Chapter 4
4
Half an hour later, Constantine reined Icarus to a stop before the vicarage of Shepherdsbrook. The modest brick house sat in the shadow of All Saints Church, a single candle flickering in one of its windows. Eccess, who had insisted on accompanying him, stopped his steed before him.
“Think this through, Constantine. Be reasonable.”
But Constantine shrugged him off. He was reasonable. He was right, as always. And he was not going to allow anyone to take his position from him. Fear and fury battled inside him like two wolves, and the cage he struggled to keep them in was weakening. He knew he had to neutralize the threat, and not even one of his closest friends could be allowed to stand in his way.
“Remain outside if you wish,” he said, pushing all emotions down to keep his composure even.
Constantine dismounted and marched towards the poor door, which hung loosely on its hinges. By the sound of heavy footsteps, he knew Octavius followed him. He knocked, the sound resounding in the dark evening air, while Eccess stopped by his right shoulder.
Without looking at his friend, Constantine said, “If you choose to stay, I do not wish to hear another word about reason. I am perfectly reasonable.”
“Of course you are,” said Octavius quietly. “Banging on the door of a young woman at night in order to yell at her is the epitome of reason.”
Feet shuffled behind the door. Then it swung open, and in the semidarkness of a narrow hallway stood Miss Fairchild. Her dark jade eyes were wide open under her long, curved eyelashes.
He shouldn’t be noting the particulars of her eyelashes.
She blinked in surprise. “Your Grace? And Your Grace…” she said as her gaze drifted to Eccess.
“Miss Fairchild.” Constantine gave her a short bow. Octavius did the same.
She hesitated, then gave a small curtsy.
She was dressed in a simple dark green woolen dress and a white apron. Her hair was tied in a tight chignon behind her head, with a few natural curls around her face. He should not be looking at her hair or her face or her dress.
She seemed so innocent, so pure… Could the daughter of a vicar really be a blackmailer? A strange pang in his chest didn’t help his confidence.
The same pang pulled at his heart and grew into worry for her. Words escaped his mouth before he could listen to the voice of reason. “Why are you opening the door at this hour by yourself?”
His voice sounded harsher than he’d intended—cold. She frowned. “Forgive me, but we do not have a butler like the wealthy lords of Mayfair do.”
He cleared his throat. The jab was fair, and he looked at Eccess, who made a face at him. She’s right and you know it was written clearly in his friend’s expression.
He should not care for the well-being of a woman who might be his blackmailer. “Is your father not at home?”
“No. He’s with a parishioner for her last rites.”
“Right. Even better. Allow me to get straight to the issue. I will not be blackmailed, Miss Fairchild.”
She seemed speechless for several moments, looking between him and Eccess. “You cannot be in earnest.”
Eccess leaned a little closer. “Forgive the interruption, but would it not be better to talk of such sensitive matters inside? If that’s not inconvenient.”
A baby’s cry sounded from deep within the house, and Miss Fairchild glanced over her shoulder into the dark hallway.
“You have some nerve.” She threw a glare at him. “Coming to my house, accusing me yet again of blackmail…and now demanding to be invited inside?”
“Just to clarify”—Octavius pressed his large hand against his barrel chest—“ I am not accusing you of anything.”
The babe was wailing louder. “Miss Fairchild!” cried a female voice. “Fetch us some cloth for the little’un’s nappies, would ya?”
Miss Fairchild’s mouth twisted with the anger she was clearly trying to contain. “Very well. Come in.”
She turned and walked a few steps, opened a drawer, and picked out a fresh muslin cloth.
“Do try to think with a cool head, Pryde,” murmured Eccess. “You don’t have proof she’s the blackmailer.”
Constantine’s lip twitched. “I don’t have proof she’s not.”
He followed her slender figure down the hallway.
“I know what I’m doing,” he said in a low voice as they passed between white plastered walls decorated with small devotional paintings. “Even if she didn’t send the letter today, she knew Ophelia. And, most importantly, she has Augustus.”
Miss Fairchild led them into a modest sitting room that doubled as a dining room—a space no larger than Constantine’s dressing chamber at Pryde Manor. A carved crucifix hung above the mantel, and religious engravings dotted the walls between shelves lined with books. A well-worn sofa and two armchairs flanked a wooden cradle, where Augustus lay, waving his tiny arms and legs as he wailed. A woman dressed even more modestly than Miss Fairchild was leaning over his cot, cooing at him.
Miss Fairchild handed the woman the cloth and she swiftly changed the baby, then swaddled him tightly. Miss Fairchild picked him up, rocking and shushing. In the candlelight, her gaze was a muted dark green, flickering with fury at him. An attractive blush spread over her cheeks.
“This is Mrs. Walcott,” Miss Fairchild said. “Augustus’s wet nurse. Anything you have to say, sir, you may say in front of her. I have nothing to hide.”
The nurse curtsied.
His gaze dropped to the small bundle wrapped in muslin, to the bald head under a lace cap, the tiny ears. His stomach knotted.
He was Pryde’s father’s true heir.
Helpless rage clawed at him. Ever since he’d learned the truth at age ten, he’d spent his life trying to replace his tainted blood with perfect behavior—as if being the most honorable duke in England could somehow make up for being no duke at all.
But this baby didn’t need to do any of that. He had the right to everything Pryde possessed simply because he existed.
Augustus was still a member of his family, though. And he needed to be raised as such. So as much as Constantine had denied him twice—once when Ophelia had come to him for help, and again three days ago—he had to accept the baby now. That way, whether Miss Fairchild was the blackmailer or not, no one else could use the boy against him by becoming his guardian.
“Is there a parish register with the record of the babe’s birth?” he asked.
“Certainly,” said Miss Fairchild. “Augustus was born in this house, and my father did everything right.”
“How is he registered?”
“Papa and I were forced to christen him under the name of Lester before we ascertained your whereabouts. Mrs. Ophelia Lester is his mother. He was named Augustus Lester, the son of Mr. John Lester, Ophelia’s deceased husband. But before she died, she said he’s yours.”
He couldn’t imagine what twist of the dying woman’s words could have made Miss Fairchild believe Augustus was his. But whatever the misunderstanding was, she had wanted him to take the child in. And he—as it turned out—wanted the same.
His head must have cleared. The fear had somehow subsided…perhaps from seeing Miss Fairchild again. So he realized his mistake.
Had she been the blackmailer, she’d have wanted to keep Augustus with her. Because whoever controlled the baby controlled the title and the estate.
His jaw tightened. He may have been wrong about her intentions. Her letter had been written more ominously than it should have been, but perhaps his own fear had made him jump to conclusions. And she had signed it as A friend , while today’s letter was signed Anonymous .
The thought of her not being so evil as to use a baby to blackmail him was an almost physical relief.
But how could Constantine make sure she knew nothing of his true parentage without revealing too much?
“How were you acquainted with Ophelia?” he asked.
“She stayed with us for two months. We became trusted friends.”
How trusted?
“Did she tell you anything…about her father?”
“Not much. Why do you ask?”
“And about an important letter her mother possessed?” he continued, ignoring her question.
Miss Fairchild shook her head, frowning. “Not that I recall. What letter?”
He couldn’t say much more. Either she was a master of deceit or she truly knew nothing. Continued interrogation risked revealing more than he intended. Her eyes, though still blazing with fury, bore no secrets and held neither guilt nor malice.
He was almost certain she was not involved in the blackmail scheme. But, whether she was or not, his main concern now was assuming custody of Augustus.
He cleared his throat. “Very well, Miss Fairchild. You wished for me to take the infant in. I will do so. You may simply give him to me.”
Miss Fairchild’s expression shifted from furious to astonished in a heartbeat. “Excuse me?”
“I will take Augustus. Isn’t that what you demanded of me not three days ago?”
“I— Well… Yes, but?—”
“But what?”
She clutched the baby closer. “Forgive me, but I do not know you, sir.”
“That shouldn’t matter.”
“That is the only thing that matters. I know Ophelia came to you, poor, homeless, and alone, asking for assistance, and you refused her, sending her onto the street. And now she has gone to her rest and poor Augustus is left without a mother. I had hoped that you would be a man of honor, that you would atone for your sins. And yet you completely rejected a helpless newborn, called me a liar, and accused me of blackmail. You may be a powerful man, but it is I who have responsibility for Augustus as given to me by his mother. And I do not trust that you will give him proper care.”
What a detailed list of his imperfections. Guilt and fear swirled in his gut as Miss Fairchild looked at him with distaste, condemning him. And she was right. Ophelia’s death was on his hands. He had to at least do right by her baby.
“I should have never refused your request,” he said. “I have come to realize I want to take him in and raise him.”
She shook her head. “Forgive me if I do not believe such a sudden change of heart. Why don’t you admit it’s because of the potential scandal? Isn’t that what you’re afraid of?”
The muscles in his shoulders contracted. Right, the scandal. A scandal would attract attention. People would ask dangerous questions. “I need to protect my reputation like everyone else. Do you not, Miss Fairchild?”
“I do. But I would never put my own reputation above the well-being of a baby.”
As he had…as he was still doing.
She must truly hate him, think him despicable. And yet, he’d always worked so hard to appear honorable, always tried to do the right thing.
Miss Fairchild’s chest moved quickly up and down. “Augustus’s health and happiness is my priority. I won’t let anyone take him away from me, especially someone I don’t trust.”
A stone dropped into the pit of his stomach. It was his own fault, really. Had he not dismissed her so easily at the church, had he not put his pride first, he could have learned what had happened, whose son Augustus was. He’d have had the baby under his protection already.
And now…now he could lose everything. And any scoundrel—especially the blackmailer—could get a hold of his father’s heir and then…
There was one last thing he could do to save his position and keep his title.
If Miss Fairchild wouldn’t relinquish Augustus…then they must be taken together, as one.
“Miss Fairchild, if you do not concede to give me the baby, I have no choice but to ask you to be my wife.”
She frowned and blinked several times, her face slackening.
Eccess moved to stand in front of him, blocking the sight of Miss Fairchild. “Are you out of your mind, Constantine?” He lowered his voice. “Friend, I’m the drunk, and yet you’re the one being reckless.”
Pryde brushed past him and found himself almost eye to eye with Miss Fairchild. The features of her face were soft in the flickering light of candles. Her height allowed her to meet his gaze directly rather than peering up at him like most women did. The sight stirred a strange sort of burning in his blood. The thought of her being his wife transformed it into an inferno.
A sensation he had best ignore. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. His goal was too important.
Fear drove him to choose all the wrong words, the part of him that knew how to charm and be a gentleman crumbling to ashes.
Instead, he became some kind of a brute, shielding himself from an invisible attack.
“I realize I’ll be lowering myself by marrying a vicar’s daughter, but if that is the only way to bring Augustus into my family, then it is what I must do.”
The irony, of course, was that he was the child of a clergyman himself. That thought made him bristle even more.
“Constantine!” Eccess cried out. “Think what you’re saying!”
It was too late now. He had made his offer, and he’d offended Miss Fairchild immensely. He saw hurt and humiliation burning in her eyes, which made him regret his words immediately. But there was only one path forward now.
“I would like to offer Augustus my home and my protection,” he said. “Therefore, I would like you to be my wife.”
“No matter how low of a match I am for a duke?” she demanded, her voice quivering with rage.
The choice was simple: marry below his station or risk losing everything. With Miss Fairchild as his wife, he could father an heir, strengthening his position. Even if the truth about his parentage emerged, the Regent would be less likely to uproot an established family line.
Besides, an heir would be a way to buy time and slow down any legal proceedings, as the courts would have to consider the child’s future as well.
Miss Fairchild narrowed her eyes at him. “And yet another change so quickly, Duke? What sort of man protects his reputation so fiercely he’s willing to marry his presumed blackmailer?”
Eccess stepped closer to him, looking surprisingly sober. “Constantine, there must be another way. Marriage is for the rest of your life. You do not know this woman. What about the list of candidates, the visiting of the families, the courting of suitable debutantes? Your hasty marriage to a woman with a baby will be a massive scandal.”
Constantine inhaled sharply, thinking fast. Until the blackmail issue was resolved, any hint of a scandal would be especially dangerous. “You’re right, Octavius. I will claim Augustus is the child of a deceased cousin or family friend. Augustus will be raised as my ward. Miss Fairchild is the baby’s temporary guardian, appointed by the deceased parents. Our hasty marriage will be explained by…”
What explanation could possibly keep his reputation intact? No one could be allowed to believe he was marrying Miss Fairchild because he got her pregnant. It all needed to be very respectable. And, though she was far below his status, she was clearly from a good family. Her father was a blameless vicar, preaching very strongly against sin.
He sighed. “It will have to be love. I will confess my sudden and true love for you, Miss Fairchild. It’ll require us to act as though we’re hopelessly smitten with each other. Sacrifices will need to be made, I’m afraid.”
Miss Fairchild’s gaze widened so much he worried she might insist he depart immediately and never return. “I do not know how you could be called a gentleman, Your Grace. Could you have given a more offensive proposal?” Her cheeks were blazing, her eyes dark and furious.
Constantine stared at her, waiting. He was such an ass. He didn’t recognize himself. He, who was praised by the ton as a man of unblemished honor, the heir of one of the oldest and most respected English families.
Augustus squealed, and Miss Fairchild looked down at him with tenderness. Her eyes filled with tears as she bounced him gently in her arms, and the baby grew quiet.
“You cannot imagine how ardently I wish to deny you,” she hissed.
Someone in her position declining a duke’s proposal? The riches, the safety, the status and admiration? Her children would be nobles. She’d be a duchess. Who would refuse that? Still, her rejection stung, hitting him deeper than he would have imagined. She was right, though. He had not behaved like a duke, like a man anyone would want to marry.
She took a deep breath then let it out. “But I promised Ophelia I’d make it my life’s mission to care for this baby, and I’ll do so. I know being raised by his rich and powerful father would be better for him than remaining here. He would have the finest tutors, an Oxford education, connections in society, and opportunities I could never provide. But I cannot just give him to someone who doesn’t have his best interest at heart. So no matter how much I’m repulsed by you and your proposal…I will not be able to live with myself if I don’t do what’s best for Augustus.”
She sobbed and exhaled.
“So…yes. I will marry you. But understand this—I do it only for Augustus. I will play the part of your loving wife in public, but in private, you’ll never have my heart or my respect.”