Clandestine (39 page)

“Dear me,” Guy said.

Moorefield flushed with anger and stalked away. “I'm also at a loss to know why you would take any interest in this chit's wild claims, except perhaps from some personal malice toward me. Out of jealousy?”

“Over your orchid collection?” Guy asked lazily. “Or over your happy circumstances in life?”

Moorefield struck one fist into the other. Sarah held her breath.
Guy wants this! He wants the earl to lose his temper!

Yet Rachel tore her fingers from Sarah's grasp and flung herself into Guy's arms, forcing him to explode from his chair to catch her.

Sagging dramatically in his embrace, Rachel turned to face the earl. She looked magnificent: beautiful, wronged, all fragile porcelain and gold, her hair a gilt halo against Guy's dark jacket.

“You don't understand, Lord Moorefield,” she said. “Mr. Devoran is my baby's father.”

S
ILENCE SHOCKED THROUGH THE ROOM AS IF AN EARTHQUAKE
had struck. Sarah flinched. Huge, blinding birds dived at her head and tore pecking into her heart. Yet nothing moved, except for Guy helping a white-faced Rachel to a seat.

“Berry is Mr. Devoran's son,” she repeated. “We were cruelly parted, but we're to be married now and the wedding's to be held at Wyldshay at Christmas. You cannot gainsay the claim of the baby's real father, Lord Moorefield.”

The earl sat down, his face white. “Is this true, sir?”

Guy glanced down at him and smiled. “Alas, truth is a strange commodity, though my wedding arrangements are not quite so precisely arranged as yet.”

“Then you do not deny it,” the earl said. “Yet you can hardly—”

“Yes, he can,” Rachel interrupted. “Though I was his mistress, I cannot be ashamed of it. Even my cousin knows it. Look at her! You'll see the truth of what I say in her face.”

The earl gazed at Sarah for a moment, while her heart pounded. Then he sat back, arms folded, and laughed.

“So I perceive, ma'am.”

As if ceding the field, Guy strode away to the window. Dark and elegant, he stood quietly gazing out. Rachel dropped her head into both hands and started to weep.

“Good God!” Moorefield said. “Tears!”

Furious, devastated, Sarah walked over to her cousin and sat next to her. Rachel took her proffered handkerchief and sobbed quietly into the little square of cotton.

There's a child at the heart of all of this,
Sarah reminded herself,
an innocent little boy!

Still laughing, the earl poured himself more wine. “So your mistress comes to you with a wild tale of losing your little bastard. I'm amazed that you would choose to marry such a careless chit, sir. But I will certainly not give up my son based on such bizarre speculations.”

Guy spoke over his shoulder with icy precision. “You will not—however tempted you may feel—insult Miss Mansard. It is not my wish to meet you at dawn, Moorefield, but I will if you insist.”

His face still creased by his grin, the earl pushed to his feet and marched up to the fireplace, where he stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Then as I guessed, sir, you cannot answer me and I believe we've said enough. You'll be pleased to leave my house before this absurdity gets out of hand, and you may take your two harlots with you.”

Guy stared casually out through the glass. “You will, in particular, not insult Mrs. Callaway. You may feel secure in your claim to the child, but the grave often speaks in unexpected ways.”

The countess shivered. “No! How can you prove anything?”

Guy turned and smiled at her with what looked like real kindness. “I regret to embarrass you, Lady Moorefield, but such are the vagaries of fate. The midwife's sister wrote out a complete account of what happened.”

The earl guffawed. “A forgery, if such a document even exists! You'll have to do better than that, sir, before you attempt to steal my son.”

“This sister lives,” Guy said.

“But the midwife herself is dead, and any of a thousand dockside bawds would tell a lie for three shillings.”

“I did not mention,” Guy said quietly, “anything about the midwife's sister's location. And we stray, most unfortunately, into dangerous ground once again. If you imply that I would pay for false witness, you impugn my honor far more than I intend to insult yours.”

“Nonsense! You have no proof worth discussing, Devoran, and you know it.” The earl tugged hard at the bell cord. “If you persist in this gibberish, we may indeed name our seconds and I shall kill you.”

Guy bowed. “It's to your credit, my lord, that you haven't tried murder thus far—unless Croft's untimely death was not a coincidence, after all? However, I don't believe we'll need to resort to violence, or not quite yet. I can prove that this lady is the child's mother, and I don't believe you would wish the world to know the whole story by indulging in anything as public as a duel.”

Sarah pressed her hand to her mouth. She felt ill.
He's bluffing. He's bluffing. No one will believe Mrs. Siskin or Rachel, and Lord Moorefield will call Guy out and kill him.

“And it
is
all nonsense!” Lady Moorefield, her skin chalk white, pointed one trembling finger at Rachel. “Lord Berrisham will be an earl one day, but this woman would publicly brand him a bastard, instead? What mother would rob her own child of such an inheritance?”

Rachel looked up, her lovely hands clenched into fists, her face stained by tears. “I would, because Moorefield Hall isn't my baby's true birthright; Birchbrook is!” She glanced toward Guy. “Mr. Devoran's inheritance isn't entailed. He can leave it in any way that he wishes.”

The earl raised a brow. “That so, Devoran?”

Sarah gulped down a fierce pain.
He must have told Rachel this in Hampstead—

Yet Guy's eyes remained quiet and dark. “Yes, as it happens, but if we're to fall back on the judgment of Solomon, there's a far better test than the wealth or position the child may inherit.” He flashed a bright smile as if to share a wicked joke. “Though that might be quite soon, should either of us die in a merry little meeting at dawn.”

The earl chortled. “So what the devil do you have in mind, sir? Shall we threaten to cut the child in two with a sword?”

“No,” Guy said.
“Bring him in here and let him choose his own mother.”

“No!” Rachel cried faintly. “He's not to be frightened!”

“Ah,” the earl said. “Thus speaks true maternal devotion, or are you afraid of the test, ma'am?”

A footman appeared at the door. “You rang, my lord?”

“You will show these persons to their carriage,” the earl said. “But first you will instruct Miss Davy to bring Lord Berrisham in here without delay.”

His face impassive, the footman bowed. “Very good, my lord.”

Guy strode back to Lord Moorefield. “The child is not to be frightened or coerced. You agree?”

“Why not? The test will only demonstrate to the persons gathered in this room that you've completely lost your mind.”

“Nevertheless,” Guy said. “We shall try the experiment.”

The room lapsed into silence, until a tentative knock sounded at the door. The earl called out permission to enter. Betsy Davy walked in, leading little Lord Berrisham by the hand.

She glanced at the assembled company, then bit her lip and curtsied to the earl. “Yes, my lord?”

He ignored the nursemaid and spoke to the child. “You see three ladies in this room, sir. One of them is your mother. You will please go to her.”

The little boy's mouth quivered and he buried his face in the nurse's skirts.

“He's afraid!” Rachel gave Guy a pleading glance. “Don't you see! He's afraid!”

Guy shook his head at her, walked up to the little boy, and crouched down.

“It's all right, Berry,” he said quietly. “You don't need to do anything and no one's going to hurt you, but perhaps there's a lady in this room that you'd like to have tell you a story, or sing you a song?”

His eyes derisive, the earl stalked back to his chair, where he sat down, legs crossed, and tossed back more wine.

“A charming scene,” he said. “Solomon wasn't nearly inventive enough!”

Betsy Davy picked up the child and whispered soothingly to him. Berry looked round-eyed around the room, then he smiled and pointed at Sarah.

“Lion!”

The nurse laughed nervously and set him down. The child toddled forward a few steps, then ran straight up to Sarah to grasp hold of her skirts.

“Lion!”

Sarah glanced up at Guy and bit her lip, but the little boy had already turned toward Rachel. He held up both chubby arms and an angelic smile lit up his face.

“Mama! Mama
skween
! Song! Song! Berry up!”

Meeting his smile with her own, Rachel lifted the toddler onto her lap. As if oblivious to anyone else, she began singing softly in her baby's ear. His golden curls were exactly the same shade as her own.

Lady Moorefield wavered to her feet, then collapsed back to her chair. “It's true!” she wailed. “It's true! I cannot have children of my own. I cannot!” Her face crumpled and her eyes filled with tears. “But my maid discovered that Croft's half brother was married to a midwife—and in a port city, too, where babies often die in the poorhouse. Why shouldn't I save one of them? So I paid Croft to move here from Barristow Manor. I paid everyone to keep silent—”

The earl was towering over his wife, his face thunderous. “You've said quite enough, ma'am!”

“No!” The countess flinched, but she pointed a shaking finger at Berry. “It's too late for that, sir! Look at them!”

Guy caught Sarah's gaze and gestured with a quick tilt of his head. She reined in her own emotions, nodded, and spoke quietly in Rachel's ear.

“Go! Take Berry outside. He doesn't need to hear any more of this.”

Rachel looked up, her face pale but composed. Still crooning in her baby's ear, she carried him from the room. The nurse gazed after them, but she bit her lip and stayed.

Lady Moorefield stared up at her husband with a desperate defiance, her eyes swimming with tears. “No, they must understand, sir! If they understand, they'll see that we've been in the right all along, and they'll leave the boy with us.”

For a moment Sarah thought the earl might strike his wife. Instead, he stalked away and stood in rigid silence, while the countess continued.

“That child's had everything of the best, Mr. Devoran. Croft kept him happy on the journey with a rag dipped in brandy, until we hired a stout, healthy wet nurse with five sons of her own. I told her that I'd tried to nurse him myself and failed. Imagine my humiliation!” She wrung her hands together. Tears streamed openly down her face. “I even hired that girl—Betsy Davy—to be with him day and night. Don't you see? He's had everything a child could want!”

“But he was a helpless infant,” Sarah said, “and you took him from his
mother
.”

Lady Moorefield dabbed at her eyes. “So? If I hadn't, he'd have died from neglect. Now he'll be an earl.”

“No, I'm sorry,” Guy said gently. “He's going to leave now and go to Wyldshay with his mother. You'll forgive me, I trust, if I also steal his nursemaid? You will come with us, Betsy?”

Betsy Davy curtsied. She looked shocked to the core, but determined. “Yes, sir, I thank you. I'd not be parted from that little mite for all the tea in China.”

“No,” the countess said. “You must let me keep him!”

The earl brought his fist down on the table. The tray slid to the floor, shattering glasses and plates.

“Keep him
now
, madam? With the Blackdowns knowing the truth! Are you mad?” He spun about and flung out one arm to point toward the door. “Take him, Devoran, and get out! For God's sake, it's obvious the brat's no son of mine! His blood's tainted. He was born in squalor. In the end he'd only have disgraced my name and my title. So take your whores and your bastard, sir, and get out of my house!”

Guy nodded to Betsy Davy, who fled the room. He offered Sarah his arm. “You have my word of honor, my lord, that no hint of this incident will ever escape this house. When the Earl of Moorefield tells the world that his little son has died unexpectedly, I can assure you he'll be the recipient of society's condolences, not its censure.”

The earl's mouth twisted in a sneer. “I'm supposed to be grateful for that?”

Guy's dark eyes held only sorrow, yet his voice was calm and emotionless. “I merely point out what's in everyone's best interest. There is, unfortunately, also the potential for a very damaging scandal to leak out about certain gentlemen in this area being a little too deeply involved in the local trade.”

Lord Moorefield scowled and dropped back to his chair. “You also accuse me of smuggling, sir?”

“You and Norris and Whiddon,” Guy replied blandly. “A little embarrassing should that become too widely known—especially when you Tories set such store by the law!”

Lady Moorefield bent down to pick up a china figurine—slightly chipped now—that had been standing on the table. She was crying in soft little hiccups.

“For God's sake!” the earl snapped. “Don't pretend a grief you don't feel, madam! It's bad enough that I married a barren woman, without her making a spectacle of herself.”

Guy led Sarah toward the door, but he paused with his hand on the latch.