The Silent Governess(66)

“But I would have. Experience had taught me not to trust Sebastian. I was infuriated with myself for opening my heart and home for more disappointment and debauchery. That was the end. Nevermore was Sebastian welcome at Brightwell Court—no matter that it had been his childhood home. It was his home no longer.

“I did not admit my suspicions to Croome. Saw no reason to. Croome would likely have killed Sebastian and ended in a hangman’s noose, and then where would his daughter have been? Alone in the world with a by-blow to raise on her own. I needed to let the girl go, of course—no master kept on an expecting girl in those days, no matter his charitable leanings. I gave her a quarter’s wages and raised Croome’s salary on the sly, to help him provide for her.

“I knew my brother would not do anything for the girl. It was left to me to make recompense. As it always was.”

When his father finished speaking, Edward asked, “You never told him?”

“That he fathered a child? Do you think he would have welcomed the news? Done his duty by your mother—had she lived—and by you? Never. There had been rumors of other illegitimate children, but none had tempted him to duty before.”

“But you did not go about the country taking in his other whelps?” Edward asked dryly.

“No. I confess the thought never crossed my mind. But then, I had never met one of his victims personally, witnessed her devastation, and that of her father—a man I respected as my father had before me. I was untouched by those other faceless women and rumored offspring. But not this time.

“Still, I had no intention of claiming or even supporting the child when first I learnt of its coming. It wasn’t until months later, when your mother had given birth to a stillborn son . . . and I remembered the verdict the physician and midwife had given us—no children. No son and heir . . .”

Edward said, “You would not have been the first peer to face that disappointment.”

Lord Brightwell sighed. “Indeed not. But who would inherit in a son’s stead? None other than my brother, Sebastian, who would no doubt lose everything and ruin Brightwell Court—sell off anything not nailed down or entailed. Let the place out to strangers and I shudder to think what all.”

“But what of Felix?”

“There was no Felix when I made my decision to make you my son and heir. And even if there had been, Sebastian would have been heir before him. I doubt there would have been much left to inherit after Sebastian had been Earl of Brightwell for a few years.”

“But now Sebastian is dead.”

Lord Brightwell inhaled deeply. “Yes.”

“And so Felix is your rightful heir.”

“Felix is a fool. And with that Titian hair and green eyes, he is likely less a Bradley than you are. My sister-in-law had her revenge, I daresay, though in the end it does not signify. She and Sebastian were married at the time of his birth, so in the eyes of the law, Felix is legitimate, no matter what is whispered about his mother and a certain ginger-haired duke.”

His face weary, Lord Brightwell pressed his fingers against his eyelids. “Forgive me, Edward. I have never before joined in the rumor-mongering and am ashamed to have done so now.” He ran a hand over his face. “I am not myself at present.”

Edward attempted a grin. “Neither am I.”

Lord Brightwell shook his head. “Felix is young and irresponsible, and already shows every likelihood of following Sebastian’s dissolute ways. Still, he isn’t the scoundrel my brother was. At least not yet. I will see him provided for. And Judith and the children, of course.”

“Hmm,” Edward muttered, shaking his head. “It is ironic. Judith has often commented that she and I looked more alike than she and Felix. I wonder if she had any idea how close to the truth she was.”

“I doubt it.”

“Now I see why you warned me against her romantic notions.”

“Yes. You see, my dear boy, you really are a Bradley. My only son, and your uncle’s eldest son—at least, as far as we know.”

“But the law . . .”

“Dash the law.”

“No, Father. It doesn’t change what I am. In the eyes of the law, I cannot be your heir.”

“Then the eyes of the law need not see.”

Edward grimly shook his head. “The veiled woman would not agree with you.”





Chapter 47




Women saw the governess as a threat to their happiness.

—M. JEANNE PETERSON, SUFFER AND BE STILL

When the post came that day, Judith snatched a letter from Hodges and quickly took herself upstairs. Edward watched her go with fatalistic sadness.

A few minutes later, he stepped into Judith’s private apartment for the first time in his adult life. And he did so without knocking.

Judith was seated at an elegant lady’s writing table, bent over the missive.

“Hello, Judith. Another letter?”

She looked up sharply, searching his face. “Yes . . . but it is only from Mamma.” She fluttered her fingers dismissively and began to refold the single sheet.

“May I?” he asked, feigning nonchalance as he held out his hand. Their gazes locked. When she did not release the letter to him, he pulled it from her grasp.

He removed the first threatening letter from his pocket and compared the two as if they were nothing more interesting than two newspaper accounts of the same story. “And how is Mamma keeping these days?” he asked idly.

She watched him, face stiff, eyes wary. She said in convincing disinterest, “She is well enough, I suppose.”

“I imagine she is. Now that she has reason to believe her son will be heir to Brightwell Court.”

“Will he be?” Judith asked, her voice revealingly high-pitched.

“It seems likely, as well you know. Here she says, and I find it most interesting, ‘Do you see any sign of his giving way? Or need I write again?’ ”

Judith swallowed. “That could relate to any number of subjects.”

Edward tucked both letters into his pocket. “How long have you known?”

She considered him with steady, round blue eyes. “We are not the ones who have done anything wrong, after all,” she said, abandoning pretense.

“Nothing illegal, at any rate. Unless one counts your part in the extortion attempt.”

Her fair brows rose high.

“Yes, the midwife’s husband was inspired to attempt extortion after your visit, or was it your mother’s?”

She shook her head, lips parted. “I would not have believed it. The doddering fool seemed barely to know his name when I called. He did recall his wife muttering about strange goings-on at Brightwell Court many years ago. Yes, it might have to do with a baby, but he could not say what it was.” She lifted a shrug. “If I did hint at the secret, I certainly never suggested extortion.”

“Still, I think the constable might find the connection most interesting. As magistrate, I know I do.”

“I did not start this crusade,” Judith defended. “Though I did insist Mamma leave off for a time after Lady Brightwell died.”

She pushed back her chair and rose. “She says she and Father always suspected something. Doctor come and gone with no news of a birth. Everyone certain Lady Brightwell had suffered another ‘mishap.’ Then suddenly there appears a perfectly stout baby boy.”

Judith walked languidly across the room. “It was only rumors, of course, and since you looked every inch a Bradley, nothing was done. But then your father took ill with the lung fever—when was that, seven, eight years ago? And my father thought the situation might bear looking into. He tried to locate the midwife, but she had already passed on. He next sought the doctor, but you know how physicians are, all gentlemanlike and professional and discreet. Too successful to be brought round by any small bribe my father might offer.” She exhaled deeply. “So he let it lie again. And then died himself while your father fully recovered.”

She turned and faced him. “But you see, Edward, your dear loyal nurse is getting on in years. Her mind is slipping. She prattles on about how my Alexander looks so like you at that age, and how can that be? I told her it was not surprising, considering you and I were cousins. ‘Cousins?’ said she, and laughed as though I had made a fine joke. The first time, I thought she was simply confused. Forgot that you and I were related, because of my married surname. But often she seems quite certain of herself. Quite clear.”

“That is no proof, of course,” Edward said, sounding, he believed, satisfactorily unconcerned.

“Do we need proof?” she asked rhetorically. “All we need do is pose the question to the House of Lords with enough circumstantial evidence that they ask your father. Would he lie to his countrymen? In deed, perhaps, but not in word, if asked directly.”

Edward cringed at the thought of his father being publicly condemned by his peers.

“And then there is you, noble Edward. You would not take another man’s rightful place, knowing as you now do that you have no claim to it.”

“You flatter me, Judith. But can you think so highly of one of such low birth?”

“It is all in the rearing, I suppose.”

“You sound like Father.” Edward studied her, sadness stealing over him. “Why did you do it, Jude?”