Page 29 of Souvenir of Love

I should welcome a visit from you.How pathetic. She, who’d been courted by so many eligible young men, was pursuing a completely ineligible one who, for all she knew, didn’t want to see her.

She tore the blank sheet into strips.

What was the point of writing a letter to James? She needed totalkto him. Not to discuss what had occurred at the ball, she told herself. Certainly not to try to gauge from his expressions if he had any feelings for her. Nothing so shallow or selfish, she reassured herself firmly. She needed to see James Dinsmore on a matter of life and death. She must convince him to refuse to meet her brother.

Rafe was far too stubborn. He wouldn’t even discuss the duel with her. Said it was no business of hers. And Alix was no help. Alix had said it was her duty to stand by her husband’s decision. Guilt clawed her stomach at the thought of the pain she was causing her sister-in-law. Of course, she’d known she was taking a chance slipping off with James, but she’d imagined that she’d face any consequences alone. Not that she’d given it agreat dealof thought, she admitted to herself. She’d never really believed they’d be discovered.

She crumpled the strips of paper and dropped them to the floor. She checked the clock on her desk. A rosy-cheeked shepherd held the time for a golden-haired shepherdess. Half past four. She stared out the window at the street beyond the gates. Shecouldtell her mother she wished to go shopping, but then Louisa would insist she, or Alix, or a groom, or a footman, or a maid accompany her. And the Dinsmores? How would sheget past the butler, the servants, past Anne, and find James? What if he wasn’t there?

She glanced at the clock again, feeling unreasonably annoyed by the smiling shepherd and his insipid mistress. Two minutes had passed. She needed an idea. She thought of all the plays she’d seen, the books she’d read. Stories of women who’d disguised themselves as chambermaids, serving girls, gypsies, soldiers, or footmen. Absurd fictions. This was real life, and someone she loved might lose theirs if she didn’t figure out a way to reach James Dinsmore—and soon.

“Lord Dinsmore, sir.”Despite his years of strict training, the footman standing at the threshold of James’s dressing room shifted nervously on his feet.

James’s valet frowned. He had reminded the downstairs servants countless times that his master wasn’t to be disturbed at his evening toilet—particularly on a night such as this. His master was stopping at White’s. He must be perfectly dressed, not a hair out of place. It must be clear from his master’s appearance that James Dinsmore took his dressing as seriously as his dueling.

“What is it?” the valet demanded.

“There’s a lady at the servants’ entrance, sir.”

“Ladies do not use the servants’ entrance.” The valet gestured with his hand. “Send her away.”

James turned to look at the footman. “How do you know she is a lady, Hobbes?”

The footman, encouraged that the master knew his name, took a step forward into the room. “Her clothes, sir, and her hands, and the way she carried herself, head up, like she’d never had to answer to no one.”

“I see.” He arched a brow. “And what does the lady want?”

“To see you, sir.”

James nodded. “I see.”

The footman glanced at the valet, who was fastening the buttons of James’s brown-and-gold-striped waistcoat, and lowered his voice. “She said she was your mistress, sir. And she’s carrying a bundle she claims is your babe.”

“I think I would know if I’d gotten one of my mistresses with child.” James stood holding out his arms so the valet could slip on his amber velvet coat. “I can’t imagine who the lady or the child might be.”

“She was very insistent that she knew you, sir. Said you had to see her. Threatened to leave the babe on the stoop if you didn’t.”

The valet sniffed.

“On the stoop?” James straightened the cuff of his coat, glancing toward the long windows as he did so. “I suppose the evening is warm enough for a well-swaddled babe.” He looked over at the footman. “The babeiswell swaddled?”

“Oh, yes, sir, can’t even see the little tyke’s face, nor its mother’s. She’s wearing one of them cloaks with the great big-framed hoods and a veil.”

“The master would never dally with anyone so unfashionable,” the valet muttered. “He is a man of principle.”

“Thank you for your faith, Crandall.”

“Not at all, sir.”

James adjusted his other cuff. “Still, I doubt my sister would take kindly to a babe squalling on the doorstep, even if the brat is mine. Although if tonight should prove to be my last, she might appreciate a small piece of myself for the world to remember me by.” He smiled wryly.Rather fitting that it should be a bastard.

To the footman he said, “You may show her up.”

The footman returned up the back stairs to James’s private quarters, escorting a heavily cloaked and veiled woman. As thefootman had said, she was clutching a bundle to her chest, a heavily swaddled bundle that squirmed and mewled in her arms.

James stood as the lady entered, waiting until his footman and valet left the room to speak. “Will you unveil, ma’am, so I might know with whom I am speaking?”

The woman shook her head.