A Daring Liaison(80)

After an uncertain pause, Charles delivered his theory. “You, I believe.”

Carlington sat forward in his chair, coughing and sputtering. “I say! That’s a bit of a surprise, Hunter.”

“Were you and Lady Caroline not in love?”

“Quite. I’d have done anything for her.”

“And?”

Carlington raised his eyebrows. “You want the details, do you? Very well. We had pledged ourselves to each other. We were going to marry. We were, perhaps, a week or two from a formal announcement. And, had everything gone well, we’d have been married by the end of the season.”

“What happened?”

“Her accident. I never saw her afterward. But I’ve told you all that. It still does not explain why you think I am Georgiana’s father.”

Charles took a deep breath. “Because Lady Caroline was her mother.”

He thought Carlington might challenge him, or call him a liar. Instead, the older man just sank back into his chair and sighed. “Ah. I wondered. She looks like Caroline, you know. Same eyes. Same honey hair. Perhaps even a bit more beautiful.”

“I’d like to know what you intend to do about this, Carlington.”

“Do? Why...nothing.”

“You will not claim her?”

“She is not mine.”

“But you said you and Caroline were—”

“We were in love, Hunter. Not that it is any of your business, but we were never...intimate.”

Charles could not hide his shock. “Then who...?”

Carlington nodded. “Who, indeed?”

“Was there anyone else she might have been interested in? Or who might have been interested in her?”

“Certainly no one I knew about. But are you certain Georgiana is Caroline’s? Could you be mistaken about that?”

“I do not think so, sir. The resemblance... Did Lady Caroline have female cousins or other relations? Could Lord Betman have fathered a by-blow?”

Carlington snorted. “Not bloody likely. A stuffy old man if ever there was one. Stickler for propriety. Caroline was afraid of him. That’s why we never risked...well, you know.”

Charles did know. He had his own regrets about not protecting Georgiana from the consequences of an unwanted pregnancy.

“But you are married to Georgiana now, are you not? You will not cast her off, will you?”

“Why would I do that?”

“All that nonsense you spouted about birth and blood, and it being who you are.”

“I do not consider that nonsense.”

Carlington’s brow lowered in a stern manner. “I warned you not to involve yourself with an orphan if that mattered to you.”

“And if she is Lady Caroline’s daughter—”

“Then, although she is of good blood, she is illegitimate. Will you punish her for something she could not help?”

The conversation was taking a turn he hadn’t bargained for. He finished his sherry in a gulp and stood. “Who and what Georgiana is remains to be seen. Thank you and good day, Carlington.”

* * *

Finn met Charles at the front door and barely gave him time to hand his greatcoat to Crosley before voicing his concern. “Quiet day, sir, but I think there’s something wrong with the missus.”

“Why?”

“I found her cryin’ in the garden, sir.”

A quick stab of guilt shot to his heart. He’d been churlish and suspicious this morning. Trusting did not come easy for him, but to accuse Georgiana of murder was a bit much, even for him. His only excuse was that he’d still been reeling from Richardson’s report and learning that his new wife was Lady Caroline’s love child. And then he’d found the laudanum in her drawer.

Laudanum! Damn. He’d meant to drop the vial in the Thames upon leaving Wycliffe’s office, but he’d forgotten after his errand at Rundel and Bridge’s. He’d apologize to Georgiana at once and then remedy that omission. “Where is she, Finn?”

“In her room, sir. Clara informed the staff that she wishes to be left alone. I believe she has a ‘crushing headache.’”

More than likely she was trying to avoid him. “Thank you, Finn. I shall look in on her and be down in a moment.”

He climbed the stairs, thinking how different his house was in just twenty-four hours. Before, there had only been himself, Crosley and the cook. Now his staff had more than doubled. Though he was not used to so many people, he did not mind. The bustle reminded him of the house he’d grown up in with three rowdy brothers and one dainty sister. They’d been a boisterous lot and there’d never been a moment’s peace. Now his house felt more like a home.