A Baron for Becky (17 page)

Chapter Twelve

Once Overton had
agreed, Aldridge was keen to get back to London, but had to wait
for his friend to fire the governess and arrange his absence.
Overton fetched his old nurse from the cottage he had given her for
her old age, put her in charge of the girls, and told them they
could have a holiday till he returned.

Finally, they
were ready, or Aldridge was. The luggage coach had left at first
light, but Overton insisted on waiting till his daughters were
awake.

Aldridge stood
with the horses, watching Overton say farewell.

“I will bring a
new governess with me,” Overton said.

Little Emmaline
reached for her sister’s hand, and Sophriana said, “But not a
pinchy-pokey governess, Papa? A nice governess?” Overton dropped to
his knees and took both girls into his arms. “A kind, gentle
governess,” he promised, and the look he shared with Aldridge made
it a knight’s vow. “And perhaps another playmate, my dears. Would
you like that?”

The girls
agreed, cautiously, that they would. Prompted, they curtseyed
polite farewells to Aldridge, kissed Overton, and waved. They were
still standing on the steps, waving, when the two riders paused at
the top of the hill and looked back.

They loved
their stepfather, and he loved them. If Becky would agree to the
marriage; if Overton didn’t stuff it up with his starched notions;
Aldridge’s child would be safe, secure, and loved.

During the ride
to London, they honed their strategy. They’d use the separation
between the Winstanley and Darling identities, and Aldridge would
marshal his army of female relatives and friends to the support of
the new Baroness Overton.

Overton pointed
out that many people knew, or at least suspected, that Becky
Winstanley and Rose Darling were the same woman. “We need her to be
seen in two places at once,” he said.

“Or two of her
in the same place,” Aldridge agreed. “Pity Sarah isn’t a little
older. She is going to look just like her mother in a few
years.”

“The Astley
rider.” Overton seemed to think that meant something.

“What has an
Astley rider to do with anything?”

But when
Overton explained he’d seen a mirror image of Becky at Astley’s,
Aldridge could see the advantage. If they could find her, Overton’s
fiancée, Mrs Winstanley, and Aldridge’s mistress, Mrs Darling,
could meet face-to-face in front of the largest grouping of high
society the plotters could find.

By the time
they reached London, they had gone over their plans a dozen times.
All they needed now was Becky’s agreement.

“No.” Becky
didn’t even pause to think. Baron Overton? “Have you run mad,
Aldridge? No, I will not marry Lord Overton.”

“Hear me out,
Becky,” Aldridge pleaded. At least he’d had the grace to see her
alone, leaving the baron in the parlour to entertain himself.

“What could you
possibly say, Aldridge? Overton is a drunkard and a womaniser. He
would be a worse husband than you!”

“Not usually,
Becky. He has a bit of a blowout when he comes down to London, but
I’m probably to blame for that.”

“Huh!” she
said. “So he is weak-willed, too. Anyway, he despises me. It would
never work, Aldridge.”

Aldridge, his
half-smile more exasperated than amused, rubbed one hand over his
head, ruining his valet’s careless tousling.

“I swear, I’ve
already had this conversation! The two of you are perfect for one
another. Yes, Becky, he judged and condemned you without a hearing,
just as you have done him. But he was big enough to admit he might
be wrong and agree to at least get to know you.”

Infuriating
man! How could he put her in such a position?

“You persuaded
him, you mean. And what does ‘get to know you’ mean?”

“Conversations.
Walks in the park. Visits to a museum, if you like. He will treat
you with respect, Becky, I promise. He is deciding whether to court
you.”

“Hah! I saw the
way he looked at me. He called me a whore, Aldridge! How can you
make promises on his behalf?” She paced the room, her skirts
swinging with each stride. The man was a dunderhead. Could he not
see?

“I have his
promise, Becky, and he is a man of his word.” Aldridge added fuel
to her anger by staying calm.

“I cannot risk
Sarah. I cannot.” Her deepest fear and her trump card.

“Hugh has two
daughters who need a mother, Becky. The older is Sarah’s age. You
lose nothing, risk nothing, if you give the man a hearing. Is it
not worth the chance to give all three girls a complete
family?”

She argued some
more, but he had a counter for every point. In the end, she said:
“Very well. I will talk to him. But do not expect me to change my
mind.”

Aldridge went
off to the study she kept for him, to wade into the ducal post that
followed him everywhere, leaving Becky to see Lord Overton on her
own. He was sober and on his best behaviour.

“Black, oolong,
or green tea, my lord?” she asked.

“Oolong,
please. No milk, thank you.”

She poured his
cup and presented it to him, returning the sugar basin to the tray
when he refused. She poured the same for herself—oolong with no
milk or sugar.

“You prefer the
oolong?” he asked.

Did he think
she drank it just to imitate him? “I do, my lord.”

“Your
daughter... I trust Miss Winstanley is in good health?”

“Yes, thank
you.”

“She appeared
happy with her doll.”

“She was, my
lord.”

“I bought dolls
for my girls.” Overton was twisting his tea bowl round and round in
the palms of his large hands. Capable hands, they looked.
Well-manicured and clean, but a little worn, with calluses and
healing abrasions from recent physical work. “They were happy too.
With the dolls, I mean.”

“I am sure they
liked them. Would you care for cake, my lord?”

“No, thank you.
This is very good tea.”

Becky nodded.
Only the best for Aldridge and, by extension, any household he
supported.

Overton cast
about for something else to say. “May I say, your dress is very
charming?”

It was a
morning gown in her signature powder blue; one of the Winstanley
gowns, thank goodness. She would not have been able to face this
interview in a Rose of Frampton gown. High-necked and long-sleeved,
it armoured her against unwanted attention, and the high waist
disguised her swelling belly.

“Thank you.”
She should make a bit more of an effort. “My
modiste
tells
me these slight puffs are all the rage in Paris,” she offered.

“Ah. Very
nice.” Overton lapsed into silence again, exploring the room with
his eyes, as if another conversational topic might be hiding in a
corner or on top of the bookshelf.

“I see you are
reading about roses?” he managed. He must have excellent eyesight.
The catalogue she’d been exploring was across the room.

“A dream of
mine, my lord. I have no garden here in London, but I would dearly
love to grow roses.” As she warmed to the topic, she forgot her
self-consciousness in her enthusiasm, explaining the difference
between the English roses and new double Scotch roses just now
appearing on the market. He did his polite best to keep up, poor
man, until she took pity.

“My lord, I am
sure you have no more interest than I in the latest Paris fashions,
and very likely, less interest in the best plant food for roses.
Shall we discuss this ridiculous scheme my Lord Aldridge has cooked
up?”

That got his
attention. While she talked of planting roses with a nail and a
bone in the hole, he had been staring into his cup, but he jerked
his head up, his eyes wide. “Are you so set against it, then?”

“Gloves off, my
lord?” She returned his nod with a brisk one of her own. “Very
well. I will not marry where I am despised. And I cannot imagine
what Lord Aldridge has said or done to convince you to consider it.
You think me a whore, and you are right. I have sold my body since
I was ten-and-five. I spent three years in a brothel, and have been
passed from protector to protector ever since.

“And I tell you
this, my lord. You look down on me, but the women of Society?” She
gripped her gown in white-knuckled fists, the better to keep her
hands from sweeping the tea service off the table in a satisfying
crash. “The ‘ladies’ you and Aldridge lie with? Who will abandon
all that is moral and right—risk their reputations, their families,
and their health for a bit of frivolity? For a GAME?” The word
echoed in the room as she took a deep breath, trying to still her
shaking.

When she could
trust her voice again, she said, “They have a choice. You and
Aldridge have a choice. I was given none. I have done what I must
to survive.” She glared at Overton, trembling with grief and
anger.

“I...” Overton
hunched one shoulder slightly as if to shelter from her words. “I
cannot argue, Mrs Winstanley. You have seen me at my worst, and you
are right. I have no right to condemn you for behaviour I have been
willing to exploit, and I have no idea what drove you to this way
of life.

“Aldridge would
not tell me about your past. He said that was up to you. But he is
a powerful advocate for you. He believes you would be a good wife
for me and a good mother for my stepchildren.”

Becky, despite
her misgivings, had to admit Overton was a powerfully appealing
advocate for his own case. He seemed sincere. And she had found him
attractive from that first night, the scarred side of his face just
adding to the charm of the other. “I do not understand why you
would even consider it, my lord. The baby I am carrying might be a
son. Have you thought of that? He would disinherit any sons of your
own who came after. Unless you repudiated him.”

“Did Aldridge
not tell you?” Overton shifted in his seat and picked at his cuff.
“I cannot sire a child. Your baby, if he is a boy, will be the next
Overton. If not, the title becomes extinct. I have no relatives,
you see.”

She took a turn
around the room. This would be much easier if he had remained the
disdainful, half-drunk, leering buffoon of a few weeks ago. Sober
and respectful, he was temptation personified. But it would never
work. “I would expect fidelity, my lord. And sobriety.”

“So would I,”
he responded.

Fair enough.
Most of the barques of frailty she knew lightened the gloom of
their lives with drink or opium. Or laudanum, which combined the
two. She had started down that track in the brothel; had nearly
died of an overdose. She still shuddered at the memories of the
withdrawal, and the cravings she fought afterward. “I do not drink,
my lord, and keep my promises. If ever I marry, I will be true to
my vows.” She could not resist emphasising the final ‘I’.

“So will I,”
said the baron.

Becky sank back
into her chair again. “I must do what is right for my
daughter.”

“If you marry
me, she will also be my daughter.”

“Aldridge says
you have a stepdaughter the same age as my Sarah. Ten years.”

That was one of
the ways Aldridge had persuaded her to at least consider Overton’s
offer: that he was a good father to his two stepdaughters.

“My Sophie is
nearly eleven, and Emma is eight. They would welcome another
sister.”

If only it
could be! Sarah, with sisters and a father, and a safe future as
the acknowledged daughter of a baron. But Sarah would not be safe,
would she? “You tempt me. But no, my lord. The answer must be
no.”

“Is it because
I am scarred?” he asked.

“No!”
Indignant, she slammed the palm of her hand on the table between
them and leapt to her feet. “I am not that shallow!”

“My wife could
not bear to look at me. The face is bad enough, but it continues
down almost to the knee.”

His
matter-of-fact tone tore at her heart and dragged the truth from
her. “It is not your scars, my lord, but mine.” The rasp in her
voice came from a painfully stiff throat, but she forced the words
out.

“I have lived a
life you cannot imagine and my soul is sick from it. I am afraid,
Lord Overton; afraid I will come to love you and your daughters and
then you will cast me out.”

She paced the
room like a caged animal, faster and faster, as if she could escape
her past, were she only swift enough. But there was no escape, and
it was cruel to tempt her so. She flung the words at him. “When my
history becomes known, and surely it will, and Society takes up
against me, you will cast me out, if only to protect your
daughters.”

He caught her
then, stopped her in her stride with a hand on each shoulder. His
dark eyes sought the raw wounds he and Aldridge were making of her
scars. “I’ve set a plan with Aldridge to establish you safely, and
I promise you this. Whatever comes, I will stand by you and your
children. If you and I agree to wed, I will never abandon you.”