Andrew; Lord Of Despair Read online

  He was not hopeful, he was bloody determined, though if he had to replace all Herbert had taken from Astrid’s dower funds, he was also going to be bloody old before he achieved his goal.

  Astrid scuffed a slipper against the grass. “And if Herbert had died five years ago, this whole situation would have been avoided.”

  Douglas maintained a diplomatic interest in the gardens rather than comment on that observation.

  “Douglas, I would have truth between us. Don’t hold back if you’re trying to spare my feelings.” She sounded like she was spoiling for an exchange of truths and wanted his magazine empty when she started firing.

  “Isn’t it enough your late husband abused your trust in this too?” Douglas asked, anger creeping into his voice, because as Herbert’s heir, Douglas had also been bequeathed a share of ire.

  She turned a pretty, sad face up to the moon. “It wasn’t your fault Herbert was morally weak. It wasn’t your fault he had so little self-discipline. It wasn’t your fault I was so anxious to get out of my sister’s household I married him. You have inherited a mess, much as Heathgate did. I will not judge you for it, nor will I judge you because Herbert betrayed your trust as well.”

  Douglas remained seated beside her, though the damned woman was entirely too perceptive. Herbert had betrayed them all, and it had caught up with him. Dead men tell no tales, but neither could they hide behind lies, denial, or sheer bravado when truth came for a reckoning.

  “I’ve wondered why you accepted Herbert’s suit, but it was too advantageous a match for me to question it. And Herbert’s motivations were obvious.”

  She gathered the shawl closer. “Herbert was after two things: the marital settlements David so generously provided for me and a legitimate heir. He may well have gotten both.”

  “What in God’s—I beg your pardon?”

  “I am increasing, Douglas,” Astrid said tiredly. “I appear to have conceived two weeks before Herbert’s death, which puts me at about three difficult, uncomfortable months along.”

  Douglas said nothing, and he hoped his face gave nothing away, but inside, oh, inside his emotions were reeling. “You are sure?”

  “I am.” She did not sound pleased about it.

  “My sincerest congratulations,” he replied, but his preoccupation sounded in his voice. “This changes things.” It changed everything.

  “I know, Douglas. I know.”

  “No, you don’t.” She thought somebody had come along and moved her bishop, when in fact, the entire chessboard had been sent end over end. “Mother has it in her head you should move in with her and I should take up residence in the town house. She will be doubly insistent when she knows of this development.”

  “I do not want to live with your mother.”

  Douglas nearly snapped that nobody wanted to live with Lady Amery, but held his temper. Astrid had not had an easy time of it at the hands of his family, and besides, she wasn’t done speaking.

  “Your mother’s house is not large, and it is dark, cluttered, and completely unsuited to raising a child. I like the town house, and you have said I might live there as long as I pleased.”

  Damn all logical females with accurate recall, and damn him for his misplaced generosity.

  “What if Mother were to move in with you there? We are supporting three households, Astrid. Yours, Mother and Henry’s, and mine. If you ask it of me, I will move in with Mother and Henry, but Mother will make a nuisance of herself with this baby anyway. You won’t escape her just because she lives with me and not you.”

  Astrid scuffed her slippers again, both this time, while Douglas took a leaf from Fairly’s book and let her stew.

  “I accept your mother under my roof,” Astrid said, “but you must make her understand two things: first, it is my roof, Douglas. I set the menus, manage the help, and keep the household accounts. Her advice is welcome, but not her interference.”

  Whether she knew it or not, Astrid was discussing terms of surrender.

  “I can speak to her as often and as sternly as necessary.” Though with Mother, who was even less biddable than dear Herbert had been, his lectures would do no good whatsoever. “What is your other condition?”

  “You and she must understand, Douglas, I will spend a great deal of time with my sister, particularly in the coming months. She will have need of me, and I will certainly have need of her.”

  “I would not think to keep you from her under the circumstances. As to that, your time here seems to have stood you in good stead. If we are agreed then, perhaps we can put these awkward subjects to rest?” Please God.

  Astrid wrinkled her nose, looking young and unhappy. “You aren’t getting off that easily, Douglas. We must make one further agreement. Lady Amery is not to know I am expecting until I decide to tell her.”

  The request was peculiar, when that child might mean Astrid had fulfilled her obligation to the succession. Most women would have been crowing over such a coup.

  “Why?”

  “I lost a child last year, and I was further along then than I am now. To get your mother’s hopes up if another disappointment is in store would be cruel. She doted upon Herbert, and the child will be precious to her.”

  Herbert hadn’t said anything about losing a child, but then, Herbert would not have been comfortable alluding to such a situation any more than Douglas was. He steeled himself to touch on a matter as personal as embezzlement. “How long does this business take?”

  “This business,” Astrid said with a small smile, “takes about nine and a half months. I should deliver in mid-March, if all goes well.”

  Douglas tried to think of a delicate way to phrase his next question—and failed.

  “After a certain point, I should think your condition would be obvious. Your sister, for example…” He let the observation trail off, the matter speaking for itself, though rumors abounded that Princess Caroline had hidden more than one interesting event from her royal spouse.

  “Felicity is twice as far along as I am, Douglas, and first babies tend not to show as early. This is my sister’s third child.”

  He’d already learned more than he wanted to know. Pregnant women made him nervous, particularly when their condition sailed before them like the prow of some small, feminine ship. Thinking of Astrid, as petite as she was, reaching those proportions made him…

  Well, he wouldn’t think of her in that condition. Would not.

  “I will leave the timing of your disclosure to Mother in your hands,” he said, rising. Mother would know soon enough. The household staff was not immune to her questioning and prying, as Astrid would soon learn. As Henry might realize, if he paid the least bit of attention. “Shall we go inside?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, Douglas, I would like to remain out here. I value my solitude.”

  Douglas didn’t respond to the obvious jibe: And your mother and your thieving brother and this child growing inside me have all conspired to see to it I have no solitude. He valued solitude as highly as anybody, so he bowed politely and took his leave of her. His most distasteful obligation dispatched—he had apologized to the woman—he was now free to return to his correspondence.

  ***

  Andrew waited in the shadows until Douglas Allen had taken his stiff-rumped, proper self back into the house, then came down beside Astrid on the bench. “How did he take the news?”

  “He was his usual inscrutable, composed self.” Astrid stayed right where she was, didn’t scoot over or even lean in Andrew’s direction. “He said the right things, but he is moving Lady Amery into the town house with me. She is not to be told my condition until the moment of my choosing, and I am to have as much time with Felicity as I desire. Finally, dear mama-in-law will not be the lady of the house, I will.”

  “You got all that resolved in less than fifteen minutes?” And was dear mama-in-law female company, Douglas’s spy, or both?

  Astrid had no rejoinder for him, which was worrisome. He’d fretted
about her all day but didn’t think she’d appreciate hearing that.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” he asked instead.

  “Douglas told me my funds are gone.”

  “That was bold.” Or conniving. “Also the only good move left to him.”

  “How do you mean?” Astrid was good-hearted, and good-hearted people did not naturally anticipate the deviousness of their moral inferiors.

  So Andrew, who was among that number, would explain it to her. “Douglas’s solicitors have told him by now that you and your brother went nosing around, and the files have been sent to Fairly’s town house. As far as Douglas is concerned, you would have found out the truth as soon as you returned to Town. He spiked your guns by offering his confession first.”

  Somewhere out in the home wood, an owl hooted, an eerie, lonely sound Andrew hadn’t heard since he’d departed for Italy years before.

  “Douglas has spiked my guns, and planted his mother under my roof, and now he knows for certain I am carrying Herbert’s child. Still, Andrew, I cannot attribute foul motives to the man. He is cool, aloof, and dispassionate, but I cannot feel he is evil.”

  Andrew should be relieved Astrid had reached that conclusion, for otherwise, he’d be procuring a special license. He resisted the urge to take her hand.

  “You have reached a Scottish verdict. Insufficient evidence—neither an acquittal nor a conviction.”

  They sat together, alone in the shadows, the moon appearing to grow smaller as it drifted into the sky. When he could bear the distance between them no longer, Andrew slid an arm around Astrid’s waist. Astrid rested her head on his shoulder, and they stayed next to each other until the chill drove them inside.

  ***

  Astrid woke up one brisk fall Tuesday morning and realized she was halfway through her pregnancy. That was a relief indeed, since it meant she’d passed the point where she’d miscarried the previous year. She still had occasional bouts of queasiness—or more than occasional. At some point in each day, her stomach would signal its ability to rule her life.

  Skipping meals did not help, so she headed directly for the stairs rather than get drawn into the tête-à-tête she could hear going on between Lady Amery and her youngest son in the family parlor down the hall.

  And Astrid still fainted, no matter how careful she tried to be.

  This unfortunate fact was borne home as she regarded the cobwebs gracing the corners of the ceiling in the octagonal entryway to her residence.

  “How could you be so careless?”

  That clipped, controlled voice cut across the fog in Astrid’s brain like a bitter whiff of vinaigrette.

  “Douglas.” Why must he choose now to make one of his duty calls to his dependent females?

  “Girls just out of the schoolroom know not to let their hems get tangled on a staircase. Must I assign the footmen to escorting you about your own dwelling?”

  The chandelier needed a good scrubbing. Astrid could reach this conclusion from her position sprawled on the rug at the foot of the staircase. Mortification joined nausea as Douglas helped her to sit on the bottom step.

  “Stop yelling at me, my lord.”

  “I have not raised my voice, though the notion appeals strongly. You could well be carrying the Amery heir, need I remind you, and tumbling down the steps is not responsible behavior given your condition. What have you to say for yourself?” He paced back and forth like Headmaster lecturing a class of unruly boys, his movements making Astrid’s head swim.

  “I have to say that you’re a perfect ass, Douglas Allen.” He paused to pivot at the edge of the rug, as if Astrid’s words had spun him by the shoulder. “Do you think I am so stupid as to carelessly put my own welfare at risk? Do you forbid me the use of the stairs until I deliver this child? Are you determined to make me as helpless and vapid as you’ve made your mother?”

  He came to a halt at the opposite edge of the carpet, his features dumbstruck. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “You and Henry treat the poor woman as if she is simple, Douglas. You never ask her opinion. You never defer to her judgment. Henry makes a joke of her at every turn, and believe me, she comprehends the disrespect. But at least your mother would understand that women in an interesting condition are prone to fainting.”

  “You are telling me you fainted?” His consternation was genuine, but then, what occasion would Douglas Allen have to learn of an expecting woman’s tribulations?

  Though Andrew had known them, had known them intimately. “I fainted. I am also frequently queasy and fatigued for no reason. I suggest you talk to your mother, who is entertaining Henry above stairs as we speak. Consult a knowledgeable midwife if you don’t believe me: pregnant women faint. I didn’t fall down the stairs on purpose or out of clumsy disregard for my hems, and I resent you would imply I did.”

  “You fainted.” His brows twitched down as he applied a new theory to facts he’d already sorted and labeled. “Because of your… condition?”

  The stair was hard beneath Astrid’s backside, and having Douglas loom over her was intolerable. She used the banister railing to haul herself to her feet, which—thank the gods—did not try her balance further. “Douglas, what possible reason could I have for harming this baby?”

  And because the front hallway was no place to have any sort of discussion, Astrid crossed to the parlor, Douglas trailing her like a worried hound.

  “We are overwrought,” he said. He was overwrought, in any case. Astrid was weary, lonely, and hungry. “I apologize for misconstruing the situation, but you have every reason to hate my late brother, and to resent bearing his child enough to wish it harm. I daresay you have every reason to hate me, Henry, and Mother as well.”

  Douglas and his damned barbed apologies. Astrid wanted to scream, except the parlor door was open—Douglas would be proper while he accused her of resorting to violence against Herbert’s child.

  “Why would I hate Herbert, much less his child, and his entire surviving family?” Resent, yes, but hate?

  Douglas moved around the room, shifting the lace runner on the table so it hung exactly even on both ends, nudging a framed miniature of a hound puppy a quarter inch at one corner, and using the toe of his boot to flip a carpet tassel so it aligned with its mates.

  He would have made a splendid chambermaid.

  “Herbert stole from you, he paid more attention to his mistress, his horses, and his hounds than he did to you, and we both know he spent your dower funds on just those pursuits. He deserved your disrespect. He certainly earned mine.”

  Douglas had forgotten to mention Herbert’s cronies and even Henry, who instead of reading law had been forever gambling and expecting Herbert to cover his vowels.

  The present Lord Amery had many of the Allen features. Blue eyes, golden hair, a certain cast to his features, but to Astrid, he also looked like a man haunted. “Did you hate your older brother, Douglas?”

  “At times, yes. Yes, I did hate him, and I’m sure he returned the favor. It is my job, in our little family, to be the lone adult, and this has earned me considerable enmity.” He addressed the empty hearth, it being impractical to keep an unoccupied room warm in the Allen womenfolk’s household.

  Astrid refused to feel pity for a man who scolded her from coming a cropper. “Interesting.”

  He moved a brass candlestick one inch closer to the end of the mantel. “What do you find interesting?”

  “Either you don’t consider me a family member, or you don’t consider me an adult.”

  “I beg your pardon,” he said so stiffly Astrid relented.

  “Douglas, may we attribute this morning’s situation to a simple mishap followed by a misunderstanding? And I don’t hate your late brother. He had faults, as we all do, but I console myself with the hope that in time, he and I could have grown to a better accommodation of our marriage.”

  Douglas peered at her as if trying to assess her sincerity. For a handsome, well-mannered gent
leman, he had a positive gift for giving offense.

  “He didn’t deserve you,” Douglas said after a lengthy silence. “And you’re going to need ice on that bump.” He touched a finger to her forehead, making Astrid aware that in due course, she’d be sporting a thumping bruise near her temple.

  They were preserved from further discourse on that riveting topic by Lady Amery’s voice on the stairs.

  “Is that you, Douglas?” she trilled as she descended. “Why, so it is! How fortunate you are here. I was just telling dear Henry that Lady Porter’s niece, the Honorable Miss Evelyn Buckley-Smythe, is coming to Town to share the holidays with her aunt. Why, Astrid, what is that horrid mark on your forehead?”

  Douglas sketched a bow. “Hello, Mother. Astrid has had a slight mishap. No harm done.”

  “I fell down the stairs.”

  Lady Amery’s face creased into a puzzled frown, but because she plucked her eyebrows into perfect, thin arches, she looked more horrified than concerned. “A blow to the head is always serious. You aren’t feeling dizzy, are you?”

  “Not now,” Astrid said, shooting a wry glance at Douglas.

  “You really ought to be more careful, Astrid dear.”

  “I really should, my lady.” Astrid took a seat, because nobody seemed inclined to send a servant for ice and a cloth, and her head was beginning to throb. “I have particular reason to take care these days, but I have hesitated to share my news, lest it be only a temporary cause for joy.”

  And if dear Henry—who always seemed to pop in around meal times—would stop chasing the upstairs maid and join the assemblage in the parlor, Astrid wouldn’t have to repeat her cause for joy all over again for his benefit.

  “My dear, you are speaking in riddles,” Lady Amery sniffed. “Douglas, can you understand her?”

  “Yes, Mother. I can understand her.” On Douglas, that pained expression might have passed for a smile—or an indication of wind.