She snapped around to stare at him. “What do you mean by that?”
“I was a soldier against the French, and I am now the owner of a gambling establishment. To say that I have a few... nefarious... acquaintances would be putting it mildly. I could not bring her into the family home prior to Matthew producing an heir. But I can bring her here.”
“But you acknowledged her?”
“To Stella and Rose, of course. And my family knows now. I told them recently.”
“Do they accept that she is—even though Stella—”
“Olivia looks like me.” He shrugged. “Exactly like me. And my brothers when they were younger. And as far as I know”—another shrug—“Stella remained... faithful... during the months before Olivia was conceived. I have no doubt that I am her father.”
“Does she know?”
“No.” At her frown, Mark went on. “I believed it might be too confusing for her, especially since she did not live with hermother either.” He glanced at the rocking chair. “Stella did not agree.”
Judith’s frown remained. “She lived here, but not her daughter?”
He shook his head. “Stella did not want Olivia around the . . . her . . . um . . .”
“Livelihood?”
Mark smiled. “More or less.”
The frown turned sad, and she rubbed her hand along the horse again, her gaze distant. “It is hard to be away from your child.”
Mark waited, somehow aware that Judith spoke of more than Stella’s distance from Olivia.
After a moment, she released a deep sigh. “My George is at Eton. Robbie will go in the next year.” Her eyes narrowed and she faced him again, her voice harsh. “I do not like it, but I do not want them to come home because the estate is in tatters.”
Mark went and stood by her side, touching her arm. “Then let us hope your plans for Atkinson and ours for tonight”—she looked up at him, a slight smile on her face—“will pay off with the desired results.”
She nodded, then glanced around the room again. “I want to meet her.”
He blinked. “You are not off put by the fact that I have a child?”
“All children are precious.” She tilted her head to look at him. “And, truthfully, given what I have heard about you, I am rather surprised there is only one.”
“As far as I know.”
“When can I meet her?”
“Give me a few days to sort some things out, including that wager at White’s. You still have the meeting with the runner to work out. After that, I will arrange something.”
“Excellent.”
“Now. Let us get you fully dressed and home. Cook is probably already awake and baking, so it will be clear to her that you stayed the night.”
Judith slid her arms around him, pressing her body against his. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for all of it.”
He held her. “And my claim . . .”
“Is accepted.” She peered up at him. “Let us see what comes next.”
Chapter Eighteen
Tuesday, 9 August 1814
Sculthorpe Manor
