The Promise Page 4

  “What exactly has been several months, Louisa?”

  His voice was even lower, now, than it had been before, and she pulled the sheer gown around her.

  “I...I’ve heard things.” She could not maintain eye contact, so instead she picked up the silk belt to the gown and made an elaborate show of knotting it at her waist. “I just wanted you to know...well, that I understand...and that I am here if you need me.”

  She gave him a smile that hoped was convincing.

  “What is it exactly that you have heard?”

  She ran her hands up and down her arms to ward off the chill she felt. There was no escaping this. He was waiting for an answer.

  “I hear rumors of things all the time. I simply heard that you had sent someone to the colonies...well, to retrieve your son. Everyone is talking about it…you know how people talk. Everyone knows how hard it must be on you after ten years and...of course, if Elizabeth decides to return, also…well…”

  The words withered on Louisa’s tongue as a hardness she had never seen crept into the Stanmore’s dark eyes. His face had taken on a look of carved granite. Cold and formidable. She took an unconscious step back.

  “I only...I was only concerned about you.”

  “Concerned?” The shake of his head was barely discernible. His tone was cool, even, and tightly controlled. “We have taken pleasure in each other’s company, Louisa, but do not presume that there is anything more between us. Make no mistake about our connection.” He turned sharply and pulled open the door. “In the future, madam, you will not concern yourself with my affairs. Not now. Not ever.”

  Louisa Nisdale watched him go and then sank against the edge of the bed. She stared at the door for a long moment and then stood up. She had erred in that skirmish, but she was hardly defeated.

  No, she thought. She’d been formulating her strategy for too many years to throw it all away now. Conquering Lord Stanmore might require doing battle, but it was a campaign that she had no intention of abandoning.

  Not now. Not ever.

  ***

  Philadelphia

  Rage and fear, like two iron-clawed creatures, tore at Rebecca’s insides as she turned her back on the door and looked wildly into the face of a surprised Molly. There was another knock at the door.

  “Send him away, Molly! Get him to leave us alone. Tell him…” Hot tears suddenly scorched her cheeks, and she felt the knot rise in her throat at the sight of Jamey’s frightened face peering out from behind the bedroom door. “Tell him he has the wrong boy.”

  The knocking was louder now, more persistent.

  “Tell me what this is all about, darling…”

  Rebecca shook her head at her friend’s question and moved toward the young boy in the doorway.

  “Please Molly,” she pleaded. “Just send him away.”

  “Aye, very well, lass. I’ll do what I can.”

  Jamey’s arms wrapped around her waist like small bands of steel. Rebecca quickly drew him inside of the bedroom and closed the door.

  “’Twas the same man, Mama,” Jamey hiccuped, holding her still tighter. “He was the same one that stopped me. The one asking the questions. He’s going to take me away. He told me so himself. But you won’t let him, Mama, will you?”

  “I shan’t, sweetheart. No one is taking you away.”

  “Please tell me you won’t let him take me.”

  She pulled him to the middle of the room and loosened his grip as she knelt down and looked into his face. “I shan’t, Jamey. No one is taking you from me. You and I are a family.”

  Fresh tears spilled from his blue eyes, but just as she was ready to pull him into her embrace, his fingers tightened on her shoulders, and he looked into her eyes with that same piercing intensity that always cut straight to her soul. “You promise! You promise to keep me safe…keep me with you!”

  She could feel her heart being clawed open, but she swallowed her anguish and nodded. “I promise, my love.”

  He melted against her, guided by the trust that she had so wrongfully instilled in him. No, she thought fiercely, not wrongfully. It is not wrong for a child to trust his mother, and Jamey was her son as sure as there was a God in heaven. He was her son because Elizabeth herself had placed him in her arms and made her promise to love him as her own. He was her son because she had nurtured and cared for and loved him from the time his life was still measured in hours.

  And he had been hers from the day she had stood by the railing of that ship and watched the gray-green waters of the Atlantic receive his mother’s corpse.

  Her hand shook as she caressed his hair, stroked his back, and soothed him as she had done for nearly ten full years. He was her son, and she had never loved anyone and anything more than she loved him now.

  But she felt herself strangling with the thought that she might lose him.

  Rebecca stayed with him, comforting him with hushed words of affection until Jamey ran out of tears. As she sat on the bed with his head on her shoulder, she felt him gradually relax. His eyes drifted shut, as he once again clung to the old shawl. Rebecca held him, grief lodged in her throat, burning and raw.

  Molly looked in on them several times, once whispering that she was sending the afternoon pupils away. Another time, she quietly offered dinner, but Rebecca just shook her head.

  Rebecca was relieved when the fading light of evening came on. She was also thankful that the boy had not sought any answers beyond what she was willing to give.

  Some time later, while Jamey still slept, Rebecca carefully tucked him under the bedclothes and then stood watching him. Night had descended upon the town outside her window, and with it feelings of darkness descended upon her spirit. Feelings of desperation about their situation. Feelings of fear.

  She knew Molly was waiting. She had heard her coming heavily up the wooden stairs again.

  “You look like the dead, darling. Twice buried and dug up again,” her friend said as Rebecca emerged from the bedchamber.

  She hurt too much to smile. Rebecca pressed her fingers to the puffy slits that had once been her eyes. The light of the candles threw shadows across the room, and Rebecca shivered and moved to the window, shutting it against the cold demons no doubt hovering outside.

  She rested her head against the pane of glass and tried to fight the renewed feeling of misery swelling in her chest.

  “I’ve brought some dinner up for you and Jamey. I sent Tommy down to Mrs. Parker’s for something, as well. Nothing like a fresh sweet roll to…”

  “Oh Molly!” Rebecca croaked, turning away from the window to find her friend already standing at her side. “What am I to do?”

  Despite the bulk of her large belly, Molly gathered her in her arms and consoled her as she wept. It was some time before Rebecca pulled back and let herself be led to the bench, where the two of them sat down.

  There was so much that needed to be said. Ten years of lying to this woman who had accepted them as one of their own. Rebecca didn’t know where to start, though, even though she knew that her friend’s possible disapproval of her was really only the least of her troubles.

  “I know Jamey is not yours, darling.”

  Molly’s quiet statement drew Rebecca’s gaze to the woman’s face.

  “I guessed the truth the moment you arrived in Mr. Butler’s coachee from New York that summer so long ago. Why, seeing you holding that wee one in your arms like a piece of fine china rather than your own flesh and bone…you were more worried about the right way of caring for the babe than for yourself. And what with all the unfamiliar things that were facing you in this strange city. I knew right then that you’d not birthed Jamey yourself.”

  “But you...you didn’t say anything. You let me go on and lie to you all…”

  “Who am I to interfere with a woman caring for a poor child?” Molly smiled and pushed a strand of hair out of Rebecca’s face. “Seeing the wee thing that Jamey was then, and hearing his screams—by the saints, they were lou
d enough to wake the dead—seeing how blind you were to his misshapen hand, and how you’ve loved him so much…” She shook her head. “You’ve been as good as his mother, to be sure. If not better.”

  Rebecca gripped Molly’s one hand tightly with both of her own.

  Molly patted the back of her hands. “You were...you are the hardest working woman I’ve ever known, Rebecca Ford…or whatever your real name is. You were and are the most caring friend a woman could have.” She reached up and wiped away Rebecca’s tears. “’Twas a blessing for me and my family that you came here...and I nearly had to bust a head with my rolling pin once or twice to keep you from harm’s way. Though I hadn’t meant to ever tell you.”

  “Your rolling pin?”

  “Aye, my Mr. Butler—the sweet thing—nearly took it full on his thick skull, let me tell you. But ‘twas his own doing. He has a matchmaker’s soul, you know.”

  “Mr. Butler?” Rebecca managed a smile.

  “Aye, darling, and over the years, he always thought of it a shame to see a young lassie such as yourself working so hard to take care of yourselves. The way he saw it, you were a widow, so there should be no trouble finding you a good husband. But I put him in his place. I was thinking…you could tell all the stories you want about your dead husband, but when it came to men, I felt certain that you were…well, an innocent. And how were you going to explain that away in your marriage bed…with a lad you’re passing off as your own son?”

  Rebecca brushed crimson at the thought of the husband and wife discussing her in such a manner. “Molly, you know I’ve never spent a minute looking to find a husband…and I never will.”

  “I told Mr. Butler so in nearly the same words. But besides, even if you were looking, I’ve not seen a man about here worthy of you. Why, I don’t know a man who could match your learning or your wit…or your quality, and you know that don’t sit well with most of them.”

  Rebecca let go of Molly’s hand and rose to her feet. “My troubles now are much more serious than finding a husband.” She glanced anxiously at the closed door to the bedroom. “That man...the lawyer...what did he say?”

  “Actually, I was ready to toss him—stick hat and all—right out into the alley. But he was a gentleman about it all from the moment I opened the door on him. Why, I’ve never heard an Englishman apologize for anything, and this fellow couldn’t have been more civil in his manner if I’d been the queen herself. Anyway, I believe he is sincerely sorry for the way he approached you.” Molly frowned. “But all that aside, darling, he means what he said.”

  Rebecca turned pleading eyes on her friend. “Tell me what he intends to do.”

  The other woman paused, her kindly face strained. “He means to take Jamey back. He says that he wants to go about this as quietly and in a manner, he says, that would be ‘mutually agreeable to all concerned.’ He’s a lawyer, all right. He is staying at the Death of the Fox, and he wants you to send for him when you are feeling better and ready to talk.”

  Rebecca felt more tears burn her eyes, and she looked away.

  “Is this really the truth? About Jamey being an earl’s son and all that?”

  “I don’t know. I only met the mother,” Rebecca murmured, walking to the closed window. “Elizabeth Wakefield was her name. She died on the ship coming from England. She was a young and beautiful thing.”

  “What was she doing on that ship? Where was the husband?”

  Rebecca shook her head and continued to look out. “She never told me any of that. I had a feeling, though, that she was running away from him. Jamey was only a day old when the two of us boarded the ship. Elizabeth was clearly very weak, but she forbade me to go after anyone until we were far out to sea. And then, suddenly, she just drifted away. There was a doctor on board, on his way to New York, and I brought him in. But there was nothing he could do. Elizabeth gave me Jamey, and then she just died.”

  In the pane of glass before her, Rebecca could see that gray dawn. The rolling whitecaps on a dark sea. The wailing child in her arms. The canvas shroud draped over the mother’s corpse on a plank.

  Rebecca remembered so clearly her own misery that morning. A bitter taste of salt was in her mouth as she watched the two sailors solemnly drop the body over the side. With the trailing terrors of her past and the uncertainty of her future, she had entertained a momentary thought of giving in to her woes and casting herself into that dark watery waste.

  But then, the infant had stopped wailing for a moment, his dark blue eyes staring up at her. Helpless, sad, and so incredibly alone in this world. Before that morning, no one had ever needed Rebecca Neville. No one had ever depended upon her for their existence. Until now.

  “When we raise our children, we give each of them a piece of our heart.” Molly’s gentle voice came from directly behind her. “But as they grow older and move away from us, they keep the piece that we gave them. It hurts, darling, and it don’t matter how old they are or how strong they become, it still hurts to let them go.”

  Rebecca stared at her own reflection in the glass. Tears glistened and continued to slip down her pale face. Her lips trembled, and she brought a hand up to quiet a sob.

  “You’ve been wanting the best for your Jamey for as long as I’ve known you. This fight you’ve been taking on lately...of finding a school for him, of wanting him to do better than apprenticing to a tradesman or becoming a common laborer earning his living by the sweat of his brow. Can’t you see, darling? The good Lord is giving you an answer! He is trying to help you now.”

  Rebecca shook her head, but she couldn’t turn around and face her friend.

  “That lawyer says that your Jamey is an earl’s son. Not a merchant, nor a tradesman, nor a clergyman, even…but a peer of the realm. With all the love you have in your heart for the boy, how could you sit back and deny him that kind of a future?”

  Rebecca pressed her fingers to her eyes. Suddenly, her head was pounding painfully.

  Molly put a hand on her shoulder and persisted. “Having lived with all the hardship he’s had to endure—with his claw hand and his deaf ear—are you willing to refuse him this blessing, lass?”

  She was selfish. She wanted him all to herself. She wanted him by her where she could care for him forever. But Molly’s words were battering at her defenses, cutting her heart to pieces.

  “I cannot!” she cried finally, wrenching the words out. She turned away from the window. “I cannot deny him what is rightfully his. But...but I also cannot simply trust this man with Jamey, either. His wife—Jamey’s mother—was running away from something…or someone. What if this...this earl is evil? What if his intentions regarding his son’s future are not as noble as we are being led to believe?”

  “If that’s true, then this Lord Stanmore has spent a pretty penny just to hurt a wee lad.” Molly cocked her head to the side. “That makes no sense, darling.”

  “But you don’t know these people…their kind.” Rebecca shook her head fiercely. “I could never entrust Jamey’s life with a man I do not know. Rank has nothing to do with honor, Molly. I know that the most privileged can also be the most vicious.” She started pacing the room. “This father...the earl of Stanmore...he doesn’t even know there is anything wrong with his son. What happens if Jamey arrives there and the earl doesn’t like what he sees? Think of Jamey’s hurt at being sent away by me and then rejected by a father he does not even know. I cannot let him be treated so…”

  “Then go with him.” Molly cut in. “Go with Jamey to England, darling. Make certain for yourself that he’s settled well.”

  “I…” The breath was suddenly knocked out of Rebecca’s chest. She could feel the noose snap tight around her neck.

  “The lawyer,” Molly continued, “he seems like a reasonable man. I’m certain if you explained your concerns to him, he’d arrange to pay your passage. And I’ve a good feeling Mr. Butler might have a few shillings tucked away.”

  Rebecca sank onto the bench. Fear hammered away in her
brain. In her mind’s eye, she could see herself running out of the London house of Sir Charles Hartington. In the image, she could see the blood, feel it thick and warm on her hands. Unconsciously, she wiped her palms on her dress.

  “’Tis clear as day, darling. This is the only way you’ll be contented.” Molly sat down heavily beside her on the bench. “There is nothing here that you cannot leave behind for half a year…or a year even. Your rooms and your belongings…Mr. Butler and I will look after while you are gone, if you like.”

  Rebecca planted her elbows on her knees and covered her face with hands of ice. Jamey’s face was now all she could see.

  Keep me, Mama. Promise you’ll keep me.

  “This is the answer to a prayer, Rebecca. You’ll just have to take Jamey back to his father, yourself.”

  CHAPTER 5

  London

  The men lounging in the training room of the Marlebone Street club quickly cleared a space as the flashing swords of the two opponents threatened to slice both friend and foe alike. As word of the contest spread, onlookers immediately pushed to the railing of the gallery above, though the eagerness in their faces stemmed more from the prospect of a wager than from the desire for self-preservation. Within minutes, the factions had formed, bets had been laid, and the cheers began to break out as one group’s champion or the other took an advantage. Bets of a thousand pounds and more were not uncommon, for the two battlers each had impressive years of military training behind them.

  “Five ships, Nathaniel!” the taller of the men said through clenched teeth as their sabers locked.

  The noise of the crowd above covered the words exchanged by the combatants below.

  “One was all that I promised!” Nathaniel replied, spinning away and parrying the slashing blade of his opponent.

  “What difference to you? The work will be the same.”