Her Secret Affair (37 page)

Isabel perched on the edge of the stool. “Did you love him? The father, I mean.”

Minnie shrugged, getting up from the chair to scour the countertop with a rag. “Love’s but a pretty word for lust. Anyhow, he’s dead now. He and his parents died not a year later of a sickness, God rot their black souls. From him, I learnt my lesson. To take my pleasure of men and to take their money, too.”

At the cynicism in the older woman’s voice, Isabel shuddered inwardly. She sensed depths in her aunt that had been hidden before now. How strange that she had known Minnie all her life, yet Minnie had never breathed a hint of the tragedy in her past. Isabel wondered if she herself would become so embittered if she stayed here.

“Justin isn’t like that,” she said. “He wouldn’t abandon his own child. He told me so.”

“All gentlemen make promises in the bedroom. No doubt your own father did so to Aurora. Has he sent you so much as a ha’penny since her death?”

“No.”

“See there? Men don’t care a whit for their by-blows.”

Isabel bowed her head, determined to conquer the pain of her father’s abandonment. As a child she had dreamed of being invited to the castle to meet the king. He would welcome her with open arms, declare that he’d been searching for his little lost princess, and they would be together forever …

Now that she was grown, Isabel knew there would be no happily ever after. Not with the heartless stranger who had sired her. If Sir John Trimble didn’t wish to acknowledge her, then it was his loss.

But she might find happiness with Kern.

The thought shone like a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. How much better to turn her face to the radiance of the future than to flounder in darkness. With a sudden outpouring of hope, Isabel realized she had been given a chance denied to Minnie and Aurora. Unlike them, she had a man who truly cherished her, who wanted her to be a permanent part of his life. And she had denied him for the sake of prideful scruples.

“Justin isn’t like Apollo. And he isn’t like the rake who seduced you,” she said slowly. “He wants me to be his mistress.”

Minnie’s hand stilled around the rag. Her eyes narrowed. “He’s asked you to service only him?”

Put so bluntly, his proposal sounded sordid and shameful. Isabel stared down at her crumbled scone. “I did want to marry him, Auntie. I still do. But I realize now that our circumstances are too different. I cannot hope for the impossible. I can only seize the happiness he offers me.”

In a rustling of starched petticoats, Minnie came closer to pat Isabel on the back. “Ah, dearie, don’t fret. Of course his lordship cannot marry a girl of your background. Such is the way of life. You’ll stay right here with your aunties, and we will make sure his lordship pays a pretty penny for the privilege of visiting you. You’ll be set for life—”

“No! I don’t want his money. And I don’t want you asking him for any.” Sickened by the thought, Isabel pulled back from Minnie’s comforting touch.

“Because if you took his money, you’d feel like a whore,” Minnie said flatly. “Tell me, is it better to let him use you for free?”

“Only his love matters to me. I want nothing more from him.”

Minnie frowned in concern. “Be practical, dearie. Every girl loves the man who introduces her to pleasure. But I thought you were more sensible than Aurora. She spent her life pining for a man who scorned her.”

Isabel understood her mother so much better now. Aurora wasn’t a vain, foolish creature, but a woman longing for love. “She felt about Apollo the way I feel about Justin. Except for me, things will be different. I’ll be with the man I love. Forever.”

Minnie made a grunt of disgust. “If you believe his lies, you’ll only be hurt when he leaves you.”

I’ll take care of you always. For the rest of our lives.

“Justin won’t leave me. I know he won’t.” Remembering how tenderly he had held her, how steadfast he had been in declaring his affections, Isabel felt the ice around her heart melt into a puddle of longing. The certainty of his love gave her the courage to make her choice. In a voice firm with conviction, she said, “I am going with him.”

“Going?” Minnie said in a hoarse whisper. “Where?”

“To his estate in Derbyshire. He wants me to live in the dower house. That way, we can be together often.” A tremulous smile lifted her lips as Isabel thought of devoting herself to Kern, away from the censorious gossips of London. When she told him of her decision, his face would light up and he would take her into his arms …

The excitement spilled over into nervous anticipation. “I must tidy myself,” she said, aware that she wore the same crumpled gown as the previous day.

Darting to the hearth, she filled the cauldron with water from the tall can and then stirred up the glowing coals. When she whirled around, she saw Minnie standing by the chopping block, her arms crossed, a stricken expression on her face.

“You’re leaving again. Just like that.”

“Oh, Auntie. You haven’t lost me. I’ll convince Justin to buy you and the aunts that cottage in the country. So be happy for me. Please.”

“How can I be, when you may be gone for months?”

“Or a lifetime,” Isabel whispered. Though regrets tugged at her, she felt the thrill of stepping boldly into the future. “I’m grown up now, and it’s time for me to go. Don’t you see? I love Justin with all my heart. And he loves me. He’s going to devote himself to me, like a husband to his wife.”

“It won’t last. You’re Venus, the daughter of a courtesan.”

Isabel swallowed her lingering doubts. “That doesn’t matter to him. He knows I’m not promiscuous, that I’ve never had any other man. And he knows I’ll be faithful to him, as if we’d spoken vows before God.”

For another long moment, Minnie stood staring, an unreadable expression on her motherly face. Then she turned away. “Run along upstairs, child. Send Callie down to fetch the hot water. Meanwhile, I’ll bring you a pot of tea to calm your high spirits. It won’t do to have his lordship thinking you’re naught but a silly girl.”

The gruff resignation in her voice touched Isabel’s heart. How she would miss dear Minnie and Persy and Callie and Diana.

Isabel’s only regret was that she couldn’t find the murderer now that she had been barred from society. The mystery was no clearer to her than when she had started. Perhaps it was for the best. She had been caught too long in dark dreams of revenge.

She pressed a kiss to Minnie’s familiar, doughy cheek. “I’ll come to visit you and the aunts. I promise I will.” Isabel felt good about her decision. Her life here lay behind her now. At last she had found her own future, her own love.

Turning, she ran lightly up the steep steps, already pondering which gown to wear. She wanted to look her best for Justin. She would go to him like a bride, perfumed and pretty and pure at heart.

Her breast thrummed with joyous anticipation. Wouldn’t he be surprised when she showed up on his doorstep?

*   *   *

Kern paused inside the nave of St. George’s Church.

A watery sunlight shone through the tall windows and onto the empty pews. On this midweek afternoon, the chandeliers were unlit, the choir loft deserted, the rector’s podium vacant. The cool air held a mystical hush, an unmistakable spiritual presence.

Kern’s footsteps echoed as he walked to the front of the church. Obeying an urge more compelling than his mission, he sank to his knees before the altar. Here, in the space of a few weeks, he would have taken his vows to Helen.

It seemed incredible that he had almost bound himself to her forever. Now he could see what a terrible disservice he would have done to Helen, promising to love and cherish her while his heart belonged to another. For the first time since breaking the news to her, he felt a measure of peace. Though he would always regret causing her pain, he had acted in her best interests. He prayed she would someday understand that and find the happiness he’d found with Isabel.

Isabel.

He bowed his head and closed his eyes. But he couldn’t stop the image of her gliding up the aisle to join him at the altar, a dark-haired beauty in her wedding finery. She would slip her small fingers through his. Her smile would be radiant, her voice firm as she spoke her vows.

I, Venus Isabel Darling, take thee, Justin Culver, Earl of Kern, to be my wedded husband; to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.

As he stared down at the marble steps, a sense of rightness settled over Kern. He knew then with crystal clarity that nothing else mattered—not duty, not society, not guilt—nothing but pledging himself to the woman he loved. As soon as he finished his business here at the church, he would go to Isabel and ask her to be his wife. He would wed her before all the
ton
 …

“Praying for forgiveness?” a sharp voice queried.

Kern’s head shot up. In the shadows to the side of the altar stood the Reverend Lord Raymond Jeffries.

He walked closer, leaning on his cane, his hawk-nosed face showing disdain. “Well?” he prompted coldly. “I trust you’re here to beg God’s mercy for breaking the heart of my young niece.”

Kern rose to his feet. “How is Helen?”

“She and Hathaway are preparing to leave for the Continent. Because she cannot bear the pain of being cast aside for a hussy.”

Kern felt a tightness in his chest even as he curled his fingers into fists. “Miss Darling is not a hussy. Should you speak ill of her again, I shall be forced to silence you.”

Lord Raymond halted his advance. “To what depths have you fallen? Threatening a man of God in front of the altar.” He shook his head, a brown curl drooping onto his brow. “I cannot believe you’re the same lad who vowed never to be like Lynwood.”

Kern gave him a sarcastic look. “We all have our hidden depths. At least I am willing to openly acknowledge mine.”

That boyish face took on an ugly glower above his cleric’s collar. “I’ve done penance for my sins, not that it’s any concern of yours. ‘Judge not, lest ye be judged.’”

Kern studied the man whom Aurora had called Icarus. Lord Raymond had visited her in the dark of night, draping himself in her frilly undergarments and fancying himself a fallen angel. Reading that passage in the memoirs had disgusted Kern, made him aware of how little he knew of Lord Raymond.

Had the clergyman murdered Aurora? Had Hathaway helped his brother conceal the truth? Had Lord Raymond broken into the brothel and vandalized Aurora’s bedroom?

“You should know,” Kern said, “that Isabel no longer has the memoirs in her possession.”

Lord Raymond turned deathly pale.
“What?”
He swayed, his knuckles whitening around his ivory-knobbed cane. His impassioned voice echoed off the stone walls. “She hasn’t given the book to a publisher, has she? You must stop her! I’ll never become bishop if that filth is brought to light.”

“Perhaps a man who is ruled by personal ambition should never lead the faithful.” Kern paused, deliberately prolonging Lord Raymond’s fear for another moment. “But you’re mistaken.
I
have the memoirs.”

“You? Oh, praise God! Where is the book?”

“In a safe place. Where no one but myself can touch it.”

“Then you must destroy the pages that refer to me.” Lord Raymond hobbled forward and grasped Kern’s sleeve. “I beg of you, Justin, for the sake of our long association, you must do this.”

“I will. But only when I determine that you did not poison Aurora Darling.”

A stillness came over the pastor. His middle-aged features took on a granite harshness that Kern usually associated with Hathaway. “So,” Lord Raymond said. “Isabel has charmed you into doubting even me. There was a time when you would have taken me at my word.”

The truth of that knifed into Kern. But he could feel no remorse, not when someone wanted the memoirs so badly he would murder Aurora and attack Minnie. And now that same villain had poisoned Sir John Trimble.

A sense of purpose galvanized Kern. Apollo was the key to the mystery. Once Kern found Isabel’s father, he might have a chance to unlock the secrets of the past.

“I should like to examine the marriage registries for this parish,” he said.

“Why?”

“Never mind. Just pray that whatever I find helps to clear your tarnished name.”

Though eyeing him with suspicion, the Reverend Lord Raymond escorted Kern to a small antechamber. Rows of leather-bound books lined the shelves, records of births and deaths and marriages.

Kern dismissed the cleric and closed the oak door. Then he scanned the dates marked in gold tooling on the spines until he found the volume that encompassed the appropriate year.

The clue had been in the memoirs all along.

All that summer I devoted myself to Apollo, remaining faithful until our last night together, the night before his wedding. The night I conceived our love child …

Moving to a table near a high window, Kern opened the book. A faint musty smell eddied to him, and the old pages whispered as he turned them. He skimmed row upon row of names penned in spidery handwriting, the ink faded to brown. Countless brides and grooms had signed their names here at the close of the ceremony, to record their nuptials in the official registry.

His pulse quickened when he found the month he sought.
September 1803.

Isabel had been born on June the twelfth, 1804, which meant she had been conceived the previous September—the night before Apollo’s wedding. Since the marriage had taken place in London, and the vast majority of the gentry attended St. George’s Church, there was an excellent chance that one of the bridegrooms registered here was Apollo.

Luckily, September was not so popular a month for weddings as June or December. There were no more than forty or fifty marriages listed. Still, the size of the task daunted Kern.

He slowly moved his forefinger down the row of names, committing each one to memory. He recognized a number of men from the
ton,
mostly well-respected, middle-aged lords. But he did not discount anyone, except those he knew had died.