Regency: Mischief & Marriage. Anne HerriesЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘Yes, for I made payments for the child’s upkeep until last year…’ he admitted it reluctantly. ‘Are you sure you wish to do this, Sarah? Your reputation has remained spotless. Only a few friends knew of your confinement. Do you truly wish to risk exposure at this stage?’
‘I am lonely, Henry. And I wish to atone for my earlier wrongdoings.’
‘But how long will it be before the truth comes out?’
‘Why should it ever be known? Do not fear that I shall reveal your name, Henry. Even if my part were suspected, you would remain anonymous.’
He looked at her in silence for some moments, then inclined his head. ‘Very well. I shall look out the lawyer’s address. I believe I have it somewhere.’
‘Thank you. I am grateful. I was not sure you would come today.’
The marquis raised his brows. ‘I am not the monster rumour would have me, Sarah. I could not refuse you such a request, though I gave my word to Manners that I would never tell you anything.’
Sarah stood up. She moved towards him, laying her hand on his arm. ‘Has life been terrible for you, Henry? I thought of you so often, wished that things had been otherwise. Especially when I heard…’
‘That I had gone to the devil?’ A wry smile touched his mouth. ‘I decided that I would never give my heart again and so I married for money, though later I inherited more than I could ever need. My wife hates me and I have no love for her. I care only for my daughter, Marianne. I ask you not to tell me if you discover the truth about the child. Manners never told me whether we had a daughter or a son—’ He put out his hand to silence her as she would have told him. ‘It was for the best. I put the whole thing from my mind and to know now might be to open Pandora’s box. I cannot afford scandal for Marianne’s sake. I have hopes that she will marry into the peerage.’
‘I have heard that she is a very beautiful girl,’ Sarah said. ‘I am glad you have someone, Henry.’
‘My daughter is both lovely and innocent. If it were not for her, I should have asked my wife for a divorce long ago.’
‘Is there someone else you care for?’ Sarah looked at him steadily, without revealing a flicker of emotion.
‘You know there was only one woman I loved. If, after Marianne is married, I could arrange a divorce…?’
‘No, Henry. It was too long ago, my dear. Once I would have given everything to be with you, but it is too late.’
‘We could still be together. We were lovers once. Why not again?’
‘Because I was younger then. I am older than you, Henry. It was one of the reasons I refused to leave my husband. I did not wish to ruin your life.’
‘How could you have ruined my life? It meant nothing to me without you. Let me take care of you, Sarah—let me make up for the lost years.’
‘It is too late. My health is not good, Henry. I have settled for a quiet life in the country. You are still young enough to find a new love. I ask nothing more of you than the address I need.’
‘I would ask no more of you than affection.’ For a moment his eyes beseeched her, then, as he saw the answer in her face, his expression became cold, withdrawn. ‘Very well, madam. I shall send you what you need. I do not expect to hear from you again.’
Sarah sank back into her elegant elbow chair, her hands to her face as the door closed behind him. He was still angry and bitter, blaming her because she had given into her husband’s blackmail.
If only she had been stronger. How different her life might have been if she had been brave enough to leave her husband and go with Henry, as he had begged her.
Her marriage to Manners had been a disaster from the start. Her husband had never loved her. He had had a mistress in London and spent all his time with her. Once Sarah had given him his heir, he had not bothered to visit her bed again. Lonely and unhappy, she had turned to a young man who gave her everything she lacked from her husband. Henry had been the most generous of lovers, sweet and giving.
At the time of their affair he had not yet inherited his uncle’s title and had had little in the way of fortune. He was also three years her junior and on the verge of making his career in the army. Lord Manners had known at once that her child was not his. He’d forced her to reveal the name of her lover and then threatened to ruin Henry if she went off with him. She had been forced to break off their affair and to give up her lovechild as soon as she was born. Her daughter had been snatched from her arms only hours after she had given birth, taken from her cruelly by her unforgiving husband. Lord Manners had never told her where the child had been taken; even after his death, he had tried to keep the secret from her.
He had inserted a clause in his will to make certain that she could not find her daughter. If she made the attempt, she would give up the right to live in the Dower House at Trowbridge and she would lose her jointure. She would have nothing left but the fortune her grandfather had left in trust for her, which her husband had refused her for as long as he could. Now that he was dead, half the capital and the income was hers entirely, the remainder of the capital to be divided between her children on her death. Her son had not known of the existence of a half-sister until he read the will, and he had accused her of vile things before storming out of the house and taking himself off to London.
Her husband’s vindictiveness had not hurt Sarah; she had long ceased to care and nothing he did could surprise or distress her. She would be sorry to leave the house she had moved to after his death, for it was pleasant and enabled her to see her son on the rare visits he paid to his estate. However, she had no intention of letting her husband’s unkindness stop her at least trying to discover the whereabouts of her lovechild.
A smile touched her lips. She had loved Henry and in those days he had loved her deeply. The tales she had since heard of him had been distressing; her husband had made certain she heard of the worst of his excesses, but the young man she remembered was still dear to her.
She had reached her decision with the calm deliberation that was her way these days. She would use some of the capital to purchase a house in Bath, a city that suited her much better than London and where she still had a few friends. Then she would try to find her daughter and be damned to the consequences.
‘I am sorry, Eliza,’ Ted Wright said as she looked at him expectantly. ‘There was nothing for you at the reception office again today.’
‘Oh…’ Eliza sighed. It had been ten days now and she was beginning to think that she would never receive an answer to her advertisement. It seemed as if she might have to go into Norwich and ask at the employment agency for domestic servants. Perhaps she had set her sights too high and would have to settle for something more menial. ‘Thank you. I had hoped, but I suppose these things take time.’
‘You may need to put in a second notice, but there is no hurry, Eliza. You are very welcome to stay with us for as long as you please.’
Eliza thanked him, but her spirits sank a little for she did not wish to be a burden to her friends for too long. She would wait one more week, then, if she heard nothing, she would look for employment through the agency.
Lady Sarah looked through her post when it was brought up to her by her maid and sighed. Most of it would be invitations to dine or attend the theatre or some other function. She had been in Bath for just three weeks and already she was inundated by invitations. It was very kind and generous of her friends, but she was used to a quieter life and uncertain whether the new social circle she had found here would suit her on a permanent basis.
She could return to the Dower House and give up her search for her daughter, but that would be to admit defeat. She had been waiting for a letter these past several weeks, but so far the lawyer had not replied to her request for details of her daughter’s whereabouts. He was being very stubborn and she could not think why.
She opened the newspapers that had been delivered that morning. The Times