Page 60 of Lord of Mistrust

Robert cleared his throat. “Your support is most welcome, Mistress Riviere, but I fear you are embarrassing your daughter.”

Dela held his gaze. “Sir—you’ve been to my establishment in Southampton and know what I am. I have given up all falsehood and shame, and speak as I find. Chloe, I’m sure, understands that.”

Before Robert could respond, Sir Mortimer took a menacing step closer. “There are too many women involved in this discussion. Let us leave them to it, sir, and take this battle below.”

“I have no wish to fight with you, Sir Mortimer, as I have every intention of wedding Chloe. If you choose to recognize her as your daughter, you will become as my father, so it wouldn’t be fitting.”

“Not fitting? What about honor, sir? Should not that be satisfied?”

Dela laid a hand on her former lover’s arm. “You speak of honor again, yet where was honor when you left me with child? For Chloe’s sake, I’ve kept quiet all these years, but I may choose to hold my tongue no longer. Whether or not you’re aware of it, I have many important gentlemen passing through my doors on their way to or from the town quay at Southampton. Some of them are as interested in the gossip as they are in the women. Some, in fact, like Robert here, come only to collect tittle-tattle and play at cards or dice. Your name, Mortimer, would be blackened in less time than it takes to peel an onion. I would, of course, embroider the tale to make sure of it.”

“Blackmail, is it?” Sir Mortimer turned his attention to Dela. “So, this is how you exact your revenge.”

Robert gave Chloe’s waist a squeeze. She glanced up at him, and there was a light in her eyes that told him she was thoroughly enjoying the exchange between her estranged parents. As an introduction to the father she’d never met, though, it somewhat lacked affection. He gave his beloved his best smile and enjoyed the way her cheeks flushed in response.

Dela had placed her hands on her hips. “This is not revenge, Mortimer. I, too, bear the guilt of not having done enough for Chloe, but—”

“I’ve played my part, Woman!” Sir Mortimer seemed to have lost all interest in his daughter and Robert and was fully engaged in battling Dela. “Haven’t I been sending money for her keep to Matthew Emmerson? Aye, you may well look astounded. Your precious sister won’t have told you that, will she?”

Chloe gasped. Robert decided she’d had one too many revelations.

“Enough!” His command silenced the combatants. “You’re achieving nothing here. If you have old scores to settle, pray, do so in private. Sir Mortimer—the field is ranged against you. I shall, in due course, wed Chloe. I doubt you can stop this without drawing attention to your own base behavior.”

He took Chloe by the elbow. “Come, my love—let us release the patient Master Whiteley from his duties, then take a stroll around the garden while we make our plans. You and I will speak later, Sir Mortimer, in private. I’ll send you a messenger to inform you when I’m available.”

He gave a sign to Whiteley, who immediately stepped between Chloe’s father and Dela to hand him his blade and sword belt. He buckled them on, then stared at his future father-in-law.

After the briefest of pauses, during which Sir Mortimer appeared to be taking his measure, the man stepped aside, and Robert led Chloe from the room. As they descended the stairs in Whiteley’s wake, the door of Chloe’s bedchamber slammed shut on the sound of a renewed argument.

Whiteley took his leave, and stepped onto the street just as Master and Mistress Emmerson arrived at the front door. They nodded at him, surprised, then stepped into the passageway and spotted Chloe and Robert. Robert bowed politely, then smiled to himself as both newcomers looked upward. The noise of the battle royal being fought between Chloe’s parents could be heard issuing through the oak floorboards.

Robert turned to Master Emmerson. “Your visitor is Sir Mortimer Fowler. He’s currently in dispute with Mistress Riviere. With your permission, your ward and I will take a little walk in your garden.”

“I wouldn’t go up until things have quietened down,” Chloe advised, taking Robert’s arm and leading him toward the back of the house.

Her aunt gaped at Chloe. “Have we missed something?”

Robert fought the urge to smirk. They’d missed more than he would ever be prepared to tell them. The memory of what had passed between him and Chloe in that bedchamber made him incandescent with joy. He was going to marry her, and no power on earth would stop him from having her and loving her.

She took him past the kitchen and pantry to the rear door, which opened onto the Emmersons’ neat alignment of flower beds and vegetable plots. The air was chill, but the morning’s frost had melted, bedecking the leaves with diamond drops that reflected the crisp autumn sunlight. He took Chloe in his arms and gazed down at her beloved, beautiful face.

“Who do you think will win that battle, my love?”

She dimpled up at him. “I rather think my mother will. She has had a far harder life than Sir Mortimer and has fought every step of the way. She won’t give up easily.”

“And nor shall we, my darling—nor shall we.”

He opened his heart fully then and made Mistress Chloe Emmerson the gift of it, determined never to doubt her again. She was his angel, his goddess, his queen—a prize beyond his wildest imaginings, and he would cherish her to the end of his days.

He held her close, and kissed her beneath the golden October sun, and knew he needed nothing more in his life but her, his sweet, desirable, courageous Chloe.

And from the ardor with which she responded, he knew that she loved him back and that nothing would ever interfere with their happiness again.

Epilogue

A Christmas wedding was very different from a summer one, and not just because of the cold weather. Chloe felt that the season exuded its own special magic and that her union with Robert was truly blessed. The formal part of the ceremony over, her new husband took her gloved hand in his as they left the church porch. Children from the village and the manor skipped and frolicked in front of them as they processed away from the church and along the muddy lane, excited at the prospect of good food and gifts from the newlyweds.

The adult guests followed close on their heels. Some had partaken of mulled liquor already to keep themselves warm throughout the service. Happily full of lambswool and spiced wine, these merrymakers were producing enough noise to wake the dead of the entire parish.