Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 01] (27 page)

“More than you can ever know.”

Rece looked fondly over at his wife. “Oh, I think I have some idea.”

“O
h, dear Lord in heaven,” Lillian murmured. “I really need to lie down.”

“You’re already prone, darling.” Fanny clucked over her like a mother hen.

“Can I get you a vinaigrette?” Winner asked from over Fanny’s shoulder. His brows were knotted in a scowl.

“Or how about a brandy?” Dillon cried, pacing along the back of the sofa where she lay. “I know I could certainly use one.”

“What the hell is going on here?” Nick demanded.

Winner, Fanny and Dillon melted away.

Nick stood in the doorway, stealing the final breath from her throat. He looked resplendent in a navy coat with pearl buttons, white ruffles spilling out of his cuffs and an ivory neck cloth framed by a
high collar. He wore black breeches, and his black boots had been buffed to a bright gloss. The man had no right to look so magnificent when she looked like a carriage smashup.

“Lillian!” He strode to her side. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, rising up on one elbow and then swinging her legs over to sit. Adjusting her skirts, she assured him with false bravado, “I was just a bit tired.”

“Are you certain?” he insisted, concern marring his gorgeous face.

A mortified blush slunk up from her toes all the way to her hairline. “Absolutely.”

He cleared his throat. “You are positively certain that you’re feeling all right?”

“Yes,” she ground out. “I am not a powder puff, you know.”

“Of course you aren’t.”

Oh, this was bad, he was patronizing her now. She could not stand it. She dreaded the moment, yet she would have it now and be done with it. “Do you have something you want to tell me, Nick?”

“Do you two want to be alone?” Dillon asked.

Fanny swatted him on the arm, hissing.

“That is probably a good idea, Dillon,” Lillian agreed.

“Are you certain?” Fanny asked.

“If one more person asks me if I am certain, I am going to scream.”

Looking askance, Fanny turned to the men. “Let us give them a few moments alone.”

“I’m taking the brandy,” Dillon declared, grabbing the snifter and clutching it under his arm. “Unless you need it, Redford.”

“I’m fine.” Nick waved him away.

The door closed behind them with a resounding click of the mechanism.

“They’re probably listening at the keyhole,” Lillian muttered.

“Winner wouldn’t let them.”

“He’ll let Fanny do just about anything. He’s infatuated. Makes men injudicious.” And silly young women too.

He swallowed, sitting beside her and grasping her hand.

Blast, his palm was clammy, another sure sign. The fear that had been simmering inside her bubbled forth and she wanted to expire on the spot. But she was not a coward and wanted to make him say the words.

“Since Dr. Winner is here, I suppose that you’ve already figured out that I was not at a board meeting,” he began haltingly.

“The thought had crossed my mind,” she murmured, rubbing her free hand up and down on her gown, trying for something to hold on to in order to bear the onslaught.

“I know that it was not right to lie, but I just could not abide by telling you where I was going.”

She waited, her back so tense that she felt like she was bearing creeling stones. But she was not a Scottish bridegroom facing pre-wedding trials; she was a woman about to be cast off.

“I know I had no right, but I went to see your natural father.”

His face faded in and out of focus, and for a moment, she thought that he had said that he had seen her natural father.

“Lillian? Did you hear me?”

She shook off the daze. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I know your true father.”

“What in heaven’s name are you talking about?” To her dismay, her voice had risen to a shriek.

“Your natural father is Viscount Rece. He had no idea that you were his child.”

Lillian pressed her hand to her breast, trying to stop feeling like she was splintering into a thousand fragments.

Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he squeezed her close. “Breathe, Lillian. Take deep breaths.”

She swallowed a gulpful of air, and it sounded like a shuddering wheeze.

“Rece had not discarded your mother. Kane fouled their relationship. Just like everything else, he was poison to them. He turned them against each other. Probably so that he could snare your mother’s dowry. Your name is Lillian Rece. It is your true name.”

Anger, fear, elation, surprise, apprehension and exasperation shot through her in a cascade of discordant emotions. “You knew that Rece was my father?” She turned to him, aghast.

“I suspected—”

“And you did not tell me?” She stood, thankful that her knees were only slightly wobbly. “How could you not tell me?”

“I wanted to confirm it first. Not give you false hope—”

“Wouldn’t that be my decision?” she cried, so angry she quaked. She was furious, and she did not know where to place her anger. So she directed it at
the bothersome oaf who was at the center of her tribulation.

He rose, his face having shuttered into a mask of disquiet. “You’re upset—”

“You had better believe that I’m upset!”

“I’ll tell him to go. That you’re not ready—”

“You brought him here?” she shrieked.

“I’m sorry, Lillian, I thought that this was for the best. I guess I was mistaken.” He turned and walked out the door.

She stood trembling from head to toe, feeling confused and afraid. As if she was a ship that had lost its moorings. Slowly the knowledge sank into her consciousness and locked into place. Nick had uncovered her natural father’s identity. She now had a name other than Kane. And it was all due to Nick. He had done the one thing that she had been afraid to do for herself.

He had given her a gift. To him, an orphan who yearned for his true name, it was the most precious thing that he could possibly grant her. He had presented her with something completely selfless, wholly for her. The one thing that he believed could change her life for the better. The one truth that could turn all of her negative assumptions on their heads.

Her mother had not been discarded. They had not been abandoned. Lord Rece was a good and honorable man. She knew this from knowing his dear wife. He would not leave his child in the clutches of a monster like Kane. He must not have known how much her mother had loved him. He could not have known about his babe.

Love was not the poison that had destroyed her mother, Kane was. Kane’s greed, arrogance and narcissism.

Love was not an illness; it was a reward, granted to those favored by its touch. A magical thing that grew between two people, a living, beautiful entity in its own right. Undeniable as the air that she breathed, the sun in the morning and the compassion of Nicholas Redford, the man she loved beyond her wildest imaginings.

He had given her the greatest gift he could think of. And she had tossed it back in his face like yesterday’s trash.

“Wait!” she screamed, heading out into the hall. But he was already gone. “Nick!”

Unmindful of the servants passing by, she hastened toward the foyer. Gillman jumped aside to let her pass.

At her approach, Hicks coolly stepped forward and swept open the door, letting in the afternoon’s golden rays. Through the glow, she spied a familiar figure standing on the steps outside. Tall, raven-haired, well-built, make-no-bones-about-it gorgeous; yes, that was the love of her life.

Her heart swelled and she quickened her pace. “Nick!”

She rushed out the door. In her haste, the toe of her half boots snagged on the doorsill, hurling her forward. Her arms whirled for balance and the sky spun madly, until strong arms caught her about the waist, bracing her against a solid mass of man and muscle. She clutched him and held on for dear life. “My dark knight,” she breathed.

He hugged her close, and suddenly she felt like she had made it
home.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I’m a cuckoo of the first class!”

He slowly set her down, holding her gently just
on the tips of her toes. “I’m the one who’s sorry. It was presumptuous of me. I should not have—”

Pressing her fingers to his lips to stop his protestations, she shook her head. “You just gave me the most wonderful gift imaginable. I am so very grateful.”

“Really?” he asked, his broad brow knitted with insecurity.

A line from Shakespeare’s
Henry IV
suddenly popped into her head. “‘While I live, I will tell truth and shame the Devil.’” Kane was her devil and she would exorcise him from her life. There would be no lies, no questions left unanswered, and no unwarranted pride between herself and the people she loved.

Confusion clouded his beautiful, dark gaze.

“I was afraid you were going to leave me,” she explained. “I thought that was what you wished to discuss with me. Your big news about my parentage simply tossed me into a bumble broth. But now I’m rational. I appreciate your gift, Nick. Beyond estimation. Your wonderful generosity of spirit—”

“You thought I was leaving you?”

She bit her lip. “I feared it.”

“But you’re mine.” He said it with such certainty that her heart melted.

“And you are mine.” She grinned, knowing it down to her soul.

Lifting her into his arms, he kissed her so soundly that her head spun. She clung to him, showing him without words how much she cared.

He pulled back, his face grave. “I needed to find your father, Lillian. So that I could ask his permission for your hand in marriage. But I do not make the same mistake twice. So I ask
you,
Lillian Rece. Will you marry me?”

Her breath caught. Deep in those cocoa brown eyes she saw his vulnerability, his apprehension at being rejected. The orphan who had been abandoned by his family feared being forsaken still. His body was taut with tension, his dear face a mask of anxiety. The darling man had no idea how much she loved him.

She tenderly brushed a lock of black hair off his forehead, wanting to take away all of his pain, all of his fear. “I love you, Nicholas Redford. Your true name is etched on my heart, and I swear, I will never leave you even if you beg me to go.”

“But will you marry me?” he asked hoarsely. “Will you share my name with me?”

She exhaled a dramatic sigh. “I suppose it will take a man like you to make an honest woman out of me,” she teased.

The tightness in his handsome face lessened. “You’re serious?”

“I am.” She beamed up at him, loving him so much that she thought her heart would burst.

“I don’t want a farthing of your inheritance.”

“I know, which is why I want to share it with you. It is
my choice
to be with you and
my choice
to share my life, and everything I have, with you.” She tapped her finger on his broad chest. “I choose you.”

His lips curved up into a grin so wide that it filled half his face.

“Hurrah! Bravo! Congratulations!”

They turned and realized that Hicks, Dillon, Gillman, Fanny and Dr. Winner stood crowded in the threshold, gawking at them.

“Congratulations!” Dillon shouted. “Well done, Redford, you’ve made the catch of the century!”

“I’m the maid of honor,” Fanny declared. “And I
know who will be my escort.” She peered at Dr. Winner through fluttering eyelashes.

“A wedding!” Lady Rece exclaimed.

Lillian turned, and her breath caught. Lord and Lady Rece sat in the coach by the curb.

“I love weddings!” Lady Rece declared, beaming.

Lord Rece stepped out of the coach, moving hesitantly, as if afraid of his welcome.

Nick slowly released her, and Lillian drifted forward, as if in a daze. Here she stood, facing the man that she had never expected to know. She was more than a little terrified, she realized. But she could handle anything with Nick beside her.

Rece’s eyes roved her features, searching. Slowly, he nodded. “Lady Janus,” he murmured. “I believe that I owe you the world’s biggest apology.”

Her arms were around him and her nose in his coat before thought came to mind. He smelled pleasingly of Jockey Club Cologne. This was her father. Her own flesh and blood. He had not left her. He wanted to know her. She had a family that wanted her.

Gradually, he wrapped his arms around her and gently patted her hair. “I am so very glad to know you, Lillian.”

Tears blurred her vision as Fanny and Dillon came charging down the stairs. Hearty congratulations rang out. Exclamations of wonder. Cries of gladness. And many tears.

Gently, Nick pulled her away from the crowd of well-wishers. “You’re certain you wish to marry me?” he asked huskily, a trace of awe in his voice.

She beamed up at him, love flooding through her with a certainty that this was the only man in the world for her. “I love you so much, Nick, that I don’t know that I could bear not to.”

T
en months later, Lillian celebrated her four-and-twentieth year giving birth to an azure-eyed, raven-haired, howling little boy. The child’s grandparents were so overjoyed that they posted announcements in the newspapers and the proud grandfather emptied the tobacconist’s shelves. It seemed that not a man in London was without a cigar that afternoon.

The couple’s happiness, however, was marred by one trifling issue: They could not decide on a given name for the fledgling baron. Lillian chose Nicholas, for the man she admired most in the world. Nick, on the other hand, wanted the boy to have a name of his own, with a solid family history. He suggested Donald, for Lillian’s father.

Lord Rece demurred, saying that the honor of the firstborn should go to Lillian’s grandfather,
Sinclair. Dorothea whispered in Lillian’s ear that Donald was hoping that the second Redford might be named after him.

Still unable to agree on a moniker, the couple asked the child’s godparents. Dillon suggested his own name since he knew that he would never have children of his own. Fanny recommended William for hers and Lillian’s favorite bard. Her husband, the good doctor, proposed Lancelot, for Queen Charlotte’s pug.

After much discussion, the parents finally agreed on a name that was sturdy, noble and linked to the past: Sinclair Donald Redford, nickname, Dunn.

News of the baby’s healthy arrival was greeted with joy in all parts of London, from drawing rooms, to taprooms, to Newgate Prison itself. Even at Newgate, Warden John Newman toasted to the happy family with his most excellent libation—Cognac, aged twenty-five years.