Gail Whitiker (8 page)

‘And you knew what that would mean?’ Robert turned back to face her. ‘You both knew what it would mean?’

Lady MacInnes nodded, and the sadness returned to her eyes. ‘We knew. And it hurt us both deeply to know
that our friendship would have to come to an end. But I could not go against the wishes of my husband. And for what it’s worth, Charlotte believed that if the forfeit of our friendship was what was necessary to ensure my silence, it was a price she was willing to pay. We never spoke of Hannah’s origins again. Nor did I see your mother in private after that. If we met at family or society functions, we were cordial but that was all. I regret that such was the outcome of the event, but I had no choice. I felt I had done enough in making her the promise I had.’

Robert locked his hands behind his back and turned to face the window again. He was silent for a very long time.

‘I hardly know what to say,’ he finally said in a voice devoid of all emotion. ‘For years I suspected my mother of having had an affair with another man. I came to hate her for it. You cannot imagine how I feel now upon learning the truth.’ He lapsed into silence again, thinking through not only the situation as it stood but also the ramifications that could result from it. ‘Who else knows about this?’

‘Very few people, to my knowledge. My husband, of course, but he agreed to keep silent.’

‘And your children, Cedric and Fiona, do they know?’

‘No, they were too young. Cedric was just four and Fiona barely two when your mother came to stay with us, and since there was very little talk of Charlotte after she left, there were no awkward questions raised. But I imagine some of the servants here must know. The coachman who brought your mother north, and the out-riders. And certainly Sally.’

‘Sally?’

‘Your mother’s companion. Or maid, as she was at
the time. She accompanied Charlotte on that trip so she would certainly have been there the morning Hannah was found.’

Robert eased out his breath on a long, expressive sigh. ‘Well, given that I haven’t heard so much as a whisper about it, either here or in London, I can only assume that whichever servants knew
chose
not to say anything, or that they were asked not to.’

‘I believe they chose not to,’ Lady MacInnes told him. ‘Your mother was well liked by her staff, Robert. And though it comforts us to think that servants know far less than they do, I think every one of them knew how much your mother wanted another child. And as long as the Viscountess was happy, what need was there to expose her secret? Or to risk sacrificing their positions by exposing theirs?’

Robert fixed his attention on a small miniature on the shelf behind his desk. Ironically, it was a likeness of Hannah, painted when she had been no more than eight or nine years old. ‘And you have no idea who Hannah’s real parents are?’

‘None. The letter left with her asked only that she be taken care of.’

Robert nodded. It was worse than he’d expected. As incredible as it seemed, his sister—or rather, the woman he’d been led to
believe
was his sister—was actually a motherless waif who had been abandoned in his family’s carriage twenty years ago. She had been taken up by his mother and given a name, and then raised to be a beautiful and elegant young woman.

But who was she really? Where had she come from, and who were her people?

Sadly, Robert knew there was very little chance of discovering the truth now. Hannah’s mother might have
been a tavern wench and her father a stable hand, for all he knew. Or worse.

The only good thing to have come out of his cousin’s revelation was the knowledge that he had been completely wrong in his belief of his mother’s infidelity. She had
not
engaged in a sordid affair with another man. She had held fast to his father’s memory, and had spent the rest of her life honouring the love that existed between them.

Robert wished he could apologise to her for that, if nothing else.

‘What will you do now, Robert?’ Lady MacInnes asked, breaking into his thoughts.

He turned away from the window and stared at the wide mahogany desk, as if to find answers carved in the deeply polished surface. ‘I wish I knew. It never occurred to me that
this
might be the outcome of my suspicions. I always believed Hannah to be my half-sister, even though we shared no physical characteristics.’

‘It would have been a miracle if you had.’

Her remark elicited a small smile. ‘Yes, I dare say it would. But why did no one else think to question Hannah’s parentage, Cousin Margaret? Surely someone else must have noticed that she bore not the slightest resemblance to me, or to my parents.’

‘They may have noticed it, but no one had any reason to doubt that what your mother told them was true,’ Lady MacInnes said quietly. ‘Charlotte returned to Sussex ten months after your father died, with a baby that was no more than a few weeks old. There was no reason to suspect it was not John’s, especially since Charlotte made sure everyone thought it was. Indeed, had she not spent as much time with us as she did, I
doubt I would have questioned it myself. Certainly I would have had no reason to.’

It made sense, Robert admitted. The timing was perfect. And because no one had had any reason to doubt his mother’s word, no one had.

‘I should think this would change things between you and Hannah,’ Lady MacInnes said.

‘Hmm?’ Robert glanced up. ‘Oh yes, I suppose it will. It must. But she will be devastated,’ he said, recalling what Hannah had said to him earlier of her feelings for his mother.

‘Yes, and you must remember that it is not Hannah who did anything wrong. She has no reason to believe she is anyone but the person she was raised to be. It’s quite obvious your mother never told her the truth.’

‘Are you so sure about that?’ Robert said, doubt making his voice sharp.

Lady MacInnes stared at him. ‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying that perhaps Hannah does know, and has decided to say nothing.’

‘But…surely you do not think she would maintain this…charade if she knew it to be false? I do not know her well, Robert, but I cannot believe her capable of such deceit.’

‘As you say, you do not know her well, Cousin. Nor, for all her being my sister, do I. Who can say what she is capable of? This is a fine house and Hannah has had the benefit of a privileged upbringing in it. Do you honestly believe she would throw all that away if she did not have to?’

‘It is not Hannah’s nature to be false-hearted,’ Lady MacInnes repeated stubbornly.

‘You just said you hardly knew her.’

‘I do not, but what I have heard about her from
Prudence and other members of the family has led me to believe she is honourable above all.’

‘Then what would you have me do, Cousin?’ Robert enquired. ‘How do you suggest I go about resolving the predicament I now find myself in?’

On the heels of his last words, the library door swung open. Robert turned to see the object of the conversation standing in the doorway. ‘Hannah!’

‘Good evening, Robert, Cousin Margaret. Pray forgive my interrupting, but I was anxious to greet you before the hour grew too late.’

There was a split second’s silence before Lady MacInnes rose gracefully to her feet. ‘Hannah, my dear, I am so very sorry about your mama.’ She gently embraced the younger woman. ‘I regret I was not able to be here in time for the service, but I could not leave my husband.’

‘You owe me no apologies,’ Hannah assured her with a warm smile. ‘Is Lord MacInnes improving?’

‘He is, thank you, my dear. The doctor has been in constant attendance, and he has predicted a full recovery.’

‘I’m so very glad to hear it. But it was good of you to travel all the way down to see us when you were so fully occupied at home.’

‘On the contrary, I would not have missed paying my final respects to dear Charlotte.’ Lady MacInnes glanced quickly at Robert, and then turned to address Hannah again. ‘Well, you must tell me what has been happening here at Gillingdon. And perhaps I might prevail upon you for a cup of tea. It has been a very long and tiring journey.’

‘Of course. My aunt and uncle are here as well and
longing to see you.’ Hannah paused then, and looked uncertainly at her brother. ‘Will you join us, Robert?’

He glanced at her, but shook his head. ‘Not immediately. I have…a few things to look after here first.’

‘Very well. We shall be in the parlour when you are ready.’

The rustle of silk skirts was a hushed whisper as Hannah and Lady MacInnes left, but as soon as the door closed behind them, Robert turned and walked back towards the window, staring with blank eyes into the darkness.

What in God’s name was he to do?
What, in the name of all that was holy, was he to make of this bizarre happenstance? His sister, the Honourable Hannah Winthrop, was nothing more than a nameless child; one of the hundreds that were abandoned in London every year.

Except Hannah hadn’t been abandoned in London. She’d been left in a carriage no more than fifty miles from his cousin’s home in Scotland. She’d been put there with nothing more than a shawl to keep her warm and a note to explain her circumstances. And his mother, rather than do the sensible thing and leave the child with the innkeeper, had brought her back to Gillingdon Park. She’d told no one—other than Lady MacInnes—the conditions of Hannah’s birth, but had convinced everyone that she had given birth to the child whilst in Scotland. She’d then spent the rest of her life building upon that lie. She hadn’t even told her own son the truth.

But then, why would she tell him?
Robert thought bitterly. What had he done to earn her trust, or to encourage her to take him into her confidence? He had been too young to understand the truth when she’d first brought Hannah home, and by the time he
had
been old enough,
it had been too late. He had already severed their relationship.

What choice had his mother had
but
to treat him the same way she’d treated everyone else?

Was that what hurt so much now, Robert wondered. The fact that she had lied to him about Hannah, the same way she’d lied to everyone else? Had being her son not made enough of a difference to her? Was that what was cutting into his chest as deeply as a steel blade plunged into his heart?

But with the discovery of the truth came an even more urgent and terrible question.

What was he to do now?
How did he treat Hannah? What did he
say
to a woman who, until a few moments ago, had been his sister, regardless of who he’d believed her father to be? What were the social implications of such a discovery? Worse, what were the legal ramifications? Who was Hannah in the eyes of the law, and what was she entitled to? She was
not
his sister, nor even his
half sister
, yet she was living in this house as though she had every right to. And what of the will?

Robert blinked. Dear God, what indeed was to be done about the will? His mother had left Hannah a small fortune in money and jewels. Jewels that had been in his family for generations! What the devil was he to do until answers to his questions could be found? He might now know the truth of Hannah’s birth, but she didn’t. She had absolutely no reason to suspect she wasn’t exactly who she’d grown up believing herself to be, so how could he threaten to take anything back from her without explaining his reasons why? Was he ready to take on that onerous responsibility?

Was he ready to bring an innocent young woman’s world crashing down around her shoulders?

In the parlour, Hannah’s relatives were clearly enjoying the opportunity of getting reacquainted. Lady MacInnes seldom travelled down from Scotland, and the chance for her to do so now, despite the sadness of the occasion, was clearly a welcome one.

‘Well, Margaret, you are looking very fit for a woman your age,’ Lady Montgomery said as the two of them sat together on the sofa. ‘I vow, taking care of an ailing husband can be an onerous chore, but you seem to have borne it remarkably well.’

‘Actually, I have my eldest daughter to thank for getting me through this,’ Lady MacInnes said. ‘Fiona has been a treasure, offering to take over so that I might get some much-needed rest, and ministering to her father’s needs as attentive as you please. Without her, I doubt I would be looking as rested as I do.’

‘I’ve not seen Fiona in years,’ Hannah said, thinking back to the last time she had seen her cousin. ‘Is she well?’

‘She is, Hannah. And she has grown into such a lovely girl I can scarce credit that she is my daughter.’

‘Tosh, you were always one of the beauties in the family, Margaret,’ Lady Montgomery said. ‘Along with my dear sister, of course.’

‘And Cedric?’ Sir Roger piped up. ‘How is the lad?’

‘He’s a fine young man, Sir Roger, I’m pleased to say.’ Lady MacInnes’s lips curved in a proud smile. ‘I see very little of him, given that he is staying with friends in Edinburgh, but he is as handsome as Fiona is beautiful, and for that reason, I consider myself well blessed.’

Hannah sipped her drink in silence. She had little recollection of her two Scottish cousins, having seen them only a few times during her life, but she remembered
her mother saying that Fiona MacInnes was a bright, outgoing girl who loved to ride and that Cedric was a sturdy young lad who was always game for an adventure.

Hannah often wished she might have seen more of her cousins, being that they were all so close in age, but Lady MacInnes had had little inclination to travel to London, and she’d not come to Gillingdon Park at all. Nor had Hannah been back to Burgley Hall, though she would have dearly loved to. It was, after all, the house where she had been born. Fortunately, her mother had spoken of it so often that she almost felt as though she knew the place.

Hannah had once asked her mother why they saw so little of their Scottish cousins, but the Viscountess had gone very quiet, and Hannah was sure she’d seen tears shimmering in her eyes. But then she had said something amusing, they had both laughed, and the moment had passed. It was only afterwards as Hannah lay in bed going over the conversation that she’d realised her mother had never answered her question.