Chapter One #2
Neither of them had expected a daughter.
They had taken all the expected precautions to prevent such an occurrence, but it had happened, and neither had a doubt that he was the girl’s father.
Olivia’s dark, wavy hair, her long, narrow nose, and her wide-set, deep-blue eyes matched his own features—not her mother’s fair hair, brown eyes, and pale skin.
Olivia also looked enough like his younger brothers that she might have been an offspring of his parents.
She even toddled as they had, with a giggle that would have been recognizable at Embleton House.
He knew those last two qualities because—despite that he had kept it from Stella—Mark had often stood outside the house in Whitehall where Rose Ashley, now reportedly recovered, resided with the first-born grandchild of the Duchess of Embleton.
Two extraordinary facts he hoped to keep forever hidden from the women in his life.
Secrets. Did not every man have his share?
*
Saturday, 16 July 1814
Sculthorpe Manor, Berkeley Square, London
Ten of seven in the morning
Why was he still here?
Judith Amelia Lovelace, Lady Sculthorpe, a widow of two years and a dowager countess for six months, had stirred and stretched, luxuriating in the soft downy covers of her bed.
Then she had rolled onto her side and been startled by the presence of the blond curls and bare shoulders of Lord Peregrine Gower.
Damn it, Perry . . .
Thin streams of early morning sun streaked through gaps in the window curtains, illuminating her bedchamber and casting odd shadows and dancing streams of sunlight over the burgundy linens and cherry-wood furnishings.
Not Judith’s preferred taste in décor—far too dark—but she had become accustomed to them over the past two years.
She had gladly surrendered her original suite of rooms with its rose, cream, and oak accouterments—also not to her initial liking—when her stepson became the earl.
In fact, little of the décor in Sculthorpe Manor had been chosen or arranged to Judith’s desires, something she had acquiesced to more than two decades ago.
That had been the provenance of her former mother-in-law, and as the second wife of a second son, Judith had no voice in the way the household functioned .
. . at least until her husband had unexpectedly found himself the earl.
Now her older stepson held the title as well as his father’s bedchambers.
And Judith had moved her life from the countess’s rooms down the hall to this smaller but adequate suite of rooms. After all, the bedchamber of her previous suite adjoined the earl’s and living adjacent to his stepmother had not been Edmund’s preferred arrangement, even prior to his marriage.
Nor hers.
Judith still smiled at the memory of his broaching the subject to her.
His father, the fifth Earl Sculthorpe—her Edmund—had been dead and buried less than a week, and her stepson’s awkwardness about taking over his father’s title and rooms had been charming and sweet.
But Judith knew all too well how these things worked.
While not his mother—Edmund’s mother had died in childbirth with Daniel, her second child—Judith had been the only mother her stepsons had known.
Her husband had wed the seventeen-year-old Judith for his second wife just before Edmund turned four.
Now at a mere four and twenty, the newest earl headed a major aristocratic household consisting of his bride Margaret and his brother Daniel, as well as Judith and her three sons, his half-brothers.
Although none of them had seen Daniel in months, he remained Edmund’s responsibility.
Quite a handful. But Edmund had done well.
So far. Although she had changed bedchambers, Judith had remained countess until Edmund’s marriage to the lovely Margaret six months ago, and Judith tried not to interfere, offering advice only when asked.
Judith herself had become the countess at twenty, and she had managed the Sculthorpe properties, including this house, for eighteen years.
Passing those responsibilities on to Margaret and staying out of the way had not been easy but was the proper thing to do.
And a relief. Judith’s widow’s portion and dowager properties—insured by her husband’s will—remained in the estate for the time being, as she saw no reason to separate them.
All in all, a huge estate for the young couple to manage.
But Judith had taken over the duties herself when barely more than a girl, and they would learn as they worked, just as she had.
Besides, she had other things on her mind.
One of those things now gave a sleep-laden snort. Perry shifted but did not awaken.
Judith’s mouth pinched. Perry had been a frequent visitor to her bed over the last year or so—since she had shed her widow’s black—and he knew the rules, one of which was that no one stayed past dawn.
While the entire household knew Judith had nighttime visitors, she never wanted to spread the details in front of them or provide the gossips with too much information to bandy about.
No matter what people thought they knew, Judith had been discreet and private.
Repressing the urge to poke her errant visitor, Judith propped up on an elbow and looked at the clock on her mantel.
Almost seven. Too early for the nobility in the household, although the servants would be up and moving about with their morning chores.
They would breakfast at half-past seven .
. . the perfect time for Perry to make his exit.
Also a good time for a quick jaunt upstairs to the nursery.
Judith pushed back the covers and stood, shivering in the chill of the room as she retrieved her night rail and dressing gown from the floor and slipped into them.
She noted both had been victims of their bed play—the night rail had a tear and the sash of the dressing gown hopelessly knotted—and Judith reminded herself to mention the repairs to her maid.
She grabbed a ribbon to tie back her mussed hair and left the bedchamber, pulling the door firmly closed behind her hard enough to waken Perry but not the rest of the house.
With a sly grin, Judith turned toward the nearby servants’ stairs and padded upward.
The stairwell held the scrumptious scents of fresh-baked bread, fried onions, and gammon drifting up from below stairs, and Judith’s mouth watered as her hand slid along the rail, polished smooth by generations of servants.
She had not eaten much at the lackluster supper at last night’s ball, and her stomach rumbled as she pushed open the door to the fourth floor.
The carpet here felt thinner than the ones on the floors below, but still a comfort to her chilled toes.
She stopped in front of the nursery door, listening.
Sweet giggles sounded from behind it. Her baby boy, William, the last one in the nursery at almost four.
Smart, rambunctious, and keenly observant, he had left his toddlerhood behind, making her heart ache every time she noticed something new in his growth—which seemed to be each and every day.
She knocked lightly on the door, then entered.
In the far corner of the room, William and his nurse sat at a low table, sharing small bits of food. Nanny stood, eyes wide. “Your ladyship!”
“Mummy!” William dashed toward her, some kind of dark jam spread across both cheeks.
“My jammy boy!” Judith squatted, gathering the child into her arms. “You are so big these days!” William giggled, bouncing on his toes, and hugged her, sharing his jam with her shoulder.
And he was tall, much more so than either of his brothers at four.
She could no longer scoop him up the way she loved to do without risking her back.
“You are too early!” He gave a quick pout. “Nanny will be upset.”
Judith swallowed a laugh. “I suspect she will be more upset with your waste of good jam.”
Nanny trotted after him, a serviette flailing in one hand. “Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry, my lady. We were not expecting you so early.”
“See!” William grinned.
Judith held out one hand for the serviette and used it to clean her son’s cheeks, then her dressing gown, as she smiled at the young woman.
“No reason you should. So few of us rise this early. But I was awake and didn’t want to wait for this morning’s visit.
” She handed the cloth back, smoothed William’s ruffled ebony curls, and kissed the top of his head. “I had to see my beautiful boy.”
William again giggled and squirmed.
Nanny gave her a knowing smile. “You are missing your George.”
Judith’s chest tightened. She patted William’s back and urged him to return to his food. As he skipped toward the table, she straightened and nodded at Nanny. “I still think he was too young to be sent off to Eton.”
“He is twelve, my lady. Some go much younger.”
“Which is a travesty. We send our boys away too soon.” Judith pressed a finger to her trembling lips, her gaze lingering on William. “George was barely past his father’s death.”
“I know how hard that was for him. Master Robert seems to have fared better.”
Judith straightened and composed herself. “He was eight. It affected him in a different way.” She looked at the nurse again. “Do you speak to Mr. Thompson much about Robbie’s studies?”
“Only in passing. But he seems to be doing well.”
Judith nodded and gazed at William again as he munched on a crunchy piece of jam-coated toast, replacing the recently cleaned smears on his cheeks. As he chewed, he bounced a tiny wooden horse on the table, as if it were cantering through the park.