The Greatest of Sins Page 19

  ‘And you are all right with this?’ The duke chose not to notice the awkward moment. ‘It means you might never have children. I should have thought, with your interest in midwifing, that you would want to be a mother.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘But I am also aware that we do not always get what we might want in life.’ Right now, she must not be thinking of Sam.

  ‘And next you will tell me that Man proposes, but God disposes.’ He waved a hand. ‘Pray, do not bother.’ Was it her ears, or did he actually sound cynical? He had been ill, of course. And at the moment, he was under much stress. But it was still most unlike him.

  ‘That has ever been the case,’ she said. ‘It was thus, even before you became ill. We might never have had children. Though we are young and strong, we have no guarantee of longevity. There is simply no knowing the future.’

  ‘Carpe diem,’ he muttered, pushing his untouched breakfast aside. ‘But that does not change my need for an heir. In fact, it increases it. If I die tomorrow, my life would have had no meaning.’

  ‘Of course it would,’ Eve said, patting his hand.

  She was patting his hand again. She must stop it, or he would think she could manage nothing more than the platonic affection she might shower on any invalid. ‘You are a great man, Michael. And no matter what happens, people will remember you as such.’

  ‘They would remember me as the last St Aldric,’ he reminded her. ‘And I would have failed my family in the one thing that should have been simple.’ He gave her another sharp look. ‘If you had given me your answer when I’d first asked for it, we’d have been married by now. This might never have been a concern.’

  Now, he would turn his unhappiness on her. She wanted to argue that it was hardly her fault. There was no way she might have known the future and the results of her decisions. But it was true. She had hesitated when he needed her to be decisive. And it must never happen again. ‘I’m sorry,’ she replied.

  ‘Sorry does not change the fact that I need an heir.’ At one time, he had said that he needed a wife. But that had never been what he’d meant. Circumstances were forcing the truth from him. But she had told Sam she wanted the truth, even if it was unpleasant. She had no right to complain when she received it.

  ‘There is a way that we might be sure of progeny,’ the duke said, slowly and carefully. ‘But it would require a sacrifice on your part.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, giving his hand an encouraging squeeze. She owed him her loyalty now, if only to make up for the times that she had wavered.

  ‘I must have a son. A legitimate heir. And that might be quite beyond me.’

  He was staring at her as though she would be the key to it. But there was nothing she could do to alter the course of his illness. He must mean something quite different. ‘Are you suggesting we perpetrate a ruse of some kind?’

  ‘In a way,’ he said cautiously. ‘I did not sleep last night, trying to find another way. But I could think of none but this: you must appear to be pregnant with my child.’

  ‘If we went away for a time, and returned with an infant …’

  He shook his head. ‘People would wonder. But if they saw that you were carrying a child, and if I acknowledged it as mine, they would not dare to question us. They would announce us fortunate. All gossip would be silenced.’

  ‘But how …?’ The answer was simple, of course. But he could not possibly be suggesting it.

  ‘If you were to lie with a man not unlike me in appearance. Someone as alike as a brother …’

  She already had. And she had promised herself that it would never happen again. ‘I will not be unfaithful to you,’ she said, setting the temptation as far from herself as she could.

  ‘It is not infidelity if it is agreed upon by both parties.’ He was looking at her without emotion, as though she was worth nothing more to him than the child she might produce. ‘And our marriage vows mean nothing to you?’

  ‘I will fulfil my part in them,’ he said solemnly. ‘But as I remember your part, you would be called to obedience.’

  Sit quietly. Have no opinion other than the weather. Play with your kitten and do not think too hard, or speak too loudly. And now, this. ‘What you are suggesting is horrible.’ She dropped his hand. ‘I will not hear it.’

  ‘Not this year, perhaps.’ His face was positively grim. ‘But as time passes, and we do not have a son, you might feel differently. And I? I would insist.’

  ‘You would require me to do something so repellent?’

  ‘As to make you seduce the man you have loved for years?’ Now he laughed and the cynicism was obvious. ‘My half-brother would be the perfect candidate. I suspect, after a few more years at sea, he would be all too willing to bed you, should you tell him tales of your unhappiness with me. I have seen the two of you together and the way you look at each other, when you think no one might notice. He was a fool for not taking you from me, when he had the chance.’

  ‘You knew?’ It was pointless to lie, now that it was too late to matter.

  He nodded. ‘I knew from the first day that I would never have all of your heart. But it was not your heart that was required. I would have had no objection to a dalliance, once your obligation to me was fulfilled. But this solution will work just as well.’

  She had thought him good, almost beyond belief. And she had berated herself for betraying him. But now she could hardly bare to look at him. ‘How could you?’

  ‘Easily, I assure you. Because it needs to be done. Think of it as one more duty that you will face if you truly wish to marry me. For you see, my dear, being a duchess is sometimes quite different than being a lady.’

  ‘But when you offered, I thought …’

  ‘That I loved you?’ His smile, which had seemed to be benevolent, was really no better than patronising. ‘At any time, have I attempted to mislead you? I did not make my offer out of love, nor did I flatter myself in believing that you accepted it for that reason. We are fond of each other. But it would be a lie to claim that it is more than that. The marriage was expedient for both of us. And expediency might demand the situation that I describe to you now. While I appreciate your willingness to stand by me in the face of adversity, this marriage is likely to require more from you than pity. Do you still wish to stay?’

  ‘No.’ Tears were slipping down her nose, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She should be strong enough to do this. Or she should at least have stopped to think through her answer. But there was no other answer she could make. ‘I am sorry. If this is our future, I cannot marry you.’

  Now he was patting her hand with the same sort of benign sympathy that she had offered him. ‘I thought not. It is a shame, for I am sure we would have been a great success.’

  ‘You are not angry?’ He seemed almost relieved. Since she was as well, she could not bring herself to feel insulted.

  ‘I am angry about many things, my dear. But not at you. You love my brother. He loves you. Go to him. Be happy.’ St Aldric was giving her an exhausted attempt at a smile, as though he had completed some onerous but necessary task. ‘And now, if you will forgive me, I wish to rest.’ He turned away from her, face to the wall and sighed.

  She reached out a hand and touched his hair, then she withdrew. She had no right. It was over between them.

  If it gave him comfort, as it seemed to, then let the duke think that she was going to Sam. But she could not manage that, either. Her freedom did not remove the sting of knowing that he had waited too long to declare. Would he still want her, now that Michael did not? If this sudden love for her was anything more than jealousy towards his brother, he should have told her so when she’d asked.

  If there was another motive for avoiding her and spurning her offers, and the sudden, convenient return of his love, he had said nothing about it. While she did not wish to believe the worst, she could find nothing else that made sense.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Walking to the study
was like going from the sick room to a funeral. That would be what it would seem to her father, who viewed her impending marriage almost as though it were a live thing. And she had not just witnessed the death of it, she had been instrumental in bringing it about.

  She had murdered her one chance at a title and a life of ease. No one would want a girl who jilted the most eligible bachelor in London. How picky must she be, if even a saint was not good enough for her?

  Yet she felt almost happy to be free of it. She had parted from him as a friend. She would not have to lie to St Aldric about her feelings, since he understood them already. She would not have to stifle herself and conform to his ideals for a perfect wife. She could go on much as she’d been living it, lonely, but with time to study and to help the women in the villages around their country home.

  But it would take all of her charm to persuade Father that this was for the best. She would kiss his temples and assure him that there would be no problem with the duke. They would still be welcome in his home and he in theirs. Their household was well managed now. But it would continue to be so if she remained as a spinster in his house. She could care for him in his dotage.

  The future, while it was not rosy, was solid and comfortable. Once he was over his disappointment, he would see the advantages of her staying. She would run the house for him, as she had. And she would always be his loving and devoted daughter.

  Even if she could not have Sam it was better to live this way. She might be alone, but at least she was not living under the misapprehension that love would come to her. The past was dead. Memories were illusions. And even saints had feet of clay. Now that she had arrived at it, she hesitated in the open door of the study. She felt like a very small girl again, wanting to see her parent, but afraid to interrupt his important business.

  And, just as he always had, he looked up and smiled at her, as though she was the light of his life. ‘Evelyn. Come.’ He put up a hand, curling a coaxing finger. ‘Doctor Hastings has finally freed you from your duties, so that you might visit me?’

  ‘Father.’ Her tongue was all but sticking in her mouth. I have done a horrible thing. She had not, really. She had done the only thing possible. But how to explain it?

  He saw her distress and held out his arms to her, and she went into them without question, drawing strength from his embrace.

  ‘Does something upset you?’ He held her away from him.

  ‘Sam has gone,’ she said. And for the first time that day she felt like crying.

  ‘You knew he would,’ her father said, unaffected. ‘At best, he might have stayed through the wedding. But he has not been a constant friend, has he? He all but disappeared from your life for years. Now that he is back in London, I am surprised that he stayed as long as he did. But I suspect that was caused by nothing more than the duke’s illness.’

  ‘Father!’ Now of all times, he seemed full of his old grudge against a man who could do him no real harm. ‘Sam’s going is neither here nor there. He can do as he wishes, for he is a free man.’

  ‘Then what is troubling you, my dear? It is not St Aldric, is it? Hastings assured me that the man would make a recovery. Not complete, perhaps. But it has turned out as well as can be expected.’

  ‘He is fine,’ she agreed, after a steadying breath. ‘As fine as one could hope to be, after a severe illness. He grows stronger by the hour. But he is in low spirits.’

  ‘Ahh. Yes.’ Her father took an equally steadying breath. He was obviously aware of what this particular illness might mean, but did not want to talk about such a sensitive matter with his daughter. ‘Well, there is nothing to be done about the past and no predicting the future.’

  ‘I tried to tell him so. But he would not listen.’

  ‘He will come around in time,’ her father insisted.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she agreed. ‘But he was saying things today that could not be forgiven or forgotten. And it is quite clear that he never loved me.’

  Her father laughed dismissively. ‘That is hardly a problem, I am sure. He is a good man. He is fond of you. That is enough.’

  ‘Not to me,’ she said. ‘At one time, I thought so. But truly, it is not. And I told him so.’

  ‘I beg your pardon. But I could not have heard you correctly.’ Her father put his hand to his ear, feigning deafness to give her time to correct her last statement. ‘You do not argue with a duke, Evelyn, no matter how outré his behaviour becomes.’

  ‘His behaviour was not outré,’ she said, equally incredulous that her father would support the opposite side in any argument she might have. ‘The things he said …’ How much did she want to tell him of the suggestions made? ‘Let me simply say that they could not be attributed to eccentricity. He proposed that we have a marriage so far outside the bounds of propriety that I told him I wanted no part in it. I asked for my freedom. He gave it to me. We have agreed to end our engagement.’

  Her father was slack jawed in amazement, before sputtering, ‘Wh-wh-whatever you said to him to cause this separation, you must go back immediately and unsay it,’

  As though there would be any going back. ‘Certainly not. I am sorry, Father, but our conversation resulted from something he said to me. I had done nothing to provoke him.’

  ‘Then perhaps it was a result of his illness,’ her father said, voicing one last hope. ‘He will be better in a week. When he is, he will apologise to you. All will be well again.’

  ‘It was not the illness talking,’ she said patiently. ‘He is very nearly healed. But the possible repercussions gave us reason to discuss the future. We simply agreed that the proposed union would make neither of us happy and dissolved it. We are still on good terms. But we will not marry.’

  ‘And what are you to do now?’ her father moaned, his head in his hands. ‘And do not tell me that it is a disagreement over Hastings. If he is gone again, he will not be able to interfere.’

  ‘No, Father, I can honestly say that it is not. The difficulty lies between Michael and myself. I cannot tell you more than that.’ She came around to the other side of the desk and hugged him, to prove that her love for him had not changed at all.

  His arm came up to pat her on the shoulder as well. ‘All the same, you might well have ruined your only chance at happiness. Who will have you, now?’

  ‘You needn’t worry,’ she said, smiling now to show him that her heart was not the least bit broken. ‘Not about anything at all. I am going to stay here with you. I am sure you would have missed me terribly, had I left you. But now I shall be here always, to care for you.’

  ‘I am not yet so old that I need a nurse,’ her father said sharply and withdrew his arm.

  ‘I know that, Father,’ she said. ‘But you must admit, my housekeeping skills have been useful thus far. I still cannot sew a straight seam, of course. But I manage the servants well enough, don’t I? Your home is as you like it. I will see that it remains so.’

  Then he cleared his throat, as though preparing to broach some awkward news. ‘The truth is, my dear, I had plans of a matrimonial nature myself. There is a widow that I am quite fond of. But now that you plan to remain …’

  She had been prepared for anger. Perhaps some threat of punishment that she would easily avoid. But this reaction was totally unexpected. Her own father did not want her to stay. In fact, he had been in the process of disposing of her, to make way for another, and she had spoiled everything. She sat down with a thump on the chair by the desk, momentarily unable to support her own weight.

  ‘Do not worry, my dear,’ he said with the same reassuring smile she had planned to use on him. ‘I am sure, if we make an effort, we will think of someone to take you. And we must look on the bright side. You may have lost the duke. But at least Hastings is gone again. We are most fortunate to be rid of him.’

  Here again was his strange dislike for Sam, who had been as close to him as a son, almost since birth.

  ‘But I doubt his family will see him, either,’ she said. ‘He
refused the position that St Aldric offered him. And at the time of his parting, they were still no closer to behaving as brothers should.’

  ‘You are too soft hearted by half, Evelyn,’ he said, smiling at her with some of the fatherly warmth she had expected. ‘In the end, they will both be better off if he returns to sea.’

  ‘I hope he does not,’ she said. No matter what had happened, she did not wish him ill. ‘It is far too dangerous. I have told him so, but I do not think he listened.’

  ‘Not so dangerous as it might have been, had he remained ashore.’ Her father glanced at the door, as though wanting to make sure that there was no one in the hall who might hear. ‘I have known, my dear, of your affection for him. It simply would not do. Some day you will see the wisdom of it and accept that it was not meant to be. If you ever wish to marry well, Samuel Hastings must not hang over the union like a cloud.’

  ‘He would do nothing to hurt me,’ she said. He had hurt her already. But no one would know about that.

  ‘He would not be able to help himself,’ her father said, with a sad shake of his head. ‘He would always be searching for some sign of dissatisfaction between you and your husband.’

  It was almost as St Aldric had described it, with Sam waiting in the wings for her first sign of weakness. But hadn’t that been exactly what had happened already? She would not be sure for several weeks that she had not made a horrible mistake that might leave her running back to the duke and agreeing to his original plan of providing an heir in any way possible. ‘Well, I am not to marry St Aldric now, so that hardly seems a problem.’

  ‘It is even worse, my dear,’ her father said, almost wringing his hands with agitation. ‘If you do not find another suitor, there will be nothing left to curb his acting on the impulse to offer comfort that you would not need.’

  ‘He needed no curbing in the past. He left easily enough, the first time, and we have hardly seen him for six years.’ This time, he’d been old enough to satisfy his lust. Once that had been done he’d left again, without so much as a thought to the possibility of issue.