The Bridal Contract (Darrington family Book 3) (2 page)

Carruthers chuckled. “I wouldn’t argue with my missus, my lord. She always knows best.” He rested his faded green gaze on Oliver’s face. “Besides, she remembers your favorite dishes and has already aired the master suite for you. Best make use of her hard work.”

Devil take it!
Oliver stroked his bewhiskered chin. How did Felix handle stubborn servants or even his daily life as it related to domestication?
Did Father ever have these moments of indecision?
He didn’t know. Felix had spent more time with their parents than he had. Left to his own devices, and after succumbing to the siren call of the sea, Oliver had never gotten the knack of the intricacies of family life.

Finally, he nodded. “You’ve bedeviled me into this decision. I’ll let you stay, but the moment I receive notice the
Scandalous Lady
is seaworthy again, I’m closing up the house and sending you back to Kent.”

Carruthers and his wife brightened. The man beamed and the gesture exponentially increased the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. “Very good, sir. I’ll notify the rest of the staff right away.”

“There’s more?” He rubbed a hand over his face. Of course there were more. A town house couldn’t be maintained with only a butler who masqueraded as a valet and a housekeeper who also doubled as the cook.

Susan’s brow winkled. “Yes. This property has a groomsman, a carriage master, and two maids. Should Carruthers scout for other interested parties?”

“No!” The word came out with more force than Oliver had intended. “Er, I meant to say, what we have now is enough. I will be the only one in residence. No need to have more people hovering about me.” Why couldn’t a man just have privacy and silence when he wanted it?

A desperate knocking upon the front door interrupted his thoughts. He glanced at Carruthers with a frown. “Are we expecting visitors?” As far as he knew, no one in Brighton was aware he’d occupied the town house, since he’d only arrive two hours ago. On a usual day, members of the
ton
indulging in leisure activities seldom stirred before the noon hour. Perhaps the riotous knocking heralded a matter of import. Perhaps not. The pace in Brighton was severely less hectic than in London.

“Not that I’m aware of,” the older man replied. “Perhaps it’s one of your neighbors wishing to welcome you back to England.” He left the room, presumably to answer the door and inquire about the caller’s intentions.

Alone with Susan, Oliver slumped onto a settee. “A six-month voyage is not as stressful as coming home.”

His lament was met with a low-pitched chuckle from his housekeeper. “You aren’t exactly home, my lord. Also, have you been made aware there are several letters from your mother waiting in the study?”

He groaned. “I don’t doubt it. Mother is adamant her offspring marry with alacrity. Nothing else matters, apparently.” He cringed. Matrimony wasn’t something that interested him—now or ever. Mistresses he’d had aplenty. Maria had been his last, the affair dead the day he set out for the sea once more. Beyond that, no woman had caught his fancy or his heart, and he’d found he didn’t mind the silence that much. Had he searched for a woman to pledge the ultimate alliance to? Sure, but not very hard, and it wasn’t the end all of his life if he never found her.

The housekeeper’s cheeks dimpled with her grin. “There are worse things.”

“Yes, there are, but children and timid wives tie a man down,” Oliver replied without thinking. No doubt Felix would have chosen different words or not said anything at all. The likelihood of Felix conversing with servants was laughable, even though he’d more or less married one. After a fashion that was. Oliver frowned. He really needed to ask his brother how exactly that union had come about. Indeed, being leg-shackled to a woman afraid of her own shadow was a valid fear, not that Felix’s spouse was that, but for Oliver it was something he dreaded in a life mate. If he had to choose a female to spend his life with, she’d certainly need to know her own mind and not shrink from adventure. She’d have to have inner strength and not depend on him for every little thing. “I’m not exactly a family man.”

Carruthers returned to the parlor with an expression of concern. He cleared his throat. “Lord Tralsburg, there is a woman at the door.”

“I suspected, since someone had knocked and there was half a chance the caller would be female,” Oliver returned with a touch of amusement. “Ghosts don’t often formally visit. Show her in here.”

The butler shook his head. “I’d rather not do that, my lord. There are other extenuating circumstances at play.”

“Such as?” Really, this morning was turning farcical rather quickly and luncheon would soon be upon them. His stomach growled as if it, too, thought of food.

“I’d rather not say, and I’d rather not invite the woman into the house if her story cannot be verified.” He stood to his full height and his frown grew. “If you could join me in the hall?”

Oliver heaved a sigh. His first day back and already the annoyances were multiplying. “Fine.” He followed Carruthers out of the parlor then down the hall until they’d reached the door, which was closed. Apparently, the butler had left the questionable caller on the stoop. “Let’s unravel the knot, shall we?”

When the butler swung open the door, Oliver stared at a dour-faced woman of average height. Her mousy brown hair, shot with gray, had been pulled back in such a severe bun, he feared her facial skin had been drawn too tight. Her lips rested in a thin line and she had the distinct air of someone who’d once sucked on a lemon then had never gotten over it. Even her dress of serviceable gray serge couldn’t have been more severe. The most remarkable thing about this harsh individual was the child in her arms. Probably not more than four, the girl possessed masses of curly, black hair, slightly olive skin, and dark brown eyes so rich and intense to be almost black. The rosebud mouth formed a pout around the thumb stuck in her mouth. She was adorable enough as children went, but he had no twinkling of how those two individuals went together.

“Pardon me, but do you require assistance?” Oliver asked in lieu of finding more appropriate words.

“Are you Viscount Tralsburg, or rather Oliver Darrington?” the woman asked without delay and in a brusque tone.

“I am. Is there an issue?”

“Not anymore.” Without further preamble, the woman shoved the child into his arms. The girl took one look at him and burst into tears. Despite being accompanied by such a severe bulldog, the child seemed clean and well cared for. Her dress was a pretty yellow, which complimented her slightly dusky skin and the pinafore apron, crisp white and lined with scallops. Even still, pretty clothes didn’t muffle the noise. He transferred the child to one arm, albeit awkwardly. How exactly should he hold the small person for both their comfort? “She’s yours.”

Oliver glanced at Carruthers, who shrugged, then back at the rather drab woman still standing on his stoop. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. This is most definitely not mine.” As gently as he could, he returned the crying, trembling bundle into the woman’s care. “Who are you?”

“She’s not a ‘this.’ Her name is Daniela.” The hint of a French accent clung to her words. The woman returned the child to his arms. “As for who I am, you may call me Mrs. Blaine. I work for an orphanage in Salamanca.”

“Ah, now there’s a place with history,” Oliver inserted quietly. It was there Felix had been injured and there his partnership on the battlefield had ended with his brother.

The woman cleared her throat. She delivered a sharp glance. “Yes, well. Three months ago, Daniela was left on our doorstep with this note in her pocket.” Mrs. Blaine delved into the battered, leather case hung over her shoulder then withdrew a creased envelope of ivory vellum. “It’s addressed to an Oliver Darrington and had enough funds included to ensure that she found her father.”

Cold dread trickled down his spine. When he attempted to give the sobbing babe back to Mrs. Blaine, she shook her head and instead shoved the letter into his hand. “I cannot possibly be her father. She looks nothing like me.” He peered at Susan as she joined them in the foyer. She merely frowned.

“It matters not to me. The note proclaims your mistress was her mother. I’ve found you, and now my responsibility is over.” She made ready to depart.

“Wait. I have a few questions.” At his wit’s end, he turned to Susan. “Please, take her for a moment.”

Thankfully, the housekeeper took pity, on him or the child he had no idea. Once he was free of the tearful, snotty mess, he removed a pair of reading spectacles from his jacket pocket then took the scrap of paper from the envelope. It had been folded and refolded many times, and the strong handwriting on the page was unfamiliar. One name jumped out:
Maria
. He glanced again at the child, who’d calmed in Susan’s care. She might not resemble him, but she certainly favored his former mistress, the woman he’d sought comfort with for two years during his stint in the Peninsular War. Oliver had stayed on to continue the fight and to further enjoy Maria’s hospitality.

The feeling of foreboding grew. It churned in his gut as he scanned the brief note.

Oliver, I know this meeting will be abrupt. I can do nothing about that, especially after we parted on such stormy terms. I was never meant to be a mother, though I tried to do right by Daniela for a while. I cannot be who I am when the girl is around, so I’ve sent her on to you. You are the most responsible person I know. See that she receives all the best. Remember me fondly and have a good life. With love, Maria.

He turned the paper over, but there was nothing else written. She’d also never confirmed the child was his. “I’m sorry you’ve come all this way, but I cannot possibly take in a child.” After he’d refolded the paper, placed it in the envelope then held it out to the messenger, she shook her head. He sighed, and without recourse, deposited the missive into a jacket pocket. He took off the glasses and consigned them to the same pocket.

Mrs. Blaine shook her head. “I am sorry, Mr. Darrington. This isn’t up for negotiation.” She stooped then brought forward a tiny valise, which she handed to him. “Here are her possessions. I do need you to sign a few pieces of paper saying you received the girl and will care for her to the best of your ability.”

Heated panic uncoiled from his belly and spread outward. “I’m not a parent, nor did I father her.” At least he didn’t think so. He’d left Spain three years before, and as far as he knew, Maria hadn’t had a child at that time. Of course, this one was a good year older than the length of their relationship, which was enough evidence he needed to know he hadn’t fathered the girl. Apparently, his former mistress had been adept at keeping secrets. He gestured at her with his chin. “Besides, I’m planning to sail again soon. A ship is not the place for a child, and a girl to boot.”

Mrs. Blaine merely blinked, and if possible, her expression grew more severe. “That is not my problem.” She pulled a sheaf of papers from her case. “I do have other appointments today. Shall we conduct this inside?”

Susan shoved the girl into his arms. “I’ll go see to tea.” She hustled into the house, closely followed by Carruthers.

Oliver attempted to juggle the child, who had begun to cry once more, as well as the paperwork Mrs. Blaine handed him. “Maria and I didn’t exactly part as friends. I cannot imagine why she wanted me to take care of
her
child.” He felt the need to stress that word.

“I do not assume to understand the wishes of women in that profession,” Mrs. Blaine rejoined in a tone that said exactly what she thought of such women. “I only know these were her wishes and I have done what I promised to do. What you do with the child once I leave is your prerogative.”

The noise from the child’s wails jarred his brain. “I have no familial claim.” He trailed after Mrs. Blaine, and when Carruthers showed the woman into the parlor, Oliver joined her there.

“That knowledge will not change my mind.” She spread out the paperwork on a low table then removed a pen and inkwell from her bag. “If you feel you cannot take her in, deliver her to another orphanage. Lord knows there are too many to count here in England. Sign, please.”

He had no recourse except to put the child down on the floor. The moment her tiny feet touched the Aubusson carpet, she sobbed even louder than she had while in his arms. Oh, when would Susan return? Perhaps he could convince her to remove the girl to a different portion of the house, anything to stop the caterwauling.

“What exactly happened to Maria?” Oliver accepted the pen. Really, the family solicitor should glance through these papers before he did so much as drop a first letter.

“How should I know? Those sorts of women come and go whenever a new protector arrives.” Contempt darkened her expression. “Such men need to be brought low by the consequences. There are responsibilities in this life, after all.”

“You’ve overstepped, Mrs. Blaine.” His glee at sounding like a proper viscount was short-lived as Oliver looked at Daniela. She’d sidled closer to Mrs. Baines, who ignored her, which only served to bring on harder tears. There was no trace of him anywhere in the girl’s features, but then, the timing was such there wouldn’t be. He tried not to dwell on that relief too long. Was this Maria’s way of getting back at him for leaving her? She’d always been the vindictive sort. Anger burned through his chest. Did she fully expect him to raise another man’s bastard under his roof? He recalled her tantrum when he announced his intention of leaving Spain in order to sail without her. A wry grin touched his lips. Of course she expected him to do the honorable thing. He wasn’t strong of will like Felix or impetuous like their sister Charlotte. His biggest fault lay in his inability to tolerate conflict or drama. Plus, his unerring sense of honor demanded he take in the waif, at least until he could make other plans for her. Regardless of her parentage, the child had nothing to do with current circumstances.