Page 24 of His Forgotten Bride
This, Gabriel thought, was a patently ridiculous argument. “Of course it is,” he said. “Though there has been no need for it, thereisa suitable nursery.” No house the size of his would have been without one; the expectation would be that its owner would soon begin filling it with heirs.
“Children require propercare,” she stressed. “You can’t simply pop him into the nursery and forget him.”
“No,” he said, “I suppose not. So he’ll need a nanny—and a governess.” Over Claire’s shoulder he caught a glimpse of Matthew, who was watching the scene unfold with avid interest.
“Have youanyidea of what such employees would cost?” Claire asked stridently. “I assure you, my lord, I did not leave my son in the care of my sister out ofdesireto do so, but out of necessity. I cannot afford employees of my own! I’m ahousekeeper!”
Her cheeks had flushed a rather interesting shade of red, and frustration had flattened her lips into a grim line. She thought him deliberately obtuse—the high-and-mighty nobleman descending from his cloud to dispense judgment upon those he considered his subjects.
“For God’s sake,” he said. “I’llpay for the nanny and the governess. I would not expect you to take such costs upon yourself.”
Taken aback, Claire swallowed heavily. He didn’t know her well enough to guess what yet held her back—it could have been a surfeit of pride, perhaps, or not wishing to burden him—but he suspected not. He had the feeling that Claire was the sort of mother who would do anything for her child, and if she refused something that was in his best interest, there would be a damn good reason for it.
“Mrs. Hotchkiss,” Dr. Barnes broke in, “it’s quite a generous offer. You’d be a fool not to take it.”
Matthew reached out a hand and tugged at his mother’s skirts. “Mama, you said we must follow the doctor’s orders to the letter.”
“It’s the most reasonable solution,” Gabriel said. “There would be no more desperate carriage rides, wherein you struggle to reach your son’s side in time. No more once-weekly visits. There could be a doctor on retainer for him, and a quality education. You could see him any time you liked simply by popping into the nursery for a visit.”
She was being battered from all sides, and it could not be a comfortable position to be in. At last, her face bleaching white, she said, “I—I must speak with Anne,” and she skittered from the room in a rustle of skirts.
Dr. Barnes fished in his bag, withdrawing a couple of vials, which he passed into Gabriel’s keeping. “Belladonna and strammonium,” he said. “Use it as I’ve instructed, and whenever needed. And should you require my services again, I’m certain your footman knows where to locate me.”
“Send round your bill,” Gabriel said. “I’ll settle it myself. Somehow I imagine you don’t come cheaply.”
“Indeed not,” Dr. Barnes said on a laugh, bending to collect his things. He waved a vague hand at the door that Claire had disappeared to. “She’ll come around,” he said. “She’s a mother—they always want what is best for their children.”
∞∞∞
“Anne, what am I to do?” Claire whispered after Dr. Barnes had left with a doff of his cap. She leaned against the countertop and pressed her hands to her pale cheeks.
Anne was white-faced and quiet. “You must take Matthew with you,” she said at last. “I heard what the doctor said. He cannot stay here.”
“But, earlier, you said—”
“I know,” Anne said. “I know what I said. But that was before—Claire, you could lose him.” She wiped her hands on her apron and heaved a sigh. “It’s the Judgment of Solomon,” she said. “Either way, you risk losing him. The only question is will it be to his lordship, or todeath?”
Claire shuddered. To hear it laid out so succinctly—therewasno choice. No choice at all.
“I’ll help him pack up his things,” Anne said. “You might go get Judith and Richard and have the children say their goodbyes.”
“I still have half days,” Claire said. “We’ll see you. Of course we’ll see you.”
Anne gave a wan smile. “Not in Spitalfields,” she said.
“No,” Claire allowed. “Not in Spitalfields. But perhaps we could meet in Mayfair.” She gave a huff of aggravation. “I daresay his lordship, since he’s resolved to be so generous, would lend his carriage.”
Anne hesitated. “Claire, do you think it’s possible that things weren’t what you thought they were seven years ago?” she inquired. “I mean to say, his lordship isn’t quite what I expected him to be.”
“What explanation could there be?” Claire asked. “Perhaps he’s changed in the past seven years, but he doesn’tknowme. Whoever he is now, it does not alter the past—for either of us.” She pursed her lips together, but finally confessed, “He had a wife.”
“What?” Anne asked. “Awife?”
“Catherine, he said her name was,” Claire said, aware of the dull inflection of her voice. “I gather that they had been estranged somehow. She passed away, and he learned of it in a letter. But I think he must have loved her very much.”
Anne sighed. “Grief has been known to do strange things to a person,” she said. “Perhaps this is simply his way of coping with it.” She slanted a sidelong glance at Claire. “It’s likely a sight healthier than how Papa behaved after Mama’s death.”
That was certainly true. Their pleasant, affable father had turned cold and bitter nearly overnight. He’d at first railed against God for stealing away his wife, and then become something of a zealot, so severe and firm in his convictions that he had had nothing but disapproval for his daughters. Anne had fled to Hampshire at the first opportunity, leaving behind Claire to cater to their father’s selfish and sometimes cruel whims. It had only been when Anne had been near to childbirth with her son, Richard, that Claire had made the journey to Anne herself on the pretext of helping with the baby. Neither sister had seen their father since, and he’d never sent even the briefest note or made the most minor of attempts to find them.
