Lady Forsaken Box Set (Books 1 - 5), page 71
Truly, it was he who didn’t deserve the child, not the other way around.
Turning from the door, he spotted Mrs. Bee in the shadows. “What are you doing here?”
She stepped from her post into the pool of light from the candles burning above the foyer. “You know I haven’t anywhere else to go. This is my home.” She shrugged and let her arms fall to her sides. “Which is why I worry about you so.”
“Worry about me?” Her words made no sense to him. He was a marquis, and arguably a very powerful man—if he chose to assert that power. He’d never wanted for anything in his life.
She smiled, the sweet upturned lips he remembered so fondly from his youth. “Yes. You were always such a sensitive boy, and after your parents—God rest their souls—left this world, I worried you’d fallen in with the wrong crowd.”
“Benji?” he asked. “We have been friends since we were in knickers.”
“I know that.” She moved toward him, as if to make him understand. “You two have been getting into quite a bit of trouble since then, too. But now I see he was a distraction and perhaps a good one. I wish I knew what has had you so distraught as of late. And now this? A child, very possibly yours? I recognized the girl, if you must know.” Bee laid her hand on his arm, where he had it crossed tightly across his chest. “She was one I threw out that day.”
“That has no bearing on whether the child belongs to me,” he said defensively.
“Can I confide something to you?”
“What? You once bore a child out of wedlock—maybe gave the child away and you regret it even to this day? I am not so easily guilted into taking responsibility, especially when the woman is a trollop.”
Mrs. Bee shook her head, and Andrew felt an overwhelming need not to disappoint the woman before him. “I wish my dear, departed Eugene had lived long enough for us to have a child—”
“I am sorry for my outburst.” And he was. She’d done nothing but care for him since he was young, continuing long into his adulthood, and now he repaid her with harsh words. “My remark was callous and uncalled for.”
“Do not be sorry, not in the least. That was a lifetime ago.” She squeezed his arm in reassurance. “You see, what I have to say is not about me, but you.”
Andrew wanted to walk away from the conversation; his gut told him what she would impart would change something—possibly his whole existence.
“Do not fret, for it was never that much of a secret, nor did it gain momentum as a scandal.” She smiled, as if remembering a long ago time. “You mother became pregnant—with you—before she and your father had wed.”
“But my mother did not gain employment selling her body.”
“No, that is very true, she did not.”
“And my father was clearly already in love with her.”
“Possibly.”
“There is no possibly about it!” His anger returned. How dare anyone—even Bee—call into question the love his parents shared? “I grew up on nothing but stories of their early relationship. How they’d known one another since before they left the schoolroom.”
“Come sit down, Andrew.” She walked into his study and sat before the fire. She kept her eyes off the disaster he’d created in the room, and he was thankful for that. “You see, your parents may have known each other—maybe even had a bit of tenderness for one another—but they were never intended to be together. It was up to them to take matters into their own hands.”
“Why could they not be together?” He felt like a babe returned to the nursery, listening to fairytales of heroic knights and women of great beauty.
She sat back in her seat. “You see, your mother was a woman of great wealth, while your father’s family—though being titled—had empty coffers. Your grandfather, after discovering his daughter was pregnant with the Marquis of Drake’s child, agreed to the marriage on one condition.”
Andrew tried to temper his interest in his parents’ sordid tale, but failed miserably. “What?” He racked his brain, trying to remember any talk of conditions between his parents.
“Your grandfather would only allow them to wed if your mother controlled the coffers.”
“No—that is simply not done, particularly in their time.”
“But your father agreed to that condition…and more.”
“Why?”
“For love…and self-preservation.”
“That is preposterous.”
“That it may be,” she sighed. “But the marquis was faced with losing not only the woman he cared deeply for and his own flesh and blood, but he also faced a future that may have included debtor’s prison. I think, in the end, the choice was an easy one.”
He had to know. “To what else did he agree?”
“Ha, that is a funny thing.” A satisfied smile crossed her face. “I am sure your solicitor can attest to this, but it is written that if no male heir presents itself, then a female may take over the marquis-ship. Thankfully, that never came to be, but your grandfather made certain it was set before King George III for approval and the heir or heiress clause was instated.”
“I had no idea,” he said, dumbfounded.
“There was no reason you should have,” she chided. “Your mother was an only child, much like you. Since the clause never came to pass in their lifetime, I am sure they rarely thought of it. But now, you must be aware. If no surviving relation for the title exists, then a child—even one born out of wedlock—may petition the crown for inheritance.”
“That is not all too uncommon, for men to seek a title with flimsy proof they are of noble birth.” Andrew had never planned to have children. Now, he regretted his momentary lapse of judgment when he was delusional enough to think that Lorelei was the woman for him. She wasn’t, and he would never make a good father, regardless. He was self-centered and highly disdainful of anything that even remotely appeared pleasurable to those around him.
Between him and Benji, they’d proven that fact over and over. If they wanted something, then they took it—regardless of the consequences. They’d done just that for years, with every debutante, married, or wanton woman they’d desired. When he at last realized his mistake and tried for something different—better—he failed. They’d done it for longer than he could recall, using a woman’s feelings against them. Lorelei had accepted his words and then had thrown him by the wayside in favor of Benji.
It only proved that change was not always good, and one should never stray from who they were—and had always been. He was a man who used people when necessary to get exactly what he wanted, though he’d always been open and direct about it, never misleading anyone.
So, why hadn’t he fought, lied, cheated, and stolen for the thing he most recently sought?
Mrs. Bee had been quiet, letting him digest the information she’d imparted.
Looking up, he realized she hadn’t been silent, but had departed her seat by the fire. The room around him was empty, save for him, reinforcing what he’d always believed: he could only rely on himself.
Chapter 21
“…and this is all the paperwork you have that was approved and signed by the King?”
“Certainly, your lordship,” Andrew’s solicitor, James Adams, said from behind his modest desk. “I assure you that all is in order. I was under the impression your father had spoken to you of this matter.”
The man smiled proudly, as if this were the news Andrew had wanted to hear, when that could not be further from the truth. He’d met with the man routinely, and Adams had never seen fit to inform him of this.
“Never,” Andrew mumbled.
“My uncle was very thorough and diligent in everything he did,” Adams explained. When Andrew sat, Adams followed suit. “You see, this type of arrangement has not been successfully accomplished during my lifetime, and only once during my uncle’s.”
The scheme was preposterous and completely outlandish…and he could not believe his father and maternal grandfather had worked with a solicitor to see the deed done. The thought of a bastard being about to inherit the title of marquis—and the possibility that it extended to females, as well—had his head spinning, and not because he was still recovering from his latest bout of drinking.
“May I explain any of the documents to you?” Adams asked.
“No, thank you.” Andrew tried to sound courteous, but was finding it difficult to appear calm while he was boiling inside.
He flipped page after page as the man stayed silent. Seeing his father’s signature and seal at the bottom of each page brought him pride, while simultaneously heightening his unease.
“Am I correct in saying,” he said, “if a child is proven to be mine, even though no marriage has taken place, the offspring could petition the courts to inherit the title of marquis?”
“That is exactly what your father wanted.” James closed the file before him. “And the process is much simpler if you agree to consider the person your heir.”
If word of this spread through London, Andrew would have numerous women coming forward claiming their bastards were of Drake blood.
“And this extends to female offspring?”
“Your father—and grandfather—wanted to cover any and all contingencies.”
“Then why not only make a portion of funds available to illegitimate offspring?” He was thinking out loud, but hoped the man could offer any insight. “Rather than the title and all that it encompasses?”
“Your father, God rest his soul, was a man in love—and headstrong to the extreme. I heard many stories, though he passed before I finished my education.” Adams clasped his hands on the desk in front of him and leaned slightly forward. “Yes, I do agree the changes to his estate are out of the norm—radically so—but yes, if you had been a female, you would had been able to inherit even if your parents hadn’t wed. A definite coup, I would say.”
More like a travesty that could ultimately jeopardize his whole future.
If the woman who’d come to him last night pressed this issue and sought legal counsel in the matter, then not much digging would be required to find these amendments. Though the likelihood of a mere strumpet seeking financial gain from an illegitimate child was rare, he did not want to take the chance of this news spreading.
“But if I contest the bid for legitimacy then I will be heard by the courts?”
The solicitor’s forehead furrowed in question. “You? You seek to contest your own right to the title?”
Andrew realized the man hadn’t the faintest idea he was actually worried about another claiming to be his child—or a money-hungry mother stepping forward. He had the sudden urge to thank Mrs. Bee for her forthright confession, seeing as how she should have told him years ago… Or his own father could have warned him.
“Oh, no. I ask for myself and my offspring,” he said, trying to put the man at ease.
“Very well, your lordship.” The solicitor stood. “I have another appointment shortly. If you will please take those papers with you, review them, and we can schedule another meeting if you have anything else to discuss. Again, I am deeply sorry you were not notified of this upon your inheritance of the title.”
The man bowed over his desk.
Suddenly, Andrew felt the weight of his station—the Marquis of Drake. The room closed in around him.
He needed air.
Space to breathe.
And…Andrew hadn’t any idea what he should do next.
For the first time in months, he wished he could call on Chastain and talk through his issues. The man could always be counted upon to suggest a good plan—or at least offer a distraction.
Andrew made his way outside and looked up and down the busy street.
Within seconds, his driver was at the curb, ready to deliver him wherever he demanded.
But he wasn’t in the mood to be ushered about town, dropped at his club or townhouse.
“My lord?” his servant asked when he didn’t immediately move toward the waiting coach.
“I will walk,” he called over his shoulder as he started down the street toward the busier shopping district. “Wait for me here. I shall return.” The weather was calm, with nary a cloud in the sky. A brisk walk would do him good.
Before long, he was whistling an unknown tune, and already several blocks from his solicitor’s office. It had been months since he’d entertained himself by venturing out during daylight hours. Free of the headaches caused by over-imbibing, he welcomed the sunlight against his skin and listened to bits of conversation that floated his way from passersby.
Andrew nodded to those who acknowledged him, but kept his pace steady to avoid idle chitchat. He’d sought companionship during his last stroll in the park, but today was different. Yes, he was in a pleasant enough mood despite the conversation with his solicitor, but he was a long way from finding pleasure in idle conversation outside a lady’s dress shop.
The sun started its long descent, and the crowds thinned on the street as many sought their midday meal. When his stomach lurched at the thought of food, he decided to head back in the direction of his coach.
He paused to gauge how far he’d actually wandered. He recognized a small bookseller a few doors down, bordered by a narrow alley and a strip of park on the other side. If he’d anticipated his desire for a walk, he could have requested his servant prepare a lunch for him to enjoy in the park.
It was then that he heard her voice—a voice he dreamed of every night and listened for all hours of the day.
“…that cannot be!” Lorelei yelled, not caring who heard. “You cannot and will not do this.”
Her father had resorted to following her—tracking her like she was prey.
With her arm twisted behind her back, and her father’s face so close to her own, she couldn’t escape. “Unhand me.”
“I will release you when you give me answers.”
“I have told you all I know.”
“We both know that is a lie, Lore.” The conviction in his eyes frightened her. It was almost as if he’d lost complete control of himself.
She’d failed, time and time again. “I have searched his estate, his townhouse, and even his stables—to no avail. What will you have me do next?” She winced as he tightened his grip on her arm.
“It is time I take this over.” He released her arm and shoved her away from him. “You lack the fortitude to do what needs to be done.”
“How have I not done everything in my power to find those plans?” Her father was acting erratic, unpredictable, which was in complete contrast to his usual ways.
“My plans are no longer your concern,” he said as he paced the narrow alley. “Return to Chastain’s townhouse and pack your things. We will leave by nightfall.”
“I cannot just leave.” Lorelei searched for any excuse to change her father’s plan. “I cannot make off in the night with Peter. Lord Chastain will not let him go.”
“Then leave him,” the comte said with a shrug. “You will have the opportunity for another child.”
The words threatened to rip her heart from her chest. They were words that a grandfather should never speak about their grandchild.
“That is not an option for me.”
“Have you forsaken your own family?” he accused. “If so, then stay—play the lovely duchess, but know that nothing in your life will be easy from this moment on.”
“You cannot mean that, Pere,” she pled, stepping toward him. She reached out for his sleeve and looked into his eyes. He couldn’t mean the hurtful things he said.
“I will do what is required of me,” he shouted back. “As will you, or suffer the consequences.” Sidestepping her hands, he reentered the bookstore he’d followed her from and was gone.
She didn’t know what to do, where to go. Nowhere was safe, though she knew as long as Mrs. Dutton had Peter he would be fine. But Mrs. Dutton couldn’t protect her, too. Nor was it right to ask that of the woman.
Rounding the corner, she ran directly into someone—or something.
Arms flew out to steady her.
“Pardon—“ Her words cut off abruptly when her eyes met his. “Andrew?”
Quickly, she swiped the tears from her face and straightened her shoulders.
“Lorelei.” He held her at arm’s length, taking in the sight of her.
She must look a mess, her face pale and thinner than it had ever been.
She cleared the emotions lodged in her throat before speaking. “Andrew, what are you doing here?”
“With whom were you speaking?”
He looked over her shoulder as she turned, but her father was gone, the alley deserted.
“I wasn’t speaking with anyone,” she denied, hoping he hadn’t heard more of her argument with the comte. “I was…I was just…leaving my dressmaker’s shop.”
“You have a habit of returning to town without sending word.” The sudden change of topic took her by surprise.
“I have only recently returned, your lordship.” With one last glance behind her, she put her arm through his and turned toward the busier part of town. “Though, I must confess I wanted to send word to you,” she said, distracting him from his inquiries.
The smile she turned his way worked, though inside she wasn’t smiling at all. If she could just keep her lips turned in a smile, then perhaps the crumbling she felt within would stop.
“I am wounded your modiste had occasion to see you before I.”
“Well, it would be the height of impropriety for me to call on a marquis when not suitably attired,” she responded. She kept her eyes on the street and her voice light. “But I am certain Lord Chastain and I would much delight in having you to supper soon.” Though would it only be Peter and Chastain in residence?
Before long, the trite back and forth between them—as if they were nothing more than acquaintances meeting for the second time—stopped.
They walked in silence.
She was unwilling to disturb the precarious balance they’d established.
Perhaps she feared that if their conversation strayed from the mundane, it would approach a deeper level than she was prepared to explore.
