She was shaking her head. “Love—romantic love—is a fleeting thing. You may think it will last forever, but trust me on this. It will be worn away, day after day, by every careless word, every slight, every broken promise until you feel nothing at all, not even anger or hurt.”
Ah. “I’m sorry.”
Being married to Walter must have been hell.
She waved away his sympathy. “I—your brother wasn’t the easiest husband.” She grimaced. “He had a roving eye—I knew that when I met him—and I let it bother me. My mistake.”
He put a hand on her shoulder. “No, Walter’s mistake.”
She shook her head as she fished her handkerchief out of her pocket. “For a while I thought if only I were prettier or wittier or more . . . demonstrative, he’d be satisfied. But he never was.” She blew her nose. “I was a fool.”
“No, you weren’t. Walter was very . . . charming. You weren’t the only woman to, er, fall in love with him.”
She snorted—and then blew her nose again. “Clearly. I don’t even know how many mistresses he had. He tried to be discreet in the beginning, but after I couldn’t—”
She pressed her lips together while she struggled for control.
“After I had to turn him away from my bed, he didn’t bother to hide his liaisons.” Her shoulders drooped. “If I’d been able to give him a son, perhaps then . . .”
He squeezed her shoulder. “No. Don’t think that way.”
What should he say? Wading into the swirling eddies of someone’s marriage was fraught with danger—one could be pulled under by hidden currents at any moment.
“Walter was hopping from bed to bed long before he met you, Letitia. You know that. Look how many children there are with the Graham streak scattered all over Darrow. I’ve always understood that my mother, at least, hoped marriage would settle him.”
“It didn’t,” Letitia said bitterly. “Maybe if he’d married someone else—”
He stopped her. Yes, he supposed that might be true, but there was no point in speculating about the unknowable. “Maybe, but I think it wouldn’t have made any difference. They say a leopard can’t change its spots, don’t they?”
“Y-yes.”
“You gave Walter three lovely daughters. My brother was a fool not to value them—and you—properly.”
Her chin came up. “The girls are very dear, are they not?”
“Yes, they are.” Perhaps this is the way to win Letitia over. “I’m a father now, Letitia. That’s another reason I want to marry Pen. I want to have my daughter in my household.”
Letitia didn’t smile and agree as he’d hoped she would. Instead a deep line appeared between her brows.
“That’s laudable, Harry, but think carefully about this. It’s not just Mrs. Barnes who won’t be accepted. Your daughter may be ostracized as well.”
Anger flared in his gut. “No one will hurt Harriet. I’ll see to that.”
She gave him a long look. “Children can be very cruel. You won’t—you can’t—hover over Harriet every moment of every day. It wouldn’t be good for her even if you could.”
She touched his arm. “And it’s not only the children, of course. It’s their mothers and fathers. It’s the servants—you must know Lady Susan was right about that. People will not be happy about you putting one of their own above them, especially as they must all know Mrs. Barnes’s family history.”
He scowled. “I’ll let go anyone who is rude to my wife and child.”
“But will you even know whom to blame? These things can be very insidious. A comment here, a whisper there. If everyone is offended by your choice of wife, the entire atmosphere can be poisoned in no time.”
Letitia was wrong—she had to be.
“And the situation will be even worse in London. You might—might—be able to get the people on your estate to accept Mrs. Barnes and Harriet. Ultimately, your servants and tenants don’t have much choice, do they? They depend on you for everything. But London and the ton—” Letitia shook her head. “That’s a completely different matter.”
Harry’s jaws were clenched so tightly, he thought they might shatter. “I don’t care about the ton. It doesn’t matter to me—and I can’t believe it will matter to Pen—if Society shuts its doors to us. I don’t want tickets to Almack’s.”
But how would Pen feel being shunned and excluded? Would she be angry? Hurt?
He could protect her . . . couldn’t he?
“Harry, the problem is bigger than that.”
I can’t give Pen up. I deserve some happiness.
Letitia put her hand gently on his arm again. “I know you say you love Mrs. Barnes. I understand that you want to marry her, but please consider what you are asking of her. To make her your countess . . .” Her fingers tightened, and she shook his arm a little. “It would be like throwing a kitten into a lion’s den. She’d be torn apart. The kinder thing might be to set her up in a house of her own—here, perhaps—and visit her whenever you can.”
“I suggested that, but Pen wanted no part of it.” And the notion no longer appealed to him, either.
“Oh? What was her objection?”
“That I’d be breaking my marriage vows.”
Letitia’s eyes widened—and she swallowed a giggle. “How . . . quaint.” She shrugged. “I’m sure you can persuade her.”
“No, I can’t.” And his gut told him it would be wrong to try.
Letitia gave him a cautious look as if he might be a trifle demented, and then she sighed. “Then perhaps you just need to let her go, Harry.”
No! I can’t do that. I need Pen. And I need Harriet, too.
“You saw how Pen behaved just now, Letitia. She was far more the lady than Lady Susan was.” There might have been a touch of desperation in his voice.
Letitia just shook her head. “This is England, Harry. Birth means more than behavior. Far more.”
It shouldn’t. Some of the men he’d trusted with his life on the Continent had been the sons of farmers and shopkeepers. They’d been smarter and braver than many of the noblemen he’d encountered, those who’d never had to struggle for anything in their lives.
“Not to me. I was never meant to be earl—you know that better than anyone, Letitia. I’m not used to nor do I particularly enjoy the trappings of the peerage. I’ll go to London to take my place in Parliament, and I’ll try to manage my estates well, but I need Pen.”
“Harry . . .”
“Please say you’ll accept her, if I can get her to marry me.” This time he was the one who touched her arm. “I think it will help my cause with her if I can tell her my family approves—” That might be asking too much. “Well, or at least that you don’t disapprove of our marriage.”
She let out a long breath. “But Harry, even setting aside Mrs. Barnes’s birth, she is just not qualified to be countess. I can’t imagine she knows the first thing about running your household.”
“I don’t know about that. She helps operate the Home.”
Letitia blinked at him. “The Home?”
Right. Neither she nor Mama would know about the Home. “The Benevolent Home for the Maintenance and Support of Spinsters, Widows, and Abandoned Women and their Unfortunate Children.”
Letitia blinked again. It was a mouthful.
“Lord Havenridge’s widow established the place, and the Duke of Grainger helps support it.” Or he was sure Grainger would support it once he knew what it was. “Pen is in charge of the agricultural side of the enterprise—she knows far more about crops and growing things than I do.”
“Hmm.” Letitia nodded slowly. “Well, I suppose that’s good. And being associated with Lady Havenridge can’t hurt, even though she’s not been a part of Society for years. My brother ran in the same circles as her husband. Havenridge was a notorious gambler, but also a good-natured sort who was well liked. It caused a scandal when he killed himself, but that was long ago.”
He hadn’t thought about the Lady Havenr
idge connection. What about . . . no. He wouldn’t mention Miss Anderson, since he knew nothing about her background.
“Pen’s very capable, though I’m sure there will be many things she’ll have to learn.” If he managed to get Pen to agree to have him, it wouldn’t hurt—and would likely help a great deal—if Letitia would give her some guidance.
“Would you be willing to stay on for a while at the dower house with Mama and show Pen how to go on?”
Letitia flushed and seemed gratified to be asked to help. “Yes, I suppose I could if Mrs. Barnes—”
“Pen. You will, I hope, be her sister-in-law, Letitia.”
Letitia nodded. “Pen, then. I’ll help, if Pen wishes it.”
“Splendid. And having your girls there will give Harriet someone to play with.”
“Ah . . .” Letitia frowned as if this was something she needed to mull over.
Zeus! Letitia couldn’t mean to keep her girls away from Harriet, could she? That would be disastrous, far worse than the problems Harriet was facing at the Home. This would be family rejecting her.
He struggled to control his temper. Nothing would be helped by ripping up at his sister-in-law.
“She’s my daughter, Letitia. The girls’ cousin. And while my marrying Pen won’t make Harriet legitimate, acknowledging her as my daughter will go far to smoothing her way. I suspect her birth won’t matter to any but the highest sticklers as the years pass.”
Letitia finally nodded. “You’re probably right about that.” She let out a long breath. “Very well. Harriet seemed well-behaved. I can’t promise until I know her and her mother better, but I will go into the situation with an open mind.” She smiled a little ruefully. “I have to protect my daughters, too.”
“Of course. I’m not expecting any of this to be easy.” He just hoped it didn’t prove impossible.
They started walking back toward the inn.
“And will you have a word with my mother, Letitia? I’ll speak to her myself soon, but not now when I might encounter Lady Susan. I’ve exhausted my ability to be polite to that woman.” He scowled at his sister-in-law. “What did you mean, helping her track me down? She couldn’t have come here without you and Mama and Muddlegate accompanying her.”
Letitia looked properly abashed. “I am sorry about that. I should have listened to the whispers about her, but I’m afraid I took them as sour grapes. I’d never seen her be as horrid as she was here.” She flushed. “I’d thought she’d be an amiable sister-in-law, and”—her flush deepened—“I suppose I also thought she’d wish to stay in London, letting me continue on at Darrow as if nothing had changed.”
He gripped her shoulder in what he hoped was a bracing way. “I know this has been hard on you and the girls, Letitia. Don’t worry. No matter what happens, I’ll look out for you. I’m the head of the family now.” He grinned. “And as to setting Lady Susan on me? Do your best to help Pen and all will be forgiven.”
* * *
“Pen!”
Pen glanced up from checking her hop plants—and then straightened. Caro looked a bit windblown and . . . unsettled. “What is it? Did something happen at the brewhouse?”
Caro shook her head. “No. I’m not coming from there. I was up at the main house, passing the front parlor, when Jo stepped out and asked me to fetch you. She has a woman who wants to see you.”
“Oh. A new resident?” Perhaps the woman had some agricultural experience. That would be very good news. She should start training someone to manage the hops in case things worked out for her with the new vicar. She’d still be in the village, of course, so could lend a hand, but she’d not be able to keep as close an eye on the hop plants as they needed.
“No. I don’t think so. I only got a glimpse, but she looked finely dressed and quite self-assured.”
“Oh.” While they occasionally got women dressed well—servants often got their mistresses’ castoffs—most, if not all, came with their will and pride and independence in tatters. So who could it—
Lud! Can Lady Susan have come to complain about me?
Well, so be it. If the woman was expecting her to bow and scrape and apologize, she was going to be very disappointed.
“Very well. I’ll go at once.” She wouldn’t even take time to wash her hands or comb her hair. She was a working woman, after all, and this unscheduled visit was an interruption.
Caro stopped her. “Does everything still look good for the harvest?”
Pen grinned. All was well with the world if Caro could maintain her single-mindedness. “Yes. I think the hops will be ready to pick in about a week.”
“Excellent!”
Fortunately, Caro stayed behind to have a look at the plants herself. Pen didn’t feel like talking. She was too busy rehearsing exactly what she’d say to Lady Susan. Not that she’d have the courage to tell her everything she wanted to—
She paused in the middle of the yard, remembering far too clearly the expression of loathing and superiority that had twisted the woman’s features when she’d encountered her and Harriet on the path by the stream.
She started walking again, new determination in her stride. Perhaps she would be able to tell Lady Susan precisely what she thought of her.
She hurried up the steps to the house and through the entry, pulled open the door to the parlor—and froze.
“Pen. It’s lovely to see you again.”
Lady Darrow—Harry’s mother—sat in the yellow brocade chair by the front window.
“Mama!”
Pen’s heart jumped and she inhaled sharply. Her focus had narrowed so much to Lady Darrow, she hadn’t noticed Harriet, sitting on the worn, red chair just on the other side of the end table.
What has Harry’s mother said to her?
“Grandmamma is here!” Harriet slid off the chair and came over, giving her little hop skip across the carpet. She was positively glowing.
Nothing bad . . . yet.
“Yes. I see that,” Pen said evenly as her eyes swung back to Lady Darrow. Her heart started to pound, and her palms grew damp. How am I going to protect Harriet?
Lady Darrow smiled rather kindly. “I was very happy to make Harriet’s acquaintance.” She looked with what appeared to be real warmth at Pen’s—and Harry’s—daughter. “You should run along now, dear, and let me talk to your mother alone.”
Harriet looked at Pen, and Pen nodded, relieved—and thankful—that Harriet wouldn’t hear whatever Lady Darrow had to say—and what Pen would say in response.
She didn’t know if she was going to curse or cry.
Harriet looked back at Lady Darrow. “You won’t leave without saying good-bye will you, Grandmamma?”
“Of course not.” Lady Darrow smiled again and nodded at Pen. “As long as your mother doesn’t object.”
Which sent Harriet’s wide, pleading eyes back to Pen. “You won’t object, will you, Mama?”
“I don’t think I will, Harriet, but I don’t know for certain.” She gave Harry’s mother a long, level gaze.
“But, Mama . . .”
“Your mother is just watching out for you, Harriet,” Lady Darrow said gently. “Go along now. It will be all right.”
Harriet hesitated—and then she nodded, gave her grandmother and Pen one last look, and left.
Pen closed the door and turned to face Harry’s mother.
“Come sit down, Pen.” Lady Darrow gestured to the chair Harriet had vacated.
Pen stayed where she was. She didn’t want to be rude, but she also didn’t want to get too close to Harry’s mother until she knew what was going on. “Why are you here?”
Someone knocked on the door.
Pen spun around, thinking Harriet must have returned, and said, as she opened it, “I told you—oh.”
It wasn’t Harriet. It was Jo with tea and cake.
“Oh, good. Caro found you,” Jo said as she came in and set down her tray. She poured two cups of tea and put them, along with a plate of sliced seedcake, on
the table between Lady Darrow and the empty chair. “There you go. Now do have a comfortable coze. I’m sure you have much to discuss.” She smiled at them both and headed for the door.
“Jo.” Something that felt very much like panic closed Pen’s throat, stopping her from saying more. She had to clench her hands in her skirt to keep from grabbing Jo’s arm.
“Just listen to what Lady Darrow has to say, Pen,” Jo said quietly. “It can’t hurt, can it?” And then she slipped out and shut the door behind her.
Pen stared at the closed door and tried to swallow her panic. It could hurt. Whatever Lady Darrow had to say could kill her.
Nonsense. She was a grown woman now with a child and important work to do, not the little girl who had gazed in awe at Harry’s beautiful, elegant mother sitting in the Darrow family pew nor the older girl who had loved the countess’s son so thoroughly.
Harry. Oh, God.
She finally turned to face her visitor. Lady Darrow gestured to the empty chair again.
Pen still stayed by the door. “Why are you here? Did Harry send you?” She tried to keep her voice level. She didn’t want Lady Darrow to discern how upset she was.
Why in the world would Harry send his mother to speak to me? Surely, he doesn’t expect her to try to persuade me to become his mistress.
She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Did Harry even know his mother was in the village? He’d seemed surprised when they’d encountered Lady Susan and Letitia by the stream. He hadn’t mentioned his mother.
“No, he didn’t send me. He doesn’t know I’m here. Please do sit down, Pen. I truly don’t think I’m going to say anything to upset you.” Lady Darrow smiled. “On the contrary, I hope we can join forces to help ensure my son’s happiness.”
So somehow, Harry’s mother did know. “You don’t have to worry, Lady Darrow. I’ve already told him I won’t be his mistress.”
Perhaps that was being too blunt, but there was no point in prevaricating. Lady Darrow had met Harriet. She knew now if she hadn’t then that Pen and Harry had been lovers. It would be reasonable for her to conclude Harry was here to revive that relationship.
A far-too-detailed memory of what she’d done with Harry in the cottage last night popped into her thoughts.
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