The Irish Girl by Santa Montefiore

Author:Santa Montefiore
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
ISBN: 9780062456878
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-06-24T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

This is an outrage!” Bertie thundered, averting his eyes from the baby Kitty had just brought into the library in a basket.

“He is your child, Papa, and I intend to keep him.” Kitty gazed at her father steadily.

He knocked back a swig of whiskey and stared into the fire. “So you know,” he said quietly.

“I know.” There was a long pause. Kitty didn’t want to hear the details. She feared suddenly that he might have raped Bridie, after all. Perhaps she was just being naïve because she wanted to believe her father incapable of brutality. She dispelled the image of him taking Grace and dared not imagine how he had taken Bridie. She wanted to admire him. For all the world she wanted him to be honorable. She dropped her eyes onto the child who was sleeping again. “Where is Bridie now?”

“America,” he replied.

“You sent her to America?” Kitty was astounded.

“She’s starting a new life, Kitty. It’s what she wanted.”

Kitty’s eyes began to water. “You sent her away without her baby? How could you?”

“It’s what she wanted,” he repeated.

“I don’t believe that. Bridie has a heart. I know she does.” She gazed into the basket. “He’s my half brother,” she added.

“He’s a bastard,” Bertie retorted.

“Then he’s my bastard.” Kitty felt a swell of affection for the helpless creature and a keen sense of loyalty to her friend.

“I will not have him in this house.” Her father’s face reddened. When he turned to look at her she was surprised to see his countenance so void of compassion. “He will return to the convent as arranged. You’re in no position to raise a child on your own. How do you imagine you’re going to find a husband if you have a baby to tarnish your reputation?”

“You sound like Mama,” she stated sharply.

“Perhaps she spoke sense, after all.”

“I’ll get by.”

“And what of my reputation? How will you explain to people that you suddenly have a child?”

“He’s a foundling I took in. Left on our doorstep. That’s the truth, isn’t it? I can’t imagine how, but Bridie found a way of getting her baby to us. I admire her for her bravery. I’m not going to let her down. The child belongs here, at Castle Deverill.”

Bertie drained his glass and went to the drinks tray to pour another. His hand was trembling as he lifted the crystal decanter. “She came to me willingly,” he said quietly, pouring the golden liquid into the glass. Kitty didn’t reply. The image of Michael’s dark face loomed large in her mind, his voice insistent: He raped my sister. “I was careless,” Bertie added. He put the glass to his lips and shook his head. “That is the result of my carelessness.”

“But I will love him and bring him up as a Deverill. He’s our flesh and blood. See, he’s even got my red hair. I don’t care what you say or what anyone else says. I owe it to Bridie.”

“You won’t get a penny from me,” said her father, and Kitty felt the cold slap of rejection.

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