The Devil of Clan Sinclair (15 page)

She whispered to Hannah, “Tell her anything, but please get rid of her.”

Enid was banished by the simple expediency of another lie: Virginia was sleeping.

“A good thing I didn’t listen to her, but to my own instinct,” Enid said to Hannah at the door, sounding annoyed. “I told the girl it was too soon.”

When she had left, Hannah returned to the bed, smiling down at Elliot. He started to fuss, tiny sounds of distress that were somehow, Virginia thought, connected to her heart. He thrust his hands into the air, wrinkled his face and pursed his lips.

“We need to get him to the wet nurse,” Hannah said.

Another point of contention, one in which Virginia had remained silent. Enid assumed a wet nurse would be hired. Virginia wanted to tend to her child herself.

“I’m not giving him to a wet nurse,” she said now. “I’m feeding him.” She opened her nightgown and put her son to her breast.

Hannah didn’t say anything, but silence didn’t mean acceptance.

“I know it isn’t done,” she said, meeting the maid’s eyes. “But I’m doing it.”

Hannah surprised her by smiling. “Then we’d best be about it, shouldn’t we?”

Elliot Traylor, eleventh Earl of Barrett made a mewling sound before he started to suckle.

Chapter 17

London

June, 1870

T
he garden was lovely on this pleasant June afternoon. Eudora had coaxed the most wonderful blossoms from the plants in the corner. They smelled of roses although they didn’t look similar. Combined with the scent of the honeysuckle, it was a perfect scented breeze, almost enough to counter the smells of London.

The sun warmed the bench where Virginia sat near a topiary bush. Elliot lay in her arms, asleep, his face twitching from time to time. Did he dream baby dreams? Or was he getting ready to awaken, hungry again?

Carefully, so as not to wake him, she tenderly adjusted the blanket below his chin with her fingers.

When Hannah had gone to fetch tea, she’d escaped to the garden, cherishing the moments alone with her son.

No one could have been as sweet or kind as Eudora and Ellice. Eudora had sewn all the clothes Elliot could possibly need, while Ellice added new lace to Lawrence’s christening gown for the ceremony scheduled next month.

Most of the time, one of her sisters-in-law hovered around her son, commenting on his every movement, his surprising black hair when no one in the family had a similar shade, or how much his nose resembled Lawrence’s.

Truly, such slavish adoration could not be good for the child. Look at Lawrence. Everyone in his family had treated him the same way.

Enid remained silent, except for praising the rate at which Elliot was growing. Only she and Enid knew he was a few weeks early. To the rest of the family, he had been born on time.

His lips twitched in sleep.

When she made the comment that she loved his smile, Enid shook her head. “He’s much too young to smile. He merely has stomach distress.”

Elliot woke and gurgled at her, his deep blue eyes fixed on her face. Suddenly, Macrath was in her thoughts so sharply she could almost see him.

She wasn’t going to wonder how long the voyage to Australia was or how dangerous. It would be foolish to worry about him getting sick. He was strong and healthy, not a newborn babe or a sickly mother. He would return. Would he come back with a wife?

If so, it was none of her concern.

She should forget him, but how did she do that, especially with his son looking more like him each day? How did she smile into Elliot’s face and pretend his father was dead?

Above all, how did she rid herself of this feeling of guilt? How did she live with herself for the rest of her life?

Should she write him? Should she put pen to paper and somehow find the words?

Dearest Macrath, you are a father of a son, born on a wet and rainy March day in a burst of energy. He’s a darling child, handsome and intelligent. I see great things in his future.

Perhaps, rather than writing him, she would keep a journal. She’d record Elliot’s accomplishments. She’d tell him what she thought when their child smiled at her, and how her heart ached to think he would never see and never know of Elliot.

When Macrath married, she’d find a way to be glad about his happiness. She wouldn’t think of them living at Drumvagen, a jewel of a house mirroring Macrath’s hopes for a clan. Soon, he’d have children, Elliot’s half sisters and half brothers.

Elliot would never know his father, and the knowledge rested on her soul like a huge black stone.

Macrath married was the same as Macrath in Australia, out of sight and out of her life. Not entirely, however, with his son’s face looking back at her every day.

If she did keep a daily journal, what would she write?

Today, our child turned four months old. He is growing faster than I would have thought possible in size and knowledge. He knows my face as I lean over him and reaches for me.

He reminds me of you, dearest Macrath. Not only because of his intent look, but his smile. It seems to have been taken from your face.

Elliot’s nose wrinkled and his face started to turn red. His cries were full blown in seconds. She propped him on her shoulder and rubbed his back, hating to hear him whimper.

“I think he’s hungry,” Ellice said, coming into the garden followed by Eudora. Ellice was carrying a tea tray and Eudora another plant that she placed near the bench were Virginia was sitting.

They each wore summery dresses of black silk with white cuffs and collar. Eudora looked well in black but it washed out Ellice’s coloring.

“You’re right,” she said, standing and cradling Elliot in her arms. “If you’ll excuse us, I’ll go and feed him.”

The girls look startled, just as they did every time she reminded them she was rearing Elliot in a forbidden way. Granted, she’d allowed Enid to hire a nursemaid, a sweet young girl named Mary who cared for Elliot at night. Even so, she still nursed him.

Enid had lectured her almost every day that such behavior was not done in London society. She had stood firm, however, refusing to be swayed. Every day, she simply walked away, taking Elliot to a secluded corner where she could feed him in peace.

As she left the garden, she looked down into his face. “You’re going to be such a handsome man, aren’t you?”

His mouth twisted.

“Will you break a woman’s heart? Just like your father? Please don’t do such a thing,” she told Elliot, placing him against her shoulder and rubbing his back.

His head bobbed against her cheek, and she placed a kiss on his delicate ear.

“Do not let a woman yearn for you. Find one you can love, and make her yours, even if you have to spirit her away.”

What would’ve happened if she’d stayed in Scotland with Macrath? A selfish act, and one that would have pleased her but put Enid, Eudora, and Ellice in peril.

Now their future was assured. Their present was protected. All she had to worry about was forgetting the past.

S
omeone should warn Virginia that sitting in the sunlight would cause her skin to darken and look more common.

Paul watched her caring for the child, the spawn of the Scotsman, like he was the eleventh Earl of Barrett in truth. He admired her for the courage of the ruse, for daring to do something few of her contemporaries would do, even as he loathed her for it.

She could have chosen him. Together, they could have raised their child as the earl. He would even have stayed in the background, allowing her to be portrayed as the earl’s widowed countess, content to be her lover by night and her servant by day.

She’d never given him the chance.

He supposed the child was comely. Children had never interested him.

Each of these titled brats boasted a better future than the one he’d been granted. Without doing one thing, they would be feted and applauded, supported and praised. They would, simply by drawing breath, be congratulated.

He didn’t hate the rich and the titled. He hated that they never saw anyone beneath their aristocratic noses. They believed they were touched by divine providence and were special. They saw themselves as different people than the masses, graced by privilege and deserving of it.

Virginia was unique, however. First, she wasn’t born to the peerage but had come from America. Second, she noticed people around her, often conversed with the maids, thanked Cook for a lovely meal, and never considered anyone beneath her. She’d even been kind to Lawrence, who didn’t deserve her consideration.

Did she know what else Lawrence had done besides spending her father’s fortune?

He doubted it.

The only person she wasn’t considerate of was him, the one individual who deserved her notice and appreciation. He’d protected her. He’d done what he could to ease her life. He’d carried her to her room when she was in labor and she’d not once mentioned it.

He’d never forgotten the feel of her in his arms.

Now, her sisters-in-law joined her, the sound of their laughter carrying across the lawn like crystal chimes.

He was glad she was happy, even if he wasn’t the source of it. For now, he was content to watch.

When it was time, he would go to her and tell her everything. She’d welcome him. She’d open her arms to him, seeing him for who he was, a man of great ambition and talent, who would provide for her for the rest of her life.

Perhaps they’d go to America together. He’d leave the spawn of the Scotsman here and take her away. There, they’d be alone, and when she bore another child, it would be his.

He watched as she stood and entered the house, then walked around to the kitchen entrance.

Someone spoke to him, but he ignored the summons, intent on intercepting her. There she was, at the base of the stairs.

“Have you quit the garden, your ladyship?”

She turned her head and regarded him. Did she think he was handsome? The maids did, and Ellice thought so as well. Eudora was curiously indifferent to him.

He placed one hand on the banister, the other on the wall, trapping her.

The scent of roses trailed after her, marking the air as special. Did she wear it for him? He doubted it. She didn’t yet notice him.

One day she would look at him differently. One day she’d seek him out wherever he was.

“Yes,” she said, starting up the staircase and cooing to the baby in her arms.

He followed her slowly, mounting the steps behind her.

“He’s a lovely boy,” he said. “All hale and robust. Not at all like his father, is he? He doesn’t have Lawrence’s heart problems?”

She stopped on the steps but didn’t turn. “No. He’s very healthy.”

“He doesn’t look like him, though, does he?”

She kept her gaze on her son’s face. “I believe he looks a great deal like my father,” she said.

“Pity no one remembers what your father looked like. Were his eyes that shade of blue?”

She gripped the banister tightly with one hand until her knuckles whitened.

No, she didn’t like that comment at all, did she?

She half turned, gazed down at him.

“Why do you care, Paul?”

He smiled. “I am but curious, your ladyship.”

“Is curiosity a wise emotion in a servant?”

He kept his smile anchored with difficulty.

“You’ll never find a man more devoted than I, your ladyship.”

He bowed slightly, not above such gestures in her presence. He would have knelt at her feet if it would have done any good. No, time was what he needed, and time was on his side.

Smiling, he descended the steps, patient for the day when she realized who he was.

V
irginia watched as Paul descended the stairs, taking the first deep breath since seeing him.

Wasn’t there any way to prevent him from approaching her?

If they’d still employed a majordomo, she would have gone to him with her complaints about Paul. But Albert had left their household two weeks ago, citing illness in the family.

Someone needed to take Paul in hand. He laughed with too much abandon with Ellice. The girl’s excuse was that she was sixteen. He complimented Eudora outlandishly and the elder girl smiled, accepting the words as her due.

How dare he question Elliot’s health? Nor did she care for his examination of her son, almost like he was matching physical features and coloring with his memories of Lawrence.

What did he know? What he might suspect was an entirely different thing, however.

Perhaps she should think of retiring to one of the other properties Lawrence had purchased with her father’s money. Surely the girls and Enid would be willing to quit London for a while.

Lawrence had spent a goodly sum on a house in Cornwall. From what she’d heard of the region, the winds were fast and chilled. Although too close to the sea, at least they wouldn’t be subjected to the odor of London’s sewers.

She would go and try to talk Enid into Cornwall, and while she was with her mother-in-law, she would bring up the subject of dismissing Paul Henderson.

A few minutes later she put Elliot in his crib, bid the nursemaid to watch over him, and went in search of Enid.

She found her in the library.

“I’ll come back,” she said when she realized Enid was going over menu plans with Cook.

“Nonsense,” Enid said, motioning to the other woman. “We’re done.”

Cook stood, bobbed a little curtsy to both of them, and left the room, shutting the door behind her. Cook always smelled of bread and the scent was a pleasant one.

“The price of beef is so dear today, we have to conserve where we can.”

Virginia nodded, but her attention was on what she was about to say or perhaps how to say it. She eased into the chair in front of the desk.

“We need to dismiss Paul Henderson,” she said, a little more bluntly than she intended.

Enid settled back, her eyes on the papers in front of her. “Do we?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “We do. He does not act appropriately with either Ellice or Eudora. Nor does he seem to do anything except watch people.”

She smoothed her hand over the curved edge of the mahogany desk. How long had it been in the Traylor family? Was it, too, another possession that must pass from heir to heir?

“I know he reminds you of Lawrence,” she said.

“Don’t be foolish.”

Startled, she glanced at Enid. Her mother-in-law stared back at her, eyes steady. Her lips were clamped together, plumping her face in an unattractive way, until she bore a striking resemblance to an angry bulldog.