The Deception (Baron 3)

“This is a wonderful room, Mrs. Needle,” she said, coming back into the sitting area.

“Aye,” Mrs. Needle said as she pointed an arthritic finger toward a worn crimson brocade settee. Evangeline sat down. “His grace’s father, Duke William, had it arranged just for me. He was a good lad, the former duke, strong and pure, loved his boy more than anything.”

“I have heard that. His grace—the boy—appears to have cared mightily for his father as well.”

“Aye, that’s true enough. His grace was such a wild lad, always into some sort of trouble, hurling himself into adventures to make a parent shriek, but not Duke William. He just laughed and told his boy not to kill anyone, not to impregnate any girls, and not to cause pain. He would have given his life for his son. It was a sad day when Duke William died. His grace changed on that day. For the longest time he seemed sober as a monk; his eyes became cold and hard, all the laughter sucked out of him. Even now he doesn’t try anymore to turn his mother’s hair white. He’s become staid.” Mrs. Needle smiled, showing only two remaining teeth, both of them very white. “Aye, her grace still has hair as dark as a sinner’s dreams, just a few threads of gray.”

“I understand his grace married my cousin because his father wanted him to settle down.”

“Mayhap there was something to that. I think Duke William was very fond of young Marissa. He wanted her for a daughter and knew if he didn’t push his grace to the altar, some other gentleman would snap her up. And, as I said, his grace would have done anything for his father, anything at all, including marrying a girl he didn’t love. Don’t mistake me, lassie, the duke wanted her, and marriage was the only way he would ever have her in his bed.”

Evangeline was appalled. She sat forward, shaking her head. “Oh, no. The duke married my cousin because he loved her. I was told that by the people I loved and trusted.”

“Och, love, what a fanciful thought that is for a lad so young as his grace was when he met Marissa. He wanted her, little lassie, he wanted her in his bed and he didn’t want to let her out of his bed, and all knew it. He made no bones about it. He was young and wild and randier than a goat. Lust is the guiding principle, the only motive for a young man, nothing more, ever. His grace was no different. He saw her and he wanted her. His father was pleased. His son’s lust played into his plans perfectly.”

She poured Evangeline’s green herbal tea, which looked nauseating, into a lovely Wedgwood cup, then sat down opposite her. Evangeline took a very small sip. It was surprisingly delicious, like tart apples mixed with something sweet. Mrs. Needle drank her own tea, slurping it between her teeth, and continued. “It all seemed to go so well until young Marissa discovered she was pregnant. Then she changed. She was afraid she’d die birthing Edmund, but she didn’t. But she remained changed.”

“Marissa’s mother died in childbirth. She was doubtless terrified of dying in the same way.”

“I thought that was true until I spoke to her. She trusted me, you see, to save her. She spent time here, questioning me endlessly. Her labor wasn’t arduous. I gave her laudanum to lessen the pain. Lord Edmund was born in just over six hours. She was just fine two days later. I even gave her herbs to dry her milk since she didn’t want to nurse Edmund.” “Marissa was fortunate you were here.” “Aye, that fool of a doctor that his grace brought from London, he didn’t want to give her anything. He believed that women should suffer, it was their lot, God’s will. Bosh, I said, and gave her laudanum when he stepped out of the bedchamber. She was bleeding too much after the birth, and the fellow simply shook his head and said he hoped it stopped, for he had not an idea of what to do. I took care of her. She healed quickly, as I said, after just two days. But it still didn’t seem to matter.

“I don’t wish to speak more of Marissa. Forgive me for being blunt, but at my age every moment is a gift granted by God. I don’t like to waste a single one of them. I know that ye don’t want to be here. Ye’re fighting yerself every minute about it. I wonder why. Perhaps ye’d tell me why ye came, came against yer will.”

Evangeline froze. “You’re a witch,” she said.

“Och, mayhap it is so, but there’s this feeling I get from ye. Ye’re afraid. But the strangest thing—ye belong here. That’s odd, now, isn’t it?”

“You know why I’m here, Mrs. Needle. My husband died and left me with no money. I’m dependent on his grace’s good will. I will be Lord Edmund’s nanny. There’s nothing at all odd about it. I’m most certainly not afraid of anything, at least anything that has to do with Chesleigh.”

“Ye’re a terrible liar, little lassie. Just terrible. Her grace spoke to me of ye several times. It was fond of ye she was. She wished she could see ye, see how ye were growing up, but her father and the former duke weren’t speaking to each other, and thus yer father had to side with hers. Wicked it was.”

“Do you know the reason for the falling out between the two families? I also missed my cousin, and Lord Edmund.”

Mrs. Needle sipped her tea, then set the cup on a small, very old table at her side.

“Her father didn’t sever the connection. Far be it from Old Rolfe to close off the till when his pockets were to let.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, ma’am

. Marissa’s father was an honorable gentleman, and a man of some means.”

“Rolfe was a gambler, little lassie. He spent three fortunes. I believe he’s now spending a fourth fortune, one that he managed to steal by marrying his son to an heiress. Poor girl, with Old Rolfe as a papa-in-law.” “My father never told me that,” Evangeline said. “Surely you are mistaken.”

“Believe what ye want to believe. Old Rolfe never paid a single sovereign of the girl’s dowry to Duke William, not even a sou.” The old woman laughed.

“Oh, goodness. That bespeaks a fine gall, Mrs. Needle.”

“Aye, a very fine gall. He’s still doing so, as far as I know. I listen, but there’s no more to hear since Marissa died. Now, as for ye, little lassie, why don’t ye tell me what is troubling ye?” Evangeline was silent as a post. “Ye’re impetuous, just as she was, but ye’ve known a very different life. Yer English mother was the saving of ye, child. She gave ye balance, curbed yer willful ways. Ye’re proud, but not so proud that ye’d lose sight of what is right. Aye, and that father of yers, a beautiful man he was. I remember him very well from the wedding. A beautiful laugh he had as well. I’m sorry to hear he died. Odd, but I hadn’t expected that. It jest doesn’t feel right.” “He had a very bad heart.” Mrs. Needle just frowned at her, then turned to frown into the fire.

Evangeline’s eyes fixed on Mrs. Needle’s face. “How could you know about my mother? Indeed, what can you possibly know of my character? You never met me until yesterday.”

“I’ve lived for a very long time. I see things, ye must have guessed that already, and I know people, lassie. And of course her grace spoke of yer family. It’s true of many people that their character shines in their eyes. You are one of those, Madame.”

Evangeline moistened her lips. “You said I had heat in my eyes. What did you mean?”

The old lady’s nearly empty mouth smiled wide. “Ye’re all interested in that, are ye? I don’t blame ye. It’s a fine thing, having heat in yer eyes. Ye’ll find out soon enough. Yer life is just beginning. I only wish ye’d tell me what bothers ye. Ye feel fear and the oddest thing—ye also feel tremendous guilt.”

Evangeline jumped to her feet. “I shouldn’t be here, that’s why,” she said, and banged the cup and saucer beside Mrs. Needle’s on the small table. “I should never have come to Chesleigh. Please, you mustn’t speak of this to anyone. There’s nothing to it. Just forget, Mrs. Needle. I beg of you, just forget what you feel, what you think you see in me.”