Ripe for Scandal (21 page)

B
eau gripped her husband’s arm as Devere’s coach rolled away. He’d stayed with them an extra three days and was now off to
Dover to meet their friend the Chevalier de Moulines and carry the Frenchman back to London. She rested her head on Gareth’s
shoulder for a moment.

“It seems odd that Devere of all people would be the only one to stand by me,” Gareth said. “I’d have expected it to be Thane.”

“Nonsense,” Beau said, giving him a little shake. “Come spring, this will all have blown over, and we’ll have a full house
for the beagling, or the races, or both.”

Gareth smiled down at her, his expression clearly saying that he didn’t believe a word of what she was saying. Beau shook
him a bit harder, knocking him off balance. She didn’t like his sad, reflective mood.

“Come and help me spy on my dog,” she said. “I’ve been leaving food out for him near Frederick’s pen all week.” She looped
her gown up through her pockets, exposing the intricately quilted petticoat beneath it.

“Haven’t named him yet?” Gareth took her hand and crossed the lawn with her.

“You have to know a dog before you can name it. For example, if you called my sister-in-law’s mastiff Petunia, it just wouldn’t
work. And de Moulines’s greyhound simply isn’t an Angus or a Jemmy.”

“And you wouldn’t want to get used to calling your beast Gulliver when he’s more of a Crusoe.”

“Precisely,” Beau said with a laugh, amused that he so clearly understood.

Upon approaching the sty, they found Frederick lazing in the midday sun on one side of the fence, and the dog doing the same
on the other. At the sound of their footsteps, they both raised their heads. The piglet scrambled up and cavorted madly about
the pen. The dog heaved itself up and stood watching them, warily.

Gareth scratched his pig while Beau attempted to lure the dog to her with a bone that she’d brought down wrapped in a handkerchief.
The dog took a step toward her, and Beau waggled the bone.

“Come here, boy,” she said softly. She tsked the way she would to a horse, keeping the dog’s attention. The dog inched close
enough to sniff the bone, and Beau held perfectly still. After a moment’s hesitation, it carefully took the bone and went
to lie on the far side of the sty with it, keeping an eye on them while it ate.

“Success?” Gareth said, giving Frederick a final, hearty slap on the side.

“It’s closer than he’s ever come before,” Beau replied. “I just wish he was more the trusting type, poor thing.
There’s something about a stray that breaks my heart. A stray dog has had a covenant broken.”

“Every stray?” Gareth said, looking horrified.

“Every last one.” Beau looped her arm through his as they wandered back up to the house. “I had a scraggly terrier with a
broken tail and a missing ear as a little girl. His name was Grendel. I found him running wild in Hyde Park. I was quite upset
when the portrait painter my father hired prettied him up.”

Gareth stopped for a moment, staring down at her with a slightly stunned expression. “You mean the little dog in the family
portrait in the duchess’s sitting room?”

Beau nodded.

“That is the singularly ugliest dog I’ve ever seen. Worse than my grandmother’s pop-eyed pug or the Duchess of Richmond’s
lantern-jawed spaniel.”

Beau grinned. “You should have seen him in all his raggedy glory. Ugly doesn’t even begin to sum it up. But my point is that
even Grendel, ugly as he was, didn’t deserve to be abandoned. He’d obviously been someone’s dog. He was trained to sit, to
lie down, and he was a magnificent ratter.”

“Are you warning me that you mean to turn Morton Hall into a home for abandoned dogs?”

“No.” Beau shook her head. “But I think in order to make Morton Hall into a home, we should have a dog, and the village’s
shipwrecked giant would seem to be a perfect choice.”

“Definitely Gulliver then,” Gareth said, starting back toward the house. “Unless we want to change Frederick’s name to Friday.”

CHAPTER 28

L
ord Souttar has arrived, sir,” Mr. Peebles said with a sniff as he held open the massive, iron-strapped front door. “I’ve
put him in the drawing room.”

“My brother’s here?” Gareth handed over his greatcoat and hat. His butler was looking distinctly offended, which was not at
all his normal mien. Souttar had a way of doing that to people. Toplofty. That’s what all Gareth’s friends always said about
him, at least when they were being kind.

“Yes, sir. Been waiting an hour or more. I told him we didn’t know when you’d return, but his lordship made it clear the
matter
was pressing.”

“Is Lady Boudicea with him?”

“No, her ladyship went for a walk, sir. Down to the village to visit the Misses Ackeroyd, I believe.”

Gareth nodded and hurried through the Great Hall, boots ringing on the floor with every step. Good Lord, Souttar was going
to be in a rage. He hated to be kept waiting. But what the hell was he doing here?

He burst into the drawing room to find his brother looking very much the worse for wear. “Mother?” Gareth said, expressing
the only real worry he had about his brother’s unexpected arrival.

Souttar made a dismissive face and shook his head. “Mother was fine when I left Ashburn.” He held up a hand, forestalling
Gareth’s next inquiry. “The earl too, in case that was your next question.”

Gareth looked his brother over more carefully, taking in his disordered hair, crumpled coat, and dirty boots. The fact that
he hadn’t even asked for a room or bothered to tidy himself spoke volumes. And there was a haunted look about his eyes. Something
was very, very wrong.

“So, what brings you to Kent?” It couldn’t be anything good. Souttar would never have traveled all this way without a damn
good reason.

“Same business I needed you to take care of weeks ago when I wrote and asked you to come home,” Souttar said in an aggrieved
tone. “Been a deal of work taking care of it myself, I can assure you.”

“Oh?” Gareth raised his brows, staring his brother down. Anyone else would have flinched or fidgeted or at least had the decency
to look contrite. Souttar stared right back, clearly secure in his belief that it was Gareth’s duty to be at his beck and
call.

“You might at least have asked why I’d sent for you when last we met.”

“When last we met,” Gareth said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice, “I was getting married. I had other things
on my mind.”

His brother waved a dismissive hand and then flinched
as a loud wail split the air. Gareth made a questioning gesture toward the writhing, crying bundle on the settee.

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s a baby,” Souttar replied with perfect aplomb.

Gareth peered past his brother. A dark-haired child of about two was struggling to escape the confines of the greatcoat it
was wrapped in. “I can see that. What the hell is it doing on my settee?”

“You need to take care of him. Keep him here.”

Gareth found himself momentarily unable to reply as his brain ground to a halt like a clock with a missing gear. “Are you
mad?” he shouted, trying to be heard over the child. “Whose baby is it, and why the hell would
I
keep it?”

“It’s mine, and father can’t find out.”

“Father? The earl won’t care that you’d sired a bastard. He wouldn’t care if you had an entire regiment of them. He’s got
one of his own that he supports. Even mother knows.”

“You don’t understand,” his brother said, chin jutting out stubbornly, just as it had when they were boys and being dressed
down for some infraction. Gareth got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “He’s not a bastard. Or at least, I don’t
think he is.”

There was panic in his voice. Panic, and something very close to fear. Gareth rubbed at his eye, which had begun to throb.
“What the hell have you done, Souttar? He’s either one or the other. There’s no middle ground.”

“No one needs to know,” Souttar said, his tone pleading. “Not father. Not Olivia. If you’ll just claim him. Raise him. I rarely
ask you for anything… You’ve got to help me.
It’s your duty. He’s family.” He picked up the crying child, plucking it out of his coat, and held it awkwardly. The little
boy sobbed anew, repeatedly asking for his mamma.

Gareth could feel his resistance weakening. He’d pulled his brother out of any number of scrapes over the years, and Souttar
had done the same for him… the two of them united against the earl, deflecting his anger, protecting each other. It was second
nature to do so. Even if, once again, Souttar’s needs were paramount to his own.

“What would I tell Beau?” Gareth asked in a bid to force his brother to understand just what he was asking.

“What would you tell me about what?” Beau’s question broke over the room like a wave, forcing the air right out of Gareth’s
lungs. Gareth watched in horror as his brother’s eyes flashed triumphantly and his expression went sly.

The room went suddenly quiet as Beau caught sight of the child and stopped in her tracks. The smile slid right off her face.

Gareth could almost feel the anger whip through her. Beau’s head was up, her eyes wide, like a horse about to shy, or strike.

“It’s Gareth’s,” Souttar said, thrusting the child at him, nearly dropping it in the process. “The child’s mother died a few
weeks ago, and he was sent to us by her family.”

Gareth ground his teeth, opened his mouth to contradict him, and shut it again as facts and dates spun through his head.

“A few weeks ago?” Gareth said with dawning horror. Souttar flinched. The boy thrashed in his arms, hiccupping pitifully.

“What does it matter?” Beau said, voice tight with repressed rage. “Through no fault of his own, he’s here.” She scooped the
child out of his arms and settled him on her hip. “We can decide what’s to be done later. After such a journey, I expect he’s
exhausted. And you two yelling at each other is clearly not helping him calm down one bit.”

She spun on her heel and marched out, skirts rustling with agitation. The boy watched them over her shoulder, his eyes the
same familiar blue as all the men in their family.

“You bloody fool,” Gareth said as soon as the door shut behind them.

“I know. I know.”

“You married Olivia
knowing
you already had a wife?”

“No. I mean, yes, but…” He swallowed hard, hands opening and closing in frustration. “It wasn’t a real marriage. Not the kind
with a church or a license. It was just a bit of fun one summer in Scotland. I’d forgot all about it.”

“Go on.” Gareth repressed the urge to cuff his elder brother. What kind of a man forgot he was already married?

“It all started a month or so after the wedding. I got a letter—well, you did, really—asking me to take the child.”

“What do I have to do with it?”

“I may have used your name,” he replied offhandedly. “Or at least, I didn’t use all of mine.”

“You may have…” Gareth took a deep breath, struggling with his temper. Fratricide didn’t seem out of the question at that
exact moment. “You set up house with a
girl in Scotland under my name. Abandoned her and your child. Married another girl—the only child of the Earl of Arlington,
just to make it all the more disastrous—and now you’re proposing to abandon your son a second time, because it’s better to
ruin my marriage than yours. Have I got that all straight?”

“It’s not as though it would just make Olivia angry. It would ruin her. Our marriage would be invalid. Mary’s dead. What’s
the purpose of letting it all come to light now?”

Gareth barely repressed the urge to strangle Souttar then and there. “You’re perfectly right. There’s no reason to ruin Olivia’s
life just because you’re a selfish bastard without so much as a shred of honor.”

“There’s no need—”

“There’s
every
need, damn you. We’ll keep this quiet. Between only the two of us. But you’ll sign something here and now pledging to support
that child when it’s grown.”

Souttar stiffened, clearly not enjoying being dictated to.

“You’re taking away his birthright,” Gareth said, gripping his brother’s arm hard. “Instead of being the future Earl of Roxwell,
he’s going to grow up as my bastard. You’re going to make that up to him as best you can, even though he’ll never know why.”