Only a Promise (23 page)

“Of course.” She raised her eyebrows in surprise but smiled with obvious pleasure. “You do not want any port, Papa?”

“Not tonight,” he said, taking her by the elbow. “I would prefer to have a word with my daughter.”

His voice and his manner were grave, and her smile faltered before she left the room with him.

Graham, Ralph was interested to note, made no move to follow them. He was looking steadily at Ralph instead. With a brief nod Ralph dismissed the footman who remained in the room.

“You know?” he asked when the two of them were alone.

“He told me a few hours ago,” Graham said. “I suspected, of course. Well, I suppose I knew. But sometimes it is preferable to cling to illusion than to admit an unpalatable truth. I loved my mother. I still do. But all
through life, it seems, we have to learn and relearn the lesson of loving people unconditionally, no matter what. It is not always easy to do with our parents. We grow up believing them to be perfect.”

Ralph poured them each a glass of port. “And will this knowledge change your feelings for Chloe?” he asked.

“If I were not a peaceable man,” Graham said, “I might feel obliged to plant you a facer for asking that question, Stockwood. Chloe is my
sister
. Does the reality of her birth make
you
think any less of her?”

“Not at all. But I had little doubt of the truth even before I married her,” Ralph told him.

“Does
she
know?” Graham asked.

“In the same way you did—and did not,” Ralph told him. “Having the matter put beyond all doubt will be a blow to her. But ultimately it will surely be better for her to know.”

He hoped he was right.

Graham toyed with his glass, twirling it by the stem.

“Why did you marry her?” he asked.

“I needed a wife,” Ralph said after a small hesitation. “More specifically, I needed—I need—a son, an heir. Chloe wanted a husband and children but thought all her chances had passed her by. She knew—she overheard me tell my grandmother—that I was reluctant to marry, that I had nothing beyond material goods to offer any prospective bride. So
she
made
me
an offer. We could both have what we wanted, but there would be no illusions, no sentiment, no pretense of any emotional attachment.”

“And you agreed?” Graham said. “No sentiment, Ralph? No emotional attachment? Nothing to offer?
You?
”

“I will look after her,” Ralph assured him. “You need not fear that I will not.”

Graham pushed his glass away, the port untouched.

“Why have you never been able to let them go, those three?” he asked. “You had so much more to give to the world than any of them. You had ideas, ideals,
passion
. Sometimes—often—I disagreed with you, but I always respected you, except perhaps when you called me a coward. But even then you were speaking out of the depths of your convictions. The others just wanted adventure, action, glory. I liked them—and I mourned them. But you have not been able to recover from their deaths, have you?”

Ralph took a drink from his glass.

“They would not have been there in the Peninsula if it had not been for me and my dangerous
ideals,
” he said.

“You do not know that.” Graham frowned. “To what degree are we our brother’s keeper? I did not go with you, though I heard your arguments as often and as clearly as they did. I disagreed and made other plans for my future. They did
not
disagree. It was their right and they acted upon it.”

“But they always agreed with me,” Ralph said.

“That did not make you
responsible
for them,” Graham said. “One cannot always keep one’s opinions, one’s
passions
, to oneself, Ralph, for fear one might influence others and they might suffer, even die, as a result. Provided we do not try to coerce others in any way, that is. You never did.”

“I called you a coward,” Ralph reminded him.

“But did I turn my back on all my beliefs and follow you to war just to win your approval?” Graham asked.
“Don’t be absurd, Ralph. Boys call one another names all the time. They oughtn’t to do it—it causes pain. But no one is perfect, least of all a growing boy. You do not
still
call people names, do you?”

Ralph’s smile was a bit twisted. “Why did you agree to a duel and then refuse to take up a pistol, you idiot?” he asked.

“Well, I could hardly refuse,” Graham said. “It was an affair of honor, and I
am
a gentleman. But violence is abhorrent to me. I cannot stop others using it, but I
can
stop myself. And you
do
still call people names.”

They looked at each other and smiled slowly—and then laughed.

“And so you ended up as a clergyman, working in parts of London most people would never dare go,” Ralph said. “And I daresay you walk about the streets without even a club with which to protect yourself. Coward? Never. Idiot? Maybe.”

“And you ended up married to my sister,” Graham said. “Who would have thought it?”

“I
will
look after her, Gray,” Ralph told him.

“Yes,” Graham said, nodding slowly, “I believe you will. And I believe
she
will look after
you
.”

“I
am so glad you came to London again, Papa,” Chloe said, her hand still linked through his arm as they entered the drawing room. “You have not been back here since—well, since Lucy married Mr. Nelson, have you? It is really not so bad, is it? Although I would have preferred to remain in the country, I am not sorry Ralph persuaded me to come here and face the
ton
. We have accepted a number of invitations for the coming weeks, and we have begun to organize our own ball, which everyone seems to believe will be one of the grandest squeezes of the Season. You
must
stay long enough to attend that.”

It was hard to recall all the conflicting emotions that had compelled her to leave home after Christmas, to put some distance between herself and her father at least for a while. But one of the happiest moments of the past few weeks had been seeing him descend unexpectedly from Graham’s carriage at Manville and realizing that he was
Papa
no matter what.

He patted her hand before releasing it and stepping
closer to the fire. He held both his hands to the blaze while she took a seat.

“The Marquess of Hitching is in town again this year with his family,” he told her.

“Oh,” she said. “Is this why you left the dining room with me, Papa? To warn me? But I knew. Lady Angela Allandale was at the theater last evening. I know it was she though no one actually said so. She really does resemble me a little—even I can see that. And there was a swell of sound when she entered her box across from ours. I did not mind so very much, though, you know. Indeed, it will be a relief to meet her face to face one of these days, to be civil to her, to let the
ton
know that all those rumors are pure nonsense. We will be sending them an invitation to our ball. There is no reason
not
to. Indeed, it would be remarked upon if we did not, and then the gossip might be revived. You must not worry for me, Papa. Truly you must not. I do not—”

“Chloe.”

He did not turn away from the fire or speak her name loudly, but there was a sharpness to his tone that silenced her.

And she knew what was coming, as surely as though the words had already been spoken. She held up a hand to stop him, but he was not looking at her.

“No father ever loved his child more than I love you,” he said. “I was there with your mother five minutes after your birth, though the midwife protested that neither of you was ready to be seen. I had never seen anything more beautiful in my life than the two of you. I named you. Did you know that? You were a tiny ball of precious
humanity, and I immediately thought of a small and precious name for you. I did everything a father can do, Chloe, except provide the spark that gave you life. It was . . . Hitching who did that.”

And there was a world of difference, Chloe thought, between knowing deep down that something was true and knowing it beyond all doubt and denial. A universe of difference.

The air felt sharp and cold in her nostrils. Her hands and feet tingled with pins and needles. There was a faint roaring in her ears. And she felt the sudden impulse to jump to her feet and run—and to keep on running and running.

The trouble with running away is that you must always take yourself with you.
Ralph had said that last night. She
had
run away once—twice—and it had not worked.

Papa was not her father, then. She could no longer even cling to the illusion that he was.

The Marquess of Hitching was her father. Lady Angela Allandale was . . . her half sister. And had she heard that there were sons too? Her half brothers.

Just as Graham was. Just as Lucy was her half sister.

Her papa was still looking into the fire.

“You discovered the truth after you married Mama?” she asked.

“No, before.” He turned to her then, his face wan. “She was perfectly frank with me. I had been in love with her from the start of that Season, from my first sight of her. And she had liked me too. But there was a dazzle about . . .
him
. He had looks and charm and rank and boundless wealth—or so it seemed. I thought I had lost her until she sought me out at a concert one evening and
told me he was very close to financial ruin and must therefore marry into money. She told me too that she feared she was with child. When I offered to marry her without delay, I also promised never again to refer to the secret she had confided in me. And she in turn promised to love me steadfastly for the rest of her life. We both kept our promise. I was more blessed in my marriage than I ever deserved to be. I had a wife with whom I shared a mutual love and three children we both adored. It has always been my dearest hope that you would never have to learn the truth. I warned him never to return to London. But he came last year and again this year, his family with him. And you have married a nobleman and will inevitably move in the same social circles he does. I have no choice but to tell you the truth now, at last. I wronged you at Christmas time when you asked and I lied. I was afraid of losing you, but I almost did anyway.”

. . . three children we both adored.

Chloe gazed down at her hands, which she had spread across her lap, palms down.
Had
her mother adored her? Or had Chloe’s existence been an irritant, a constant reminder of her shame and of the man who had jilted her for a rich wife and of the man she had been forced to marry in order to avoid ruin?

Had
her mother loved her? Had she loved Papa?

But the question here was not about her mother. Her mother was dead. Her father—Papa—was not. Chloe got to her feet and closed the distance between them. She stood in front of him, twined her arms about his waist, and buried her face against his neckcloth, inhaling as she did so the familiar, snuffy scent of him.

“I am sorry I ran away and hurt you,” she said.

His arms closed about her, and she was a little girl again, safe from all harm. A memory surfaced from nowhere—perhaps their reminiscences over dinner had shaken it free—of climbing a steep slope of loose pebbles somewhere until she froze with terror. Papa, who had been climbing ahead of her with Lucy, came back down and took her hand, and she scrambled upward, all fear gone, hardly dependent upon his help at all, but knowing that never in a million years would she be unsafe as long as her papa was holding her hand.

A minute or two later the drawing room door opened and her father released her. Ralph and Graham had come to join them. Both were looking a bit uncertain of themselves.

“Yes,” Chloe said, “Papa has told me.”

Graham strode across the room toward them.

“Did you always know?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “Not for sure until today,” he said, “and not at all before last year. It makes no real difference, though, Chloe. We are still your family. Love does not diminish just because a minor fact changes. And it has not even changed really, has it? It has always been so. It is just that we did not know it until today.”

. . . a minor fact.

“I ought not to have married you,” she said, looking beyond her brother to Ralph.

His eyebrows rose. “If it is any consolation to you, Chloe,” he said, strolling past Graham to take her hand in his and lead her back to her chair, “I had no doubt of the truth before I married you. I married you anyway. Because I wanted to. And because I was led to believe
that
you
wanted to marry me. I hope I was not mistaken in that?”

She shook her head.

“Because if I
am,
” he said, “then I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do now to release you. I believe you are stuck with me.”

He had turned the tables on her.
She
was stuck with him, not the other way around. He was looking steadily down at her. His face did not smile, but, oh goodness, his
eyes
did. He had set out to make her feel better, and he had succeeded. How very kind he was.

Ralph? Kind?

She learned something new about him every day. What a delightful thing marriage was.

“I wanted to marry you,” she said, “and I am not sorry I did.”

And for a mere moment something else happened to his eyes. Something . . . intense. And then it was gone even before she was sure it was there. And like so many things these days, it was beyond her ability to put into words.

“It might be wise, Worthingham,” Papa was saying, “to stay away from any entertainment you might expect Hitching and his family to attend. Chloe must be protected from unnecessary embarrassment.”

Ralph was still standing before her chair, looking down at her.

“I believe my wife may have something to say on that subject, Muirhead,” he said. “I am hers to command. Chloe?”

“We will not avoid anyone or anything,” she said, lifting her chin. “And I do not need to be
protected
. I am the
acknowledged daughter of Sir Kevin Muirhead and the wife of the Duke of Worthingham.”

“Good girl,” Graham said.

Ralph merely nodded slowly.

“Graham,” she said, “would you pull on the bell rope, if you please? It is time the tea tray was brought in. Do sit down, Papa. Am I such a shockingly poor hostess that I have not even thought to offer you a chair? Mama taught me better than that.”

Graham did as he was asked and then took a seat. “It is your turn, I believe, Ralph,” he said, “to entertain us with childhood memories of your own, since we entertained you so royally with ours during dinner.”

“Unlike you, though, Gray,” Ralph said, looking away from Chloe at last and taking a chair close to her brother’s, “I had
three
sisters to plague the life out of me. I built a fort deep in the woods at Elmwood and high up in the branches of a tree for good measure. I was well prepared to hold it against all female comers, but no one ever did come there except imaginary pirates and highwaymen and dragons—tree-climbing dragons, of course. I was a solitary boy, though a vivid imagination saved me from ever feeling lonely. I was very happy to find company of my own age and gender when I was sent off to school.”

Chloe looked from her husband to her brother and back as they recalled some humorous and hair-raising incidents from their school days. They were not excluding either her or Papa, but they were focused upon each other and upon a budding friendship that had never come to full fruition during their school years. Perhaps it would now, though they seemed poles apart in the way of life each led.

She glanced at her father and smiled at him when their eyes met. Her
father
!

The Marquess of Hitching was her father.

Her stomach lurched with a nausea she willed away.

*   *   *

Their visitors did not stay late. Graham’s work got him out of bed early in the mornings, Ralph guessed. And Muirhead had looked strained even while he smiled and joined halfheartedly in the conversation after dinner. But poor man, he had finally had to divulge a secret he had hoped to take to the grave and had risked losing his daughter as a result.

The drawing room seemed very quiet when Ralph and Chloe were left on their own. They found themselves at opposite sides of the hearth again. Chloe reached down for her workbag and her embroidery, apparently changed her mind, and sat up again, her hands folded in her lap.

“When I said I was at your command,” he told her, “I meant it, Chloe. Do you wish to go home?”

She raised her eyes to his. “To Manville?” she asked him. “Alone?”

“I would come with you,” he said, “and stay with you.” And to hell with what was expected of him as the new Duke of Worthingham here in town.

“You are very kind,” she said. “
Very
kind. But, no. Nothing has changed really, has it? You knew the truth. I did too, though I chose not to believe it. Now I have no choice. But I will not run away.”

He rested one elbow on the arm of the chair and propped his jaw against one balled fist. “None of the invitations to our ball have gone out,” he said. “If you wish, I will have Lloyd—”

“No,” she said. “They will remain on the list.”

When had he first realized, he wondered, that he cared for her? But of course he cared. She was his wife. He would protect her and care for her needs for the rest of his life. He bedded her nightly. They would share children. Of course he cared.

But why hide truth from himself, as she had done since last year on a far larger issue? He
cared,
though he did not wish to analyze what exactly that meant.

He cared about her happiness.

What must it feel like to discover right out of nowhere that one’s father was not one’s father after all? He felt a sick jolt to the stomach at the very thought. To discover that one’s mother had conceived one with another man. To know that one’s apparent father had lived with the lie all one’s life.

“I suppose,” she said, “this whole situation is as awkward for them as it is for me.”

He watched as she opened her fingers, gazed down at her palms, and then clasped her hands in her lap again. He supposed she was talking about Hitching and his family.

“After I fled last year,” she said, “they must have assumed that I would not return. But here I am, the Duchess of Worthingham, and likely to be wherever they plan to go. Does she know, do you think?”

“The marchioness?” he said. “I daresay she suspects.”

“I meant Lady Angela,” she said. “But, yes, there is the marchioness too. I have hated Lady Angela since last year. But she is quite innocent. I suppose she hates me. Yet we are half sisters.” She shivered even though the fire had been built up while they were downstairs seeing her father and Graham on their way. “She is as much my
sister as Lucy is. And she has brothers, does she not? My half brothers.”

Her fingers had curled into her palms. Her head had dropped. Her eyes were closed. He wondered if she would faint—or vomit.

“What you
could
do,” he said, “is call upon Hitching at his home. Tomorrow is Saturday. He will not be at the House.”

“What?”
She looked up at him with startled, incredulous eyes. Her face had turned even paler, if that was possible.