Jilting the Duke (32 page)

“Lady Wilmot . . . I'm growing tired of waiting.”

She stepped from behind the wall that hid the stoves, holding the dagger defensively in front of her.

* * *

Aidan was praying that she wouldn't step forward. But he knew she would; she'd been brave as a girl, and she'd become brave again.

When she moved, he would have a chance to get closer. He needed to resist his natural inclination to look at Sophia when she stepped forward. He had to watch the blackmailer, watch for his chance. He heard a movement to Charters's left and saw the man recoil.

“It can't be you, Wilmot. You're dead.” The blackmailer, focused on the trousered figure before him, held up his knife. “Must I kill you again?”

Sophia heard the threat and held her dagger up before her in protection. She took another step, watching for her opportunity. Her adversary had put down his pistols, but not his knife. She paused.

Aidan moved around the side of the pond, close enough that he could save Lily or Sophia, but still not both. But when he rounded the edge closest to Lily, he stopped. It wasn't Sophia who had stepped from behind the wall, but a man—a man who looked like Tom.

In the slanting light of the conservatory, with the lowering sun reflecting off the various angles of glass in the roof, the figure held out his hand to Aidan, toward the child. And Aidan knew who to save.

* * *

Sophia could see Aidan moving toward Lily, so she focused on the man before her. She smelled sandalwood, Tom's scent, and she took courage in the memory. She held out her hand with the dagger and stepped even farther forward.

The man blinked, but the look of fear remained on his face.

“I killed you. Stay away.” The blackmailer, so preternaturally calm before, now seemed agitated, even frightened.

She stepped further into the slanting light, close enough to see the body of the tutor, Grange, stretched out on the floor, blood pooling under him. The smell of sandalwood intensified. She stopped, watching Aidan move almost close enough to save Lily.

But at that moment, the blackmailer made a decision. “You can't harm me, Wilmot. Save your child.” In one motion, he pushed Lily into the water and lunged toward Sophia. She saw Lily sink. Aidan, running, leapt into the pool.

While the blackmailer had been focused on Lily, he hadn't seen the croquet ball she'd held slightly behind her. Now she bowled it, aiming at his feet, hoping to trip him. The ball bounced, hitting him slightly below the knee, enough to surprise and hurt, but not stop him. He howled and looked down, allowing Sophia to move out of his grasp.

She held up her dagger defensively, hoping to dissuade the blackmailer from further attack. The man stared at her, his own dagger raised. In the distance she could hear people running, calling her name and Aidan's. The man stopped, and with one last look of horror and fear, ran.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Aidan raise Lily's body.

Not caring if the blackmailer escaped, she ran to Aidan.

Together, they put the child on the tiled floor, cut the gag and blindfold. Sophia cut the ropes binding Lily's hands and feet. Aidan turned Lily over and beat her back. Nothing. Sophia's heart sank. Aidan continued beating Lily's back. Three, four, five times. Tears welled in Sophia's eyes as she looked away.

“Lily! Lily! Breathe.” Aidan pressed the girl's chest.

Sophia put her hand on his arm, to stop him. But just then, Lily took a breath and began to cough.

The men were there now. Aidan was giving orders, some of his men running after the blackmailer. An older man she knew as Aidan's valet was kneeling beside the tutor, who was not yet dead.

She rocked Lily's body against hers, caressing her hair. Somehow Lily was safe, and Sophia was still alive.

Aidan knelt beside her, rubbing the child's arms and legs to bring warmth back into them, wrapping both Sophia and Lily in his cloak. Then Luca was with Sophia, and they were crying. She handed Lily to her uncle and picked herself up. She looked around.

Aidan was gone.

But he had come. He had come, and Lily was alive.

* * *

By the time Aidan told his men to give up the hunt, Sophia and Lily had gone home. Barlow moved the wounded tutor to Aidan's house where he could be doctored . . . and watched. Luca had returned to report that the doctor said Lily would be fine. Apparently the tutor had dosed her tea with laudanum, and she remembered little between going to the park and coming awake wet with cold in Aidan's arms. She would not have bad dreams of being kidnapped.

Aidan wanted to see Sophia, see she was safe, hold her in his arms. But he didn't want to go to her half wet from the pond. Saving Lily had not balanced the scales between them, though perhaps now Sophia knew he would not abandon her.

He also had to consider what he had seen in the conservatory: a figure that had been Tom. Aidan was sure of it.

Tomorrow. He would call on her tomorrow.

* * *

Sophia took a long bath, wondering if Aidan would try to see her, and what she would say to him. She'd hoped he would come to her house after searching for the blackmailer, but he hadn't. At least he had sent her a message through Dodsley, saying the blackmailer had escaped, and Aidan's men would be watchful. He believed the blackmailer would no longer try to harm her or her children, and she agreed. Something in the look of unalloyed fear she'd seen on the man's face suggested it was over.

She thought of the sandalwood she'd smelled in the conservatory, and she determined to make inquiries about how she might acquire the tree. If the sandalwood were still sufficiently small, she could have it moved to her own garden. The scent had made her feel that Tom was by her side, supporting and caring for her, as he'd always done. She had had a good life with Tom, a kind, quiet, gentle life. Now that her grief had subsided, she could look with joy on their time together.

She remembered the last time they had played bocce. It had been one of those perfect Neapolitan days, the air cool from the ocean, the sky clear. The sun had slanted across the flat of their Italian lawn, and they had made a picnic. Lily had chased Ian, stumbling over her chubby infant feet, and Ian had laughed. When Lily fell down and started to cry, Ian had shared a piece of hard candy, and Lily had happily grown sticky, the sugar on her hands and face. Francesca had been sitting on the blanket with Tom, clearly in love, but in a way that had made Sophia feel grateful that Tom, whom she adored as she would a kind older brother, had found a woman to share his heart. Sophia and Luca had played bocce, and she'd beaten him roundly for the first time. It had been the six of them, the Brunis and the Wilmots, and their strangely contented family. And she wondered how it would look in a painting.

Curling up in a thick dressing gown with her pad and crayons, she began to sketch, but each time, she found her pencil tracing Aidan's face. She no longer dreaded seeing him, no longer hated him. Though she still felt the ache in her heart that only his face could fill, she understood that they might never find a way to love one another as they had once. In their days at Tom's estate, they had come to understand each other's stories. Those allowed her to let go of the past. And in saving Lily, he'd balanced the scales for abandoning Sophia before.

* * *

Aidan slept that night without dreams. But he'd expected it to be so. For a moment in the conservatory he too had seen what terrified the blackmailer. Tom. Not Sophia wearing Tom's clothes. Not a trick of light. But the ghost of his old friend intervening to save them. Later, when Aidan had returned to the quiet of the conservatory intending in some way to say good-bye, he'd found Tom's dragon-headed cane near the pool. And Aidan had spent the evening sitting in front of his fire, watching the gem in the eye of the dragon catch the light, considering everything that had happened.

By special rider, he sent letters calling Malcolm and his family home. They had spent more time than planned away and would, Aidan was sure, be glad to return. And he wished to see his son, the son he could never acknowledge, but whom he'd grown to love. He smiled at the memory of Ian's playing soldier, of his delight in the game, of the thoughtful Tom-like turn of Ian's head and mind. Aidan realized now why his own name had not been on Tom's list of bequests: Aidan's gift was Ian, nurtured and loved by the man Aidan could once again call brother. He had a great debt to repay, and the rest of his life to pay it.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Sophia expected Aidan to call the next morning, but he didn't. And not the next day or the day after. But her drawing room was rarely empty, filled with her Elliot cousins, Tom's sisters, and Aidan's brothers, as well as an ever-increasing circle of friends. She accepted the change, and not just for Ian's sake. Tom had been right all along: she needed to return to society, but for her that meant a society of her friends and relatives.

She'd also begun to paint, every day, as she hadn't since her girlhood. She started with the scene she couldn't—and had no wish to—put out of her mind: the picnic on the lawn in Italy surrounded by the people she loved. She wanted to preserve it for her children: Ian, Lily, and Luca. But she had also begun a portrait of Aidan that she wished to finish—and when it was done, she would decide her next steps, whether to try to reconcile or to let him go.

That morning, the Hucknalls had left their sons to play with Ian at soldiers while they stole away alone to shop on Bond Street. She had just escaped from the drawing room to her library to paint when Dodsley announced the Hucknalls had returned to retrieve their boys.

“Malcolm, Audrey.” She kissed them both on the cheek. “I still feel that I haven't thanked you sufficiently for caring for Ian so well.”

“Ian can travel with us anytime. Our boys never quarreled once with him present,” Audrey offered. “And I must confess: traveling in the ducal carriage has ruined me for regular hackneys.”

Though Sophia tried to hide her fleeting sadness at the allusion to Aidan, Malcolm caught her up in his arms, lifting her off her feet. “In the states we call that a ‘bear's hug,' cousin. We have a surprise for you, and we've come to celebrate!”

When he put her down, Sophia shook her head in mock dismay. “You grow more colonial each day.”

Audrey laughed. “He's been teaching the boys all his tricks and sayings. Wait until you hear all the Americanisms Ian learned on our trip.”

Malcolm ignored the women's jibes and held out a broadsheet flyer. “We thought you might like a copy of this.”

Sophia held the broadsheet up to read it aloud. “Mr. Murray is happy to announce the publication this coming Monday of the late Thomas Gardiner, Lord Wilmot's greatest work,
Botanical Specimens of the Mediterranean Best Suited to the Climate of England
.” She felt her eyes grow moist, and Audrey handed her a handkerchief. “Thank you—I will have to show Ian. I had no idea the books would be available so soon.”

“Well, from the looks of the reservation list on Murray's counter, Tom's book will be a great success.” Audrey grinned. “In fact, Murray showed us the colored engravings for the illustrated color edition. They are stunning.”

“You must be proud of the work you've done.” Malcolm took her hand. “I know Tom would be pleased.”

Audrey grinned and held out a second broadsheet announcement. “Murray also suggested we look at another book he has coming out next week:
A Girl's Botany
, by Mrs. Teachwell, the illustrator of Lord Wilmot's
Botanical Specimens
. We had no idea you were an author as well!”

Sophia felt her cheeks grow hot. “Oh dear. I knew the books were coming out together, but I hadn't realized he would make the connection between them so explicit. I certainly don't wish to detract from Tom's debut.”

“I think it's lovely—and not a distraction at all.” Audrey curled up on the chaise longue. “Lord and Lady Wilmot's books published together in the same week. A lovely coda to a fruitful partnership of like minds.”

At that moment, Audrey's boys ran into the room, clamoring for their mother's attention.

Malcolm brought the broadsheets back to Sophia, and spoke softly so that only she could hear. “Have you heard from the great coward yet?”

She shook her head no. “But I made a contented life with Tom, and I will make a contented life again—with or without Aidan in it.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

It had been two weeks. Each day Aidan rose intending to visit Sophia, and each night he retired to bed, telling himself “tomorrow.” Life was short, and they had lost so much time already, but he was afraid—afraid of seeing her face and knowing she no longer loved him. So much easier to live with the hope that when he did see her, her face would soften with forgiveness.

Ian had returned to his mother lighthearted, with two bosom friends in Jack and Toby, a threesome that reminded Aidan of himself, Tom, and Malcolm at that age. Two or three afternoons each week, Ian came to his house, often with Liliana and Luca, and the four explored the sights of London. Aidan had never known the city as he did in showing it to Ian and Lily. Last week they'd taken the river to Hampton Court and remained until the change of the tide. Aidan had quickly discovered the depth of affection between the three, all in some way Tom's children.

Neither Aidan nor Ian brought up the subject of his mother. Where before Aidan had seen Tom in Ian's features, now he saw only Sophia, calling him to a hell of his own making. Sometimes the boy looked at him with serious eyes, and Aidan wondered what sober thought troubled Ian. But whatever the boy was pondering, Aidan did not ask, and Ian didn't offer.

The Home Office had notified Aidan that his services in watching Lady Wilmot were no longer required. Though they still had no idea who Charters was, they had intercepted a large stash of forged bills from various London gangs, and they had seized some printing plates, along with a small amount of fine paper, from an abandoned barn on the outskirts of London. They were sure that Tom's fair copy contained the coded information, but the agave engraving had offered no words that proved to be the code key. Without it, they could not decipher Tom's last message.

And Aidan had the new papers he'd requested from Aldine, signed and witnessed, but still undelivered.

He opened a bottle of Kentucky whiskey, a new import brought home from America by his cousin George Heywood. Then Aidan changed his mind. Not tomorrow. Today.

He called Barlow to help him dress. He wouldn't send her a note, wouldn't risk her refusing him. No, he would show up in his finest clothing, with the ring all the heads of the family gave their betrotheds. But he would expect nothing.

* * *

He'd rounded the corner between his house and Sophia's when he saw Sally bringing Liliana and Ian home from the park. He realized—if he quickened his steps just slightly—they would arrive at the same time, making his entry into the house easier.

In front of the house, Liliana threw herself into his arms, and he picked her up, intending to carry her into the house. But Luca opened the door and—clearly upset—stepped outside to meet them.

“I think it would be best if I took Liliana and Ian back to the park, your grace.” Luca reached out for Lily, and Aidan's heart fell. “Perhaps her ladyship would welcome your support.”

Aidan stepped gratefully into the house. The sound of angry voices led him back to the library. The door to the library stood open only an inch, and Dodsley was standing outside it, listening and occasionally peeking inside. The silver-haired butler stepped aside in gratitude. “I believe her ladyship needs her brother removed from the premises,” he whispered.

Aidan smiled. He'd worried if he would have the support of her staff, and now he knew. He pitched his voice low. “She sounds like she's managing quite well.”

Dodsley smiled in return. “Actually, your grace, I'm expecting her to throw the tea service at him any moment now.”

“Should we wait?”

“Why not?”

The two men turned back to listen, taking turns watching through the slightly open door.

* * *

“You cannot imagine my horror.” Phineas fisted his hands at his sides.

“I do not need to imagine it. You are enacting it quite successfully in my drawing room.” Sophia's voice was firm, unmoving, the tone one would use with a petulant child.

“You can't really intend to keep that child here, Sophia.” Phineas's voice was shrill.

Sophia stood, her back to the fireplace beneath the portrait of Tom.

“Have you no idea how inappropriate this is? Send the child back to Italy, to a boarding school in Wales, hire a nurse and send her to the country, but she cannot remain in this house.”

“Liliana is Tom's daughter, acknowledged by him and his heir in her own right. I will not send her into the country or out of it for that matter. She belongs here with her brother.”

“Brother?” Phineas sputtered, and Aidan almost stepped into the room. But he waited to see if Phineas had discovered Ian's true paternity. “Half brother! He will only have family feeling for her if she is reared in the same house. They must be separated!”

Sophia grimaced at the idea that living in the same house ensured family feeling. Phineas had never held any for her.

“It's a disgrace, Sophia, your allowing—no, welcoming—Tom's by-blow into your home.”

“Phineas, this is no business of yours.”

“I'm your brother, Sophia. When there is gossip about you, I must hear it. And this, this is certain to cause talk. It's scandalous.”

Phineas, never a handsome man, was far less handsome when angry. The red of his face extended past the weakness of his chin to contrast strongly with the pink of his cravat. Phineas, Aidan thought, couldn't have chosen a more unfortunate color for his visit.

“Sophia, are you even listening to me? The fact of the child is scandal enough, but your taking her into your home . . . calling her Liliana Gardiner . . .”

“That is her given name, Phineas. The name the legal papers give her.”

“But it's an embarrassment.”

“To whom? Would it be better, Phineas, for me to refuse to acknowledge a child that Tom himself acknowledged? Would it be better for me to pretend that such a child doesn't exist, because someone might think less of me as a woman or a wife? There are plenty of by-blows in the world—and plenty of starving children sired by men ‘of quality.' Tom did not leave his children destitute.”

“But your reputation, Sophia. I simply can't allow this.”

“It's not your choice to allow or disallow. My money is my own; my home is my own; my reputation is my own. Tom made sure of that. If as a widow, I choose to make myself scandalous, I have no one to please but myself. And it pleases me to rear Tom's child as my daughter.”

Phineas blustered, taking up his hat and coat. “For a while after you had returned, Sophia, I believed you had finally become a proper lady, but bad breeding will out. I cannot allow my girls to visit you. They cannot be seen to enter such an . . . an . . . establishment as this, where a wife openly accepts such behavior on the part of her husband. No respectable woman or man will likely visit you either. You will be ostracized for such behavior. I will be taking up this matter with the duke; Lord Wilmot cannot be raised in an environment of such depravity.”

“What matter, Phineas?” Aidan stepped into the room.

Carried on by his indignation, Phineas recklessly continued. “Your grace, you must remove my nephew from this house at once. We can place him at the boarding school I sponsor near my estate, but he cannot be allowed to live in a home where his mother welcomes bastard children. She makes no distinction between the girl and Lord Wilmot, treating them . . .”

“Both as Tom's children,” Sophia intervened.

Phineas had no idea, Aidan thought, which meant their secret was safe.

“I must stand with her ladyship, Phineas. I've reviewed the legal papers: Lily is undeniably Tom's daughter. Of course one doesn't really need legal papers to see that. Look at how much she resembles her brother; no one could believe she wasn't Tom's.” Aidan enjoyed offering that last tidbit, a useful lie that he hoped would spread.

Phineas howled in outrage, then rushed from the room, where his exit was aided by the ever-efficient Dodsley. Aidan would deal with any threats later. But for now, he was in Sophia's library.

“I see your brother is more agitated than usual by . . .”

“My behavior.” The image of Sophia as an avenging angel remained. “Today, I'm a bad wife to a bad, though dead, husband. How much did you hear?”

“Enough.”

She collapsed into a chair in front of her tea service and began to laugh. He stood silently, glorying in the sound of her rich, full laughter. She pointed him to a chair, then her laughter turned to giggles as she pointed at the tea service, where several tea cakes sat wrapped in her table linen. “He never forgets his cakes. Do you think he'll come back just for them?” She laughed some more.

He smiled at her amusement and found himself sharing a moment of delight with her. She was not afraid, or grieving, or a statue any longer, just a vibrant, clever, beautiful, brave woman. And he loved her.

“Now to your business, your grace.” The use of the honorific would have made his heart fall had she not still been smiling.

“I was coming to wish you adieu. I leave for my estate at the end of the week.”

“And you intend to take Ian with you.” Her voice shifted from joyful to resignation.

“No. I was going to leave some papers for you. But since we are both here, I thought I could deliver them myself.” He pulled a packet from his overcoat, divided the papers into two sets, and handed the first one to her. The name of Aldine's firm was neatly lettered on the outside.

“I'm giving up the guardianship, Sophia. Or at least I've changed the rules by which the guardianship works. You make the decisions. Ian's your son, and Tom's. I wish he had been mine, but I was foolish, unable to believe that someone so lovely as you could love me. I remain his guardian on the paperwork only to protect Ian if you are incapacitated or you need a threat to control your brother. I would like to see Ian when I am in town, but I'm here rarely, and now that you and I . . . Well, no matter.”

He waited for her to read, then gave her the second set. “These papers extend the guardianship to Lily as Tom wished. Again, I will be guardian in name only, leaving the decisions to Luca . . . and to you.”

She read the papers, then folded them. He couldn't read her expression, but he could feel his heart tightening in his chest.

“I also have a gift of sorts.” He held out a card with a name and an address on it. “It's the address of your old governess; she teaches in a girl's school in Cornwall. She did not choose to leave you. There's a story there, but she'd like to tell you herself. I'd be happy to escort you to visit her, were you to wish it.”

Silently, Sophia took up the card and the papers, then walked away from him toward her desk.

It was his only chance. He spoke quickly to fill the silence growing between them.

“Tom didn't create the guardianship because he didn't trust your judgment or because he thought Ian needed a male influence. He created the guardianship to give me a chance to make things right . . . to admit I wronged you all those years ago. To tell you I love you, that I've never stopped loving you.” The words came in a rush, and were not the ones he'd planned. She stilled, but did not turn toward him. “And I love our son—our son and Tom's.”

She placed the papers on the desk and turned toward him, her face inscrutable.

He breathed deeply, fingering the ring in his pocket. “If you ever need me again, Sophia, for anything, this time I won't ignore you. If it takes you another decade to trust me again, then I'll wait. As long as it takes.”

Her eyes searched his face, as she took his measure. Then she looked down at her hands.

His hopes faded. Clearly she was looking for words to send him away. To the life he deserved—a life without her. Feeling stabbed in the gut, he let the ring slip into the depths of his pocket. He picked up his overcoat.

“Before you go.”

He stilled, his chest tight, hoping, but afraid to hope.

“I was wondering if you would critique a painting I've been working on.” She gestured toward the easel.

It wasn't the response he'd expected. But it wasn't a rejection. He remembered the companionable comradery of minds she and Tom had forged. Perhaps this was a chance to start anew.

She'd finished the portrait that morning. Her intention had been to send Aidan a note inviting him to tea. But Phineas had arrived.

It was, she thought, her best work, combining a mature hand with an old love. She hoped that Aidan could see in it the truth of her heart. His reaction would tell her, more than words, whether what was between them had a future.

Aidan looked at the portrait with amazement. In it, he sat in the nursery with Tom and Ian, a green cloth spread out between them on the table. On it, the soldiers stood in battalions, watching as their generals declared an end to their hostilities. In the background, hanging on the wall were Sophia's botanical drawings, and in the best detail was the one that Ian loved, the rose with the hummingbird. Even in miniature, the hummingbird was finely detailed.

Suddenly Aidan knew what the code key was, though this was not the time for it.

Sophia watched as Aidan examined the triple portrait with delight. His eyes focused on the drawings in the background, then his face lit with surprise and revelation. She followed his eye to the image of the rose and suddenly remembered her dream of Tom's showing her the pages of the illustrations.

Sophia's eyes met Aidan's, and they began to laugh. “The misplaced engraving of the agave—it was supposed to point us to Ian's illustration of the rose. The code key; it was so obvious we missed it.”