Fortune's Son (19 page)

Now, having rashly put his life in jeopardy, Philip was determined to know why. He vowed to gain answers from Sukey… even if he had to choke them out of her.

Philip never gave the answering servant the opportunity to turn him away. Instead, he'd barged right past and taken the stairs leading to Sukey's bedchamber by twos.

She was drawn and pale, with dark circles ringing her eyes, evidence of a deeply restless night. “It's time to finish what we began last evening. You will tell me what's between you and Weston,” he demanded, willing more control to his tone than he felt.

“You had no right to intervene. It was not your place to do so.”

“You would rather I'd done nothing and left you to his devices?”

“Surely he would have been reasonable and given me some time…”

Philip silenced what she knew was a bold-faced lie with a darkling look. “Time for what, Sukey? You're at the end of your rope now, and we both know it. No. Weston would not have given an inch. He's a rake of the first order, a man completely devoid of principle and moved only by what he wants.
That
, it seems,
is
you
.”

She quivered with affront. “Let me understand you, Philip. Instead of allowing me to at least
try
to talk privately with him, you thought to better my cause by publicly defaming me as
your
mistress
?”

“Am I to assume by that you'd rather be claimed as
his
?” Philip demanded.

“Don't put words in my mouth!” Her tone rose in pitch until it threatened to crack.

Philip softened his interrogation. “Don't you comprehend? There was no other way I could assume your debt of honor.”

“And a fine mess that puts us both in now! You are no more equipped to pay him than I am!”

“The money is the least of my concerns at the moment.”

“How can you say that?”

“I mean to know who and what is he to you, Sukey?” He waited, his uncompromising stare pinning her to the spot. She averted her face without answer.

“He claimed to be your lover last night and you didn't refute him,” Philip pressed. “What hold does he have on you? I have a right to know.”

“My history is my own, Philip. You do
not
have privilege to it.”

“How can you say that?” he asked with a twisted grimace. “Damn it, Sukey, who is he to you!”

He stared her down.

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Still, Philip waited.

***

She'd thought it all long buried, that she'd never have to resurrect the pain, anguish, and shame, but her past had suddenly reclaimed her with a vengeance. She walked to the window, peering outside at the misting rain, but seeing instead the chalk hills and wide verdant valleys of Wiltshire. The thatched parish cottage she'd once called home.

“I thought I loved him. Once,” she whispered. “It has been nearly twelve years. The so-called
Honorable
John Messingham was a favorite nephew of Sir Nigel. Although Jack was a third son and bound by his family for the church, he was the one Nigel chose as his heir.

“In learning of his good fortune, Jack had come to the country for an extended stay. As the rural dean of Wiltshire and close friend of Sir Nigel, my father took Jack under his wing, but Jack was never suited to be a man of the cloth.” Her laugh was low and ironic.

She briefly looked over her shoulder at Philip. “He was once much like you, you know. He had the heart of an adventurer, not a shepherd.
Unlike
you
, Jack succumbed to his family's dictates for his future. They had designs on gaining him a bishopric, though it was the last thing Jack would have chosen for himself.

“Handsome, charming, and witty, he all too easily turned the head of a simple vicar's daughter.”

“He seduced you,” Philip accused.

“No, Philip. I could never accuse him of that. I was completely willing, eagerly enthusiastic even. What I gave, I gave out of love, however misplaced it turned out to be.” She paused, absently pulling loose threads from the fabric of the drapes as she recalled the weeks they stole away in private, to the orchard, the stables, or the lakeside folly, where they tore at one another's clothes and made love in eager abandon.

His whispers of endearment had settled on her innocent ears like morning mist on rose petals. He'd pledged his heart, his soul, his eternal devotion, declaring who better than a vicar's daughter for a clergyman's bride? Naïvely she'd believed him, and hopelessly infatuated she'd given herself.

“It was all just an illusion.” Her voice caught. “But I learned too late.”

“He got you with child.”

She nodded with a choking sound.

He muffled a curse.

“I was a fool.”

“You were an innocent. He was bound to you by honor. Why didn't the family intervene?”

“Oh, the family intervened, all right. They believed I had set out to entrap him and sent Jack abroad to keep us apart until his true intended, the daughter of Lady Weston's best friend, came of age to marry.”

“What of your father?” He stood behind her shoulder now. His voice had lost its hostile edge.

“Enraged. Ashamed. Devastated. I was his only child. He used to call me his treasure, and then I disgraced him. After that he spoke to me no more.” She stifled a sob. “I am dead to him now.”

“I don't understand how you came to be Lady Messingham.”

“Sir Nigel, informed by his servants, had already come to suspect the trysts. He'd even tried to warn Jack away from me, thinking he could avert disaster, not knowing it was too late.

“With calamity and scandal on his hands, dear sweet Nigel did the only thing he could to mitigate the wrong. He stepped in to marry me himself, but in the end he might have been saved all the trouble. Within weeks of our nuptials, I miscarried and nearly hemorrhaged to death. I was six months recovering, and the physician said I would never conceive again.” Her voice had broken. She nervously plucked at the drapes, marshalling the courage to go on.

“Though I could never give him a son of his own, Nigel was a doting husband, but he lived in constant fear that I would cuckold him. His jealousy kept me under his thumb until his recent death.”

The assorted pieces of her tale were falling rapidly into place, but some holes remained. “And what of this Jack?” Philip asked, already suspecting the answer.

“Have you not yet made the connection?”

“Jack is now the Marquess of Weston.”

Her silence was affirmation. He'd call the filthy sodding whoreson out, if he hadn't already done so.

“You said he was a third son. By what freak did he come into the title?”

“Two years after he went abroad, his eldest brother broke his neck in a hunting accident; four years after that, his surviving brother succumbed to smallpox. Unexpectedly, Jack became the marquess.”

“You knew of his return?”

“And of his subsequent marriage. How could I not? He is my nephew, after all.” Her laugh was bitter with irony. “But I have not laid eyes on him these ten years.”

She brushed the drapes aside and spun to face him, her expression imploring. “I swear to you, Philip, I was not myself when I saw him at the table. I hardly knew who I was, let alone what I was doing, and then he addressed me so cavalierly, after destroying my life! It was all as if I were an actor in some horrible, tragic play.”

Her eyes were misted and her lips trembled.

His thumb gently traced her cheek. “One can only imagine, my love. I now more fully understand your antipathy at being presented as my mistress.”

She stared at him dumbly at his unexpected display of empathy. Her lips quivered. And then her tears came as a sudden cloudburst, and once begun, the full tempest broke loose.

Philip held her close as her body racked with sobs. He gently stroked her hair until the storm abated from a cascade of tears to intermittent sniffling, using the time to master his own raw emotions and herd his scattered thoughts into cohesion.

“The way I see it, there remain only two solutions.”

“Wh-what are those?” she hiccupped.

“I could eliminate your obligation by killing the vile sodomite, or I could legally assume your debts.”

“How,” she asked warily.

Philip paused as if searching for the right words. He finally said, “As there is nothing else to answer, I'll just have to marry you.”

She choked on her disbelief. “What did you say?”

“I'm willing to marry you, Sukey.”

“Simply so you can pay my debts?” She looked incredulous.

“It
is
the only solution short of murder, as I see it.” He gave a halfhearted chuckle.

“You're serious,” she said, searching his face for any emotional clues.

Misreading her expression, Philip said, “I suppose you expect a ring.” He removed the gold band from his finger to slide it over hers. “It was my mother's, but I warn you not to expect more jewels from me. While I had already reclaimed your emeralds from pawn thinking to return them to you, now they'll likely be sold with the diamonds to satisfy Weston.”

“And what then?” she asked.

He replied, “I should have enough to settle your debts and to provide us a modest living… for a time.”

“And after that is gone?”

“I am loathe to think it should come to pass, but if need be, Lord Hastings once offered a comfortable living in exchange for a small accommodation from me.”

“You would appeal to your father?”

“If I must,” he said, adding peevishly, “But we need not linger on the notion, do we?”

She turned her hand over, sadly gazing upon the exotic symbols etched in the gold. “I can only bring you ruin, you know.”

He gave a sardonic laugh. “By all evidence, that's true, but having skirted the edge of ruin most of my life, why should I change tack at this late date? Now, let us make haste to Fleet Street and be done with it.”

“No, Philip.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“You haven't even asked me.”

“Asked you?” He looked blank. “Asked you what?”

“To marry you.”

“Good God, Sukey! Do you expect me to kneel at your feet?”

“Not at all, but I would expect the courtesy of actually posing the question!”

He took her hand in both of his and responded in a tight-lipped reply, “If it would please you, my dearest Lady Messingham, will you do me the inestimable honor of becoming my wife?”

“Why, Philip?” she asked, quietly studying him.

He scrubbed his face in exasperation. “I hadn't expected a bloody inquest, Sukey, and thought I'd already explained it rather clearly—I'll take care of your immediate debts and you will learn to live within our somewhat limited means. In return for your devotion, I pledge to provide for you. You'll not be destitute.”

“Why are you so concerned with my welfare?”

While her heart had initially raced at the notion of becoming Philip's wife, his cavalier response failed to satisfy her deep-seated fear.

“Mayhap because you have no one else,” he said flippantly. “Come. Let us go. Now.”

His impatience was coupled with a vague agitation, as if he would lose his nerve if they delayed another moment.

“But do you love me, Philip?” She awaited his response with mounting disquietude as a tense silence stretched between them. The bluntly posed question had clearly taken him off guard.

Philip looked vastly uncomfortable, as if she had forced him to ponder motives he hadn't cared to probe all that closely. “Damn it all, Sukey, what more do you want from me?”

Obviously more than he cared to give.

His response left her barren. Bereft. But it was all the answer she needed.

It was late afternoon when Nancy tapped tentatively on her mistress's bedchamber door.

“What is it, Nan?” The lady spoke in a hoarse whisper, her throat completely raw from a night spent in anguish, frustration, and rage. “I expressly said that I wished not to be disturbed.”

“But my lady, the footman was quite insistent that his lordship speak with you.”

“Who would speak with me, Nan?” she snapped at the hapless maid. “I gave strict instructions that I am not at home… to anyone.”

“May I enter, my lady?” Nan asked through the door.

“Well? What is it?” Susannah flung the door open to the startled maid, who found her normally impeccable mistress dressed in her wrapper with her hair a tangled mess and her lids puffy from spent tears.

Her heart wrung in compassion. “Oh, my lady, what has brought you to such a pass?”

“I don't wish to discuss it, Nan,” she said tersely. “Now pray tell me what is this urgent business, and then leave me in peace.”

“Yes, ma'am,” she complied meekly. “Two liveried footmen come to the door on behalf of a great lord who awaits outside in his carriage.”

The image of Jack Messingham came ominously to mind. Could he not at least have given her a day before importuning her for payment? Desperate to stall, she replied, “I am unfit to receive at the moment. Pray convey to the Marquess of Weston that he must conduct himself with greater circumspection and pay his calls at a more appropriate hour.”

“Lord Weston?” the maid repeated blankly. “You are mistaken, madam. 'Tis not the name the footman gave.” The maid produced a gold-embossed calling card. “'Tis the Earl of Hastings what insistents on speaking with you.”

“The Earl of Hastings? What could Lord Hastings want with me?” She immediately wondered if something had happened to Philip.

“I haven't a notion, my lady. The footman, a lovely chap in the finest velvet, was mum about it too, though I did me best to find out.” Nan smiled coyly. “For you, ma'am,” she amended hastily.

“Of course, Nan,” the lady replied with a knowing look. “Then if he won't be turned away, you must help me to dress.”

Lady Messingham donned her most demure gray half-mourning gown and strategically confined her tangled locks under a simple lace cap. To disguise her blotched and wretched complexion, she made use of a generous amount of powder, forgoing any rouge.

When she had calmed her nerves enough to proceed, she descended the steps of her house, followed by her lady's maid.

“If you will but accompany me, my lady.” The footman led the way to the unmarked carriage standing a short distance from her house. “His lordship is a man of utmost discretion,” the servant explained. “He would not wish to draw undue attention.”

“By calling at my door like a gentleman? How curious,” the lady said archly, determined not to show her unease. When he opened the door to the carriage, Susannah gestured to her maid to follow, but the footman interposed himself.

“No, my lady. His lordship would speak privily.”

She regarded him with a slight frown, but complied when the servant moved to hand her up. When the door closed, she turned to face a pair of ice blue eyes.

***

“My Lord Hastings, I must say I am surprised by the unconventionality of this meeting.”

“Madam.” He inclined his head stiffly. “The circumstances required it be so.”

“Indeed?”

“You are Sir Nigel Messingham's bride, are you not? I was acquainted with your husband.”

“I
was.
My husband is deceased nearly six months.”

He ignored the correction. “I think Sir Nigel a vain and addled man to have taken such as you to wife.” Her eyes grew wide in affront but he stilled her with a chilling look. “What had you to bring to the marriage?” he asked. “No dowry. No property, and most important, not even the ability to breed an heir.”

“I take exception to this conversation, my lord.” She moved toward the door, but gasped when he struck out to block her with his silver-handled cane.

“I am not finished,” he said.

“Then finish what you have to say and let me go.”

“We have some business to settle between us.”

“What business? What do you want with me?”

“The nature of this interview is your relationship with my youngest son.”

“He is a grown man. What concern is it of yours whether
or
not
I am involved with Philip?”

“I am greatly concerned that a woman of loose moral fiber has served only to lead him further astray.”

“You have gone beyond the pale. I won't suffer your insults a moment longer.”

Still blocked by the cane, she kicked at the door, but Lord Hastings had already thumped on the roof to signal the driver. The vehicle jolted forward at a brisk pace.

“Shall it be a turn in the park, then?”

She gaped at his audacity. “This is no less than abduction!”

“It is indeed.” He smiled.

“You will stop this carriage at once!” Her voice was calm and commanding but her heart raced with apprehension.

“I'll do no such thing, and you'll keep your mouth shut until I'm finished with you.”

She stared at him aghast.

“Right, then, where were we? Ah yes, your loose morality. It is no secret how you attempted to entrap Sir Nigel's heir, and having failed, persuaded the dotard to sacrifice himself and his entire fortune to you instead. And what now to show for it? The money is gone, the properties mortgaged, and not even an heir of his own to carry his name. All in all, you are a very bad bargain, my Lady Messingham.”

“H-how do you know all this? Nigel would never have spoken of it. He was an honorable man who pledged his word, and I dedicated ten years of my life to return his kindness.”

“I gave you credit for more intelligence. How sad to be mistaken. Shall I explain, since you haven't the wherewithal to figure it out? Who else was privy to this dirty little secret?”

“Jack,” she whispered and began to tremble almost convulsively.

“Ah,” Lord Hastings exclaimed. “I see you are not so slow-witted after all.”

“Why? Why do you wish to inflict torment upon me? What have I done to deserve your cruelty?”

“Oh my dear, nothing.
Yet
.” He waited patiently while his meaning penetrated.

“What can you possibly fear from me?” she asked, bewildered.

“It is for you to fear, my lady. I simply manage that which would endeavor to overset me.”

She regarded him with a horrified stare.

“As I said, Philip appears to have fixed himself on you and I have no intention of allowing your designs to interfere with my plans.”

“Designs?”

“Don't play coy, Lady Messingham. I know you for a shameless jade. Do you deny seducing my son so he would pay your gaming debts?”

“It wasn't like that!”

“Why else would he have come begging a loan of one thousand pounds, if not to pay off Weston?”

“I don't believe it! He would never have groveled as you say.”

“You see what you have reduced him to already? What kind of woman would wish a man to debase himself by rebelling against his own principles? Sadly, I had to deny the request. So now here you are, once more without the means to pay your debts and without even the funds to support yourself. Even at this moment a summons is being issued by the Westminster Magistrate for your arrest. What do you know of debtors' prison, my lady?”

“My God! You are a minion of the devil!”

“No, my dear, simply an earl.” The cruel curve of his lips sent a shudder down her spine. “But one who will see his house in order before he leaves this earth. That includes the younger son as well as the heir.”

“But what have I to do with any of this?”

“You are a distraction that must be eliminated to bring Philip to heel. I have use for Philip once his wayward nonsense comes to its inevitable conclusion. He will assume his place with his peers and in good time will be pledged to some virtuous young woman of unexceptionable breeding and superior fortune. Be his mistress
then
, if you must, but be damned if you think to infiltrate this family.”

“Why do you believe I wish to marry Philip?”

“You deny it?”

“Of course I deny it!” Her hands plucked nervously at her skirts. She looked down, willing them to be still, realizing in the same moment that it came to the earl's notice—she still wore Philip's ring.

“Then where did you get that? You lying baggage!” Without warning, the back of his hand struck her cleanly across the face. “You wear his filthy symbol of taint! The deed is already done, is it? Well, what is done can be just as easily
undone
. At least we know no bastard offspring can result from this inglorious union.”

“You are mistaken,” she cried out. “Philip gave me the ring only as a pledge. There is no marriage. Nor will there be.”

“So you say? Then he does have such intentions, regardless of your prior protest. You, however, will refuse him.”

“Why should I refuse?” she taunted, if only to serve him back his own sauce.

“Why? I'll give you a thousand reasons as inducement, but if you cross me you may not live to regret it.” His meaning was clear and the menace in Lord Hastings's eyes made her tremble in earnest.

She had already refused Philip, knowing he wasn't ready for such a step and that only crisis had prompted the proposal. Although he'd made an honorable offer, he did not reciprocate her feelings. Thus, she'd declined. Her heart couldn't bear to do otherwise.

Now, out of the blue, Lord Hastings threatened her. He'd described the desperation of her circumstances without exaggeration, but then unexpectedly offered her a way out—if she only played her cards right this one and final time. It was a gamble she determined to take.

She swallowed hard, marshaling her will to meet the earl's eye, answering in a voice that was dispassionate and controlled. “One thousand pounds is scarcely sufficient to meet my needs. Make it five thousand, my lord.”

“Rapacious whore!” he thundered. “Two thousand.”

She stood her ground stolidly under his piercing stare and countered. “Three.”

“Three it is! And be damned to hell!”