Drake relayed Britannia’s story from the beginning—the LeClairs taking in a foundling, the tragedy of smallpox, the christening record, and why Britannia had fled to Paris. He told her about the years the young lady had spent alone at the Paris Opera Ballet, and how she’d strove to discover the identity of the person in the miniature.
Throughout his soliloquy, tears streamed down Her Ladyship’s cheeks.
When Drake finished, she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, then looked at him directly. “There was something else with the miniature. Are you aware of what it was?”
He didn’t blink. “A handkerchief bearing the seal of the Prince Regent.”
“Then it truly is she.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Reveal my shame? Tell the Duke of Ravenscar about the ruination I have spent my entire life trying to forget?”
“That is why we are meeting under utmost secrecy. I entered Mother’s house by way of the mews, out of sight from passersby. Moreover, you have my word that what is said within these walls will remain here—I will even withhold the information from Miss LeClair if you desire, though she wishes to know the truth.” Drake took a breath. “I’ll say here and now; the young lady is not asking for money. She will not ruin your name or create a scandal. I stake my reputation on it.”
Lady Calthorpe rubbed the miniature between her fingertips. “Very well. If you will bear with me, I must go back to my debut Season if you will.”
“Please do.”
She clutched white-knuckled fists against her midriff. “My first ball was a masque at Carlton House. The Prince Regent was there, of course. It was his illustrious and pretentious home. He danced with me more than once, which was untoward. And truth be told, I wasn’t sure it was he until later. Toward the end of the evening, after a great deal of wine had been served, he coaxed me into a bedchamber, under the pretext of joining an exclusive game of charades.”
Drake cracked his thumb knuckles while rage burned in his chest. “The unmitigated rake.”
“True. I cannot bear to go into further detail except to say that in the midst of the deed, I ended up with the prince’s handkerchief in my fist, a baby in my womb, and I was ruined.” Her Ladyship again wiped her eyes.
“I feigned a malady of an incurable megrim and refused to attend another soiree until my father sent me home to Gloucester. You see, it was a few months before I knew I was with child. But I wanted nothing more to do with the ton or London or polite society.”
“I’m so very sorry,” Drake whispered.
With a release of a pent-up breath, she waved a hand through the air as if to brush away the past. “It was a long time ago, and I obviously have fared far better than my daughter.”
“But you said you went home to Gloucester. How did you end up in France?”
“When Napoleon was captured, Father thought provincial France was the ideal place for me to hide without being recognized. He sent me to Bayeux with a manservant and a lady’s maid—which is why I was so interested to hear the year of Miss LeClair’s birth at your mother’s soiree. How many children named Britannia are there from Bayeux?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s the one and only. But how did she end up with the LeClairs?”
“That’s where I lost her. I gave birth and named the child Britannia. A fortnight later, my lady’s maid and the manservant took the baby to have her christened. Suspecting they were up to something—I’ll say a daughter of the Duke of Beaufort remains vigilant—I secretly wrapped the miniature and handkerchief around the infant’s ankle, praying that, one day, those tokens would lead her back to me. I knew my father wouldn’t allow my illegitimate child under his roof.” Shaking her head, Her Ladyship drew a hand to her temple. “I was right, you know. I never saw Britannia again. And that hideous Mr. Gibbs—”
Drake’s gut clenched. “Did you say Gibbs?”
“I did. He has been father’s man since his Bow Street days.”
He took a bit of tea in an attempt to swallow his ire. Britannia had sought help from Gibbs as well. The scoundrel had a reputation as a man whose muscle was for hire, and he didn’t care whom he crossed. Word was Gibbs mightn’t have voluntarily left Bow Street either, but no one knew the truth. “Forgive me. I interrupted. Please go on.”
“As soon as I was able to travel, we returned to England. And though I begged, they refused to tell me where they’d taken Britannia, aside from saying, ‘she’ll be well cared for’. My father sent my lady’s maid somewhere in the north. And Mr. Gibbs? Well, he’s still carousing around London as you are aware. I loathe that man.”
When Drake arranged this meeting, he’d expected far less frankness from Her Ladyship. He’d even suspected her of being a party to the skullduggery plaguing Britannia, but now he had overwhelming doubts. “Are you aware that since Miss LeClair’s London debut, someone has been stalking the poor woman?”
The shock on Lady Calthorpe’s face was undeniable. “Oh, my heavens. You cannot be serious.”
“Unfortunately, it is true and it all seems to have started with the port wine incident at my mother’s soiree.”
“You’re not saying you blame me?”
“I have no idea whom to blame. I know Miss LeClair believes the spill to have been an accident.”
“It was. I was mortified.” Suddenly gasping, Her Ladyship drew her hand over her mouth as if she’d had an epiphany.
“What is it?”
“My father was standing beside me. It was his glass of port I knocked.”
“I recall. And, come to think of it, he said something discourteous under his breath. Something I didn’t quite understand.”
“I cannot be certain, but I now wonder if he shifted his glass on purpose, as if he wanted me to bump it.”
“I wonder.” Drake reached for the plate of biscuits and offered them to the baroness. “Perhaps I should pay a visit to His Grace.”
“My father wouldn’t tell a man the time of day unless he thought he might profit from it.” Lady Calthorpe took a morsel with white castor sugar and nibbled. “I will confront him myself.”
“Do you believe him to be the culprit?”
“I believe he is capable of any manner of malice. However, the only way to know for sure is to ask him.”
Her Ladyship returned the miniature which Drake, in turn, slipped into his pocket.
“May I have your permission to tell Miss LeClair about our conversation?” he asked.
“You may, but then I would like to schedule a private meeting with her. Perhaps at my town house?”
“Will that not be awkward for Lord Calthorpe?”
“Yes. Though it is nigh time I confessed to him what happened. I’ve hidden the shame of my past for too long.”
Drake pushed to his feet as the lady stood. “Are you certain? Perhaps we should remain vigilant. After all, why should we dig up the past only to mar your good standing, not to mention put your marriage in jeopardy?”
“No. Now that the truth has come about, it is time to stop living a lie. I will send Britannia an invitation to tea…perhaps once the dust settles.”
“I think Miss LeClair would like that very much.”
“You care for her, do you not?”
“I do, indeed.”
“’Tis a pity…”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Forgive me. I spoke out of turn. From my interaction with Miss…ah…my daughter, she has grown into a true gem.”
“Ravenscar to see you, miss,” announced the butler.
“Thank you.” Bria set her book aside as the duke strode into the parlor with an enormous grin.
Her heart skipped a beat while she rose. If she lived to be a hundred years of age, she would never find a man with a smile as endearing. “You’re early.” He usually came for a sip of sherry before she had to leave for the theater. But after Brighton…
He clasped her hand and kissed it. “I’ve missed you.”
“M
issed me? I cannot manage a complete thought for pining for you.” She thumped the book. “I’ve read the same silly page over and over and still have no idea what it says.”
Laughing, he grasped her waist and twirled her in a circle. “I have stupendous news!”
She braced herself on his shoulders. No, she shouldn’t let His Grace pick her up and spin her around, but it was too fun. “Stop,” she said, giggling.
He wrapped his arms around her while she slowly slid down his body. “Lady Calthorpe gave me leave to share the contents of our conversation with you.”
“Oh my!” Tears stung her eyes as she drew her fingers to her lips. “You’ve seen her already?”
Drake led her to the settee. “I have, and you’d best have a seat.”
As Bria listened to the duke’s story about his meeting with the baroness, tingles spread across her skin. “Lady Calthorpe is my mother?”
“I suspect you’re not surprised.”
Warmth spread through her—after all these years the mystery of the Grand-Duchesse had been solved. “No, though I barely allowed myself to hope.”
“She not only admitted to being your mother, she freely told me what happened.”
“I cannot believe they took me away from my mother at two weeks of age.”
“It is remarkable you survived. Moreover, you are the daughter of a king and a baroness. I knew you were too extraordinary to be a guttersnipe.”
“How can you say such a thing? The news confirms I am the by-blow of a prince who became a king who wasn’t well-liked, and a lady who hid her shame for over nineteen years.” Bria clutched a handkerchief over her heart while hundreds of emotions coursed through her. “I cannot tell you how elated I am to know who my parents were…are in Lady Calthorpe’s case. Though, doesn’t being a bastard lower me in your esteem?”
“You’d be surprised the percentage of bastards who mingle amongst the gentry. In my estimation, your parentage has merit.”
“I understand George sired a number of bastards, none of whom he legitimized.”
“That’s because he was a profligate spendthrift who cared only for himself.”
“Not exactly the type of man I want to refer to as Papa.”
“Whyever not? He did little to improve England whilst he sat on the throne, why not grant him a good deed from the grave?”
A tear spilled onto her cheek. “I love how you can twist every situation toward your favor.”
He winked. “’Tis a prerequisite for dukedom.”
Bria laughed. “Well, I suppose you can make your own rules.”
“Some. Not all.” Drake brushed a lock of hair from her forehead as he grew serious. “Regardless if we’ve solved the mystery of your parentage, we still have no idea who is behind the attacks on your person. Lady Calthorpe intends to discuss the matter with her father, but—”
“The Duke of Beaufort?”
“Yes.”
“Did he not have something to do with my placement with the LeClairs?”
“I imagine so. He’s the man who arranged for your mother to spend her confinement in France.”
“If Beaufort is responsible having them foster me, then surely he cares?”
“I wouldn’t be hasty to trust His Grace. And in the interim, I’m not letting you out of my sight for a moment.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Charlotte found her husband reading the Gazette in the drawing room while he sipped his morning coffee.
She cleared her throat. “I’ve asked the coachman to bring the carriage around.”
“Very well, dear.” Frederick Gough, Lord Calthorpe, didn’t bother to lower his paper.
As her finger traced the line of a table sculpture of two dancing nymphs, Charlotte’s heart raced. Last night, she’d paced her chamber for hours. She’d lived a lie for so many years. If only she could reveal the truth, if only she could square her shoulders and tell her husband about her transgressions and have it done with. They hadn’t been blessed with children—doubtless God’s penance for her sins.
Her fingers slipped on the statue, gravely aware that with her next words her life would change.
Charlotte still had her dower funds at her disposal. If Frederick cast her out, she could move to a cottage in the north and live out the rest of her days. Perhaps Britannia would even see fit to pay her a visit now and again.
“I’m off to call on my father.”
“Brave of you.” Freddy flipped the page over. “Have you received a summons from His Grace?”
“No. As a matter of fact, he is unaware of my impending visit.”
Again, the Gazette rustled. “Good strategy, my dear. Attack unawares. You would have made an excellent field marshal.”
“You may be right, especially since I’m going to speak to him about my daughter.” She froze, her hand gripping the statue, her heart thundering in her throat.
While Frederick lowered his paper, managing to breathe was impossible for Charlotte. Gray eyes focused on her, a myriad of emotions passing through them—confusion, shock, anger, horror and more. Her husband’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he slowly drew his finger across the right side of his moustache, then did the same to the left.
“Daughter, did you say?”
“I did.” With a sharp inhale, Charlotte raised her chin and squared her shoulders. “I am not proud of my youth. I fully accept that you have every right to turn me out, thrust me from your life, and never wish to see me again. But I can no longer hide the truth. In the year of our Lord 1814, I gave birth to a girl in Bayeux, France.”
Frederick coughed. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because, at long last, the young lady has found me. I was a coward not to have searched for her, but now that we have been reunited, I will not turn my back on her.”
“I see.” Frederick set the newspaper aside and strolled to the window. “Do you believe I did not know what happened?”
Charlotte pressed her palm into the figurine. “Of course you didn’t. How could you have known? Father ensured my shame—the family’s shame was tidily brushed under the carpet.”
“Indeed, Beaufort worked diligently to see that your reputation was not marred.” As if mesmerized with the rain outside, Frederick clasped his hands behind his back, refusing to face her. “I was there, Charlotte. Remember, we had the first dance of the evening?”
“At Carlton House?”
“All it took was one smile from you and I was smitten beyond saving.”
“But I thought my father—”
“He arranged everything, of course, but not before we discussed what had happened and why you suddenly disappeared. You see, I already knew. I overheard George’s audacious babble before he took you above stairs for your game of charades. I heard his lies. I heard you question him as you ought. He lied about there being a gaming room up there. But I had no idea what he would do.”
Charlotte’s fingers slid from the statue and clamped around her midriff. “No…”
“I did, however, suspect what had transpired when, later, you raced out the door, your hair askew, your eyes filled with tears.”
“You saw me?” she asked in a chilled whisper.
“I bore witness, and if George were not the Prince Regent, I would have challenged him to a duel.” Frederick turned, his eyes tortured and glistening. “I loved you then and I love you more now. I am not a handsome man, Charlotte. I am not a dandy like so many debutantes desire. When it was clear you would not be returning to London, I approached your father with an offer and he accepted.”
A tear slipped onto her cheek. “All this time you knew I had a daughter, but never told me?”
He, too, wiped his eyes. “Your father said the child had been well placed and it was best to let the past lie. I had no reason to doubt him, or his wishes to never mention her. Beaufort felt doing so would cause you too much pain.”
“But the people who fostered her died.” Moving closer, Charlotte kept her hands clen
ched at her middle. “At the age of fourteen, the fosterer’s brother told her she was a foundling and turned her out with nothing.”
“Good God.”
“That’s exactly how I feel.” She took her husband’s hand. “And you’re wrong. You are the most handsome dandy I’ve ever known, and you have made me happy every day of these past years.”
He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed. “Then I will not keep you. Go make your peace with the duke. Would you like me to come along for moral support?”
No matter how much she wanted to lean on Frederick’s arm, it would be cowardly to do so. “I’m a grown woman now. I will face my father alone.”
“Then I shall honor your wishes. Send up a white flag if you need my assistance.”
As Bria prepared for the final performance of La Sylphide, not only sadness but worry stretched her heart.
Out of breath, a lad popped his head inside the dressing room door. “She’s not at the boarding house.”
“Zut alors!” Only a half-hour until the overture was due to start, Bria looked to Pauline’s untouched toilette. She could wait no longer. They always covered for each other but, this time, her friend had left things too late.
She found Monsieur Travere on stage, rehearsing something new with a few of the girls from the corps.
“Monsieur, may I have a word?”
“What is it?”
Bria pulled him aside. “Pauline isn’t here. It’s not like her to be this late. I’m worried.”
“Do you have any idea where she might be?”
“None. I sent a lad to the boarding house to fetch her, but she’s not there either.” Mentioning Pauline’s arrangement with Lord Saye would only put her friend in more trouble, so Bria turned the blame to herself. “Ever since I moved into my rooms, Pauline and I have not checked on each other as we ought.”
“And she’s been keeping company with a viscount.”
“You knew about that?”
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