“Surely you cannot be serious,” Claudia said.
Eden closed her eyes. “Have we any choice? Papa made certain that it would come to me upon my husband’s death, and it cannot be touched by our creditors.”
“Spencer had no experience or interest in management, and never put a penny back into that estate. It must be in ruins. I will not allow you to make such a sacrifice when there is a far more sensible solution.”
“Pray tell me, Aunt. If there is another way—”
“The Marquess of Rushborough.”
Eden blinked, as if the thought had never entered her mind. Perhaps it hadn’t. She’d broken with the marquess as soon as Spencer became ill.
Claudia was not so imprudent. “Do you think that the marquess has forgotten you in one short month? He was very much in love with you, Eden—and do not pretend that you were indifferent to him. He was not your usual flirt. I have no doubt that, if you were to approach him—”
“Spencer has just died,” Eden interrupted, her voice unsteady. “I am in mourning. You say that you are afraid of my scandalizing the ton by finding my son, but begging support from Rushborough is acceptable?”
“The marquess can be most discreet. And it is not his mistress he would be supporting, but his future wife.”
Eden gazed unseeing about the room. “What has Rushborough told you of his intentions?”
“His actions are more eloquent than any words could be. Naturally you must maintain a show of mourning your husband. But I have every confidence that if you provide the smallest encouragement, Rushborough will propose—and marry you as soon as you put away your widow’s weeds. Until then, he will not allow his beloved to live in disgrace or poverty.”
Eden’s expression relaxed, and Claudia was certain she had won. Everything she had said was true. “You see how this solves all our problems. You will have the life you deserve, with no fear of debt. As a marchioness, you shall be—”
“No. I am sorry, Aunt, but it is too soon. I cannot ask so much of Rushborough. And before I see him again, I must find my son.”
“I thought we had discussed the folly of such a scheme.”
Eden’s expression took on the willful, reckless look that Claudia had seen more and more frequently. “It is no scheme, Aunt. It is my firm resolve.”
Claudia kept a tight rein on her temper. Once, six years ago, she had forcefully tried to dissuade a young girl from throwing her life away, and her protestations had only driven Eden into her lover’s arms. The same thing might happen again if she pressed too hard.
But once Eden returned to Hartsmere, she would not be able to bear the place for long. Soon she would be desperate to take her aunt’s advice, as she had done for the past five years, and accept the marquess’s generosity.
And Eden’s hopes of finding the boy were slim. She might search for years and never locate him. By one means or another, Claudia would steer Eden’s thoughts away from this lunacy.
This incalculable danger.
“Very well,” Claudia said. “If it is your wish to go to Hartsmere, there is much to be done, many preparations to be made—funeral arrangements and lawyers to consult. We must write the steward at Hartsmere to inform him of your return.” She took Eden’s arm. “Leave it all to me, my dear. You need rest.”
As if to give the truth to her words, Eden swayed on her feet. The fight had gone out of her, now that she believed she had her way.
“You will not wish to go upstairs quite yet. Sit quietly and reflect, and Bailey will bring you a soothing glass of wine.”
With a faint murmur of thanks, Eden assented. Bailey hastened to do Claudia’s bidding; he knew who had taken the reins of authority in this household.
Once Eden was well settled, Claudia went into the study and unlocked Spencer’s desk with the duplicate key she had obtained during his illness. It wasn’t difficult to find the letter; Spencer had not been a particularly clever man nor a very imaginative blackmailer. She still did not know when or how Spencer had come by the missive. He had made good on his threat to tell Eden of her son, but he was quite unable to savor his victory in hell.