Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine (12 page)

“Just say the words, ma’am, and I will be happy to do everything in my power to assist you.”

The world returned to proper focus. What possible good could come from telling them of the merchant banker who had acquired all her husband’s debts? Simon Bartholomew was a world removed from fine people like these. He was one of the Crown’s own bankers and a man who loved vengeance for vengeance’s own sake. Samuel Aldridge might well be ruined.

Lillian said, “I seek to sell my jewelry.”

Samuel Aldridge was clearly disappointed by the paltry nature of her request. “That is not necessary, my lady. Allow me to forward you whatever sum you might care to name.”

“Upon what guarantee, sir? I have nothing. My own house is secured by a note, held by a banker. . . .”

“Yes, you were saying something about a bank?”

She steeled herself. “Never mind that. I already face substantial debts, sir. I must seek to start over. I understand there are lands for sale in America?”

At this, Samuel Aldridge brightened. “Indeed so, my lady. The Great Land Purchase, they are calling it. Why, my own family is in the process of acquiring several thousand acres.”

“And this land, it is both fertile and inexpensive, do I understand this correctly?”

“From the reports I am receiving, ma’am, the land is the finest on earth. And it is selling for three American dollars an acre.”

“That is most astonishing. I would scarcely believe it save I have read similar reports myself.” This was her answer. This is what she would do. Begin a new estate, far removed from all the turmoil and disgrace. “I wish to ask your assistance in selling my jewelry and my paintings. It is all I have, sir. That and my silver plate.”

“But—”

“Everything must go, and in great secrecy. I cannot possibly approach an auctioneer myself. Word would emerge, and I would be ruined as well as dishonored.”

“Of course, I am happy to help. But I repeat what I said earlier, my lady, I am quite willing to offer you a personal loan.” The man’s features shone with a resolute force. “Your good name is all the guarantee I could possibly ask.”

To be offered such kindness, and over money, and only moments after the merchant banker had departed, was too much. Lillian could not quite stifle the first sob.

“Here,” Lavinia said, bolting to her feet. “Have a sip of tea.”

“I’m all right, thank you. Forgive me. I was not expecting such kindness.”

“After all you have done for us.” Samuel Aldridge appeared genuinely astonished. “What else are we to show you?”

“Even so, I am most grateful.”

“As you have yourself said earlier, ma’am, let us speak no more of it.”

“Then we are decided?” Lavinia asked her husband.

“On the face of such an offer,” Samuel Aldridge replied slowly, “I confess to thinking that perhaps God’s hand is at work here.”

Lavinia anxiously asked their hostess, “I must request your honest and open opinion. Do you feel that we are doing the right thing in permitting our daughter to travel so far from her home and family?”

“I know your daughter hardly at all,” Lillian answered thoughtfully. “But I do know human nature. And if I am certain of anything, it is this: if you chain a person down to hold them, when they finally break free they will never return. And break free she will, if anything you say of her strong and independent nature is true.”

The piercing quality of Lavinia’s gaze surfaced for the first time that day. “You seem to speak with some experience.”

This time Lillian retreated to her cup. In truth, she spoke from more experience than either of them could imagine. But there was nothing to be gained from speaking of that. Though the strange urge to unburden herself remained strong as it had since their arrival.

“Might I ask when you would be prepared to depart for America?” Samuel asked Lillian.

“As soon as I see to a few personal affairs and make arrangements for my son.”

“I believe I recall my wife saying he is at boarding school?”

“Eton.”

“Our Horace begins at Eton next term!” Samuel exclaimed. “Your boy must come spend his holidays in our home,” Lavinia said.

“God’s hand is most certainly upon this,” Samuel declared. “What could possibly come from such a meeting other than His perfect good?”

Chapter 11

Lillian Houghton sat at the confectioner’s tiny table and watched her son consume an enormous amount of sweets. The lad’s appetite was astonishing. “Do they not feed you at Eton?”

The boy’s face was liberally sprinkled with sugar dust and chocolate sauce. He laughed delightedly. “Of course they do, Mama. What nonsense.”

“Don’t talk like that to your mother, Byron,” she admonished dutifully.

“Well, it’s true.” He took another great bite of a round cake filled with raspberry sauce, then licked his fingers. “I say, this one is especially fine.”

“You are making such a mess. You have jam on your collar.” She dipped her napkin in her water glass and leaned forward. “Here, let me tidy you up.”

“Oh, Mama, please don’t go on so. People are looking at us.”

She smiled through her hurt. “I should think you would like to have your mother make a fuss over you.”

Byron’s face reddened. “I’m almost a man now, Mama.”

“Yes,” she ruefully agreed. “I can see that.”

He took the napkin from her and bent at an awkward angle, trying to find the stain himself. “Where is the spot?”

“Never you mind, it’s almost vanished now.” By leaning over, Byron had decorated his shirt with chocolate. “Are those friends of yours at the window table?”

“Probably.” Byron did not turn around. “But I don’t want to talk with them now, all right?”

“Whatever you wish, my dear.”

“It’s just—well, all the boys want to meet you.” He fumbled with his words in the manner of one who wished he was more grown than he actually was. “They go on about you in the silliest of manners.”

This she could understand. The headmaster was no different, nor was the senior teacher Lillian had just met with. Both gentlemen were apparently dumbstruck in her presence. Normally she took such male adulation as her due. But today it was simply another distraction from the matters at hand. “Byron, I must speak—”

“The senior lad wishes to meet you, Mama. He has made rather a point of it. He can make life ever so difficult for me. Would you mind terribly if we stopped by his room after?”

“No, dear. But you mustn’t interrupt me.”

“Sorry, Mama.”

He really was a darling child. Lillian caught herself. Child no longer. He was sprouting up at an alarming rate. She was fairly certain he had grown another three inches since he had been home at Christmas. Byron was a mirror image of his father, with the same sandy hair falling over his broad forehead, the same rather pronounced chin that would grow strong and manly in time, the same keen gray eyes. His father, the late count, had never been a particularly handsome man. But his rather oversized head had contained a remarkably keen insight and a prodigious appetite for learning. “Your headmaster says you might be head boy material.”

Byron also shared his father’s habit of flushing far too easily to ever lie well. “He never.”

“Have I not just come from speaking with the gentleman? He tells me you are at the top of your class in almost every subject. And you are becoming quite the cricketer.”

Lillian found herself blurting out, “Darling, would you care to take a trip with me to America?”

He froze in the process of selecting another cake. “Leave Eton?”

“Just for a year. Perhaps even less than that.”

“But Mama . . .” Byron sat back in his chair. “All my friends would move on without me.”

“You can catch up with them. Besides, think of the adventure. America, darling. The great frontiers. Does that not excite you?”

He looked stricken. “I would rather stay with my pals, actually.”

“But I must go, my darling. Wouldn’t you miss me?”

“Yes, of course, Mama. But . . .” He fidgeted in his chair.

Lillian perused the confectionery shop while her son contemplated his answer. It had three bow windows, each forming a discreet alcove. The windows were veiled with translucent white curtains and framed by heavy velvet drapes of emerald green. The tables were round and marble topped. The servers padded softly across deep plush carpeting. It was the sort of place designed to appeal to Eton’s wealthiest families. Lillian nodded to a titled gentleman she knew vaguely, who was having tea with his own son. The man twirled his moustache and gave her a sparkling eye. Lillian turned away.

Why not marry? She certainly had enough offers. The answer was obvious. Whoever took her hand in marriage would have to know about her past and accept responsibility for covering her debts. Plus there was the risk that the scandal might erupt, unless of course she married someone powerful enough to threaten the banker with ruin. . . .

Her mind had traveled this same circuitous route so often she stifled the thoughts before they descended again into frustration and woe. The fact was, were she to give herself in marriage under these circumstances, she would face the constant threat of having her secrets used against her. Lillian had been fortunate with her first husband. Grantlyn had been a man of his word, and in his own way had been affectionate enough. Lillian was a woman of the world and knew just how disastrous such arrangements often were. No. There had to be another means of escape.

She focused upon her son, who had returned to devouring another sweet. “I must travel to America, my darling. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“I suppose so.”

“Won’t you miss me?”

“Oh yes. Very much.” He fumbled and almost dropped the oversized teapot. “I say, the handle has grown rather hot.”

“Here, use the tea cloth.” She poured for him. One characteristic Byron had inherited from her in abundance was fierce independence. It had been his defining trait even as an infant. Byron had resisted being held. Or stroked, or cuddled. Lillian’s late husband had taken humorous pride in this, calling it a sign of good British breeding, but she knew better. Her aunt had described Lillian’s infancy in the same way. Lillian had been the only baby girl her aunt had ever known who refused a cuddle. Who liked nothing more than to crawl into an empty corner and play all by herself.

Which was why Lillian had elected to send her son off to school. At nine years of age Byron had already begun to explore beyond the safe boundaries. He would disappear for hours, sneak away from the most careful minder and race into the unknown, as though he heard some secret call, a silent trumpet whose invitation he could not resist.

Just like his mother.

“Mama? Did you not hear a word I said?”

“I’m sorry, my darling. I was drifting.”

“The school has planned an outing to Scotland. Two days in Edinburgh and then a week hiking the Highlands. It sounds like ever so much fun. Might I go along?”

In fact, she had already discussed this with the headmaster. Byron had been in trouble several times his first year, usually for slipping out of school bounds. His punishments had been rather severe, and at one point Lillian had feared he might be sent down. But the prospect of leaving his new friends behind had done what Lillian could not, which was to teach her boy an acceptance of regulations, at least so far as the authorities were aware. The Highland trip was restricted to those who looked to become honor students. It was a rare privilege to be included.

“Mama?”

“I will agree, but on one condition.”

A genuine fear shone in his eyes, and she knew he was expecting her to say he must go to America. Lillian felt her heart fill with burning sorrow. She loved her boy so. Loved him so much, in fact, that she saw with a mother’s wisdom that he had already grown beyond her arms.

“What is it you want, Mama?”

“I wish—” she stopped and cleared her throat—“I wish for you to spend your holidays with a family in London.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know them. Their name is Aldridge. They are Americans.”

“But I’m sure my friends would have me home with them if I asked.”

“You may spend half the time with them,” she conceded. “But the other half I wish for you to stay with the Aldridges.”

“Why, Mama?”

Why indeed? Because there was a goodness to these people that she could not fathom. Because she wished for Byron to have a connection to a way of life that was lost to her, or so it felt. “They have a son who will start at Eton next term.”

He made a face. “A new lad?”

“You were a new boy not so long ago yourself.”

Byron caught the change in tone and no doubt knew his mother would not bend further. He gave his most charming smile. “Of course I shall do as you say.”

She resisted the urge to sweep him up in her arms and sob from a mother’s broken heart. It would only embarrass him. She struggled to frame the words around a trembling smile. “And you shall miss your mother just a little. You must promise me that as well.”

Lavinia Aldridge did not intend to pry. Well, perhaps she did. She released a breath that might have been a sigh had it not been necessary for her to remain silent. Because she was eavesdropping, of course. She was desperately concerned and needed to know precisely what was happening.