It was midsummer and Anthony, unlike most of the ton, was still in Town, enduring the sweltering temperatures and foul smells so that he could finish the paperwork related to the Kendall Foundation, when he was informed that the sergeant-major and his assistant had called on him to report the results of the latest investigation he had ordered: discovering the identities of Felicia's natural parents.
"We tracked 'er back to a village in Devon by the name of Aylesworth. People said the Warricks turned up one day with a newborn babe, putting it about that they had rescued her from a wretched situation."
Hanlon went on to say that Mr. Rodney Warrick was a gentleman from a prominent local family, but had fallen on hard times—most likely gambling and drinking.
"Some folks thought the motive was the blunt—the nobs do that, ya know—hand over a babe with a full purse o' coins ta protect the family name from a scandal." He sent an apologetic glance in the direction of the earl, his employer.
Anthony nodded. Many of the Ton would commit the most heinous acts to avoid the humiliation of a scandal—while at the same time denouncing the unfortunates whose shame could not be hushed up. But he was eager to discover more of Felicia's parentage.
He nodded. "Go on."
The sergeant-major frowned. "The Warricks didn't seem ta care much for the wee moppet, or so folks said. Called 'er a bastard ever-where and paid no mind to 'er clothes 'n such. The mistress took sick 'n died. Warrick—who spent most of 'is time in Town—returned in time to bury 'er 'n leave the child with a 'governess', who was incompetent at best."
By this time, Anthony's fists were clenched. He leaned forward to hear Hanlon voice the local rumor that the 'governess' was foxed pretty much all the time and allowed the young Felicia to roam around on her own. Fortunately, the vicar's family took an interest in her; she was of an age with a daughter of theirs, and Felicia became an unofficial member of the Whiteford family.
"The Whitefords are that worriet fer the chit. They said she disappeared about four years ago 'n they 'aven't seen 'er since. Warrick put it about that she was living with an aunt, but no one has a direction."
Four years ago. A year or so prior to Cynthia's birth. Another attempt to hush up a scandal? He hadn't heard the story of Cynthia's conception, but Felicia could tell him that—when she was ready.
"What of her natural parents?" inquired Anthony. "Did you discover anything about them?"
Mr. Hanlon shook his head. "Mr. Warrick no longer resides in Aylesworth. Up and sold the place a year or two ago. Folks think he's in London somewhere, seein' as how he always spent so much time there."
Ackers broke in. "Some o' the staff that stayed on wit' the new owners were anxious fer the young lady's well-being. The gardener told me the bounder Warrick was in dun territory up ta 'his neck, 'n they feared 'e'd done sumpin' shameful ta the poor gel."
Anthony clenched his teeth. If he had to hunt down Warrick to get to the truth, he'd do it, although if he got anywhere near the rogue he was much more likely to punch him until he was black and blue.
After he'd expressed the same, Ackers nodded. "We'll track 'im down fer ya, milord.
Hanlon shifted slightly. "If I may suggest sumpin', milord? The vicar might know more 'n 'e's sayin'. There's a chance 'e might speak more freely ta someone of yer rank, 'specially if 'e believes yer workin' in the interests of the girl 'erself."
Anthony's head popped up. "Right," he said. "I will venture to Aylesworth and speak to the worthy vicar—Whiteford, is it?—in person. Thank you, gentlemen. You have been most helpful."
After sending them to his secretary for their remuneration, Anthony called for Mr. Morgan and set him to packing, and then sent instructions to the stables for the carriage to be prepared for a trip to the country. He was eager to visit the village where Felicia grew up. He would discover the identities of her natural parents, even though he was aware that the truth might be something she would not wish to hear.
Still, Felicia was a strong woman, he knew, with a resilience of which few men could truthfully boast. She would be able to handle the truth, whatever it turned out to be.
***
Even on a sunny day, the Devon moors appeared wild and untameable. In stormy weather, they would be sinister indeed, with almost no trees, nor any shelter at all, except perhaps for an occasional overhanging rock or a small cave. And yet, it was beautiful in its own rather primitive way, a raw freshness that had no doubt appeared much the same hundreds of years ago. From the window of his coach he could see a winding stream in the distance which had the effect of making the scene more approachable, more forgiving.
He wondered idly if Felicia had spent much time wandering the moors in her childhood. Children would be drawn to it, he was certain, although it was treacherous too, and no doubt a risky expedition for heedless youth. Had Felicia's parents cared enough about her to warn her away from danger? Based on what he had learned about them, it seemed unlikely.
Anthony's thoughts were consumed with Felicia. He hadn't been in contact with her for more than six months, but he found himself constantly thinking about her and wondering how she and Cynthia were getting on in their new lives, and, as a consequence, feeling very lonely and left out. He spent nearly every waking moment trying to become a man worthy of her, and he felt he was making progress. But what if she could never bring herself to accept him? Or what if she met another gentleman—one was not a peer in the upper echelons of society—who would love her and her daughter and offer her a respectable life and family outside of the Ton? He himself could never promise her that her past would not become public at some point, and he couldn't bear to see her become the brunt of bawdy jokes and the recipient of cuts-direct by society's high sticklers.
Sighing, he reflected that his title was more of a curse than a blessing. It did indeed open doors into society and politics that would remain closed to most other gentlemen, but it also came with a vast number of rules for behavior that forced its bearers into virtual slavery to the concept of propriety. Overall, it favored the male gender, since they could follow the dictates of society by marrying suitably and setting up the facade of a proper society marriage while at the same time keeping a mistress that was more to their taste. Wives, on the other hand, were restricted to the attentions of their husbands, at least until the arrival of an heir or two, and even then, their extramarital escapades had to be discreet. Of course, there were plenty of wives who didn't follow those strictures, but as long as they played the dutiful wife in public, they could retain their place in society.
Of course, the mistresses did not fare so well. They had to become accustomed to receiving insults and cuts-direct from nearly all classes of people, although they could generally expect respectful treatment from shopkeepers and servants and those who benefitted from their custom. A mistress always had to be on the lookout for her next protector, because she never knew when her current one would find someone new and turn her out into the streets. Anthony thought of Sally and cringed as he recalled his callous abandonment and the sufferings she had endured. It was a common habit of gentlemen to disdain their mistresses as being mercenary and faithless, but in truth, they likely had no other choice. Faithful and generous mistresses who truly loved their protectors were unlikely to survive for long, unless their protectors returned their affections and made provisions for their future, as his uncle had done for Felicia.
He could think of Felicia and his uncle without the twinges of jealousy that had previously plagued him. Indeed, he could honestly admit that it was a good thing that Felicia had chosen his uncle to be her protector, as it was certain that with just about any other protector in the same circumstances, she would have been turned out of the house and back into whoring at the Pleasure House in a matter of days. Thank God for Uncle Charles, he thought fervently. If not for him, she would never have been able to escape from sexual slavery and rescue her daughter. And he would possibly have never met her himself either.
Anthony's reverie came to a halt as the coach began to slow at the increased traffic as they approached a more populated area. The driver pulled in to an inn yard, and informed his master that they had arrived in Barnstaple and that he was stopping to ask for directions to Aylesworth.
"It's about three miles east," he explained to Anthony upon his return. "There's a decent inn on the north side if yer lordship wants ter stay there, but the innkeeper 'ere tells me there's nuthin' much ter do there 'cept in the huntin' season."
"We'll stay there," said Anthony. This was a business trip, after all.
It was still early afternoon when they arrived in Aylesworth, a village with a few scattered shops and a dilapidated stone church with a gated churchyard. The houses ranged from small cottages to a few large dwellings, with most somewhere in between. He was tempted to stop at the parsonage and seek out the vicar right away, but decided it was more important to get settled at the inn, make sure the horses were cared for, and freshen up a bit first. If his investigators were correct, Mr. Whiteford might be willing to open up to an earl if he could convince the man he had Felicia's best interests at heart. An earl appearing out of the blue looking disreputable might not do the trick.
The innkeeper was a gruff, middle-aged man whose ingratiating manner indicated that he was unaccustomed to being patronized by titled gentlemen. He gave directions for the Warrick estate, and willingly told what he remembered about the Warrick's young daughter.
"Young Felicia were a pretty young thing. Used ter run with the Whiteford gal. Hannah, I believe 'er name is."
Recalling that it was at this inn that Felicia had been accosted, Anthony pressed the man for information about that night.
"I understand that the Duke of Cardington's heir enjoys hunting in this area from time to time."
The innkeeper gave him a puzzled look. "I recall 'e was 'ere some time ago, but it was just that once. 'e was with Geoffrey Sanford, the squire's son 'e is. 'e had some young blokes with 'im at the squire's 'untin' box."
Anthony took on a deliberately casual tone. "Young Cardington's crowd is well known for sporting with the fair sex. Do you recall whether any particular female caught his eye back then?"
The innkeeper hesitated. "Well, it were a few years back. Let me see." Then he gave Anthony a suspicious look. "Why d'ya want ter know that, yer lordship?"
"It's related to the disappearance of the Warrick girl," explained Anthony.
The innkeeper's face cleared, and he volunteered, "I spied 'im talkin' ter the girl, Felicia that is, one day when she came 'round with the Whiteford chit. Other than that, 'e spent 'is time playin' cards and drinkin' with the young blokes in 'is party."
Then he started, as if recalling something. "There was somethin' odd, though. I 'member 'e bespoke a private parlor one night. Seemed ter be expectin' company. Ordered food 'n drink and a good fire 'n then demanded complete privacy the rest 'o the night." He shrugged. "I thought 'e was entertainin' a female, but tweren't none 'o my business."
"No one saw a guest arriving or leaving?"
The innkeeper shrugged. "Never 'eard that they did. Could a been a gal who maided fer me back then. Seemed a little free with 'er favors." Then he shook his head. "No, that 'un would a bragged about it fer weeks. Could not a been 'er. 'e wouldn't 'o needed ter do the fancy ter woo 'er neither. Not that 'un."
It wasn't long before his brain connected the two questions, and he stared at Anthony in horror. "Yer not thinkin' twas the Warrick chit. Lawd 'o mercy, she was just a child!"
"Your discretion in this delicate matter is appreciated," said Anthony, handing him a coin. The last thing he intended was to make Felicia a pariah in her own hometown.
The man handed it back to him. "I've niver been a gossip," he said proudly, "'n I'd niver say nuthin' to 'urt Miss Felicia."
They shook hands and Anthony strolled outside to get his bearings. The weatherbeaten church, with the parsonage alongside, loomed at the end of the street, and he decided against taking the carriage. It was late afternoon and the street was bustling with maids and housewives running errands, tired workers heading home for the day, and a few scattered children playing in the streets. They looked at the finely-dressed stranger in their midst with open curiosity, but went about their normal business.
The woman who answered the door was a stout woman in her fifties with salt-and-pepper hair partially covered by a mop cap. The smile on her face took on a look of pleased surprise as she inspected the finely-turned on gentleman on her doorstep.
"Good afternoon, ma'am," said Anthony, handing her his card. "Anthony Jamison, Lord Kendall. I would like to speak with the vicar, if he is available."
"Goodness," replied the woman, staring at the card in astonishment. "I can't say I've ever had an earl come to call." Then: "Please come in, your lordship. I am Emma Whiteford, the vicar's wife. I'm sure my husband will be happy to see you."
The vicarage was small and plainly furnished, but appeared to be comfortable. He caught a glimpse of a young lady reading a story to two young children as they passed an open door, and he could hear the sounds of dinner being prepared in the kitchen. The room that Mrs. Whiteford showed him into was a small, book-lined study with a large window looking outward at a pretty garden. Mr. Whiteford, a white-haired, scholarly-looking gentleman, closed the book he was reading and put down his pencil when he saw the man being escorted into his office. His was a kindly face, like his wife's, except that he was quite tall and spare. He smiled as his wife performed the introductions, and gestured for Anthony to sit down on a worn leather armchair.
"What can I do for you, your lordship?" he asked, as he resettled himself behind the desk.
"Thank you so much for seeing me," said Anthony. "I've come all the way from London to discuss with you a very delicate matter that involves a young lady from Aylesworth with whom I believe you are acquainted—a Felicia Warrick."
The vicar started visibly upon hearing the name. His look became speculative as he gathered his thoughts.
"Yes, I knew Felicia—we all did—but she resides here no longer, my lord."
"Yes, I am aware of that, sir. I know where she resides at present. My purpose for coming here is to discover information about her natural parents."
The reverend sat forward in his chair. "You have seen her? Is she well? She disappeared many years ago and nobody has heard from her. We—particularly my wife and daughter—have been very concerned."
Anthony assured him that she was well, and reiterated the purpose for his visit. The reverend squirmed in his chair.
"I suppose it was you who sent the two men here recently asking for information about Felicia."
Anthony bowed his head. "They felt it might help if I made my request in person," he said. "I can assure you that I am here as a friend of Miss Warrick, who is, naturally enough, very curious to know the identities of her natural parents."
Mr. Whiteford sighed. "I suppose the truth can do no harm at this point. Mr. Warrick—her adoptive father—hasn't been seen in Aylesworth for years, and his wife died long ago. It was Emma," he confided, "who confessed the truth to me, prior to her death."
"She said her husband used to be a crony of Lord Manton's in London. Apparently, Lord Manton knew Warrick was in dun territory, because he called him in and offered him a large sum of money—thousands of pounds, Mrs. Warrick believed—to take in a baseborn babe. It was implied that the babe was his daughter's—name of Catherine, I believe—but the name of the father never came up."
The vicar shook his head sadly. "The Warricks never wanted a child, and neglected her shamefully. She was a sweet girl, and only wanted a bit of attention. We loved her like our own," he confessed. "Which is why we were so distressed when she disappeared so suddenly."
He turned to Anthony eagerly. "You say she is well?"
"She is," replied Anthony. He wanted to say more, but decided to leave that to Felicia. "It is unfortunate that she has not been able to contact you for such a long time, but I will urge her to be in touch with you soon."
He stood up and held out his hand to the older man. "Sir, I thank you so much for this information. It will, of course, be held in strictest confidence."
"A pleasure," responded the reverend. "I'm sure my daughter Hannah, in particular, would be delighted to hear from her. She has been recently betrothed and would be pleased to extend a wedding invitation to Felicia, who was her good friend for many years."
Anthony smiled. "I will be sure to pass on the good news to my friend," he said.
As he tipped his hat to Mrs. Whiteford on his way out the door, he thought to himself that a reunion with the Whitefords and the prospect of a joyous wedding was just what Felicia needed to recall her happy experiences with the Whiteford family and persuade her to forget the wretchedness of the life she had been forced to assume in the interim.