What Happens in Piccadilly Page 6

  “Well, of course, he had to cry hither and yon that her child lived and was safe… hence my current situation. A duke by title, a poor relation to an unknown, bastard heiress by circumstance.”

  “Your uncle must have been near mad with grief,” Winn observed. “To have lost the woman he loved and have no notion of where their child might be.”

  “Oh, he was. He and my grandfather argued so fiercely that the old man had a heart seizure and passed away right in this very corridor. As for my uncle, all his attempts to locate the child were in vain. He never found it.”

  “It? You don’t even know the sex?” Winn asked, striving for a tone that was only mildly curious and didn’t give away his own thoughts on the matter.

  “A girl, according to the gossipy vicar, though who knows if it’s true or accurate. Useless female… even if she is found, she’ll marry and the family’s wealth will go elsewhere. I imagine that is my uncle’s revenge upon his parents, to beggar the title in their memory,” Averston droned, the words muttered low and half to himself. As if realizing what he was doing, he looked up, plastered an urbane and utterly false smile on his face, and said, “At any rate, the child vanished, never to be seen or heard from again. My uncle was distraught and vowed never to marry. And as you know, he did not. So now, I am his heir. But only to the title and one paltry entailed estate. The rest is left to a bastard we cannot find, who has likely died already of the pox or drink in some rookery hovel.”

  “What if she didn’t die? What if she is alive and well and in London?” Winn asked.

  Averston’s expression was grim and cold. “Then she would do well to stay hidden. I don’t mean to let any of this,” he swept his arm about to encompass the grandeur that surrounded them, “slip through my grasp, Montgomery, not without one hell of a fight. No matter the cost. And if dear old granny ever finds her, well, suffice to say, she’ll regret that the day she was born.”

  As threats went, it was far from veiled. Winn knew that Averston was ruthless. It appeared it was a family trait. Whatever happened, he’d need to be certain that Calliope St. James never crossed his path or that of the dowager duchess. Otherwise, there would be hell and the devil to pay.

  Chapter Five

  At the end of a long and exhausting day, Callie was actually rather content with her progress. While the children’s education was terribly lacking, their intelligence certainly was not. And taking them to the park first, letting them burn off some of their natural exuberance before getting down to their studies, had been an excellent way to begin the day.

  Callie had ushered them down the stairs and into the breakfast room where she’d arranged for their dinner to be served. They didn’t need the opulence and distance of the formal dining room. Not yet. They needed a place where they could be comfortable and not fearful of breaking things or violating rules they didn’t quite understand yet. With a moment to herself, she paused in her task of putting away books and toys and stretched deeply, her back aching from leaning over their smaller desks all day as she corrected penmanship and letters and mathematical sums. She let out a satisfied groan as tense muscles released.

  “Has it been that torturous?”

  Callie let out a shriek of alarm as she whirled to face the doorway and the man who now occupied it. The Earl of Montgomery stood there, all laconic charm and smug amusement. And a ridiculous degree of masculine beauty that she could not afford to acknowledge. “You frightened me half to death.”

  “You did say I was to have my lessons after the children. I thought we might have them in my study with a light repast. I’m assuming you have not had your supper, Miss St. James.”

  At the very mention of food, her traitorous stomach growled alarmingly. She blushed furiously. “No, I have not.” It was a mistake to share a meal with him, a mistake to create a sense of familiarity between them. And yet, knowing that, she still wanted to be in his presence more than she wished to heed her common sense. If there was proof of just how dangerous he was to her, that was all she required.

  “Then come along, Calliope St. James. You may teach me how to be a better human and I will attempt to glean all the information I can about your mysterious past,” he said, and stepped clear of the door, holding one arm out in a gesture for her to exit. “The maids can tidy up. It is what I pay them for, after all.”

  “I hate to make more work for them,” she said. It was a pitiful excuse but the only one she could summon.

  “I assure you, by keeping those three small ruffians confined to one room in the house for most of the day, you have significantly lightened their workload already,” he offered.

  “Well in that case,” Callie relented. As they walked down the stairs toward his study, she continued, “There are things I must ask you about the children’s upbringing thus far… and I am afraid you will not like them.”

  He sighed heavily. “No doubt they paint a very villainous picture of my brother.”

  “Not villainous, precisely. But selfish, certainly, and perhaps very immature.”

  He shrugged then. “An accurate description of him, I think. And one far kinder than he likely deserved.”

  Callie looked back at him in surprise, stunned by his rueful and regretful tone. It was a mistake, taking her eyes off the stairs. They were unfamiliar to her and she stumbled. She might have fallen had he not reached out to grasp her arm, steadying her. It brought them closer than they previously had been, close enough that when she glanced up at him, she could see the flecks of gold in the depths of his green eyes and the day’s growth of whiskers on his face was no longer just an indistinct shadow. She was close enough that she could see the texture of his skin and wonder at what it might feel like against her own.

  It was foolish and so very, very dangerous!

  A nervous laugh escaped her. “Pardon my clumsiness, my lord. I’m quite all right now.”

  He cleared his throat and stepped back from her. But he kept his grasp on her elbow as they continued down to the main floor. “We should both be more careful, Miss St. James,” he said.

  Callie had to wonder if he was talking about more than her near mishap.

  As they neared the study, a footman rushed forward to open the door for them and Callie swept inside, Lord Montgomery on her heels. He pushed the door closed, and then apparently thought better of it. He opened it once more, halfway, and left it just so, propped there with a heavy cast iron statue of some sort of poorly rendered terrier.

  “That’s an odd piece,” she commented, gesturing toward the rather homely-looking dog statue.

  “We go together,” the earl said, as he moved past her toward a small table set before the fire. With a self-deprecating grin, he added, “Odd pieces.”

  Callie stepped deeper into the room in his wake and took a seat in the chair before his desk that he’d indicated. Two plates heaped with cold meat, cheese and bread had been placed there, along with a bottle of wine and glasses. It was informal, strangely intimate, and might, under different circumstances, have been deemed romantic. Callie was so distracted by that train of thought that it startled her when he pushed the chair in for her. She only just managed to stifle a startled shriek. Even then, he leaned in close enough that she caught the scent of his shaving soap and the hint of something else that was wildly appealing to her. It made her think of the strength and the steadiness of him as he’d caught her on the stairs.

  “What is it you wish to know about the children?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I’d prefer to speak quietly. The servants know enough about my brother’s disgrace.”

  “What is your brother’s disgrace precisely?” she asked.

  “All of them. Gambling. Women. Opium. There was not a single vice that he did not indulge to impossible excess,” the earl admitted. “Venetia, the children’s mother, was young and foolish and allowed him to seduce her. I say allowed because he did not seek her out. She put herself in his very chambers at a house party intending to be seduced by h
im. She fancied herself in love with him. I believe she had some foolish notion that if she loved him enough, it would save him. Clearly she was mistaken. It was a terrible scandal. They married against my father’s wishes but at the pistol-accompanied urging of her own father. Indeed, I daresay if my brother had refused, he’d have been killed outright.”

  “And afterward? Were they happy together at all?” Callie asked.

  He raised his brows in a rather surprised fashion, as if it were something he’d never considered before. “I suppose they were at first. It wasn’t long after they married that they announced to the family that she was with child. But by the time Claudia was born, the bloom had certainly worn off the rose. Wills was drinking heavily, gambling incessantly and he’d begun visiting the opium dens. Forgive me, Miss St. James, I should not speak so bluntly of such things.”

  “I’d prefer you did, my lord,” Callie insisted. “For better or for ill, your brother and your sister-in-law spoke very freely of such things in front of the children. I do not have the luxury of being missish about propriety in these very dire circumstances.”

  He considered it for a moment, clearly weighing the need to be honest with his own sense of propriety. In the end, he continued, “After they married, and while Venetia was in her confinement, there was another scandal. Wills was accused of doing the unthinkable… that he had forced himself upon and compromised an innocent young woman.”

  Callie let that sink in for a moment. When she did pose the question, her tone was neutral and without condemnation. “Did he? I understand that you may not be able to answer… but do you think he was capable?”

  The earl’s brows knit together in a thoughtful frown. “I honestly don’t know. There are differing accounts of the nature of Wills’ relationship with Miss Serena Darlington. Wills always contended that she was a willing participant to seduction and that she was not nearly so chaste as others painted her to be. And Miss Darlington insisted that my brother had forced himself upon her despite the fact that she was in his chambers while clad only in her nightrail. That’s only damning because apparently her own guest room was in another wing of the house where they were all gathered for the party. Rather than fight a duel and face terrible social and potential legal consequences for his actions, not to mention the financial consequences if either Mr. Darlington or Miss Darlington’s betrothed elected to file suit against him, he took Venetia and Claudia and fled to Spain. From there, I cannot tell you what their life was like.” He paused then, his fingers drumming idly on the desk. When he looked at her, there was banked fury in his eyes. His brother might have died, but it was quite obvious that he was still livid with the man. “Though I cannot imagine it was pleasant. Wills was spoiled. He might have been a man grown with a wife and a family, but he was still very much a spoiled boy… all the way to the end.”

  “I don’t wish to say too much,” Callie began. She was hesitant, but she couldn’t help but think her conversation with Claudia was important in ways she might not understand. “I think much of what Claudia said was uttered in confidence, though that was not stated expressly. Still, I don’t wish to betray her trust. But I will say that her parents were not happy together and their unhappiness took a toll on the children. I also think that their father’s gaming often left them with very uncertain fortunes and little sense of stability.” She stopped speaking when she noted his expression. The fury she’d seen banked in his eyes had suddenly blazed to life.

  “I paid for their lodgings,” he snapped, the words bitten off sharply. “I paid for their governess. I sent more than adequate funds to see to their comfort.”

  “Did you pay their landlord directly? Or their grocer?” Callie asked softly.

  “Of course not! It would have been impossible to manage such things at a distance! But I was not so foolish as to give the money to my brother, Miss St. James. The money was sent through a third party and was then given to Venetia to see to everyone’s needs.”

  Callie sighed. “She loved him, I think. And she desperately wanted him to love her. So she gave him whatever it was he asked for… that no doubt included the funds you sent to support them all.”

  *

  Winn rose from the small table and stalked the length of the room and back. If Wills had been in front of him, he’d have planted his fist right in his brother’s face. In retrospect, what Miss St. James proposed made perfect sense. He’d never seen it because he’d never wanted to see it. He’d done the least amount that he had to do and patted himself on the back for it, his duty done and his conscience clear.

  “I don’t know who I am more angry at… my brother or myself,” he said. “I was a fool not to see it.”

  “I don’t think anger in either direction bears considering, my lord. It’s a wasted emotion. Being angry at yourself only creates more misery and unhappiness and your brother, sadly, is not here to face the consequences of his actions. For that matter, neither is your sister-in-law. She is hardly blameless. Any woman who chooses a man over her children, even if it is her husband, cannot be spared censure.”

  “You have very definite opinions on the matter, Miss St. James,” Winn observed, thinking of the woeful tale of Mademoiselle Veronique Delaine. Would she have always put her daughter first? It certainly seemed as if she had in the end, regardless of how it had ended for her. While Calliope St. James’ life had been troubled, she had survived to adulthood.

  Miss St. James fidgeted with the serviette on her lap. It was clear that she was debating how forthcoming to be with her response. Finally, she said, “I suppose I do. Children are very vulnerable. Smaller, weaker, dependent upon us to care for them and to provide for them, to teach them how to one day provide for themselves. There is nothing so selfish and so worthy of disdain as those who would neglect a child for their own interests.”

  “I see. And were these ideas formed through your acquaintance with Miss Euphemia Darrow?”

  “They were certainly cemented by my acquaintance with her. I have witnessed firsthand what the selfishness of adults does to children. Shuffled from one place to another by those who don’t wish to be bothered with you… I understood then that I was being wronged. But I didn’t know to what degree until I met Effie. Until she took me into her home and into her heart and offered me a place to belong, to feel safe and sheltered from all the wicked things in this world,” Miss St. James said softly. “I owe her my gratitude, and my unwavering loyalty and support.”

  “You speak of debts, Miss St. James. What of softer feelings? What of the heart?” he asked. It was dangerous territory, to discuss such things with her.

  “I love Effie. I could not love her more if we shared a blood kinship. But loyalty and support are a way of showing that affection for her, of demonstrating the depth of my feelings on the matter.” Her answer was decisive and firm. She viewed Euphemia Darrow as her family, that much was obvious.

  “And what of the woman who birthed you? Do you owe her anything?” Winn challenged. He needed to know what she knew. Did she have any suspicions of her origins that would dispel his own sweeping theories? He fervently hoped so. Heaven knew it would simplify matters greatly.

  “I neither know nor care. She is likely long dead and, if so, knowing her fate will not bring her back nor will it engender some feeling in me for a person who is naught but a stranger,” Miss St. James said.

  “And if she were not dead?”

  The pretty governess shrugged, but her hardened expression was in clear opposition to her casual posture. “If she were not dead, then her abandonment of me smacks of the kind of selfishness I have just decried. And I am better for not knowing her.”

  “You could have other family out there. You could be an heiress,” he suggested. “There’s been a run of lost heirs turning up these past few years.”

  Miss St. James laughed at that. “Your imagination runs away with you as much as William’s does! An heiress… I was deposited on the doorstep of a workhouse as an infant. Left in a basket i
n the freezing cold. That is not what becomes of heiresses, my lord.”

  “Which workhouse?” he asked.

  “Does it matter?” she snapped. “Is not one workhouse equally horrific to the next?”

  “No, they are not.” It was a sad truth and they both knew it.

  “Then it is the one whose name I bear. The St. James Workhouse. The very worst of the worst,” she said. “It is where I was deposited as an infant, and where I was returned years later, when my foster parents died.”

  “How long were you there?” he asked.

  “I was there for just over three years. I was eight when the vicar took me there and dropped me off. I was nearly twelve when Effie saw me through the slats of the gate and demanded that I be given to her care. I think I weighed less when she took me from that place than when I had gone in,” she said flatly. “When you are too small to fight to keep your food, it is quickly taken from you.”

  Winn said nothing. What could he say to such a thing? The very idea that the beautiful, articulate, and impossibly bright woman before him might have died of starvation in childhood at one of the very institutions that was intended to prevent such a fate was something he dared not contemplate. It was too devastating to consider. But he meant to get to the truth and now he had a place to start.

  “Eat your supper, Miss St. James, and I’ll have the carriage brought round to see you home.”

  “I can walk,” she protested.

  “It would be very unwise. The fog is growing thick out there and it will be dark. Far too dangerous.”

  “Will you not dine with me?” she asked. “We have much to discuss about the children.”

  “Tomorrow night, Miss St. James. I find with all these revelations, my time might be better spent sitting in the breakfast room with them while they throw food at one another like wild animals. That is rather the point of your lessons, isn’t it? To put me in the position of being a part of their lives rather than a disinterested observer?”