Page 96 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
The woman nodded miserably. “I was waiting for…” Her gaze went to her husband.
Waiting for the earl to soften or to die. Year after year, waiting, while Bluebell grew up wondering if she really was a bastard, and if her mother was a whore.
God, the pair disgusted him. At least he had known from the beginning. At least his father had faced his sins and provided some shelter. But these two… They had left Bluebell and her mother to rot.
He must have made a sound. A noise of disgust perhaps, because Eleanor was again chiding him.
“Bram, please. They did the best they could in a difficult situation.”
“The best they could?” he mocked. “That’s a piss poor best. Do you know how she’s been living? Do you know what it’s like in Hull?”
It was Bluebell who answered this time. Bluebell who shot him a warning with her eyes even as her words were aimed at the countess. “Mum and I were happy,” she said clearly. “It wasn’t easy, but I am here now.” Then she looked directly at her grandparents. “I can forgive the past.” Then she hedged. “I can try at least. But you need to make amends for Mum.”
“Well, that’s easy,” inserted Eleanor. For a woman whose expression was always serene, she radiated glee now. “They’re going to acknowledge you. With a little tutoring from me, you can have a Season, marry as you ought, and be a credit to your parents.” Then she smiled warmly at the picture on the countess’s lap. “I think she gets her strength from hermother. Imagine the courage it took to raise a child all alone. Impressive.”
But the earl wasn’t so easily cowed. “Acknowledge her? After her mother killed my boy? Consorting with her was what did—”
“That’s an excellent idea,” the countess interrupted. “I never had a daughter to launch.”
“Well, as to that,” said Eleanor with a laugh, “I’ve become an expert at polishing raw girls. Between you and me, things will work out exactly as they ought.”
Bram had gotten complacent. The earl’s fury had abated, so Bram had been caught up in watching Bluebell—the shift of emotions on her face, the clench of her fingers and the twitch of her foot when she tried to hide her thoughts. He’d been so busy watching her, he missed it when the earl suddenly shot to his feet.
“I will not acknowledge a maid’s brat. I will not—”
“You don’t have to,” Bram cut in, his voice cold. It was time for him to play his part.
“What?” exclaimed Eleanor and Bluebell as one. Though Bluebell’s came out a little more like, “Wot?”
“He doesn’t need to acknowledge her because the truth will be in all the papers by tomorrow.”
“You bastard!” the man bellowed.
Eleanor tsked deep in her throat. “Bram, really. They won’t believe you.”
Bram tried not to wince. Though she was his half-sister, their differences were never clearer. She thought nothing of implying that a bastard like him had no reputable standing. It was the frustration shared by all the aristocratic by-blows. Fortunately, he’d already thought of that.
“True enough. No one would believe me.” He sneered the words, some of his long-standing bitterness showing through. “Which is why I went to visit Bishop Trotman.” He’d driventhrough half of England to get Dicky and Clarissa settled. Easy as pie to visit the Bishop of Oxford. “He was the one who married your parents.” In truth, he’d gone and been refused entrance. The bishop would have no dealings with a by-blow. “He’s willing to acknowledge the marriage. After all, it’s recorded in the register and was legally executed.” He looked directly at the earl. “You can’t rip up that, no matter how powerful you are.”
It was another lie. He knew that the powerful could make any number of things—and people—disappear. But sometimes the truth came out.
“I have his letter here,” he added, pulling the foolscap from his pocket. He showed enough to prove that he had a paper, not what was on it. Because it was blank. “I’ve an appointment with a journalist friend this afternoon. So you see, my lord, it matters not whether you acknowledge her or not. The truth will come out.”
Eleanor gave him a beaming smile. “And that is Bram’s particular magic. I don’t know how he does it. Most bishops wouldn’t even let a bastard in the door. Bram is ever amazing.”
“Oh yes,” Bluebell said, pleasure in every line. “I know.”
No, they didn’t. Because it was all a lie, but at least it was a lie told in service of the truth. Meanwhile, everyone turned to the earl. It was up to him. They needed his word or life would get even more difficult.
“No,” he said. “She killed my boy.”
The countess sighed. “She did nothing of the sort, Reuben. Don’t you remember? His lungs were never strong.” She glanced at Bluebell. “Did you learn to make possets from your mother? I believe that’s how she and Oscar met. She made him a tea that eased his chest. And she certainly knew how to read. She would sit by his bed and read his books to him when he was ill. He told me that before the end.”
“No,” ground out the earl. “Oscar would still be alive if—”
“Oh, have done!” the countess said as she pushed to her feet. “I’m acknowledging her. You may do as you like. You always do.”
“Excellent!” cried Eleanor as she too leaped to her feet. “Now, we haven’t much time before the Season begins.”
