The Earl’s Error by Kathy L. Wheeler

Twenty-Three

L

orelei’s head throbbed like the drums during a never-ending ceremony of some ancient ritual. Her tongue felt swollen and stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her eyes were heavy, her limbs sluggish. She fought her way through the confusion and nausea, but that proved as difficult as swimming in full petticoats. She feared the worst if she moved too quickly. She had a particular aversion to laudanum. But she didn’t recall having taken any opiates.

Heart-wrenching cries penetrated, forcing her fully into the land of the conscious.

She strove to focus. She and the girls had been enjoying a picnic after several days of a steady barrage of rain.

Cecilia was desperate for activity, having been confined indoors for so long. Lorelei had listened to her squeal as she traipsed through the garden chasing Liza. Poor Liza, the girl deserved a raise. Lorelei tried to smile, but her mouth did not seem to be working properly.

She lifted her hands to her head. Who was screaming? Nathan. Mrs. Wells had been here a moment ago. “Corinne?” she finally managed, though it came out more like a croak.

“Ah, yes. That is her name. It had slipped from my memory.”

Adrenaline shot to Lorelei’s brain. Her eyes flicked open, as the pounding in her head transitioned to an all-out assault. “Lord Maudsley?” Good heavens, why was she lying down in the presence of that scoundrel? She squinted against the candlelight, peering at him.

Irene lay curled against his chest, her fist beneath her chin. The atrocities that showed in her eyes were hidden in the innocence of sleep. Maudsley sipped from a glass, then rested his chin atop her head, looking like the perfect doting father.

A sense of morbid horror choked Lorelei. “Where is Nathan?” she managed.

“Ah, the child. There.” He angled his head to a chair. “Annoying little bugger. Does he cry like that all the time?”

“When he’s hungry or… or uncomfortable.” She glanced around. “Might I ask where I am and how we got here?” Her tone was as breathless as if she’d taken a brisk turn about Regent’s Park without a pause.

“Laudanum. Miss Elvins was not the most reliable assistant, I regret to say.” He sighed. “You and Irene were taken by mistake, Lady Kimpton. Alas, once I realized the error, it was too late to return you and retrieve my other daughters in your stead.”

Lorelei struggled to sit. It took every ounce of her strength. She inhaled slowly to steady her queasy stomach and put a hand to her head. “I’m sorry, Lord Maudsley. I don’t understand. How could one possibly mistake me for Lady Cecilia?”

He chuckled, a maniacal sound that sent chilled prickles down her spine. “Quite right.”

Lorelei shuddered.

Her eyes focused on his hand stroking Irene’s hair. There was nothing offensive about his action, except for his renowned and perverse womanizing tendencies. Perhaps that was what threatened the contents of her stomach. His words infiltrated her dimness, and she frowned. “I’m afraid my thoughts are refusing to accommodate me.”

“It is of no consequence. I am speaking of Corinne, Lady Kimpton.”

“Miss Hollerfield? But she is Rowena Hollerfield’s daught— Oh. I see. Miss Hollerfield… I mean Rowena Hollerfield was your mistress too.” A sudden sympathy for Rowena Hollerfield swept through her. The woman’s choices would have been limited.

Again, he laughed. Delightedly so. “Indeed she was, Lady Kimpton, many, many years ago. But you misunderstand. Rowena worked for the first Lady Maudsley, my dear late wife, Hannah. She expired in childbirth. Corinne is the result of that union. Not a bastard child of Rowena’s and my making.”

Lorelei searched her mind for any mention of a previous Lady Maudsley. A vague recollection Ginny had mentioned years ago touched her.

“Rowena turned out to be most resourceful indeed. How else could she have hidden my own child from me for nigh on eighteen years?” He huffed out an indignant breath. “And at the blackest moment of my life. Why, Hannah had just suffered a difficult birthing episode.” He tapped his chin, while his other hand continued rubbing Irene’s deeply sleeping form. “Perhaps Rowena killed her.”

Lorelei had met Rowena. “Experiencing such an ordeal, my lord, can play havoc with your emotions. I quite understand how blurred the events can become over time.”

The hand on Irene’s back stilled. Glacial eyes seared her. Nathan’s cries deepened.

Lorelei cleared her throat. “You didn’t perhaps think to abscond with the wet nurse as well, my lord? I fear nothing else will quiet him.”

His hand resumed its caress over Irene, and Lorelei shuddered. Maudsley was mad. She had to find a way to retrieve the girl from him.

“A little brandy might do the trick,” he mused, jerking her gaze from his roving hand to his face. “Perhaps you might hold the baby?”

She glanced over at Nathan, panic crawling over her skin.

“Please, my dear. If you could satisfy the future earl, I would be most gratified.”

The words startled her. Future earl? Followed by the double entendre. She rose slowly, her stomach quite unsteady from both the laudanum and the prospect of picking up the baby.

“Perhaps we should wake Irene, my lord. She is very good with the baby.” Lorelei gripped the back of the chair to steady her teetering balance. The cries grew louder, and her stomach churned. She could feel Maudsley’s gaze dissecting her every move. His chair creaked, but her eyes stayed on Nathan.

“Ah. You’ve not much experience with babies, I see.” He breathed on her neck.

She flinched.

“Allow me.” He plucked Nathan up and lifted him toward the ceiling. “I say, he shall make a fine heir. Don’t you agree, Lady Kimpton?”

Her gaze went to Irene, still soundly sleeping where he’d been sitting.

“Once again, you’ve lost me, Lord Maudsley,” she said faintly. Surely he did not intend to toss him in the air. “Please be careful, my lord. H-he is just a newborn.”

A wicked grin tipped his lips. “Fear not, Lady Kimpton. Sit and I shall hand him to you.” She lowered herself to the chair, partly because her legs refused to support her any longer. “I’m surprised Irene didn’t show you the basics. She was quite engaging to watch with Cecilia. Had a mother’s instinct, even at the age of four.” He chuckled, settling Nathan in her arms.

“She tried. Irene, I mean.” Her voice shook appallingly. “My nerves are quite frayed, my lord. What with not knowing why we are here.”

Maudsley went back to his chair, took Irene, and cradled her against his chest once again. His eyes took on a faraway gleam. “I had great plans for Cecilia. But Irene shall have to do.” He looked down at her, smiling tenderly. “I shall miss her. She’s a lovely girl.”

A cold knot of fear formed in Lorelei’s stomach, and her fingers turned to ice. She rocked Nathan, keeping her eyes fastened on Irene. Her sleep remained peaceful and undisturbed, thank heavens. “She will be fine right here with me, my lord.” Her voice cracked with terror.

Something dire shifted in the air. Maudsley’s manner went from tender to hard and malevolent. “Her mother should never have lied to me regarding her parentage.”

Confusion, then shock, jolted through her. “That’s preposterous. Ginny… Ginny would never—”

The menacing hatred altered back to the carefree parley from moments before. “Now that I’ve discovered my daughter, I shall legally claim her. I’ll be petitioning Parliament to recognize the babe there”—he pointed to the child she held—“as my heir. All quite simple really.”

Lorelei shook her head. The whole scheme was confusing and ludicrous, the rules set, or so she believed. “Entailed property is inherited by direct descendants, Lord Maudsley. Male heir to male heir, the Crown is most specific.” Nathan’s whimpers were small but painful to endure. She smoothed a trembling hand over his head, moved her thumb to his mouth. He suckled greedily. “How is that possible?”

“There are no male heirs. No long-lost nephews, no flagellant cousins waiting to kill me off to take over my holdings. Just this one malechild.” Hatred glittered from his eyes. “There is no need to worry about Corinne. She has been promised to Welton.”

“Welton!” Her sharpness startled Nathan. He sucked in a deep breath and let loose a wail that could be heard clear to Edinburgh.

He smiled. “Brandy will help, my dear.”

“H-he’s a newborn,” she whispered.

He picked up his tumbler and brought it to her. “Suit yourself. It might be awhile before I return.”

“This doesn’t seem wise.” She looked at the dark-gold liquid, then back at him. “Are you certain it won’t hurt him?”

“Just a little to calm him. Surely you don’t believe I mean the child harm.”

No, that much she believed. He wanted the baby. She dipped her finger into the glass and put it to Nathan’s lips. He suckled furiously, and she gave him another taste. Blessed quiet ensued.

“There, you see?” He smiled. “Now, I must leave for a bit. But rest assured, I shall return.” He moved to a bookcase and reached above, still cradling Irene.

Her stomach dropped, fear reasserting itself. “Irene should stay with me.”

“I fear there are other plans for my precious Irene.” He spoke softly, his gaze on the child in his arms.

An odd sort of revulsion convulsed through her. “What sort of plans?” Her voice was a broken whisper.

“I fear the cost for the babe is Irene’s innocence.”

Maudsley’s insanity struck her with the force of a pugilist’s fist to her abdomen. “My lord, please think about what you are saying—what you are about to do.” She spoke quickly, anything to dissuade him. But he slipped a key in a lock and turned it. The door swung back without a sound, or perhaps it was the roaring in her ears that deafened her.

“I won’t be long, my dear. There is still Corinne’s arrival to manage.”

“Please,” she begged. “Won’t you leave Irene with me?”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, my dear. Her future is already paid for.” The door shut on Lorelei’s cry and Nathan’s renewed and vigorous wails with a solid thud.

Too terrified to move, Lorelei sat for a long time. Fear held her in its steel-trapped jaws. She didn’t know how to hold a baby. Her arms trembled too violently to raise him from her lap. Horrified images of dropping him immobilized her. After a moment, she clutched his curled fingers in one hand. Ice-cold.

She couldn’t just sit here and wait for that wastrel to return. She gazed down at the tiny infant. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to him. A tear fell to his chin. She stroked it away. “I-I don’t know what to do.” She closed her eyes, forced herself to picture Irene’s stern instructions.

Hold him firmly, Lady Kimpton. You won’t hurt him. See? He likes you. Look. Watch how I hold him to my shoulder. He’s most sturdy. Now you try it.

Lorelei leaned forward and lifted the arm Nathan rested on, supporting his head. Then, wrapping her other arm about his body, she raised herself. She still shook and he still screamed, but she’d done it. She was holding him. Truly holding him.

Trusting herself to stand with him was another matter. She shifted to the farthest part of the chair and, as carefully as she could manage, lowered him onto the cushion. The arm of the chair would keep him secure but would not keep him from crying. Hating herself completely, she dipped her finger in the whiskey and put it to his lips. After two or three more times, he quieted.

It didn’t take a thorough search to confirm that Lorelei, Irene, Miss Elvins, and the baby were not in residence, though Thorne took no chances, and with the servants’ help, every room was checked. Maudsley was the only logical conclusion. Someone knocked on the door, and Thorne dashed for the foyer. Oswald, true to form, beat him to it.

“Thank God. I was just on my way to find you,” Thorne said.

Brock stood awkwardly, one arm gripping Welton by the collar. “Yes, well, I was accosted by a mongrel. Apparently, he had a missive for me. The duel is off.”

“What the hell does that mean? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Lorelei and Lady Irene are unaccounted for.”

Brock pushed Welton ahead of him through the door.

“Unaccounted for?” Brock repeated.

“We’ll take this into my study.” Thorne shoved Welton into his inner sanctum. “Start talking, Welton.”

“I received a note, just as Lord Brockway said.”

“Where’s the note?”

Brock held out a crumpled piece of vellum. “There’s no seal or title identifying the sender. I don’t know who sent it. Or what it means.”

Thorne tuned to Welton. “Why send it to you, of all people?”

“I-I was to be Lord Maudsley’s second.”

Brock snorted.

Thorne read it aloud. “Maudsley concedes. There will be no meeting at Hampstead Heath. How cryptic. And uncharacteristic.” His jaw tightened, and he pierced Welton with a hard glare. “My wife and Lady Irene seem to be missing, George. Have you any notion of where they might be?”

“N-no,” he stuttered.

“Cecilia?” Brock’s tone was marbled stone.

“She was drugged. The whole household was doused with an opiate.”

“Drugged?” Welton’s voice raised an octave.

The man was a simpleton. Thorne was certain he didn’t know a thing. But why had Maudsley selected him to stand as his second? “Who is your intended, George?”

“Maudsley’s daughter.”

“Ladies Irene and Cecilia are eight and four,” Thorne said.

“Of course they are,” Welton said, scandalized. “Of all the appalling insinuations.”

“Then who?” Brock demanded.

“There was another. A daughter. From his first wife, Lady Hannah. I-I don’t know her n-name. Lord Maudsley is forcing me to marry her. She had a-a baby. He said the child would be his heir because he hadn’t sired a son.”

“Bloody hell.”

“I told him Harlowe done went and got that whore Rowena Hollerfield’s sister with child. He said he didn’t believe the chit was Miss Hollerfield’s sister.” Welton looked down at the floor. “The whole conversation is a bit muddled. I was soused at the time it all happened.”

The door crashed back. “She’s not a whore. And if you refer to her as such again, I shall kill you.” The soft words filled the room.

Corinne Hollerfield stood in the arched door as proud as the goddess Diana, but rather than boasting an arrow in her clutched hand, she gripped Lady Cecilia’s tiny one.

Cecilia rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “Where’s Nathan and Irene?”

“Who are you?” Welton asked.

“Corinne Hollerfield. Said whore’s sister.”

Welton’s face took on the flushed hue of a roaring fire. Thorne was almost amused.

Corinne turned to Thorne. “Lord Kimpton, the others are awake. Cecilia is demanding Lady Kimpton—”

“And Irene and Nathan,” Cecilia said.

Thorne swept Cecilia up. “They are out. Just for the moment.”

“Where?” she demanded.

He set her on her feet. “Miss Hollerfield, perhaps you and Lady Cecilia would give us a moment with Lord Welton?”

“Why don’t you want to tell us where my sister is?” Cecilia demanded. “She thinks she’s so grown up because she got to pour the tea. Well, next time I wish to pour the tea.”

Miss Hollerfield grabbed Cecilia’s hand. “Come, Lady Cecilia. We shall wait in the foyer.” She shot Thorne a harsh glare. “We shall find Irene.”

“And Nathan.”

“And Nathan,” she said, pulling the door closed, but before it latched, Bethie stood in the arch.

Thorne looked at her thoughtfully.

“That’s Lord Maudsley’s daughter?” Welton said, clearly stunned.

“Of course it is. But Lady Cecilia is only four, or…” Brock frowned.

“Not the child,” Welton said. “The other one. The one who bore Harlowe’s bastard.”

“That’s enough, Welton.” Thorne’s fist shot out, catching the simpleton in the jaw. He waved Bethie in. “Please sit, Bethie. I shall have need of you after I deal with Welton.”

With a sharp nod, she stood off to the side at attention.

“Let’s get back to the note, Welton. Shall we?”

“I don’t know. I was on my way to Maudsley’s, at his request, mind, when one of those vagrant scamps stopped and asked my name.”

Thorne strode behind the desk and jerked out the bottom drawer. He lifted the ornate box that held his dueling pistols. The ones he kept oiled and ready at a moment’s notice. That moment appeared to have arrived. “Then that is where we shall start. Maudsley’s.”

Edward slid the wine rack into place. It was a handy piece of furniture with wheels that concealed his own private den. He darted up the servants’ stairwell to the third floor to the nursery. He lay Irene on her pristinely made bed, took the folded coverlet from the foot, and draped it over her small body. He would be sorry to lose her.

His mouth tightened. What an unfortunate turn of events. He should be handing over Cecilia. He’d looked forward to initiating Irene into womanhood for her thirteenth birthday. It was to have been a celebratory occasion.

He lightly kissed her forehead and made his way to the library.

“Rolf,” he barked. “Where’s Welton? He should have been here by now.”

Rolf waited at the foot of the stairs. Edward’s henchmen were prime choice. The man towered over any of his acquaintances. “Not here yet, sir.”

“Find him. I’ll be at my desk. Time is short.”

Rolf bowed and vanished from sight. Another brilliant trait Edward appreciated. Silence. Edward strode to the library. A hearty fire crackled, and burning candles gave off a subtle glow.

“Maudsley, my man. I’ve waited hours for that bestial lout to vacate.” Griston stepped into the room. “Where on earth did you dig him up?”

Edward grinned, eyes on his desk. “He’d have shown you in. I’m waiting on Welton. The man could hardly be more stupid.” Silence followed his remark, and Edward glanced up. Griston’s arms were laden. The young girl he carried had tangled thick red locks. “I see you found Sarah.” He frowned. “Why’d you bring her here? What’s wrong with her?”

Griston strolled to the settee and dropped her. “She’s dead.”

“Dead!” He rose and rounded the desk. That was deuced inconvenient.

“Delectable enough, but a bit old for my tastes, and much too used.” Griston shrugged. “I’m here to be paid.”

Maudsley tore his thoughts from the task of disposing of Sarah’s body and turned his eyes on Griston. “You have the documents?”

Griston reached inside his waistcoat and pulled out a tri-folded stack of documents, then pitched them on the desk.

Edward went back around and sat. He snatched up the papers and flipped through them. He read through the first page. Pleased with its officiousness, he quickly thumbed through the rest. He leaned back and let out a satisfied sigh. “Third floor, fourth door on the right. She’s fast asleep. That should make her initiation into womanhood easier to bear.” A pang of conscience pierced him. “Treat her gently, Griston. She’s nothing like Sarah.”

A short burst of laughter echoed. “I’m surprised at you, Edward. You’ve missed the entire point of taking a young, untried body.” He pulled out a pistol.

“What the hell?” Edward stood quickly, sending his chair flailing against the wall.

“Come, Edward, you can’t really believe Parliament would grant your long-lost daughter’s son an earldom, do you? Your previous countess bore two sons. The babe’s a bastard at that. I’m doing you a favor besides. Nothing could save you from ruin with George Welton as a son-in-law. As you’ve succinctly pointed out, the man’s an idiot.” The blast rang in his ears.

Goddamn, if the bastard hadn’t actually pulled the trigger.Edward was strangely awed that his thought was so coherent. The power of the shot felled him to his knees. He looked down. Blood gushed, but oddly he felt nothing. Why couldn’t he feel anything? But as quickly as the question formed, a burning sensation seared his chest. A branding, intense pain that choked him of air. “Why?” he demanded, breathless.

Griston moved to the desk and calmly refolded and pocketed the papers. “Cecilia is a lovely young woman, Edward. I don’t think you could ever appreciate her as well as where she’ll be going. I certainly can’t have it circulating about that I prefer them her age. Lady Maudsley will be in need of consoling. Lady Maudsley is young enough to bear many, many girls for me.”

Edward’s laugh was more a gasp for air, It wasn’t Celia at all, the dolt. “You, lying with a woman of my wife’s age.”

“There are ways around that issue. I’m surprised at you, Edward.”

He struggled to remain conscious. “You… you won’t get away with this.”

“Ah. You speak of that henchman you employ—or rather, employed—” He chuckled. “Rolf? A shame he shot you in a fit of ire at his ill treatment.”

Edward’s lungs tightened, squeezing the life from his body. Rapid intakes of air came short and agonizingly painful. Like a knife twisted in his chest. He tried to raise his hand to staunch the blood flow, but his limbs were numb. He fought to make sense of Griston’s words.

“Your little Sarah, such a veritable she-cat. She fought every step of the way, Edward. Once in a great while, the fight is stimulating As a rule, however, I prefer them fearful, docile, virgi—”

Edward’s battle was lost as the words faded into oblivion.