Scoundrel (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 4) (30 page)

When his father had died, some of Chase’s French relatives had just fled France with the guillotine nipping at their heels. They’d seized the property for their own, but had never informed Chase of the bequest. The last of the miserable bunch had finally passed away.

Chase still couldn’t believe what had happened. All the years he’d been a penniless orphan in boarding school, all the years he’d struggled financially as an adolescent, then an adult, he’d owned a bloody farm. It came complete with a large house, a dowager house, an agent’s cottage, barns and equipment and animals and all the rest.

He’d often cursed his parents, had exhaustively conjectured as to why his father had forsaken him. Yes, the man had lost much during the Revolution, but he’d established himself in England.

As a little boy, Chase hadn’t seen much of his parents—he’d mostly been cared for by nannies—but when they’d deigned to stay at home, he distinctly remembered them being fond of him. He recalled his father as being very majestic, very imperious. He hadn’t been a slacker who would decline to draft a Will or forget to arrange matters for his two young children.

And he hadn’t! He’d gifted them both in a very satisfactory manner. Amelia had dowry money in a trust, and it had grown to be a substantial amount. She’d get the money, and Chase would get the farm.

If he’d been a weepy type, he might have cried over the ending. His father had provided for them! The suffering they’d endured, the hardship, it wasn’t supposed to have occurred!

He sighed and began pacing, wondering how long it would take the nun to return. In his mind, he was practicing his speech to Faith. He’d been rehearsing it throughout his fast trip to Scotland.

He’d gone to visit Oakhurst and found it in decrepit condition. His thieving kin had been awful stewards so the fields were fallow, the herds decimated, and there were only a few aging retainers rambling around. But it was Chase’s and since he was suddenly a landowner, there seemed to be but one fitting finale.

He needed a bride to bring the whole thing to just the right conclusion.

Why shouldn’t he wed? Gentlemen were constantly falling victim to the marital trap. Why not Chase? It wouldn’t kill him.

His main worry was that she’d tell him to stuff it. After their quarrel in London, she might never calm enough to listen to his story, but he was a smooth talker and could charm the wood off a log. He’d made Faith love him once, and he was positive he could do it again.

Just then the window creaked open, and he hurried over, feeling more excited and more anxious than he’d ever been.

“May I see her?” he asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“She’s not here.”

He gasped. “She died?”

“No, no. She left.”

“She…left? For where?”

“I have no idea.”

The window started to close, and he stuck in his hand and pushed it back.

“Did she go to her father’s?”

“As I said, Mr. Hubbard, I have no idea.”

“Find out for me.”

“I really couldn’t obtain any further information.”

“Why not?”

“We’ve removed ourselves from the outside world. It’s no concern of mine why she departed or where she went.”

“Well, it’s a concern of mine. Why would she leave? Was she sick? Was she unhappy? What?”

“I’m new to the convent, sir, so I wasn’t acquainted with the lady. I wasn’t privy to any of her details.”

“This is getting us nowhere.” He poked his head in and shouted, “Hello! Hello! Can anyone hear me? Can you tell me about Faith Newton?”

“Sir! Please! You’re creating a ruckus. It’s rude.”

“You haven’t begun to witness
rude
.”

He paused and shouted again—over and over—but garnered no reply. The place seemed deserted or perhaps the nuns weren’t allowed out toward the front.

“May I speak with Sister Rowena?” he asked instead. “Rowena Bond. She’s a novitiate too. She’ll know what’s happened.”

“I’m sorry, but the novitiates especially aren’t permitted to have contact with visitors.”

“That’s idiotic.”

“It’s the rules.”

Chase leaned into the small opening and yelled, “Rowena! Rowena, are you here?”

“You are the most uncouth barbarian I’ve ever met,” she complained.

“You don’t get out much, do you?” he snidely snapped.

He peered into the courtyard, the bit he could see anyway, but no one strolled by, no one appeared to investigate his bellowing. He stepped back and glared and the minute he did, she slammed the window and locked it.

He felt impotent and furious and speculated as to whether he shouldn’t ride to town and buy a bloody rope. He’d scale the walls and rush through the snooty property like a berserker until he found Rowena.

But he wasn’t a madman, and he was fairly confident he knew where Faith was. He was ninety-nine percent certain she’d gone home to her father, and he suffered a moment of genuine panic as he wondered if she was increasing. Was that why she’d left?

Their final night on the ship, he’d behaved precisely as he shouldn’t. If she was carrying his child, he’d have to make an honest woman of her. She couldn’t refuse him. She needed a husband who’d agree to a quick wedding, and he was definitely available.

He grinned and mounted his horse.

* * * *

Rowena was on her way to Sister Ruth’s apartment when she thought a man murmured her name.
Rowena!
It drifted by on the breeze, like a ghost walking on her grave, and it was so eerie she figured she was growing deranged from the tedium.

Briefly she considered sneaking to the front gate to check if a man was actually there, but she didn’t dare. If it had been Ralston, she’d have risked it in an instant. But it hadn’t sounded like him, and if she was observed in the courtyard, she’d be punished with a day of bread and water. She already had to eat the meager meal twice a week, and she wouldn’t deliberately bring on a third day.

She continued on to her appointment with Sister Ruth. She never referred to her as Mother Superior. The malicious witch didn’t deserve the title of
mother
. Rowena called her Ruth when she called her anything at all.

She was working in the kitchen where she occasionally was able to speak with deliverymen. One young fellow was a conspirator and mailed Rowena’s letter to Ralston. So far there had been no response. It hadn’t been that long since she’d sent it though so she wasn’t anxious over the delay. He’d come for her. She was absolutely convinced he would.

She arrived at Ruth’s door, and one of Ruth’s cohorts was sitting there. She could have been Ruth’s twin: older, pious, cranky. Rowena pondered, as she often did, why a person would want to be so miserable.

“Sister Ruth summoned me,” Rowena said.

“I believe you mean
Mother Superior.”

“Pardon my mistake,” Rowena sarcastically retorted.

The woman knocked, then gestured for Rowena to enter. Rowena smiled sweetly, hoping the smile concealed her dislike and disdain, but she doubted it would.

Everyone was aware of how she loathed her situation, but there were rumors her parents had paid a second donation—a second bribe—to keep her even more securely imprisoned. They must have been worried she’d run away and show up on their stoop.

As if she’d ever return to her parents! They were insane to think so.

Ruth was at her desk trying to look busy and officious, but Rowena wasn’t impressed. She strolled over, pulled up a chair, and slouched into it.

“You asked to see me?”

“Yes. I have a chore for you.”

“I’m at your service. What do you need?”

“You’ve been in charge of Mary, Martha, and Millicent Mackenzie.”

“Yes, I have.”

“Bathe them and have their dresses washed tonight.”

“Why?”

“They have visitors tomorrow.”

“Their uncles are here from India?”

“No. They’re being put up for adoption.”

Rowena gasped. “What?”

“They’re being adopted. I’ve found a family willing to take all three so they won’t be split up. It was a tricky negotiation, but I deemed it best for them to stay together.”

“Adoption! Who authorized it?”

“I did. We’re no longer keeping children on the premises so they can’t remain.”

“What about their uncles?”

“What about them?”

“They’re the girls’ kin. You have to write to them.”

“First of all, Rowena, I have no idea where they’re located. If they’re still in India, how would I find them? And second of all, it would likely be two years before we received a reply. It’s impossible.”

“It is not!” Rowena fumed.

“It is!” Ruth countered.

Rowena was so angry she nearly leapt across the desk and pummeled Ruth. Ever since Rowena had returned, the place had gone to Hell in a hand basket. People spied on each other and told tales. They were punished and chastised. Meals were cut, jobs revoked, positions terminated.

Rowena had believed she hated it prior to traveling to Rome, but she hadn’t grasped how bad things could truly become. But to harm three little girls! To simply dump them off as if they were puppies!

She was certain Ruth would have conducted no research on the family. What if the girls were worked to death? Or starved? Or beaten?

“Why be so cruel to them?” Rowena asked. “They’re quiet and well-behaved, and they’ve been no trouble.”

“Again, Sister Rowena, we’re not keeping children.”

“It’s always been part of our mission.”

“It’s not any longer.”

“According to who? I demand a vote on it. The girls have no mother so I’m as much their mother as anyone, and I won’t permit you to give them away.”

“I’m not giving them away. We’ll earn a pretty penny from the arrangement.”

“You’re selling them?”

“Not
selling
them,” Ruth scoffed. “We’re being reimbursed for the expenses we’ve incurred.”

“Oh yes, they’ve eaten us out of house and home.”

“Don’t be smart, Rowena.”

“You can’t do this. I won’t let you.”

“It’s not up to you.” Ruth nodded to the door. “That will be all. Be sure they’re ready at ten o’clock tomorrow.”

Rowena glared at Ruth, her temper flaring. She had no power in the convent and no genuine friends. The other nuns viewed her as a flighty nuisance. No one would aid her or rally to her cause. No one would dare to assist or stand up to Ruth so Rowena had to act on her own—and act quickly.

She’d been languishing, expecting Ralston to arrive to rescue her, but it was too late for wishing, too late for miracles.

“I’ll have them ready,” Rowena lied.

“Ten o’clock. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t.”

Rowena marched out and dashed to the nursery where the girls were playing by themselves. With the convent not sheltering children, they were the only ones present. The nuns weren’t allowed to waste time watching them, but the nursery was next to the kitchen, which was the reason Rowena had sought employment there. She could easily slip away to check on them.

“Sister Rowena!” they merrily called except for Millicent. She still wasn’t talking, but she smiled.

Rowena knelt down and advised them, “I need you to help me with an important task.”

“What is it?” Mary asked.

“We’re leaving the convent.”

“To go where?”

“To live with Mr. Robertson.”

They grinned from ear to ear and Martha inquired, “Will Sister Faith be there? Will Mr. Hubbard?”

“I don’t know about Faith, but yes, Mr. Hubbard will definitely be there.”

Martha clapped her hands. “I’m so glad. When are we going?”

“Right now.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

Rowena walked to a cupboard in the corner. It was packed with things that errant mothers had left over the years, clothes and scarves and gloves and other items. She found a large bag and stuffed it full. She rummaged in the pile and filled a second bag.

Then she peeked into the hall, but it was deserted. Unless a person was working at a specific job, she had to be in chapel praying.

Rowena hurried out, the girls tagging after her like ducks in a row. They’d always obeyed Rowena so they didn’t argue or pester her with questions. They proceeded through the kitchen with Rowena brazenly pilfering a loaf of bread and wheel of cheese. Her theft garnered only a tired glance—but no comment—from an elderly nun who was stirring a pot of soup.

They snuck to the rear gate and vanished into the woods. She rushed away, not chatting, not explaining. In a thick copse, she stopped and tugged off her habit. She tossed it into the weeds, then put on a blue dress instead.

“Where are we headed?” Mary asked.

“To town.”

“What will we do when we arrive? Will we hire a coach to London to see Mr. Robertson?”

“I don’t have any money so I doubt we’ll use a coach. But…I’ll think of something.”

She hastened on, not eager for them to observe her expression. They were very intelligent—Mary in particular since she’d just turned eight—and she’d guess that Rowena had no plan.

She hoped she hadn’t committed a kidnapping, but she didn’t feel she had. The girls’ guardian had been Mother Superior, but she was dead, so they had no official guardian. Rowena assumed she had the authority to make decisions on their behalf, and she’d kill anyone who tried to take them back to Ruth.

Very soon they reached the edge of town. A coaching inn was the first establishment they encountered, which she deemed a good omen. Maybe she’d get lucky and a traveler would offer a poor widow—for that’s who she would claim to be—and her three pretty daughters a seat in his carriage.

If not, she’d wave down a farmer and plead for a ride in his wagon. Surely someone would help them. She was too incensed to suppose no one would.

She spun to the girls and whispered, “We have to play a game.” They nodded, and she continued. “We’ll pretend I’m your mother. That’s who you should say I am, and you’re to call me Mama. Can you remember that?”

They scowled but nodded again.

“Are we in trouble?” Mary asked.

“No. Now let’s go inside.”

They went up the steps and into the foyer. Rowena surveyed her surroundings, seeing a parlor off to the right. Several people were dining at various tables, but before she could move toward them, one of the girls excitedly said, “Hello there! Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere!”