Forbidden (19 page)

Francis turned again to look into the fire, but found no answers there, just disturbing questions. He turned back. "Aunt Arabella, I wish to speak with Serena alone."

Arabella looked down her nose, but after a moment, she harrumphed and turned to go. But she turned back to Serena. "I'll be in the garden, child. If he upsets you, call." With a final glare at Francis, but a glare weakened by concern, she stalked out of the room.

Francis studied the puzzling enigma who was turning his life upside down and inside out. He wished she were still in her bold russet dress and surrounded by her whore's perfume. He'd be surer of his way, then.

"If I got you with child," he said, "you can hardly hold me to blame."

She had been pale, but color invaded at that—awkward patches of it in her cheeks. "I don't."

"If," he said, watching her closely, "you had found yourself with child—by a servant, perhaps, or a married man—you might well have sought to make a better prospect think it his."

She looked up sharply. "No!" But then her eyes became unfocused as she thought. "I suppose a more clever woman than I might indeed have done such a thing." She looked back at him, frowning. "But surely, my lord, I would have had to be mad to wander the country roads in November on the off chance that a suitable man might come by."

Francis had no response to that.

"And," she added firmly, "if you'll remember, I was very reluctant to join you in your carriage, and it was you, not I, who told the Posts that we were married."

"But it was you who proposed a sexual liaison," he countered, "and you who pursued it even when I refused."

She nodded. "I admit it, but I cannot see that you can think it a premeditated plot."

Nor could Francis, but he was still feeling trapped.

On the other hand, if she really was carrying his child, it went against all his instincts to let it be born a bastard.

He walked over to Arabella's big leather-bound bible. "Come here."

Serena came to stand nearby, pale, anxious, and looking so damned young.

"Put your hand on the bible," he said, "and swear that you are with child."

She did, her hand small and pale against the dark leather. When she would have moved, he trapped her hand there. "And swear that it is mine."

She looked up into his eyes and said firmly, "The child in my body is yours, my lord. I swear it on the Holy Book."

Her hand was so cold beneath his.

So be it. Francis faced the tangled future bleakly, but was aware of a distant hint of delight. "Then we will marry tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" echoed Serena faintly.

"There is no time to lose," he said dryly. "If I leave immediately, I can acquire the license from the bishop today and return tomorrow."

She swallowed. "You will need my real name."

"I know your real name, Lady Riverton. I trust you will be ready."

He realized he still had her hand trapped on the bible, and let her go.

She was pale as a sheet, but she answered firmly. "Yes, my lord, I will be ready."

* * *

As soon as he left, Serena sought out Arabella. "Why didn't you
tell
him? I thought you had told him."

Arabella sniffed. "It hardly seemed a thing to put in a letter. Anyway, I have little faith in men. He might have made himself scarce. He's hardly rushed over here."

"He didn't know there was reason."

"I assure you, I made the matter sound urgent enough. So, is he going to do the right thing?"

"Oh, yes." Serena paced the small garden. "But I wish you'd told him, Arabella." She turned suddenly. "Am
I
doing the right thing?"

"'Course you are. You're going to bear his child, and the child deserves to be legitimate. If Francis has any problem with it, he should have thought of it before he took advantage of you."

Serena froze. She should tell Arabella the truth, but she couldn't. She couldn't. Except in moments like this, she managed not to admit the truth even to herself. She hadn't really done that to a stranger. She hadn't really caused him to make her pregnant, so now he was going to marry her, even though he didn't want to....

She could see the attraction of throwing herself in the nearest river, and might have done so if it hadn't been for the precious life within her.

Suddenly, she was in Arabella's arms, though the older woman was far too brusque to be good at hugging. "There, there," Arabella muttered as she tapped Serena's back. "It'll all work out. Do you think I would marry you to my favorite nephew if I didn't think you'd be a good wife?"

Serena struggled with her tears. "I'm terrified."

"No need of that," said Arabella. "Wherever you go, gel, I'm going with you."

* * *

On the drive, then hanging about the bishop's palace, waiting for paperwork to be completed, Francis had plenty of time to think. Not that thinking did him any good.

The cold logical part of him said that this all could be a clever trick by a scheming wanton, but his heart told him Serena had sworn the truth on the bible. No matter what she was, she was carrying his child.

Among the many reasons for his decision to be celibate had been an abhorrence of creating children promiscuously. It was impossible that he turn his back now on his own child, impossible that he not give it his name.

But he was fully aware of the ramifications. His mother was going to be appalled. Anne and her parents were going to be shocked and hurt. There was going to be a lot of gossip, particularly when the child was born and people counted back. It was possible Serena would not be well accepted. She was, after all, Matthew Riverton's widow, as well as a late-wed bride.

He wasn't even sure what kind of wife she would make and whether he would ever feel easy about trusting her. He remembered all too well that she wasn't in favor of faithfulness and had demonstrated her wantonness to him.

The only blessing in his thoughts was that the Rogues would accept her; it was part of the code. And if she showed any faults, Beth Arden would do her best to correct them.

He was aware of a strong desire to take Serena to meet Nicholas, and see what his friend thought of her. Well, why not? He'd planned a visit.

A clerk came out with the license and took the money.

Francis left with one positive thought in his head.

Thank God for the Rogues.

He was going to need them.

Chapter 9

Serena tossed and turned the night away, seeking some course other than the one before her. She was nothing but a burden to Lord Middlethorpe, one foisted upon him by her own wicked behavior.

And what of his family? she wondered with a shudder. Arabella had told her of his widowed mother, a very high stickler with an elevated notion of the importance of the Haile family. There were also three sisters, all married now. The sisters sounded pleasant enough, but they were bound to wonder at the irregularity of this marriage.

She rolled over and buried her head in her arms. She had no choice. For her child's sake, she had no choice.

Through bouts of fractured and uneasy sleep, Serena made it to the first pale light of dawn, then rose to walk around the misty lanes, trying to wear out her nervous energy. When she returned to the cottage, she found Arabella in an agitated state.

"I didn't know what to think!" the older woman exclaimed. "I thought perhaps you'd run off!"

"Now, why would I do that?" asked Serena dully, and sat to face the eggs prepared for her. She hadn't been sick as so many women were, but she had little appetite.

For once, Arabella didn't nag her, and Serena managed with a little toast and tea. "When do you think he'll be here?"

"By noon, I should think. As you are of age and have lived here for the required number of weeks, there should be no problem acquiring the license."

Serena mangled her toast. "I wish there were some other way."

"Well, there ain't," Arabella said trenchantly. "And though I gave Francis the edge of my tongue, you deserve a cut of it, too. Unless you want to claim he raped you, which I would never believe, then you are as much to blame as he. If you find the situation not quite to your liking, you have no reason to complain."

Serena felt her face flame. Why did it occur to no one that the man might be the victim? "I had better dress, then," she said, and escaped.

She had only the one fine dress, the russet wool in which she had fled her brother's house so long ago. It was stained around the hem from its adventures but still showed its quality. It also had the shaped, low-bodiced design her husband had chosen for her. As she picked it up she smelled the trace of perfume that lingered, despite airing. Surely it was faint enough now to be innocuous, and she wanted to look her best for him today.

He'd called it a whore's perfume, but he'd confessed to the effect it had. She wanted that effect. What else had she to offer?

She put on all her old clothes—silk underclothing, fine wool on top—but then added a plain cambric chemisette to make the bodice decent. In the flyblown mirror in her room she considered herself, seeing the old Serena for the first time in months.

And yet, it wasn't the old Serena. Something had changed other than the new life within her. Nor was it the girl she had been when she had been taken away from Miss Mallory's. That Serena had been excited at the prospect of marriage, but a little sad at leaving behind her friends and her opportunity to play the lead in the upcoming theatricals.

A child.

A poor, betrayed child.

The Serena looking back from the mirror now was a new creature. Would this Serena fare better than her previous incarnations? She was older and wiser—older and wiser enough to be terrified.

Serena put her hands over the slight swell of her womb. She must do this for her child. And at least now she had Arabella as friend and companion.

Arabella could not hover over the marriage bed, though.

With trembling hands, Serena brushed out her long hair and gathered it up in a looser style than she had favored recently, letting some curls escape around her face. She remembered the newly hired maid who had arranged her hair so skillfully before her first wedding; the maid who had turned out to be as much a guard as an attendant.

She remembered the delicious white silk gown provided for her to wear
 
sheer and almost transparent except for the many layers, and decorated with finest embroidery. When she'd put it on, she'd felt like a fairy-princess and danced around her room for joy. Matthew had ripped it off her that night, a symbol of her innocence now his to do with as he wished.

She covered her face with her hands as memories of the horror that had been her first wedding night swooped down on her. She had survived her years of marriage by tearing apart mind and body, but here in Summer St. Martin she had begun to put herself together again.

She was stronger now and more resolute. But she was also more vulnerable to pain.

There was
no
similarity between Matthew and Lord Middlethorpe. She had to believe that.

They were both men, her doubts taunted.

Serena leapt to her feet and hurried downstairs, hoping the doubt-devils would not pursue her. She would go out and walk. She reached for the red wool cloak, then changed her mind and put on her sable-lined one.

She walked briskly about the village, and as she went people waved and exchanged greetings. Her heart eased. She had made a place for herself here, a normal place. Certainly, her beauty had singled her out, but because she had behaved as if unaware of it, it had not been a disaster. She knew that even the young men vying for her favors were just playing a game. None, thank heavens, had lost his heart to her.

She had proved to herself that she could live a normal life. She would do so in future. With God's help, she would prove to Lord Middlethorpe that she could be an excellent wife. She set off back to the cottage, much lighter in her heart.

At the sound of a carriage, she stepped to the side of the lane, but then realized and turned.