She stilled, her stomach roiling with nausea. His lordship?
Had Arran found her?
In no way was she ready for this. Even weeks later it was too soon, and her soul remained too raw after being shown a glimpse of heaven, only for it to be snatched away. On the other hand, a part of her wanted to blister his ears for his lies.
And inform him that her monthly bleed had not yet arrived.
Rachel closed her eyes briefly. It was near impossible to comprehend that she might be a mother in September or October. And if she was indeed with child, while she would love the baby with all her might, she couldn’t help being terrified about the future. Nobody wanted a maid with a swollen belly or a newborn. How would they live? It was true some noblemen did acknowledge and support their illegitimate children, but she knew all too well that others didn’t, or denied the child was even theirs, because they didn’t want trouble with their wife or parents. Arran might give her money. Or turn his back on her completely, like her own father had done.
But she would face her future once she knew where she stood.
After wiping her face and hands with a cool cloth, and repinning her hair, she made her way to the parlor. From the heat of the kitchens, the much lower temperature of the hallway and entrance hall was a shock, and she rubbed her arms but didn’t allow herself any longer than a moment for composure before she knocked on the parlor door and went in.
“You…you wished to see me, your lordship?”
A man turned from the window and smiled.
A man not Arran.
Crushing disappointment surged through her, making her knees buckle.
“Miss Lindsay! I say, are you unwell?” asked the brown-haired stranger anxiously, hurrying forward to take her gently by the elbow and lead her to an embroidered chaise. “Please, please, take a seat. There you go.”
Both surprised and wary at his kindness, she regarded her rescuer. Perhaps three or four years older than her, average height, with a portly figure. But the friendly eyes that were regarding her in turn were a very particular—and familiar—shade of hazel. “Who are you?” she breathed, as her heart began to pound.
“Uncanny, isn’t it?” he said, sitting back on the chaise and nodding solemnly. “There is no mistaking the Jarrow eyes. From our father and his father and his father before him.”
Her jaw dropped. “What?”
“Our father, Lord Jarrow. Well, our late father. I am the viscount now. But you are my half-sister, Miss Lindsay, and to my eternal and great shame, I did not know you existed until clearing out Father’s papers from a certain locked drawer in his desk. I found notes in a private ledger of expenses pertaining to the death in childbirth and burial of one Miss Cassandra Lindsay. Then a record of a healthy baby girl named Rachel, plus the donation to a foundling hospital to take her. I will…I will never forgive him for abandoning you when you should have been raised in the nursery with me. Hardly the worst scandal, plenty of households raise half-siblings together, especially daughters. I am so very sorry and can only imagine how difficult your life has been.”
Shocked to the core by the revelations, Rachel huddled back against the chaise. But one thought remained wedged in her mind. Brother. She had a brother. She wasn’t alone in the world.
“Lord Jarrow…”
“Oh! Do call me Harry. May I call you Rachel?”
She nodded slowly. “How did you find me?”
“I hired a private investigator. And felt worse, because you were remarkably easy to track down. You went from the hospital to this school. My man followed you for a bit, but apart from a brief journey north, you were here.”
Rachel winced, pain slicing through her at the reminder of the ‘brief journey north’ that had led to her current predicament. Fortunately, Harry hadn’t noticed and continued speaking.
“…when I saw his report, and the sketches he drew, I knew there was no doubt. Same eyes, same hair, same long eyelashes. M’wife Celia is desperately jealous of them.”
“And why did you come here, Harry?” she said softly.
The viscount blinked. “To fetch you home, naturally. Celia is eager to meet you but is heavy with child and finds travel uncomfortable. She has been directing the servants all week to get your chamber ready. Lovely view of Hanover Square, it has. I won’t have my sister working in a school kitchen, no, that won’t do at all. You’ll have pretty gowns and a dowry, and Celia will introduce you to society after our babe is born, although we might have to say you are my cousin. I don’t want anyone giving you the cut direct because of your birth. We’ll find you a nice gentleman to marry. One with a fine home and good income, no bad habits like gambling hells and whatnot. And who will treat you properly, of course.”
Oh Lord. Her brother babbled just like she did.
Rachel burst into tears.
“Sister!” gasped Harry, patting her hand. “Whatever is the matter? Don’t you want to marry? Are you one of those bluestockings? Then dry your eyes, there is an excellent library in the townhouse, and you can read until your eyeballs fall out…oh dear. Dear me.”
“I can’t,” she sobbed. “It sounds lovely, but I c-can’t do any of that.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Because I’m in disgrace. I m-met the nice gentleman, on that brief j-journey north. And I thought he c-cared. That we had a future. But he is m-married. And I…I think I might be p-pregnant.”
Harry sat up, a hardness settling over his kind face. “Who? Who is the bounder? Tell me his name at once, and I shall demand satisfaction.”
“The Marquess of Kyle,” she whispered painfully.
Her brother frowned. “Kyle isn’t married. No, definitely not. He’s the talk of the ton right now since he is newly arrived, just inherited his title and a vast fortune last year, and is thus a most eligible
