by Autumn Rose
She was at the stage where she wanted to know what everything was, and would point or bring things to her mother or father, asking “Dis? Mama?” waiting for the name of the object. She seemed to know that she could not just point with her father, and would bring him things to feel, and wait patiently while the duke ran his hands around a pebble or sniffed a flower.
Sam was enjoying the visitors also. As he had hoped, the duke and duchess were able to put all the members of the party at ease. The viscount, who was older than the duke, had gotten to know him well in the past two years through their political alliance, and the two had gone from being acquaintances to fast friends despite the disparity in age and experience. Even Lavinia had relaxed, and in one private conversation had admitted to Sam that against her will she was beginning to ponder if Miranda would be such a bad match for Jeremy. “Perhaps there is some way, if they still seem sure at the end of the summer, to create a background for Mrs. Dillon?”
Sam laughed. “Lavinia, you never fail to surprise and delight me.” She looked at him, nonplussed. “Here you are, on one hand, softening from your position, and on the other, trying to concoct some romantic story about Nora’s… I mean Mrs. Dillon’s past.”
“Well, you must admit there is some mystery there,” Lavinia replied huffily. “She is clearly a well-bred woman. Even I have to admit that. So what is she doing living in Hampstead and writing novels for a living?”
“I don’t know,” Sam admitted. But I intend to find out, he continued to himself.
Sam had watched Miranda becoming more at ease, and Nora relaxing in the company of Simon and Judith. In fact, he found himself becoming less and less interested in Miranda and Jeremy; it was becoming clear they would probably make an excellent couple. Lavinia was becoming resigned, and despite her mysterious adamance, Nora would surely have to give in. So he quite often found himself watching Mrs. Dillon. As she held Sophy on her lap, he could see the young Miranda and Nora. She spoke as naturally and expertly to Simon on thumb-sucking as on the poems of Byron. She was winning over Lavinia without trying, was a wonderful counterbalance to his mother for Jeremy, and Sam realized he could very easily find himself falling in love with her.
One evening, well into the second week of the visit, they were all gathered in the drawing room. Most nights they talked or played cards, but this evening Lavinia had wandered over to the pianoforte and started to play. She was actually the only one of the ladies who did play, an unusual fact, given that women were expected to have a little music, but none of the other women had had the time or money for lessons.
Lavinia played several etudes and then went into folk songs, “for I have not heard you sing in such a long time, Sam, and you have such a lovely baritone.” Sam smiled down at her, remembering evenings around the piano when Charles was still alive. They all sang songs familiar to everyone, challenged each other to remember every verse of “Barbara Allen,” and then Sam began to sing, letting Lavinia follow him, finding her way after the first verse.
The provost’s daughter went a-walking one day
Oh, but her love was easy won
And she heard a Scots prisoner a-makin’ his moan
And she was the flower of Northumberland.
Sam was good at dialect, and rolling his R’s, he continued the story of the maiden who ran off to Scotland, only to be sent back at the border by the man who had used her. It was a favorite of his, and he quite forgot about the unsuitability of the subject matter until he was halfway through, at which point it was too late to do anything but pretend he had forgotten a few lines, the ones where the lover referred to the lady as a “brazenfaced hoor,” and at the end apologized. “But for all that it is crude, it is one of my favorites,” declared the viscount, “for the tune and because in this version the maiden is welcomed back home. In too many of these ballads, the wronged maiden kills herself!”
They all laughed except for Nora. Sam had not looked at her directly while he was singing, for he had been concentrating too hard. Now he noticed that her face was white and her eyes suspiciously bright. As the others begged Lavinia for more, Nora left the group and sat down in the corner. Sam immediately followed and drew up a footstool next to her.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Dillon?”
As Nora looked up, Sam saw a tear rise and spill over. He had almost put his hand out to brush it gently away when he realized what he was about to do.
“I thought it was a rather happy ending myself,” he said, trying to tease her out of her sadness.
“Oh, but I know that song, and the story does not always end that way. In some versions, the parents are not as eager to welcome home the prodigal daughter.” She stood up, visibly shaken, and said quietly, “I fear I am indisposed, my lord. Will you let me slip away this evening and give my excuses to the others?”
“I will never sing again if it affects you this strongly,” Sam replied lightly, trying to get her to smile, and she did, fleetingly, before she went away, leaving him there puzzled and concerned.
* * * *
Nora had not heard that song for years, and she was as taken aback by her own reaction as the viscount. At fourteen or fifteen she had heard it sung by an old ballad singer at a fair and had romantically imagined herself as that young girl whose love was “so easy won,” just as she herself had imagined herself as Lady Margaret when hearing the story of Tarn Lin. What a foolish young woman I was, indeed, she thought despairingly as she undressed and climbed into bed. But once she had blown the candles out and pulled the covers up, the song would not leave her, and she could only cry for that poor young maiden, knowing, of course, she was crying for herself.
Chapter 16
Nora took breakfast in her room the next morning, since her face and her puffy eyes told all too well the story of the night before. She reassured Miranda that she was just tired, and sent her down for her ride. After the maid had removed the tray, she sat for a while, determined to face her dilemma. It was obvious Miranda and Jeremy were not in the throes of calf love, but quite committed to one another. Nora had had great hopes, after the visit to Hampstead, of Lady Whitford, but underneath her snobbery, there was a good-hearted woman who wished her son happy. Her manner had softened so much over the last two weeks that it was clear that, while she might yet protest the match, in the end she would give in. And the viscount? Nora was really rather annoyed with him. He seemed to have lost his hostility toward her and her daughter almost immediately, and had been acting in ways which could only encourage the connection. Why on earth did he have to invite such lovely people as the duke and duchess? They were unlikely to intimidate anyone, and it seemed the duchess herself, although of good background, had married above her station quite successfully. Well, there had always been a risk, thought Nora. And so I am left to forbid the official betrothal. Thank God we are leaving tomorrow.
When she finally dressed and went downstairs, she found everyone gone out, to her great relief, since she was not up to answering solicitous questions. She slipped out the French doors of the morning room into the small garden at the side of the house. Someone had planted informal herb beds, which reminded Nora of her own garden. She loved the wild look of the bergamot and spearmint and rue, riotously growing behind hip-high borders of lavender. As always, anything green soothed her, and she was lost in the heady scent around her as she walked toward the stone bench at the end of the path. She was startled to find she was not alone. The duke was sitting there already, while Sophy played in the path, using twigs and stones to build small houses peopled by iridescent dead beetles.
Simon looked up as he heard her approach, and Nora quickly identified herself. The duke smiled as he heard her kneel down and question Sophy about her house and her babies. The little girl babbled away, and again Nora was caught by a memory of her own Miranda, so happy and so good, playing the same game on a dusty country road as they waited for the public coach to bring them one more stage of their journey from Edinburgh. Nora got up, and brushing h
er skirt off, sat next to Simon.
“I am always amazed at how well she can entertain herself,” said the duke as he listened to his daughter’s “conversations.”
“Yes, I was just remembering Miranda at that age.” Her voice trembled, and Simon could hear the distress lying under her polite response. She had left the group very early last night and had not been down in the morning for the first time since their arrival, and he wondered what could be troubling her.
“Sophy?”
“Yes, Papa?”
“Could you take your babies in to show Nellie?”
Sophy nodded, and Nora smiled at the thought of the housekeeper’s response to three desiccated insects!
“Come, take Papa’s hand, and Mrs. Dillon and I will bring you to her.”
Simon took Nora’s arm and they walked back to the house, where Nora rang for Nellie and saw Sophy safely in her charge.
“Thank you, Nellie,” the duke said. “Now, Mrs. Dillon…”
“Nora, your grace.”
“Oh, I may be informal, but you may not?” quizzed Simon.
“I am sorry, Simon. I am a little preoccupied this morning.”
“Would you come for a walk with me? I did not want to ride this morning, but I’d enjoy some exercise. Or were you seeking privacy in the garden?”
“I would be delighted to accompany you, as long as it is not too much of a ramble. I am really not dressed for the woods.”
“I thought we could wander down the path at the back of the house. That will only take us across lawn, as I recall.”
They were quiet as they walked, commenting only upon the weather, until they reached the end of the path.
“I could spread my coat and we can rest from our exertion,” Simon suggested.
“Oh, no, the grass is dry,” Nora said. “And that was hardly a long walk for me.”
“I was teasing, Nora,” Simon replied gently, knowing that Nora must indeed be upset, since they were usually quick to respond to each other’s joking.
They sat for a few moments in silence, and then Simon broke it.
“Something in your voice makes me think that you are upset. I don’t mean to pry, but is there anything I can do to help?” Simon was not sure how, or indeed whether, to continue. He and Sam had had a long conversation, and he was well aware of the purpose of the Dillons’ visit. He felt, from what he had come to know of them, that Jeremy and Lavinia would be very lucky to have them part of the family. Sam had mentioned Nora’s objections, but surely such a loving mother would not, in the end, interfere with her daughter’s happiness?
Nora had become so in the habit of shouldering her own burdens that she rarely experienced the desire to let them all go. But after watching Miranda and Jeremy for two weeks, not only did she realize it would be up to her to sever the connection, but that she might be hurting her daughter beyond repair. She had, with some success, pushed her concern to the back of her mind, and acted naturally. But last night had brought home to her what must happen, and she was unable to ignore the duty ahead of her. And she was also, it seemed, unable to handle it alone, for as soon as she heard the sympathy in Simon’s voice, she started to cry.
“Oh, dear, I seem to have been crying the clock round,” she sniffed.
“How can I help?” Simon asked.
“No one can, Simon. That is the problem. I am only reaping the results of a mistake I made years ago, and Miranda will be the one who suffers most. Oh, I tried so hard to protect her,” she said despairingly. “How could I ever have foreseen this?”
“You must tell me,” Simon said, struck by the depth of her feeling.
“Can I trust you?… Yes, I do feel that I can…but how could you ever understand?” Nora took a deep breath and became more coherent. “If I tell you my story, your grace, it must be kept a secret. I know you are a good friend of the viscount’s, but no one must ever know of this. I shouldn’t tell you…but I must talk to someone.”
Simon reached out, found Nora’s hands, and held them. “I promise that unless you give me leave, I will never repeat what you tell me.”
“Did you listen to the song the viscount sang last night?”
“Yes,” said Simon, wondering at this seeming change in direction.
“Well, I am that ‘maiden.’ Or rather, I was that maiden,” said Nora with a tinge of bitterness in her voice. “When I was seventeen, I ran away with a handsome young Scotsman, just like the provost’s daughter. Actually,” she added with a strained humor, “he was a charming Irishman, but he lived in Scotland, and my love was ‘easy won.’ We were to be married at Gretna…”
“Of course,” murmured Simon.
“Somehow, we never got there. We went directly to Edinburgh. We did not keep apart from one another, Simon,” Nora said in a low voice. “And it was not Breen’s fault. I was as much to blame. But I became pregnant…” Nora could feel Simon stiffen, and was almost unable to continue. “I am not Mrs. Nora Dillon, widow of a sailor, but Lady Honora Margaret Ashton, and Miranda is illegitimate. Now you know why she can never marry the Earl of Alverstone,” and Nora pulled her hands out of Simon’s and turned away.
Simon sat back, trying to absorb what he had just heard. The mystery was solved. Nora was indeed from a good family. But she was right. Illegitimate daughters did not usually marry into highborn families, no matter what their background. And yet, he thought, surprising himself, must it come out?
“And this man, Breen, is he really dead?”
“Oh, yes, he died in a tavern brawl after someone accused him of cheating at hazard. We were to have been married that week.” Simon was silent and Nora continued.
“I am sure you have lost all respect for me, your grace, but when we eloped I loved him so much…and was…so physically drawn to him, that we seemed to be living in another world, one where it didn’t matter whether one had said one’s vows in public, if one had in private. And then we were in Edinburgh only a short time before he was killed.”
Nora’s embarrassment at speaking about physical desire was palpable, and Simon, who knew gentlewomen were supposed to be passionless, yet reveled in the passionate nature of his own wife, knew not how to address the question. It was not a subject to be discussed, except in the privacy of the marriage bed. Or with a mistress, thought Simon inconsequentially.
“And when Breen was killed? Why did you not go home?”
“I wrote to my father and he never answered me. Breen’s uncle and aunt helped me for a while, but I did not want to be too dependent so I took Miranda and came south. Hampstead seemed like a good place to bring up a child, and so I stayed.”
“How did you support yourself at first?”
“I had a very little I had kept for such an emergency. It got us to Hampstead. And then I worked as a barmaid.”
“Who watched Miranda?” Simon asked, shocked to hear how difficult Nora’s life had been.
“We were so lucky, Sam. The owner of one of the local taverns was understanding and his wife had two children of her own, so Miranda would play with them and sleep upstairs while I worked.”
“How did you manage to stand such a job?”
“Oh, I was young, and I had no other choice.”
“But didn’t it leave you open to all kinds of…” Simon wasn’t sure how to continue.
“Offers? Of course. But one learns to laugh away drunken proposals. You are shocked, your grace?” Nora asked somewhat coldly.
“No. Yes. Well, also utterly astounded by how much you have coped with.”
“I had to. I never thought much about it. I just did it. And Miranda…well, she was the joy of my life. I tell you, Simon, I have never for a moment, until now, regretted my choice, for I had her. And my regret now is not for me, but that I must bring heartbreak to her.”
Simon sat quietly, trying to absorb all he had heard. He was a little shocked at what she had revealed. He didn’t know what he would have felt had it been Judith’s story. Would he have married her had s
he been Nora, or Miranda? He thought not, although he was ashamed to admit it. Am I that conventional? he wondered. He thought back on the past week. There was nothing in either mother or daughter that was not fine, intelligent, and honest. If he hadn’t heard this story, would he have objected? No. Now that he had? He still could not object.
“If Breen is dead, and no one knows your secret, then why not just let Miranda marry Jeremy?”
Nora looked at Simon in surprise. “Why, how could I let them, knowing what I know? If I didn’t care about Jeremy…and his family, it would be different.”
“What does Miranda think?”
“She doesn’t know,” Nora replied flatly.
“Nora, how can you forbid her marriage to Jeremy without telling her her history?”
“I can’t. That is why I am so overset. She will hate me for causing her so much heartbreak.” Nora knew if she let one more tear fall, she would never stop crying, so she sat there rigidly controlling her emotions.
“You are well-named ‘Honora.’ But as much as I admire honesty, I still believe it best in this situation to lie…or at least, not reveal the truth. I am surprised to hear myself say that, but as a friend of the family, and as, I hope, your friend, I cannot see the use in opening up the past.”
“I must tell Miranda,” replied Nora. “More and more I am convinced she has a right to know. She can then make her own decision, and I would abide by it.”
“Tell me, Nora, if Jeremy were to agree to the marriage, having heard the truth from you or Miranda, would you feel honor-bound to tell anyone else?”
“I suppose it would be enough for me that he knew, since he is the one most closely concerned.”
“Can I at least persuade you to give him a choice? To tell Miranda and Jeremy and see how he reacts?”