Chapter 10 #3
She smiled, giving him a sidelong look, and took his arm.
Cliff fought not to pull away and she led him into a small salon with green fabric walls, gilded furniture and green-and-gold upholstery.
The upholstery was very worn and faded, increasing his belief that the Belfords were in some financial straits.
She released him to close the door. Then she leaned on it, smiling at him.
“Then you must come for supper another time, before Belford returns,” she murmured.
Cliff stepped back, hesitating. There was no easy way to break such news. “Why don’t you sit down, Lady Belford. I have news I wish to impart.”
She smiled, taking the chair he offered her. “Good news, I hope?” Her brown lashes fluttered again.
“I believe so,” he said, but even as he spoke, he had very little doubt that she would not be pleased. “I have brought your daughter to London, madam.”
She smiled still, clearly not comprehending him. “What?”
“Your maiden name is Straithferne, is it not?”
Her smile faded and she paled. “What is this?”
“Your daughter, Amanda Carre, is currently my guest here in London, at Harmon House,” he said, watching her closely for her reaction.
Her eyes bulged with shock. She just sat there, staring at him, stunned.
In a way, he did feel sorry for her. He glanced around, found the sideboard with the decanters and poured her a sherry. He handed it to her.
She shook her head, setting the glass down. “I beg your pardon. My daughter is upstairs, with my son, and her name is Margaret. She is thirteen years old.”
He felt all sympathy vanish. A cold, hard feeling filled him, similar to that he so often experienced when facing an adversary he did not care for.
This woman, however, he had a use for. This woman owed her daughter a proper life.
“Lady Belford, let us cease all pretense. It will take a runner no more than a day or two to determine if your maiden name is Straithferne, but I will not even bother, as your daughter resembles you very closely. I am sure you do not know, but Rodney Carre was hanged in June. I have brought Amanda to London so she might be reunited with you, her only living family.”
Lady Belford cried out, sagging against the chair. And when she looked up at him, he saw tears filling her green eyes, which were nowhere as exotic or vivid as her daughter’s. “You are right,” she gasped. “My maiden name is Straithferne.” She stood, trembling.
Cliff leaped forward, helping her to stand upright. She leaned against him, shaking, instantly clinging to his shoulders. The moment she did so, he knew she was hoping to soften him with her feminine ways. “You must sit down,” he said grimly, attempting to disengage.
But she clung, avoiding his eyes so he could not look into her face too closely. “Oh, God. I am in shock…I cannot believe it…She is here, in London?”
“Very much so. I comprehend your shock. But madam, your long-lost daughter has returned and she is eager to be reunited with you.” He set her firmly apart.
Finally she looked up at him. “You must not speak so openly or I will be ruined.”
Their gazes met. Hers remained moist, but he saw a hard light there now. “And your daughter?” he asked, despising her intensely.
She produced a kerchief from her bodice and used it on her eyes. “You must not speak in such a manner,” she said. “Why did you bring her here?”
“So she might reside with you, her only living family!” he exclaimed. “It was that or send her to the Sisters of St. Anne’s on the island!”
She stared. “What is she like?” she finally, carefully, asked.
He didn’t hesitate. “She is beyond beautiful, with green eyes very much like yours. Her hair is the color of the rising moon and her figure is perfection. She is very clever—she is learning to read and doing well, I might add,” he said.
Dulcea’s eyes widened even further. “And she is brave. I have never met such courage, not even in a man. She risked her life aboard my ship to save a young lad, and she can wield a saber almost as well as I can.”
Dulcea cried out.
“What did you expect,” he asked coldly, furiously. “You have allowed your daughter to be raised by a pirate, madam, depriving her of a life of gentility, of this!” His arm swept the room.
Dulcea covered her face with her hands, weeping. “How can you blame me?”
Cliff recognized that Dulcea wished to manipulate him, but he was not exactly sure what else she intended now. “Your tears do not move me, madam. However, your daughter’s plight moves me very much. What will you do now? She is at Harmon House, expecting a warm reunion.”
Her eyes lifted to his and turned to ice. “Surely, surely, you do not expect me to take such a child in!”
“Your daughter needs a home,” he said harshly, his worst fears coming true.
“She needs a mother. She needs you. I thought it prudent to meet with you first and advise you that she is here, and I can see that I am right. The ton is filled with bastards, Lady Belford. We both know many couples who are raising their illegitimate offspring alongside their heirs. I have brought my own two children here and I shall take them into society with pleasure, not fear.”
She shook her head in negation, seizing his arms. “You are not a married woman with two legitimate children! Belford will never understand and he will never forgive me, even if my faux pas occurred before we ever met!”
“Au contraire. You lead him about by the nose—and else-where—and I feel certain you can convince him of anything you wish.”
“Why are you doing this? Why did you determine to bring her here?”
“Why am I behaving like a gentleman?” he asked sarcastically. “Your daughter is an orphan and she is no child. She is seventeen, a woman ready for marriage! Surely you wish to have a hand in her future.”
“You are no gentleman!” she said, her pale face so taut it could have been cast from plaster. “Can you not see how distressing this is for me?”
“Your distress it is nothing compared to what your daughter has suffered in her short life.” He lost all patience now.
She had become still, staring. Finally she said, “You are acting as if you despise me.” Her eyes were hard and riveted to his. “But you, of all men, should understand how something like this could happen. You, my lord de Warenne, understand passion as well as anyone.”
“We have nothing in common, Lady Belford, except for your daughter!” He laughed coldly. “And I know exactly how you conceived Amanda. You were very young, you were swept off your feet by a dashing naval officer, perhaps while on holiday, and now there is so much regret.”
She stiffened. “You are correct. I was very young—I was Amanda’s age—and I was swept off my feet and taken advantage of! Carre was a very dashing young naval officer when we met,” she said harshly.
Cliff stepped closer and leaned down, their faces almost touching. “You did not raise her, did you, until she was four? Amanda wasn’t torn out of your arms by her thieving father, was she?”
Her eyes widened. “Is that what Carre told her?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head. “I was sent to a convent to have her, as all unwed young ladies are. My parents intended to give her up to an adoptive family, but one of the sisters there notified Carre and he came and took her some time after she was born. I do not know precisely when.” Dulcea took a breath, and touched his arm.
“Cliff, even you know that is the way of the world. I could not ruin my future before it even began.”
“Did you ever care about your child?” he demanded.
“Of course I did! But I knew her father was caring for her. There was no other choice.”
He leaned over her. “There were many other choices, if you had a mother’s heart. Tell me. You will not even tell Belford that she is your cousin, will you? You do not wish the inconvenience—or is it a matter of finances? Do not tell me it is Belford you fear. You control him and we both know it.”
Her face became hard, almost ugly. “I made a mistake many years ago,” she said slowly.
“But you would not understand, as you’re a de Warenne, born with a silver spoon to dine with and too many estates to count!
I made a mistake, but Belford came along and I have a proper life now.
Come, de Warenne. Surely you do not expect me to take my long-lost daughter in and suffer the vicious gossip, the attacks on my character, the loss of my reputation?
” She paused for breath. “You have pushed me to the wall and I must admit it, our finances are strained. We cannot afford to launch a young woman into society right now. We are living on credit. It will be difficult enough to launch my own daughter when she is of age.”
“Then maybe you are taking the wrong lovers,” he said softly.
She slapped him.
He deserved it, he decided, but Amanda did not deserve such a mother. She would be miserable in this home. “You have no heart, madam,” he said, preparing to leave. “Not only do you refuse to take her in, you offer no solution to her dilemma.”
She seized his sleeve. “What will you do?”
“I will not tell the ton the truth, if that is what you are thinking.” But what would he tell Amanda?
“Can she not stay at Harmon House? Surely there is room. Perhaps you can employ her, so she might earn her meals and the roof over her head.”
He began to shake with rage and knew he must leave before he placed his hands around her pretty little throat and began choking her. “Amanda will become a lady,” he managed. “It is her due, her right!”
He saw some of her tension ease. “I am not heartless, Cliff,” she finally said. “If you intend to present her, then you mean to find her a husband. But she has no dowry,” she said carefully.
He had never been more revolted. “Madam, do not concern yourself with Amanda’s prospects. It is the height of hypocrisy. Good day.” Incapable of bowing, he strode for the door. He had to leave her presence before he gave in to his rage.
But at the door, he whirled. She stood, as still as a statue in the center of the room. “You have relinquished all maternal rights this night, as far as I am concerned.”
She stiffened.
He held up his hand, which was shaking. “I would not send her here, to such an uncaring, unkind person, under any circumstance. Understand this. She has been in my protection since she left Jamaica Island, and she will remain in my protection until she is wed. Good night.”
And not giving her a chance to respond, he stormed from the house.