Chapter 30

Chapter

Thirty

A bbot had been waiting and delayed Nic in the hall, just inside the front door.

Olivia, halfway up the stairs, and still floating on a cloud, at first didn't realize there was anything wrong. She looked back over her shoulder , where Abbot and Nic stood together, deep in conversation. There was something about the way Nic held his body, still and rigid, as if he had turned to ice, and Abbot's furtive glances in Olivia's direction . . .

Slowly Olivia began to descend the stairs again, intent on discovering exactly what was wrong. Because something was definitely wrong—it was as if she could taste it in the air.

"Nic?" she said, as she reached them. "What is it?"

Abbot bowed to her, his expression tense. "Lady Lacey, I apologize for interrupting your evening. I—"

Nic spoke roughly, cutting him short "No, Abbot."

"Nic, whatever is the matter . . . ?" Olivia cried, deeply worried now and not troubling to hide it.

He wouldn't look at her. Instead he looked at Abbot, a frowning glance. "Abbot, not a word, do you understand?"

The manservant didn't look happy but he nodded. "Very well, my lord." Abbot turned to her then, and his gaze was sympathetic—as if she had suffered a loss.

"Olivia, I have to go out."

"Nic!"

He did look at her then, and his dark eyes were full of pain. Olivia's panic increased, but he stopped her before she could ask him again what was wrong. Holding her hands tightly in his, he said, "Please, my love, no questions. I will explain everything to you when I get back." He didn't wait for her answer, he just turned and walked away.

Olivia was very afraid now. She stared after Nic, watching him hurry out of the door and down the front steps, back to the coach and horses. A moment later, the vehicle had rumbled away again.

"My lady." Abbot was waiting anxiously by her side.

"What is happening, Abbot?"

He did everything but wring his hands. "My lady, I cannot tell you, you heard Lord Lacey say . . ."

"Oh, very well," she said impatiently. She turned to the stairs but stopped again and looked back at him. "Can't you at least tell me where he has gone, Abbot? Is that betraying your master's orders?"

Abbot hesitated, and then said firmly, "Lord Lacey will explain when he returns."

"I want you to explain to me now. Abbot?"

Olivia tapped her shoe, glaring at his profile.

Abbot crumbled, but not the way she'd hoped he would. "My lady, forgive me, but I am only a servant. I do as I am told. How can I do as you wish when Lord Lacey has expressly told me not to?"

Olivia knew she was being unfair, but this was Nic, her husband, and she wanted to know. "Tell me what is happening, Abbot. I will explain to Lord Lacey."

His face was creased as if he was in pain. "I would love to, my lady, believe me, but I have promised to be silent on this matter. Forgive me, please."

It was unfair of her to press him, Olivia knew that. Abbot had his loyalties, too, and his position was dependent on his holding firm to them. She would have to wait for Nic to return and then ask him what on earth could have made him leave her without a word, with a single glance at the wife he had just told he loved with all his heart.

A moment ago Olivia had been so very happy, and now she felt as if there was a stone lodged in her heart.

The coach came to a stop outside the narrow house and Nic climbed out, ordering his driver to return home, and saying that he had no idea how long he would be. As the coach moved away, Nic stood alone in the cobbled street and watched it go. Across the river the fog obscured his view of the city, although he could pick out the occasional church spire. As if to increase his feeling of isolation, bells rang, sounding hollow and forlorn.

Why now? Why did she have to send for him now ? Just when everything was perfect with Olivia.

He felt suddenly resentful, and remembering the way he'd left Olivia, and the expression on her face, only made him feel worse. But he couldn't explain to her—there was no time. She would have been upset, and rightly so, and he didn't want to face that, not until he was able to tell her the full story, in his own way. Make her understand.

Nic sighed and shifted his weight from his lame leg. Who was he fooling? How the devil was he going to be able to make her understand? She was more likely to walk out and never return, and he wouldn't be the least surprised if she did. He wouldn't blame her if she felt her love for him was a betrayal and a sham, but still he'd have to try. Because Nic knew now that if he lost her he himself would be lost.

He turned toward the narrow house. Better get it over with, he thought wearily. If it was anything like the last time, it would probably take him hours to smooth over the crisis, and the sooner he started, the sooner he could go home to his wife. And he walked up to the front door and rattled the knocker.

A moment later Mildred, the housekeeper, opened the door, her unsmiling face as unfriendlylooking as ever. Appearances could be deceptive—Mildred was a kind and generous woman, and, importantly, Nic trusted her.

"Lord Lacey," she said with obvious relief. "Thank you for coming, sir. I'm so sorry to bother you on such a night. You know I wouldn't have asked if—if—"

"I know, Mildred," he reassured her. "Where is she?"

"She's locked herself in the pantry," she said, showing him inside the house. "There's a key. I keep it myself to stop the kitchen maid from filching. The mistress must have found it, and now she's locked the pantry door from the inside. I've tried talking to her, but she won't listen. She keeps asking for you."

"Of course."

He followed Mildred down the corridor that led past the stairs and into the back part of the house, where the small kitchen, scullery, and laundry were situated. A fire was burning merrily in the hearth, and the table and other surfaces shone, while the floor was spotless. A tray of small cakes was sitting by a tin, ready to be put away when they were cool enough.

Mildred saw him glance at them. Her mouth curled up in a surprisingly sweet smile for such a dour face. "There're for Master Jonah, sir. His favorite. When he's home I always like to bake him a treat or two."

Nic smiled back, thinking Jonah was a lucky boy to have Mildred. "Is he well?"

"Oh yes, bright as a button. And he'd doing very well at his lessons, sir. Even when he's on holidays he has his head in a book."

"Ah, an intellectual. My father was the same. One day I will have to show Jonah the library at Castle Lacey and—"

Just then there was a loud thumping coming from behind the pantry door.

"Nic, Nic!" screeched a highpitched voice. "Is that you, Nic?"

He and Mildred exchanged a glance. "Lord Lacey is here now," Mildred called. "Please, do come out, mistress."

Nic walked over to the pantry. The door was old and heavy, and looked as if it might once have belonged to a cellar. He didn't relish the thought of breaking it down, and hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"I'm here," he said in a gentle tone, leaning against the door. "I've had to leave in the middle of the Querrols' ball, just to come and see you." The lie was a small one, but he knew she preferred the dramatic.

"In the middle of a dance?"

"A waltz, yes. I left the lady in the middle of a spin, and I don't know what happened to her afterward. "

She giggled. Always a good sign if he could make her laugh.

"You're a wicked man, Nic," she said.

"That's my name."

A heartbeat later they heard the key turning in the lock and the click of the latch. Slowly, cautiously, the door opened a crack, and a woman's piqued face loomed out of the shadows.

"Nic," she sighed.

Nic smiled, held out his hand for her to grasp, and prepared to have his patience stretched to its limits.

Olivia had undressed and washed, and now Estelle finished helping her into her nightgown. Nic still hadn't returned.

"I don't want to go to sleep. I want to wait up for Lord Lacey," she said, as Estelle slipped the warming pan beneath the covers of her bed.

Estelle said nothing.

"He promised me that when he came home he'd explain why he rushed off like that."

Estelle said nothing.

Olivia sat upon the stool at her dressing table and watched as her maid moved the warming pan on its long handle back and forth inside the bedding, taking the chill off the sheets. And all the while Estelle was carefully avoiding her eyes.

"Estelle?"

"My lady?"

Olivia decided that Estelle looked plumper than she used to, and there was a dark, unfaded strip of cloth on the side of her uniform, suggesting she'd recently taken the seam out to give herself more room. Both clues meant something, but just now Olivia was more interested in what she saw in Estelle's face.

"You know something, don't you?" Olivia folded her arms and fixed her bright eyes on her maid. "Estelle, I want to know."

"I don't know anything, miss . . . I mean, my lady."

"Estelle."

Estelle sighed and finally turned to face her mistress, her expression a mixture of doubt and concern, with a touch of excitement. "Abbot told me not to tell you, my lady," she protested.

"But you will tell me, won't you, Estelle?"

For a moment Olivia thought her maid was going to refuse her, as Abbot had, but then Estelle came and stood beside her at her dressing table, fiddling nervously with her frilly white apron. The swell of her stomach was quite prominent, even with the bulk of her skirt and petticoats, and Olivia knew then that Estelle was with child. There would be time later to discuss that, she told herself.

"Please, Estelle, I need to know. I thought you were my friend. You've helped me before. If it wasn't for you I'd never have become Lady Lacey, and I wouldn't be so happy . . ."

Estelle rushed into speech, almost as if she wanted Olivia to stop. "He's gone to see her and the boy, Jonah. "

"What do you mean?" It made no sense, and yet in a terrible way—if she was to think the very worst—it did.

"My lady," Estelle murmured, tears in her eyes, "I am so sorry. I didn't know until the night you came home from the ball . . . from Castle Lacey, and then there was the scandal . . . I didn't say anything because I hoped it wouldn't matter. There're many gentlemen with children born on the wrong side of the blanket."

Olivia stood up, trembling as if she were cold. "You're talking in riddles, Estelle. Explain to me what you mean or—or I think I will scream."

"Lady Lacey, do you really want to know?" Estelle said, and it sounded like a warning.

"Yes!" Olivia cried. "Of course I want to know. I need to know." She took a breath, lowering her voice, calming herself. "Tell me, Estelle. You must tell me."

Estelle chewed on her lip. "Abbot will be very cross with me. He swore me to secrecy."

"It is not Abbot's secret to keep," Olivia replied coldly.

Estelle nodded her head. "Lord Lacey has a child, miss, a son. His name is Jonah Lacey."

Nic was a father? Olivia opened her mouth, then closed it again. She didn't know what to say. The first tingling of shock was followed by a wave of confusion, and then a sense of betrayal. She felt as though he'd been unfaithful to her, which she knew was ridiculous in the circumstances. Whatever this woman had meant to Nic, it was in the past, and the child was simply the result of their liaison.

"I have never heard mention of a child at the castle," she said, finding her voice at last.

"Jonah lives here in London, with his mother. Lord Lacey visits them whenever he's here."

"Visits them" had so many connotations. Did it mean Nic was somehow involved with the woman? Was she his mistress? An image of a cozy family entered her mind and refused to go away. She pictured them in a parlor with a crackling fire, laughing, happy. But even as the picture sharpened in detail, tormenting her, there was something unreal about it.

Nic was not that kind of man.

"This woman was a respectable lady," Estelle went on, her voice dropping confidentially. "He ruined her. Then one morning she arrived at Castle Lacey with a babe in her arms, begging for his help. There was an awful todo when Lord Lacey's parents found out about her and what he'd done."

"I imagine they would be disappointed."

"There's worse to come, miss. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

Olivia had a cowardly urge to stick her fingers in her ears, but it was too late now. She must know the whole truth, no matter how painful. "Yes, Estelle. Go on."

"His father was so angry he dropped down dead. His mother blamed him for his father's death, and I suppose it was his fault, in a way. She never spoke to him again. "

It explained a great deal. The scandal her parents knew of but wouldn't share with her, their uncertainty and disappointment when it was clear she'd chosen Nic over Theodore, and Nic's own warnings to her that he was no good. Yes, it was all far clearer now. But there was still one question that demanded an answer.

"Why didn't he marry the woman? Surely that should have been the solution to the scandal? And then none of those dreadful things would have happened."

Estelle shrugged. "I don't know, my lady. Abbot didn't say. Perhaps she wouldn't have him after what he'd done to her, and who could blame her?"

Olivia shook her head resolutely. "No, that doesn't make sense."

Estelle's face grew worried. "You really do love him, don't you, my lady? I'm sorry that I've upset you."

"I'm not upset," she insisted. "At least, I'm trying to think rationally. There are many gentlemen who have children born out of wedlock, and I am not so innocent I don't know that. Why, there was even a girl at Miss Debenham's Finishing School who boasted about being the love child of an Irish duke."

Estelle brightened. "Well then, it isn't so bad after all, miss."

For all her calm acceptance, Olivia found Estelle's story difficult to digest. In fact it was making her feel a little sick. But was it so very bad? Nic had been involved with a woman to the extent that they had a child, and he was still caring for the two of them.

It didn't change what she thought of him. He was at heart a good man. Of course he would care for the woman and child, she wouldn't expect any less of him. And the tragedy of his father's death and his mother's lack of understanding would hurt him terribly. No wonder he spent so little time at Castle Lacey and the rest of his life traveling, with a different companion every year. Once he'd been burned he wouldn't want to risk his heart again.

Olivia was so deep in thought she hardly heard Estelle speaking.

"When the message came tonight, and Abbot told me, I knew I should have warned you before, when I first found out. I blame myself."

Olivia tried to focus, to understand. "The message? I presume it came from this woman who is . . . was Nic's mistress? Is something wrong, is that why he had to go so abruptly, without time for explanations?"

Estelle clasped her hands together and stared at them, as if working up her courage. "Abbot told me that this woman calls herself Mrs. Lacey."

Suddenly Olivia felt cold. "Mrs. Lacey?" she gasped.

"Mrs. Lacey. She sent for Lord Lacey tonight and he went to her. You know he did. I don't understand the hold she has over him, unless it's the boy, but there's something odd and I can't help but think it isn't going to make you very happy. My lady, I am so sorry I—"

Olivia had stopped listening. Was it possible that Nic was already married? Estelle had wondered why, if this woman was respectable, Nic hadn't simply married her, and now Olivia found herself wondering, too. Perhaps he had married, then kept it secret. But was it really possible he would do such a dreadful thing, and then marry Olivia and lie to her? No! She didn't believe it. The "Mrs. Lacey" might well be a courtesy title, in which case this woman and Nic must be close—close enough to be assumed to be married.

Tonight she had told Nic she loved him, and he said he loved her. She had believed him, utterly and completely. What had happened since then that she was here alone, doubting him, and he was with another woman? She didn't know. She didn't know anything anymore.

"I think I will go to bed now," she said at last, in a small voice that didn't sound at all like her own.

Estelle seemed relieved. "I think you should sleep, my lady. When Lord Lacey returns he'll explain everything, and . . . and . . ." But her voice trailed off for lack of anything more positive to say, and she hurried back to the bed, fussing about, turning down the covers.

Olivia slid off her wrap and climbed into the bed. She lay back and closed her eyes, and Estelle turned out the lamp and gently closed the door, leaving her alone .

Olivia opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling.

She felt empty, as if her heart had been removed from her chest and her body was just a shell. Nic had betrayed her, he'd lied to her. Olivia had believed in him, trusted him. She'd believed she knew him as well as she knew herself. How could she have been so completely wrong?

The question was: What should she do now?

Outside a vehicle clattered by, hurrying on to its destination. Was Nic already tucked up in bed with his lover, this Mrs. Lacey? Had he completely forgotten the promises he'd made to Olivia? Well, she needed to know, and if Nic wasn't here to tell her, then she'd find out the truth for herself.

Tomorrow she would go and visit this woman who called herself Mrs. Lacey, and see her for herself. She'd call upon her and ask her exactly what was going on, and then she'd make whatever decision she could about the future.

Whether she would stay or whether she would go.

Nic closed the door to Olivia's bedchamber, causing the candle in his hand to flicker wildly. He paused while it steadied. He was tired, beyond tired. Unfortunately, as he'd feared, once she got him to the house, he had the devil of a job getting away again. He'd been bearing this burden alone for far too long, and now he wanted nothing more than to share it with Olivia.

The bedchamber was quiet apart from the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Nic made his way toward the bed. The flaring light of his candle showed him his wife's shape beneath the covers and her fair hair like spun gold upon the pillow.

She was asleep.

He stood, looking down at her calm and beautiful face for a very long time. The sight of her, the memory of her love for him, seeped in and eased his troubled soul. He was tempted to climb into bed beside her and hold her in his arms, but she was sleeping so peacefully.

Tomorrow, Nic told himself, he would tell her the truth. From start to finish. He could only hope she would understand and forgive him, and then they could begin to make their lives together. His decision made, Nic turned and made his way back across the room to the door. Tonight he'd sleep in his own bed and leave Olivia to her own sweet dreams, free of his dark shadows.