A Daring Liaison(73)

Richardson looked down at his scuffed boots and sighed. “I did. And a few more questions, too. You’re not going to like it, Hunter. Especially now.”

“Now?”

“Now that you’ve married the girl.”

Charles took a deep breath followed by a swallow of whiskey. “Out with it, then.”

“Mousehole is a closemouthed village. They sure as hell do not trust strangers. Took a bit of convincing to get anyone to talk, but I eventually put the pieces together after visiting the parish pastor, a washerwoman, the foundling home and the local banker in Penzance.”

Charles gave in to restless pacing. “You’ve been busy.”

Richardson laughed. “Somewhat of an understatement, that. Everyone remembered Georgiana—they called her Jane then. Her circumstances were quite different from the usual. She was not local, but arrived by private coach at the church attended by a wet nurse and a servant. According to the pastor, she was not a toddler. She was barely more than a few days old. A small parcel was delivered with her, which included a letter, a few items of clothing for the child and twenty pounds to pay for her keep for the coming year—an unheard of amount in those parts.”

Quite unheard of, Charles thought. He glanced at Wycliffe and detected a hint of surprise. The suspicion that had been growing in him for the last few days was taking on an ominous form.

“The only woman in the village who had enough milk to spare was a washerwoman. The pastor handed the baby off to her for the next two years. And each year another twenty pounds arrived.

“When Jane was two and a half, the washerwoman took her to a foundling home in St. Ives. They refused her. Said they were full. So she took Jane back to the parson. He admits that he only paid the washerwoman five pounds a year for the child’s care and kept the rest for the ‘poor.’”

“The poor parson, most likely,” Wycliffe muttered.

Richardson snorted in agreement. “This time the parson left Jane with an impoverished family who could benefit from the five pounds. They already had six children, so Jane was just one of a neglected brood. She was bright, the woman says, quiet and withdrawn most of the time, and she learned quickly to stay out of her husband’s way.”

“No one recalls a story about a captain and his heartbroken wife?” Charles knew the answer, but he needed confirmation.

“Quite bewildered when I asked them about it. Pure fabrication, I’d say. Or the best kept secret in Mousehole.”

“How long did she stay with that family?”

“Something less than a year, I gather. The woman said that the following summer, a coach arrived and, after asking around, came to their squalid little cottage and a servant got out and asked for Jane. She said her husband did not want to give the girl up because of the money that came with her. After consulting someone within the coach, Jane was purchased for thirty pounds. She was taken into the coach as she was, and they drove away. The woman says she never saw Jane again.”

Wycliffe stood and poured himself another whiskey. “Is there anything to confirm that this little Jane is Georgiana?”

Richardson squirmed and glanced at Charles for one telling moment, then back at Wycliffe. “There was a coat of arms on the coach, and a woman within who wore a black veil. Both of those things were unprecedented in Mousehole. By description, the child was fair, had dark green eyes and had arrived with more cash than most of them had seen altogether at one time.”

Charles knew the logical conclusion. And from their uncomfortable silence, so did Richardson and Wycliffe. “Jane was very likely Georgiana,” he said. “And Caroline was most likely her mother.”

“Do you think she had second thoughts about giving the child up?”

“The trip to bring her back from Mousehole would have happened after Lord Betman’s death. Lady Caroline may not have wanted to give Georgiana up, but her father would have insisted because of the scandal it would cause.”

Richardson glanced out the window again. “You do not looked surprised, Hunter.”

“Not much. It is not unheard of for a peeress to be caught in an indiscretion and have to ‘visit the continent’ for a while. Nor is it particularly unusual for her to maintain an interest in that child afterward. When we dined with Lord Carlington, he showed us a miniature of Lady Caroline. Georgiana’s hair and eyes are remarkably similar.”

“Then Georgiana is a—”

“Don’t say it, Richardson. Not if you are my friend.”