Page 73 of To Seduce a Stranger

Or attempt to build them, at least. Without an ally from among his own class, it would be at best a difficult task to find his way in the world that was his by birth. Perhaps impossible. And rather than enlist an ally, he had entangled himself with the Disappearing Duchess. Linking his ancient family name to her tarnished reputation would double his burden on this uphill climb.

Surely the wisest thing would be to return to Ravenswood and say she had eluded his pursuit.

But when, with respect to Charlotte, had he ever done what was wise?

Something thumped against his knee. When he looked down, he saw a tiny perambulator, of the sort a child might use for a doll. Except this one contained a gray cat, its striped face framed by the frill of a baby’s bonnet, one white paw poking from the top of the blanket in which it had been swaddled. He could not imagine the creature was pleased by the predicament in which it found itself, although its green eyes were remarkably unperturbed as it blinked up at him. It seemed to be accustomed to such travails.

Pattering footsteps made him look up. A girl with golden-brown curls, her own bonnet nowhere in sight, was chasing after the escaped pram. He expected tears, but instead, a fierce frown lined her little face. “Now, Thomas,” she scolded, “I told you to stay put.”

A second set of footsteps—most certainly not those of a child—came running after. “Rissa, my pet, what did I say about holding on tight? I beg your pardon, sir, we—Cary?”

At the familiar voice, Edward froze. He lifted his gaze higher yet. Surely his ears were playing tricks on him. “Fairfax?”

But it was he: the fair-haired man with the mysterious past who had shown up one day at Harper’s Hill looking for work—though Edward had been quite certain the fellow had never done a day’s work in his life—and stayed there for nearly three years. Almost as if he had been looking for a place to hide. In those years, he had assisted Edward in whatever had needed to be done, and as he had arrived shortly after the death of Mr. Holderin, his help had been invaluable. But as much as he had helped them, Edward sometimes had felt as though Fairfax had needed them more. Edward had been sorry to see the man leave, but equally certain he had had good reason for returning home at last.

“It is you,” Fairfax said and clapped him heartily on the back. “I never thought you’d leave Antigua. Or rather, I never thought Miss Holderin would allow it.”

“She is here now. In England. And—and married.”

Fairfax’s pale eyes lit with surprise. “Fancy that.”

Edward felt a tug on the hem of his coat and glanced down. The little girl was staring up at him. “Who’re you?” she demanded. “An’ how do you know my papa?”

“Your—?” Edward looked from Fairfax to the girl, who must be three or four years old, born—though presumably not conceived—while Fairfax had been in Antigua. “I’m Edward Cary, Miss Fairfax,” he said with a tip of his hat. “At your service.”

“I’m Lady Clarissa Sutliffe,” she corrected primly as she curtsied.

Sutliffe? Not Fairfax? And Lady?

“I’m afraid there were more than a few secrets being kept all those years ago, Cary,” Fairfax said, sounding somewhat abashed. “Please, meet my daughter. And allow me to introduce myself properly, as well. St. John Sutliffe. Viscount Fairfax.”

Before Edward could rise from his formal bow of greeting, Fairfax had clasped his hand firmly between his own in a hearty handshake, a warmer gesture than he had grown to expect from the generally reserved man. Looking at the little girl by his side, it was not difficult to imagine what had produced the change in him.

“Yes,” Edward agreed, with a faint smile. “There were a few secrets.”

There must be—or have been—a Lady Fairfaix, too, he supposed. Had she played some role in Fairfax’s decision to fly to the West Indies? Although Fairfax was cool by nature, Edward had never imagined him the sort of man who would abandon his wife or neglect his duty to his child.

“My wife is at home in Hampshire, I’m afraid. You must come visit us there when you have the time. After listening to all my tales, Sarah has expressed a great interest in meeting you, but I told her you weren’t likely to return to England. She’s—”

“She’s going to give me a baby brother soon,” Lady Clarissa proclaimed, with something very like a scowl.

“Or a sister,” Fairfax reminded her.

Edward could not entirely stifle the laugh that rose to his already upturned lips. “You’ve been busy since you left the West Indies.”

Fairfax laughed, too. “More than you know. Come, come. Sutliffe House is just the other side of the square. Won’t you visit with us? Regrettably, my father is away—”

“Your . . . father?” But Fairfax had called himself a viscount. That could only mean . . .

“The Marquess of Estley, yes. He’s in Hampshire with Sarah.”

Edward had never really been one to stand on ceremony. And he had long ago ceased to think of the fact that he was the son of an earl with anything like pride of place. When the crisis of harvest had been upon them, he had often worked in the field alongside the other men. But... “Do you mean to say, I once ordered the son of a marquess to cut sugarcane?”

“No,” Fairfax countered, gesturing for Edward to walk with him, while Lady Clarissa pushed the miniature pram ahead. “You once showed the son of a marquess what it means to be involved with the property one is charged with managing. You never stood to the side when there was work to be done. There’s many a nobleman who could learn from your example—and when you come to Lynscombe, I hope you’ll find it’s a lesson I learned well.”

Rounding another corner, they stopped in front of a set of wide steps. Fairfax handed the cat to his daughter with one hand and hoisted the pram with the other. “We’re short a nursery maid,” he explained, slightly abashed, as a footman bowed them into the marble-tiled entry and relieved him of his burden. “I brought Clarissa to town to stay with Sarah’s parents for a few weeks. What brings you to London?”

Edward hesitated. “A matter of business. Is there somewhere we could talk?”