Keepsake (The Distinguished Rogues Book 5) (26 page)

All but Simon were fixated on patting the chestnut’s nose, and Kit smiled at him. A remarkable boy. Simon never caused the slightest trouble for Carrington. That in itself was impressive for an orphan.

The boy left the others to come closer. His expression was keen. “You found your wife?”

“I did.”

“Is she well now?”

Kit frowned, startled that the boy knew his wife had been ill when he’d only learned about it last night. “As well as can be expected.”

The boy frowned fiercely. “You did not bring her to see us.”

Kit squirmed at the child’s surprisingly hostile accusation. “My apologies. We will be home today and I think Carrington here is going to bring some of the younger children to see her.”

Simon stared at Carrington. Simon was the eldest boy. “You are making me stay in Berkley Square?”

Carrington attempted to ruffle his hair, but the child stepped back out of reach. “We are overwhelming in great numbers, and the marquess thought his wife might not like that. You can see her another day. Perhaps next week if we are all still in London then.”

“I see.” The boy’s eyes lowered.

Moved by the boy’s disappointment, Kit placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and leaned down to look into his face, which was difficult to do since the boy seemed long overdue to have his hair trimmed. Kit could barely see his eyes behind his fringe of hair. “I’m on my way home now and will tell her myself that you were keen to see her.”

The boy bit his lip, eyes darting left and right, anywhere but at him. “She’s at your town house now.”

“She is. When I left to go riding this morning she was still asleep in my bed. I hope she’ll still be there when I get back as she was very weary after last night.”

The boy nodded again and stepped back, apparently satisfied with his promise. Kit watched him after he left them, puzzled by his obvious disappointment. Simon surveyed the park in swift glances, almost as if he were studying who was around him. Tension gripped Kit. What was the child about? He returned to the other children, leaned down to speak to little Mabel, who hung on his every word. Kit sighed and dismissed his anxiety as inconsequential as the boy straightened.

As Carrington began to ask if Miranda might not be too tired to have visitors at all, the boy met his gaze and grinned.

Kit’s heart stopped at that expression.

The next moment, Simon bolted for the gates of Hyde Park, running in the direction of Mayfair as if he were being chased by the very devil.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

There was one thing to be said for the life of a peer in that doing nothing and resting seemed rather easy to manage. Miranda sat forward as April plumped cushions behind her back and urged her to lie against them. “Is that better, my lady?”

“They were fine to begin with, you know. I’d like to get up if you don’t mind.”

April, who had been showing more promise each day until today’s fussing, ignored her soft reproach and turned for the breakfast tray. “His lordship said I have to make you happy, and you needed another pillow behind your back to be comfortable. If I were a lady, I’d stay there for hours.”

April’s brow furrowed as she lifted the heavy tray, tiptoed across the chamber, and gently deposited it over Miranda’s lap. When she let go, her sigh of relief was loud.

“Hours in bed make me very cross.” Miranda chuckled softly. “I am not made of glass.”

“Yes, but his lordship said I had to take care of you and wanted you to rest until he comes back.”

“I don’t believe he meant I couldn’t get up at all. Who knows how long he’ll be?” Another hour yet she hoped. Long enough for April to tire of fussing and allow her to dress. Then Miranda could slip out and begin her search. A walk in the square seemed to be a good start. Miranda picked up a corner of toast and buttered it while April crept about the room. Miranda frowned. “April, where have you gotten the idea that you need to tread so quietly? Surely I never told you that.”

April fidgeted. “The dowager marchioness’s maid said I had to learn to be quiet or expect to be sent to work in the kitchens.”

“The dowager marchioness’s maid has no idea what I expect from you. I don’t believe I have even seen her. Go on as you have, dear girl, and if you do something I do not like then I will assuredly suggest a change, but you will hear it from my own lips and not the dowager’s servant.”

April bit her lip, but the tension seemed to ooze from her limbs. She sighed. “If you say so.”

“I do indeed.” Miranda stretched out her hand. “Now, where is today’s paper?”

“I’m sorry. Mr. Addison wouldn’t give it to me. He said the master of the house always reads it first before anyone, then the dowager receives it.”

“Even when he’s out he gets his way,” Miranda muttered under her breath. Reading the papers on the day they were published rather than a week later was an advantage she enjoyed when in town. “I’ll make arrangements for Landry to secure my own copy from tomorrow onward. You will ask him for it rather than Addison.”

“Mr. Addison won’t like that. Landry’s not popular as it is.”

Miranda leaned back. “Landry is popular with the person who employs him. Addison’s opinion is no more valuable than the air he spoke with.”

April giggled and then hurried into the other room where Miranda’s clothing and possessions were stored.

Miranda finished her toast, dusted off her fingers, and considered the rest of the feast set before her. Unfortunately, her appetite had waned already. She had so much to do today, and nothing was more important than slipping away to find her son.

Miranda finished the last of her tea, calling for April to take the unwieldy tray from her lap.

A loud bang sounded through the house, and Miranda frowned at the rare noise. Usually the servants were so quiet as to be unheard, except perhaps for April and Landry when they were close, but that noise couldn’t be one of them. Miranda always knew when that pair was approaching and that fact kept her happy. She detested creeping servants surprising her when she suddenly noticed them at her elbow. Her heart couldn’t take the strain of enduring such behavior all day and every day.

A man shouted
stop
at the top of his lungs beyond her bedroom door and Miranda flinched.

She quickly handed her breakfast tray to April. Likely no one yelled at Twilit House unless it was the marquess, and he never sounded as panicked as that voice had been. As she rose to an upright position, the door to her bedroom was flung wide.

Christopher grinned at her. “Mama.”

Miranda shrieked and flung herself across the bed as Christopher raced across the room and into her arms. Her son had finally found his way home to her. Miranda drew him against her tightly and rocked him from side to side wildly. She’d believe this moment a dream except he smelled of horses and sweat and the boy she loved with all her heart. “My boy. My darling little man. Where have you been?”

Christopher tightened his grip around her neck and clung. “Waiting for you. I was so afraid you’d never get better.”

“Nothing could keep me away from you.” Miranda drew his head back, brushed his long hair away from his face, and kissed his forehead soundly. “I’d never dessert you. I love you so much.”

Miranda pulled him toward the bed and waited till he sat down, ignoring how April stared and listened to every word. “Come back later,” Miranda told her swiftly.

When April disappeared into the next room, Miranda ran her hands over her son’s head, brushed his soft cheeks, and stared into his pale green eyes. “You’ve grown so much.”

Christopher laughed. “And you’re still in your nightgown. Are you sick still?”

Miranda nodded. “It comes and goes. Finding you missing from Mr. Fenning’s care did nothing for my peace of mind.”

Christopher dipped his head. “We said we would only return together.”

She brushed his long hair back from his eyes and lifted his chin so she could stare at him. She couldn’t recall him ever wanting to grow it so long before and hoped he wasn’t overly attached to it. She smiled at him warmly, heart filling, bursting with love for him. She drew him closer to her side and wrapped an arm about his shoulders. “I know what I said, but dear God, where have you been? I’ve been so afraid I’d lost you. You look like a street urchin, except you are somewhat cleaner.”

“No one looks twice at an urchin.” He scrunched up his face. “First I went to the orphanage cousin Agatha and Grandfather supported. I’ve lived with Agatha for the past year since she married Lord Carrington.”

Miranda gasped. “But I was there, in that house, not two days ago.”

“And I was here speaking to
him
. I came at once. I saw your name mentioned in the paper and everyone was talking of you that morning. We missed each other.”

Miranda hugged Christopher close against her again as she thought over her previous conversations with Martin. “I’ve not heard mention of a child of your name among the Carrington children or in any of my correspondence.”

“I chose another name. I’m Simon to everyone else.”

“Oh.” That explained quite a lot about how he could be with Agatha and still be so well hidden. But… she rubbed her forehead at how complicated matters would be now. “Agatha will be upset with you over the deception. With us both probably. Did you tell her who you really were?”

“Not once, though I did consider it when she cuddled me when I was sad. When I missed you the most she was the nearest thing to having your arms about me.” Christopher shrugged. “I like her, but she’ll understand she cannot keep me.”

“I hope so.” Miranda drew her son close and rocked him in her arms. “I missed you, my dearest love. We have all the time in the world to be together now.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Kit froze outside the door to his bedchamber as Miranda’s shocking words carried into the hall. He’d followed Simon’s dangerous run all through Mayfair on horseback since Carrington was burdened with his children and too slow to follow the surprisingly fast child as he tore through the busy streets. He was puzzled that the boy had come here of all places. The front door had been wide open and he followed the voices of those lingering in the halls.

Yet the moment he’d realized Miranda was entertaining a man in his bedchamber a fury unlike anything he’d felt before consumed him, and he didn’t care one whit for Carrington’s runaway son nor where he’d gone.

Around him, a half dozen upper servants had gathered, trying now to look busy polishing the bannisters and dusting paintings instead of eavesdropping on the scene inside.

Miranda hadn’t even done him the courtesy of closing the door so the servants wouldn’t hear every word she spoke to the one she truly loved.

Miranda had her lover in his very bed. How dare she flaunt her affairs so brazenly beneath his own roof as if he were nothing? As if their marriage didn’t matter. As if she could do whatever she wanted. Well, he’d not stand for it.

He shoed the servants away with an impatient flick of his hands, astonished to find some in tears, others dazzled by the conversation taking place inside the room.

He crept closer, determined to find out who it was that claimed his wife’s heart. He wouldn’t let her know how badly she’d hurt him, but he would insist she leave immediately. He’d throw her out onto the street if she didn’t go willingly.

Just outside the doorway, he paused to draw a steadying breath before he took three more steps to cross the threshold.

His wife lifted her face away from the little man she held tightly against her breast. Kit gaped at her. This was whom she loved?

“Kit,” she said, a smile brightening her entire face regardless that her deception had been discovered.

The man in her arms twisted around and Kit found himself face to face with Carrington’s ward, Simon. Kit blew out a breath as relief slammed into him. Miranda was not meeting a lover. He’d been utterly mistaken to suspect her of duplicity. “You gave us all a scare, young man. Your father will be furious with you for the fright you just gave him.”

He glanced between the pair when they said nothing to that but continued to touch each other as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Simon claimed to know no one in their society and had never acknowledged any connections. How could he know Miranda so well as to be almost sitting in her lap? In fact, he might as well be as they were so close together. He glared at Simon. “What the devil are you doing on my bed, boy?”

Simon licked his lips, a nervous gesture Carrington needed to cure him of and soon if he ever wanted to win at cards one day, and gained his feet. The boy circled the bed bravely, set his hands behind his back, and stood at attention. “I was greeting my mother properly.”

Kit rocked back on his heels, swung his gaze to his wife. Miranda only looked at the boy Simon, a smile of such love and devotion on her face that he couldn’t mistake her feelings were strong for the child. He blinked in astonishment. When he turned his attention back to Simon, he was still there, chin lifted, eyes defiant.

The boy smiled softly. “Hello, Father. I apologize for interrupting your ride in the park.”

Kit’s breath seized. His ears roared with nameless sound, then his heart shuddered, pounding painfully against his ribs. He stared at the boy he knew as Carrington’s orphaned ward, a fatherless, motherless boy these past two years that he knew of. He shook his head repeatedly.