The Beaumont Children: His Son, Her Secret

“Percy. I named him Percy.” She bent over and retrieved her tablet from her bag. After a few taps, she had the most recent picture of Percy up on the screen. The little boy was sitting on her lap, trying to eat a board book. May had taken the photo just a couple of weeks ago. “Percy,” she said again, holding the tablet out to Byron.

He stared at the computer, then at her. “I left? I left you pregnant?”

She nodded.

“And you didn’t think it was a good idea to let me know you were pregnant? That you had my son?” His voice was getting louder.

“You left,” she pleaded. Now that he knew, she had to make him see reason. Why hadn’t she assumed he’d be this mad at her? For a ridiculous second, she wanted to beg for forgiveness, say whatever it took to calm him down—whatever it took so that he wouldn’t take her son from her.

But she wouldn’t beg. Not anymore. She’d fight the good fight. “You were gone by the time I got away from my father and I was afraid that your family would take Percy away—”

Byron froze midturn. “Wait—what?”

“I got away from my father. I took my little sister with me. May. She’s watching Percy now.”

Byron moved quickly, grabbing her by both arms. “Your sister? Is watching my son?”

“Our son, yes—”

He half shoved her, half lifted her up and carried her to the car. “Take me to him. Right now.”

“All right,” she said, retreating to grab her bag and fishing her keys out of the pocket.

They drove in painful silence. Her apartment was out in Aurora, which meant a solid thirty minutes of feeling Byron’s rage from the passenger seat.

She was miserable. Just when she had a moment of hope, thinking maybe there was still something between them, something good—and it hadn’t lasted. It would never last with Byron. It would always be like this—the two of them straddling the thin line between love and hate.

If only she wasn’t a Harper. If only he wasn’t a Beaumont. If only they’d been two nameless nobodies who could fall in love and live happily ever after in complete obscurity.

But no. It wasn’t to be. He hated her right now because she’d kept quiet.

They pulled into the apartment complex parking lot. “You live here?” Byron asked. She could hear the confusion in his voice.

“Yes. This was all we could afford.”

“And your parents? Your father?”

She got out of the car. “Please don’t mention my father around May. She’s...still nervous about him.”

“Why?”

“Just...don’t.” Because she didn’t want to go into why her parents were terrible people right after she’d finally told Byron about the baby. She grabbed her bag and locked the car. “This way.”

Byron followed her up the two flights of stairs to the third floor of the apartment complex. “Here we are,” she told him, unlocking the door.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re home,” May said from the couch, where Percy was crying. “I really think he’s got another ear infection and—oh!” She recoiled in horror at the sight of Byron.

“It’s all right,” Leona told her little sister. “I told him.”

May stood, cradling Percy in her arms. “He didn’t come to take Percy, did he?”

“No,” Byron said a little too loudly. “I just came to meet my son.”

May’s gaze darted between Leona and Byron like a rabbit trapped between a fox and a rock. And Byron was definitely the fox. “It’s okay?”

Byron stepped up next to her. “Hello, May. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Byron Beaumont.”

Percy looked at Leona and held out his chubby little arms. May couldn’t seem to do anything except stare in openmouthed horror at Byron.

“Let me have him,” Leona finally said. She laid her bag on the kitchen table and took Percy from her sister and whispered, “It’s going to be okay.”

May attempted a smile and failed. “I’ll just go. To my room.” She all but sprinted down the hall. Seconds later, her door clicked shut.

“Hey, baby,” Leona said, hugging Percy tight. “Aunt May says you have another ear infection. Do your ears hurt?”

Percy made a high-pitched whine in the back of his throat.

“I know,” she agreed. “No fun at all.” She looked over at Byron, who was gaping at the two of them. “I’m going to go find his ear drops. Do you want to hold him while I look?”

If possible, Byron looked terrified at this suggestion. “He has red hair.”

Leona smiled down at her son. He had his fingers jammed into his mouth and he was getting drool all over her work blouse. “Yes, it’s coming in redder. He takes after you.”

Byron took a step back. “He takes after me,” he repeated in a stunned whisper. “How old?”

“Sit down. I need to get his drops. Then we’ll talk.”

Almost robotically, Byron walked over to the couch and sat heavily.

“Percy, baby, this is your father,” she whispered to her son as she sat him on Byron’s lap. “Just hold him for a second, okay?”

“Um...” came the uncertain reply.

Leona moved quickly. She hurried to the bedroom and stripped out of her suit. She grabbed a clean pair of yoga pants and a long-sleeved tee and then rushed to Percy’s room. “May?” she called out. The walls were thin enough that her sister should have no trouble hearing her. “Where are the drops?”

“I couldn’t find them,” May replied through the wall. “Are you sure he’s okay?”

“He’s Percy’s father,” Leona replied quietly. “He has a right to know.”

There was a pause. “If Father finds out he’s back...”

Yeah, that was a problem. Leon Harper would not take kindly to Byron’s return any more than he’d taken kindly to Leona leaving with May. They’d reached an uneasy truce in the family since Percy had been born, but Leona didn’t want anything to set off her father. She didn’t even want to think about how low he might sink to get even with the Beaumonts.

She did a hurried check of the medicine cabinet and then checked her bedside table—ah. There they were—on the floor. They must have gotten knocked off and rolled under the bed. Leona fished the bottle out and held it up to the light. The little bottle was only one-fourth full, but that would have to do for now.

When she got back to the living room, Percy was leaning back against Byron’s chest, starting up at him with curious eyes. “Here,” she said, sitting down next to them. “I need to put the drops in.”

She tilted Percy onto her lap. “Mommy’s going to count to ten, ready? One...” She put the drops in and counted very slowly.

Byron rested his hand on Percy’s feet, and then picked up one foot and held it against his palm. “This is really happening, isn’t it?” he asked in a shaky voice.

“...Ten,” she said in a happy voice. “That’s such a good boy! Let’s roll over.” She lifted Percy so that he faced her. “Yes,” she told Byron, “it all happened.” Then she began to count brightly again.

All of it—finding out Byron was exactly like all the other Beaumonts, realizing her father was right, keeping Percy far away from any Beaumont, long nights worrying how she was going to make it all work—it’d all happened.

Without Byron.

When she got to ten again, she sat Percy up. He was half on her lap, half on Byron’s lap, safely stuck in the space between them. He looked up at Byron and smiled a drooly smile.

Byron managed a weak grin and then stroked Percy’s hair. “How old?”

“Almost six months. I was three months pregnant when...” She couldn’t bring herself to say, “when you left.” At least, not out loud.

“I don’t— You didn’t—” He took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me? I mean, I could have helped out. I could know him.”

She sighed. She’d long since put the events of that night behind her—or so she’d thought. But the pain felt as fresh as it ever had.

“He’s a good baby,” she said, desperate to avoid the hurt of remembering. “He’s teething and that leads to a lot of ear infections, but that’s about the only problem. He’s happy and he eats well. And we...we do all right. He’s got his own room here.” Which was why they were so far out on the edge of Denver. The rents were cheaper, so they could afford a three-bedroom apartment. “I work for Lutefisk Design and May is finishing up college. She watches him when she doesn’t have classes, but when she does, we have him in a day care. He likes it there,” she added.

Percy squirmed against them. “It’s his bedtime,” Leona explained when Byron tensed. “You could help me get him ready for bed. If you want.”

“Yeah,” Byron said. “Sure.”

She picked Percy up and carried him into the small bedroom. They’d found most of the furniture at resale shops. They had a crib, a glider and an old dresser that doubled as a changing table.

Leona laid Percy out on the changing table. With Byron watching, she changed the baby’s diaper and got him into a clean set of footie jammies. Then she lifted him up. “Sit,” she told Byron. To his credit, he sat in the glider and held out his hands for the baby. He didn’t look less shell-shocked, but she appreciated the effort.

Leona leaned over the small basket that held the books. “How about...” Percy reached his hands out for the worn copy of Pat the Bunny. “All right,” she agreed. “Can you read to him while I wash my hands?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

She hurried to the bathroom, which was on the other side of May’s room. In the distance, she heard Byron’s deep voice read the simple story.

May’s door opened and she popped her head out. “He’s not staying, is he?”

“May,” Leona said in a quiet whisper. “No, I don’t think he’s staying.”

May shot her a disbelieving look. “You don’t think? Leona, you know what he’s like. He’s a Beaumont. What if he wants to take Percy with him?”

Leona washed her hands in the bathroom. That was the question, wasn’t it? Byron had the weight of the Beaumont name and family fortune behind him. And what did Leona have? She had May and Percy. She knew what lawyers could do to a woman. Her own father had regaled the family with tales of how he’d left his first wife penniless after she’d been seduced by Byron’s father.

“I don’t think he’ll do that,” she told May, who hovered in the doorway as if she expected to have to bolt at any second. Once, Leona would have said yes, Byron would take the boy and she’d never see her baby again.

But now? At dinner tonight he’d been the Byron she’d once thought she’d known. Caring, attentive, thoughtful. Heck, he’d even apologized for Frances’s behavior. Those were not the actions of a man out to destroy her.

Of course, that had been before he’d seen the car seat. She had absolutely no idea what he was thinking now.

“I’m sorry,” May said. “I’m just worried.”

“I know.” Leona dried her hands and gripped May by the shoulders. “I won’t let him take Percy. I promise.”

May’s eyes watered. “I don’t want him to hurt you again.”

Leona pulled May into a tight hug. “I won’t let him,” she promised.

“Leona?” Byron called out. “We’re done. Now what?”

At the sound of Byron’s voice, May hurried back to her bedroom and shut the door.

Leona paused to take a deep breath. She couldn’t let Byron break her heart again. She couldn’t lose her son. And if they could keep her father out of it, that’d be great, too.

Sure. No problem.

Byron was rocking Percy, whose eyes were half closed. “Hi,” he said when she entered the room.

Despite it all, she smiled at him. To see him holding Percy—she had dreamed of this moment.

This was what she’d wanted before that horrible night when it’d all fallen apart. For the months they’d been seeing each other, she’d thought about Byron being a father—being a husband. Helping with the babies, because of course they’d have children together. She and Byron were different than their families. Better. Electric. They were going to love each other for the rest of their lives.

Then he’d left before she’d gotten the chance to tell him she was pregnant and Leona had put those old dreams away.

She couldn’t help it. Part of her still wanted those dreams, even knowing how much of a Beaumont he was.

But that vision of them growing old together was just that—a vision.

It could never happen.

Five

Byron’s head was a mess as Leona took the boy—his son!—from him. No, mess was too generous a word for the muddle of emotions and thoughts all struggling to be heard.

He had a son—that was the first thing he had to make sense of. He had a son and Leona hadn’t told him. She had lied to him again—maybe he shouldn’t be so damned surprised. After all, she’d had no problem hiding her family from him before. Why was it so shocking that she would hide his son from him now?

It was obvious she loved the boy. She’d been sweet and gentle with him and this thing right now—nursing—was obviously something they did every night.

Byron walked back into the main part of the apartment. The place wasn’t fancy—a standard apartment with beige walls, beige carpeting and beige countertops in the kitchen. A set of patio doors indicated that there was a small deck outside. There were a few pictures on the wall, all of May and Leona and Percy. Mostly of Percy. None of Byron. But then, why should there be?

He realized he was standing in the kitchen, opening the cabinets, drawers and the fridge, looking for something to cook. He always retreated to the kitchen when he was upset, even when he’d been a little kid.

Cooking was predictable. There was comfort in the routine. If he followed the recipe, he knew how the dish would turn out.

Leona had apples. Byron could make applesauce. There—that was a good plan. That was him taking care of his son. Everyone had to eat.

He peeled the apples and got them simmering in the pot. Then he debated the ingredients—would Percy like cinnamon or would it be too strong for him? Would Leona want the applesauce to be unsweetened? In the end, Byron went with a little lemon juice to brighten the flavor.

As he cooked, he tried to think. Why hadn’t she told him? It wasn’t as though he’d gone off the grid. Yes, he’d been in Europe but he’d been findable. Frances, at least, had always known where he was. He’d kept his email address. He hadn’t disappeared. Hell, even a birth announcement would have been okay, but there’d been nothing. Just another lie.

He needed answers—and while he was thinking about it, he still needed to know why she thought he’d left her and what did she mean, she and her sister had “gotten away from” their father?

She’d gone with her father. Leon Harper was her father and she hadn’t told Byron that truth. And when Harper had demanded Leona come with him, she had. She’d left Byron standing on the sidewalk, in the rain, his heart in shards at his feet.

If she’d dumped him, he could have dealt with it. He might have still wound up in Europe, but if she’d said “Gee, Byron, this just isn’t working, we should see other people, it’s not you, it’s me and we can still be friends” or whatever, he’d have moved on.

But she’d lied to him. She was the daughter of the man who was hell-bent on destroying Byron and his entire family. By all accounts, the man was doing a hell of a job at it, too. The brewery—a hundred and sixty-six years of Beaumont history and ownership—was gone, all because of Leon Harper. And his daughters.

Byron knew what betrayal looked like. He knew his father had cheated on his wives. He knew that at least one of the ex-wives had cheated on Hardwick. Byron knew there was always a risk that any relationship could go wrong. The Beaumonts didn’t have exclusive rights to dysfunctional marriages.

But when he’d been with Leona, he’d managed to convince himself that he was different. That they were different. Byron and Leona had loved each other.

Or had they?

She’d lied to him before. Twice. Was she lying again? Even if she was, would he be able to tell the difference?

Apples were not going to solve that mystery. He had more pressing issues to deal with.

Percy was his son. Byron wanted to be there for the boy, to let Percy know that Byron loved him in the big ways and the little ways. All the ways Byron’s own father had never loved Byron.

But how was that going to happen? He was still living in the mansion—he didn’t even have his own place. And getting a restaurant off the ground wasn’t a nine-to-five job, that was for damned sure. Not now, not ever. How could he make sure he was a part of Percy’s life?

The sauce was halfway done when Leona came into the kitchen. She was wearing leggings and a T-shirt but there was still something about her. There’d always been something about her.

“Ah,” she said when she saw the bubbling apples. She gave him a small smile. “I should have known.”

“Applesauce. For Percy,” he explained. “Just apples and a little lemon. I didn’t know if cinnamon would be too much for him.”

“It smells wonderful. He loves apples.”

They stood there silently for a minute.

“It’s not a big batch. Do you have a container for it?”

Leona dug out a plastic bowl and Byron moved all the dirty dishes to the sink. Yes, he needed answers. But honestly? He had no idea where to start. So he didn’t. He did the dishes instead.

The uncomfortable silence lingered for a few more minutes as he washed the knife and the cutting board. Leona dried. Finally, she broke the silence.

“We should come up with a plan, I guess.”

“A plan?”

“Yes. If you’re really going to stay—”

“I am,” he interrupted, stung by the insinuation that he’d bolt.

“Then we need a plan.” She swallowed, her gaze focused on the sink. “A custody plan. I know I can’t keep Percy from you, but I’m not going to just give up custody.”

“You already kept him from me.” She winced but he refused to feel bad for her. “And I didn’t say you had to give up custody. But why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. “Why did you keep this from me?”

“I thought...” She dropped the dish towel on the counter and turned away from him. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me. Your phone was disconnected and you were in Europe—pretty damned far away from here.”

That was true. But it was the way she said it that confused him. He looked at the back of her head as if he could peer inside and find the answers he was looking for. “You could have sent an email.”

“I could have,” she agreed. Her shoulders heaved with a massive sigh. “I should have. But I was afraid.”

“Afraid? Of what?”

She turned to him, her wide eyes even wider. “Of you, Byron. Of all the Beaumonts.”

He gaped at her. Before he could remind her that he was not the one who’d lied, she went on, “And we left home with only as much as we could carry, and I had to get a job. Being pregnant wasn’t as fun as it seems on television and May had classes and...and you weren’t here. And I guess I convinced myself that you weren’t coming back and it was just me and May and Percy on our own. It was better that way. We didn’t need anyone else.”

He dried off his hands and placed them on her shoulders. “I could have helped. Even if...even if I didn’t come back, I still could have helped. Child support or whatever. You shouldn’t have had to do this on your own.”

She dropped her head and he heard her sniff. “Well, you’re here now. I can’t change what happened in the past but if you’re going to stay—”

“I am,” he told her again.

“Then, yes. Child support and custody visits. But I can’t lose him, Byron.” Her voice broke over this last bit. “Please don’t try to punish me by taking him.”

The anguish in her voice—her assumption that he’d exact some sort of twisted revenge... He spun her around and lifted her chin until she had no choice but to look him in the eye. Child support and custody visits were all very clinical-sounding things, like the few hours a year that he was shipped off with Frances and Matthew to visit their mother, who’d then spend most of the visit trying not to cry.

That’s not what he wanted. He was not his father, for God’s sake. He was better than that.

Except, was he? He’d gotten a woman pregnant and then left her in the lurch, completely alone with no other resources. Yeah, he’d thought her father would still be paying the bills and yeah, she’d rejected him, but when the facts of the situation were laid plain, he’d left her alone just when she’d needed him most.

She was right. That was exactly what Hardwick Beaumont would have done.

“I’m not going to take him away from you,” Byron told her, feeling the certainty of the words. “Because you’re both going to come live with me.”

* * *

Leona’s mouth fell open in shock. “What?”

Byron’s grip tightened on her shoulders. “I don’t have a place yet. You can either move into the mansion with me or help me pick something out—whatever you think is better. But you need to move in with me as soon as possible.”

Maybe this wasn’t happening. Maybe none of it was happening—not Byron returning, not him kissing her, not him reading a bedtime story to Percy. She could be hallucinating the whole kit and caboodle.

Sadly, the way he was holding her, the look in his eyes? She knew she wasn’t hallucinating a damned thing. And that was a problem.

“You want me to pack up and come with you?”

The tendons in his neck tightened. “I want my son with me. And if that means you have to be with me, then so be it.”

Ah. So he didn’t want her, not really. He would put up with her if that got him what he wanted, though. His words cut like a dull butter knife—painful and ragged.

She’d promised May she would not let Byron hurt her again.

She hated lying to her sister.

Still, Leona was making remarkable progress. She didn’t agree to Byron’s demands just to keep the peace, and she didn’t dissolve into useless tears and, most important, she didn’t do both of them at the same time. Those days were done. She might not be able to be strong enough to protect her own heart, but she had to protect Percy.

So she cleared her throat. “What if it’s not a good idea for us to live together?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

She couldn’t look at that hardness, couldn’t bear to feel the pain again. So she closed her eyes. She couldn’t help it. “Look, I know we had something once but it fell apart.”

“But—” he started to interrupt.

She cut him off. “And it doesn’t even matter who did what. If we live together...we’ll have to face those choices every single day.”

Every day she’d have to wake up knowing that Byron was mere feet away, not oceans and continents. Every single day she’d have to look him in the eye to discuss what Percy had done and every single damned day, he’d probably cook her a meal and she’d love it.

And every day—every minute—she’d wonder when it was all going to end.

Byron pulled her in closer and she felt his hot breath on her ear. “You listen to me, Leona Harper.” Panic blossomed in her stomach at his cold tone. “Maybe it doesn’t matter who did what, maybe it does. That doesn’t change the fact that I have a son and I am not going to stand aside a moment longer because you think it might be awkward around the breakfast table. You will move in with me and, until further notice, we will raise our son together.”

An unspoken or else hung in the small space between his lips and her ear.

She would not cry, by God. She wouldn’t do it. Not in front of him. Not in front of any man. Not anymore. She was an adult responsible for her sister and her son and she would not give.

“I can’t afford very much. That’s why we live here.”

“I will pay for it,” he replied firmly.

“But—”

“No buts, Leona. You’ve had to cover everything for a year. It’s my turn to step up to the plate. It’s the least I can do.”

God, that sounded so good. She could live with him, let him take care of her, of Percy, with his part of the Beaumont fortune. She wouldn’t be teetering on the edge of genteel poverty anymore. Things like doctor’s visits and ear drops wouldn’t be monumental mountains she struggled to climb. Byron had the ways and means to make that part of her life easy.