A Rogue for All Seasons (Weston Family) (21 page)

“I feared this would happen,” the duchess continued as she smoothed a sheet over her daughter. “She has not been taking proper care of herself.”

Linnet whimpered as her body arched in pain. The hand that had lain lifeless in his suddenly gripped him with inhuman strength. Her eyes opened and focused on his face.

“Thomas?”

“I’m here, my love.”

Her gaze moved beyond him, taking in the worried faces clustered around her bedside. “Am I dying?” she whispered.

“No!” He squeezed her hand. “Listen to me, Linnet. You’re not going to die.”

Another contraction wracked her body, leaving her sweaty and weak. The duchess dabbed at her brow with a wet cloth. One of the maids gasped. Thomas followed her line of vision and saw with horror the crimson patch that had blossomed on the sheet between her thighs.

Ages passed before the doctor and his nurse arrived. An elderly gentleman, he quickly took in the situation and ordered everyone from the room.

“She’s my wife,” Thomas protested as the nurse urged him away from the bed. “I can’t leave her.”

“If you stay, you will only be in the way,” the nurse explained patiently. “Come along, sir. The doctor and I will see to Lady Linnet.” She gave him a comforting pat on his shoulder as she pushed him out the door. “The doctor is very capable, but I will come for you if the situation worsens.”

Numb with shock, Thomas allowed a footman to lead him to a small parlor. Small by ducal standards, that was. The sunny yellow room was larger than any room at Swallowsdale Grange. Unable to stand the sight of the cheery walls, he buried his face in his hands. He made bargains with God, the Devil, and every saint whose name he could remember along with some he couldn’t. He prayed, cursed, and wept.

He knew his children were somewhere in the house, likely scared and confused, but he could not go to them. When he’d asked to see them, the footman brought a response from the duchess that she had calmed the children and, after what they had witnessed, his presence would only upset them. The old bitch might be lying, but another argument under this roof would help no one.

The light in the room faded away as night fell. A maid came in to light the candles and tend the fire. He began to wonder if the duchess had forgotten him. The other alternative, that no one wanted to face him with bad news, he refused to consider. When the candles had burned halfway down, he stood, ready to demand answers, but before he had taken a step, the duchess entered the room carrying a small wrapped bundle in her arms.

“Linnet?” he croaked.

“She is alive but weak. She lost a great deal of blood, but the doctor is hopeful for a full recovery.”

He wet his lips. “The child?”

She shook her head, then walked purposefully toward him. Thomas wanted to close his eyes as the duchess drew back the top layer of cloth, but he forced himself to see the babe.

“Your daughter,” the duchess said tonelessly.

She was impossibly tiny and beautiful, like a sleeping angel. In the candlelight, the barely formed crescents of her eyelashes and eyebrows glinted copper. There was no mistaking that she was his daughter.

Thomas wasn’t a man of science. He did not know what held his heart together or caused it to beat, but he knew they failed at the sight of his baby girl, pale and lifeless. A sob tore from his throat, a howl of pain so intense he could not contain it. He reached out, but the duchess stepped back, drawing the cloth back into place.

“Listen well, Mr. Merriwether. Years ago, you stole my daughter’s rightful place in society. Months ago, you broke her heart. She had finally found some measure of peace before your arrival. Are you so determined to ruin her life?” She sneered in contempt. “You should have stayed away. Today you took this innocent child’s life and very nearly Linnet’s as well. If you truly love her, you will leave now and keep your distance.”

He’d fled, but he hadn’t been able to hide from her accusations. He’d had a glimpse of that small, perfect face, and the sight was forever impressed on his mind. He saw her when he closed his eyes at night, relived that accursed day countless times, and he could never escape the crushing grief and guilt that came with the memories.

He’d done as the duchess had asked. He’d kept his distance. He’d kept his distance for sixteen long years. Linnet had been the one to break the years of silence between them.

Thomas sighed as he refolded his wife’s letter and placed it back in his pocket. He would do as she asked, and not only for her sake. He had failed to protect one of his daughters. He’d protected Diana as best he knew how, by leaving her with her mother and putting as much distance as possible between them.

“Mr. Merriwether, the gentleman you asked about is here.”

Thomas looked up to see Old Tatt’s son, Edmund, who had taken over his father’s business after his sire’s death a few years ago. Edmund led him outside to the stalls.

“There he is.” Edmund pointed a finger. “The tall, fair one, looking at Derby’s colt. Usually turned out a bit neater, I must say. Do you want an introduction?”

“No, thank you. I’ll let you be about your business.”

He made his way over to the young man. Weston’s attention was on the horse, which gave Thomas time to observe him. He saw nothing to allay his wife’s fears. The scamp’s hair was in rakish disarray, but not from a valet’s careful styling. He was still in his evening dress, rumpled and much the worse for wear, indicating that he’d come to Tattersall’s straight from the previous night’s dissipations. Henry Weston appeared capable of every vice known to man and then some.

Thomas sidled up beside him. “Beautiful colt,” he noted appreciatively. “Sir Peter’s get, unless I’m much mistaken. If I were Derby, I wouldn’t let him go.”

Weston turned to see who had addressed him.

Thomas held out his hand. “Allow me to introduce myself. Thomas—”

“Merriwether,” Weston finished, clasping Thomas’s hand in a brief, crushing grip. “I know who you are. I daresay everyone here knows you. I saw your Penelope win the Oaks last year.”

“Ah, Penny, my faithful girl. I hope you had the good sense to bet on her.”

“Oh, I did.” He grinned. “And a pretty sum I made off her, too.”

While gambling wasn’t a quality he sought in a son-in-law, Thomas found it difficult to judge the man too harshly when he’d wagered on his prize filly. “Word is, you’re starting your own stud,” he said casually.

“I make no secret of it.”

“I also hear you’re courting my daughter.”

Weston shrugged. “I make no secret of that either. All of London knows.” The hand he ran through his hand looked a bit unsteady.

Thomas’s eyes narrowed. “Are you foxed, Mr. Weston?”

The young man let out a loud sigh. “Not anymore. I must remedy that.”

Thomas bit the inside of his cheek, reminding himself all young men of Weston’s class were spoiled and took their privileged lives for granted. He dealt with men like this all the time.

“I’ll be frank with you. I find no fault in your taste for horseflesh, but your reputation leaves much to be desired. You’re not the sort of man I want around my daughter.”

“Is that so?” Weston regarded him with languid insolence. “I think that’s her decision.”

Thomas noted the tightly clenched fists at the younger man’s side. Everything else in his body proclaimed him relaxed and carefree, but those hands gave him away.

“You say you saw my Penelope race?”

Weston frowned at the abrupt change of subject, but he nodded.

“I’ll give her to you if you agree to stay away from Diana.”

Surprise gave way to anger on Weston’s face. He curtly shook his head and turned on his heel.

“Weston, wait!”

The young man halted, then turned back to face him. “I don’t believe we have anything more to say to one another.”

“On the cont—”

Weston took a menacing step toward him. “Before you insult me again, sir, I warn you that I’m in a foul temper.” His voice was low and furious. “The only thing keeping my fist from rearranging your face is that the resulting talk would upset Diana, and she’s been hurt enough. So much, in fact, that she would rather shroud herself in propriety and consign herself to a loveless marriage than risk being hurt again.”

Thomas began to see the young man in a new, much more favorable light. “You care for her.” He didn’t say
love,
though given Weston’s miserable state, there could be little doubt the man was very much in love. But if Weston hadn’t yet come to that realization, Thomas didn’t want to scare him off. Henry Weston might be the answer to his prayers.

“Yes.” Anguish filled the solitary word.

“I misjudged you,” Thomas admitted, “and I’m sorry for it. If you truly care for Diana, you have my blessing, though it’s not worth much. Diana has refused to let me give her a dowry, but I’d like you to have Penelope. I put her to my Zephyr recently. She’ll give you champions.”

“Mr. Merriwether—”

“Starting a stud isn’t easy going. No one knows that better than I do. I would ask, though, that you bring Diana to see me after you wed. There are things that need to be said between us.”

“If you’re willing to sell Penelope, I’ll see if I can meet your price, but I would no more accept your bribe in this than I would when you offered it to keep my distance. That’s of little consequence, however, as Diana has no wish to marry me.”

The weight that had eased slightly from Thomas’s shoulders slammed back down again. “I had to try,” he said sadly. “A word of advice, and then I won’t bother you further. Diana was a mischievous child, always running about and hiding places. She changed after...” Christ, how could it still be so hard to say the words after all these years? “After her mother and I separated. I’ve watched her through the years, and even from a distance, I can see the difference. She keeps herself apart.”

“Perhaps your daughter is not as different as you believe,” Weston said. “She’s still very proficient at running and hiding.”

Thomas raised his brows at the level of frustration he heard in the man’s voice. Linnet had written to him to ascertain Weston’s intentions, and the young man appeared to love his daughter. Weston could be the saving of him… of his family. Thomas wouldn’t allow the boy to be as stupidly stubborn as he himself had once been. He needed to give him one final piece of encouragement.

“I told you that, as a girl, Diana liked to hide, but her favorite part of the game was when someone found her. You’re the first person to find her in a long while. She’s been hiding for so long, she’s scared to do anything else. If you care for my daughter, then for both your sakes, fight to keep her. Regrets are the very devil to live with.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

By the time I finish and post this, you will have seen reports about the shocking attempt on our sovereign’s life at Drury Lane. None of the family attended that night; you know how my mother feels about Cibber. The royal family stayed through the play, but in the midst of such turmoil, I cannot believe anyone found much humor in the farce playing out…

—FROM THE COUNTESS OF DUNSTON TO HER AUNT THE DOWAGER MARCHIONESS OF SHELDON

W
HILE
H
ENRY WOULD HAVE BEEN
quite happy to accept advice of an equine nature from Mr. Merriwether, whose accomplishments in that vein he greatly admired, he had little trouble dismissing the man’s romantic counsel. Given the sorry state of the other man’s amatory affairs, Henry considered doing the opposite of what Mr. Merriwether suggested and letting Diana alone. He’d nearly convinced himself to do just that before the encounter at Tattersall’s, but he found he couldn’t stay away.

That explained his presence at the Countess of Langley’s soiree, an event certain to be dull, ten days after Diana had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him. He’d tried calling at Lansdowne House, but Diana wouldn’t see him, which left him no choice but to seek her elsewhere.

He wasn’t spying, Henry told himself, leaning against the wall as he surveyed the scene before him. He’d received an invitation. There was a chance, albeit a small one, he would have attended even if Diana hadn’t been there. He was a social creature, a man of town. He liked balls, damn it.

He hadn’t commanded his valet to cozen up to one of the Lansdowne House maids to learn which events the family was planning to attend. That would be unscrupulous and a touch desperate, which was why he had only
suggested
the scheme and left Jasper to decide whether to implement it. There were other ways for the man to come by the information if he so chose.

Spying sounded so devious. Henry was… protecting Diana. He still hoped Stickley would prove to be an unsavory, unsuitable character, but his initial inquiries had met with little success. The baronet had no wife or light-skirt stashed away, he hadn’t fought a duel, and his finances weren’t in disarray, any of which would have exceedingly pleased Henry. Sir Samuel’s worst quality was having execrable taste in horseflesh and, having apprised Diana of this grievous shortcoming once before, Henry knew that wouldn’t dissuade her from marrying the man.

Henry couldn’t force her to marry him, not that she’d ever given him the chance to propose. No, he couldn’t force her, but if someone found them in a compromising situation, she’d have to marry him. He dismissed the idea as soon as it occurred to him, since Diana would never forgive him, or herself, for the resulting scandal.