CHAPTER FIVE

NELL TOOK SOPHIA’S letter from her reticule and spread it on the table, smoothing the creases, not looking at Black’s face. She took a deep breath. “When Sophia wrote this she was pregnant. Her baby will be a month old by now.”

Black made no sound of surprise. In fact, he made no sound at all. He didn’t say, Well, what do you expect when a woman behaves as your sister has? Or, We can only pray that the child has died. Both of which were statements her Great Aunt Wrotham had made yesterday. Nor did he say, I understand why you’re so anxious to find her. Of course she must be helped! which she half expected him to say, which she waited for him to say. And which he didn’t say.

Finally, Nell looked across at him. His expression was grim.

“The baby needs a home,” she said.

“And you intend to provide that?”

“Yes.”

“How? My understanding was that your portion is small.”

“Very small. Two thousand pounds. But invested in the four-percents it will give me eighty pounds per year. If Sophia and I are frugal, we can live on that.”

Black looked even grimmer. “Where will you live?”

“I shall buy a cottage somewhere, where no one knows us.”

“How will you purchase this cottage?”

“My mother left me a few pieces of jewelry.” Nell pushed the letter aside. “So you see, your scruples over my reputation—although they do you justice—are quite unnecessary. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of me, because I shan’t be returning to Society.”

Black looked at her for several seconds. “You’re determined on this course of action? After what your sister did?”

“She was only fifteen. A child! She didn’t know what she was doing.”

“Fifteen? Then how did she meet her soldier?”

“Oh . . .” Nell looked down at her plate, and pushed it to one side. “Father said Sophia was too young to come to London. He left her in Lincolnshire under the chaperonage of a friend.” Poor chaperonage, as it had turned out. She looked up and met Black’s eyes. “Sophia made a mistake, but I don’t see why it should be allowed to ruin her life. And most especially not her child’s life.”

“What about your life?”

“I wish to be reunited with my sister.” Her throat tightened. Nell paused, swallowed, took a steadying breath. She was not going to cry in front of Mordecai Black. “Once you meet her, you’ll understand.”

Black looked unconvinced.

“You think that because she ran off with a soldier, she’s headstrong and shameless. Well, she’s not. She’s . . .” Nell frowned, and tried to find the right words. “Sophia has the sweetest nature of any person I’ve ever known. She loves everyone, and everyone loves her. Even Father loved her. She could make him smile, when I never could.” And then he stopped loving her and disowned her.

Rage at her father kindled in Nell’s breast. How could any man turn his back on a beloved child? “If Sophia has a fault, it’s that she believes the best of people. She sees something to like in everyone. She trusts where she shouldn’t trust. That’s why she ran off with her soldier: because she trusted him. Not because she’s a lightskirt.”

Black still looked skeptical.

“You of all people should know not to judge a person by their reputation,” Nell said with asperity. “And quite apart from what you may think of Sophia’s character, there’s the child to think of. It needs a safe home!”

“Is it illegitimate?”

“What does that matter?” Nell said tartly. “I’ve never understood why children should pay for the sins of their parents. They don’t ask to be born out of wedlock and yet they’re punished for it their whole lives.” And then she remembered who she was talking to.

Her words echoed loudly in the room, and then silence fell. Black’s illegitimacy seemed to loom between them, an invisible third person. His expression was no longer skeptical. He looked taken aback. After a moment, he said, “Your father held different views.”

“I am not my father.”

Black huffed a faint laugh. “No.” She saw him relax. He reached for his tankard and sipped.

The atmosphere in the room eased. It felt as if they were almost-friends instead of almost-strangers.

Nell leaned urgently across the table. “So, you see, my reputation is of no consequence—”

The serving-man banged cheerfully in through the door. “Finished yet?”

Nell sat back and bit her tongue while the man gathered up their plates with a merry stream of conversation. Had they liked the pies? Did they want more? Would sir like a second tankard? Oh, sir hadn’t finished his first one? No rush, then, take yer time—and shout down the stairs if yer want more. Finally the serving-man departed. In the silence that followed, Nell looked across at Black. He was sipping the last of his ale, his expression thoughtful, introspective, almost brooding.

He looked up and caught her gaze, and her pulse gave its familiar, foolish little flutter.

Black put down the tankard. “Miss Wrotham . . . there is a way we can travel together without damaging your reputation.”

“How?”

He hesitated, as if weighing up his words, and then said, “If I may ask . . . why did you accept my cousin’s offer of marriage?”