Had Gentleman Jim known Jenny was with child?

The possibility struck Maggie like a lightning bolt.

It would certainly explain why Jenny had felt such animosity toward her child. If she believed Nicholas to have been responsible for inspiring such a trick—if she blamed him for driving away her lover—it would be natural for her to resent him.

But even if Gentleman Jim had known, why bother with a fake marriage? Why not simply abandon Jenny full stop? He was already escaping to the continent to avoid the noose. Escaping the burden of a pregnant mistress was minor in comparison.

Surely, he wouldn’t have toyed with her merely for his own amusement? A prank was one thing, but to convince the woman who was carrying your child that the two of you had married—that the child’s name was secure…

That was no masculine prank. It was an outright cruelty.

And it made no sense at all.

“You claim you heard this tale secondhand,” Maggie said. “Who told it to you?”

“Why, it was Squire Honeywell. He mentioned it not long after Miss Seaton arrived at the Park. I warned him that girls in that sort of trouble often conjured outrageous fictions out of whole cloth. He knew it to be true. But he was a big-hearted man, your father.” Mr. Entwhistle’s mouth dropped into a frown. “He came to regret that kindness after you took ill.”

“That wasn’t Jenny’s fault. It was mine. I’m the one who insisted on nursing her during her final days.” She’d spent endless hours seated beside Jenny’s cot. She’d held her hand and sponged her brow. Had listened to her ravings about Nicholas and Father Tuck.

A priest, Maggie had thought. Someone to whom Jenny wished to confess. But what if…

What if…

Maggie’s lungs seized on a breath. All at once, the small parlor felt even smaller. She forced herself to breathe.

Mr. Entwhistle rose. “Are you all right, Miss Honeywell?”

She waved him back. “Fine. Perfectly fine. I need a little air, that’s all.”

He put a hand under her elbow, assisting her to her feet. “I’ll have the gig readied. Thomas can drive you back to the Park.” He turned to go but Maggie forestalled him.

“Mr. Entwhistle, I wonder…”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever heard of a clergyman hereabouts by the name of Father Tuck?” It was a stab in the dark, but she’d never forgive herself if she left without asking. “It may have been a long while past. Possibly before I was born.”

Mr. Entwhistle beetled his brows. “Can’t say I have. Is it something to do with the estate?”

“Nothing like that. Merely my own curiosity.” A curiosity that hadn’t been satisfied yet. That wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d found out the whole of the matter.

Which was precisely what she intended to do.

Chapter Twenty-Four

London, England

Summer 1817