No Man's Mistress (37 page)

She smiled with amusement despite herself. “I see that Christopher is asleep,” she said. “How do you
do
it, Jocelyn? I resent it. I am his mother, but he does nothing except squirm and wail when I try to rock him to sleep.”

“He is wise enough to understand that he can expect no meal from me, you see,” he said. “There is nothing else to alleviate his boredom than to nod off. Dudleys are never so foolish as to waste negative energy. They merely fall asleep and store it up for future mayhem. Christopher is going to be more of a handful than Ferdinand and I were combined—with Angeline thrown in. I believe Nick may prove to be more biddable.”

She laughed but then sobered.

“Are you really going to send her back to Pinewood?” she asked. “Ferdinand may well challenge you if he discovers what you have done.”

“That would make a change,” he said. “I have not been challenged for over four years. I have forgotten the peculiar excitement attached to gazing down the wrong end of a pistol. I had better go and find him and give him the opportunity.”

“Jocelyn, do be serious,” she said.

“I was never more so,” he assured her. “I must find Ferdinand. I have to confess that being head of the family has never been more interesting. Take this rascal, will you, Jane? If I am not much mistaken, he has dampened my sleeve. Not to mention the soggy patch on my shoulder.”

He kissed her swiftly as she took their sleeping son from him.

Ferdinand wasted a good part of the afternoon looking for Daniel Kirby—without success—before deciding that as usual he was allowing impetuosity to lead him by the nose instead of harnessing his wrath and using it in a measured and effective way.

There was sure to be a
much
more effective way. He
would need some assistance, though. He did not have to think too deeply before deciding that his brother was his best possible choice. And so he made his way to Grosvenor Square.

Both the duchess and his grace were away from home, Tresham's poker-faced butler informed him. The duchess was attending a garden party with Lady Webb. His grace was simply out.

“Damnation!” Ferdinand said aloud, flicking his riding whip impatiently against his boot. “I'll have to go searching for him, then.”

Fortunately he did not have to look far. Tresham's curricle turned into the square just as he was swinging himself up into the saddle.

“Ah,” Tresham called, “just the man I have been looking for. And you were on my doorstep all the time.”

“You have been looking for me?” Ferdinand dismounted, and his brother vaulted down from the high seat of his curricle and tossed the ribbons to his groom.

“Combing the streets of London,” Tresham said, setting a hand on his brother's shoulder and walking back up the steps to the house with him. He took Ferdinand into his library, closed the door, and poured them both a drink. “I have a confession to make, Ferdinand. My duchess believes it highly probable that you will slap a glove in my face as soon as I tell you.” He handed Ferdinand one of the glasses.

Ferdinand was bursting with his own news, but his brother's words arrested him. “What?” he asked.

“I have agreed to pay Miss Thornhill a largish sum to withdraw to Pinewood and never communicate with you again,” Tresham said.

“By God!” Ferdinand's fury finally found an available
target. “You might have heeded Jane's warning. I'll kill you for this, Tresham.”

His brother sat down on a leather chair beside the hearth and crossed one booted leg over the other. He looked damnably unconcerned. “Actually,” he said, “it was Miss Thornhill's suggestion. And it is to be a loan rather than a gift. She will repay every penny plus interest. It is the additional request she made of me as part of our bargain that will be of particular interest to you.”

“Well, it will not be,” Ferdinand said, setting his glass down. “I do not want to hear it. I don't care what sum you have bribed her with, and I do not care what promises she has made you. I will pay your damned money back, and then I am going to release her from her promise. Maybe she will never have me. But she is going to be free to say yes if she means yes and no if she means no. Damn you, Tresham. I'll never speak to you again after today. I am too disgusted even to kill you, damn you.” He turned toward the door.

“She wants me to deliver the money personally into Kirby's hands,” Tresham said, ignoring the outburst. “And to extort from him a written statement to the effect that all debts have been fully and permanently paid off. Jane was right, you see. That scoundrel had her working off debts for a number of years. And having heard that she was returning to London, he no doubt discovered other debts—the ones I have agreed to pay off for her by advancing her a loan. I have told you all this with the greatest reluctance, Ferdinand, merely because it seemed selfish to hoard to myself all the pleasure of dealing with Kirby. I thought perhaps you might consider your claim to take the first, er,
shot
at him superior to my own.”

Ferdinand looked over his shoulder at his brother for a few moments before reaching into a pocket and
drawing out the second of the two papers Bamber had put on his breakfast table earlier. He had hesitated about reading it at first, since it belonged to Viola, but it had been unsealed and he had been unable to resist the temptation. He crossed the room and handed it to his brother, who read it carefully from beginning to end.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

“From Bamber,” Ferdinand said. “It was put into the safekeeping of the countess's solicitor in York together with a codicil to the late Bamber's will leaving Pinewood to his daughter. The solicitor, doubtless encouraged by the countess, conveniently
forgot
about both documents until Bamber went up there and reminded him. He arrived back in town this morning and came straight to me.”

“Bamber Senior paid off all the debts two years ago,” Tresham said, looking back at the paper.
“All
. And this is an interesting detail, Ferdinand. They were debts incurred by Clarence Wilding. Having had a slight acquaintance with the man, I can believe they were large enough. They became as deep as the ocean, no doubt, by the time Kirby acquired them and added interest of several hundred percent. Does
Mrs
. Wilding know of these debts? Do you know?”

“I don't think so,” Ferdinand said. “She seems genuinely to believe that Kirby found Viola a governess's job once upon a time and is finding her another now.”

“She took the whole burden on her own young shoulders, then,” Tresham said. “There are younger half-brothers and -sisters, I seem to recall?”

“Three of them. They must have been mere children at the time,” Ferdinand said. “Viola was a young lady by birth and education. Her illegitimacy would have been no great barrier to a decent future. Her father was an earl,
after all. She could have expected to make a respectable match. Kirby took that chance from her and plunged her into hell instead.”

“You must understand,” Tresham said, “what a great sacrifice I am making, Ferdinand, in granting you precedence in this matter. I would offer to be your second, but I do not believe this man has earned the right to an honorable challenge, do you? Let me assist you, though. And a suggestion? I will not call it advice or you must reject it out of sheer principle. A bullet between the eyes is too easy. Besides, it will involve you in all sorts of annoying complications and you may find yourself obliged to spend the next year or two kicking your heels on the Continent. Pick up your drink again and have a seat and together we will contrive some suitable punishment.”

“Even death would not be
suitable
for what he has done,” Ferdinand said savagely. “But it is the best substitute I can think of.”

“Ah,” his brother said softly. “But we must think of what is best for your Viola too, Ferdinand. You cannot afford to make a mistake there or she will lock herself behind Pinewood doors and never come out again.”

Ferdinand picked up his glass and sat down.

V
iola sat reading the next morning while her mother gave Maria an arithmetic lesson. At
Y
least she held an open book in her lap and even remembered to turn a page now and then. But her hands were like ice and her heart was thudding and her mind was in turmoil.

All she needed was that piece of paper in her hands. There was a stagecoach leaving for the west country from another inn during the afternoon. She could be on it. Hannah already had their bags packed. Her mother would be disappointed, of course. She had her heart set on going to Dudley House for tea. She firmly believed that Lord Ferdinand would renew his addresses and that this time Viola would have the good sense to accept. But Mama's disappointment would have to be borne.

Surely his grace would call on Daniel Kirby this morning. Or perhaps he had gone yesterday but had waited until today to send her the receipt. Surely he would not let her down when the alternative for him might be acquiring Lilian Talbot as a sister-in-law.

She turned a page with a cold, clammy hand.

And then the sitting room door opened to admit Claire, waving a letter. Viola leaped to her feet, and her book clattered to the floor.

“Is it for me?” she cried.

“It is. A messenger brought it.” Claire was smiling. “Perhaps it is from Mr. Kirby, Viola. Perhaps he has found you a position.”

Viola snatched the letter from her sister's hand. Her name on the outside was written in bold black letters, like the duke's writing as she had seen it at Pinewood.

“I'll read it in my room,” she said, and hurried away before anyone could protest.

Her hands were shaking as she sat down heavily on her bed and broke the seal. She and Hannah would be in time to catch the afternoon stage.

She would never see him again
.

Two papers fluttered into her lap. She ignored them while her eyes scanned the brief note that had enclosed them.

“With my compliments,” it said. “Both papers were filed with a solicitor in York shortly before the late Earl of Bamber's passing. F. Dudley.”

It was Ferdinand's handwriting, then.

She picked up the top paper from her lap and unfolded it.

Oh, God! Oh, God, oh, God! Her hand shook so violently that she had to grip the paper with the other hand too. It was the receipt her father had made Daniel Kirby sign, declaring that the late Clarence Wilding's debts had been paid in full and for all time. There were the two signatures as plain as could be. And the signatures of two witnesses too.

She was free. They were all free
.

But there was the paper lying folded in her lap. She set aside the one she had just read on the bed beside her and unfolded the second. She stared down at it until her vision blurred and one tear plopped onto a corner of it. She had not doubted him. Not even for a moment. But it was sweet—ah, it was sweet indeed—to hold the documentary evidence in her hands.

Father. Oh, Papa, Papa
.

She was weeping openly when her bedroom door opened and her mother first peeped around it and then came hurrying inside.

“Viola?” she said. “Oh, what is it, my dear? Is the letter from the duchess? Has she changed her mind about this afternoon? It really does not matter. Oh, goodness me, what
is
it?”

She had come close to the bed and would have gathered her daughter in her arms, but Viola held out the codicil to her father's will.

“He
did
love me,” she wailed. “He
did.”

Her mother read it before folding it and returning it to Viola's lap. “Yes, of course he did,” she said softly. “He adored you. Long after our relationship turned sour he came just to see you. I truly believe he loved you more than anyone else in the world. When I married your stepfather, I wanted nothing more to do with him. I was in love and I was very proud. I ignored your needs. He was my lover, but he was your father. There is a world of difference—I know that now. I suppose my anger with you for accepting Pinewood Manor from him arose from my guilt. I am so sorry. Can you ever forgive me? I am glad you were right and he really did leave Pinewood to you. I
am
glad, Viola.”

Viola pulled a handkerchief out of the pocket of her dress and held it to her eyes, but for the moment at least she could not seem to stop crying.

“What is
this?”
her mother asked suddenly in a strange voice.

The other paper
. Viola slapped a hand onto the bed beside her, but it was too late. The paper was in her mother's hands, and she was reading it with wide, dismayed eyes.

“Bamber paid off Clarence's debts?” she said. “What debts? To Mr.
Kirby?”
She lifted her gaze to Viola's face.

Viola could think of nothing to say.

“Explain this to me.” Her mother sat down beside her.

“I did not want to worry you,” Viola said. “You were so ill after my stepfather died. And it would not have been fair to Uncle Wesley to have burdened him. I—I tried to pay the bills myself, but there were so many of them. M-my father was kind enough to pay them all off for me.”