? I almost had you beat last time. I’m afraid you’ll still have to make the moves for me; can’t bend the fingers yet with all these wrappings the sawbones insists on. The doctor says soon though. He thinks I can rejoin the regiment before summer. Isn’t that capital?”

“Summer in the Peninsula is hot and buggy, full of diseases and mud. Are you sure you want to go? I mean, you’ve done your bit for king and country already. White or black?”

“But there’s bound to be action this summer and I mean to be in the thick of things this time, not on some blasted ship. I had white last time; you can open.”

“Your sister will worry.” He moved his first man.

Foster was studying the board. “That didn’t stop you from going, did it? I mean, all the chaps have mothers and sisters and wives and sweethearts.”

“Sometimes all of them. Where do you want to move?”

A few turns later, Carlinn’s mind started to wander as he waited for Foster to call his play. Was she stirring yet? Would she come check on her brother before going downstairs? He straightened his cravat. Foster cleared his throat.

“Your turn, Carlinn.”

“What? Oh, sorry.” He studied the board.

While he pondered his next move, Foster cleared his throat again, which did not aid his lordship’s concentration. He looked up.

Foster was rubbing at the bandages again. “I’ve been meaning to ask permission to write to your sister when I go,” he said. “Good a time as any.”

“Pardon, you want my permission to write to Bettina?”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to do anything harum-scarum and give you a disgust of me. It’s not the thing, don’t you know, for a young miss to be getting correspondence from a man who is not related.”

Carlinn allowed as how he might have heard of such a convention. His sarcasm was wasted on Foster, who was intent on making his case.

“Thing is, my intentions are honorable. Not soon, of course. Tina should have her Season. Dance holes in her slippers, don’t you know. I’ve never been a dab hand at cutting a caper, and she’s looking forward to it. I’d lay odds she’ll be a regular Toast, too.”

Carlinn wouldn’t take the bet. Bettina was pretty and gay and rich. She’d be a success. Such a success that he had to ask: “Aren’t you afraid all those Town beaux might turn her head?”

“It’s a chance I’ll have to take. That way we’ll both know she’s sure. Then I’ll be asking your permission to pay my addresses. When the war is over, of course.”

“And I’d be proud to give it, after you’ve both seen a bit more of the world, and if you both are of like minds then.”