Miranda embraced her. "Ros would be proud of you."
Helena brushed the tears from her eyes brusquely. "Stop it, or I'll give myself away before I've even found him."
Chapter Twenty Four
The house, at first glance, looked abandoned. Helena had a strong urge to turn around and leave. But Nanny Bea had said not to let appearance fool her. She entered apprehensively and her apprehensions were not calmed by the abandoned look of the main hall.
The chandelier hung in cobwebbed splendor. The marble floor was chipped and stained and looked as if it hadn't been cleaned in several decades.
For some reason the chipped floor made her remember Rand's story about his mother and her diamond ring he had used to mark the floor. The thought heartened her and she moved forward with more hope.
From somewhere above her came the sound of a harp. A haunting sound. Was the somber harpist Rand? She followed the music to a narrow hallway that looked as though it had, at one time in the house's youth, led to the residents' bedrooms. Clearly, the music came from behind the first door on the left.
The door was closed but unlocked. She could hear the music clear through the solid oak of the door. She turned the latch and pushed the door slowly open.
When she heard no objections, she slowly entered. The room she entered was clean. The wallpaper fresh and new, the paint and furnishings new as well. How this room had come to be in the midst of chaos and decay she could but wonder.
The sound of the harp came from the far corner of the good sized bedroom. The harpist was not Rand. Instead, the music was made by a woman who reclined on a couch. Rand knelt at her knee, enraptured by the music. He was smiling up at the woman with love in his eyes. The sight took her breath away.
Questions filled her mind. What was he doing here? How had Nanny Bea known he would be here? Why had he kept this secret from her? Dread touched her, but she would not be a coward now.
He heard her approaching and turned. "Jenny, more tea if you please. Her appetite is—" he broke off, gaping at her.
The woman's pale blue gaze focused on her and the delicate features wrinkled in a frown. Her voice was thin, like she was. "Whatever is that young man doing here? Have I a visitor? I thought I wasn't allowed visitors."
Helena saw the woman Rand loved clearly. Her long hair was white and pulled back in a fashionable chignon. The eyes were hollow and innocent as a child's as she stared at Helena.
"I believe this visitor is for me, my lady." He stood as he spoke. Despite his smile, the tips of his ears were red. He was furious that she had come, but he was doing his best to hide his emotions from the woman.
"What is the world coming to when a footman has visitors in my parlor?" The woman smiled as she spoke, apparently more amused at her own confusion than frightened by it.
"I cannot say, my lady." Rand's gaze fixed on the door behind Helena. "But I see Jenny has come with the child. Are you ready for them."
The woman sat up. She vibrated with enthusiasm. "I'm always eager to see my son. Send them in."
Helena moved aside for...Jenny? Could it be Jenny Bean? She carried in a child no more than six months old. He was beaming and holding his arms out to the woman, who reached out for him.
Not knowing where to begin, Helena looked at Rand and said simply, "Nanny Bea said I would find you here. Your grandfather has sent word that you will be cut off if I do not take myself and our son to Parsleigh within the week."
"So Griggson has informed me. You will not go. I will take care of him." He led her out of the room as the invalid cooed to the infant. "My latest bastard." He smiled absently as the child let out a carefree laugh.
Helena stopped, turned and glanced at the child. As she had thought, his little head was crowned by a mop of red hair. His eyes were deep, bright blue.
And Jenny, whether Jenny Bean or not, was glaring daggers at her. "Is that the marquess' man you've been expecting?" she demanded of Rand.
Marquess' man? Helena glanced down at her garb and remembered what she must look like to the woman.
"No." Rand said, "This is my wife." He shut the door, blocking their view of Jenny's astonished gape.
"Have you come alone? The duke sent no one to protect you?"
"It is not customary to send a chaperone with a young man. I did not want your grandfather's spies following me. But it seems you are expecting his man already."
"Not just his man, I am expecting my grandfather himself." He glanced toward the closed door. "But I have not told Jenny that. She would worry."
He took her arm and led her down the stairs. "You must go. I do not want you here when my grandfather arrives."
She resisted his pull. "What is this place. Why is Jenny Bean here, taking care of your string of illegitimate sons. Is she your mistress?"
"Mistress?" Her question had shocked him, but into amusement, not anger. "No. Jenny is housekeeper here."
"And the woman playing the harp?"
He shoved his hands deep in his pockets. "I suppose I owe you an explanation?"
More than that. "Yes."
"My mother," he said. "Or what is left of her after she threw herself from the window of the asylum my grandfather committed her to."
"That woman is your mother?" But his mother was dead. Helena caught herself. Nanny Bea had said she would find Rand's biggest secret. It didn't take a minute's thought to understand that Rand's mother was better off with the marquess thinking her dead.
"How long has she been here?" She couldn't tell how he felt. What he thought. His face was a blank.
"Since I was eighteen." He rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. "The old man made a mistake. He committed me to the same place he'd put her, years ago. After I found out what they'd done to her... I hired someone to steal her from there."
"No one told your grandfather?"
His smile was bleak. "They didn't even care. She had thrown herself from a window by then and couldn't walk. Her mind wasn't right. They just told my grandfather she died. And he believed them. He told me. Told me not to grieve for her because she'd been flawed. Not a good mother. I knew he was lying, but I didn't argue. Because I knew she'd be safer here if he thought her dead."
"Why here?" She didn't add
in a run down abandoned manor house
but she suspected he knew what she left unsaid by her tone.
"This is where I should have been born. It was my mother's house. We used to visit. But my grandfather wouldn't let my father live here. He wouldn't release the funds to keep this place up. He wanted my father close. He wanted me close."
He said softly, "I thought, once I had my son, that I would move here. Raise him here with the money that was mine by right." He took her hand. "I'm sorry, Helena. So very sorry for what my arrogance has cost you. I will make it right. I promise." His expression held a touch of ruthless determination that chilled her. He looked, for just a moment, like his grandfather.
He always kept his promises, she remembered, more frightened to see the signs that what she feared most was true. She squeezed his hand. "That's why I came. To tell you to come home with me. The duke will support us. My brother will support us. We can fight your grandfather. Together." She leaned against him, suddenly trembling and he put his arms around her in support.
Rand held her, knowing that he should send her away before his grandfather arrived, but unable to stop himself from holding her. He leaned down to press a kiss on her lips as he had wanted to do for so very long. As he did so, Jenny opened the door, carrying the child away, and they were exposed to two pair of startled expressions. The child merely blinked sleepily at them.
His mother gasped. "Why are you kissing that young man, you wicked thing. It is entirely improper."
"This is not a young man, milady," Rand said gently. "This is my wife."
"First visitors and now a wife. Society is not what it used to be. But you are a good butler, all the same."
"Thank you, milady."
Jenny bustled back in, without the child this time. "I'll see to her," she whispered to Rand. "You've got business to sort out." She shut the door and the harp began to sound its haunting tune again.
"You should not have come."
"Your grandfather is a powerful man. You cannot fight him alone."
"On the contrary, I am the only one who can fight him, and I assure you the marquess will be sent to the devil as soon as he comes here. I have no doubt he'll find him a companion soul." He had made up his mind when he learned of the attempt to abduct his son from the duke. Diplomacy, negotiation, threats, had all failed to sway his grandfather from a grim determination to keep Rand pressed tightly under his thumb.
She entwined her hands with his. "Then I will stand beside you."
"Helena —"
"We must be free of him. He will have you in the madhouse, otherwise. Will you challenge him to a duel? I will act as second, as Ros has done for you in the past."
A duel. As if he grandfather had a shred of honor. He shook his head. "What I must do, you must have no part of, for our son's sake if not for yours." He had set the plans in motion to free Helena, his son, his mother, Jenny. "I have staked my mother like a sacrificial lamb, but I do not intend for her to be sacrificed." The only one sacrificed would be himself, fittingly enough. He tugged at her, trying to compel her down the stairs. "My course is set. You cannot be here."
"There must be another?" Helena argued. She held his cheeks and stood on tiptoe to kiss his resisting mouth. "We can win against him together. I'm willing to wager on it. Aren't you?"
"No more wagers." He shook his head. His hands moved restively across her back. He was glad she was here, in his arms. If it weren't for the danger— "You must go."
As if she saw the truth in his eyes, she smiled and refined her torment. "I find I can't live without that pleasure you have taught me to enjoy."
He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her. "I don't deserve you."
"Or I am your just reward. Have you thought of that?" She kissed his ear.
He shuddered. "Perish the thought, Wife."
His joy was momentary, interrupted by his grandfather's mocking voice. "Glad to see you are able to stay away from your wife as we agreed. Not that I am surprised, considering what I have learned about you and this place in the last few hours."
His grandfather stood watching them. Watching him. As if he didn't realize he was not welcome he said warmly, "You're better at the game than I'd thought, boy. To have hidden your mother all these years without my ever getting a whisper of it."
He peered at Helena and said imperiously, "You don't make much of a man, if you don't mind my saying so, girl. Change into skirts, if you thought to bring some."
Rand felt as if time had stopped. He had had nightmares about this day for so long he was not completely sure he would not wake in a cold sweat. Meeting the old man's gaze head on, he was at the same time completely prepared and completely unprepared.
The time had come for him to protect his family from the threat the marquess posed. "You are not welcome here."
"Why? Because you're afraid I'll put your mother back in the madhouse or because I've finally got the great-grandson I demanded and my bloodline does not depend upon the whim of a mad wastrel any longer?" The marquess must have seen his surprise because he laughed. "Coin will always free a tongue, boy. I thought I taught you that. Your son has green eyes. Like his father. Like his grandfather. Like his great-grandfather."
Rand glanced at Helena, who stopped glaring at his grandfather long enough to nod confirmation.
That made the game all the more dangerous. His grandfather knew what he was about, and now had no reason not to leave his "mad wastrel" grandson alive if he proved troublesome.
"Clever of you to have me pay for your bastards and then use the money to give some poor girl and her child a start while they nursemaided that broken lunatic." The old man leaned against the wall. There was a touch of regret in his voice. "Are none of them yours?"
Defiant, Rand answered sharply, "They all are." But he did not mean that he had fathered them.
"You were always a disappointment to me."
"No man...no child...could ever please you, grandfather. You are looking for perfection. And I am far from perfect."
"You could have been. If you weren’t so weak and sentimental. Your son will be stronger. I will raise him to be strong, as I failed with you."
"It is not weak to love or to be loved, Grandfather. My mother taught me that long ago, and my wife has reminded me of that truth." He was not strictly lying. He knew that it was the truth, though he was not certain the hollow shell of his heart could be redeemed.
"Truth." His grandfather spat out the word as if it were a vile taste in his mouth. "Truth is what we make of it. Sign the boy's care over to me and I will fund your mother's last days in comfort here. You can go to the devil with her and your inconstant bride for all I care. You promised me the boy in return for your freedom. Will you break your word?"
He felt Helena draw back from him sharply. "You
promised
him our son?"
"I did." He watched her expression change from shock to hurt to anger. He knew his words were little comfort, but he offered them anyway. "It seemed a good bargain to me. Before I married you. Before I had a son."
"Of course it did." His prim and proper wife was back, disapproval in every syllable. She turned to the marquess. "My husband does not keep promises made in madness. We will not give up our son to you, ever." Her voice was sharp and sure and Rand remembered that his mother had spoken to the marquess that way once, just before she was sent away.
"What would you know of a deal struck between men? A pair of trousers and fake whiskers doesn't make a man out of anyone." His grandfather glared contemptuously at Helena and then turned his impatient scorn on Rand. "Well? Will you keep your promise, or will I find a fitting punishment for your disobedience?"