Miss Prestwick's Crusade Read Online Free PDF Page A

“As to that, I—I'm not sure. He said that he wished to tell his mother personally, but I think—um, I think there might have been—some private reason that he did not confide in you."
    At this, Edward almost burst into laughter. Some private reason, indeed! Chris had never dealt well with confrontation. The idea of informing his family that, instead of marrying the eminently eligible Elspeth Morwent, he had plunged into wedlock with an unknown female of dubious parentage would have filled him with horror. Much better, he would have concluded, to wait until he arrived at Whitehouse Abbey, with his bride in tow, the marriage a fait accompli. Or more likely, at the last possible moment before he was to come home, he would have written someone—the vicar, perhaps—instructing him to tell his family, so that the news would already have been delivered and the first shock abated by the time of his arrival.
    So far, Edward concluded ruefully, Miss Prestwick's explanation was improbable—but certainly not impossible.
    "Chris and Trix were married at the home of the Reverend Harold Binwick. As I said, Barney and I were the only witnesses. I believe Chris did not even tell his closest friends of his marriage."
    Edward's eyes glinted. “Let me see if I have this straight. My cousin and your sister were married in deepest, darkest secrecy by a minister who was subsequently—I forget— spirited away by fairies?"
    "Reverend Mr. Binwick returned to England,” retorted Miss Prestwick icily. “He was, I gather, somewhat of a recluse. He did not confide his plans to any friends or neighbors, and no one knows in what city he now resides."
    "Why does this not surprise me?” Edward murmured.
    Miss Prestwick picked up the teapot; and for a moment, he very much feared she meant to throw it at him. However, she merely poured a second cup of tea for Miss Barnstaple. Somewhat shamed, he continued.
    "But when your sister became, er, enceinte? Surely then—"
    "Christopher's brigade left Evora shortly after they were married. He was not there on a permanent status, you see, but was quartered there often on a temporary basis. The mail service was practically nonexistent, and Chris was killed at Oporto before she could apprise him of her condition.” Miss Prestwick's voice was sharp and brittle.
    "And,” Edward continued sharply, “at her death, you took it upon yourself to mount a crusade on behalf of the result of their union."
    "Crusade?” Miss Prestwick appeared startled. “I had not thought of it in that light, but, yes, I suppose you might call it that. You see,” she concluded quietly, “William had no one else to speak up for him."
    At this, Edward rose from his chair, now very much ashamed. He cleared his throat.
    "You must admit, Miss Prestwick, your story is well nigh unbelievable.” He lifted a hand to forestall the contradiction he saw rising in her eyes. “If the infant is indeed the son of Christopher Beresford, the eleventh Earl of Camberwell and his lawfully wedded wife, he is indeed the twelfth earl. If this is the case, be assured I shall, of course, step aside and do all that is necessary to see that young, er, Willliam is installed at Whitehouse Abbey with all due ceremony.” He lifted his brows at the muffled snort that issued from Miss Prestwick's beautifully curved lips.
    "My dear young woman,” Edward declared in some dudgeon, “I am receiving the distinct impression here that you believe my reaction to your—story—to be that of a less than honorable man."
    Miss Prestwick flushed to the roots of her hair, but she maintained her composure. “I am truly grieved to have given that impression, Mr. Beresford; however, you must admit that the news of William's existence must come as an unpleasant shock."
    "Ah,” replied Edward silkily, “you perceive me to be the sort of blackguard so greedy for a title and wealth that I would bar my own nephew from his rightful inheritance."
    Helen gasped. This was, of