Page 52 of To Dare the Devil

Burt’s gaze upon him was as perspicacious as always. “What did she say?”

Max shrugged. It didn’t matter, he reminded himself. It hadn’t mattered then, and it didn’t matter now.

“The usual. I was useless, a disappointment to her. If only I’d died, and her other children had lived. It was nothing I had never heard before, but I could never understand why that was, why they were so disinterested in me. Then she told me. I was not really the earl, I was an imposter, another man’s bastard, but father had accepted me because none of the others had lived. If one of her other male children had survived, they would have put me aside. As it was, they had no choice. Apparently, my real father was a duke. He was dead by then though, so….”

“Bloody hell,” Burt said.

“Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat. “I was upset and angry, so I did what I always did and went out and got drunk, and then… and then she was there.”

“The girl?”

He nodded. “She ought not to have been, but she’d come to find me, to wish me a happy birthday, and she was so sweet, and I…” Max shook his head in disgust. “I persuaded her to give me something else for my birthday, something far more precious, though I didn’t realise it then, not really. I took my pleasure, left, and went back to getting as drunk as I could get. Callous fool that I was, I forgot all about her, about what we’d done. What I’d done. I went back to town and didn’t see her for weeks. When she came to tell me she was pregnant, I laughed in her face. I thought she was having me on. Then I was angry that she should try to trap me. I… was not kind. By the time I remembered the truth, she’d gone back to the countryside.”

“And?” Burt prompted.

Max sighed. “And I thought I’d better bloody well marry her. I didn’t want to, and I was damned angry about it, but I had to marry someone, and she was beautiful, respectable. And I… I didn’t want my child to feel like… anyway, I went out that night to drown my sorrows, and… and that’s the night we met.”

“Ah,” Burt said, understanding.

“I didn’t remember, Burt,” he said, his voice thick, turning to stare at the only man who had ever really seen him, who had taught him to be better than the spoilt, selfish child he’d been and wondering if he too would hate him now. “I swear I didn’t remember. Not for a long time, but… but what kind of man forgets that he’s made a child? By the time I remembered, she was married to someone else. I went to see her then, to check she was well and provided for, but… Well, she was hardly pleased to see me, as you can imagine.”

“What did you say to her?”

Max stared at the scarred tabletop, tracing the surface where Pike had scored a large letter P in the wood. “I told her I was sorry, that if she ever needed anything, I would do whatever she needed to help her, or the baby. No matter what.”

“That was the right thing to do,” Burt said, nodding.

“Too little, too late,” he murmured. “But now Kathy—Miss de Beauvoir—has discovered my secret. She’s the young lady who nursed me when I was ill. That’s right, isn’t it?”

Burt frowned and then nodded. “Her brother made me swear never to tell ye, Valentine. I’m sorry.”

Max shook his head. “Don’t be. You did right. But now I must go away, because… because I love her, and she hates me, and as much as I know I deserve everything I get. I can’t bear that, Burt. I can’t bear to see her, to see the loathing and contempt for me in her eyes. So, I’m leaving.”

Chapter 17

Your Grace,

I hope you will forgive me for writing to you out of the blue. The last time I laid eyes on you was not long after you married your lovely duchess. I hope she and your splendid family are all well.

As I believe you know, your uncle, Baron Fitzwalter, was a dear friend of myself and my husband and often came to stay with us in Scotland. I wrote to Charles every week until his death, which saddened me greatly. Over the years, he implied, perhaps with too much kindness, that you remembered me fondly, and would welcome me if I ever returned to town. Well, recently I have been reminded that I am not dead yet, and so I am doing just that, rather unexpectedly, and there will not be time enough for my staff to put my London house in order after decades of neglect. Might I presume upon you for a little while until such time as the house is habitable?

―Excerpt of a letter from Hester Henley, Lady Balderston (Great Aunt to Barnaby Godwin) to His Grace, Robert Adolphus, The Duke of Bedwin.

19th June 1842, Covent Garden. Parish of St Giles.

Kathy sat on her bed, staring at the battered old top hat in her lap. Cat had called on her earlier, full of life and chatter. Thankfully, it had been a brief visit, for Kathy was all out of good cheer, but Cat said she’d bumped into Grace, who ordered her to bring Kathy the hat ‘at once.’

“So I knew it was urgent,” Cat had said with a grin. “And here it is. Shall you take a dare now?” she’d asked eagerly.

To the girl’s disappointment, Kathy had shaken her head, but she’d promised to write and let her know what dare she got once she’d done it.

Setting the hat aside, Kathy moved to the window and looked out. Over in that direction was the school. The school Max was building. And over that way was the workhouse, the one he had visited with her and promised to improve because she had asked him to. She tried to reconcile this man with the one who had seduced Grace and refused to marry her, leaving her and her baby to an uncertain future.

She remembered seeing him in that dreadful room in the Dials with a festering knife wound and a fever that was going to kill him. But he’d not died. She’d prayed to God and done everything in her limited power to see that he lived, and he had. He had.

Why? Why had he treated Grace so badly? What kind of wicked man had he been? She got up and paced her room. Why had he said nothing when Grace had confronted him? She remembered the look on his face when he’d seen his daughter, the grief and devastation there. Did he really regret it, or had it just been a performance for her sake, another lie? Yet he had never lied to her. He had told her not to kiss him, though she’d known he wanted her to. He’d wanted her badly. But he’d told her no, told her he was not a good man, not good enough for her, and she had ignored him and kissed him anyway because she’d wanted to. And oh, it had been so sweet, so perfect, and she….

Anger ripped through Kathy. Was that what Grace had felt, too?