A Lady's Prerogative Page 24
Hurrying into the hallway, she felt a spurt of energy she’d not experienced for days. She must find Lady Sheffield. She must ask her. Aunt Eleanor would know the truth. Surely she would have the answers.
Where would she be now? What time was it? Glancing at the large clock at the end of the corridor—half past three—Natalie considered her mother’s schedule. Lady Sheffield and Mama would be in the drawing room. Taking tea most likely.
Natalie dashed down the stairs, not willing to waste a moment. Upon throwing open the doors of the drawing room, Natalie faced two sets of eyes. Both her mother and Lady Sheffield seemed quite taken aback at her abrupt entrance.
“What’s is the matter, my dear?” her mother enquired, setting her teacup and saucer to the side. “Are you unwell?”
Natalie could not hold back her excitement. “I have remembered! I have remembered how I ended up in the trunk! Oh, Mama, I was not being foolish.” And then she looked over at Aunt Eleanor. “I needed to view the portraits again, the portraits of your brother.” Seeing the woman’s brows rise, Natalie made her way into the room and took the empty seat beside her on the settee. “Arthur was Garrett’s father, was he not? Your brother fathered a son before the old earl killed him.” Natalie held her breath as she awaited the older lady’s response.
Her godmother sat the teacup aside and let out a long, deep breath. “He is.” And then as though in agony, she turned to her dear friend, Natalie’s mama, and said, “He did. Perhaps it is time for the truth.”
Natalie, experiencing great relief, thought she would have fainted if she had a more delicate constitution. Garrett was not the biological son of the Earl of Hawthorne. But did it affect his inheritance? Surely not, for legally, he was the son of the earl. He had been born to the earl’s wife. The earl never denied paternity.
“It is your truth to tell, Eleanor,” Lady Ravensdale said. “You lived through the scandal once. It is your choice if it is to be unearthed and bandied about again.”
“Please.” Natalie implored the woman beside her. “Garrett has decided he will not sire any children, ever, because of the old earl’s mental deficiencies. He refuses to marry because of this…well, in part because of this.”
“Oh, you poor child.” Aunt Eleanor turned and took Natalie’s hands in hers. “It is true, then? You have developed a tendre for Garrett? For my…nephew?” Tears glistened in the woman’s eyes.
“I love him. I do not want to go through life without him.”
Her aunt stood and paced the room slowly, her hands steepled in front of her lips. After a few tension-filled moments, she announced her decision. “Well, goddaughter of mine”—she smiled—“I will do whatever I can to assist you. I cannot bear to see you unhappy, especially after what you did for Lilly.” She dabbed at the corner of her eye and took her seat once again. “Now explain to me how things were left between the two of you when you last spoke.”
And so, Natalie poured out everything—well, not quite everything—to her godmother and her mama. “He has promised, given me his word, he would marry me if I insist. I would never insist he do such a thing for my own sake, but I believe now that I might do so for his, for our sake. For I do believe he loves me—I think so anyhow.” She said this bravely, for there were a few niggling doubts. “If I demand the marriage, and he comes to terms with the fact that he is not predisposed to sire an unhealthy child, then he maybe—well, perhaps then, he will allow himself to love me.” The last words were nearly a whisper. It terrified her to speak the possibility out loud.
“But there is more to it than that.” Lady Ravensdale spoke in a cautioning tone. “He does not wish to expose you to more scandal. And you, my dear, must admit your reputation cannot absorb much more if you ever expect to return to society again.”
Snapping her fingers, Natalie’s dismissed such a notion. “I could care this much about the ton, Mama.”
“But,” her mama said, “it is, and you must respect this, one of his reasons. It concerns the earl greatly.”
The room fell quiet as the three women pondered this new obstacle.
It was Aunt Eleanor who finally broke the silence. “A large wedding,” she declared with no uncertainty whatsoever. “At Saint George’s on Hanover Square, at the peak of the Little Season, in mid-October.”
Both Natalie and her mama turned toward Lady Sheffield, Mama with dawning understanding and Natalie with horror.
“But nobody will come!” Natalie said.
Lady Ravensdale nodded. “We must take measures to assure the church is full to bursting. Of course, Lord Hawthorne will be in town for the same special Parliamentary session Broderick must attend. We must do everything in our power to assure he is received. For if he is not a social pariah, then neither shall you be, when you marry.”
“It’s awfully risky.” Natalie was stunned, but then as she considered it, she knew it must be done.
“You must write to Lord Hawthorne to notify him of your decision to marry, along with when and where, and also inform him of the true identity of his father.” Natalie’s mama had been addressing her but then turned toward Aunt Eleanor. “You are quite certain, Eleanor, this is what you wish?” At a nod from her friend, Natalie’s mama then forged ahead. “He will need some time to absorb it. And by the time the Season starts, the campaign to restore him to society will be well underway.”
“I think,” Aunt Eleanor added, “the best tactic is to inform the world he was not sired by the Earl of Hawthorne as soon as possible. For his greatest sin, according to the ton, is having a madman for a father.”
Natalie felt hopeful but not entirely convinced. “But would he not be shunned then, for being a bastard?” And Garrett would most likely not appreciate having such personal information about him aired for all and sundry. But if it worked…
Lady Ravensdale mused, “Technically, he is not a bastard. In addition to that, he is a very wealthy man who, as luck would have it, holds one of the oldest titles in England. With enough support, he will be received. As your godmother says, his circumstances will have become the lesser of two evils.” She waited a moment and then with a gleam of anticipation added, “It’s all a matter of execution, my dear.”
Allowing no room for further argument, Lady Ravensdale rang the bell pull and requested her lap desk. “Eleanor, for all of London to hear the news, we need only send letters to a few select acquaintances, particularly those who are patronesses at Almack’s. I’m certain we won’t be disappointed.” And with that, she began listing names, stopping only for a moment to address Natalie. “You had best inform the groom of your plans to marry, my dear. He’ll need to arrange for the church and the banns.” Then turning back to Aunt Eleanor. “Now how ought we to word this…?”
Natalie took a piece of parchment from her mother and rose slowly, her hands shaking. Oh, God, if this didn’t work, her entire life would be ruined. And Garrett would never speak to her again.
Even if he was her husband!
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Oh, hell.
Garrett held the envelope in his hands as though it contained a bomb. For it must. Raven’s Park had been printed in small letters on the envelope, and his own directions were written in very feminine writing. It was not seemly for a single woman to correspond with a single gentleman, but they had already done numerous things that would not have been considered seemly. Why not exchange some correspondence in addition to all their other sins?
Would the letter inform him of her intent to leave the country? The thought of this caused a stabbing pain in the organ that pumped blood through his body. Would she be telling him goodbye? Was she to release him from the promise he’d made?
Or was her news worse?
Forcing his fingertips to open the envelope, Garrett pulled back the flap and removed the folded sheets of paper. Her curling handwriting nearly covered them both completely.
Her news was much worse.
It read:
Lord Hawthorne,
In all his life, he’d not thought it possible to feel explosive anger, relief, and utter joy at the same time. Leave it to Natalie to evoke exactly that.
They had an understanding!
The idea of traveling abroad to escape society’s measure and returning to an unresolved scandal is untenable. For I would be forced to be without my family and away from all that is familiar to me with no promise whatsoever of having my reputation restored. And without a restored reputation, I shall never find a suitable husband. I shall find myself upon the shelf, a brittle old maid, and I cannot tolerate this.
Another matter has been resolved as well. I have remembered everything! The reason I climbed into the trunk was to have another look at the portraits of Lady Sheffield’s deceased brother. For I had begun to suspect something, which I have upon further investigation discovered to be true. I do hope you are sitting down for this news. Are you sitting? Well do so!
Feeling a little silly, he dropped onto the nearest chair. She would laugh at him if she were here. What was she rambling on about? He added amusement to the list of emotions that now engulfed him. Merely reading her words unraveled the apathetic haze he’d been in for nearly a month now.
Your mother carried you before she married the Earl of Hawthorne. Your biological father is Lady Sheffield’s brother, Mr. Arthur Winters. There is a great deal of resemblance between the two of you. I observed it upon examining the portraits closely. But even more importantly, Lady Sheffield, who is indeed your aunt, has confirmed the fact.
What? Wait, what? He went back and read the words a second and then third time before continuing onto the next paragraph.
So you needn’t worry about having any children with the same afflictions as the late Lord Hawthorne, any more than any other man, presumably. Therefore, we can lie together freely, as man and wife. I do so look forward to this aspect of marriage!
Yours faithfully,
Natalie
Post Script: Please contact St. George’s on Hanover Square and schedule the wedding for the morning of the 23rd of October (of this year, of course) and arrange to have the banns read. Mama and I shall attend to the other details. You will, of course, speak with Papa about contracts when we are all in London for the Little Season.
He was being punished, for what, he knew not. He just knew he was being punished. And she would feel the sting of it as well. For they would say their vows before an empty church and then face a crowd of hecklers as they exited onto the street.
Throughout her life, she would suffer for her association with him. Didn’t she realize this information could only provoke more scandal?
What was he to do? When he’d made this promise, he’d not in a million years have believed she would lay claim to it. She abhorred the notion of a coerced betrothal! She’d admitted this to him more than once!
And yet, he had, in fact, made this promise. Was she really going to claim him for her husband this way? That did not sound at all like Natalie Spencer.
And then it dawned on him. Oh, Hell, she believed, still, that she could save him! He did not want her to save him! He wished to save her!
And then as the significance of her other news struck him, he bolted out of his chair.
William Castleton was not his father.
Finding himself at the liquor cabinet, Garrett poured himself a generous amount of scotch, sloshing some onto the floor in the process.
William Castleton is not my father.
What of the earldom? He would not accept the title under false pretense. But who else could claim it? He needed to notify the regent.
Did he even want it? Hell, he’d not wanted it to begin with, but now…after working with the tenants, making them promises…
In a fit of frustration, he swept the piles of paper covering his desk onto the floor.
Seizing the scotch again, he ignored his glass and drank directly from the bottle. As the alcohol warmed his insides, the thought reverberated, once again, in his head.
William Castleton is not my father.
This time the words were a balm to his soul.
But he could not rely upon an old woman’s memory. He would write a letter of his own. This one to the Earl of Ravensdale, and then later, he would write to his solicitors. If this new information voided his inheritance, then so be it. He was wealthy in his own right. But a part of him would be saddened. The estate was the only home he’d ever known. And he’d already launched extensive plans to rebuild it. The tenants were just now coming around to accept him. They were coming to trust his words and assurances. Where would they be without an earl to see to their prosperity?
And what of Natalie and this apparent betrothal she demanded? If he was not the earl, then what was he? Who was he?
Good God, what a Pandora’s box this was. Leave it to Natalie to throw it open with gleeful abandon.
Garrett threw his head back and closed his eyes. And then, unbidden, long suppressed memories wedged their way into his racing thoughts. Memories of the childhood he’d suffered at the hands of the man he’d believed to be his father. As though they’d occurred only yesterday, the insults, the beatings, the long hours he’d been forced to spend memorizing scriptures, jolted him into the past. Garrett wondered if the earl had suspected his son was fathered by another man.
He must have!
But who was this other man? He wished he’d listened more closely when Lady Sheffield had reminisced about him, the man she claimed to be his father. He wished he’d looked closer at the drawings.
But they were still in the trunk—here, at Maple Hall. He wanted to see them. Standing, he strode purposefully to the kitchen. Mrs. Hampden directed him to the attic, where the items now rested.
Taking the steps two at a time, his sense of urgency grew. He needed answers. Would examining the drawings give him any?
Throwing back the drapes at one end of the room, he allowed the sunlight to illuminate the clean and tidy space. His gaze found the trunk easily, and a shudder passed through him as he remembered the last time he’d opened it.
He’d nearly lost her forever. Shaking his head, he pushed back the morbid thought and lifted the lid.
Natalie’s blood tore at him as he gazed down at the stained and torn wedding gown. He pushed it aside and then scratched around the bottom of the container to collect the papers. As he pulled them together forming a stack, an envelope fell to the floor at his feet.
On the envelope, no name had been written, only the words My Dearest Child in feminine, flowing letters. It was the same handwriting his mother used to sign her name on her paintings.
My Dearest Child. That was him. Another letter!
Garrett closed the trunk and sat down upon its lid. Reaching down, he discarded the drawings for the moment and lifted the second ominous letter he’d held in his hands within the past hour. He broke the seal and took a deep breath.
To my child,
I do not know you yet. You are still in my womb. If you are reading this now, then you have reached your majority and are either a strapping young man or a lovely young woman, possibly married by now. I hope to watch you grow but am doubtful I will survive childbirth. I am focusing all my strength upon bringing you into this world, but I despair of having enough for both of us.
Nonetheless, I cannot go to the grave without making the truth of your parentage known to you. God help me, Lord Hawthorne is not your father. I do not believe he suspects this fact, and I am hopeful he treats you as he would a child of his own.
Please do not hate me. Your real papa, Mr. Arthur Winters, and I had every intention of marrying, even before we knew of your existence. Your father was charming, tender of heart, well-read, and clever, but alas, he lacked ruthlessness and was killed in a duel. I was forced to marry Lord Hawthorne a few days afterward.
I hope this information is not a burden, but I have concerns that Lord Hawthorne is not of sound mind. He frightens me,
and I want you to be able to face your life without believing you are blood relations with one such as he. I am so very sorry I have not been with you for your childhood. I pray protection over you.
But above all else, I want you to know that you are loved. Please know of my love for you and that of your papa’s so you may have something of us with you forever.
Find happiness, my dear,
Your mama,
Lady Cordelia Castleton
It was true, then.
Garrett folded the letter, replaced it in the envelope, and gathered the drawings together. He didn’t waste any more time in the stifling room. He needed to get outside. This was too much. He felt as though ghosts were speaking to him from the past—ghosts he’d believed to be long gone.
Upon reaching the main floor, Garrett stashed the papers in his desk and, almost without thinking, struck out for the stables. There, he breathed in the familiar smells of hay and animal as he strode to Rumble. His faithful mount welcomed him with a bob of his head. Seeking comfort for himself, Garrett stroked the coarse black hair of his horse’s neck and back. Rumble reached around his head to nuzzle him. Burying his face against Rumble, Garrett absorbed the horse’s calm. After a few moments, he finally saddled up. They would ride. He didn’t know where or for how long, but together they would ride.
And then later, he would deal with it all.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
After ten days, Garrett had not written to Natalie with any sort of personal response. He had contacted her father, however, with legal questions and to obtain further verification of his parentage. He’d also promised her father to discuss marriage contracts once in London. It was her father who informed her that Garrett had scheduled the wedding and the banns were set to be read.
But she had no idea as to what Garrett was feeling, what he was thinking. And the not-knowing was killing her! Did he hate her for this? Would he follow through with the wedding? Of course, he would, but really, would he? She and her mother had addressed and sent hundreds of invitations, ordered masses of flowers, a fashionable gown, and planned a lavish wedding breakfast. The gown would be altered after a final fitting once they arrived in London.