“Of course.”
“Did I say no?”
“I don’t believe I gave you a chance.”
“I seem to recall saying I wanted what you were offering. You are not your father. I couldn’t—” She stopped, shook her head. “I wouldn’t like you as much as I do if you resembled him in any way.”
Shifting until she was straddling his hips, she took his face between her hands and pressed her lips to his. No fire, no hunger, and yet he felt as though there had never been a more powerful coming together of their mouths. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close,wondering how it was that she knew what he needed when he hadn’t known. But this quietness, this comforting, was a balm to his soul.Shewas a calming to the years of rage that had been festering within him. How often he’d wished to be the progeny of a better man.
Yet at that moment, with her tender ministrations, he dared to believe that his unprincipled sire was without influence. He was grateful that she’d never known the scapegrace, that she’d never been soiled by his father’s attentions. Although the man would have found her to be a formidable player—analyzing him, working him out. Because that was what she did. She was the most powerful piece on the chessboard. His queen.
Drawing away, she sat back and held his gaze. In spite of the shadows. They held no sway over her... or him. He realized that even if they were in complete darkness, still they’d find each other. He dared not give a name to all the emotions ratcheting through him. What he did know was that he was grateful she was here with him now.
“I’ll be busy arranging the funeral, seeing him interred in the crypt at the family estate. But I should have all these duties behind me by the end of next week. We’ll marry then.”
“Isn’t there an old adage about marrying in haste and repenting at leisure?”
“I shall do all in my power to ensure you don’t regret this marriage. But I did wonder if I might trouble you for a favor.”
“Do you ever wonder exactly how many of us there are?”
Earlier the following afternoon, Rook had sentword to Aiden and Finn to meet him at the Mermaid and Unicorn, a tavern in Whitechapel, that evening.
The two men were studying him now. While Finn was fairer than he or Aiden, Rook could detect shades of his father in the man’s features—his jaw, nose, brow.
“By us...” Aiden’s voice trailed off in question.
“Elverton’s children.”
“You’re Elverton now,” Aiden said.
Rook shook his head. “Trust me, it brings me no pride, but still I’m wondering how many children he might have sired. Based on Mother’s experiences, he took each of her sons almost immediately after he was born in order to lessen any attachment she might feel toward the infant.” He scoffed. “To spare her anguish, he’d claimed, but if he’d truly meant that he’d have never taken them to begin with. However, I assume he did the same with his other children. The two of you were delivered to Ettie Trewlove within six weeks of each other, so it’s highly likely he often didn’t go even a year between children, especially as he would have multiple mistresses at the same time. I’m not certain when he started this practice. As a young man, presumably. If we factor in the span of his life, we could be looking at close to thirty or forty years of by-blows.”
“Surely he took an occasional break from fornicating,” Finn said.
Rook shrugged. “Seems unlikely. Sometimes I look at servants or workers and wonder if we’re related. Of course, he didn’t limit his lovers to commoners.” As far as he knew, his sire had never dallied with married women, so he didn’t suspect any among the aristocracy of being unknown siblings.
“No, he didn’t,” Aiden ground out before tossingback his scotch and refilling his glass with the bottle the serving girl had left for them. He scoffed harshly. “He was giving Selena far too much attention for my liking when she was first widowed.”
They all knew now that the earl had hoped to make her his next countess—once he’d rid himself of his current wife.
“Why are you troubled by all this now?” Finn asked. “The man is finally gone, his reign of debauchery over.”
It was an idea he’d been considering for a while. “I never thought to ask, but how did you each know he was your sire?”
“He personally delivered both Finn and me to a baby farmer he thought wouldn’t properly care for us, expecting us to perish. His coat of arms was on his carriage and Mum made note of it. However, one night when I confronted him, he bragged that he gave most of his paramours the name of the person to whom the babe was to be delivered and a pouch of coins to cover the cost. I think he only saw to it himself if he cared at all for the woman and wanted to spare her any suffering. I can only assume, then, that based on that he did have a perverted sort of fondness for our mum and Finn’s.”
“I imagine that brought them little consolation.”
“If I had to give my child away, I’d tuck a note in the babe’s nappy explaining who the father was,” Finn said. “Maybe the other mums did the same, if they could write.”
“He had standards, our sire,” Aiden stated flatly. “Johnny here and me, our mother is the daughter of a baron. Although he seemed to like variety, I don’t think he would have gone with an uneducated lass. If the mother was delivering the babe herself, he wasn’tthere to stop them from providing as much information as they wanted. Some of the women may have even held onto his babe, in spite of the harsh life that would have resulted when he abandoned them.” His jaw clenched. “Damn, but he was vile.”
Last night, with Nora, Rook had felt that some of that vileness had been washed off him, but still much remained. “Therefore, some, if not all, might know they came from his loins.”
“What are you thinking, Johnny?” Finn asked. “Thought we were here to toast his going to hell, but these questions...”
“All these children he sired... they are our brothers and sisters. If they had been born within the boundaries of his marriage, I would have been responsible for seeing to their care, for ensuring they had an allowance after he passed. I realize some—like the two of you—may have achieved success but for those who may be struggling, I want to use the opportunity of his death to make whatever amends I can. I’m having broadsheets printed and putting an announcement in the newspapers, inviting his by-blows to come to my residence the day following his funeral service to receive financial recompense. I suspect they won’t all be able to read, so it is my hope that the two of you, who know the darker parts of London better than I, will help me spread the word.”
