Barbara Pierce (40 page)

Fayne took the viscountess’s hand and squeezed it comfortingly. His green eyes shifted to his wife’s, hardening slightly as he shook his head ruefully. “No, madam, Kilby has a knack for getting into trouble all by herself.”

Kilby brought her chin up haughtily at his remark. She and Priddy had just fought off a madman. If she had hoped his anger over her blatant disobedience would have waned in the face of adversity, she was sadly mistaken. “On a few issues, my husband is correct, Priddy. I should have mentioned Lord Ordish.”

“You should have mentioned a hell of a great deal more, Kilby,” Fayne said, causing her to wince at his biting tone.

He was furious over her rebellious decision to leave the Brawleys’ town house.

“Do you understand the danger you were in as a result of your reckless actions?” Fayne asked, staring at her as if he were tempted to paddle her backside in front of the viscountess. “Your lack of faith in me put you tidily into the hands of a madman.”

“I did not exactly . . .” Kilby trailed off with a weary sigh. “Well, not really . . . at least not for long anyway, thanks to you and your friends.”

“The note he forced the viscountess to write preyed upon your fears. You know me well enough to know that I care little what the
ton
thinks. Even if anyone had believed your brother’s lies about your questionable parentage, do you think it would have mattered? You wouldn’t have been the first duchess in our family to be embroiled in a scandal. You disappoint me, Duchess. You should have trusted me to handle your brother.” He stood and rubbed the stiffness in his neck.

Priddy flashed Kilby a sympathetic look, hoping to ease the sting of Fayne’s criticism. “Your Grace, I beg of you to strive for patience. Archer has been influencing Kilby longer than you. Her brother took every opportunity to abuse his position, cruelly attempting to justify his perverted nature. Lord Ordish had heard rumors about how Archer had taken Kilby from my house, and had deduced that Kilby would come to protect me. In truth, I am to blame for this debacle.”

Kilby’s shoulders slumped in despair. “I just thought of something. If Lord Nipping is my father, then Archer is truly my brother.” She was not pleased by the revelation.

“Blood tie or not,” Fayne said forbiddingly, glaring at the closed library door as if he could see through it down to the troubled marquess. “It will not spare him, not even for you, Kilby. I may consider leniency, if your brother willingly surrenders his guardianship of Gypsy to me and does not contest our marriage. If he wants a fight, I will take him to the courts. The Carlisles have the wealth and influence to break him.”

Priddy cleared her throat, taken aback by the vehemence in the duke’s vow. No one doubted that Fayne would bend Archer to his will. “Rest assured, my girl, Lord Nipping was your father. Lord Ordish told you essentially the truth, though his resentment clouded his perception.”

Kilby set her glass down. She had a thousand questions
to ask Priddy. The pain of what she had lost rose up within her like an all-consuming wave, leaving her devastated. “Why was I not told the truth? After my parents’ death, you could have told me.” Fayne’s silence was very telling. Kilby wondered how much of the truth he had gleaned on his own.

“What truth?” Priddy asked. “The moment Grennil pushed you into Ermina’s arms, you were hers. If I had been given the choice, I could not have picked a more loving, superior lady than my dear friend Ermina for your mother.”

She had such conflicting emotions battering her insides. Priddy was right. Lady Nipping was her mother. To think otherwise was a betrayal, especially now that she knew the true circumstances of her birth. Then there was her friend Priddy. She loved the viscountess. The lady had suffered silently, giving up the child she had clearly desired. Fayne seemed to sense her torment. Putting his personal annoyance with her aside, he gathered her into his arms and settled them both down into the chair. Kilby leaned against him, craving the strength and heat that radiated from him.

Priddy’s light blue eyes grew distant as she spoke of the past. “Knowing Grennil, I assume he had expected Lady Nipping to coldly reject her husband’s bastard daughter. Maybe he had hopes of ruining their marriage. I do not know. He was certainly capable of it.” The viscountess quietly sipped her brandy. She lifted her head, bracing her shoulders. Speaking of the past had always been difficult for her. “My brief affair with your father was not as sordid as Lord Ordish purported. I thought my marriage was over when I encountered Lord Nipping. His first wife had just died and he had an infant son to raise alone. For a time, we turned to each other for comfort. It was only afterward that I realized I was with child. By then, your father had met Ermina, and had fallen in love. I was still married to Grennil so I saw no reason to ruin their happiness.”

“Were you in love with my father?” Kilby asked, before she could censure the unbidden thought.

Lady Quennell briefly reflected on the question. “It was a difficult time for me, my dear. Lord Nipping was so unlike the gentleman I had married. He was generous and romantic, and for a while, I suppose I did think myself in love with him. That, naturally, changed when he met your mother. They were so perfect, so wonderful together.”

Tears shone in Kilby’s violet eyes. “I know.” Her parents had loved each other with an enviable passion. That love had encompassed their children. The blood ties Lord Ordish had claimed were so important, had not mattered to the woman she had believed was her mother. Kilby glanced up at Fayne. She lightly caressed his beard-stubbled jaw. He shuddered and leaned into her hand.

“Ermina saw you as the miracle you were. It immediately became apparent to your parents that even if they had tried to return you to me, I could not keep you, not even acknowledge you. Grennil was abusive,” Priddy confessed, she glanced away, ashamed. “You would not have been safe in my care. My husband could not forgive my betrayal. When he took you from me, he broke my spirit in ways I never thought possible.”

She reached out for the viscountess’s hand. “Oh, Priddy.” With hands clasped, Kilby ached for the older woman. Lady Quennell had always been part of her family’s life. The beautiful, elegant lady with a flirtatious smile had visited Ealkin several times a year laden with gifts for the Nipping children and adventurous stories to amuse her parents. “You were always a part of our lives, and yet I never guessed.”

“You were not supposed to,” Fayne murmured, cuddling her closer. “The arrangement protected not only you from Lord Ordish’s wrath, but the viscountess as well.”

“You are correct, Your Grace,” Priddy conceded with a subtle nod.

“Call me Carlisle,” Fayne said, shrugging gracefully. “Or Tem, if you prefer. It is what the family calls me.”

The viscountess’s face crumpled, overwhelmed by her new son-in-law’s kindness. “Very well—Tem.” Her breath quivered when she exhaled. “Your astuteness serves you well. Grennil was never quite rational after he surrendered Kilby to the Nippings. Even after he was granted the divorce, I feared him. I left England for several years, hoping he would forget about me. It was your mother, Kilby, who kept in touch. When word reached her that Grennil had left England, she urged me to return home. Your family by then, was living quietly at Ealkin. Your father never had any patience for the
ton
. In those early years, discreet visits to Ealkin by an old friend of the family went unnoticed. Eventually, Grennil became Lord Ordish, and I married my Lord Quennell. It was simpler, and perhaps kinder, to distance myself from the sorrowful lady who had been forced to give up her baby.”

Kilby slipped away from Fayne’s embrace. Kneeling beside her newly found mother, she said, “No one is blaming you, least of all me. You deserved to be happy, Priddy.”

The viscountess cupped Kilby’s face with her hand. “I have made mistakes. I should have told you the truth about me, about Grennil, after your parents’ deaths. If I had, you would not have believed Archer’s lies or encountered Lord Ordish—”

“Or become my duchess,” Fayne said dryly. “Or found
you.
To embrace the joy in our lives, my lady, we must resign ourselves to the bad. In my case, it is Kilby’s brother. However, with Ordish permanently out of the way, I have high hopes Nipping will soon follow.”

“Perhaps we should have taken Priddy up on her offer to remain at her house?”

Kilby sounded nervous. Fayne knew her anxiety had nothing to do with the shocking discovery that the lady was her mother. Kilby already loved the viscountess. In time, she would understand that accepting the lady as her mother was not a betrayal to the memory of the lady who raised her. She was fortunate to have had two mothers who loved her, who thought only of her happiness.

Fayne gave her a playful nudge up the pathway, which led to the Solitea town house. “No. Ordish’s body was removed and the authorities are satisfied. Priddy told you that she planned to go to bed and recover from her ordeal. With luck, I anticipate doing the same. Perhaps the urge to paddle your backside will wane in a month or two.”

“Are you frightfully angry at me?” she asked in a faint, slightly childish voice.

Fayne felt himself soften, despite his resolve not to let her off so lightly. “What do you think? You disobeyed an
order meant only for your protection and then shared tea with your would-be killer. How angry do you think I should be?” he muttered crossly. He had not been married to the lady a week, and already he was losing his sanity. If the Solitea curse did not claim him, chasing after his errant duchess was likely to put him in an early grave.

Still rebellious, Kilby pouted. “Not so angry as to feed me to the dragon.”

Fayne halted, thoroughly perplexed by her reasoning. “What the devil are you talking about?” With the exception of some cuts on her hand, Kilby had escaped the fate Or-dish had planned for her and the viscountess relatively unscathed. Her nonsensical chatter was making him reconsider his opinion.

She glowered at the Solitea town house. “I am talking about you handing me over to your mother. I suppose I deserve whatever punishment you deem appropriate. Frankly, however, I am exhausted and not quite up to being devoured by your mother this evening.”

So much had happened, he had forgotten Kilby’s concerns about his family. “Little wolf, my mother knows I have married. She knows
who
I have married.”

“And probably fearful of your life, considering your father’s tragic fate,” she added tartly. Kilby seized the edges of his coat. “Please, Fayne, can we go someplace else? Your town house? Who cares if there are servants or not? Or—or your sister’s house? Or even sleep on the bank of the Thames? I am not fussy.”

Fayne gathered his wife close. Kilby had taken on a murderous earl, but the thought of meeting his mother paralyzed her with terror. “The duchess is harmless,” he said, guiding her to the door. “Wait and see. She’ll come to love you as much as I do.”

He pounded on the door. Almost immediately the butler
opened the door. “Good evening, Your Graces. The household was not expecting you this evening.”

Fayne smiled at the servant. The butler had been in his family’s employ for years and was well acquainted with their eccentric tendencies. “Good evening, Curdey. I trust you have room for me and my duchess for a few days.”

Stepping back, the butler opened the door wider. “Of course, Your Grace. If you would follow—”

Kilby held out her arm, blocking his way. “Wait! A moment, if you please, Curdey.” She looked up at him, her violet eyes shimmering with diffidence. “You love me?”

“Evidently. I married you,” he retorted, half convinced his duchess had struck her head. “I do not make a habit of marrying every lady I—”

Kilby tactfully clamped her hand over his mouth. “I love you, too.”

His little duchess was striving to make a good impression. Fayne could have told her the servants had by now surmised that there was nothing
good
about a Carlisle.

“Curdey?” his mother inquired from above. “Who is at the door?”

Fayne grinned impishly as Kilby did her best to crawl into his waistcoat pocket. “I thought you’d like to meet the lady who ruined me”—he ignored Kilby’s ruthless jab to his injured ribs—“for all others.”

The dowager duchess was not what Kilby had expected. A few years older than Priddy, her resemblance to Lady Fayre was uncanny. Instead of the Carlisle green, the dowager’s eyes were a tranquil blue. Still dressed for an evening out, the older woman gestured for them to join her upstairs in the music room.

“Come up. We have just returned.” The woman warmly embraced her son. “Oh, how I have missed you.”

Fayne cursed when his mother tugged on his ear sharply. “What was that for?” he bellowed indignantly.

“For your impatience!” the dowager snapped back. “What was this business of scampering off to Gretna Green? You are just like your father, I vow. You hold off for years, ignoring all my attempts to pair you with a decent lady.” She glanced at Kilby, seeking sympathy for the troubles a devoted mother suffered on her children’s behalf.

Kilby gave the woman a faint smile.

It was all the encouragement the dowager needed. “And then without a word to anyone, you pick out your own fine lady and marry her.”

Fayne winked at Kilby. Appearing offended, he said, “And you are not pleased?”

The dowager gave his ear another punishing tug. “Tem, don’t be a goose! Your bride will think she has pledged herself to an idiot.”

Kilby coughed delicately, using her fist to conceal her laughter.

“Why could you not have married by special license?” The dowager gave him an aggrieved look. “You know how much I would have loved having you two marry in the gardens. Did you give your poor mother a single thought when you whisked your lady away without even a proper introduction? I suppose like most men all your thoughts were dedicated to the wedding night.”

“Christ, Duchess, no man is thinking about his mother on his wedding night!” he said, looking cornered.

Observing Fayne squirm under his mother’s blue gimlet stare was immensely pleasurable. Perhaps it was wicked of her, but the man had been always one step ahead, unobtrusively maneuvering her in the direction he chose. It was not surprising it took a Carlisle to best a Carlisle.