Rebecca Hagan Lee (22 page)

She sent for Nigel Jameson seeking confirmation of her deepest fear a week later. Her monthly hadn't come yet and she had been sick upon rising for three days in a row. Unless Blake could see his way to admit to loving her, she would have to leave him--for her sake and for his.

Dr. Jameson arrived promptly and greeted her without preamble. "You sent for me, so I presume that you've missed your monthly."

Cristina nodded.

"Have you been ill upon rising? Unable to eat your breakfast? Tired?" He fired the questions at her one after the other until all Cristina could do was nod her head once again in affirmation.

Nigel smiled reassuringly. "I'll have to examine you to be sure, but I suspect we're going to have a baby."

Cristina had her confirmation. She and Blake were going to become parents in about eight months' time. "I don't know how I'll face him with news like this," Cristina said when Nigel finished his examination.

"You'll find a way. The opportunity will present itself. And you must face him, Cristina. It would be wrong to do otherwise." Nigel gave her his lopsided grin. "I wouldn't worry too much, my dear, Blake adores children. I think he'll be quite pleased. It isn't every day that a man becomes a father.

Besides, Blake is responsible, too. He'll do what is best for you and the baby. You needn't worry that he will turn you away."

"Have you seen the morning papers, Dr. Jameson?" The investigation into scandal in the government was broadening and the newspapers were full of lurid details. Cristina held up the morning edition of The Times and read from the front page: "The scandal concerning Her Majesty's men in government widens and there appears to be no end in sight. Lords Barton, Griffith, and Ainsford have all resigned their posts and more secrets involving more scandalous lords are expected to follow. It appears there have been a number of fallen young debutantes as well as young governesses this year and one can't help but wonder which of Her Majesty's government men will be the next to resign."

She looked up at Nigel, then flipped to the gossip section of the paper to a column called "Ton Tidbits" and continued reading. "What's become of the lovely Miss------who was seen at the theater in the company of the handsome and elusive Earl of------recently? Has she been taken off the market? No one can say for sure, but Miss------who is reportedly staying with friends in the country hasn't been seen in weeks. Are wedding bells in the Earl of------and Miss------'s future? Has the earl who vowed never to taste matrimonial bliss changed his mind? No one seems to know for sure." Cristina folded the newspaper and stared at Nigel. "I shouldn't continue to stay here and allow Blake to take responsibility for me and a child."

"Why not?" Nigel wanted to know. "He is responsible for the child, if not for you. Besides, your going or staying isn't a decision for you to make alone. Tell him, Cristina. Share the joy. I've known Blake all my life, and believe me, there's nothing he would like better than to hear the sound of children playing in this house. He's always wanted a child and was bitterly disappointed when he and Meredith failed to have one." Nigel had been watching Cristina's face and was aware of his blunder almost as soon as the words left his mouth. She didn't know about Meredith--or hadn't known until he had foolishly blundered.

There were questions in her eyes that begged to be answered and Nigel could have kicked himself for letting Meredith's name slip out.

"Who is Meredith?" Cristina whispered the name.

"Ask Blake. I'm sure he'll tell you all about it." Nigel didn't want to volunteer any more information. He'd said too much as it was.

Cristina recognized his hedging. "I am asking you, Dr. Jameson," she persisted, "and I want an answer."

Nigel's expression was grim as he nodded his head in capitulation and told Cristina what she wanted to know. "Meredith was Blake's wife."

"His wife?" Cristina echoed hollowly. "Until I read this, I didn't know he had had a wife. Nobody has ever mentioned a wife."

"She..." Nigel cleared his throat. "There was a riding accident several years ago and Meredith was crushed beneath her horse."

As Cristina listened to the doctor tell about the tragic accident, her mind was busy assimilating the fact that Blake had been married. He had been married and he hadn't told her about it. She felt a twinge of some undefinable emotion that settled in the pit of her stomach. He had had a wife. Meredith.

The name was etched in Cristina's brain. Every time she thought of Blake her mind conjured up the name like the missing part of a whole. Why hadn't he told her? Had his wife meant so much to him that he couldn't bear to speak of her?

Cristina didn't know if most men spoke of their wives and families to their lovers, but she had thought that Blake would be honest with her. In her innocence, she had expected him to tell her if he had once been married. She pictured Blake holding his wife in his arms, whispering the same words of love that he had whispered to her; working the same caressing magic that took her to the peaks of passion and that curious feeling in the pit of her stomach snaked through her, burning its way to her heart.

Nigel finished speaking and waited for Cristina to say something. He had to convince her to tell Blake about the coming child. "Listen to me, Cristina, you must think of what is best for you and the baby. Trust him. Tell Blake and let him help you through this. Let him help you decide the best way to handle things."

"He didn't tell me about Meredith," Cristina whispered, trying hard to conceal the hurt.

"I'm sure he had his reasons."

"And I have mine."

"Cristina, you must tell him about the baby," Nigel implored. "It's for the best."

"What about the scandal it will cause? Is that for the best, too?"

"A scandal might be damaging at first, but Blake won't be the first man in this town who wasn't married to his child's mother during conception and I'm sure he won't be the last. It happens. But everything will come right, Cristina, if you tell him. Please, think about it." Nigel advised as he said his good-byes, "I'll be back to check on you in a day or so."

Cristina didn't answer or look up as the doctor left the room. Alone, she continued to brood over her problem. As far as society was concerned, she was ruined. She was unmarried and carrying an illegitimate child. If the news got out, there would be a scandal like the one Lord Ainsford currently found himself in. But this time, it would be Blake. Blake. How it hurt to think of Blake in the arms of another woman. He had had a wife named Meredith who was killed in a riding accident--crushed beneath a horse. Cristina's romantic dreams died. He had had a wife. A wife he'd never mentioned, just as he had never breathed a word of loving her. Could she risk telling him about the baby? What if Blake decided to keep the baby but not her? Or worse, what if he decided to marry her because of the baby? Could she stand to live with the knowledge that he had married her to quell gossip and not because he loved her. And what of her child? Could he love the child without loving the mother?

Would he want his heir without wanting its mother?

Two days later, Blake was waiting for Albert Mead when the office doors of Traherne, Carlisle, Jennings, and Mead were unlocked. He followed Mead into the office, right up to the junior partner's desk. "From your message, I assume you have good news for me."

"I do, sir." Mead was almost smiling. "You were quite correct. Sir William is alive and living in the United States. New York City, to be exact."

"That makes it difficult." Blake mentally counted the days before he could reach New York.

"That's why I sent an urgent message. I contacted an office on Wall Street and learned Sir William is president of one of the city's most successful financial firms."

"And ... ?" Blake prompted, eager for the excited solicitor to get to the point.

"He is currently in Paris on business and is scheduled to arrive in London next week. I took the liberty of leaving a message at his hotel in Paris and received a reply late last night. He suggested you meet him at White's next Thursday evening. Isn't that a stroke of luck? I was afraid you might have to sail to the United States to discuss your business." Mead was fairly bursting with pride at the success of his mission. He had tackled an almost impossible task and located the man in only thirty-three days.

"You've done an excellent job, Mr. Mead." Blake was quick to acknowledge the other man's skill at handling the task assigned to him. "I've another task for you if you're of a mind to take it. Of course, I'll see that you're amply rewarded for your services."

"Of course, Lord Lawrence, anything to be of help." Mead was eager for another challenge. Being a junior partner in a law firm was not as mentally stimulating as he had hoped.

Blake removed a velvet pouch from inside his breast pocket and opened it to reveal the emerald and diamond necklace that had returned to Lawrence House by way of Cristina Fairfax's pocket.

Albert Mead gasped in awe.

"I want you to trace the history of this necklace, Mr. Mead. I'm aware of its origins, since I had it made especially for my wife, but it was taken from my home some time ago and only recently recovered. I want to know who took the necklace and how he disposed of it. This job will probably take a bit longer.

I'll be traveling quite a bit, but you can reach me through the Foreign Office or our embassy. I think I know part of what you'll find, but I want to be certain. And no matter what you find, I want you to be completely truthful with me."

"You can be sure of that, sir."

Blake smiled at the solicitor and shook his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Mead, for everything."

"Thank you, Lord Lawrence," Mead replied sincerely, "for giving me the opportunity."

We heed no instincts but our own.

--JEAN DE LA FONTAINE 1621-1695

*Chapter Fifteen*

"Congratulations, Lawrence."

"Don't know what to make of it, Lawrence."

"Best wishes, old man."

"Didn't think you'd be one of the ones to leg shackle yourself again so soon. Thought you'd wait until you were in your dotage. But a man must have an heir and at least you've chosen a deb. Pick 'em young, train 'em right, I always say."

Blake found himself surrounded by well wishers and empathizers as soon as he crossed the threshold of his gentleman's club in St. James. Having just spent the afternoon escorting Rudolf to various functions, he had sought the calm, quiet of his club before heading home to dress for another round of embassy parties. "What are you talking about?" he demanded of Lord Telsham, who had just slapped him on the back in a hearty greeting.

"Haven't you seen the paper, old man?" Telsham asked.

Blake shook his head. He'd read yesterday's paper. He had seen the item in the gossip column speculating about his trip to the theater with Cristina and had read the headlines touting the queen's displeasure with the scandals rocking her government. In truth, The Times's lurid coverage of Lord Ainsford's affair had disgusted him so much that he hadn't bothered to read this morning's edition. But he didn't need to read the newspaper to know what was going on in the Foreign Office and the other branches of government. He understood politics. He knew who had the power and the influence to sway the investigation and who didn't. He knew whose reputations were at stake and whose were not. As a member of the government, Blake was privy to more details than the newspapers and he knew that while his behavior wasn't yet suspect, it was only a matter of time before someone connected his appearance at Lord Strathemore's midnight soiree with the item in the gossip column. He could only hope that his aunt's presence in his household and the fact that he had publicly introduced Cristina to the Prince of Wales and had already petitioned the archbishop of Canterbury for a special license would remain unnoticed a while longer. He may have decided on his next course of action but until he had an opportunity to speak with Sir William Fairfax to ask his permission and his blessing on his daughter's impending engagement, Blake didn't want his intentions toward Cristina splashed across the pages of the newspaper for everyone to read.

Telsham shoved a folded newspaper at him. "Page four. Center column."

He stood at Blake's side, grinning like an idiot, while Blake unfolded the paper, turned to page four, and read the announcement: "Blake Ashford, ninth earl of Lawrence, son of the marquess and marchioness of Everleigh, announces his impending nuptials to Miss Cristina Fairfax, daughter of Sir William and Lady Fairfax by special license. No date has yet been set. Invitations will be forthcoming." Blake carefully refolded the paper and turned to Telsham. "May I keep this?"

"Of course," Telsham replied. "Felicitations, old man. May I stand you a drink in honor of your engagement?"

"Another time," Blake answered. "Thanks, Telsham." Anger surged through Blake, singeing his veins. He clamped his jaw shut, struggling to maintain his composure as he left the club and hailed a cab that would take him home.

"Please inform Miss Fairfax and Lady Wethering that I wish to see them in my study immediately," Blake announced as soon as Perryman opened the front door.

"I believe Miss Fairfax is engaged in bathing, sir. She asked that hot water be brought up less than a quarter of an hour ago," Perryman replied.

"Very well," Blake said. "Please inform Lady Wethering that I wish to see her immediately and I wish to see Miss Fairfax as soon as she's completed her toilette."

"Very good, sir," Perryman answered.

"Was this your idea?" Blake waved a rolled-up newspaper in the air as his aunt breezed into his study in a flurry of satin and a cloud of perfume, her black malacca cane clutched tightly in her hand. "Or hers?"

"Hello, dear boy, it's lovely to see you, too," she chided, sidling up to him and presenting her freshly powdered cheek for him to kiss. "Will you be joining us for dinner tonight, dear boy, or will you be dining out again?"

Blake dutifully kissed his aunt's cheek, but he refused to allow her to sidetrack him. He took her by the shoulder and gently turned her, so she could see his face and repeated his question, scowling to make certain she understood he meant business. "I asked you a question, Aunt Delia."