Authors: The Improper Governess
“I suppose so, though to conceal it from the lawyer is taking it to extremes! However,” Lord Ashe said thoughtfully, “having been born in wedlock, I daresay Michael would be presumed in law to be the legitimate child of Mr. and Mrs. Exton. An excellent reason for widows not to remarry too soon, at least when there is property in the case!”
“But does that mean Mr. Exton is still Michael’s legal guardian, even if Michael is Papa’s son?” she asked, dismayed.
“I fear so. To prove Michael’s claim to the title, we’ll have to obtain records of his birth, your father’s marriage to Lady Carpenter and his death, and your stepmother’s marriage to Exton.”
“How?”
“No doubt Exton has them, or at least knows where to find them. We shall have to tackle him after all.”
“No! He may seem not to care where Peter and Michael are, but if he finds out he may change his mind.”
“Would you deny Michael his inheritance?” he said gently.
“I shall willingly give him Woodborough, and the money. Everything! The title is not important, especially compared to his happiness. If he wants it, he may pursue it when he is of age and safe from Mr. Exton.”
“In fourteen years, evidence may disappear, or be destroyed. Exton may die and be unavailable to answer questions. Without proof of his birth, Michael might refuse your generosity, or if he accepts he must always feel indebted. And have you considered his heritage, as distinct from his inheritance? Do you mean to keep his true parentage secret from him? To let him grow up believing Exton is his father?”
Shaken, Lissa buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know!” Her voice trembled. “Oh, what am I to do for the best?”
He came to sit on the arm of her chair, a large, warm, comforting presence, one hand on her shoulder. “Michael shall not be returned to Exton. I have promised Peter. Whatever needs to be done to keep you and the boys together, I shall do it, legal or illegal.”
“Truly?” She looked up at him.
He gave her a crooked smile. “Truly. Word of a gentleman.”
Taking a deep breath, she said, “Will you go to him, then, and get the proof for Michael?”
“I would, gladly, but I believe you ought to go. Partly because you have a far better claim to the information than I do. Partly because it seems to me you will never rest easy until you have confronted him, faced him down, and discovered his intentions from his own mouth.”
She clutched his hand. “You will go with me?”
“Of course. Now, whom shall we take to chaperon you? Cousin Jane?”
Lissa noted with relief the twinkle in his eye. Miss Jane Barbican disapproved of Lady Felicia Milton almost as heartily as she had of Miss Melissa Findlay.
* * * *
Alas, Cousin Jane was the only person Lady Ashe considered suitable to chaperon Lady Felicia, with a maid to attend them, naturally, and a footman for good measure. However, Lissa was far too apprehensive about meeting Exton to care much who were her travelling companions, as long as Ashe was one. Her reliance upon him renewed his hopes.
Several days passed before he judged the weather improved enough for the ladies to embark upon the cross-country journey into Leicestershire. During that time Colin continued on the mend, his strength increasing to the point where Lissa was content to leave him for a few days to the ministrations of others. Ashe was glad to see one burden removed from her slender shoulders.
He would have preferred to ride alongside the carriage, but that would expose her to Cousin Jane’s often acid tongue. His presence silenced Cousin Jane; hers silenced Lissa. It was a quiet journey.
They reached Leicester after a long day, and put up at the Dudley Arms for the night. In the morning, leaving Cousin Jane and the maid at the inn, Ashe and Lissa set out for Coalville. To satisfy his cousin’s notions of propriety, Ashe hired a horse and rode, now that he would rather be within.
Beneath a grey sky, the mining villages were drab and soulless. Even the recent rains had not sufficed to cleanse the countryside between of a pall of coaldust. Perhaps the Church of the Fiery Pit was a natural outgrowth of these surroundings, Ashe thought. His own name, which he had always associated with the green ash-tree on his coat of arms, here seemed more a symbol of the destructive power of fire, its dreary leavings. Ashes to ashes....
He was growing morbid. How must Lissa feel? He stopped the carriage, tied his horse on behind, and climbed in with her.
Pale-faced, she turned to him with a blind, lost look. He took her hand in his, felt it tremble like a captive bird.
“Frightened?” he asked softly.
“Terrified.”
“Don’t be. You have defied Exton before. You told me yourself he has no authority over you. Just remember how you taught me not to lick the dust beneath Aunt Busby’s feet.”
That brought a faint smile. He rattled on about his aunt and the feat of smuggling the boys into and out of her house, until they reached the outskirts of Coalville and the carriage came to a halt.
A spike-topped wrought iron railing fronted the lane. Behind it a mass of laurels with black-grimed leaves half hid an uncompromisingly rectangular house in the starkest style of the last century. Whatever the original colour of the brick walls and tile roof, they were now grey. So was the front door and the paintwork of the sash windows--practical no doubt, Ashe conceded grudgingly.
Their footman had jumped down to open the iron gates. The carriage turned into the drive. Lissa shuddered as the gates clanged shut behind them.
They were shown into a carpetless front parlour furnished with hard wooden chairs. The white walls were hung with texts from the most lurid parts of Revelations. The empty grate added to the chilly, cheerless atmosphere.
“They hold prayer meetings in here,” Lissa whispered.
With a grimace, Ashe gestured at the fireplace. “A little hellfire would not come amiss.”
Perhaps it was just as well she did not hear, her attention on the sound of footsteps in the hall. He turned as the door opened.
Expecting a massive bully of a man, Ashe was startled to see on the threshold a short, bony figure, clad all in funereal black. Even his plain white shirt-front was scarcely visible between the black cravat and black waistcoat. Exton’s hands were long and bony, like an eagle’s talons. Sparse, greyish-yellow hair topped a thin-lipped face remarkable chiefly for the coldness of the pale eyes.
This was no ruffian who flogged children in a fit of temper. He would mete out punishment with an icy calmness impossible to oppose or evade.
Ashe decided only the contemplation of hellfire kept the blood moving through Ernest Exton’s veins.
“Well?”
The monosyllable was directed at Lissa, on whom the pale eyes were fixed. Ashe was ready to step in, to introduce himself and explain their errand. Lissa forestalled him, performing the introductions with admirable composure.
“So you have caught yourself a handsome face and a title, a vainglorious profligate,” Exton said contemptuously, “and now you expect me to take your brothers off your hands? It is too late for that.”
“You do not want them?” Lissa asked with incredulous hope.
“I strove to beat their sins from them as I strove to teach you to despise earthly vanities, to save you all from roasting in hellfire for eternity. For their mother’s sake, I have done my duty. You, unregenerate, have led your brothers into the paths of unrighteousness. Upon your head be it! They are no kin of mine. No more is demanded of me.”
Stunned by the astonishingly easy victory, Lissa stared, dumbfounded. Ashe took over.
“You assert Michael is not your son?”
“Certainly not,” Exton snapped. “You cannot pass him off on me. His mother was with child when she married me, solely for the sake of her children, born and unborn--I labour under no illusion on that account! But Michael was conceived when she was the lawful wife of Lord Woodborough. I have proof: marriage lines, sworn copies of birth and death entries in parish registers....”
“Splendid,” Ashe interrupted affably. “That is precisely what we came for.”
* * * *
Once more the gates clanged shut behind the carriage, but this time it was outside. As the wheels began to turn again, Lissa emerged from her daze.
“I have left my gloves behind. I must have dropped them.”
“Do you want to go back for them?” Lord Ashe asked, grinning.
“No!”
“You can afford a new pair, you know.”
“Oh yes.” Lissa felt for her reticule, wherein reposed several months allowance, handed over by Mr. Exton with a self-righteous denial of ever having intended to keep the money. “How right you were,” she said wonderingly, “to insist on confronting him. I am very glad you made me go.”
“So am I, because you no longer fear Exton. But I am very glad you don’t blame me for your losing Woodborough.”
“Of course not. I told you I meant to give it to Michael. It was never truly mine.”
“He will get considerable funds also, I believe, but you will still have sufficient income to support you in comfortable independence,” he assured her, then hesitated. With unwonted uncertainty, he continued, “That is, if you won’t marry me.”
Was he asking her again, or merely reminding her that she had rejected him? Confused, Lissa was silent, her gaze fixed on her bare fingers, interlaced in her lap.
He reached for her hands, his own ungloved now. A lightning shock raced through her at his touch, followed by an all-pervading warmth. Surely he must guess how much she loved him! Half against her will, she looked up at him, dreading to see pity in his face. After all, however wealthy they might be now, she was still a female alone in the world with her brothers to bring up.
His dark eyes smiled at her. “I warn you, I shall be a far more persistent suitor than I ever was seducer. Be my wife, Lissa?”
Everything within her cried out to consent, to accept his support and friendship if she could not have his love. But she blurted out, “You are not asking me just for the boys’ sake?”
“What a suspicious creature! Though I suppose I have given you good reason to doubt my motives, right from the first,” he added ruefully. “No, my sweet, I wish to marry you because I adore you and cannot imagine life without you.”
Pulling her into his arms, he provided quite convincing evidence of his assertion. His previous kisses had been poor imitations of the real thing, Lissa realized, head spinning, bones melting. And this time, though she had not actually given him an answer, she did not have to try to make him stop!
All too soon Ashe stopped of his own accord, letting her settle, breathless, back in her seat.
“I don’t know whether you feel you might ever come to love me,” he said seriously. “I want you, even if you only accept for the boys’ sake. I am very fond of them, too, and shall gladly be a father--or an elder brother--to them. I daresay Daphne will marry Teague and leave Colin in our care, also.”
“I shall not accept for the boys’ sake!” she cried. “I saw the results of that when poor Stepmama married Mr. Exton. With her example before me, I would never make such a dreadful mistake.”
“I see,” he said flatly. “I was too sanguine. I beg your pardon for mauling you.”
The despair in his face at once shocked and elated Lissa, giving all the proof she could desire of his love.
“I will marry you,” she hastened to assure him, “but not because the boys need you, though they do. I need you, too. I love you quite as much as you can possibly love me!”
And flinging her arms around his neck, she did her best to prove it.
Copyright © 1998 by Carola Dunn
Originally published by Zebra (0821758896)
Electronically published in 2006 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.