Page 65 of To Dare the Devil

Hart folded his arms. “I’m staying,” he said, planting himself in the middle of the room.

“No,” Mama replied, taking his arm, and steering him to the door. “You are not.”

“But, Ma—”

“No.” Mama cut him off, gesturing for him to leave.

Kathy smirked at him as her brother stalked past her and out of the study.

Chapter 21

Bainbridge,

You are an interfering busybody and, if I did not know your intentions were kindly meant, I should call you out.

I would never offer such an insult to Lady Rosamund. My intentions are honourable and only that of a friend. She is the sweetest young woman I have ever met, and I would cut my throat before I did her harm. If I believe the gossip risks doing just that, I shall of course keep my distance, but the lady needs a guiding hand to navigate the cruel world of the ton and I wish to help her. She is too kind-hearted, too open, and I fear for her happiness. She has set her heart on marrying a man I am coming to believe will not suit her and I pray I might save her from making a mistake I understand all too well.

You may put your wife’s mind at rest. I am not seeking to ruin the child and make her my mistress. I know you did not ask this in so many words, but cut line, my lord. That is what you meant. I am married, for better or for worse, and I assure you that is something I cannot easily forget.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Right Hon’ble Sebastian Fox, Lord Hargreaves, to The Most Hon’ble Lawrence Grenville, The Marquess of Bainbridge.

19th June 1842, Church Street, Isleworth, London.

An hour later and Max felt like a wet rag. Mr de Beauvoir had undertaken a cross-examination of everything from his financial position to his opinion of Kathy’s desire to carry on working and how he would feel if she did not wish to work for her husband. He wanted to know how he would educate their children—especially any daughters — what provision would be made for Kathy’s security in the event of Max’s death, what his political affiliations were, and a dozen other pertinent questions. Mrs de Beauvoir had politely enquired what his opinion was of Mary Smith’s 1832 women’s suffrage petition. As it was something Max hadn’t thought about at all, he’d had to think on his feet.

“I have not seen the petition, ma’am, but I do know your daughter, and I can tell you that I believe her to be my equal. I confess I have not considered the question in any depth, but I believe a woman like Kathy ought to exist in the eyes of the law, not just as the property of her father or husband.” Max hesitated, uncertain of the atmosphere in the room. “Does that answer your question?” he asked, nervous now.

Mrs de Beauvoir turned to her husband and beamed at him. Max let out a breath of relief as Mr de Beauvoir sighed, apparently accepting the inevitable. Or so Max thought, until the next question made his blood run cold.

“You said things might emerge in the future that would make us think ill of you. I suspect you had something specific in mind. Am I correct?”

Max swallowed. Kathy had said her father was perceptive, and she had not exaggerated. He nodded, a hollow sensation opening in his gut.

“Don’t you think it would be wiser to make a clean breast of it?” he asked, his intent gaze making Max feel like something loathsome that ought to crawl at his feet.

“I would,” he replied, his voice unsteady. “But the information does not affect me alone. If it were only my reputation at stake, I would tell you, I swear, but I cannot. I can only tell you my behaviour, everything that happened because of my selfishness, makes me ashamed. I acted dishonourably, and for that I will spend my life atoning.”

“You have a child,” Mrs de Beauvoir whispered.

Shame washed over him in a wave of heat, and he struggled to meet their eyes. Humiliation was a sour taste in his mouth, and he could do nothing but give a taut nod.

Mr de Beauvoir’s eyes darkened, and Max felt terror roll down his spine. He was about to get thrown out and he’d never see Kathy again.

“They are safe?” her father asked.

Max cleared his throat, forcing himself to answer. “The woman married a good man, a better man than I. He is a wonderful father. They are happy.”

“Does Kathy know?” Mrs de Beauvoir asked, her expression unreadable.

Max nodded again. “Everything,” he said unsteadily. “She knows everything. I would not have her hurt by discovering something she could not forgive me for when it was too late.”

There was a long silence as they considered him.

“I cannot defend my past or make excuses. I was selfish. I understood nothing, valued nothing. I can only tell you I am no longer that man.”

“Will you take a mistress?”

Max’s eyes widened at the bald question, especially coming from Kathy’s lovely mama, but this one he could answer with ease. “No. I could never betray her that way. If I make Kathy vows before God, I’ll keep them. And, besides which, I cannot imagine ever wanting anyone else. I love her. I did not know what that meant until now. I did not realise I had never seen what it looked like, how it felt to stand in the light of it, until I met your daughter. I know I am not what you wanted for her and, if you refuse me, I will understand. But know this: I will love her alone until the day I die, and I shall always be grateful for having known her.”