Jaded Moon (Ransomed Jewels Book 2) (2 page)

Please advise if you want to send Mrs. Gardner’s portion of the money to the orphanage to see to the child’s immediate needs, or if you want the entire amount put into the trust.

At present the trust is still in Mrs. Gardner’s name since I do not have any other information concerning the child, such as its name, the date of its birth, or whether the child was a boy or a girl. If I might please prevail upon you to provide me with the above information I will see that the money already accrued in Mrs. Gardner’s name is put into a proper account.

I await your instruction.

Your most devoted servant,

Elvin Chambers, Esq.

Ross stared at the letter for several long minutes. There was a child. The woman who’d been his mistress for more than a year was dead. And had left behind a child.
His
child.

Ross stared down at the words in the letter again.
It was during our last meeting that she informed me she was carrying your child and assured me that you were in complete agreement with her request to provide for the child.
He read the words again, thinking that this time they’d seem more real.

He had a child.

Ross placed the letter on the desk and rose to his feet. His legs felt unsteady beneath him and his mind wanted to doubt that the child was his. But deep inside him he knew it was not only possible he had a child, but probable. He had been acquainted with Carrie long enough to know she’d never take another lover while sleeping with him.

Why hadn’t she told him?

He wanted to laugh. The reason was obvious. What difference would it have made even if he’d been aware? She was his mistress. What male of the peerage married his mistress?

Ross wrapped his fingers around the brass handles on the multi-paned double doors that led out onto the patio and threw them back. A cold gust of air rushed into the room and struck him full force. He breathed in deeply and opened his mind to think more clearly.

A picture of Carrie as he’d last seen her appeared in his mind. She’d been stunningly beautiful with a pleasing personality and a certain talent in bed. She’d been interesting to talk to, and as long as he remembered her with several new gowns a season and an expensive piece of jewelry every now and then, she expected nothing more from him than an infrequent afternoon of his time or a ride in the park. He’d never loved her but neither had she loved him. It had been the perfect arrangement. Until she’d decided she didn’t wish to continue as they had any longer.

Their parting had been amicable and he’d gifted her with a modest annual income as well as the home in the country she’d asked for. In return, she’d promised to sever their relationship. And she had. Now, he regretted to admit that in the more-than-four years that she’d been gone, he hadn’t given her more than an occasional thought.

Ross closed the door that led outdoors and walked back into the study. The fire was still aglow with a few larger pieces of wood that burned bright and he sat back in his chair and stared at the flickering flames.

He’d offered her the dower house at St. Stephen’s because he’d had no intention of ever returning here. Then, after he’d come, he’d gone to see her that one time, but had found the house empty. He’d assumed she’d tired of the country and had returned to Town. Now he knew that wasn’t what had happened.

Why hadn’t he asked after her? Why hadn’t he been curious enough to wonder where she’d gone? But he hadn’t given her a second thought.

He dropped his head back against the cushion and closed his eyes. Carrie Gardner was dead and his child was out there—alone.

Ross squeezed his fingers around the arms of the chair. Perhaps that might be best. Perhaps the child would rather grow up thinking he had no family than having to admit Rainforth blood ran through his veins. Perhaps he would be doing the child a favor by leaving him or her in the orphanage. But…

Perhaps by leaving the child in the orphanage he would be condemning his son or daughter to a horrible existence.

Ross sat in front of the fire until the embers grew cold and lifeless, then paced the floor hour after endless hour, debating the course he should take. What did he know about raising a child? He had no experience with children. At least if he left the child in the orphanage…

He remembered what Carrie had told him when she’d revealed that she’d grown up in an orphanage. If the child were a boy he would be sold to a farmer the minute he was old enough to hold a sickle in his hand and expected to work long and hard with no chance to ever improve his lot in life.

And if the child were a girl it would be worse. She would be given over as a maid or servant like Carrie had been. And if she was pretty as Carrie had been, she’d be at the mercy of every lecherous male in the house. When she found herself with child, she’d be thrown out on the street to fend for herself. Or forced to live the life Carrie had chosen, as some nobility’s mistress.

Even though there was a trust set up for the child, what good would it do the child if no one knew who to give the money to? What good would it do unless his child were identified and provided for?

A rush of determination raged through him. This was
his
child. Flesh of his flesh. How could he abandon it? Yet…

What child would grow up proud to claim the name of a traitor?

…

The sun hadn’t yet begun its ascent in the sky, but Ross knew it wouldn’t be long before the blackness turned a lighter shade of dark. He’d have to wake Sam soon if he intended to be gone before first light.

Ross crossed the foyer and took the stairs one by one as if weighing the options he’d struggled with all night.

What child would grow up proud to claim the name of a traitor?

But if he did something to make his son proud of him…

When he reached the door to Sam’s room, he paused to give his decision one final evaluation, then turned the knob.

Sam bolted upright, his years in the military having trained him well. He stared wide-eyed at Ross, then swung his feet over the side of the bed and dropped his head into his hands. “You’re lucky I didn’t have a gun handy,” he said, raking his fingers through his hair.

Ross handed him a cup filled with coffee Cook had made before retiring the night before.

Sam reached for it with an inaudible grunt Ross took for thanks, then walked to the window and stared out into the darkness. He waited until Sam’s cup was half empty before he spoke.

“If I agreed to help you, what would I have to do?”

Sam rose and reached for the trousers he’d tossed over a chair the night before. “Find out the exact location where they bring the opium ashore and where they store the contraband. If you can, try to discover if there’s any set schedule to its arrival.”

A strange thrumming raced through Ross’s blood. Gathering information about a band of smugglers didn’t come close to making up for what his father had done, but it was something.

“And if I discover anything useful?”

“McCormick and I will handle it from there. The government intends to make an example of everyone involved. They’ll be put on trial and hanged as a lesson to other smugglers. We need them to realize bringing in illegal drugs comes with a very high price.”

A lump formed in Ross’s throat and he felt an unexpected surge of self-worth. This was his chance to do something to make up for what his father had done. To offer his child a name he could wear with pride.

Sam stared at Ross for a few seconds as if trying to understand the reason for his reversal. Steel-gray eyes that were a Bennett trait narrowed, then honed in more keenly.

“Why the change?”

“This is what you wanted me to do, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but—“

“Then leave it at that.”

Sam nodded. “No heroics, Ross.”

Ross smiled. “You know me, Sam. I’m the least likely person to do anything risky.”

“I don’t think you have the faintest idea what qualities you have inside you.”

Ross sobered. But he did. He knew better than anyone what he was capable of, and it turned his blood cold.

Josephine Foley closed the dormitory door with a soft click and tiptoed down the hallway, careful not to make any noise.

“Did you finally get them to sleep?” Mrs. Lambert asked when Josie reached the stairs. Mrs. Lambert lowered her silver-gray head and wiped her hands on the corner of her worn apron. She was obviously on her way to the nursery, which was where one almost always found her, caring for the smallest babes who’d been left at Sacred Heart.

Josie chuckled. “Finally. Robbie and Ben insisted now that Charlie had turned four, they were too old to take naps in the afternoon.”

Mrs. Lambert smiled. “I knew that was coming. I heard them planning over breakfast. So what did you tell them?”

“Oh, I agreed.”

“You didn’t.”

“Yes. I told them that now that they had all turned the ripe old age of four, they were old enough to put all their childish pastimes behind them. From now on they would no longer be expected to take afternoon naps, or suffer through morning biscuits and milk, or put in extra time in the afternoon to play on the swings. I told them I was glad to hear they were now grown up and I’d inform Master Graham to expect them for additional time in the classroom with the older boys.”

Mrs. Lambert covered her mouth to stifle her giggles. “What’d the little rapscallions say to that?”

“They suddenly decided perhaps they weren’t so terribly old after all. Charlie told me his birthday was just yesterday and so far he didn’t feel any older than he had the day before.”

“They’ll be glad they aren’t so old this afternoon at tea time. Cook was taking cookies out of the oven when I left the kitchen.”

Josie smiled. “Charlie will be especially glad. Just before he fell off to sleep he told me he missed the cookies his mama used to bake for him.”

“Did he now?” Mrs. Lambert asked, her surprised expression obvious. “That’s the first he’s spoken about his mother since the accident. That’s a big step for the little tyke, I’m thinking.”

“Yes, it is.”

Josie tried to hide how difficult it had been to watch the little boy struggle with his mother’s death. It was hard each time another child was brought to them because they’d lost a parent. Especially their mother.

“He’ll be all right,” Mrs. Lambert said, patting Josie’s arm affectionately. “He’s got you to guide him. And no one knows what he’s going through better.”

“It’s still a rough road he’ll have to travel. Losing the only parent you’ve ever known is very frightening.”

“Look how well you survived.”

“Yes. But I had Lady Clythebrook.”

“And little Charlie will have you.”

“I hope I’m enough,” she said with a smile intended to hide her fears. “But I think it’s different for a boy. They need a father, and I haven’t had much experience there.”

“You’ll do fine, Miss Josie.” Mrs. Lambert gave her arm another pat before she bustled down the hallway toward the nursery, her plump body moving at a remarkable speed. “I’d best make sure Sophie got all the wee ones down for their naps before I think of resting these tired feet o’ mine,” she said over her shoulder, then stopped to ask another question. “I know winter hasn’t given up its hold on us yet, but have you decided when we’re going to start taking inventory of the summer clothes?”

“I’m going to talk to Vicar Chadwick about it right now. He was scheduled to return today and promised to come here as soon as he arrived. Hopefully, he’s in his office waiting for me.”

“Did he say what he had to go to London for this time?” Mrs. Lambert asked. The vicar’s frequent trips had long been a subject of curiosity. Especially to the eligible women in the parish who considered the vicar a prime matrimonial candidate and worried they had competition in London.

Josie shook her head and smiled, refusing to encourage any speculation.

“Well,” Mrs. Lambert said, shifting the clean laundry from one arm to the other, “tell him we have to have summer clothes for the children. They’re growing like weeds. Especially Howie Gifford. I’m afraid when we go to outfit him for the warmer weather, we’re going to be in for a shock. My granny always said it was the full moon that made the young ones grow so much.”

“Then we’d best put Howie in the cellar to sleep. We’re running out of hand-me-downs to fit him.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Josie. You’ll find something. You always do.” With a deep chuckle, Mrs. Lambert bustled off down the hall.

Don’t worry, Miss Josie. You’ll find something. You always do.

A knot formed in Josie’s stomach. Oh, yes. She’d beg if she had to as she’d done often enough in the past. But what demands would Lady Lindville put on her donations of food and hand-me-down clothes this time? If ever God could pick a more unlikely benefactress to be responsible for the scores of orphaned children living at Sacred Heart, Josie didn’t know who it could be.

Lady Lindville controlled the area’s wealthiest family with an iron hand, the same as she did Sacred Heart, often asking the impossible. From the accounting she demanded of every pound she donated, to the rationing of the food that went into the children’s stomachs, she was a strict and exacting benefactress who enjoyed the power she wielded over Josie as well as every person in the parish. Only Vicar Chadwick seemed able to side-step her authority, which still puzzled her. She wasn’t sure how he managed to do what no one else could.

Perhaps he would offer to go to Lady Lindville himself. Or better yet, perhaps Lady Clythebrook could—

Josie shook her head. No. Lady Clythebrook wouldn’t be able to help the children this time. Josie had spent all week going over the books and she knew only too well their lack of funds.

She sighed. If only it were time for another shipment of goods to come in, but she estimated it would be another two weeks yet for sure. And in the meantime…

Josie fought the worry that wouldn’t leave as she made her way down the long flight of stairs, searching for another way to provide for the children. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for an extra pig or cow to butcher to fill the stomachs of the growing Howie Gifford and little Charlie and Robbie and Ben.

At least she could be thankful it was springtime that was nearly upon them and not the dead of winter. In a few months the gardens would be ready to plant, and it didn’t take near the clothing to outfit the children in the warm summer months as it did the winter. Until then, she would pray for a miracle so the children wouldn’t have to do without.

Josie walked across the stone foyer, then to the second door on the far side of the room to a small office the vicar used when he came to go over the accounts once every month. She knocked, then turned the knob and entered at his friendly bidding.

“Josie,” Vicar Chadwick said, lifting his gaze from the stack of papers in front of him. “Cook just brought tea and I was hoping you’d get here before it got cold.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

Josie smiled at the vicar, a man she’d known for nearly ten years. He was a handsome man who’d escaped any sign of aging. He wasn’t overly tall, but his body looked more like that of a thirty-year-old than a man nearing fifty. Silver streaks tinged his dark hair which gave him an even more stately look. Josie knew in his youth he must have been terribly handsome and had wondered more than once why he’d never married—why he didn’t marry even now. She knew from working with him at the orphanage he’d be a perfect husband and father and it was almost comical to watch the widows after church every Sunday morning make fools of themselves vying for his attention. There were at least a half dozen of them who would jump at the chance to be the vicar’s wife.

“Is there a problem with one of the children?” he said, taking a gumdrop from the jar that always sat within easy reach on the corner of his desk.

Josie refused his offer of one of the candies and walked to the tea tray. She put two lumps of sugar in Vicar Chadwick’s like always, then poured. “No. Just three little boys anxious to be older than their years.”

“But of course, you encouraged them to stay young as long as possible.”

Josie felt the familiar tug pulling at the edges of some unknown emotion. Her determination to protect them from the outside world was a point the vicar often brought up. “They grow up fast enough as it is. If we don’t hold onto them, they’re forced to be adults before most of them have even had time to be children.”

“Do you know how much less it would take to run Sacred Heart if you’d just place the children earlier?”

“Not so much that it would be worth it.”

“Ah, Josie. That soft heart of yours is going to be your undoing.”

Josie sank into a chair and took a sip of tea. “Perhaps. But until it is, I’ll keep each and every one of them here where they’re safe as long as I can.”

Josie pushed the nightmares that motivated everything she did for the children back into the far recesses of her mind and reached out to set down her tea cup.

“Cook informed me the larder is drastically empty of supplies and we need to take inventory of the summer clothes. We are desperately low of some of the staples, especially meat, and in another month or so the weather will be too warm to wear the heavy clothes the children are still in.”

“Do you anticipate needing much in the way of clothing?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We gained six new children during the last year and—”

“And didn’t lose any,” the vicar finished for her.

“We had none who were old enough to be sent out.”

“Amy and Sarah and Mary-“

She shook her head. “They’re not old enough. They’re not ready.”

“You can’t keep them here forever, Josie. We must prepare the children to find a place in the world.”

“But not until they’re able to fend for themselves.”

“Amy is ready now. As is Sarah. They’ll be sent to good Christian homes where someone will see to their everyday needs.”

Josie bolted to her feet and walked to the window at the far side of the room. “Not every home is as it seems. Some only portray a perfect picture of goodness to hide the rot that resides inside.”

Josie looked over her shoulder to find the vicar studying her even more intently. She turned back to watch a group of children toss a ball back and forth and was fortunately saved from continuing the conversation when Amy, the oldest of the girls still at Sacred Heart, interrupted with a knock on the door.

“Excuse me, Vicar Chadwick, but a man who says he’s the Marquess of Rainforth is here to see you. He says it’s quite important.”

“Send him right in, Amy.”

“Yes, Vicar Chadwick.”

Josie stayed in the shadows and leaned against the wall beside the window. A place of obscurity suited her just fine.

“This is a surprise,” the vicar said, turning to her. “Are you acquainted with the marquess?”

Josie shook her head. “Lady Clythebrook met him on her way to visit the widow Milton. She said he introduced himself. Nothing more.”

“I wonder what he wants.”

Josie didn’t have time to answer that she didn’t have the faintest idea, before the door opened and the Marquess of Rainforth entered the room.

From what Lady Clythebrook said, she knew he was not a small man, but she wasn’t prepared for a man of his stature. He stood several inches taller than Howie Gifford and Howie was nearly six feet tall. His carriage was regal and the well-tailored cut of his expensive jacket allowed it to fit his broad shoulders to perfection. He was a prime example of what the nobility had to offer. But there was something else about him Josie couldn’t put her finger on. An uneasy agitation that surrounded him. A tumultuous thunderstorm whose forces were building to a dangerous level.

He entered the room with long determined steps and stopped before the worn desk. His focus didn’t leave the vicar sitting behind it.

Josie knew he hadn’t seen her, a fact in which she took great satisfaction. It gave her time to study him: his thick, dark hair, brushed back from his face and noticeably longer than fashion dictated, even in the country; the hunter-green suede jacket that stretched tautly over his broad shoulders; rich buff pants that molded to his muscled thighs, showing off a strength Josie hadn’t ever seen in a man before. She sucked in a quiet breath and looked closer, wondering if she could see through to the black soul he was reported to have.

Nowhere, however, did she see any semblance of the demon he was rumored to be. If only half the gossip that had circulated about the man were true, Josie knew she was looking at one of the most disreputable members of London’s social elite. And now one of the most spurned.

She tried to pull her gaze away from him but couldn’t. The longer she stared, the more she had to battle the intense wariness that spread through her chest, then traveled downward into her stomach, then lower, until it consumed every part of her. He represented everything she despised. Everything she’d grown up hating. She clamped down on the anger that raced through her and pressed her back deeper into the corner, glad he hadn’t noticed she was there.

“Lord Rainforth,” Vicar Chadwick said, rising from behind his desk. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vicar Chadwick. And this is—”

“Are you in charge of the orphanage?”

Vicar Chadwick cleared his throat. “In a manner of speaking. I am one of many who see to its needs.”