The Captivating Lady Charlotte (Regency Brides: A Legacy of Grace #2)(16)
“I paid no heed at first, but after I saw Wrotham that night, I confronted your daughter. Oh, yes, I did.” Memories of that night arose. Her tearful denials, which quickly turned into violent rage, culminating in the later admission that the child she carried was not William’s after all. A savage pang crossed his heart. “Choose to disbelieve me if you will, but my wife held no compunctions about such things.”
“I refuse to believe this,” Lord Clarkson muttered.
“I am sure you do.”
Lady Clarkson continued shaking her head, as if such an action might ward off the loathsome truth. “No. No, Maria would have told us—”
“Maria?” His hands fisted. “You cannot believe anything that creature says.”
His word seemed to galvanize the viscountess, for she drew herself up, eyeing him icily. “She was always an excellent lady’s maid, with exquisite taste in clothes—”
“She is a liar.”
“No! She came to see us, to beg us to speak with you about the night Pamela died.” Her eyes filled. “I just wanted to know if your child—”
“Her child,” he corrected.
“If … it were a boy or girl?”
A broken sob roused the ashes of compassion. He cleared his throat. “Pamela wanted her child,” he finally admitted. “She just could not birth her.”
“Pamela was always such a slight thing.” She wiped her eyes, glanced up. “It was a girl?”
“Yes.”
Her face crumpled, and she heaved in a great shuddering breath before pushing to her feet, fire rekindling her eyes. “I will never forgive you, Hartington. You used my daughter ill, besmirched her name, insulted us in ways I never thought possible. We will never darken the threshold of this … this cursed mausoleum again!”
“Never,” the viscount echoed, adding an expletive. “You are a blackguard and a scoundrel! We wipe our hands of you.”
Without further ado, they exited, their mutterings and black looks giving him no chance to say anything further.
William slumped in his seat, the past few hours having left him drained. Should he have admitted the baby still lived? But what was the point? The doctor said it was unlikely she would survive, sickly as she was. William hadn’t named her, hadn’t wanted anyone becoming attached to a child sure to die. His fingers clenched. If he’d admitted she lived, would his denials of paternity have led them to demand custody? While he might wish to be rid of the reminder of Pamela’s sins, he could not, in all good conscience, leave an innocent to such care. Leave her with the people who had shaped Pamela’s morals so poorly? He’d duel Satan himself before such a thing occurred!
No. Lord Clarkson’s exiting epithets regarding William’s own paternity only reinforced his gladness at denying them the tiny bundle upstairs.
His hands burrowed through his hair. Heavenly Father, forgive me if I did wrong, but I couldn’t let them know …
A groan wrung from the depths of his being. If only he’d married someone with as much character as beauty, who valued him even a tenth as much as she valued her own interests—who had a whit of compassion, even!
An image of compassion floated before him: golden-haired, blue-eyed, a tear trickling down her cheek.
He shook his head. No. Men like him, so wretched, cursed by foolish choices, deserved no second chances. Had he not once considered Pamela the image of everything good? How could he trust his own ability to assess a woman’s character? How could he ever trust a woman?
No. This foolish fancy was precisely that: foolish. God would not want him wishing for dreams that could never come true.
CHAPTER SIX
Richmond Park, London
Late May
BLOND CURLS WHIPPED into her face as Charlotte raced along the tree-lined avenue. Exhilaration thrilled her to the tips of her gloved fingers, her heart throbbing in time to the hooves pounding the ground. Overhead branches dappled pools of shadows, a charming enough scene if she were one of those content to sketch. But she had never been drawn to such sedentary pursuits. Dancing and riding provided far more pleasure—and opportunities to showcase her skill.
“Careful, Charlotte!”
Ignoring her brother—forever jealous of her speed—she leaned closer to the flapping mane of her hired hack. “Come on, boy. Let’s show them.”
With an answering nicker the horse surged forward, they were now neck and neck, no, they were passing, passing— With a burst of speed, she overtook the other man, flashing him a smile as they finally crested the hill. “Yes!”
He chuckled, slowing his horse as she did hers, before offering a nod of acquiescence. “I concede, Lady Charlotte.”
She laughed. “I like to ride fast.”
“You are quite the valiant.”
“Quite the hoyden,” her brother grumbled from behind them.
Lord Markham dismounted before moving to assist her slide to the ground. At the touch of his hands, the sandalwood scenting his nearness, the warmth in his smile—just for her!—her heart thumped loudly again. Oh, Lord Markham was everything she had ever dreamed!
Charlotte hooked her train over one arm, and they led their horses to a spot slightly away from Henry, who still muttered nonsense about how such wild riding would never be countenanced in Hyde Park.