Chapter 9 #2
Adena shook her head sadly, and clasped her friend’s hand in hers. “You still love him.”
It was impossible to deny. Rowena nodded jerkily as the tears finally fell. “But I can never tell him. How can I tell him about this child?”
“You will have to, eventually,” countered Adena softly. “One day, the child will need to know – better to tell James now, than – ”
“No,” interrupted Rowena, and this she knew with all her soul.
“James would not hear me; he would just think that I am attempting to trick him into wedlock. And besides,” and the tears flowed freely now, “he met me after a failed elopement with another man. Why should he even believe that the child is his?”
“No, I promise you, I have had enough.”
The serving man looked sceptical, but James was determined. He had already drunk four whiskeys; another would be too much.
“As you wish, my lord,” whispered the man with a bow, and he departed from the room.
James sighed, and looked around him. The club was quiet, as it always was, with old men reading the Times and the Observer. Almost nothing moved, save for the slight nods that rippled around the room as another old man wandered into the room, and he was acknowledged by his peers.
Back to his normal, boring life. James could almost laugh at the despair of it all. Nothing had changed, and he was right back to where he had started.
Dark brown eyes, long blonde hair, a sarcastic laugh: this memory flashed through his mind, and James smiled at the very remembrance of Rowena Kerr.
To think that he had known her as Rebecca Kirkland for the first two days of their acquaintance.
To think that he had gone four weeks without seeing her.
To think that he would never see her again.
His depressed heart was weighed with sadness whenever the idea of her crossed his mind, and it was impossible not to consider her each day, now that he had returned to London. He had been so sure that he would encounter her here; he had almost hoped that he would see her.
And yet the days had gone by, and not only had there been no sight of her, but no sound, no murmurings, save for the gossip of the town that whispered that Miss Kerr had been despoiled by a gentleman in the country.
“I never had any intention of marrying her, and that was never promised. Understand man, she wanted me to make love to her, and I was not strong enough to say no. Once you get the clothes off, all women are very much the same.”
Bitterness unconnected to the whiskeys bit into his throat. To think that he had said such a thing: to impress a Marquis, no less, what a fool he was! Attempting to be strong and masculine had, in the end, cost him the very woman that he loved, rather than secured or impressed her.
Now she was out there somewhere, in the world, undoubtedly alone and friendless, with none to protect her, when he should be at her side.
He was a fool, and a fool in love, and for a love that was unlikely to ever be requited.
A heavy sigh escaped him, and it was echoed by the groan of a leather chair as someone sat beside him – a gentleman who looked awfully familiar.
He was tall, dark, and had a stately bearing. Nothing unusual in this gentleman’s club, of course, but there was something beyond that. Something in the eyes – no, the smile.
James blinked at the gentleman, and could not put his finger on how he knew him.
“Excuse me,” he said, leaning over, unable to help himself, “but have we met before?”
The look of surprise and lack of recognition in the gentleman’s face answered clearly enough, but he cleared his throat nonetheless and said, “I am sorry, I do not think we have – but let me introduce myself. I am George Northmere.”
The name was unfamiliar, and James sat back in his chair in disappointment, shaking his head. “No, you are correct, we have not met. My apologies.”
“None required,” smiled the man jovially, despite the tuts that they were now receiving from other gentlemen in the room. “‘Tis a common occurrence for me, so I am quite accustomed to it. Most people mistake me for my older brother, the Marquis of Dewsbury.”
James jumped, startled, at this information: but of course! Rising from his chair and moving into the one beside it, to be closer to Mr Northmere, he smiled.
“You have got it exactly – ‘tis your brother’s likeness that I see in you, to be sure!”
The two men shook hands, though James could see that Mr Northmere was more than a little irritated that it was once again not himself that was of interest, but his sibling.
But James could not stop now: not when he had such a providential opportunity to ask what he had been desperately hoping to enquire about for so long.
“And how,” he said with quiet trepidation, “is your brother?”
“Oh, you must not alarm yourself,” said Mr Northmere hastily. “He is quite well, and we do believe that he will recover completely with no long term ills.”
James stared at him, confused, as another gentleman in the room tried to hush them. “Recover?”
Mr Northmere nodded, and smiled his thanks at the serving man who had just brought him a large glass of brandy. “Yes, recover, from the duel. We were alarmed at first, but ‘twas just a graze really.”
Trying to keep his voice calm and his face steady, James enquired nonchalantly, “And the cause of the duel: had it ever come out?”
The Marquis’ brother evidently assumed that James was more intimate with his dealings than he actually was, for he leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, “Well, of course, it was over a woman!”
James swallowed. “A woman?”
Mr Northmere took a large mouthful of the brandy before he answered.
“Not his wife, you understand – she is quite innocent and unconnected with all events, save the fact that the woman in question was a friend of hers. She is with them now of course, and will undoubtedly stay there until her confinement.”
“Con-confinement?” James stared at him, the words trying to sink in but not quite managing it. Confinement? What could he mean?
“Ye gods man, have you not heard?” For all that Mr Northmere was a gentleman, thought James, he seemed to be having far too much enjoyment passing on this piece of tasty gossip.
“I thought everyone knew: the woman, the one whose honour my brother protected, is with child. A failed elopement, you know, and no one knows who, but the pregnancy itself is common knowledge.”
At the word ‘pregnancy’ James started up, knocking over the table holding George’s drink which smashed on the carpet, throwing glass and brandy everywhere.
“Are you sure?” James cried out, ignoring the horrified looks and shouts of those around him. “You are sure, man, that the woman is with child?”
Mr Northmere, startled out of wits and staring at James as though he were a man possessed, nodded frantically.
“All know it, sir, though none know the identity of the woman herself, nor the man who has so shamelessly abandoned her! She is adamant, my brother tells me, that she will not lay claim on the man’s honour, and will bear the child alone! ”
James was breathing heavily, as though he had just run a thousand miles in a minute. There was absolutely no chance that it could be anyone else: it had to be Rowena. His Rowena. His child.
A smile, broad and light-hearted, spread across his face. “Thank you, Mr Northmere,” he said, stepping across the broken glass and brandy soaked carpet to wring the bewildered man’s hand. “Thank you with all my heart.”
And without another word, he rushed out of the club to find his child, and his beloved who carried it.