A Baron for Becky

Chapter five

Aldridge nodded. Perhaps Rede's intervention was a good thing.

"Also," Rede continued, "as she grows older, you will want to hire other teachers for particular skills. I suggest you broaden the bit about other teachers for you to include her."

That was fair. Aldridge had no objection to that.

"And I'd write in a clause that says you have the hiring and firing of staff. You'll know best what you want, particularly for Sarah, and you will be more comfortable if they answer to you at least in some respects.

"The town-house. Make sure you have the right to refuse one that is unsuitable, and for God's sake, reserve full control of its decoration. I've seen Aldridge's bedroom in the heir's wing at Haverford House." Rede's voice was redolent of disgust.

"What is wrong with his bedroom?" Rose asked. Aldridge wanted to know, too. He'd spent a lot of thought and effort getting it just the way he wanted it.

"It is clearly designed for one thing, and one thing only," Rede said. "And sleeping isn't that thing."

Yes, true. And none the worse for that, Aldridge thought.

"You don't want your daughter to grow up in a fornicatorium," Rede continued, "if you will excuse my blunt language, Mrs Darling."

"Decoration," Rose said, firmly. "Is there anything else, Lord Chirbury?"

"It is a two-year contract, and if you wish to leave early, you do not keep the house."

"Yes," Rose acknowledged. "That is fair, is it not?"

"Add a clause to say that, if he wishes to dismiss you early, you do keep the house, and also any quarterly payments owed to the end of the term."

Really? Whose cousin did Rede think he was? Still, it was fair enough, and Aldridge should have thought of it.

Rede hadn't finished. "And he has given himself right of renewal after the two years is up. Make that 'renewal on mutual agreement'."

Why this alarm at the thought she might not wish to renew? He'd never kept a mistress as long as two years, let alone longer.

"You've written a note about... er... intimate services." For the first time, Rede sounded a little embarrassed.

"Yes. Aldridge said he would not require... that is to say, I would have the right to... he would not ask..."

"Yes; quite," Rede interrupted. "Mrs Darling, such a clause... it would be unenforceable in law. Property rights are one thing, but the courts would hold that anything Aldridge does to the woman he keeps, short of causing serious bodily harm, is perfectly acceptable."

At that, Aldridge very nearly opened the door. He would never hurt any woman, let alone one under his protection. The idea! But Rede was still talking.

"But you don't have to worry. Aldridge... whatever you've heard about him, he's a good man. I have never known him to break a promise. And I have never known him to deliberately hurt a woman. He's a careless son of a devil, though. Don't give him your heart, Mrs Darling."

"I have no heart left, Lord Chirbury. But thank you."

The two in the study were silent after that exchange. Aldridge sat back thinking about what he had heard. It was a fair warning; his heart, if he had one, wasn't available. He'd cheerfully share the rest of his anatomy, though. One part in particular thought it had waited long enough.

In the next room, Rede said, "One last thing. Your name. The contract should bear your full legal name, though I fully understand your wish to bear a use name while you are active in the demi monde. I think it unlikely in the extreme that you'll need to sue Aldridge, but if anything happened to him, you might end up fighting his father, and you will need all the advantages you can get."

"Let us pray that doesn't happen," answered Rose—or Becky?

Aldridge should have thought of that. He had assumed that Rose Darling was a use name, but he hadn't thought to insist on having her legal name to put on the contract. He had no intention of breaching it, but Rede was right again. Life was a chancy thing, and His Grace would spurn her without blinking an eye. Or insist on taking his son's place in the contract, the old devil.

"Very well, if you have no questions? No? Then we just need a fair copy written, and you and Aldridge can sign in front of witnesses." Rede pitched his voice to carry a little further. "Aldridge? If you've finished eavesdropping, how about joining us and writing out the new copy of this contract?"

*****

She was Rebecca Mary Winstanley. So said the contract, his copy of which currently resided in case of legal papers he carried with him in the carriage. Rebecca. Becky, at least when they were private, though she would continue to use the name 'Rose Darling' in public.

He'd borrowed two carriages, one for him and Becky, and one for Sarah and the maid they'd borrowed from Anne. They would be one night on the road, and he did not intend Becky to spend it looking after Sarah.

Indeed, why wait for an inn when one had a commodious carriage?

With many miles of journey ahead of them, they had plenty of time to explore one another, and he was enjoying a long appetiser to the main event when the carriage drew to a halt not half-an-hour out of Longford.

Becky tucked her exposed breast back into her bodice, and wrapped a shawl to cover the loosened stays, while he buttoned the side of his fall that she'd half released.

Just in time, as a knock on the door disclosed a tearful Sarah.

"Mama, Pansy has been sick all down my dress," the child complained.

Becky apologised as she helped the little girl to wash in a nearby stream and change into fresh clothes. She made sure the travel-sick maid was supplied with a bucket. Aldridge wondered whether Rede knew the maid was subject to travel-sickness, then dismissed the thought as unworthy.

Becky attempted to persuade Sarah back into the carriage. Sarah burst into tears again.

"Bring her in with us," Aldridge suggested.

She looked stricken, and he reassured her, "Don't worry, Becky. We have another two years. We don't have to start right now."

Still, after two hours in the carriage, he called for his horse and rode the rest of the way to the inn where he'd booked a suite for the night, his heart lifting as he reflected that the little girl would be tired and would go early to bed.

He had dinner served in their suite, but went down to the public bar afterwards to let Becky put her daughter to bed, the exhausted maid being asleep on a pallet in the child's room. "I'll give you one hour," he said.

She looked at him through lowered lashes. "I will be in bed when you return, my lord," she murmured, and just like that he was hard as nails again. Still; not long now.

He found a table in a corner and worked his way through the day's satchel of mail. It included a letter from Overton—one that had clearly followed him for several weeks, from London to the house party and back to London before ending in the satchel of duchy business. It was just a brief note saying that Baroness Overton and her baby had died. Poor Overton.

One hour to the dot, he returned up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The suite was silent and dark. He lit a candle from one in the hall, and let himself into the bedroom he'd reserved for him and Becky. "Becky, I'm here," he said.

No reply. She was tired, after spending the day keeping little Sarah amused. He put the candle down on the bedside table and stripped naked, muttering to himself as his fingers fumbled over buttons and laces.

He'd wake her with kisses, then... his mind full of images of what came next, he had one knee on the bed and one hand already reaching for the blanket when a tousled dark head emerged, confused blue-gray eyes blinking at him. "What are you doing in my Mama's bed," asked little Sarah.