His Wicked Smile Page 7

  “They would not have agreed otherwise?”

  “Paying attention, aren’t you? No, she has a title, you understand. The family didn’t want her marrying down.”

  “At least you didn’t love her.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You wouldn’t have been with me in Leeds if you did, with hopes of soon being reunited with her. What’s her name?”

  “Elizabeth. I find your understanding of gentlemen to be fascinating. You do not think that, being drunk, I would not have been with a beautiful, willing woman, given the opportunity, in almost any circumstance?”

  “Love is everything,” she said, keeping her pace matched to his.

  “To women perhaps, but not to most men.”

  “I would not have shared such passion with you if I did not feel a kindred spirit.”

  He laughed. “I feel so misjudged. I am not a saint.”

  “Have you been with anyone since we met?”

  He frowned. They were passing the buildings of the market now, the roofs barely above the fog. “I travelled a great deal. I had just given up my mistress in the hopes of making a marriage with Beth. I’ve had no time to make any such arrangements since.”

  “You mean to tell me a wealthy, attractive man in the prime of his life has not had a passionate encounter in ten months because he’s had no free time? Come, sir, I do not believe you. If nothing else, you might have found another pretty girl at an inn.”

  Feeling foolish, he said, “I found a better treatment than port for my immediate pain a few months ago. A sober man is a more sensible one.”

  She sniffed as he told her about the Antifebrin. “I do not like the side effects, but it has done wonders.”

  “I’m not sure that it’s better than port from what you describe. I don’t trust chemical medicine.”

  “Very often it is adulterated and unsafe. You do not have to persuade me, a seller of Ayurvedic remedies.”

  “I suppose not. But we shall see what we can do with massage and rest.” They came to the top of Catherine Street. “It is not very nice here at night. Too many women working the street. But to live here is respectable enough. Many artisans, the kind of people who appreciate my medicine.”

  “So you are still pursuing that as well as baking?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not used to making a living like this, or to having a child. I shall have to see how much time I have compared to how much money I need.”

  He noted that she did not seem to consider him in her calculations as he followed her into a building that housed a carpentry shop on the ground floor, then up a narrow flight of steps. She unlocked a door and stepped into a small apartment.

  He had never lived so meanly. The Redcakes had been gaining in prosperity for at least three generations. Still, the room was clean and warm, though the furniture was scant. He recognized Fern in an armchair by the fire, pushing a cradle with her foot.

  “Is he asleep?” Ann asked, shedding her coat, gloves and hat.

  Fern glanced up and shook her head to the negative.

  “I need to feed him,” Ann said, glancing back at him.

  “Has he gone all day without eating?”

  “No, Fern takes him across the hall during the day. There is a woman who just weaned her own child in the flat. She provides for him.” Ann leaned over the cradle and came up with a small bundle wrapped in a blanket. “Do you want to see him first?”

  Gawain walked forward slowly, hearing a rushing sound in his ears. This was not how he’d imagined meeting his first-born son, the next step in the Redcake dynasty. First, he saw a white blanket edged with handmade lace. Next, a blue knit cap.

  Ann removed the cap, exposing a naked head with just a bit of copper fluff. Gawain had become rather familiar with babies recently thanks to his sisters, and though the infant seemed tiny, his face matched the age Ann had described, about six weeks old. The baby opened his eyes and looked directly at him. Its tiny mouth opened and it let out a little cry.

  “This is your son,” she announced, with an air of defiance mixed with pride.

  “Hello, Noel,” Gawain whispered, forgetting Ann for a moment. He had not a shadow of a doubt that this was his child. While his nose would be a long time developing, he recognized the wide-spaced eyes, the shape of the head. Noel was a Redcake. Noel was his son.

  He leaned over Ann’s arm and unwrapped the baby just enough to find one minute hand, which rose into the air in protest. Gawain placed his index finger on the open palm. It closed immediately around him.

  The world was at peace for the space of a moment, as he and Noel shared a look. Then the infant stuck out his tongue and began to bleat.

  “He’s hungry,” Ann said, rebundling her baby.

  Gawain moved back reluctantly. Fern stood and Ann sat in the armchair, the only comfortable seat in the room. The girl gestured, and Gawain went with her to sit in one of the two cane chairs pushed against the kitchen table. From that vantage point, he could not see what was going on.

  After a moment, Fern stood and began to prepare tea. Gawain remembered he had a box tucked inside his coat and pulled out a tin of his brand of Darjeeling tea and some cheese scones. Fern looked over his offerings and nodded approval. She opened a cupboard, poked around, then handed him a plate. He arranged the scones while she placed two sausages in a pan on the stove.

  By the time the sausages were done, Ann had Noel tucked back into the cradle. When she came to the table, Gawain said, “May I hold him while you eat? I’m not hungry.”

  “Of course,” said Ann.

  He followed her back to the fireplace and watched as she unfolded the outermost blanket and picked Noel up. “Have you held a baby before?”

  “Yes. Two of my three sisters have babies.”

  “Then you’ll know what you’re doing. Mind his head.”

  He held out his arms and she placed the precious bundle on top of them. Noel had fallen asleep and he gave a little snort as he snuggled into Gawain, turning his head against his father’s arm. “Eat,” Gawain said. “I’ll sit here.”

  As he backed into the still-warm armchair and sat down, the baby never stirred. She watched, then went to the table.

  “Did you make those?” Ann said softly. After a pause, she continued, “Oh, he must have brought them from the bakery.”

  Gawain smiled at the baby, glad he had surprised her. As soon as she was done eating he would surprise her again. Meanwhile, he stared at his child, memorizing every tiny feature. He didn’t look much like his cousins, Jacob and Mary Ellen. Jacob had thick brown hair and Mary Ellen had blond curls. Her eyes were already the strange shape of her Uncle Judah’s. Jacob had a winning grin that had reminded Hatbrook of Theodore Bliven.

  Gawain refused to think of any of that unpleasantness, with a warm, powder-scented bundle dozing in his arms. While he had missed the first six weeks of this baby’s life, he would miss no more. The situation needed resolution. Ann didn’t particularly like London, he suspected. He could give up his rooms in the St. James’s Square mansion his father owned and buy a house in a suburb, a little closer to Leeds, so Ann could keep an eye on her inn. Maybe she would want to sell it all to Harry and focus on her family. She could continue to dabble in her native medicines. There were plenty of Indians in London. Really, they couldn’t be more compatible.

  Marrying her caused some risk to his permanent goals, but didn’t the Queen herself find Indians fascinating? She had Indian servants and the papers said she was learning Hindustani. Maybe marriage to a maharajah’s granddaughter would actually be beneficial.

  He heard the clatter of dinnerware and a chair being pushed back. The fireplace scents were overwhelmed by the odor of fruitcake as Ann set the kitchen chair next to the armchair.

  “What do you think?”

  “We’ll have to be married by special license,” he said, curling Noel’s single lock of hair around his finger. “It’s Friday, so it will be a few days before I can manage it,
but we can be married next week. You and Fern can move into my family home until I can purchase us an acceptable house. I am thinking outside of central London to the north.”

  “Married,” she said.

  He did not understand her tone. Glancing up, he saw none of the happiness or relief he’d expected. Instead, the squint of her eyes looked more like derision. “Of course, what did you expect?”

  “I wanted you to know you had a son.”

  “You didn’t uproot yourself and sell part of your inn simply to have a conversation with me. In fact, if you’d sent a letter to Redcake’s instead of coming yourself the news might have reached me faster.”

  “I didn’t really know if you were connected to the place.”

  “It doesn’t matter now. What does matter is that I can give Noel my name and security. We can give him brothers and sisters. He has two cousins, not much older than he, playmates. They won’t judge him for being born before our wedding. In fact, none of the little ones will even need to know.”

  Her lips curled into a tiny smile. “I’m not going to marry you, Gawain.”

  “Of course you are,” he said. “It is the only way.”

  “There is never just one way. I’ve been married before.”

  “Was it bad? Did he hurt you?” Gawain growled, already feeling out his pater familias role.

  “No. He loved me. I loved him. Love is everything and I won’t spoil that memory with convenience.”

  “What about all of that nonsense about you and me and the connection we’ve had since we met. No one but you and all that?”

  “Only time will tell if it is a spiritual connection or just a sensual attachment,” she said calmly.

  He wanted to stand and shout but the bundle in his arms was too precious to wake. “You need security and so does Noel.”

  “I have a position. I have the inn. I have Wells’s family.”

  “You’ll like my family. And I’ve learned from my sister’s experience that I don’t want a bastard child. I need to marry you so you and Noel don’t have to have my sister Matilda’s circumstances. There is no reason for it.”

  “I do not need you,” she said in clear tones. “I will not keep you from seeing Noel, of course, whenever you are in London.”

  “I won’t leave again without the two of you.”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course you will continue your business dealings, but I do hope you will stay here long enough for me to treat your hip.”

  “This is madness,” he said, staring down at Noel. “You must be the sort of person who has to think things through very carefully. As I said, I cannot get the license for a few days. I will come back tomorrow. But if you pack, we can move you to the mansion then. I am the only person in residence now so there will be no trouble with rooms and a full complement of servants is available to meet your every need.”

  “No,” she said. “We have everything we need right here.”

  “You need time to think.”

  She didn’t respond. He had a sudden rush of fear. Did she think she was too good for him? With her dead officer husband and royal mother?

  “You gave birth to my child,” he said stiffly. “You will become my wife. I will not suffer him to become a bastard.” He leaned forward, holding Noel out like an offering, because he knew he might not be able to stand from the low chair without using his arms for leverage.

  Ann took the baby, who was transferred without waking. “I need to massage your hip.”

  “You have already worked a full day and need to care for Noel. I will return tomorrow.” Keeping his chin high, he limped to the door where he’d left his things. Once he had his cane in his fist he felt more in control of himself. He nodded to Fern, leaning against the kitchen table, and let himself out.

  When he reached the steps he found his hands were shaking. Cold, it must be the cold. He found his gloves in his pocket and pulled them on. Men didn’t cry at the sight of babies but for once he wanted to. She could not think to keep his child from him, not when he wanted the child. He was offering her everything a woman might want.

  Gawain went to Ann’s apartment early the next afternoon during proper visiting hours. But when he arrived, he found only Fern and Noel, because Ann had neglected to tell him that she worked on Saturdays. He spent a pleasant two hours holding the baby while Fern sewed baby clothes, until she put her materials down and pointed to Noel and the door. By that, he assumed she meant it was time for a feeding with the neighbor. He walked out the door with her because he wanted to see that the woman kept herself clean and looked respectable.

  From the glance he could take at her through the door, she appeared to be a tidy woman. He could see an older child on the floor playing with a doll. The child looked healthy and content, so he nodded his thanks to Fern and left the building. He would return the next day. It didn’t hurt to give Ann time to think about her situation.

  Feeling at loose ends, he went to his club, thinking he would check the papers for potential houses for his expanded family. When he perused them, in a comfortable club chair, he found some promising rentals in Enfield that would do for now.

  “Mr. Redcake?”

  Gawain looked up to see a waiter. “Yes?”

  “There is a Mr. Bliven here to see you.”

  Gawain could not imagine who that might be. The only Bliven he knew was hiding in Madras the last he’d heard. “I do not know any Bliven.”

  “A Theodore Bliven.”

  Gawain would have shot to his feet if his hip allowed. What was this? “About my age, with curly dark hair, nearly black?”

  The waiter nodded.

  His entire body tensed. Should he see the man or send him away? He glanced around the room. This was a club of younger men, so there weren’t any old fellows slumbering next to the fire. A couple of engineers played chess, and a carriage manufacturer was reading in a corner. None of his usual allies was about. He made a quick decision. “Tell him he can call on me at the house on St. James’s Square in an hour.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gawain watched the waiter leave the room. He rubbed his forehead where pain had begun to gather and stayed in silent meditation for a few minutes, giving Bliven time to vacate the club. Then, he remembered he’d had a telephone installed and he could call Hatbrook House and see if the marquess was in town. He’d want to know. He might even have some advice.

  Gawain was home twenty minutes later. Unfortunately, no one answered the telephone at Hatbrook House. He tried to reach the Farm but the family was out for the evening. He would have to deal with Bliven on his own.

  Pounds, the Redcake family butler, was in residence, and he came to the library to announce Bliven’s arrival. The butler’s face was impassive as he made his announcement.

  “What do you think, Pounds?” Gawain asked. “You see Matilda and Jacob far more than I do. What would the reaction be? Should I toss him out on his ear?”

  “Mr. Jacob is only fourteen months old,” Pounds said. “If his father wants to come up to snuff, he’s young enough not to remember when his father was gone.”

  “So you think if he’s willing to marry Matilda now, that would be for the best?”

  “To give her his name, at least. I shouldn’t like her to be hurt. She’s been through enough already.”

  “I quite agree. She’s all the better for her suffering, I think, but it has been enough. Very well. Send him in.”

  Pounds nodded and a few moments later Gawain saw Hatbrook’s old school chum walk in. Theodore Bliven, his tanned face showing every one of the wrinkles he had earned in thirty years, walked in with a somber expression. He had left England two years ago, claiming to have a fiancée waiting in India. At that time, he had thought to one day inherit an earldom. Gawain had heard that he’d been pushed down the line though, due to the birth of an unexpected heir. His trader Khan had said Bliven remained unmarried. Had he come for Matilda now that his prospects were gone?

  “Bliven,” Gawain s
aid, staying seated behind his father’s oversized desk.

  The man stepped forward tentatively, then, at Gawain’s imperious gesture, sat in front of the desk on a waiting chair.

  “What brings you by?”

  “I went to India with a charge from you,” Bliven said.

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “The trip alone took close to half that time, as you well know.” After he spoke, Bliven seemed to realize that cheekiness would not go over well and swallowed hard. “Listen, I did a bit of this and that while I was there, but I took your business seriously.” He reached into his jacket and took out a carved box, then set it on the desk and pushed it to Gawain.

  “What’s this?”

  “I have tea as well. It’s in the main hall. Four different kinds of single estate Assams. Enough to offer for sale. I spent half your money on expenses and half on goods. I hope you think that is fair.” He glanced down at his hands, spread across his legs.

  “What happened to your fiancée?”

  “She had already married another before I arrived,” Bliven said with a vague frown. “I had a fever when I arrived. I was supposed to meet her at a prearranged time and didn’t make the appointment so she went to another suitor.”

  “How inconstant of her,” Gawain said acidly.

  Bliven met his gaze for the first time since he’d walked in. “You do not care about any of that. But this you will care for.” He pointed at the box. “I got it in Kerala.”

  “What is it?”

  “Dhanvantari’s Nectar.”

  Gawain knew that Dhanvantari was the Hindoo physician to the gods in their religious lore. But he’d never heard of an herb called Dhanvantari’s Nectar. “An herb?”

  “A preparation, created by a family who practice the traditional medicine there.”

  “What is it for?”

  “I remember you as a singularly focused man, Redcake. How you have changed. Why, of course, it is the preparation that will cure your damaged eye.”

  Gawain couldn’t speak for a moment. He stared at the simple rosewood box. “Cure my eye, you say?”