The Diamond Key by Barbara Metzger Page A

mind to settle down. And I don’t intend to ask you to change your ways, neither. I don’t mean you to be a proper husband, just for the parish register. It’s not your money I am after, and don’t you go thinking that it is, not for a minute. I know you’d lend me the ready either way. You can go off on your travels and never see the babe if you don’t want, as long as you leave him or her your name behind on the marriage lines.”
    But his name was not just Wynn Ingram anymore. He was now Wynn Ingram, Viscount Ingall. If he and Rosie wed, and the child was a son, the boy could claim to be Wynn’s heir. That might be a good joke to play on his dead father and brother, but Wynn was alive and he was not laughing.
    Aside from the succession, the notion of standing as father to another man’s by-blow did not sit well with Wynn. Supporting orphanages was one thing, calling a stranger’s offspring “son” was quite another, especially as it would be his first son. Perhaps his only. Wynn started pacing in front of Rosie’s bench. “What, by all that’s holy and half that isn’t, makes you think that I would marry you and name your child as my own?”
    “Well, we did have some good times.”
    They were not that good! Wynn was wearing a path from the bench to the base of a nearby tree. There and back, there and back. At least the squirrels got to run up a tree. “Those times were few, and far in the past.”
    “Yes, but you were always good to me. You’ve been right generous whenever I’ve asked, even before you had so much yourself.”
    “That was my pleasure, for the pleasure we shared, not a promise to support you and your progeny forever!”
    Rosie adjusted her bonnet to a better angle. “I know that. But you did cost me Lynbrook, you know. I haven’t had a gentleman with such deep pockets since. I figure you owe me.”
    “I owe you?” Wynn stopped himself from squawking like one of the ducks Homer was back to chasing. Ducks, squirrels, what was the difference when he was the quarry? “How can you figure that? Lynbrook was so cruel to you, you could not wait to leave his protection.”
    “But he was rich.”
    “He was married.”
    “And his wife had not conceived in five years of marriage. I wouldn’t be in this fix now if you hadn’t gone and killed him.”
    “Devil take it, I thought you knew—”
    “Aye, I should of known, all right.” Rosie began to sniffle, her chin to tremble, her brown eyes to fill up.
    Oh, hell. Wynn sat beside her and patted her hand. “You could not have been certain.” He was speaking about the duel.
    Rosie was not. “I should of known you’d never marry me, not a fine swell like you, a viscount and all. I was good enough for a toss and a tumble back when you was a green lad, new on the town, but now I’m just used goods. No one is going to marry the likes of me,” she bawled.
    Dash it, now Wynn was feeling guilty for another crime he had not committed. “Don’t cry, Rosie,” he begged, too late. “I never looked on you that way. Why, you are a fine girl, and I am sure you’ll be a good mother. It’s just that, well, were I to wed you, I could never take a wife of my choosing. And lately—”
    Rosie clapped her hands in delight, her tears forgotten. “You mean you’ve found a lady to love? That’s all right, then. I would never want to stand in the way of your happiness.”
    “No, I—”
    “Haven’t asked her yet and mum’s the word.” Now she patted his hand. “I understand. And who am I going to say anything to, anyhow?” She started to get to her feet, with his assistance, for the walk back to the park’s entrance. But then her face and her legs both crumpled. “Oh, Wynn,” she cried. “You were my last hope. What’s to become of me and my babe now?”
    He caught her and held her against him, thinking while she sobbed. He thought of those tattered veterans on the street corners. If one could be a valet, one could be a husband. Then he