The Problem with Seduction (8 page)

Mrs. Dalton helped her to dress carefully in a watered silk gown. Elizabeth drew a satiny gold wrap around her shoulders and checked her appearance. In the month during which Nicholas had kept her child from her, she’d become skeletal, but over the last week she’d begun to fill out again. Nonetheless, the gown didn’t stick to her like it used to and she breathed a sigh of relief. The less kindling she gave them, the better.

She was shown to the drawing room by Dodger, who couldn’t keep his smile hidden. She hung back before entering the room. “Might you and Mrs. Elf go up to the nursery after the dinner’s been cleared?” she whispered.

He almost blinded her with his delight. “Oh, certainly, certainly. It’s been so long since there was a little one here. I miss seeing you and your sisters toddling down the hallways.”

She smiled faintly and touched his sleeve. “I’m so glad to see you again, Mr. Dodger. Thank you.”

With that, she stepped into the drawing room. It was empty. Were her parents not coming after all?

Before she knew what he was about, Dodger reached out and squeezed her hand. “You will always have Mrs. Elf and me.”

The
click-clack
of her mother’s sure steps, pitted against her father’s long strides, caused Elizabeth to jump away from Dodger. He stepped back against the wall, leaving Elizabeth only somewhat alone to face her parents.

The Countess of Wyndham was fearsomely handsome. That hadn’t changed. Her dark hair was done in a crown of simple braids that accentuated a sharp widow’s peak a less formidable woman might have concealed. She looked down her long, patrician nose at Elizabeth and tugged on her husband’s arm. “At least she’s finally outgrown her baby fat, Wyndham.”

“Now, Jane,” her father boomed, “she’s what, five and twenty? Long in the tooth to be sporting chubby cheeks. Even so, Elizabeth, you will want to mind what you eat. A trim figure doesn’t come easier with age.”

His brown side-whiskers were threaded with white now, as was the hair on his head. Otherwise, he looked exactly the same. He’d always worn a poof of hair in a curl over one eye, and he preferred the brass-buttoned coat issued by his old regiment to a dinner jacket. Ten years ago, the red coat had been outdated. Gaping open across his belly now, it looked the victim of another two wars. “Well, girl, don’t just stand there,” he said to her, “a homecoming like this calls for whisky.”

Realizing Dodger had abandoned her after all, she went to the sideboard and poured a whisky and two sherries. When she returned with the tray, it was to see that her parents had seated themselves in two wingback chairs facing a long sofa.

She was to be interviewed, then.

She settled onto the sofa. The large bench dwarfed her, likely their intention. Her mother and father sipped their drinks and watched her with unflinching contempt. She swirled her sherry, uninterested in imbibing spirits when so much needed to be said.

Silence stretched between them until Elizabeth could stand it no longer. “Were you told I have a child?”

Her mother made a disgusted noise. Her father leaned forward and thwacked the bottom of his empty snifter against the low table. “I suppose you’ve brought him to meet us. Think it will butter us up, do you? Think we will take him under our wing and let bygones go by?”

Her throat tightened so much that she could barely form a response. “He’s a
baby.
”

Her voice sounded weak. She
hated
that her voice sounded weak.

“Exactly,” Wyndham shot back. “An innocent baby who has no notions of immorality. He ought to be raised as a gentleman rather than a whore’s son, but you’ll never be selfless enough to admit that, will you? You’ll keep him for yourself and hinder any help his father’s name might have lent him, bastard though he is.”

She stared at her father incredulously. He was on Nicholas’s side? But how did he
know
?

“You
should
have left him with his father,” her mother said, further confirming Elizabeth’s horrible suspicion that they knew about Nicholas. “But of course, it doesn’t surprise us to hear you refused the man his own offspring. You’ve always been a headstrong girl. Had I suspected you would have the nerve to come here, however, I would have kept Clara here another day. Now I must send her a letter with your whereabouts. How embarrassing it will be to have to explain this.”

Elizabeth’s vision blurred. She shook her head at her mother’s vitriolic words, though she couldn’t make sense of the last. “Clara?”

“Lady Montborne,” she replied with a disdaining scowl. “Lord Constantine’s mother.”

Elizabeth blinked. Her heart thumped against her breast. They
didn’t
know about Nicholas. They wanted her to give Oliver to Lord Constantine. That was much, much better.

“You’re exchanging letters with Lady Montborne?” Elizabeth still didn’t understand what this meant.

Her mother’s pinched derision matched her tone. “She said you aren’t cooperating with his efforts to bring his child into his care. It doesn’t surprise me in the least, given—”

“I am a headstrong girl. Yes, I’ve been listening. Why did she write to you?” Elizabeth’s heart pounded so loud she could hear it. What if Con were still determined to “borrow” Oliver?

Her mother draped her fingers over her heart, as if she couldn’t countenance what she was about to say. “Write to me? She
came
here. What an awkward tea! Never in my life did I imagine I would entertain the mother of my daughter’s paramour. I told her in no uncertain terms that I had no notion of your whereabouts and I most adamantly would
not
insert myself into a custody complaint over a natural child, even if he is my grandson of sorts.”

“He’s no grandson of mine,” Wyndham said with a
harrumph.
“I’m more than happy to step in if I must.”

Elizabeth’s head spun. Lord Constantine couldn’t have sent his mother
here.

Her dizziness made it difficult to speak. Lady Wyndham had never required her daughter’s participation to brew a fight, however. “All the same, I certainly will
not
harbor him. What a scandalous circumstance that would be, when poor Lord Constantine is being denied his own flesh and blood. Elizabeth, do sit up straight. You’re looking very common these days.”

“You ought to rid yourself of that child, is what you should do.” Her father’s voice seemed to come from far away. “Turn him over to Lord Constantine before he becomes some dirty pickpocket.”

The edges of her vision turned black. Her stomach heaved and she cradled her abdomen.
Oh, God.
No, she would
not
retch on her mother’s low table. But how could they be so cruel? Did they not trust her at all to raise her own child?
“No,”
she whispered, out loud this time.

“If not him,” Wyndham intoned, “then Captain Finn will do just as well. He can afford to apprentice him out. Give him a trade to fall back on, so he doesn’t end up addicted to gin and thievery.”

She jerked her head up. “Finn?” Her father
did
know.

Her mother arched a thin eyebrow. Her sharp chin jutted forward and she looked down her long nose in disgust. “If we must entertain
one more
of your dirty conquests, Elizabeth…”

Elizabeth went cold as mortification set in. No wonder they were angry. She’d inadvertently sent her scandal straight to their doorstep. And yet, she wished with all her heart that her mother would put aside her offense and ask Elizabeth if she needed help. Comfort. For this anguish only existed because she’d never felt her mother’s warmth in the first place, and had set off to find someone, anyone, to hold her.

Wyndham shook his meaty finger in the air. “I don’t pretend to know the facts, girl, but one thing is clear to me. Finn is looking for a fight. Your mother and I won’t stand for it. Our family name has been dragged through the mud enough, don’t you think?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “I’ll give you one month. That’s long enough for you to return to London and place the boy with his father. I don’t care which man that is, so long as you’re sure he’s the right one. I want the gossipmongers silenced, do you hear?”

She could only consider him mutely. Her whole world,
her son,
hung over the edge of a precipice. How dare Nicholas come here? How
dare
he?

Wyndham’s thick brows drew together. “If you don’t end this farce in one month, I will choose for you. Lady Montborne may have tugged at your mother’s heartstrings, but I smell a rat. When it’s my word and the captain’s against yours and that feckless Alexander boy’s, whose do you think the courts are going to believe?”

She knew one thing for certain. It would never, ever be hers. Her father had the influence to make good on his threat with a snap of his fingers. In one month, he would snatch away her baby…if he could find her.

She didn’t wait for daybreak. An hour before the sun rose, she thrust her precious son, his nurse and the balance of her entourage into the two carriages and gave the order to pull away.

Now
she could run. The last string tying her to England had truly been severed. Her parents didn’t love her. Moreover, her own father had just become a threat greater than Nicholas himself.

Her carriages made haste for the port city of Ellesmere. From there, she might sail to Dublin, or north to Scotland. France was out of the question, as was the majority of the Continent due to the ravages of the recently ended war, but it hardly mattered where she landed next. She would never be safe in England, so long as her father was willing to set the law on her.

Maybe Ireland wasn’t far enough. Could she be extradited? How was she to know?

Mrs. Dalton rode rear-facing. Her wide brown eyes shone in the dark. In that direction churned another question: would the nursemaid come, too? What about the rest of her staff? None of them had intended to defect when she’d told them to pack for Shropshire. What if they refused to follow? What would she do alone in Dublin, with a few pieces of jewelry and a small coin purse, while waiting for the post to travel back and forth between her solicitor and herself?

If she was declared a fugitive, would her accounts be frozen?

It was all so overwhelming. She’d have to see to severing her lease and organize the removal of her personal effects, all from another country. A new city where she’d have to set up her life all over again…for the third time within a single year.

She was too exhausted to close her eyes, and then there was Oliver to mind. This time, she hadn’t been strong enough to let him out of her sight. She’d directed Oliver, Mrs. Dalton and the large bag filled with Oliver’s necessities to her carriage, rather than the second. Elizabeth held his small body upright while he bounced on his baby legs. His soft fingers gripped hers and he gurgled happily.
She had to be strong.
She must do this. Otherwise, he would never know her. He would grow up thinking she hadn’t loved him. He might even believe she’d abandoned him—there was no telling what Nicholas would claim.

At four o’clock in the afternoon, she estimated there were a few hours yet before they arrived at Ellesmere. If the weather held, she might have six more hours of sunlight. Even so, the horses must be changed again before they continued on. She rapped on the carriage ceiling and fished out a coin from her velvet satchel. If they must stop, they should rest a moment, too. There were few taverns along the sparsely populated road and Mrs. Dalton looked half-starved.

They were seen into a private dining room while the rest of the servants were given ale and a meal in the front rooms. Elizabeth balanced Oliver on her hip, unwilling to have her son out of her arms for even a moment.

“That’s a handsome lad you have there,” the innkeeper’s wife said as she drew two of the four chairs away from the table. She waggled her fingers in Oliver’s smiling face as she passed. “Would you like some warm milk and bread for him?”

Elizabeth tried not to sound bitter when she answered, “Yes, thank you.” Her milk had dried up in the month she’d been separated from her son. Another offense she would never forgive Nicholas.

After the woman left, Mrs. Dalton removed her dusty bonnet and went to a washbasin set in the corner. “Are you sure we won’t stay the night, madam?” She sounded hopeful.

Elizabeth did feel conscience-stricken for dragging her staff posthaste across the countryside, but she shook her head. “My father thinks we’ve returned to London. I want to be far from here before he realizes that’s not true.” She had told her nurse they were headed for Ellesmere. She hadn’t yet explained that they weren’t coming back. “Will you stay with me?” she asked, even though it wasn’t a fair question.

Mrs. Dalton had lost her husband in the war. She was a pretty young thing with a shock of brown hair and a rosy complexion. She was too much a child herself for the sadness in her eyes. “Of course. I adore Oliver.”

Elizabeth sat at the table and positioned Oliver on her lap in the crook of her arm, preparing to feed him when the innkeeper’s wife returned. “Would you stay with me if I never came back to England?” She looked up to check the young woman’s reaction.