The Hourglass by Bárbara Metzger Page B

hoyden deserved—then ignored them. She was none too fond of her other daughter-in-law, either, and sorely aggravated by the heir’s infirmity. She, herself, had produced two healthy sons for her late husband, and now she was about to see it all go for naught. “Bad lungs, the physicians say. There have never been weak lungs in the Macklin family or my own,” she insisted, blaming Genie and her sister for the boy’s lack of vigor. “Roger should have married the Duke of Eldert’s gal. Good breeding there, her sister has five boys already.”
    She held her teacup out for more, then pointed to the brandy decanter, for more of that, too. “So another boy would be welcome. I could raise him up fit for the barony.”
    Genie was desperate. She could not let this fat female claim her child. “He—if it is indeed a boy—is not your grandson,” she blurted without thinking.
    Lord Ardeth casually held his fob watch up, as though he had somewhere better to go. “I claim the boy as mine.”
    Lady Cormack gasped. So did Genie. The dowager spoke first. “Ha. The child cannot be yours. They say you appeared after the battle, just days before your wedding.”
    Before Genie could say she’d meant that she would never give up the child, not that it was fathered by another, Ardeth said, “’Sooth, I was always around.”
    Lady Cormack struggled to her feet, trailing crumbs. She pointed one sausage-shaped finger at Genie and shouted, “You were unfaithful to my son, you Jezebel! How dare you ask for money! How dare you show your face in polite society! I will tell everyone of your whoring with this…this interloper. No one knows his people, or where he got his gold. Dealing with the Devil, I’d wager.”
    “You’d win,” Ardeth murmured. Louder, he said, “Here is an even surer bet: If you speak thusly of my wife, then I shall tell everyone of your son’s death.”
    “No,” Genie cried. “We agreed.”
    Lady Cormack sank back onto the sofa, needing another sip of the fortified tea. “What calumny is this, trying to ruin my son’s reputation as a hero?”
    “As you’d ruin my lady wife’s as a gentlewoman.” Somehow it was important for Ardeth to see Genie accepted, or all of his sacrifice—his freedom, his blood heir—would be in vain. He had sworn to make her life better, and his own future depended on his keeping his vows. No matter what happened to him, he needed her to carry on his plans when he was gone. Without society’s nod, she would stay in the house or stay isolated at Ardsley Keep, her light dimmed by humiliation. Not Genie, not his wife. “She is above reproach.”
    “She is below decency! Your precious countess trapped my poor boy into indiscretion. Or did she tell you some taradiddle about that, too?”
    “She told me of the circumstances surrounding her betrothal, yes.”
    “Did she tell you she stole Elgin out from under her own sister’s nose?”
    “She told me of being sent outside to find her sister’s lost reticule, wearing Miss Lorraine Hopewell’s distinctive shawl against the night, at that same sister’s insistence. Did you ever listen to Miss Imogene Hopewell’s side of the story?”
    “What for? The deed was done. They were seen by everyone, thanks to her screams to draw attention.”
    “Not screams for help?”
    “Pish-tosh. Past history.” Lady Cormack tried to squeeze out a tear. “Now he’s dead, my poor brave boy, because of her.”
    “My wife was not the one who sent Macklin to the army. I believe you and your late husband were responsible for that.”
    “We thought it best to get the dirty linen out of sight.”
    “No. It is best to wash dirty linen clean. Instead, your son rolled in the muck. He was never a proper husband to a young, innocent girl. He left her in the middle of a war!”
    “My son was a hero,” she persisted. “He died saving his men!”
    “He died before the battle, leaving his men with no officer to lead them but a raw