own.
God was issuing just punishment, thought Morag, the only God she knew being a Calvinistic one, incapable of charity or mercy and delighting in visiting terrible punishments on the sinner.
She felt debased. Her books were left unopened. Miss Simpson had been right. Treacherous literature had seduced her mind and tempted her from the proper path.
She thought the earl had regretted his forgiving kindness to her because he seemed to be sunk in gloomy meditation most of the time, occasionally throwing her furtive, sly looks from under lowering brows.
A brief thaw made the roads passable again bringing Lord Arthur and Lady Phyllis. Lord Arthur had no need of money that day and so was on his worst behavior, managing to get under his brother’s thick hide. Lady Phyllis simpered and tittered and derided and was particularly spiteful to the earl’s housekeeper, Mrs. Tallant. Now although the earl at times cursed and berated his servants, he was very fond of them, and Lady Phyllis’s treatment of his housekeeper riled him so badly that Morag feared he might have a seizure.
After the unwelcome couple had left and Morag was about to retire for the night, the earl begged her to stay with him. He had something serious to talk about.
“Come and sit by me, Morag,” he said, indicating the footstool at his feet. He waited until she was settled and then, stroking her glistening hair with his heavy hand, began to speak.
“Fionna’s with child. And it’s mine. No, stay. Hear me out. I love the girl but, auld rip that I am, I at least know what’s due tae my name. I cannae marry her. Quietly, now. Don’t look sae shocked. I’ve fathered mair bastards than you’ve had hot meat. She’ll no’ suffer. I’ll marry her off. But that brither o’ mine. I’ve never cared much, Morag, about him inheriting but I care now. Deil tak’ him! He’s a bad landlord and a bad master and you’d not see a penny, Morag.
“So, I’m asking ye a favor, lassie. I want ye tae claim the child as your own.”
“It’s impossible,” cried Morag. “Everyone would know.”
“Listen, wheesht. Only Mrs. Tallant’ll know apart from Fionna hersell and she disnae want the babe. Ye could pad yer gowns and we could tell the world you are expecting an heir. That way everbody’s future would be safe.”
“But how…?”
“Haud yer wheesht. Listen! When the bairn’s near due, we leave for Edinburgh, you, me, Fionna and Mrs. Tallant. Mrs. Tallant has a’ the skill o’ a midwife. Fionna stays in Edinburgh. We return wi’ the babe.”
Morag twisted full round and looked up into his face. “It is a great deal to ask of me,” she cried.
“Oh, aye?” said the earl dryly. “And if thon birkie, Freemantle, had had his way… aye, what then? Ye expect a lot frae me, Morag. Give a little!”
Morag’s already sore conscience was struck another blow. She had not been a good wife. She did not know that her husband’s appetites could only be roused by the lower class and had long assumed his lack of success with her was because of her own lack of love. The least she could do was provide him with an heir—albeit by proxy.
She rose and walked to the window, staring out at the wild black night. Somewhere out there were wives and husbands, ordinary families who lived their placid, respectable lives unplagued by bastards or passion. “Sorry for yourself?” sneered her ever active conscience. “You got off lightly.”
“Very well,” she said, swinging round. “I will do it.”
“Good lass,” said the earl. “We’ll see my man o’ business in Edinburgh at the same time and turn the whole thing ower tae him. I hae a lot of property and a fine house in London, too. I’ll see Arthur well enough but you’ll have the rest in keeping for the bairn until he’s twenty-one. I’ll appoint a steward tae look after the lands so ye won’t be bothered wi’ the managing o’ the estates. I ken a fine fellow…”
“You sound as if you don’t
God was issuing just punishment, thought Morag, the only God she knew being a Calvinistic one, incapable of charity or mercy and delighting in visiting terrible punishments on the sinner.
She felt debased. Her books were left unopened. Miss Simpson had been right. Treacherous literature had seduced her mind and tempted her from the proper path.
She thought the earl had regretted his forgiving kindness to her because he seemed to be sunk in gloomy meditation most of the time, occasionally throwing her furtive, sly looks from under lowering brows.
A brief thaw made the roads passable again bringing Lord Arthur and Lady Phyllis. Lord Arthur had no need of money that day and so was on his worst behavior, managing to get under his brother’s thick hide. Lady Phyllis simpered and tittered and derided and was particularly spiteful to the earl’s housekeeper, Mrs. Tallant. Now although the earl at times cursed and berated his servants, he was very fond of them, and Lady Phyllis’s treatment of his housekeeper riled him so badly that Morag feared he might have a seizure.
After the unwelcome couple had left and Morag was about to retire for the night, the earl begged her to stay with him. He had something serious to talk about.
“Come and sit by me, Morag,” he said, indicating the footstool at his feet. He waited until she was settled and then, stroking her glistening hair with his heavy hand, began to speak.
“Fionna’s with child. And it’s mine. No, stay. Hear me out. I love the girl but, auld rip that I am, I at least know what’s due tae my name. I cannae marry her. Quietly, now. Don’t look sae shocked. I’ve fathered mair bastards than you’ve had hot meat. She’ll no’ suffer. I’ll marry her off. But that brither o’ mine. I’ve never cared much, Morag, about him inheriting but I care now. Deil tak’ him! He’s a bad landlord and a bad master and you’d not see a penny, Morag.
“So, I’m asking ye a favor, lassie. I want ye tae claim the child as your own.”
“It’s impossible,” cried Morag. “Everyone would know.”
“Listen, wheesht. Only Mrs. Tallant’ll know apart from Fionna hersell and she disnae want the babe. Ye could pad yer gowns and we could tell the world you are expecting an heir. That way everbody’s future would be safe.”
“But how…?”
“Haud yer wheesht. Listen! When the bairn’s near due, we leave for Edinburgh, you, me, Fionna and Mrs. Tallant. Mrs. Tallant has a’ the skill o’ a midwife. Fionna stays in Edinburgh. We return wi’ the babe.”
Morag twisted full round and looked up into his face. “It is a great deal to ask of me,” she cried.
“Oh, aye?” said the earl dryly. “And if thon birkie, Freemantle, had had his way… aye, what then? Ye expect a lot frae me, Morag. Give a little!”
Morag’s already sore conscience was struck another blow. She had not been a good wife. She did not know that her husband’s appetites could only be roused by the lower class and had long assumed his lack of success with her was because of her own lack of love. The least she could do was provide him with an heir—albeit by proxy.
She rose and walked to the window, staring out at the wild black night. Somewhere out there were wives and husbands, ordinary families who lived their placid, respectable lives unplagued by bastards or passion. “Sorry for yourself?” sneered her ever active conscience. “You got off lightly.”
“Very well,” she said, swinging round. “I will do it.”
“Good lass,” said the earl. “We’ll see my man o’ business in Edinburgh at the same time and turn the whole thing ower tae him. I hae a lot of property and a fine house in London, too. I’ll see Arthur well enough but you’ll have the rest in keeping for the bairn until he’s twenty-one. I’ll appoint a steward tae look after the lands so ye won’t be bothered wi’ the managing o’ the estates. I ken a fine fellow…”
“You sound as if you don’t
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