“It says…” She released a whimper like an injured animal. “It says To my dear husband, David.”
Chapter 27
Leam’s breaths came in uneven chunks.
“Our…” An ocean seemed to wash through his head. “Our son is—?”
“Not his. For all the lies I have told you, I swear this upon my soul. He is James’s.”
It must be. The child looked exactly as his brother had at that age.
“But how long before—”
“I married David three weeks before you offered for me.” She seemed to shrink back against the wall. “Over the anvil in a village near the border.”
He shook his head, shaking space in it for the knowledge. The truth. The miraculous truth.
“Then why did you need me? You already had a husband. You would not have been ruined.”
“I told you. I could not bear being parted from your brother. I still cannot.” Her voice quavered.
“Sometimes I don’t believe he is dead. I dream of him at night and believe when I wake he will be there.”
“And Cox?”
She turned her face away. “Before meeting you, I was desperate, afraid to tell my parents I was increasing. Only James knew, and he had abandoned me. David said beautiful things to me, that he would protect me and care for me. I was heartbroken. I went with him, but he insisted we not tell anyone, though I begged. That same week you started courting me, admiring me so greatly. I think he saw opportunity. You had a fortune and are to be a duke—”
“Cornelia.”
She fell silent, staring at him with wide eyes. He passed his hand across his face. It could not be.
But it was.
“Have you proof of your wedding other than the inscription on the cameo?”
“I kept the receipt of payment from the blacksmith who performed the ceremony. And it has not been very long since then, after all. I think I would recognize the witnesses if they were before me.
David has never had any money, so I don’t believe he could have bribed them to maintain their silence, even now. He wanted to blackmail you, but I don’t know that he thought he would be able to do so for long. I don’t think he thought it out clearly at all. He is very impetuous, and always believing that others seek to harm him.”
He crossed the chamber and as gently as his racing pulse allowed, grasped her arms and looked down at her.
“We are not married. We are not married ,” he repeated for good measure and because his life had abruptly begun again.
She shook her head. “We never were.” Then she whispered, “What will you do with Jamie?”
Amid the euphoria expanding in him, regret sliced.
“Keep him, if you will allow me. Even if you will not. He is my blood. It cannot be helped that he must learn of your marriage, but he needn’t know he is not mine. And I will treat him as my son, Cornelia. I could not do otherwise.”
Her head bobbed. She reached up and set a small hand atop his. “Leam, I beg your forgiveness for what I have done to you. What I did. It is as though an enormous weight has lifted from me now, having told you all.”
He released her. “Where is Cox now?”
“I don’t know. This morning he came and was very agitated. He said something about returning to Shropshire, but—”
“I am going after him now. He has committed crimes and must be punished for them. The truth will have to be revealed publicly.”
She nodded. Then she looked away, pressing the linen to her lips once more.
“Cornelia, do your parents know of your real marriage?”
She shook her head.
“I can help you.”
“After all I have done to you? No. I deserve whatever I will suffer now.” She lifted her gaze again.
“You needn’t worry about me. After all, you have another lady to worry about now, I think.”
He could only hope. And pray. And wish upon every star in the heavens.
“Good-bye, Cornelia.”
“Good-bye, Leam. Write to me of my son, if you will, occasionally. I should like to hear of him.”
He departed.
The day had advanced, and his quick breaths turned to smoke in the cold. But the sky without was pale and low, the glow of the lowering sun fighting early spring clouds laden with uncertain rain.
Leam mounted his horse and set off. For Shropshire. To chase down a man bent on harm. And to seek out a lady worth more than the stars and sky combined.
He found Cox just shy of Bridgnorth in the taproom of a farmers’ tavern. It had not been difficult tracking him. At each stop for food and bed, Cox had left his bills unpaid.
Leam crossed the room.
Cox caught sight of him, and his face turned ashen.
It was certainly an exaggeration to claim—as some did later to others not present at the event—
that just as the late-winter sun was setting on the Severn nearby, a barbarian of a Scot that none in the place could understand stormed in, threw about chairs until at least five were ruined and another three badly splintered, then proceeded to do more or less the same to a smartly dressed gentleman from Londontown who hadn’t been bothering a soul.
That the Scotsman, while standing over his bleeding, broken prey, had the effrontery to demand a magistrate be summoned also received poor press from the locals. But, after the magistrate arrived, heard all, and departed with both strangers, then returned alone some hours later to explain that the brute was in fact heir to a duke, and the pretty fellow a low character by any standards, some were willing to reconsider their opinion on the matter. When in due course it became known that the duke’s heir was already an earl, and not only paid the tavern keep for the destruction to his property but also left a pile of guineas to be spent on ale for everyone he had bothered in the dust-up, forgiveness flowed like said ale throughout the pub.
What was the good in being a grand lord, after all, if a fellow couldn’t have a right rowdy knock-
around with a scoundrel every now and again?
“The ass made the noises all the night yesterday. I am—how do you say?—exhausted! Et toi, belle Katrine?” The Frenchwoman laid her hand gloved in fingerless black lace on Kitty’s knee and tut-
tutted. “You must go up to the sleep tout de suite.”
Kitty flipped a page in her book and tried to focus. “Not yet. I have a bit more to read, then I will turn in.” And remain awake staring at the ceiling beneath which she had made love to a barbaric Scot, this time with her nerves strained in fear and anticipation.
She should not have done this. It was unpardonably rash. Either Mr. Cox would never arrive and she would waste away waiting for him in a tiny Shropshire inn with a French widow as her only companion, other than a little boy and a pair of the most solicitous innkeepers she had ever met, due to Madame Roche informing them of Kitty’s delicate condition. Or Mr. Cox would arrive and she would be in serious danger.
Madame Roche stood. “Good night, then, ma belle.” Kitty watched her mount the stairs, somewhat bemused as always by the woman. But the widow had begun to call her ma belle as she called Emily ma petite. During this journey Kitty had apparently become one of her charges. That suited her. She would need friends in the coming months while she determined what to do with her life that was to change rather dramatically.
The front door rattled against its bolts. Kitty’s heart leaped. She stood, every nerve stretched. A heavy knock sounded on the panel. Mr. Milch came from the kitchen. He shook his head as he moved toward the foyer.