Gail Whitiker (7 page)

Robert frowned. ‘Then I was right. My mother
was
unfaithful to him.’

‘Dear Robert, I fear the truth is much worse than that.’ Lady MacInnes moved to his side and put her hand gently upon his shoulder. ‘You were right when you said that Hannah was not your father’s child. But the tragic part is…she is not your mother’s either.’

I
F THE
moon had suddenly dropped from the sky to land at Robert’s feet he could not have been more dumb-founded. He stared at Lady MacInnes, his gut twisting in a paroxysm of shock and disbelief.

Hannah was not his mother’s child?
But…what the hell did that mean? If his father hadn’t sired her, and his mother hadn’t given birth to her—

‘What are you saying, Margaret?’ Robert demanded. ‘If Hannah isn’t my sister, who the hell is she?’

‘I have no idea,’ Lady MacInnes told him. ‘As hard as this is for me to say, I really have no choice. We don’t know who Hannah is. Your mother found her when she was but a few weeks old.’

‘
Found
her?’

‘Yes. She’d been left abandoned in your mother’s carriage. And Charlotte had absolutely no idea who her parents were or where she’d been born.’

Robert stared at his cousin as though she had suddenly sprouted two heads. ‘You surely don’t expect me to believe that my mother found a baby in her carriage—and that she actually brought it home? Dear God, what kind of lunacy is this!’

‘It is neither lunacy nor nonsense,’ Lady MacInnes assured him. ‘Indeed, I wish I could tell you it was, but I cannot. The very day your mother left Burgley Hall, she stopped for the night at an inn. The next morning, she came down to find that a baby had been left in her carriage. That baby was Hannah.’

Robert’s brows snapped together in an angry line. ‘I can’t
believe
this! Why the devil didn’t anyone tell me about this before?’

‘Because I was the only one who knew—’

‘Then why didn’t
you
tell me? You knew where to reach me.’

‘Yes, and I wanted to tell you years ago, but I promised your mother that I wouldn’t breathe a word of this to anyone.’

‘I am hardly anyone, madam!’ Robert cried, feeling anger and betrayal burning like twin fires in his soul. ‘I am my mother’s only son and the legitimate heir!’

‘Yes, and as such, I knew there was nothing that could be done to usurp your position. Especially by a woman.’

‘The fact that the child was female has no bearing on the issue!’ Robert snapped. ‘I had a right to know that a child brought up in my mother’s house, and who was foisted upon me as a sibling, was not related to me by blood.’ Robert stalked across the room, fighting to control his temper. ‘Why are you breaking your confidence now?’

‘Because on your mother’s death I saw no reason to continue to honour the promise I gave her,’ Lady MacInnes said. ‘Besides, as Viscount Winthrop, I felt it was your right to know.’

‘A feeling my mother obviously did not share,’ Robert said bitterly.

‘I cannot make any comment on your mother’s choice not to tell you, Robert. I only knew that
I
could no longer remain silent.’

Robert took a long, deep breath and then slowly let it out. Lady MacInnes was right. He certainly hadn’t been expecting anything like this. Smugly confident that the matter had been one of betrayal, he now found himself
struggling to come to grips with a new and entirely unthinkable scenario.

‘I think you’d best tell me the whole story,’ he said, torn by a jumble of conflicting emotions. ‘And I would ask you to start at the beginning and not leave anything out.’

‘Of course. That is only fair. But do not reproach me, Robert, for I did warn you that what I had to say would come as a tremendous shock.’ Lady MacInnes picked up her skirts and walked back to her chair. ‘Well, as you know, your mother came to stay with us at Burgley Hall after your father died. Poor Charlotte. She was so terribly grief-stricken over John’s death. Indeed, I had serious concerns for her health when she first arrived. She was so lacklustre in spirit, and she had lost so much weight. But I never thought she would do anything so foolish—’

‘Pray keep to the story, madam.’

‘Yes, of course. Well, your mother left us after eight months to return home and she spent her first night at a small inn called the Golden Thistle near Bonnyrigg. To be honest, I was surprised when she told me she had stayed there.’

‘Why, is this…Golden Thistle a disreputable place?’

‘Not at all. The rooms are clean and the fare is good, but I had expected her to book a room at one of the larger inns along the road to Edinburgh.’

‘I see. And when Mama went to leave the next morning, you say she found…a baby in her carriage.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Which begs the question, why did she not just leave it with the innkeeper?’

‘That would, of course, have been the logical course of action, but it was not what your mother chose to do.’

‘Why not?’ Robert abruptly halted his pacing. ‘What
in God’s name was she thinking? What could have possessed her to take a baby home and pretend it was hers? It is beyond all things conceivable, not to mention incredibly stupid and irresponsible.’

‘Your mother thought it was anything but irresponsible at the time,’ Lady MacInnes told him. ‘Indeed, I think Charlotte felt the irresponsible person was the one who had left the baby in her carriage in the first place.’

‘Undoubtedly. But the logical remedy for that would have been to take the baby back into the inn and leave it there!’ Silent for a moment, Robert struggled to sort through the chaotic whirl of thoughts and emotions clogging his mind. ‘How did you find out what my mother had done?’

‘She wrote to me about a week after she got home.’

‘What did she say?’

‘That she had found an abandoned child in her carriage and that she intended to keep it.’

Robert stared at her. ‘You must have been flabbergasted. Both at what she’d done, and that she’d had the courage to admit it to you.’

‘I was shocked that she wanted to keep the child, but not that she’d wanted to tell me.’ Lady MacInnes sighed. ‘Your mother and I were very close, Robert. In fact, I looked upon her more as a sister than as a cousin, and when she came to stay with me rather than go to London to be with Prudence after your father’s death, I was absolutely delighted. But she stayed with me for eight months, and it was obvious she wasn’t with child at any time during her stay, so she could hardly have pretended that the child was John’s. A deceit like that could only be perpetrated on people who didn’t know any better. I did, so she
had
to tell me.’

‘She could have pretended it was another man’s, even to you.’

‘Oh, my dear, she would never have done that. Charlotte loved your father with all her heart. The last thing she would have done was claim that the child was another man’s. She would never have disgraced John’s memory in such a way.’

Robert swallowed, abruptly feeling the guilt for having thought exactly that—and for having held it against his mother his entire adult life. ‘Go on,’ he said harshly.

‘Well, after she wrote to tell me about the child, I immediately came here to see her,’ Lady MacInnes continued. ‘I thought perhaps I might be able to talk some sense into Charlotte, and to convince her to see reason. But I soon realised that there would be no changing her mind. Your mother told me, without emotion or histrionics, how she had found the baby in her carriage, and how, after a great deal of consideration, she had decided to keep it. Then she showed me the letter.’

Robert froze. ‘There was a letter?’

‘Yes. Tucked down inside the shawl the baby came wrapped in.’

‘What did it say?’

‘Only that the child’s mother was dead, and that the father knew nothing of its existence. Charlotte even showed me the shawl in the hopes it would convince me that Hannah had not come from the depths of poverty and degradation.’

‘And did it?’

Lady MacInnes shook her head. ‘Hannah could have been wrapped in gold for all the difference it would have made to me. She was still a foundling as far as I was concerned. But the shawl was a lovely piece of work,
and your mother was right, it could have been worn by a lady of quality or a gentleman’s daughter.’

‘What did you say? About the baby, I mean.’

‘Well, naturally, I was appalled. I accused your mother of having lost her senses. I told her that to take an unknown child home and raise it as her own was not only a contradiction of society’s laws, but of God’s. But she wouldn’t listen. She told me she understood my feelings but that she had no intention of giving the child up, or of denying that Hannah was her own. Instead, she tried to appeal to my sense of compassion. She begged me to think what could have happened to the infant had she simply abandoned it at that inn.’

‘But surely
someone
must have missed the child,’ Robert said, needing to think through, with as much logic as possible, all aspects of this incredible tale.

‘Perhaps, but you must remember that the note said the baby’s mother was dead and that the father was unaware of its existence. Your mother certainly believed that to be the case.’

‘Did you?’

‘It didn’t matter what I believed. The fact was,
someone
left a baby in your mother’s carriage and obviously had no intention of retrieving it.’

‘Did it not occur to my mother that the letter might have been a complete sham? That she might inadvertently have been involved in a kidnapping attempt?’

‘Gracious, Robert, I’m sure no such thought ever crossed her mind. She saw no reason to question what the letter said, nor to be honest, did I. Such things happen in the lower orders. But Charlotte did what she did
because
she believed that the child would come to harm if she abandoned it.’

‘But my mother was always such a sensible woman,’
Robert said, more to himself than to her. ‘Why wouldn’t she have tried to find out more about the child’s parents at the time?’

‘Because you are looking at the situation without emotion or sentiment. It is easy to be rational when you are not intimately involved, or when you have the luxury of time and distance to see the state of affairs as they really are.’

‘But you were as close to my mother as anyone, Margaret, yet even you could see that what she wanted to do was insane.’

‘Yes, but I was not mourning the loss of my husband. You must remember, Robert, your mother was deeply grief-stricken over your father’s death. She loved him passionately. Indeed, in a way I believe few women are ever fortunate enough to know. And she certainly hadn’t expected to find herself a widow at the age of nine-and-thirty. She was lonely, and she was alone. That’s why she came to stay with me. She’d also been praying for another child. Oh, yes. Your mother desperately wanted more children,’ Lady MacInnes said in response to his look of surprise. ‘So did your father. And it broke her heart that she wasn’t able to conceive a second time.’

Robert nodded, beginning to see how the groundwork for this most extraordinary event had been laid. ‘So she woke up one morning to find a baby abandoned in her carriage, with the mother supposedly dead and the father blissfully ignorant of its birth, and decided it was the answer to her prayers. A most convenient arrangement, when you think about it.’

‘Convenient indeed. Some would even go so far as to say it was fate. But make no mistake, your mother was furious that the child had been abandoned in such a callous manner. She believed that Hannah was the result of
some thoughtless nobleman’s dalliance with a local girl, and she knew that with the mother dead, there would be no one left to see to her welfare. The father certainly wouldn’t, even had he known of its existence. You know as well as I do that children born on the wrong side of the blanket are sometimes recognised by their fathers, but they are seldom accepted by their fathers’ legitimate wives or families.’

‘So she brought the…’ Robert stopped, then forced himself to say it. ‘She brought Hannah home and raised her as her own.’

‘Yes. Charlotte told me that finding Hannah was like being given a second chance. Indeed, she christened her Hannah Jean, because in Scottish Jean means gift from God.’

‘I had no idea Hannah even
had
a second name,’ Robert muttered.

‘More importantly, in finding Hannah, Charlotte had found a reason to go on living. Then she asked me to promise that I wouldn’t say anything to anyone about Hannah, unless it was absolutely necessary.’

‘And you agreed.’

‘Well, what else was I to do?’ Lady MacInnes cried. ‘I loved your mother, Robert, and even I could see how much the child meant to her. And in truth, I did not see that any harm could come of it. After all, you were the rightful heir. You did not stand to lose anything by your mother bringing home a female child. It would have been different had the baby been a boy, but it wasn’t. And if you could only have seen the difference it made to her—’

‘It might have made a difference, but it does not excuse what she did!’ Robert snapped, wishing he could find it in his heart to be more forgiving of the heinous
deceit his mother had perpetrated on their family. ‘She brought a Scottish bastard home and let everyone think it was a legitimate member of our family!’

Lady MacInnes met his gaze without flinching. ‘Yes, she did. And I cannot deny that what she did was wrong. But neither could I find it in my heart to condemn her, nor to expose her for what she had done. Not when she was so desperately lonely and heartsick.’

Struggling to regain control of his temper, Robert turned away.
Damn it!
His cousin might be calmly accepting of what his mother had done, but she’d had twenty years to come to terms with it. He had just learned of it, and there was still a hell of a lot he needed to know and to understand. But how was he to learn any of it now? With his mother gone, what hope had he of finding out what was truth, and what was not?

He didn’t know whether to be furious with his mother, or to feel wretchedly sorry for her.

‘I suppose this explains why the two of you saw so little of each other over the years,’ he said stiffly. ‘I often wondered, knowing what good friends you once were.’

For the first time, Robert saw colour rise to Lady MacInnes’s cheeks. ‘My husband has always had…strong convictions about morality,’ she admitted. ‘When I told him—as I had to—what Charlotte had done, and what she had asked of me, he said that he could not, in all good conscience, see his way clear to receiving her in our home, or to recognising the child as her legitimate daughter. Nor could he feel comfortable about allowing me to socialise with her in public.’