Page 93 of The Bridal Quest

"Say that you forgive me."

"I forgive you," Gideon answered promptly. "I— The truth of it is, I am glad to know it." He smiled a little crookedly. "It is nice to know who my father is. To know that he is not a murderer."

Jasper smiled in relief. "Thank heavens. I feared I might have lost you forever."

"Well, then that is all settled," Lady Odelia said with a sigh of relief. "It is scandalous, of course, but no one need know about it. I have been thinking, and I believe that the best course is to stay with Cecil's original story and say that Lady Radbourne was abducted. It was obviously the ruffians who took her who killed her and hid her in the caves. And what poetic justice, everyone will say, that her son, returned to his family, is the one who found her and will be able to put her to rest at last."

"But it is not settled, Aunt Odelia," Gideon corrected her firmly. "There is still the matter of Timothy. I am Lord Jasper's son, not the earl's, and not even a legitimate one at that."

"No one need know that," his great-aunt pointed out. "After all, none of us can prove it, now, can we? Cecil accepted you as his son. You were born to his wife in wedlock. I do not see how the succession could fall any other way."

"I cannot deprive Timothy of what should rightfully be his," Gideon argued. "He is the only true son. He should inherit the estate and title, not I."

Lady Odelia groaned. "Well, there can be no question but that you are a Lilles. You are as willful as your greatgrandfather."

Beside her Pansy nodded. "Yes, he is very much like Father, but, Odelia, that is not the point, is it?"

"What is the point—that we should let that odious Teresa rule the house again? Timothy is all very well, I suppose. Perhaps he will grow up well enough—though I cannot imagine how, with her for a mother. But there is nothing of the Lilles about him. Or even the Bankes."

"That," Jasper put in firmly, "is because there is no Lilles in him, or Bankes, either."

Once again he had everyone's attention. He shrugged. "You have only to look at him. Lady Odelia is right. I have no idea who Timothy's father is, but I am sure it was not my brother. Cecil could not have children."

"Jasper, no! That was a cruel rumor," his mother objected. "How can you repeat it?"

"It was not just a rumor, Mother, and you know it. It was the truth. Selene was married to the man for six years without conceiving. The only child she gave Cecil was mine. Cecil knew it—he was simply too proud to admit it. Why do you think he accepted Gideon as his son? He knew that he could not produce an heir, so my child, his nephew, was as close as he could come. Why do you think he waited so long to marry again? It was not love for Selene, and obviously it was not hope that she was still alive. It was because he knew that he could not produce an heir anyway, and he had no wish to prove it all over again. With all his mistresses, I never heard of one who had a child by him. You know his reputation hereabouts—we all do. Yet did ever a tavern wench or a maid turn up on our doorstep, claiming to hold his babe in her arms? No. I have no idea how Teresa managed to get him to marry her, but it was two years before she conceived. I am sure she was less naive than Selene. No doubt she did not believe Cecil's accusations, as Selene did, that it was her fault she could not get with child. So she went out and found some other man who could give her the child she needed."

Pansy looked at him with reproach. "How can you say all this? Have you no respect for the dead? For the family?"

"I have no respect for a murderer," Jasper retorted bluntly. "And I am tired of all our secrets. The truth, and you know it, is that Cecil and I caught the mumps when we were children. I was fine. I was only six. But he was twelve years old, and though he recovered, he was sterile."

His mother began to cry again, and her sister snapped, "Oh, hush, Pansy, do. I know he was your son, but really, dear, we all knew he was a rotter even before this news that he killed his wife and turned Gideon over to thieves. If I were you, I would dry my tears and do some good hard thinking over the wrongs you did your grandson and Jasper by keeping silent all these years."

Her sister's eyes widened in dismay. "But I didn't know!"

"Of course you didn't. You are always careful not to know," Odelia retorted. Her sister's eyes welled with tears, and Odelia said, "Oh, don't start up again, please."

Lady Odelia surged to her feet, her last exchange with her sister seeming to have restored her old spirits. "Well, Gideon, there you are. It may not be much, but this is your family. The best you can do for that little boy is to give his mother a house in the city and let Timothy stay here. I'll warrant she'll be more than happy to let him grow up in the country while she enjoys life in town. And you, no doubt, will make sure he has all the advantages. With luck, he will turn out better than either his mother or ... well, whoever his father was. You, I fear, will simply have to learn to live with being an earl."

"I promise you, I shall endeavor to do so," Gideon replied.

Jasper stepped forward to speak to him, and Irene seized the opportunity to slip away. She had not made it to the door, however, before Gideon called her name, but she did not look back, only continued out of the room.

"Excuse me," Gideon told his newly found father. "I would like to talk with you. But first I have some very pressing business to attend to."

He hurried out into the hall, half expecting to find Irene disappearing into her bedchamber, but instead she stood waiting for him in the corridor. Her face was no longer angry, merely weary, and he felt a sharper pang than anything her bright-eyed fury had cost him.

"Irene, please ..." He took a step forward, his hand going out to her. "Let me talk to you. Let me explain."

"All right. But let us at least go out into the garden. I do not care to make my personal life the subject of gossip for everyone here."

He nodded, and followed her down the stairs and out onto the terrace. They wound their way through the garden until they came at last to a secluded bench.

Irene turned to face him, straightening her shoulders, and said, "I am sorry for striking you. I hope you will forgive me."

He gave her a faint smile. "Of course I forgive you ... if you will forgive me for being a clumsy fool."

She quirked a brow at him. "I suppose you cannot help it."