Ah . Aurora wiggled her toes in joy.
"And her mind? Gel's got to have a head on her shoulders if she's to keep a man's interest."
"Her mind?" Kenyon stroked his chin, pretending to think. "Quite frankly, her mind is totally incomprehensible to me." That may have been the only honest words to leave his mouth, except for calling Aurora beautiful.
Lady Anstruther-Jones slapped her leg and laughed out loud. "Good, good. You'll never grow bored, then. Seems like you did something right for a change, Windham, after that mess you made the first time around. And you, missy, count your blessings. You've landed one of the finest catches in all of England."
"Yes, I know."
Kenyon shot her a look full of curiosity, but Lady Anstruther-Jones went, "Hmph! I can smell April and May from here. You take care not to lose that tender regard, Windham."
"Yes, ma'am. I'll try my damnedest."
"See that you do. Smoke?" She gestured for one of the serving girls to fill her own pipe when Kenyon and Aurora both refused. When it was lit, she nodded again. "Very well, you have my blessings on this odd alliance. I'm the last one to insist on an equal match, great wealth to high titles. Bah, better for everyone to spread the blunt around. Besides, desert nomads wouldn't breed a camel to its cousin the way Englishmen do, trying to keep the blue blood in the family. Now, what do you really want?"
Kenyon didn't bother trying to hide his motives. The old witch would see right through any fustian anyway, blind or not. "Information, of course. My wife had relatives in India about twenty years ago. They are both dead now, but we were hoping you might tell us something about them."
"Elizabeth and Avisson Halle," Aurora elaborated. "She was Elizabeth Balcombe before her marriage."
Lady Anstruther-Jones nipped through the pages of memory. "Yes, I remember Elizabeth Balcombe. A lovely gal, somewhat in the manner you describe your wife, Windham. She came out to India with Halle when his parents tossed him out, though no one ever knew why. It seems everyone in London thought she'd marry George Ramsey, Lord Ratchford, or his brother Phelan, but that never came to pass. Ratchford was the better parti , by far. I knew Halle better, of course, for he worked for my husband, if you could call the pittance he did work."
"Could he have amassed a fortune there?" Kenyon wanted to know.
"What, looking to claim an inheritance for your new wife? I thought you were too well to pass for that nonsense. You'll grow cold at it anyway, for the man couldn't hold on to a shilling if it was glued to his thumb."
"We understood he gambled."
"He gambled and drank and whored. We all felt sorry for Elizabeth, especially after her daughter died."
Kenyon and Aurora looked at each other. "Her daughter died?"
"That's right, an infant. Less than two, to my recollection. I have the letter she wrote to thank me for my condolences. Never threw anything away. My girls can find it if you want." Lady Anstruther-Jones puffed on her pipe, sending smoke rings to the tops of the trees. "Elizabeth was always a melancholy sort of female, never robust. She seemed to lose heart after the little girl's death, and passed on not long after."
"And their other child? Who took care of her?"
"Other child? I don't remember another child, boy or girl. No, I would have known because my maid's sister was their nursemaid. There was just the one, and Elizabeth doted on her, more's the pity."
Aurora could not understand, could not think what questions to ask. It was Kenyon who persisted. "And Halle? What happened to him? Could he have had a lucky streak, or a windfall at business?"
"Him? He took up opium, like other weak-willed wastrels before and after. That would have taken any brass he got his hands on. He died a few months after Elizabeth, to no one's regret. We had to take up a collection to bury the ne'er-do-well. No, if you're looking for a fortune, you'll have to seek elsewhere."
Kenyon thanked her, somehow, and got them through another few minutes of Lady Anstruther-Jones's reminiscences and advice, invitations to call again, and congratulations on the marriage, while Aurora caught her breath. White-faced and trembling, she managed to exchange parting pleasantries as if nothing of moment had been discussed. Finally the curricle was brought round and Kenyon handed her in.
He couldn't speak of what they had learned, not with Ned hanging over the back of the seat, but he could deuced well glare at his wife and the burden she carried. "Damn, I told you not to find favor with anything!"
Her nerves stretched as thin as the ribbon holding his cursed quizzing glass, Aurora snapped back, "What was I supposed to say when it landed in my lap?"
"Anything, by George, but 'Oh, what a nice monkey'!"
Chapter Ten
» ^ «
"No, I refuse to believe it." Aurora needed both hands to hold her teacup steady. They were in the sitting room of their hotel suite, trying to make sense of Lady Anstruther-Jones's information.
"Hortense may be many things, but she doesn't lie. She'd lose all credibility if she fabricated her stories." Kenyon was pacing between the fireplace and the window, window to fireplace. He was giving Aurora the headache, atop her other woes. He was also in the way of Tarlow, his valet, who was carrying the earl's belongings back across the hall, into the other suite.
Aurora waited for the valet to leave with his latest armload of folded shirts. "I cannot accept that Aunt Thisbe would have taken in any but her own sister's child."
"She might have believed what she wanted to believe. A childless woman with the opportunity to raise an infant after years of barrenness? She would have turned a blind eye to anything."
"No. Aunt Thisbe is a scientist, a searcher for truth. She would not have practiced such a deception." Her cup rattled in its saucer.
"Then why was she so quick to change the infant's name? The adoption was not necessary if the McPhees were legal guardians."
"I can understand why, if my father's name was in such ill odor. Perhaps he had creditors who would have dunned Uncle Ptolemy. Either way, Aunt Thisbe spent hours telling me stories of her sister, so I would remember the mother I never knew."
"Very well, she did not know," he conceded. "She thought she was taking in Elizabeth Halle's daughter. But face facts, Aurora, that daughter was dead. Someone else saw an opportunity to get his by-blow out of India, and leapt at the chance."
"No, again," Aurora insisted. "I have my mama's letter saying that she was sending me to Aunt Thisbe. She was not well enough to raise an infant, she wrote, and conditions in India were too unhealthful for a child. We always assumed she knew she was dying and wished her baby's well-being secured before it was too late. She loved me, my mother did. It's in her letters, along with the tearstains. I've cherished that knowledge my entire life and you shall not steal it from me."
It was bad enough to learn that her father was a wastrel, but Aurora had always known that, in her heart. Aunt Thisbe and Uncle Ptolemy had shielded her from the worst facts, but Aurora had heard the truth in their voices when they referred to him as "that dastard Halle." But to think that the pretty young girl in the portrait with Aunt Thisbe was not her mother? That her beloved aunt and uncle were not even blood kin? Aurora could not bear the idea.
"It's not I who would take your birthright from you, Aurora. It's everyone who knows the truth." He poured himself a glass of cognac, wishing he could offer one to his wife, whose voice was beginning to quaver.
"Birthright? I have my birth certificate."
"And Lady Anstruther-Jones has a letter from Elizabeth Halle herself saying the child was dead. You have that child's birth certificate, not your own."
"No! I am who I am!"
"Dash it, Aurora, you don't know who you are! You could be anyone, though the blond hair and blue eyes would point to English parents." He turned and saw his valet making another trip. "Dash it, Tarlow, put that down and have done!" he shouted when the gentleman's gentleman would have edged past him with his traveling lap desk. The valet carefully placed the heavy cherrywood piece on a table near Aurora and fled.
"Shouting at servants is not going to alter the situation," Aurora chided the earl.
"Tarlow is used to it."
Lord Windham resumed his pacing, but still heard her sotto voce: "I daresay he is." He took out his quizzing glass to stare her down, but Aurora's eyes were closed. She refused to watch his furious pacing or listen to his logic. "My mother must have had a reason for her deception, she must have! I wonder if Lord Phelan knew. He helped bring me home, Aunt Thisbe always said."
"Or his brother. What was Ramsey's brother's name? Ratchford?"
"George, Lord Ratchford, died some years ago. The only times I ever saw him or the son who inherited the earldom were when Ratchford Manor was thrown open for public days. I cannot imagine any connection, other than that the Ramseys and the Balcombes were neighbors. I never even knew either of the brothers had a tendre for my mother until this week."
"But Ramsey would know. Thunderation, I should not have been so quick to let him disappear with Podell. At the very least, I could have shaken some answers out of your sham soldier."