Page 76 of His Improper Lady

“Think nothing of it,” Paxton answered and stood up to take Desiree’s hand again, his gaze lingering on her face. “Yes, I think there’s quite a bit of Stella in you. Such a beautiful woman.”

He sighed, his hand sliding from hers, and after an exchange of polite farewells, Tom and Desiree left the house.

“That was quite successful, don’t you think?” Desiree bubbled, taking Tom’s arm as they walked to the carriage. “We confirmed that Alistair was my father and that he wrote Paxton a farewell letter. And that my father had those cuff links, not Mr. Paxton.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t lying about the cuff links?” Tom asked, though he was already certain of the answer.

“Yes, reasonably sure. It’s not a science. What I sense, really, is an underlying disturbance, a distortion or corruption in a person or an object—I can see that something’s not right just under the surface. With people it looks like a dark-edged double image. Like staring at someone through a pane of blackened glass. It’s easier to see with some people than others. The more free they are with their emotions or the more corrupt they are, the more I can actually see it. When it is faint, it’s more a vague sense of something wrong, so it is difficult to separate it from just a...”

“Just normal intuition?” Tom supplied.

“Exactly. I had difficulty getting anything from Gregory yesterday because he’s very...insulated. He’s wrapped up tightly. Now, his mother was positively bursting with clashing emotions. When we first met Mr. Paxton, I felt a flash of disturbance, but it disappeared after he knew who we were. Perhaps it was just surprise, for after that he was quite open and relaxed. I don’t think he lied to us, but still... I felt that there was something he wasn’t telling us. He didn’t have that bright, clear glow that people have when they are totally truthful and in harmony. But very few of us have that—most people are holding something back.”

“Any idea what?”

She shook her head. “No. It might not have been related to any of this. Or something that isn’t important. But I felt as if I just knew the right question to ask, I could find out more.”

“Well, as you said, we’ve learned a good deal. It eliminates one of our suspects. It makes sense—there really wasn’t any reason for Paxton to be spying on you. Gregory, on the other hand, has a great deal of motive. I wouldn’t be surprised if he both hired Falk and set his own man on it, too.”

“Tom, don’t you see? I know you think my father’s coach is not significant. But these cuff links, too? The carriage was his favorite. The cuff links were in Alistair’s possession. Maybe it really was Alistair in that carriage. Maybe it was both of them.”

“Why would your parents spy on you? Why not just come up to the door?”

“Because they’re afraid of how we might react. I mean, they abandoned us. It wouldn’t be all that surprising if we despised them. Brock does. Maybe they’re trying to work up the courage to approach us. Or they just wanted to see what we look like, what we’re doing. Make sure that we’re all right.”

Looking into her shining eyes, Tom didn’t have the heart to try to dissuade her. “You could be right. I think it’s more likely that Gregory is watching you. But obviously your father or both your parents could have returned to the country. It’s not as if there’s anything to stop them.”

“But you hate for me to get my hopes up,” Desiree said. “I know it’s not likely that they would suddenly decide they wanted to see us after all these years. I’m not going to count on it. But it’s not impossible, either.” She sighed and settled back in the seat, and after a moment, she asked, “What do you make of Paxton saying he saw Falk at my mother’s house?”

“I don’t know.” Tom shook his head. “I can’t conceive of Falk being friends with Alistair. Or with anyone, really.”

“The idea of Falk carrying on a romance with one of the servants seems equally unlikely.”

They were silent for a moment, then Tom said quietly, “At least this is solid proof that Alistair was your father.”

“Yes.” Desiree smiled gently, her expression reflective. “And it was comforting to learn that his family didn’t ignore us, that they just didn’t know.”

“That’s certain.” Tom smiled faintly. “The duchess would have been on it like a shot. I’m sorry they didn’t know, that you grew up without the Morelands.”

“I can’t regret my life,” Desiree told him. “I hated Falk, and I hated being hungry. But we were happy with Bruna and Sid, even if we were frequently short on money. I loved the circus and I loved the acrobatics. Bruna taught me so much. Even Falk found someone to train us more. The things that I can do make me happy. Wells and Brock and I love each other and know we can always count on the others. When Falk took Brock away from us and Brock told me he would come back and get us, I knew he would.”

“I don’t remember ever feeling that way when I was a child,” Tom said honestly. “Certainly not before Reed helped me. When Falk had grabbed me back that time, I never had the hope that anyone would rescue me from him. It was a miracle that it had happened once, and truthfully, I had been expecting it to be taken away from me the whole time I was with the Morelands.”

“But then Reed came for you.”

“Yeah. After that, I hoped, I half believed Reed would help me, but it was years before I really trusted it.” He glanced at her, suddenly embarrassed. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Because you know you can.” She studied him for a moment. “What about you? Do you wish you’d lived a different life?”

“I don’t know. I have trouble imagining anything else. But no, I don’t think so. I wouldn’t be who I am now, have what I have now, if my life had been different. I’ve wished I’d known my mother. But who’s to say it wouldn’t have been worse to have grown up with her? When you don’t know who or what you are, when you don’t have a place in life, you can be whatever you want. It’s freeing.”

“What is it that you want?”

“Oh...” Tom shrugged, aware of the familiar tug of discomfort, the desire to wrap a protective silence around himself. He thought of what Desiree had said about Gregory—he was insulated. He said, “Pretty much what everyone wants, I suppose. A place of my own.” His voice came out almost fiercely on the last words, and he added, unable to hold it back, “Something that belongs to me. Somewhere I belong.” He glanced away, then leaned forward and gave their driver an address.

“Where are we going?” Desiree asked.

“You’ll see.” Tom felt a flush rising up his neck. Why had he done that? But he would look even more foolish to tell Merriwell he’d changed his mind.