The Bridal Quest. Candace Camp

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      “You may as well let her tell it,” Rochford advised Francesca. “You know it will be easier.”

      “Don’t be impertinent, Sinclair,” his great-aunt admonished him.

      Francesca noted somewhat sourly that Rochford, of course, did not seem at all in awe of the intimidating woman.

      “Now,” Lady Odelia went on, “I am sure you don’t remember it, as you were just a child then yourself, but my nephew Cecil’s wife and son were abducted twenty-seven years ago. Frightful business. They received a letter demanding a ransom—a necklace of rubies and diamonds, dreadfully ugly thing, but worth a fortune, of course. It had been in the family for generations. Legend said it was given to them by a grateful Queen Elizabeth when she came to the throne. Cecil gave them what they asked for, but they did not give him back his wife and child. We all assumed both had been killed. Cecil was grief-stricken, but he held out hope that they would somehow, someday, return. Years went by before he remarried. Of course, when he did, he had to go through legal proceedings to have Selene—that was the first countess—declared dead. She had been missing for almost twenty years by then. But still, he did nothing about the boy. I presume he could not bring himself to admit that his child was dead.”

      She shrugged and went on. “But then, a year ago, when Cecil himself died, something had to be done. If Gideon was still alive somewhere, then he would be the heir. However, Cecil’s second wife, Teresa, had given him a son, so if Gideon was dead, then Timothy would be the heir. Before we started legal proceedings, I set Rochford to see if he could turn up anything about Gideon.”

      Francesca looked over at the duke. “Then…you are the one who found him?”

      Rochford shrugged. “I can scarcely claim credit for it. All I did was hire a Runner to investigate the matter. He found Gideon in London. He was going by the name Gideon Cooper, and he had made something of a fortune for himself. Had no idea who he really was.”

      “He didn’t remember anything?” Francesca asked in surprise.

      “Apparently not—other than his given name, of course. He was only four when he was taken. He can remember nothing before the time when he was a street urchin in London.”

      “But someone must have taken him in, cared for him,” Francesca protested. “Did they know nothing about how they came to have him? Where he came from?”

      “Nothing,” Lady Odelia declared with disgust. “He says he never had any parents, that he grew up with a bunch of disreputable children in the stews of the East End. Imagine, the son of an earl, a boy with Lilles and Bankes blood flowing through his veins, living hand to mouth in some hovel, consorting with God-knows-what sort of riffraff!” She shook her head, the purple plumes that curled over her unfashionably high hairstyle bobbing wildly with her movements.

      “But how did you know that it was Gideon?” Francesca asked curiously. “If he could not even remember, and there is no one around who raised him…”

      “Oh, it was he, all right,” Lady Odelia’s tone suggested that she was less than pleased about the fact. “He had the birthmark—a little raspberry-colored blotch beside his left shoulder blade. Gideon had exactly the same mark from the time he was born. Pansy and I both remembered it. Of course, it looks smaller on an adult, but there is no mistaking it. A bit like a lopsided diamond. And, of course, he has the look of the Bankses. The Lilles jaw and hair, as well.”

      “I see,” Francesca said somewhat untruthfully. The truth was that while Lady Odelia’s story was certainly interesting, she did not really understand why the woman had told it to her. She hesitated, then said, “I am sure you are quite happy to have him back after all this time.” She looked from Lady Odelia to the duke, but there was nothing in his carefully schooled face that offered any enlightenment to her. She turned back to the older woman. “I’m not sure…that is…well, why do you need my help—or anyone else’s, for that matter—to find a suitable wife for Lord Radbourne? You know everyone. Indeed, you know them better than I.”

      “It is not finding a suitable woman. It is finding someone who is willing,” Lady Pencully replied.

      Francesca stared. “But surely, with his title and property…”

      “Lord Radbourne has not been out much in society. No doubt it has been remarked upon,” Lady Odelia said, fixing Francesca with her penetrating gaze.

      “Well, um…” Francesca tried to think of a suitable reply.

      The truth was, gossip had been rampant regarding the newly found earl’s absence from Society’s rounds. Though he had turned up several months ago, he had not appeared at any parties this Season. Rumors had run the gamut from his suffering from some hideous deformity to his being a criminal to his being utterly mad.

      “Don’t knit your brow over how to tell me,” Lady Odelia went on brusquely. “Believe me, I have heard all the stories. He isn’t crook-backed or stunted or covered in boils. Nor is he stark-staring mad. But the truth is…well, he is…quite common.”

      Lady Odelia uttered the words in a hushed voice, as though admitting the darkest of secrets, and she squared her shoulders as she gazed at Francesca, waiting for her retort.

      “Aunt Odelia, aren’t you being a trifle hard on the man?” Rochford remonstrated. “I think Radbourne’s done quite well for himself, particularly given the circumstances.”

      “Yes, if you are talking about making money,” Lady Odelia sniffed. “He has done a good deal of that.” Clearly her great-nephew’s financial success had not met with her approval.

      “Scarcely the mark of a gentleman,” she went on flatly. “The truth is, his past is, well, unsavory. I am not aware of the particulars—and, frankly, I do not care to be.” She turned her fierce gaze on Rochford again, then swung back to Francesca. “He lived among the worst sort of people, far from the influence of his family and peers. The result is that he is lacking in the qualities that make up a gentleman. His speech and manners are quite unrefined, and his education is woefully short.”

      “Gideon is very well-read, Aunt.” Rochford came to the man’s defense again, but his great-aunt waved away his words.

      “Pshaw!” she exclaimed contemptuously. “I am not talking about books, Sinclair. I am talking about his education in the things that count—he cannot dance, and he has no idea how to make polite conversation. The man can barely sit a horse.” She paused to let that horror sink in. “He is much too familiar with the servants and the tenants, yet he scarcely says a word to his family or even the local gentry. Fortunately, we have managed to get him to stay at the Hall most of the time, but now he insists on returning to London.”

      “He does have business here,” the duke pointed out mildly.

      “And what if someone we know sees him conducting his…business?” Lady Odelia gave a theatrical shudder at the thought.

      “Aunt Odelia, I think there is little for anyone to remark upon on seeing a man going into a bank or meeting with his clerks,” Rochford protested, his voice edging into irritation. “Come now, you will make Lady Haughston think that he should be locked up in the attic.”

      “Would that I could lock him away,” Lady Odelia retorted.

      The duke’s dark brows drew together, and he took a breath before answering her. It occurred to Francesca that she might soon have СКАЧАТЬ