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‘If she thinks we’re together, then I certainly hope she believes it is of great frequency.’
He moved to stand beside her at the window. They were as close as two people could be without touching.
‘I shouldn’t be in a part of your life. I’m to be gone soon. Now I am watching your— Willa,’ she said.
‘You can call her my child.’ His voice held bitterness. ‘She and I are stuck with each other for the moment. I realise she is my child, by possession if not by birth. Ludgate doesn’t want her and never will, I am certain of that.’
‘And how could he have marched up and demanded her?’
‘He could have asked for her the other night. Or he could have told me earlier, by post for his own safety. Or through Cassandra when she was alive. My wife, who’d not even written to see if I lived or died while I was ill—though I understand. It would have been laughable for her to express concern when she so obviously felt none. When she returned, she knew I couldn’t possibly think the babe was mine. Particularly as I refused to touch her and did not return to her bed until after the girl was born.’
He patted the back of the sofa. ‘When I no longer see Willa around to remind me, I can put all this to rest. Maybe now that I...’ He paused. ‘I now feel such anger for Daphne, too. More than Ludgate, I suppose. Had she come to me and spoken openly—it would have been different. But she paid a man to taunt me—as if I had not had enough. That must have been something she and Cass learned as children. They were so determined in it.’
He moved to a crystal decanter at a side table and released the stopper. He filled a glass with brandy. He didn’t put the stopper back into the neck, but instead absently clicked the crystal against the rim. He finally let the stopper fall into the top and slapped it down with his palm. He swirled the liquid, then took a drink. ‘Choices.’
‘For Jacob, and for yourself—let it go.’
‘I would have done so long ago, if I could. I’m trying. Tomorrow I have a couple arriving who might take Willa.’
She gasped. ‘Are you sure they are good people?’
‘Broomer would not mislead me. Three years ago, they heard of a street woman who had a child she could not care for and they took the boy in. With no recompense from the mother.’
‘Perhaps they wanted...someone to help with the ergo, the work.’
‘Perhaps. But Broomer said the boy is well fed and clothed, and has turned from a scampering street urchin to a whistling child who is being schooled.’ He walked back to the mantel, and stared at it. ‘I’ll be glad to have the girl gone. The last image of my wife. The last ghost.’
‘You aren’t getting rid of the last ghost. That one is inside you.’
He nodded. ‘I can’t take a knife and cut it out of me. Or I would. I would rather have thoughts of you instead of memories of her. But I cannot forget what has gone on before.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Melina stared out of the nursery window, looking into a day that would have been better served with rain, instead of the fading fog and wet air.
When the couple arrived, Melina noted that Warrington’s carriage delivered them. They stepped out. The woman adjusted her bonnet, her skirts, and gave the man a hopeful smile.
Melina heard little clinks behind her, of Willa playing with a doll and the feet tapping together.
Melina could barely look at the little cherub face, feeling like a Judas. She could not be a Judas.
Even Willa seemed to sense a difference and Melina felt a tug at her clothing. Willa stood, looking up, with one arm cradling her own baby tightly.
Melina gathered the girl up and took the doll from Willa’s hands, holding the girl snug. She used the baby to give Willa’s cheeks loud kisses. The little one immediately laughed—her face showing she’d forgotten about everything else in the world but her doll.
A few minutes later, a maid entered the nursery.
‘Miss.’ The servant stopped just inside the doorway, giving a smile in Willa’s direction before her face turned serious and she looked at Melina. ‘His lordship has called for you.’
Melina tensed and walked to Warrington’s sitting room, giving one last glance at Willa while she stayed behind with the servant.
Warrington stood in the doorway, leaning into the frame. He wore a dark waistcoat and frock coat and had no lightness about him. Tightness lined his face. Sleep hadn’t been kind to him. ‘They’re here. Broomer will bring them when I ring for him.’
