The Earl’s Error by Kathy L. Wheeler

Seventeen

F

rustration filled Edward at every turn. Precious time had been wasted searching that damned cottage. Not to mention the effort exerted in avoiding Kimpton’s steward, and still he’d come up empty-handed. Turned that drawing room inside out. Nothing. His lucky piece had disappeared.

Fury surged through him with nothing to vent and no one to listen. The delay of his trip to Essex had cost him another four days in visiting Hannah’s grave.

He calmed some. At least the visit had proven fruitful. While the rector had been shocked by his request, they’d nevertheless found a couple of sturdy lads to dig up the child’s coffin. And just as he’d suspected. Empty.

The resentment flared, sending his heart palpitating against his ribs. And where the hell had Virginia disappeared to? She’d hidden well—this time. She wouldn’t be so lucky the next. She would regret the anguish she’d caused her faithful, loving husband.

The air was heavy, and Edward pushed his horse hard, even knowing he wouldn’t make it to London. But the Pear and Dragon eased into sight. He secured a room. The minute he ordered stew and whiskey, the downpour let loose, and a deluge of travelers converged upon the inn.

“Maudsley, old man.”

Edward suppressed a groan as Baron Welton’s heir, George Welton, called his name. He stumbled over, deep in his cups. He slapped Edward on the shoulder, something the lad would never have attempted sober. Edward clenched a fist and stifled an urge to plant it in the younger man’s face.

“Shufflebottom’s been spreading the word that Harlowe was dumped on a vessel for Spain. Wondered if you’d seen him about. Kimpton’s been looking for him, but I’ve not seen either of them about. You don’t mind if I sit, do you?” Welton didn’t wait for an answer and plopped down on the bench across.

“Of course not,” Edward said. His sarcasm was lost on the impudent drunkard. Edward slugged back his whiskey, and motioned to the tavern chit for another.

A shadow from the overhead candles spilled over the table.

“Maudsley, haven’t seen you since the Martindales’ masquerade.” Edward glanced up into Griston’s face. “Had a run of bad luck that night, as I recall.” Griston spun a chair from a neighboring table and sat down uninvited.

“So I did. How are you, Griston? I seem to remember the same about you.”

“Yes. Lord Brockway happened as the lucky dog that night. Most intent, he was. Cleaned house. Bring another round,” Griston barked out. Griston turned a shrewd gaze on him. “What brings you into the Pear and Dragon, Maudsley? This isn’t quite your neck of the woods.”

Edward forced himself to remain motionless. A wave an anticipation stole over him. More glasses hit the table. “On my way home from Essex. Had some business there.” Edward picked up one of the glasses, rolling it between his palms.

“Is that so?”

“Word is Rowena Hollerfield has vacated the city. Closed up her town house and disappeared. I heard she is… enceinte.” Welton shuddered.

“I happen to believe Rowena Hollerfield is not the one with child,” Griston said.

Welton leaned in, his theatrical whisper reeking of gin. Rotgut. “Another woman?”

Griston leaned against the back of his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “A beauty too.”

More glasses filled with whiskey landed on the table. Edward dipped his fingers into his pocket and froze, remembering once again that his lucky piece was gone. His fist clenched. He tamped down another he urge to hit someone, and Welton’s flaccid face was the most tempting target. In the bastard’s inebriated state, he likely wouldn’t feel a thing.

Welton nodded slowly. “Now that you mention it, I saw Harlowe with a delectable piece leaving Rowena’s town house a few months back. I just put it down to another light-skirt.” He shrugged and snatched up one of the tumblers. “Can’t imagine Rowena sharing her territory, if you know what I mean.” He drained the glass and slammed it back down. “It’s deuced strange, thinking on it.”

Edward forced his fingers loose, swiped up his own glass and tossing back the contents. The burn barely mollified him. “And what is that?”

“Rowena didn’t try hiding the fact that she was carrying.”

Griston’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded. “Interesting point, Welton. Why would the most lucrative courtesan in town bandy her condition about town? Couldn’t have been good for business.”

Small prickles raised on Edward’s skin as he considered this line of conversation. He stared hard at Welton. “You say Harlowe was seen leaving Rowena’s with another woman who wasn’t Rowena?”

“I am indeed. Don’t know what it matters none,” Welton said. “But if Rowena is carrying, I put my money on the babe being Harlowe’s bastard.” He laughed, loud and bawdy. “Serves him right, him having that haughty sister of his and all.”

Griston lifted a brow. “Lady Kimpton? What does she have to with any of this matter?”

Welton’s shoulders caved in, and his expression turned sulky, though he refrained from answering.

Edward’s gut burned with rage. So Harlowe had bedded the daughter Rowena saw fit to raise as her sister. Fathered his grandchild. Grandson. Having Harlowe killed was turning out to be a more fitting crime than Edward could have envisioned. He bit back a bark of laughter. Surely he could turn this to his advantage. He drummed his fingers on the table. “Suppose Rowena Hollerfield was covering for another?”

Welton snorted. “You mean like a… a sister?”

Griston stilled, his gaze sharp. “I don’t believe Rowena Hollerfield has it in her to be so selfless.”

Welton shrugged and took another slug of whiskey. “Besides, if Miss Hollerfield did have a sister, she’d a-pulled her into the business years ago.”

Edward smiled. “I think she stole a child and has been hiding her.”

Welton’s face screwed up in a comical puzzle. “Whose child would she have stolen?”

Again Griston’s shrewdness pierced Maudsley. “Perhaps yours and your late wife’s?” He took one of the remaining glasses and sipped. “You did say you had business in… where was it? Essex? As I recall, that is where the first Lady Maudsley was buried, was it not?”

Edward just looked at him.

Griston leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “And Miss Hollerfield’s “sister” is carrying?”

“Was carrying,” Edward said. “The girl just had a son. My grandson.”

Welton gaped at the two of them.

“I see,” Griston said. “And what are your plans?”

Edward studied his drink, a small smile touching his mouth. Harlowe would never have the opportunity to touch his newborn son. In fact, Edward saw no reason he couldn’t lay claim to Rowena’s “sister.” He studied Griston with a hooded gaze. The man might be useful. In some way. “I believe I shall have to recognize her as my long-lost daughter. After all, Rowena Hollerfield managed an admirable job of keeping my daughter’s identity hidden all these years.”

Griston’s eyes seared him, and Edward realized he’d just spoken of Rowena in past tense. “What makes you believe the girl is your daughter, Maudsley?” He sipped his whiskey. “Why, she could just as easily be mine.” His softly spoken words sent a chill of apprehension over Edward’s skin.

“As it happens, Rowena Hollerfield was in my employ at the time of my first wife’s confinement.” He tossed back his third whiskey, signaling for another. “Not only that, Rowena disappeared just after Hannah’s untimely death. I would go so far as to speculate that she killed my wife to steal my newborn child.”

A smile played around Griston’s mouth. Edward’s fingers itched for his lucky coin.

“Hm. Rowena Hollerfield a murderess.” Griston nodded. “Yes, yes. Rowena Hollerfield is a most calculating woman. However, it will take an act of Parliament to declare her ‘sister’ as your legitimate daughter, you know.” Again, his eyes turned contemplative. “Might even have to have Rowena testify.” He cracked his knuckles. “Of course, there are ways to make a mere woman talk.”

As Edward knew all too well. “I happened to learn that Rowena convinced Kimpton to help her. He sent them to his country estate. In fact, my family is visiting with them now.”

Welton, who’d been quiet to this point, spoke. “Too bad you can’t somehow claim the boy as your own, eh, Maudsley? It’s widely known you have only girls.”

Edward’s chair crashed back as he reached across the table and grabbed Welton by his neckcloth. “Fancy an early death, do you?” he growled.

A low chuckle reached through his rage. It wasn’t coming from Welton. Welton’s face turned dark red from lack of oxygen.

“The man has a point,” Griston said calmly.

The words penetrated, and Edward slowly came to his senses. He released Welton sending the man stumbling back. Edward eased back down.

Griston sipped his whiskey, a cynical curl on his thin lips.

“I h-heard t-tell the Duke of Marlborough’s grandson was able t-to inherit through a daughter. Perhaps, perhaps…” Welton’s voice tapered to nothing.

Griston grinned. “There’s your solution, Maudsley. And fear not, I shall keep your secrets.”

Edward narrowed his eyes on the man. “For a fee, of course.”

“Of course.” Griston’s tone dripped ice. He finished off his whiskey. “I’ll draft up the documents for you to present to the prime minister. There are no guarantees. But I do have a price. And regardless of the outcome, that price shall remain the same.”

“And the price?”

His grin numbed Edward, inside out. “Does it matter?”

Edward would pay the man’s fee, and Griston knew it.

Edward turned a condescending smile on Welton. “I think you just landed yourself a wife, Welton.”

Welton gaped at him, apparently still stupefied by the gist of the conversation. Edward wasn’t worried about Welton. The ideal solution for keeping Welton quiet had dropped in their laps.

“I believe the earl refers to your impending nuptials with his… long-lost daughter.” Griston grinned at Welton. “Congratulations, old man. As a baron’s son, you’ve just been granted the coveted opportunity to enhance your social connections.”

The wild-eyed panic in Welton’s face was priceless. Maudsley threw back his head. Laughter rumbled from his chest, startling the surrounding patrons. He clapped Welton on the back. “That you have, son.”