The gig was somewhat less ostentatious than the one that brought her to the manor, but in some ways, it fitted the personality of Lord Belton. He drove the handsome curricle himself. The upholstery was of a more durable nature, buff leather to match, cushion, dasher, and all with a single bay mare to pull it.
Peggy and Lord Belton took the seat, and Jemmy rode tiger, on the back of the gig. He was quite pleased with himself, holding the strap like a proper groomsman, although Peggy had suggested the boy sit between Lord Belton and herself. She wasn’t sure if the suggestion was entirely for Jemmy’s benefit or her own.
One would have thought the boy would be occupied with keeping his balance, but he prattled on about the wily ways of the beaver and how he was going to make a fine cap of the pelt when he confronted the irksome beast. She reveled at the beauty of the narrow path that they took through the grounds that would lead to the gamekeeper’s home. Adam’s home, she prayed and feared at the same time.
If her companions noted her silence, they did not comment upon it. Her heart had filled her throat, and she was too overcome with thoughts and worry to be much use in conversation. Jemmy required little help on that front. He waxed long about the hunting excursions that his father had planned for the cooler months, in preparation for a long winter.
He also spoke, quite informally she thought, of a local girl who had caught his eye and he was certain fancied him in turn. Peggy found herself smiling that the young boy seemed so comfortable with his lordship as to share his personal whims. In fact, Jemmy looked up at Lord Belton with nothing short of pure adoration, and it was clear the gentleman cared for the boy as well. He teased and instructed in turn, both providing sound advice and a listening ear. She noted that Jemmy spoke without formality as if they had known one another all their lives and were beyond such trappings as titles and station. Peggy found the novelty of the practice intriguing. Few enough of the noble class that she had encountered that would allow such informal address. The constant reminder of one’s position, particularly over those beneath them, seemed something of an addiction in her opinion. Her own father, a notorious social climber, would have railed over anybody who had dared show him less than an ounce of the deference that he thought his due. Even Lord Sterling, Adam’s father, had taken pleasure in touting his rank. How she had been so blind as to think he would have ever lowered himself to…
She shook her head to dislodge the comparison before it could take further root in her mind. She had perfected the art of not thinking about her past. Not thinking about him. Perhaps that was because her days had been so utterly filled with work and her nights with exhaustion. Now, she had time to herself, but she would not fall back into that habit after all of these years. Still, she had too many examples of the peerage viewing their birthrights as reason enough to stomp on those of the middling and lower classes. She huffed in annoyance. The past four years of her life had been testament enough to that.
“Adam said you’re takin’ him fishing,” Jemmy added without stopping for a breath. “Can I come?”
Peggy gasped but quickly recovered, her attention now firmly back on the boy. Lord Belton did not credit her woolgathering or her swift intake of breath, although she caught a short tilt of the head from Lord Belton before he continued the conversation as if he had not at all noticed her reaction. He had the grace not to draw attention to the slip, and she hoped the moment would be forgotten.
So, Adam was at the gamekeeper’s house. She knew that now as a fact. Her hands worried a loose thread on her glove, and she forced herself to stillness before she pulled it and made a hole in the finger of the glove. She could hardly believe that after all this time she was going to see her son. Adam was there, and her new acquaintances were familiar with him. More than familiar, close, as a keeper of the game’s household ought to be with the main house.
She tried to steady her heart, tried to prepare herself for what was to come. The rest of the ride was lost to her view as all her thoughts had drawn inward.
She would go to the house and introduce herself. Mr. and Mrs. Finch would welcome her with trepidation. That, of course, was to be expected. She would explain her tale, so much as they needed to know. Reveal her relationship to the boy. They might be surprised, but she would make them understand. He was her son, after all. Then, this Mr. and Mrs. Finch would call Adam inside and explain to him that his mother had returned to collect him. She would take him back to the inn this very night. It was all so very simple. In a matter of hours, they would be reunited.
The gig rolled along beside a sturdy fence that kept two plump dairy cows and a dozen chickens, so much as those could be contained. Peggy allowed herself several deep breaths.
She had prepared for this for months, nay years. She was ready.
The house was small but well kept, worn and repaired in several places. An array of tools and toys were lined with care beneath an overhang that served as a shed. It gave one the impression of a simple life, but one filled with purpose.
When the carriage came to a stop, Jemmy gave a shout, and two other children came bursting from the house—one boy, the one from the pond, and a girl who was perhaps a year or two older than the boys.
Peggy’s heart skipped a beat. Had she expected seven or eight children from which to choose? There was only one other boy, and when Jemmy clapped him on the shoulder and declared his name, she froze.
Adam.
It was her son. She now knew it now beyond a doubt.
He barreled at the Baron in an attempt to catch him unawares but stopped, skidding to a halt in front of the man. He gave a smart bow. “Milord,” he said, but the Baron met his manners with a grin.
Before she could stop herself, Peggy’s hand flew to her mouth, covering the cry that threatened to break forth. All her preparation had gone out the window when faced with one thing in this world that she truly loved, her son. She had remained in the gig, unobserved by the children who had eyes only for Lord Belton, who pulled candies from his pockets and gave one to each youth. The girl, Martha, Peggy recalled, stood slightly away and stared up at the gentleman with the blush of one in her early years of infatuation. Peggy might have laughed, so unaware was the Baron of the look from the girl, maybe two and ten at best. He likely still saw a babe, but she was in the first blush of a heartbreak.
Peggy had eyes only for Adam. Of course, his hair had darkened over the years, she chided herself. Though he had been light in feature as a babe, was she not, herself, a darker hued brunette now than she was a child? He had her mother’s nose and his own father’s proud chin. He was thin and tall for his age, perhaps to her chin if she had stood beside him, but the gangly form of his limbs gave him away as far younger than his height would permit. And oh, how she loved him. She wanted to rush forward and swoop him up in a hug, but that would not do.
Peggy clenched her eyes shut for an instant, only an instant, willing her emotions to be held at bay. She had a plan. A plan that included a rational exchange of information that would ease all involved into the revelation without cause for a shock or disagreement. That plan, fantasies aside, had not included revealing herself to Adam first. The last thing that she wanted was to upset him or cause a scene. She had been over the scenario with Mr. Crowley. If Adam recognized her and was determined to be with her, but his caretakers resisted, it would be a traumatic and possibly dangerous experience for the boy. She needed to talk to his keepers first. Needed to make her point and get them to understand, to comply with his release. She had the papers from Mr. Crowley proving her parentage, but the boy had been given over according to the abbey and now belonged to them. She needed the Finch’s signatures, and rushing in with a dramatic display of exuberance from Adam was not the way to get in their good graces. She would hate to have to leave her son, even for a night, especially if he felt restricted by the Finch’s refusal.
Imprisoned, she thought.
A chill ran over her skin. She knew what it was to be trapped in a place from which one wanted nothing more than to be free. She would not wish such a thing upon her son, not with the hope of freedom that her presence must bring. He had been stuck in this place long enough.
It was then that the wave of dismay hit her. Only the day before, she had eliminated him as a prospect when he had called the woman fussing over him “Mum.”
He had called her Mum.
Peggy’s heart sank. She looked at him once more. Full, rosy cheeks. A healthy frame and body vibrant with energy. A boy who had been raised in a home full of love. A boy who was part of a family. A boy who called those who had taken him in “Mum” and “Papa.”
A boy who, as far as she could tell, did not remember her in the least. Who, perhaps, did not need her. No. It was clear in this moment that it was she who needed him. A sinking feeling filled her belly.
Shaking, her hands wringing themselves into knots and her mouth quivering with emotions that she had long ago trained to conceal, she forced herself to turn away. She had to collect herself.
His was not the face or the bearing of a child who had suffered or been misused. It was not the face of a boy who needed rescuing. His was the face of a boy who was part of a family, a loving family, and she was the usurper.
Behind her she could hear the merriment of the children as they moved toward the house, and she thanked Lord Belton, more than he would ever know, for the discretion and insight that he had to not make the introduction. Honor would say that he must, but she could sense that he had read that something had disturbed her, or perhaps he saw no reason to introduce his sister’s friend to the gamekeeper. For once, Peggy blessed the separation of the classes, although she was rightly more a part of the gamekeeper’s class than Lord Belton’s. Peggy remained silent in the gig with her back turned until the yard had cleared. She covertly wiped the tears from her cheeks and prayed that her eyes and coloring had not been too reddened by her distress.
Only after she had set her shoulders and squared herself to the back of the gig once more did she feel recovered as Lord Belton returned to his perch.
“You seem upset,” he said with a voice both gentle and coaxing.
Peggy released a trembling breath but kept her back to him. She’d never shed a tear in front of anyone and would not start today. “No,” she replied with what she hoped was a steady voice. “I am well. Thank you.”
He snapped the reins, and she felt the curricle start forward. And… bless whatever grace had raised this lord to hold his tongue, they rode in silence all the way to the village while Peggy did her best not to dissolve into tears. Not yet. She would wait until she was alone, and then she would open the floodgates to her wounded heart.