A Baron for Becky by Jude Knight Page B

but she’d send for them soon.”
    Overton lapsed
into silence again, sipping his brandy. Aldridge knew it wasn’t
over, though. The deaths of his wife and child sent Overton into a
bottle for weeks every year. And Aldridge was now going to have to
sit and listen to how they died, and keep making ineffectual
noises. Perhaps the roof would collapse, or the tavern would catch
fire.
    After several
minutes, Overton took up the tale again, calm voice adding another
layer of horror to the bitter tale. “Three days later, she called
for the baby. I was glad. I thought perhaps we could work it out.
We could have, couldn’t we Aldridge? We could have tried, at least,
for the girls? If she’d waited?”
    Aldridge tried
not to shake his head. Unlikely. In his experience, a treacherous
bitch remained a treacherous bitch, no matter how much she swore
reform.
    Overton wasn’t
paying attention, staring blankly at his glass. Suddenly, he
thumped it down on the table and, in a wail that attracted the
attention of everyone in the tavern, asked, “Why did she have to
take Grace? Why?”
    Overton rose
with his voice, emphasising the last anguished question by shaking
Aldridge’s lapels, then collapsed again, huddled beside his friend,
weeping.
    Aldridge patted
him awkwardly, glaring at the rest of the patrons until they turned
back to their own affairs. Overton was going to hate himself in the
morning. If he remembered. May the gods of drink and debauchery
wipe it from his memory. Aldridge was only sorry he was too sober
to forget. He took a long draught of brandy.
    “She drowned,
Aldridge. She and Grace both. Walked through the house, down the
stairs, across the lawn, and down to the lake. And just kept
walking. No one stopped her. No one even saw her until it was too
late.”
    Perhaps another
sip of brandy would loosen the tightness in Aldridge’s throat. It
was worse than he expected. Far worse.
    “I’m so sorry,
Overton.” How inadequate that sounded in the face of such
grief.
    Overton
misunderstood. “Why? You aren’t John.” He frowned, staring at
nothing, clearly thinking this over. His tale told, the illusion of
sobriety was fast abandoning him. “Might have been. You’d swive any
man’s wife. But she never met you. Wouldn’t mind raising your son,
though. I like you, Aldridge.” He wouldn’t in the morning, when he
realised how much Aldridge now knew.
    “You should
marry again, Overton. Have a couple of sons for the barony.”
    Overton
snorted. “Weren’t you listening, Aldridge? I can’t. The doctors
told me, and I’ve tested it often enough.” He giggled. “Throughout
His Majesty’s kingdom, on two continents and assorted islands.
Tall, short, fair, dark, fat, thin. I’ve ploughed them all.” He
shook his head, the melancholy settling over him again. “She was
right. My damned, lying, cheating wife was right. I’m half a man,
Aldridge. And the last of the Overtons. When I’m gone, the King
gets the lot.”
    And with that,
he suddenly put his head on the table, and went to sleep.
    He slept
through the removal to, and from, the carriage, and the subsequent
transfer to a guest bed in the heir’s wing. Aldridge set a servant
to watch him, to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit in the
night, then returned to his own suite.
    But there was
no rest for Aldridge here tonight. He tossed and turned for a
while, but his friend’s calm voice kept echoing in his head,
retelling the horrors of betrayal and loss. After a while, he
dressed again, and told the sleepy footman on duty in the front
hall, “If I am needed, I will be at Mrs Darling’s house.” Becky
would comfort him. He needed Becky tonight.
     

     
    Becky was
alarmed to be shaken awake from a deep sleep.
    “Sarah?” She
sat bolt upright.
    The maid shook
her head. “Not the little miss. She is sound asleep, the lamb. It’s
the Master. Lord Aldridge. He’s at your other house, ma’am.”
    Becky was
already out of bed, hurrying