Page 11 of The Trouble with a Dare

Rothborn snorted and gave a nod. “Still waters run deep. Yes. That was my impression too.”

“May I ask why the interest?” Montagu regarded him with curiosity. There was a weary air about the man he had not noticed before and concerned him now that he saw it.

“He’s to be my son-in-law.”

The words were spoken blandly, giving Montagu no clue as to the man’s feelings, but he sensed this was not a joyful union. That being the case he was uncertain how to proceed. It was not a match to be celebrated socially perhaps. Grace Weston could certainly have looked far higher than Mr Oak, but he did not believe this was what lay at the heart of Rothborn’s unhappiness.

“Then may I congratulate you,” he said carefully. “I do not believe he will give you reason to regret the union. Your daughter is lovely enough to have made a grand entrée, but if her heart is already engaged elsewhere—”

“She’s with child.”

Montagu was so stunned by this confidence being given to him that for a moment he did not know what to say. On top of this, that the serious Mr Oak had seduced Rothborn’s daughter made his head spin. He was usually an excellent judge of character, and this event did not fit Montagu’s impression of the fellow’s character one bit.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” Rothborn said, putting his head in his hands.

Silently, Montagu got to his feet and took the man’s glass, refilling it and putting it back in his hands.

“You may rely on my silence, Rothborn, and if there is anything I can do….”

“Thank you.”

He turned the crystal glass back and forth in his hands, and Montagu saw the white scars on his hands from his soldiering days. Instinctively, he knew Rothborn would rather fight an army single-handed than allow his daughter to suffer a moment’s shame or embarrassment. He would feel the same way.

“Oak isn’t the father,” Rothborn said at length, shocking him further with the trust he was putting in him, and setting Montagu’s world to rights. He’d got that part correct, at least. “I am more grateful to him than I know how to express, but I….”

He broke off, so Montagu spoke for him, knowing how he would feel if he were in Rothborn’s place.

“But you do not know him enough to trust him with your daughter’s happiness, or to know if he is simply using the opportunity to further himself in society and financially.”

Rothborn nodded. “It’s a wretched situation. Some miserable bastard took advantage of my little girl and I… I didn’t know, Montagu. I should have known. I should have stopped it, protected her. I should have noticed something was amiss.”

Montagu had his own opinions about men who left illegitimate children behind them, and he doubted it differed much from Rothborn’s feelings on the matter. The guilt and pain behind Rothborn’s words was so raw that it caught at Montagu’s heart. There was nothing he could say to make this right, to ease a father’s desperate need to protect his daughter, but he tried all the same.

“Our children are remarkable because they are a little piece of us, and yet are entirely themselves. They do not always share their intentions; they keep secrets as we kept secrets in our time. We cannot always protect them, nor can we live their lives for them. They will choose their own path and make their own mistakes. We can only ensure we are there to help them when the path grows rocky and uncertain.” Montagu gave an unhappy laugh. “And if anything ever happens to one of my children, I shall forget those wise words and rant and rage, and revile myself for their every hurt.”

Rothborn smiled, though it was a sorrowful expression. “I want to know she is safe. I want her to be happy.”

“You wish for me to make enquiries about Mr Oak?”

Rothborn nodded. “Yes, but not only that. Grace says the man who….” Rothborn’s face darkened as he gathered himself, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “He refused to marry her, but he knows he got her with child. In all honesty, I want the devil to pay for his sins but, at the very least, I need to know Grace is safe from him, that he cannot crawl out of the woodwork and cause her trouble.”

Montagu frowned. “Do you have no idea who it could be?”

Rothborn shook his head. “No,” he replied, looking wretched.

“Rothborn, I wish to help you with all my heart, but if questions are asked, it could only bring attention to something which may never become known if we let it alone.”

“I know that. I’m not asking for that. I just… I don’t know exactly what I am asking, but… but if the need arises.”

“Ah,” Montagu said, understanding now. “Indeed.”

He knew the reputation he had attained; one he had cultivated carefully in his youth. The Marquess of Montagu made problems… go away. Whether the rumours were true, no one really knew, but that was the point. He was feared. It was a very useful commodity when unpleasant people became a nuisance.

“Just so we are clear, I’d kill the bastard with my bare hands before I let him hurt Grace again,” Rothborn said in disgust. “But if there is a situation in the future and I get involved, it will be as good as an admission of guilt. Your hands are not tied in the same way. We are not so close that people would suspect me of putting you up to it. I know what I am asking but…”

“Say no more, Rothborn,” Montagu said. “I have a daughter. I am at your service.”

Rothborn closed his eyes and let out a breath. “Thank you.”