CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Hayden was hiding in the woods at Wallace Downs. He’d tethered his horse and was debating his next move. He’d visited the local tavern and found out that the entire neighborhood was agog over the pending nuptials.
Abigail had traveled there to work as the governess, and she’d wound up snagging the owner as her husband. Once the betrothal was announced, it had been revealed she was an earl’s daughter. People were beside themselves with excitement and claimed it was a love match.
He hadn’t heard whose children she’d been hired to teach. He figured they were Alex Wallace’s, and the prospect of Abigail raising a child for him made Hayden gnash his teeth.
After listening to all the rumors, he’d ridden out to the estate, but he hadn’t galloped up the lane, hadn’t knocked on the front door and asked to see his sister. He hadn’t burst in and shot Alex Wallace.
He’d had every intention of arriving in that violent fashion, but as he’d trotted through the quiet countryside, Simon Barnes’s words had needled him. To his disgust, he was forced to admit that the disgraced preacher was a sly devil. He’d goaded Hayden to consider numerous tricky issues.
Was he still so angry over what had happened ten years earlier that he would kill a man? Hayden had fornicated with Wallace’s wife. When he’d done it, he hadn’t known she was married, but didn’t Wallace have the right to be furious? Didn’t he have the right to demand satisfaction? If so, where did Hayden’s rage fit into any conclusion?
And what about Abigail? In light of the conditions at Middlebury, it was likely she’d had a hard decade too. If she was happy, if Wallace had rescued her from difficult circumstances, didn’t she deserve the future Wallace would provide?
Hayden wasn’t sure how to approach her. If he walked in and explained who he was, it would be a sweet reunion, but what if Wallace strutted in while they were chatting and hugging? Hayden couldn’t imagine how that scenario would unfold.
What if Hayden strolled in, determined to let bygones be bygones, but Wallace wasn’t in the mood to forgive or forget? What if Wallace took one look at him and challenged him to a second duel? After all, Hayden was still alive, so they hadn’t exactly settled things the first time.
If they bickered, it would ruin Abigail’s engagement and end her wedding. She’d blame Hayden for the debacle, and he couldn’t bear the notion of restarting their relationship on such a painful note.
“What to do, what to do?” he murmured.
Despite Robert’s vehement objection, Hayden had come alone to Wallace Downs. Now, he was fervidly wishing his friend had tagged along. He could have used his advice, although Robert’s only recommendation so far had been to murder Wallace so Hayden could rid himself of Wallace’s ghost.
He tiptoed through the trees, not having caught a glimpse of the house. Wallace’s property was huge, an indication of how rich he was. It was another strike against Hayden causing a ruckus. Who wouldn’t want his sister to marry a very wealthy man?
Shortly, he heard voices up ahead, and furtively, he neared a clearing where a gaggle of children were kicking a ball, trying to maneuver around each other. They were various ages, probably five to twelve years old and mostly boys who were attired in rough clothes and appeared to be tenants’ sons.
There was a girl in the middle of it all, and with her rosy cheeks and merry blue eyes, she was definitely not a tenant’s daughter. Thin and lithe, she was wearing a white dress, covered by a lavender pinafore, a starched petticoat swishing underneath. Her black shoes had been polished to a shine, and her golden blond hair was braided down her back.
She’d be a handful for some lucky parent. Her pretty face was smudged with dirt, her garments stained in several spots, and they would need a thorough washing when she returned to the manor.
Who was she? He guessed she’d be a Wallace cousin who’d come for the wedding, yet members of the Wallace family were generally dark-haired.
She was an aggressive competitor, and when a boy scooted past her with the ball, she tripped him and sent him flying to the ground. He jumped up, his knees scraped from the fall, and he was spitting mad.
“Sorry,” she said, but she didn’t look sorry.
“Bastard,” the boy shockingly hurled at her.
At his spewing the horrid term, the other children gasped.
The girl frowned. “That word—what does it mean?”
“It means that you don’t know who your father is.”
“I do too!” she furiously replied.
“No, you don’t. Your mother was a whore.”
“My mother was not a whore!” she fumed, then she asked, “What’s a whore?”
The boy snickered. A few of the older ones snickered too while the younger ones were nervous and stricken.
“Your mother would misbehave with anybody,” the boy taunted. “It’s what my da says. She had no idea who your father was, so that makes you—and your sister—a bastard.”
The girl pulled herself up to her full height that had to be all of four-foot-four or so. She was regal, incredibly incensed, and quite magnificent. All of the boys shrunk back.
“I know who my father was,” she seethed. “I know who my sister’s father was.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do! He was Hayden Henley. He was Viscount Henley! My mother told us so a thousand times.”
“Liar.”
“I am not lying. He was Lord Henley! He was the most handsome man who ever lived. He was wonderful, like a prince in a fairytale. My mother loved him, and he loved her. Don’t you dare insult either of them!”
She marched over and punched him in the nose just as hard as she could. He tumbled to the ground and wailed with dismay. Blood dripped down his chin and soaked into his shirt.
“I don’t want to play with any of you anymore!” the girl said. “You’re mean, and you’re stupid. Get out of here! All of you!” None of them budged, and she warned, “If you don’t go away, I’ll run to the manor and fetch my sister. She can hit even harder than me. She’ll teach you what happens when you denigrate our father. Then you’ll wish you hadn’t!”
Her fist raised, she was like an ancient warrior goddess. Her legs were spread, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, which was precisely how he stood when he was about to throw a punch.
The children muttered, whispered, then they grabbed the battered boy and hurried away. In seconds, they vanished, and an eerie quiet descended.
Gradually, she sensed she wasn’t alone. She spun in a slow circle, searching the forest. Ultimately, she espied him, and she was fearless. She stomped over to him, approaching until she was so close he could have reached out and touched her.
He should have slinked off, but he was frozen in place and so astonished he couldn’t move. The world had suddenly shifted off its axis. He dropped to his knees so they were nose to nose. They scrutinized each other, their identical blue eyes scanning for details, cataloguing features.
He forced himself to breathe, forced himself not to collapse in a stunned heap.
“Did you hurt your hand when you smacked him?” he asked.
“Just a little.”
Hayden extended his own hand, showing her his bruised knuckles from when he’d walloped Jasper. They shared an identical, conspiratorial grin.
“I don’t usually hit people,” Hayden said, “but sometimes they make me so mad.”
“Me too.” She nodded, seeming wise beyond her years. “Are you a ghost?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Who are you then?”
He didn’t answer, but instead inquired, “Who are you?”
“Millie Wallace.”
“Who is your sister?”
“Mary Wallace.”
“How old are you?”
“Nine. Mary is nine too. We’re twins.”
“I heard you quarreling with those boys. You told them your father was Hayden Henley.”
“He was Hayden Henley.” She tensed and bristled. “Don’t call me a liar!”
“I won’t, but why is your surname Wallace? Why not Henley?”
“Alex was married to my mother, but she didn’t love him. She loved Hayden Henley. He was Lord Henley, Viscount Henley, and she ordered us to never forget that he was our father.” Stoically, she murmured, “And we never have.”
“You live with Alex Wallace?”
“Yes, he’s our father too. We have two fathers.”
“What about your Aunt Abigail? Why is she here?”
“Our mother—our real mother—moved to America, so Abigail is our mother now.”
“I see…”
His pulse was pounding at such a fast clip that he wondered if his heart might not simply explode out of his chest.
When he’d been in Italy, struggling to recuperate from being wounded in the duel, he’d constantly clashed with his parents. He’d been bitter over their whisking him out of England.
It had made him look guilty, as if he was in the wrong, when he didn’t feel he should have been blamed for any offense. He’d dallied with a pretty doxy who’d turned out to be wed to a lunatic. His honor had been at stake, and back then, honor had seemed so important. It had seemed worth fighting and dying over.
During a particularly scathing discussion with his mother, she’d advised him that she’d received news from a friend in London that Eugenia Wallace had lost her baby. He’d never questioned the story, but why hadn’t he?
Why had she lied? Had she hoped to spare him further anguish? Had she hoped to hide the child—no children—from him? Had she expected he would never discover the truth?
How could she have assumed he wouldn’t find out? London was a vicious place, where malicious gossip abounded. It was never a secret that could have been kept.
“Are you sure you’re not a ghost?” she asked again.
“I’m sure.”
“Do you know me? Do you recognize me?”
He reached out a finger and set it on her forehead. He traced it down her nose to the pert tip. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to feel how sturdy she was, to feel how strong she was, but if someone blundered up while he was hugging her, it would appear odd and inappropriate.
“Does your sister, Mary, look just like you?”
“Yes. There’s not a whiff of difference between us.”
“And you’re nine.”
“Yes, but we’ll be ten very soon.”
“Are you happy here?”
“We’re happy.”
“Mr. Wallace…Alex…has he been kind to you?”
“Kind enough. It’s been better since our Aunt Abigail arrived. She’s made it better.”
He dropped his finger, and he stared at the ground. The woods were very quiet as if the wind had ceased to blow and the birds to chirp. He was so overcome by emotion he was surprised he didn’t burst into tears.
A decade of rage swept through him. He’d wandered for so many years, under the very worst conditions. He’d endured and survived, and his mind was disturbed in so many dire ways.
While most days, he blustered forward and pretended he was fine, he was generally playing a game with himself, ignoring the deep issues that rocked him.
Would he ever be the same as he’d once been? He had no idea.
He had two daughters—twin daughters—but they were his enemy’s daughters too. They carried his enemy’s name, and he was raising them as his own. He’d provided shelter and support, had kept them safe and clothed and fed when Hayden couldn’t.
There was a huge bubble of torment building inside him, and he nearly bellowed to the heavens, Why?
Why had he suffered so terribly? Was he cursed? Was that it?
“I…I…should probably go,” he muttered.
“Will you come back again?”
“I’ll try to.”
“Here to the woods?”
“If I can.”
“When? This can’t be the only time. I’ll bring Mary with me. I’ll ask her if she can see you or if you’re invisible.”
“I’m not invisible.”
“What’s your name? You haven’t told me, and you have to. You have to say it out loud.”
He didn’t dare admit it. He couldn’t have her running to the manor and shouting it around every corner. He had to talk to Abigail first, had to…to…talk to Alex Wallace, but he was so overwhelmed, he couldn’t imagine that conversation.
“You know who I am,” he said.
“Yes, I know. Is it to be our secret?”
“For now.”
“I won’t tell—except for Mary. I can’t keep a secret from her.”
He placed a hand on the top of her head, and he held it there, letting some of his strength flow into her, feeling her powerful energy flowing back.
Then he nodded toward the house. “You go on home.”
“Swear you’ll come again.”
“I swear.”
They stared and stared, then she turned and walked off. She stopped at the trees to glance at him, but he’d slipped away, and she searched for him, worried over how he could have vanished.
No doubt she believed he was a ghost, and why wouldn’t she? He’d been one for an entire decade. But he was back, and he had to notify certain people. Starting with Alex Wallace.
She rushed off, most likely to find her sister and drag her to the clearing. She’d claim Hayden had been there, that their father was a specter who’d appeared as an apparition.
He yearned to see Mary so desperately he was ill with it, but he didn’t suppose he should tarry. They’d beg to escort him to the manor, to parade him around, but he wasn’t ready for that encounter. Not yet anyway. He had to think this through, had to proceed cautiously. He had twin daughters who should reside with him at Middlebury, who should grow up there.
It was such a wonderful gift to have received, as if Fate had decided to shine a kindly light on him for once, to remind him of all the reasons he had to be happy. He was alive, he’d survived his ordeal, and he had two daughters whom he had to retrieve from Alex Wallace.
How would he do that precisely? He couldn’t barge in and demand custody. Mary and Millie had never even met him, and a brash command might spur another quarrel with Wallace, which he had to avoid.
Suddenly, he was urgently anxious to be with Helen. He needed her advice and her calm, steady presence while he discussed his options and listened to her replies. He was even anxious to speak with her disgraced father who perhaps—just perhaps—was a tad older and wiser after all.
Had Simon Barnes known about his daughters? He’d hinted that Hayden had a huge surprise waiting for him at Wallace Downs, and he’d been correct.
Hayden wanted to tell his girls who he was. He wanted to tell Alex Wallace and Abigail too. He wanted to shout his identity to the world, then he wanted to bring his girls home to Middlebury where they belonged.
It dawned on him that his vision was cloudy, and he realized he was crying! He’d never cried—ever—the past decade. After all that had transpired, it was silly to cry now. Now—when everything was better. Now—when everything was almost perfect. Once Mary and Millie were with him, everything would be totally perfect.
He whirled away and mounted his horse so he could race to Middlebury and share the astonishing, distressing, spectacular news with Helen. He was so excited for her to learn all about it.
* * * *
Millie was never separated from Mary, not if she could help it, but they’d been playing in the woods, and Mary had torn her dress. She’d run to the manor to change. In the few minutes she’d been gone, a miracle had occurred, and she had to be informed immediately.
As Millie dashed out of the trees, Mary was hurrying down the verandah stairs into the garden. Millie motioned for her to proceed to their bench in the arbor behind the bushes.
They arrived together and slipped into their hiding spot. They sat very close, holding hands, their lips at each other’s ears so they could whisper and the fairies wouldn’t overhear.
“You won’t believe what happened,” Millie told her.
“What?”
“Father visited me.”
Mary’s eyes widened with shock. “Are you sure it was him?”
“Yes.” Mary was wearing their locket, and Millie pulled it out and flipped it open. “It was him exactly, and he recognized me too.”
“Was he as handsome as Mother said?”
“More handsome.”
“And was he tall and strong and amazing?”
“Very amazing.”
They stared at the picture, and Mary asked, “Was he a ghost or a real person?”
“I haven’t decided. He touched my nose and the top of my head. Can a ghost touch a human being? Can the human being feel it?”
“I don’t know. Is he still there? Shall we go see?”
“He had to leave, and he made me leave too. When I was across the clearing, I glanced back, but he’d disappeared.”
“Maybe he’s a ghost after all.”
“Maybe, but listen to this!” Millie elatedly murmured. “He’ll come again. He promised.”
“We need to watch for him then.”
“Yes, every day. I’m certain—one of these times—he’ll be there waiting for us.”
* * * *
Desdemona sat in the parlor of her mother’s house where she’d been staying and entertaining guests for most of the summer. After Jasper had banished her to the country, she’d sent her mother to Bath and had commandeered the grand residence.
Her mother had fumed over Des’s arrogant manner, but in the end, she’d left. What option did she have? Des was a countess, and her husband had bought the bloody place for her. Her mother could do as she was bid, or Des would sell it out from under her.
Jasper’s carriage had lumbered up the drive. He’d written to apprise her of his visit and that he had an important matter to discuss. So he was expected, but as usual, he was several hours late, and her temper was on a slow boil.
She kept peeking out the window, pretending she wasn’t paying attention to him when, in fact, she was in an absolute dither.
Once she’d received his message, she’d leapt into a flurry of preparation. She’d donned her most ornate gown, had curled and styled her hair, and she’d taken extra care with her cosmetics. She’d be the first to admit she wasn’t the most beautiful woman, but she cleaned up nicely.
Her extensive primping would remind him of how lucky he was to have her as his wife. It would remind him of how shabbily he’d treated her.
Acquaintances in town provided regular reports about him. Without her stabilizing influence, he was drinking too much, gambling too much. Most gallingly, he was pursuing a blatant affair with that whore, Camilla Robertson.
Des was furious about it, but a friend had notified her that Jasper and Miss Robertson had had a falling out, although there’d been no gossip as to why. The information was particularly riveting. Des could only conclude that Jasper was about to tell her his paltry romance was over, she was forgiven, and he wanted her with him at home.
Ultimately, the butler escorted him into the parlor. Des deemed herself to be the injured party in their fight, so she didn’t stand to greet him, and a tense silence festered as he walked over and stopped directly in front of her.
To her surprise, his nose was swollen and his eyes black and blue as if he’d been punched very hard. The damage looked painful, and his nose was crooked as if it might be broken.
He nodded disdainfully. “Desdemona.”
“What happened to your face? Did you run into someone’s fist?”
“That would be putting it mildly.”
“Are you here to apologize to me?”
“For what transgression?”
“For the sins you’ve committed against me over the summer.”
He snorted with disgust and went to the sideboard to pour himself a whiskey. “You have the strangest views. If we’re quarreling, let’s not forget who and what started it.”
Her infatuation with the despicable roué, Nicholas Swift, had been the precipitating cause. Then Nicholas had shamed her by traipsing off and marrying Jasper’s cousin, Sarah. Yet with a possible reconciliation in the works, she wasn’t about to mention Nicholas. It would only renew their argument.
Still though, she couldn’t prevent herself from needling him. “I’ve heard all about your little amour with Camilla Robertson. I’ve been fully briefed on how you made a fool of yourself over her. Don’t you dare stroll in and act like a saint.”
He ignored her and gulped down his liquor. He refilled the glass and gulped most of that too. He was very glum, very stoic, and she braced for disaster. She’d convinced herself that he’d missed her and was eager to patch up their spat, but clearly, she’d been mistaken.
“I need to talk to you about something,” he said. “Something bad.”
Her mind raced. Had he sired a child out of wedlock? Had he bankrupted himself in a fraudulent stock scheme? Was he in love with some tart and about to ask for a divorce? Any calamity seemed likely.
“What is it?” she demanded, becoming even more disturbed as he staggered over and eased onto the chair across.
“Have you corresponded with your cousin, Helen, lately?”
“Helen? No. She’s toiling away at Middlebury. Why?”
“I received a frantic letter from her.”
“A letter! My goodness. If she wrote you, it must have been a catastrophe.”
“It was.” He dawdled, stared at the floor, sipped his liquor.
She couldn’t bear the suspense. “What was the catastrophe?”
“A man arrived at Middlebury, and he was claiming to be Hayden.”
For a moment, she was perplexed. She’d only ever known one man named Hayden in her life. “You mean Hayden Henley?”
“Yes. She begged me to come and see for myself. I assumed I’d get there, find a deranged interloper, and chase him off.”
“And…?”
“I couldn’t chase him off.”
She slapped the arm of her chair. “Honestly, Jasper, aren’t you capable of the simplest task?”
“Des, he’s really Hayden.”
She scowled, struggling to unravel the comment. “Hayden is dead. He’s been dead for ten years.”
“No, he hasn’t been dead. He’s just been…gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“I didn’t have an opportunity to ask him. He was upset about the conditions at Middlebury. He felt we’d been sloppy in our management, and he and I fought about it.”
“Is that who blackened your eyes?”
“Yes. He tossed me out and ordered me not to ever return.”
“Of all the nerve!” she huffed.
“We’re in a bind, Des.”
“How are we in a bind?”
“He’s back, and he’s alive. He’s hale and fit and possessed of his mental faculties, so he’s the earl now—and I’m not.”
They were the most frightening words she’d ever heard. “That can’t be true, Jasper. Don’t ever speak such nonsense aloud.”
“He’s taken charge already. He’s locked me out of the town house and the estate bank accounts. He’s having Attorney Thumberton prepare all the legal documents so it’s official. Shortly, I figure he’ll run advertisements in the newspapers to inform my creditors of what’s occurred. I’ve had a reporter sniffing around, but so far, I’ve avoided him.”
“The story is out there though?”
“Yes.”
“We can’t be positive it’s him,” she scoffed. “He could be an actor, an imposter. It could be some…some…confidence artist who’s devised a scam to cheat us.”
“It’s him, Des. I have no doubt.”
“Jasper, listen to me: You have every doubt. To any inquires, you must categorically insist that you knew your cousin better than anyone in the world, and the man at Middlebury is not him. The man is a total fraud.”
“I won’t be believed. Any person who meets him will recognize him.”
“It’s been ten years, Jasper. He was a boy when he left. Who can declare with any certainty that this oaf is that same individual?”
“It’s not a battle we can win, Des.”
“Who is there to contradict you? A few tenant farmers and elderly servants? A few shop merchants and village peasants? No! Grow a spine, Jasper. You’re Earl of Middlebury. Who is there to gainsay you? We’ll destroy any idiot who refutes your denials.”
“With what money, Des? With what allies?”
She stood and went to the sideboard to pour her own whiskey. She filled his glass too, then she sat again, and she was in desperate shape.
When Hayden and his father had still been alive, she’d simply been Jasper’s wife, who’d been a distant cousin to the Earl of Middlebury. At the beginning of their marriage, she hadn’t even realized Jasper was Middlebury’s heir after Hayden.
Then Hayden and his father had died, and Jasper had been elevated to the title. They’d risen up like lost souls ascending into Heaven. Suddenly, they were two of the most powerful, significant people in the kingdom, and she’d completely adapted to her role as a countess.
She’d learned how to bark orders and have them obeyed. She’d learned how to cut an underling with a sharp glance. She’d learned how to expect only the best and to have it bestowed with a snap of her fingers.
She wouldn’t go back to how it had been before. She didn’t even recall that era, and she refused to return to being common and ordinary.
“Let me think about this, Jasper,” she said.
“Yes, you should think, Des, because we have to develop a plan. You’re much cleverer than I am.”
“Yes, I am.”
“He intends to seize everything—even the coach outside. After I’m finished with it, I have to give it back.” He gestured around her mother’s parlor. “This house isn’t safe. If we don’t find a way to protect ourselves, we’re about to be residing in a hovel in some rural village where no one will remember who we used to be.”
“We’ll see about that,” she fumed. “Whom have you told about this?”
“Ah…well…Camilla, but she swore she wouldn’t breathe a word.”
“Camilla Robertson swore not to gossip?”
“Yes.”
Des rolled her eyes. Camilla was the chief busybody in the kingdom. Des would have to bribe or threaten her into silence. “Who else, Jasper?”
“Just Camilla. Helen recommended I talk to you immediately, and I came at once.”
“All right. That was smart.”
She pondered, paced, pondered some more. Quickly, it was evident that she would have to handle any resolution. Jasper wasn’t the brightest fellow, and he wasn’t a fighter. He could never take vicious action when viciousness was required.
She was the fighter. She would scrap and brawl to hold onto her position. No stupid interloper would be allowed to swoop in and steal what was hers. She’d kill any man who tried.
“Do his sisters know about him?” she inquired.
“No. He asked me where they were, and I told him I had no idea.”
“Perfect. We don’t want him to locate them. His sisters could establish his identity, and we can’t have that.”
“I agree.”
“In the meantime, you must not admit your opinion. Ever! Despite how strongly you’re pressed, you have to be adamant that it’s a hoax.”
“I will.” He blew out a heavy sigh. “I’m so glad I’m here. I figured you’d see the correct path.”
“No matter what, we’re not giving an inch. We’ll fight to the end to keep what is ours.”
“We should, Des, but—in reality—it all belongs to Hayden. We can deny it to others, but amongst ourselves, we should be honest.”
“We will deny it forever, Jasper.” She leaned over him, shaking a finger in his face. “Repeat after me: The man at Middlebury is not my cousin.”
“The man is not my cousin.”
“My cousin died in a tragic accident ten years ago, and I am incensed that this imposter would play such a cruel trick on us.”
“Oh, that’s very good, Des. I like that.”
“Repeat it, Jasper.” He did, and she smiled with satisfaction and sat again. “We’ll have to hire a lawyer to help us sue him in court.”
“We can’t use Thumberton. Hayden already retained him.”
“The old sot wouldn’t assist us anyway. We’ll hire someone else, someone better.”
“Is there anyone better than him?”
“There are thousands of lawyers in the city,” she briskly stated, “any number of whom would be delighted to tangle with a pompous ass like Thumberton.”
“I suppose,” Jasper muttered. “I’m afraid I have to stay with you and your mother, Des. You have to let me. I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“Yes, of course you can stay. You must. We should be together and show a united front to the world.”
In fact, with their having to tamp down rumors, it was best that Jasper remain with her in the country. She’d be able to keep an eye on him. She’d be able to monitor who visited and who he talked to.
“I have a big worry, Des,” Jasper said.
“About what?”
“What if he locates his sisters? If they confirm his identity, we’ll be sunk. We can mock a tenant farmer or a shop merchant and call them liars, but not his sisters. We could reject the truth to infinity, but people will believe them over us.”
“Don’t fret about them,” she advised, her road rapidly becoming very clear. “There’s not much time left for him to spread his ridiculous stories.”
“You’re so wrong. Even as we speak, he’s at Middlebury, strutting about and announcing his return.”
“Don’t fret, Jasper.” She nodded with determination. “I’ll take care of it.”
“How?”
“Let’s just say he won’t plague us much longer. For now, that’s all you need to know.”