Scandal on Rincon Hill (31 page)

He was indeed present, as I had hoped. Unfortunately, he was
not disposed to see us, and I felt my heart sink to think that our mission was to end before it truly began.

Brielle and I stood in the anteroom of Gerald Knight's office—she cradling little Emma in her arms—while a young man with greasy brown hair, and a rather sparse beard framing a narrow, sadly pimpled face, curtly informed us that Mr. Knight was out and not expected back anytime that day. This, despite the fact that Knight's door was wide open behind the clerk and we could easily spy the owner, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, seated behind a cluttered desk in a disorderly room, most of his face hidden as he bent over his work. One item of his clothing very much in evidence was a ghastly bright yellow cravat tied carelessly about his neck. Glancing at Brielle, I was rewarded with a quick nod, informing me that this was indeed her ex-lover.

Pointing out Knight's obvious presence to the unpleasant young man was fruitless. He seemed incapable of any original thought, merely parroting back to me that Mr. Knight was out and not expected back for the remainder of the day.

Realizing the hopelessness of our undertaking, Brielle and I turned to leave, when the man who wasn't there looked up, his dark eyes fastening on my lovely young companion as if drawn there by a magnet.

Now that I could clearly see his face, I was startled to realize that he was quite handsome. Somewhere in his early forties, he had sandy-brown hair which curled about his head in attractive disorder, deep blue eyes, and a long, aristocratic nose. He was clean-shaven except for a short, military-style mustache grown atop thin, disapproving lips. Despite that bit of facial hair, and a mouth which looked as if it rarely smiled, I was startled to see how closely the man resembled the small child held in my companion's arms. Brielle had told me nothing less than the truth: Gerald Knight was indeed little Emma's father!

My heart caught in my throat to see his face soften as he appeared to drink in my companion's beauty. Perhaps, I thought, the
past seven or eight months had caused him to forget how stunning his ex-mistress truly was. If anything, I imagined that motherhood had only served to enhance her exquisiteness. I wondered if he could see, as could I, her delicate Madonna-like quality as she stood there holding his child to her bosom?

Apparently he could not. Almost immediately his face tightened into an expression of unyielding reserve, his already narrow lips forming one tight, downturned line of distaste. Muttering something beneath his breath, he broke off his gaze and once again bent to his work.

Brielle and I did not speak until we had reached the street, and turning to her I was dismayed to see tears welling in her lovely eyes. I was at once saddened by this show of emotion, and chagrined that, as Robert feared, my desperate act of last resort had resulted in yet one more dashed hope she must endure.

“I heartily apologize, my dear,” I told her, feeling like a complete cad. “I should never have brought you here this morning. Gerald Knight is obviously a heartless, irresponsible rogue, who deserves neither you nor your sweet baby. The last thing I wanted to do was put you through yet more pain.”

“Please, Miss Woolson, you mustn't take all the blame onto yourself.” She forced a weak smile. “Believe me, I well understood the unlikelihood of changing Gerald's mind, but I—I'm afraid I allowed myself to pray for a miracle. I should have known better.”

“I understand what you're saying,” I agreed. “I knew it was probably a hopeless cause, yet I kept praying that if he saw little Emma, even his callous heart might soften.” I felt my anger grow as I replayed in my mind the recent scene upstairs in Knight's office. “I cannot imagine any man not feeling proud to have fathered such a beautiful baby.”

She sighed. “I'm the one who feels foolish. You do not know the man as I do. After all, I was his mistress for nearly two years. Now that I look back upon those months, I realize that Gerald Knight possesses neither the heart, nor the capacity, to love.”

She looked up and down the street. “I don't see the carriage. Didn't you tell the boy to wait for us here?”

“Yes, I did.” The space where Eddie had parked the brougham was now occupied by a heavily loaded dray, the draft horse harnessed in front contentedly chewing on a bag of oats. “Where did that boy take himself off to?”

Thinking Eddie might have found it necessary to move the carriage, I walked around the corner, and was just in time to see a tall man exit the rear of the
Daily Journal
building. He was pulling on his coat as he walked hastily toward a four-wheeled spider phaeton parked on the side street. My eye was instantly caught by the appalling yellow tie. The man was none other than Gerald Knight.

Calling out most indecorously to Brielle, and causing several well turned-out ladies to eye me with displeasure, I motioned that she should follow me, then turned and hurried after Knight. I caught him up just as he was about to enter the vehicle. Without stopping to consider the consequences of my actions, I recklessly took hold of him by the sleeve of the coat he had just donned.

“Mr. Knight, please wait.” Glancing over my shoulder, I spied Brielle holding tight to the baby as she made her way toward us with as much haste as she could safely manage. “There is someone you really must meet.”

Uttering several unrepeatable expletives, he started to pull his arm out of my grasp when he, too, caught sight of Brielle. He grew suddenly as still as a statue, his eyes fixed on the girl as if she were some sort of heavenly apparition. Watching her approach, I could well understand his reaction. Cheeks delightfully flushed from her exertions, violet eyes bright with renewed hope, golden ringlets flying about her face in becoming disarray, Brielle resembled nothing so much as a figure come alive from a Gainsborough painting. Her loveliness was breathtaking. Apparently, it had the same effect on Knight, for he said nothing, but continued to stare at her as if transfixed.

“Gerald,” said Brielle, her voice soft and girlishly breathless. She stopped a few feet away from where we stood by the phaeton,
as if hesitant to come any closer to her ex-lover. “I . . . I have brought our daughter for you to see.”

Gently, she pulled back the blanket, revealing little Emma's sleeping face. If Brielle had stepped out of a Gainsborough painting, then the baby was unquestionably one of Raphael's cherubs.

Knight did no more than glance at the child, before his eyes went once again to Brielle. Emma seemed to hold little interest for him; all his attention was fixed on the baby's mother.

“Would you like to hold her?” asked Brielle, a bit tentatively. She held the baby out to him. “Her name is Emma, after your mother.”

He stared at the child, long nose wrinkled in distaste, as if she were some sort of offensive creature not to be touched.

“No, of course I don't want to hold her,” he declared, taking a step back, and appearing fearful lest he come into contact with the baby. “Why should I want anything to do with her? She's not my child.”

I watched Brielle's lovely face deflate like a party balloon that has been punctured with a pin. The light went out of her eyes, and the pink drained from her rosy cheeks. She stopped walking toward him, and once again pulled the baby close to her bosom, murmuring soft, crooning sounds to her small daughter, as if to make up for her father's cruel rejection.

“I know neither you, nor your child, madam,” he said, his tone imperious. “And I warn you that if you do not cease this unwarranted harassment, I shall be forced to seek legal action.”

“Or sic your thugs on her again?” I said, my temper growing with every word that issued from the despicable man's mouth. “We have not been introduced, Mr. Knight, but I am Sarah Woolson, Miss Bouchard's attorney. I am serving you with fair warning that if my client is ever again accosted by your hoodlums, it is you who will be facing a day in court, and very likely time spent in jail.”

I stepped closer to the odious man, until I could feel his hot, slightly acrid breath on my face. In for a penny, in for a pound, I told myself, as I prepared to play the last card in my piteously weak hand.

“You may deny your relationship with this young lady, Mr. Knight, but the child in her arms is your spitting image. Shame on
you for so heartlessly rebuffing her. You are a cad and a coward of the—”

“Gerald?” came a female voice from inside the carriage. “Gerald! Who are you speaking to?”

There was a movement inside the phaeton, and a woman's head appeared in the open door. Although I had never met the lady, I was certain from Samuel's description that this was Gerald's wife, Lily Randolph Knight. According to my brother, it was she who had brought her family's money into the marriage, and it was she who continued to safeguard the family's purse strings.

As Knight reluctantly helped his wife down from the carriage, I saw that Lily Knight was a rather ordinary-looking woman, somewhere in her early fifties, I judged—at least ten years older than her husband. She was short and stout of girth, with graying, nondescript brown hair tucked into a tight bun beneath a brown velvet hat. Her cheeks were plump and her lips as full as her husband's were thin.

Upon reaching the ground, she arranged her skirts neatly about her ample waist, then studied Brielle and me with intelligent brown eyes. She afforded me but a brief appraisal, seeming far more interested in my young companion and the baby in her arms.

“You must be my husband's latest paramour,” she said with surprising frankness. She removed a pair of spectacles from her reticule, settled them upon her nose, then moved closer to Brielle, taking in the girl's face and manner of dress with myopic eyes.

“Yes,” she said at length, nodding her head. “I can understand his attraction to you—Miss Bouchard, isn't it? You are undeniably beautiful. Of course you are young enough to be his daughter, but that has never prevented Mr. Knight from having his way with any girl who takes his fancy.”

“Lily, really!” sputtered her husband, his stricken face looking up and down the street for fear passersby should overhear his wife. “You're quite mistaken, my dear. I give you my word that I have never seen this girl before in my life.”

Lily gave him a deprecating look. “Your word, indeed, Gerald.
Since when has your word been worth the breath required to speak it?” Once again she donned her spectacles, and turned back to Brielle. “Would you be so kind as to remove the baby's wrap so that I may see its face, Miss Bouchard?”

The girl hesitated, then slowly drew back the soft wool blanket to reveal little Emma's angelic face. Just as Mrs. Knight leaned closer for a better look, the baby opened her eyes and looked directly back at the woman.

“Oh, my,” said Lily with a start. “Just see how alert she is for such a tiny thing. How old is she, three, four months?”

“She is three months old, Mrs. Knight,” Brielle answered, clutching her child tightly, as if not sure what to make of the unexpected attention issuing from her ex-lover's wife.

Paying no heed to this reaction, Lily reached out a finger and lightly tickled the child under her chubby chin, then smiled when the baby chortled happily. “She appears healthy enough. What did you say her name was? I couldn't quite make it out from inside the phaeton.”

“Emma, Mrs. Knight. I called her Emma after—”

“Yes, yes, after Gerald's mother,” the older woman broke in with a chuckle. “I'm sure Mrs. Knight would find it gratifying to know that her son's illegitimate daughter has been named in her honor. I doubt that Gerald will be sharing this news with his elderly mama, however, will you, dear?”

Her husband did his best to speak, but she ignored him as if he were as invisible as his office clerk had insisted. Her sharp brown eyes had moved to me.

“I believe you said your name was Sarah Woolson, did you not?” she asked. “Could I have heard correctly that you are actually an attorney?”

After I had confirmed this to be true, she clucked, “My, my, that is remarkable. What will women think to do next?”

“Lily, this is quite enough,” objected Gerald. “Do not waste any more time on these two and their pack of lies. If we do not hurry we'll be late for—”

“Gerald, be quiet!” Lily ordered. Her attention had gone back to the baby, and she was gently tilting little Emma's face first one way, then the other. All the while, the little girl's eyes never left the woman's face, which the tyke seemed to find inordinately interesting.

“Miss Woolson is quite correct, Gerald,” she said, pulling back from Brielle. “This baby looks exactly like you. In fact, she quite resembles our Millicent when she was this age. Millicent is the eldest of our three children,” she explained for our benefit. “She is now eighteen, our son Jonathan is sixteen, and our youngest daughter, Deirdre, is nearly fifteen.”

Straightening, she looked her husband full in the face. “You may deny your role in this child's parentage until hell freezes over, my dear, unfaithful husband, but the proof of your infidelity lies peacefully cradled in this young woman's arms.”

“Lily, please,” protested Gerald, taking his wife's arm and attempting to nudge her back to the phaeton. Despite the chill December morning, I saw that he was perspiring heavily. “These women are nothing but cheap burners, out to extort whatever money they can from us. You mustn't believe their outrageous lies. Think of our reputation.”

Lily gave a dry, sad little laugh. “That's very good, Gerald. I imagine you refer to the reputation you've taken such pains to create through that crusading newspaper of yours. Created out of whole cloth, of course, since not a word of it is true.” At his startled look, she said, “Yes, my dear, I know all about your little peccadilloes. I have my sources, just as you have yours. Ironic, don't you agree?”

She gave a great sigh, and the energy seemed to suddenly drain out of her. For the first time I noticed the pain etched in the fine lines around her eyes, and the grooves set to either side of her generous mouth. How much grief has she endured because of this man? I wondered. And why has she put up with it for so long?