line, and he shook his head. “Well, if you change your mind, you know
where to find us.”
“Thank you, my
lord.”
Before she could
be stopped again, Cordelia dashed out a side door from the servant’s wing. And
noticed another coach approaching the house. Ignoring the visitor, she walked
until she found a glorious apple tree to sit under. She loosened the blanket
around Matthew and found that the child had fallen asleep.
Perhaps if I close my eyes for a few moments… Cordelia found every muscle in her body relaxing, and her eyes
weighed heavily. Just a small nap…
* * * *
“Who is Matthew?
That is not your son’s name…”
“No, it is not.”
“Then whose child
is Matthew?”
“You should speak
to Cordelia. The two of you have much to discuss. Besides, ’tis not my tale to
tell.”
Bastian’s stomach
flipped. Who does the child belong to?
Why is it not it Thompson’s story to tell? What the hell is Cordelia keeping
from me? There were too many questions and not enough answers. “Pray,
answer me one question. Did I father that child?”
The sudden
possibility that he was a father all this time frightened him. And to make
matters worse, he had not been there to assist her or bond with the child.
Fortunately enough for him, he could make up for lost time.
“Bastian, you have
to remember that she has been away all this time for safety. What do you think
Downsbury would do if he knew his wife was still alive? Even after trying to
marry my sister and all. She probably knows by now how deep in scandal he was.
From what I understand, she has meaning to talk to you, but the opportunity had
not been presented.”
The marquess paused and rose to pour them a drink. “I can say
this, though, from what I know, she may not want to stay in London even after
saying her peace.”
Not that Bastian
could blame her, but how could she not mention this to him before? He could not
imagine the burden she had carried all this time. Alone, scared, and completely
out of her element. She had spent so many of her years in a privileged society,
and then all of it had been taken away so cruelly in an accident.
He would not blame
her if his question sent her running back to a village. Perhaps, if she agreed
to his proposal then he would relocate to the country. Cordelia could have her
peace, scandal free, and he would be happy just to have her, in any way he could.
“The lady may have
wanted to avoid me, but I am going to make sure we talk now. I hope you will
excuse me, Thompson? The lady and I have much to discuss.” Bastian approached
the door when someone knocked.
“How funny,” the marquess quoted behind him. “I was not expecting anyone
else.”
The butler opened
the door to reveal a very irritated Mary Elizabeth. Her arms were crossed, and
she wore a scowl.
“Christ Almighty!”
Bastian grumbled under his breath.
“Lord Wycliffe, I
have been searching high and low for you. I cannot believe for one moment you
would cast me aside so.”
Bastian sighed and
shot his friend a weary glance. “I will take care of this. Can you have one of
the servants see Cordelia home? Send her on by tonight for dinner. I want to
talk first before I am introduced to my son…if he is indeed my son.” The marquess nodded and walked away.
“Mary Elizabeth,
this is not at all proper. You are behaving irrationally! Come away from here.”
Bastian grabbed her hand and dragged her back to the hackney. “You called it
off, remember? I have no desire to rekindle or revisit our prior arrangement…if
one could even call it as such.”
Bastian opened the
door to the carriage, ignoring the protests from the courtesan. Behind him, the
coachman protested too, as she had only hired him for one way. He lifted Mary
Elizabeth in and slammed the door. Tossing the driver some coin, he returned
his attention to the woman.
“Do not seek me
out anymore, Mary Elizabeth. This obsessive behavior is disruptive and not
conducive to your
where to find us.”
“Thank you, my
lord.”
Before she could
be stopped again, Cordelia dashed out a side door from the servant’s wing. And
noticed another coach approaching the house. Ignoring the visitor, she walked
until she found a glorious apple tree to sit under. She loosened the blanket
around Matthew and found that the child had fallen asleep.
Perhaps if I close my eyes for a few moments… Cordelia found every muscle in her body relaxing, and her eyes
weighed heavily. Just a small nap…
* * * *
“Who is Matthew?
That is not your son’s name…”
“No, it is not.”
“Then whose child
is Matthew?”
“You should speak
to Cordelia. The two of you have much to discuss. Besides, ’tis not my tale to
tell.”
Bastian’s stomach
flipped. Who does the child belong to?
Why is it not it Thompson’s story to tell? What the hell is Cordelia keeping
from me? There were too many questions and not enough answers. “Pray,
answer me one question. Did I father that child?”
The sudden
possibility that he was a father all this time frightened him. And to make
matters worse, he had not been there to assist her or bond with the child.
Fortunately enough for him, he could make up for lost time.
“Bastian, you have
to remember that she has been away all this time for safety. What do you think
Downsbury would do if he knew his wife was still alive? Even after trying to
marry my sister and all. She probably knows by now how deep in scandal he was.
From what I understand, she has meaning to talk to you, but the opportunity had
not been presented.”
The marquess paused and rose to pour them a drink. “I can say
this, though, from what I know, she may not want to stay in London even after
saying her peace.”
Not that Bastian
could blame her, but how could she not mention this to him before? He could not
imagine the burden she had carried all this time. Alone, scared, and completely
out of her element. She had spent so many of her years in a privileged society,
and then all of it had been taken away so cruelly in an accident.
He would not blame
her if his question sent her running back to a village. Perhaps, if she agreed
to his proposal then he would relocate to the country. Cordelia could have her
peace, scandal free, and he would be happy just to have her, in any way he could.
“The lady may have
wanted to avoid me, but I am going to make sure we talk now. I hope you will
excuse me, Thompson? The lady and I have much to discuss.” Bastian approached
the door when someone knocked.
“How funny,” the marquess quoted behind him. “I was not expecting anyone
else.”
The butler opened
the door to reveal a very irritated Mary Elizabeth. Her arms were crossed, and
she wore a scowl.
“Christ Almighty!”
Bastian grumbled under his breath.
“Lord Wycliffe, I
have been searching high and low for you. I cannot believe for one moment you
would cast me aside so.”
Bastian sighed and
shot his friend a weary glance. “I will take care of this. Can you have one of
the servants see Cordelia home? Send her on by tonight for dinner. I want to
talk first before I am introduced to my son…if he is indeed my son.” The marquess nodded and walked away.
“Mary Elizabeth,
this is not at all proper. You are behaving irrationally! Come away from here.”
Bastian grabbed her hand and dragged her back to the hackney. “You called it
off, remember? I have no desire to rekindle or revisit our prior arrangement…if
one could even call it as such.”
Bastian opened the
door to the carriage, ignoring the protests from the courtesan. Behind him, the
coachman protested too, as she had only hired him for one way. He lifted Mary
Elizabeth in and slammed the door. Tossing the driver some coin, he returned
his attention to the woman.
“Do not seek me
out anymore, Mary Elizabeth. This obsessive behavior is disruptive and not
conducive to your
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