A Baron for Becky (14 page)

Becky was
alarmed to be shaken awake from a deep sleep.

“Sarah?” She
sat bolt upright.

The maid shook
her head. “Not the little miss. She is sound asleep, the lamb. It’s
the Master. Lord Aldridge. He’s at your other house, ma’am.”

Becky was
already out of bed, hurrying any-old-how into the clothes she had
laid out to wear in the morning. What could be wrong? She’d thought
he would be occupied with his friend for another few days, and had
planned to spend them here with Sarah.

In scant
minutes, she was downstairs and outside, surprised to find the
street empty except for the two burly footmen who waited to escort
her and her maid.

“His lordship
said ’twould take too long to put the carriage to, ma’am,” one of
them apologised. “Said ’twould be faster to walk.”

True. It was
just two streets away, but what could be so urgent? Concern
propelled her through the dark streets, her escort hurrying to keep
up.

In her own
front parlour, Aldridge stood when she entered, his brow creased
even as he smiled. Around his eyes she could see the tiny wrinkles
that only appeared when he was deeply distressed. “I am a brute to
drag you out in the night like this,” he said.

And yet here
you are, she thought, but didn’t say. His attempt at a sheepish
smile was a failure, but the flaws in his usual elegance told their
own story. His hair stood on end from tugging, his cravat was
loosely knotted, his waistcoat unbuttoned, and his shirt cuffs left
loose. “Never mind, my love,” she told him. “Tell me what you
need.”

“Just you,
Becky. Just you. Come up to bed.”

He was, by
turns, wild and tender, and she responded, as she always did. The
only reference he made to whatever had brought him here was a wish
that the week were over and Overton back in the North Country.
“Three more days, and I’ll load him into his carriage. His
retainers will have him sober long before he gets home.”

Three days. She
could wait three days to tell Aldridge her problem.

Chapter Ten

In the end, it was
closer to three weeks. Aldridge said goodbye to his friend, then
went off to Margate, summoned by His Grace, the Duke of Haverford
to explain the scandal that had erupted at a Society masquerade
ball the night after Astley’s. The gossip rags were relatively
circumspect, aware of the Duke’s reach. But the mother of one of
Sarah’s friends, Mrs Harrowmead, was an eyewitness and poured it
all into the ears of the assembled mothers when they walked with
the girls in the park.

“There was a
queue. Can you believe it? Aldridge and Overton turned up hoping to
find volunteers and had an excessive number of applicants for the
last two... encounters. So they decided to conduct interviews. All
very discreet, nothing stated plainly, but the word travelled right
through the house, and—I swear to you, my dears, I saw it with my
own eyes—the ladies formed a queue in the hall outside the study,
and went in one at a time.”

“But... their
husbands?” protested one of the other women, leaning forward so she
didn’t miss a word, her eyes wide and avid.

“They were
mostly widows, dear. One or two ladies whose husbands do not seem
to mind—you know the sort—but Major Lord Vincent came and dragged
his wife away; literally dragged her, and she screaming that he
deserved to be Aldridged. Darlings, I did not know where to look.”
Mrs Harrowmead’s shudder of horror would not have shamed Mrs
Siddons.

“Dreadful!” the
other women agreed, with great delight.

“But that
wasn’t the worst. After they had chosen the... successful ladies,
they went back to dancing. I think they must have arranged to meet
them later, do you not agree? They were but an hour in the study,
and they must have interviewed at least nine ladies. I did not see
the whole, for Edward disapproved heartily when he noticed I was
watching, and took me off to dance.”

“Then Lord
Ballingcroft arrived, looking for Overton.”

Mrs Harrowmead
paused for dramatic effect.

“He challenged
him to a duel, and Overton planted him a facer right in the middle
of the Douglas Reel!”

The response
was suitably shocked, both at Overton’s disregard of etiquette, and
at Mrs Harrowmead’s use of schoolboy slang. She’d not have heard
that from her husband. A careless younger brother, perhaps?

“Then
Ballingcroft pulled a sword out of his cane, and Aldridge—I did not
perfectly see how, but Aldridge took it from him, and, my loves, he
told Lord Ballingcroft that he did not deserve Lady Ballingcroft,
and if the lady ever did stray, Lord Ballingcroft would have
brought it on himself, for he was an unfaithful husband and a
poor...” here the lady blushed. “Um. Lord Aldridge implied that
Lord Ballingcroft was inadequate in...”

“Bed sport,”
supplied one of the other women, bluntly.

“Then what
happened?” asked Becky, who had seen Aldridge’s black eye when he
called on his way to Margate.

“A brawl, Mrs
Winstanley,” Mrs Harrowmead said. “Lord Ballingcroft hit Lord
Aldridge, and Lord Overton hit Lord Ballingcroft, and some other
gentlemen joined in, and even some ladies, and Edward took me
home.” The lady was clearly disappointed. “And Lord Ballingcroft is
at home with a broken jaw, or so they say. So there will be no
duel.”

“But the
newssheet said...” the lady who had spoken of bed sport was clearly
intrigued. “How did they manage it?” And she quoted the gossip
column entry from memory. “‘Lord O. and the M.M., despite the
unfortunate incident, apparently found time to complete the game
bag required to win the bet with Mr H.’ When did they find time?
And the energy?”

Becky thought
to herself that this lady’s husband would be wise to keep her away
from Aldridge. Her own experience with Aldridge suggested several
plausible answers, but she didn’t enlighten the company. Mrs
Winstanley would have no idea about such scandalous goings-on.

Time to collect
Sarah from the skipping game by the pond and make their way
home.

Aldridge, as
always when he had been with his father, returned jittery and
bitter. No point in talking to him until he could think straight.
All he wanted was the comfort of Becky’s body, and for days, she
barely left the town-house’s great bed, as he expended his nervous
energy and slowly regained his poise.

Becky kept
putting off the conversation they must have, until one morning when
they lay half asleep in the aftermath of a particularly energetic
bout of morning bed sport.

Aldridge, who
was propped on one elbow idly tracing patterns on her belly with
one finger, commented, “You’ve put on a bit of round, my love.” He
circled his finger around her navel. “Eating well?”

“No more than
usual,” Becky said. “It isn’t that.”

He paid no
attention, tracing up her torso to cup one breast. “Here, too. I’m
not complaining. I like it.”

“It isn’t food,
Aldridge.”

He was occupied
teasing one nipple back to erect attention with his finger. “Looks
good enough to taste.”

“Aldridge, I
need you to listen.”

He looked up,
his laughing eyes meeting hers. “What is it, my darling Mrs
Darling? A problem? Tell me, and I’ll fix it.” Then he curled in to
touch her nipple with his tongue.

Becky twisted
out of his reach. They were going to discuss this now, before she
lost her nerve again. Aldridge was the most indulgent of
protectors, but she had no idea how he would react.

“Please,
Aldridge.”

He sat up then,
propping himself against some of the pillows that littered the bed.
His eyes were still dancing, but he composed the rest of his
face.

“Very well, my
dear. What is it? Have you run through your allowance? Do you want
to break our contract and run off with the Prince of Wales? Are you
about to confess to being a spy for Napoleon?”

“I am with
child.” There. It was said.

His eyes went
still and wide.

“With child,”
he repeated.

She nodded.

“How?”

“The usual
way,” she snapped back before she could catch the words on her
tongue. Yes, he always took precautions and so did she, but
everyone knew precautions didn’t always work. Why was it that a
wanted child was a credit to a man’s virility, and an unwanted one
the fault of its mother?

He quirked a
smile at her, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, yes, and quite
a few unusual ways, as I recall. But it gives us a problem, does it
not?”

‘Us.’ Thank
God. Becky thought she’d hidden her sigh of relief, but Aldridge
knew her too well.

“Did you think
I would cast you into the streets, Becky? Shame on you.”

Perhaps he
didn’t realise. “I won’t be able to fulfil all the second year of
our contract,” she said, shifting uneasily.

“You want to
end the contract?” He was trying for his bland look, the empty face
behind which he hid what he thought and felt, but she was not
fooled. His nostrils twitched as he suppressed a flare, his lips
thinned before he deliberately relaxed them, and he took a deep
breath to relax his jaw. Whatever he felt about her news, he felt
it deeply.

“You won’t want
me when I’m huge, Aldridge. With Sarah, I was as big as an
elephant, and so ugly.”

“Ugly? With
your belly rounded by my child?” Suddenly, his face flared into an
expression of yearning he quickly masked, but not before she’d seen
it. “My child,” he said again, and leaned forward to touch her
belly lightly, like fragile glass.

He met her
eyes. “You will be more beautiful to me than ever, Becky, and I’ll
have you know, there are ways we can enjoy one another, even if you
are as huge as an elephant.” Then, as if her belly were a magnet
drawing his attention, back they went to the rounded curve. “My
child,” he repeated.

After a while,
he spoke again. “My other children... I didn’t know Antonia even
existed until she was six, and... I’m part of her life now, of
course, but her parents don’t... The relationship will always be
uneasy, I think. And the other two—I found husbands for their
mothers within their own class, and I send them a present at
Christmas. Well, you know that. You’re the one who told me to make
it a present for the whole family, to save jealousy.”

“Aldridge.” She
tried to invest the word with all the comfort she could. He’d
spoken before of his children, but always with such cheerful
insouciance, she’d had no idea he felt their lack.

“And now
another one.” That was said in a tone of mournful acceptance. Then,
briskly, “Well, we’ll have to make sure he has a good start in
life, and his mother is free to give him all he needs. But Becky,
will you let me be his godfather, at least?”

“Of course,
Aldridge.” She laid her hand over his where it cupped her belly,
then teased him, to try to lighten the moment. “Or hers.”

He pulled her
to him, so she was nestled in his arms, her head under his chin.
“What do you want, my love? A new identity with a trust fund to
keep you in comfort? I know it isn’t to stay here with me; you told
me last year that you’d not renew the contract at the end of this
term.”

“Sarah will be
eleven when this contract term ends,” she reminded him. She
shouldn’t be apologetic, but he sounded so forlorn. “I can’t give
her a normal life as your mistress, or this new baby, either.”

“I know. I
know. I even agree with you, my love. I wish... I wish I were not
the next Haverford. Then I could marry you, and we could go on
being comfortable.”

“If I were your
wife, Aldridge, I would object to your lovers. And then you would
not be comfortable at all.”

He gave a bark
of laughter. “True. But I do love you, Becky, dear.”