Have? “She lives?”
“I…Yes.”
A strange weakness assailed him. He slowly removed his hand from her now taut stomach, distantly noting his fingers trembled. “Why did you let me believe otherwise? Where is she?”
Aurelia shuffled from the bed, scooping her gown from the floor and positioning it in front of her protectively. “Richard, please, she is being taken care of. It is best—”
“Where?” he snarled.
“She was sent away at birth. I hardly know if she resides at the same dwelling.”
“Where?”
She blanched. “At a baby farm in Willesden Green—”
A baby farm? A moan of denial rose in his throat and spilled into the room. He stumbled from her as rage, shock, and fear fought to seize his mind. Hundreds of innocent children died at the farms yearly. Such establishments only cared to make a profit, and were run with no compassion for the children they were supposed to care for. An orphanage would have been kinder, though such institutions were also harsh. The main objective of many baby farms seemed to be to deliberately cause the deaths of the youngsters without making their erstwhile relatives feel unwanted guilt. It was easier to say the child was weak and had died of natural causes. Orphanages and the workhouses would at least train the unwanted boys and girls for some menial employment. They were tough, cold, and the children were underfed but they did not actively seek to end their miserable lives.
“Why?”
She placed a hand over her mouth as if to stifle her sobs.
“You could have brought her to me, or allowed a kinder arrangement for her. Why a baby farm?” he demanded hoarsely.
“It was my father who made the arrangements. He said many of our society did that same thing.”
At that moment, Richard made his first enemy not on the battlefield. “Have you seen her? How do you know she lives? What is her name?”
“She was given the name Emily Rose.” Aurelia took several deep breaths. “I have never seen her, but I still send the money quarterly to the location.”
“What is the exact address?”
“Please, let us not stir troubled waters when it is not necessary. Society knows nothing of her, and it is best—”
“You vile, loathsome creature. How could I ever think I loved you?”
She gasped, her hand fluttering to her throat. Seconds later she wilted on the bed, sobbing, her face buried in her hands. Richard felt no pity. There had been so many other options. He would have taken his daughter and buried the scandal if that had been her family’s wish. He would never have named her mother. He would have simply claimed his child, and loved, protected, and cherished her. Instead, she had been abandoned as unwanted rubbish with barely a fuss and paid for by a few shillings per year. Aurelia lifted her face from her palms, looking even more beautiful with the tears flooding down her cheeks. She stood, tightening the sheets that had loosened across her breast.
“Please, believe me, Richard. I am haunted by regret and loneliness.”
“Do not pretend you have a heart. You lied to me about our child, and then you abandoned her to live a life of poverty and degradation, while you live in comfort and wealth. I will never forgive you, countess. Never approach or speak to me again, or I will ruin you and your earl.”
Growing pale, she staggered back.
He moved away, refusing to look around as she called his name. A dark cloud of anger and pain seemed to hug him close, refusing to let go.
Richard was hardly aware of where his steps took him, and it was several minutes later he recognized he was standing in front of the Gladstones’ townhouse. With a start, he saw that several carriages li
ned the street, music spilling from the house along with gaiety. They were holding a ball.
He fished for his pocket watch and considered the time. It was almost four in the morning. Evie was most likely to be abed. With stealth, he jumped the side gate and stumbled around the back to where he knew her window stood. He was certainly foolhardy, but he could not fight the urgent need to see her.
Stooping in the dark and searching for some pebbles, he grabbed a handful. He stood and gently pinged them against the windows. Several seconds passed before she appeared. The window was shoved up, and her head peeked out. Everything turbulent inside him righted itself.
“Richard! I’ll be right down. I’ve only just retired and am still dressed.”
Without answering, he grabbed the trellis leading to her window and efficiently climbed up to her balcony, thankful the trellis had creepers and not climbing roses riddled with thorns. He grabbed onto the balcony and hung suspended before using his foot against the column for purchase to haul himself up.
“Whatever are you doing?” she whispered furiously, leaning over and peering down the street.