Chapter Twenty-One
“IT MAKES SENSE,” Gideon said calmly.
“What?” Irene looked over at him, startled.
His words were the first he had spoken since they had started the ride back to Radbourne Park.
Rochford had tactfully ridden on ahead when they left the valet’s cottage, giving Gideon and Irene an opportunity to be alone to discuss the revelations the valet had put before them.
But for the first few minutes Gideon had said nothing as he rode, lost in a brown study, and Irene had not wanted to disturb him.
He would talk to her when he was ready, she reasoned.
However, she had not expected him to say what had just come out of his mouth.
“What makes sense?” she pursued. “I found little about his story that was sensible.”
Gideon shrugged. “I am not Lord Cecil’s son.”
“You don’t know that,” Irene argued. “All you have is the word of Lord Cecil’s valet, and he can have no way of knowing the truth.
All he could possibly know is what his employer told him, and we have absolutely no proof that it is true.
Even Lord Cecil could not have been sure.
The picture Lord Jasper painted of Lady Selene is a far cry from the wanton whom Owenby claims she was.
Lord Cecil was doubtless trying to justify his own wicked actions by saying that.
He probably felt it made it less a sin to murder her. ”
“But it makes sense,” Gideon said stubbornly, turning his head to look at her.
“We have been stymied this whole time by the fact that a man got rid of his own child. We discounted the idea that my father murdered my mother, because we knew he would not get rid of his son and heir. But it would not be so hard, would it, if he knew that I was not really his son?”
“He got rid of you to save his own selfish hide,” Irene retorted. “It was cowardice, that was all. After all, if he really thought that you were not his son, he could have repudiated you years ago. He could have charged your mother with adultery and obtained a divorce.”
“But that would have entailed a messy scandal, something the family wouldn’t have wanted.
Moreover, he would have been holding himself up to public ridicule if he laid such charges at my mother’s feet, so he went along with the pretense that I was his son.
But then, when the opportunity arose for him to get rid of me, as well as wife, he seized it.
Had I really been his son, I doubt he would have done so.
I was only four. He could have kept me from telling my story, and eventually I would have forgotten it, just as I forgot my childhood.
But he saw the chance to get rid of me, and he took it. ”
“But what about the way you look? And the mark on your back? Lady Odelia said you have the look of the Lilles.”
He curved his lip. “Do I? My hair is dark, yes, but my eyes are green. I don’t think anyone would mistake Rochford and me for brothers. He is taller, more slender.”
“Well, you are not his brother,” Irene retorted in some exasperation. “You are cousins, and only second cousins at that.”
“Do you not recall how my mother’s maid said that I looked like my mother.
That I had her eyes? That everyone went on about how I looked like a Bankes.
But she thought I resembled my mother more.
Lady Selene’s hair was black, as well. And as for that mark, it is a birthmark.
Not something I inherited. All it did was prove that I was the boy they had thought was abducted. It does not prove that I am a Bankes.”
“Well, there is nothing to prove you are not!” Irene snapped.
“Don’t you see?” Gideon asked, sounding weary to the bone.
“It explains why I feel so strongly that I do not belong here. I don’t.
I am not a nobleman. My blood is probably that of—of one of the footmen.
Or the solicitor in the village—or God only knows who.
I am not the Earl of Radbourne. And I cannot pretend to be. ”
“What are you saying?” Irene asked. “Are you going to—to give up your title?”
“Timothy should be the earl,” Gideon said, setting his jaw. “I cannot deprive him of what is by rights his. Do you think I am that sort of person?”
“No. I think you are the sort of person who dislikes aristocrats so much that he wants to deny being one.”
“I am not one,” he insisted.
“You do not know that.”
“I know,” he said softly. “I have known, deep down, from the moment Rochford first contacted me.”
“How? You could not possibly know?”
“I know because I feel it inside.”
“That is not enough!” Irene cried. “That isn’t knowledge.”
Gideon looked over at Irene and pulled his horse to a stop. They were almost to the house; they could see it, rising above the gardens, its windows glinting in the setting sunlight.
He dismounted and reached up to help her down from her horse, then walked over to the low stone wall and stood looking at the house for a long moment before turning back to her.
“I know it,” he repeated. “In my blood, in my bones. I am not an earl. Rochford is that kind of man, the sort who can trace his bloodlines back centuries.”
Irene came up to stand beside him. “So was my father.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Simply that not all noblemen are the same as Rochford. Like all men, they come in all shapes, sizes and characters. Lord Cecil was the legitimate Earl of Radbourne, and he did not hesitate to kill his wife.”
“I know they are not all good. God knows I hope I am a better man than my fath—than Lord Cecil. But I am not a member of…that group. I am not a man who lacks confidence—I have been successful at whatever I set my hand to. But I do not have the quality that every peer I have ever known had, your father included. That certainty, that air of knowing that they were born to high position.”
“I think the quality you are talking about is arrogance,” Irene told him drily. “And I do not think that one is born to it. I think it is something one is raised to be. You grew up in an entirely different way. That does not change your blood. You are the same man, no matter who your father was.”
He nodded. “I know. But it is scarcely fair to Timothy. He is my father’s son. He should be the Earl of Radbourne, not I. He would have been, if Rochford had not found me. I have to tell them. I have to give up the title.”
“You are a very good man,” Irene told him, slipping her hand into his.
“I have rarely been accused of that,” he answered, with a faint smile, but when he looked at her, she saw that his eyes were troubled, and he let go of her hand and took a step back from her.
“I will no longer be the earl. And I will never know who my father really is. I—” he paused, then continued in a rush, his face set “—I cannot hold you to your promise to marry me. Fortunately, we have not told anyone other than my family, so you will not have to worry about a scandal attaching to your name.”
Cold settled onto Irene’s heart. She looked at him for a long moment, struggling to speak without bursting into tears. “I beg your pardon? You no longer wish to marry me?”
Gideon’s mouth twisted. “No! Of course I still wish to marry you. But I would be a cad to hold you to your promise if I can no longer offer you the life I had offered you. You would not be the Countess of Radbourne but merely the wife of a businessman, and I know how little the wealth I have matters compared to name and family.”
“Oh!” Irene stiffened, fury sweeping over her. She stepped forward and slapped him sharply.
Gideon’s eyes widened. “What the devil?” He brought his hand up wonderingly to his stinging cheek.
“How dare you even suggest that I—after all I have said to you—after last night!” Irene raged, her eyes glittering.
“Do you think that I put a price on my love? That I gave myself to you because of your title? I don’t give a fig for your title!
Or your wealth! I wouldn’t have cared if you were an earl or a rag picker! I came to you because I loved you!”
She whirled and ran back to her horse, then mounted and tore away, leaving Gideon staring after her, openmouthed.
* * *
SHE RODE BACK to the house on a wave of fury, paying no attention to Gideon shouting her name.
She heard the sounds of his horse pounding after her, but she was the better rider, with the better horse, and she outran him to the stables.
Hopping off without waiting for assistance, she tossed the reins to the groom and ran for the house.
Her chest was tight with fury and pain. She could not wait for Gideon and talk to him now; she only hoped that she could make the sanctuary of her bedchamber before she burst into tears.
She raced up the stairs but did not make it to her room. Jasper, hearing her steps, popped out of the small sitting room beside his mother’s bedchamber, a worried frown creasing his forehead.
“Lady Irene!” He looked past her. “Where is Gideon? Is he—”
“He’s fine,” Irene replied shortly. “I am sorry. If you will excuse me…”
She tried to turn away toward her room, but there was the sound of running footsteps on the stairs and Gideon burst into the hall.
“Irene!”
“Gideon!” his uncle exclaimed, and his frown eased. “Thank God. You are all right.”
Gideon stopped and looked at Lord Jasper, then at Irene, his face a study in frustration. Finally he said, “Yes, I am fine. I am sorry to have worried you.”
“Rochford told us what Owenby said,” Jasper went on. “Your grandmother and Lady Odelia are in the sitting room. Please, come in and talk with us for a moment.”
“I will leave you to talk about this in private,” Irene said quickly, once again starting toward her room.
“No!” Gideon grasped her firmly by the arm. “You will come with us.”
Jasper blinked in surprise at Gideon’s words and fierce expression.
“I beg your pardon—” Irene began, her eyes lighting with an even brighter fire.