Velvet Chains (Historical Romance) (28 page)

"When I'm married, I will no longer be able to point out the pitfalls and traps overzealous ladies are setting for you, and chances are you will fall into one of them. You may or may not have noticed, but Season and I were not invited to Mariana's tea tomorrow."

"I'm not sure you are being fair to Mistress Bartlett, Rebecca; she is a very pretty woman," Season said.

"Be that as it may," Lucas spoke up, "but she has her mother's temperament."

"Well, if you have noticed that, there may yet be hope for you, Lucas," his sister declared. "I'm glad you are home," she added, linking her arm through his. "How long can you stay this time?"

"I must leave first thing Monday morning."

"I wish you didn't always have to run off to New York," she added wistfully.

Lucas leaned his head back and crossed his long legs. "I know, Rebecca, but this war cannot last much longer. Soon it will be over and I will have to make no more trips."

When the carriage pulled up to Rosemont, Season saw Molly standing on the steps. Without waiting for Lucas to help her from the carriage, she ran to her maid and enfolded Molly in her arms.

"My, lady, my lady, you are safe!" the maid cried. "I thought I would never see you again."

"It's wonderful that you are here, Molly. Please don't cry. As you can see, I am enjoying good health."

"Was it awful for you?" Molly wanted to know, looking Season over carefully.

"We will talk about it later. Right now all I want to do is go to bed."

"I have emptied all your trunks and put your belongings away. Your nightgown is laid out for you. Oh, my lady, I thought you were lost forever."

Season took Molly's hand and turned her to face Lucas' sister. "Rebecca, I would like you to meet Molly. She has looked after me ever since I was a child."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," Molly said, bobbing a curtsy.

"Welcome to Rosemont, Molly. If there is anything you require, just ask Drucilla, and she will assist you."

Season bid Lucas and Rebecca goodnight and walked up the stairs to her bedroom. How good it was to have Molly with her, she thought. Would she ever be able to repay Lucas and Rebecca for their kindness to her?

20

It was the beginning of August when Season began to suspect she was carrying The Raven's child. Each morning she would awaken feeling nauseous. Until then, it had never occurred to her that she had yet another price to pay for loving The Raven. She began to watch and pray for a sign that she wasn't carrying a child. But with the passing of time, she could no longer lie to herself.

Rebecca was aware that Season had become withdrawn and silent, and for the last week had stayed mostly in her room. Rebecca had instructed the cook to prepare meals she knew Season would like, but they went uneaten. Rebecca even suggested a trip to Williamsburg, hoping it would cheer her friend, but Season refused to go. Nothing Rebecca could do seemed to draw Season out of her dark mood.

Season continued to brood in her room, and she was beginning to look pale and drawn. Beside herself with worry, Molly kept a watchful eye on her charge.

Season was in torment. She cried a lot and never went out of the house. Each time Rebecca suggested contacting the doctor, Season dissolved into tears.

Most of the time Season sat by the window and stared down at the woods at the back of the house. She knew she would have to make a decision before too long; soon she must leave Rosemont. But she couldn't bear the thought of Rebecca finding out about her condition, and she knew she could never face Lucas when the truth became known.

Often she would curse the man who had got her with child and then abandoned her. At one moment she was sure she hated The Raven, and in the next she silently begged him to come back for her.

It was the last week in August when a carriage pulled up in front of Rosemont house. Rebecca, seeing her brother disembark, flew out the door and down the steps to meet him.

"Lucas, thank goodness you are home! Season is very ill and I don't know what to do. She refuses to see the doctor. I am at my wits end with worry."

Lucas turned to the distinguished gentleman who climbed out of the coach. "Did you hear what my sister has said, Your Grace?"

The duke looked grim. "Did you say my daughter refused to see a doctor, young lady?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Rebecca said, bobbing a quick curtsy and staring in awe at Season's father. "I am so glad you are here; perhaps you can make her see the doctor."

"Show me to my daughter's room immediately," the duke commanded, his voice authoritative.

Season plucked at the lace on her nightgown. It wasn't like her to just give up. She had always been a fighter, but lately all the fight seemed to have gone out of her. She was frightened and unsure about her future; and she felt there was no one she could trust with her guilty secret.

Molly watched her lady, a frown on her face. She had tried everything to make Season smile, but so far nothing had helped. The maid feared that if Season didn't begin to eat some solid meals soon she was just going to waste away to skin and bones.

When the door was suddenly pushed open, Molly's face lit up. She quickly dipped into a deep curtsy. "Your Grace, thank God you've come!" she cried.

When Season saw her father, a sob escaped her lips. "Papa, oh, Papa," she cried. "I needed you and you came." She held out her trembling hand to her father.

The duke stood over his daughter, taking in her paleness and noticing how frail she looked. He had never known her to have a sick day in her life. Since he had first received word of her kidnapping, he had been out of his mind with grief. At last he had come to realize she was all he had left in the world. He blamed himself for sending her to America, and he knew that if anything happened to her he would have nothing left.

Taking her limp hand in his, he sat down on the edge of the bed and pushed a tumbled curl away from Season's face. The Duke of Chatsworth looked into green eyes that had lost their luster. He couldn't help but think how ironic it would be if, now that he had come to realize how precious his daughter was to him, he might lose her. How like her mother she looked, lying against the pillow which was only a shade whiter than her face.

"Season my dear, dear child," he said in a voice that shook with emotion.

"Papa, I am so glad you have come!" she cried. "Do not abandon me now."

"I will never leave you again, child. When you are well enough, I will take you back to Chatsworth, and you will never have to marry anyone if that is your wish. I have already said as much to Edmund Kensworthy."

Tears streamed down Season's face. Could this be her father, so kind and loving? What would he say when he learned she was with child? That thought only made her cry all the more. How could she ever tell him her guilty secret?

"I am going to send for the doctor right away, and you will soon be on the mend," he said, tenderly touching her tear-wet cheek.

Season buried her face against her father's shoulder, knowing she had to tell him the truth even if he hated her for it. Raising her face, she looked into his eyes. "I do not need a doctor to tell me what is wrong with me, Papa. I already know what it is."

He smiled at her. "I was not aware that you could practice medicine, my dear."

She looked into his clear green eyes, hating what she must tell him. He was such a proud man, she knew it would rip his heart to shreds. "Papa, I am…with…child," she whispered hesitantly, as fresh tears washed down her face.

Mason Chatsworth looked thunderstruck for a moment, and he felt his daughter's hand tremble. "That devil! I had hoped that he had not.. ." He stood up and turned his back. "If it's the last thing I ever do, I will see that The Raven hangs for this. How dare he take a young girl and . . ." He turned back to Season. "My poor child, how you must have suffered. I blame myself for this."

"No, Papa, no, it isn't your fault. I am to blame." Season knew she had to tell him the truth. She couldn't have him think that he was at fault in any way.

"Papa, please sit beside me. I will not have you blaming yourself. I want you to know the truth."

He sat down and took her hand in his. "I know you are about to be forgiving, Season, but it is my fault. I promise to make this all up to you somehow."

"Papa, listen to me. I have never lied to you, and I will not start now. He . . . The Raven . . . didn't force himself on me. I am not the innocent you may think."

He shook his head. "You are little more than an innocent child. How would you have known how to handle a man like that. No, my dear, you are not to blame. Never again say that you are at fault."

She laid her cheek against his. "If you won't blame yourself, then I won't blame myself either. Do we strike a bargain?"

He laughed. "That's the spirit I want to see. Together we will fight the world, my dear child. We are from a proud and noble family. When the Chatsworths have banded together, they have never been defeated."

"Papa, I cannot go back to Chatsworth with you. Already your friends believe the worst about me. Before it was untrue; now I'm not so sure."

"That's where you are wrong, my dear. When Ransford heard you had been kidnapped, he and I had a long talk. I explained the trick you had played on him, and he even laughed. He went to the king and retracted all he had said about you. You can only guess how many people have come up to me and said that it is a pity you were unjustly accused."

"I'm glad for you, Papa, but that won't help either one of us now."

"I have a plan, Season. I have been thinking about giving up my public life. You and I will return to Chatsworth and raise your child. I suppose we can make up some story about your being married here in the Colonies."

Season had never seen her father behave in this way. She knew how much his seat in The House of Lords meant to him, and she certainly would not allow him to give it up on her account.

"If it is your wish, Papa, I will go home with you, but only if you promise me you won't give up your office. I have enough guilt, do not add more to it."

"You are such a dear child. It's a pity it took a near tragedy to make me see that." He patted her hand. "We shall talk on this more later. Right now I want you to rest."

"Papa, I suppose if Edmund were still willing to marry me when he finds out the truth about me and the baby, I could . . . marry him."

"No, I will never ask that of you again. If some day you find a man you want to marry, then you will have my blessing. Until that time, put the thought out of your mind. Perhaps it would be best for all concerned if, when the child is born, we give it to someone who will care for it."

"No, Papa, I could never give this child away. No matter who his father was, he will be a Chatsworth."

Her father's eyes became sad. "If that is your wish, we will keep the child." He bent forward and kissed Season on the cheek. "You rest now."

Season watched her father leave the room. Her heart was breaking for the pain she had caused him. There was no joy in her heart at the thought of going back to Chatsworth, just as there were no tender feelings inside her for the child she carried. But she would have her baby and take it to Chatsworth. Perhaps in time she would be able to forget about the child's father.

The Duke of Chatsworth sipped his claret while studying Lucas Carrington's face. He had begun to respect this young man when he met him in New York, and he had learned, on the trip to Virginia, that they shared many common interests. Lucas was obviously a man with a great deal of common sense, and his plantation proved him to be a shrewd businessman. The duke thought that if his own son had lived, he would not have wanted him to be any different from Lucas Carrington.

"Rebecca has told me, sir, that your daughter is feeling much better since your visit with her."

The Duke of Chatsworth took a deep drink of his claret and set the glass down. He hesitated to answer, not knowing what to say. Soon all the world would know that his daughter was going to have a baby without benefit of marriage. He made a quick decision that he would confide in Lucas Carrington, somehow sensing he could trust the young man.

"First of all, let me start by saying how grateful I am that you took my daughter in. You will find that I am a very generous man where my daughter is concerned. I would like to repay you."

"Your generosity verges on being an insult, sir. I would never take money in exchange for my hospitality."

The duke smiled. "I thought that might be your attitude, my boy. Forget I brought it up. In any case, I won't have to encroach on your generosity much longer. I will be taking my daughter back to Chatsworth Castle as soon as her health permits."

Lucas studied the older man's face. "I would be sorry to see you rush her recovery."

Mason Chatsworth was quiet for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. "I have just learned some very grave news, Lucas. You will understand my reluctance to speak of it, and I will ask you to keep what I am about to tell you in the strictest confidence."

Lucas' face whitened. "Your daughter isn't worse is she, sir?"

Lord Chatsworth took a deep breath. "Not in the way you mean. Season is with . . . child!"

Lucas felt as if someone had just dealt him a heavy blow to the midsection. He gripped the arms of the chair he was sitting on so tightly that his fingers whitened. "Is it a certainty, sir?"

"My daughter seems to think it is. It would seem that black-hearted pirate had his way with her. I would kill him with my bare hands if I knew where to find him," the duke said, tossing down the rest of his drink.

"Is that what your daughter said?"

"You may not believe this, but my daughter tried to defend the man. That is the way Season is. I don't mind telling you, I have been a failure as a father, but I intend to make it up to her now. I allowed her to grow up alone at Chatsworth, with no one to see to her wellbeing except the servants. She was always a sweet child though, and she never complained when I was too busy to spend Christmas with her or when I forgot about her birthday."

"You don't have to tell me this, sir."

The duke's eyes became sad. "It needs to be said, but I suppose the one I should be addressing is Season. You should have seen her eyes light up every time I came home. She has always been so much like her mother, lovely and kind. Unlike her mother, however, Season has the devil's own temper when she becomes angry. Did Season ever tell you her mother was the daughter of a Scottish laird?"

"No, I never knew that."

"Her mother was sometimes wild and unpredictable, but never in all our life together did I have one boring day. After she died, I never found a woman who could compare with her, so I never remarried."

Lucas was having a hard time following the duke's conversation. All he could think about was Season and what she must be going through. "Your Grace, I hope you won't think me impertinent, but I would deem it a great honor if you would allow your daughter to marry me.

The duke let out his breath. "No, it's impossible. You are a fine young man and I admire you, but Season is, after all, of noble blood."

"I understand that, Your Grace, but you have my word that I would make her a good husband. I would treat the child she is carrying as if it were my own."