Uncrossing his knees, Lord Manigan reached for a teacup from the short-legged stand. He sipped before he answered. “You found Lord Gresham?”
“Yes.”
“He admits to being your father?”
“He is not my father.” William worked to keep his voice stoic. “It seems the truth of my birth has long been kept from me. Edward Gresham is no more my father than Constance Kensley is my mother.”
Lord Manigan’s teacup lowered. “What?”
“My aunt—Mrs. Willoughby, rather—sent a servant to retrieve me from the workhouse.” The words burned. “I have no knowledge of my parents, other than their depravity. I was a means of blackmail and that is all.”
“I could have sworn.” The earl clinked the teacup and saucer back to the tray and stood. “All those years, I could have sworn you looked like Constance. Even the hair. Perhaps a mistake—”
“There is no mistake.” William rose too. He faced the man with the tea table between them. “You lent me funds this spring with the knowledge I could repay you upon my return. I regret that I cannot.”
“Never mind the funds—”
“I wish to work in your employ until the amount is settled.”
“I would not think of it. Preposterous.” Lord Manigan cringed and walked across the room toward the bowed window, as if too embarrassed to discuss such a matter. “You are a gentleman, and one I have admired since you were but a youth. I have seen tenacity and goodness in you. I shall not thus degrade you.”
“I am not above working with my hands. I cannot be above it. Surely you can see that.”
“This is all rather shocking. I cannot believe it.” Lord Manigan glanced back at him. Moisture gathered in testament to his compassion.
A compassion William drank in like water, for it cooled the flaming places in his soul. “I hardly believe it myself.”
“The funds are yours. Indeed, I shall offer you more.”
“I thank you, but I cannot accept. I shall be a burden to no one, and if you do not permit me to serve you here, I shall work elsewhere and repay you then.”
Shaking his head, the earl let out a small chuckle. “Tenacity, indeed.” He walked forward and reached for William’s hand. He squeezed. “Very well, dear boy. I shall employ you, as you wish. But as soon as the debt is paid, you must find a better position. A trade perhaps. I shall assist you in any way I can.”
“Thank you, my lord.” The loss of pride punctured yet another hole inside his chest. How empty he was. How much of … nothing. He turned and started across the room.
“Mr. Kensley?”
He paused at the door. “My lord?”
“Circumstances may have changed for you, but one thing has not. You may depend upon my friendship.”
For the second time, the earl’s words infused comfort into William’s grief. He nodded, unable to speak, and quit the room.
He was homeless and penniless, a blow he’d never once foreseen.
At least he was not friendless too.
“I do not feel I should leave you.” Isabella pressed her hand along Bridget’s warm brow, concern budding. “How long have you felt ill?”
Leaning back into the chair, Bridget shook her head. “It is hardly cause for alarm. I am only a bit tired.”
“And a bit fevered.”
“Please, Miss Gresham. This is your last night at Rockingham Hall, and I should not wish to be the cause of you missing it.”
“What is a ball to me?” Isabella retrieved a blanket from the bed and draped it across her maid. “I attended so many in London I am sure one more could not mean very much. Besides, it would give me ample excuse to avoid both Lord Livingstone and Lady Sarsfield.” Which she wasverydesirous to do.
Ever since the night in the garden a fortnight ago, Lord Livingstone had been strange—even for him. He had spoken to her little but seemed to watch her excessively. What thoughts possessed him behind that mysterious, granite exterior?
