by Mary Nichols
‘No. Do you wish me to go on?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘My son returned as soon as the roads were cleared and he was ecstatic with joy to find his wife with a beautiful son. He was christened Thomas and the whole village rejoiced.’
‘I wonder what Mama was thinking at that time?’ Louise said aloud. ‘And Papa.’
‘I cannot speak for them, you will have to ask them yourself. But as far as I know they were happy with their daughter, as my son was with his heir. He doted on him. They became a completely happy family. The child thrived… Both children did. Until…’ Her eyes clouded over and she felt reluctant to go on.
‘Until?’ Louise prompted.
‘Until Thomas died in a tragic accident at the age of five. Augustus went out of his mind with grief. He blamed Catherine and, though he is my son, I must be honest and say he treated her cruelly. She was convinced it was a visitation of God for her deception. She became wild and hysterical and took to drinking to ease her pain. Augustus sent for me to try to calm her and I came at once. I have never left since.’
‘Poor Mama,’ Louise murmured, but she was not thinking of the Countess when she said it. The vicarage must have been a very unhappy place at that time too because she did not think her mother would ever be able to forget she had given birth to the little boy.
‘Catherine went up Moresdale Hill and stood poised to jump off where Thomas had fallen to his death, but Hamish, who always accompanied me wherever I went, followed her and dragged her to safety and carried her home. It was then she told me the story. She was determined to confess all to her husband; she wanted to try and take you back. I begged her not to do so. It would not mend anything; Augustus would undoubtedly punish her and reject you, and it would ruin other lives too. You could not be uprooted from a loving family to come and live here. This place was dark and cold with unimaginable grief; you would have been miserable. The deed had been done, it could not be undone. I told her she must never breathe a word of it to a living soul.’
‘Mama and Papa left Moresdale about that time,’ Louise said.
‘Yes. I advised the vicar to leave. Catherine had become used to seeing you about the village with your mama and I was afraid she might break down and grab you back.’
‘Does the Earl know the truth now?’
‘No. He never did and I pray he never will.’
‘What happened to the Countess?’ The woman was her mother, but she could not bring herself to call her that.
‘She never really recovered her wits and began to drink more and more; guilt and misery and the strain of carrying that secret were too much for her. She had to be confined for her own safety. My son was afraid she might harm herself and he thought she would be better somewhere where she could be kept safe and where the peace and quiet would help her recover. Unfortunately that seems not to have happened, according to my son.’
‘Poor lady.’ Louise was entirely absorbed in the story.
‘My son resides in London and rarely comes to Moresdale,’ the old lady went on. ‘I am left here alone to moulder away along with the building, trying to keep up appearances.’ She paused and reached out to put a hand on Louise’s arm. ‘Now you know it all, I beg of you do not cause trouble or you may find yourself declared mad and in the same situation as Catherine.’
‘I would not dream of it.’ It was all too much to take in. She was relieved to know she was not illegitimate, that she was in fact the daughter of an Earl and his Countess, but as the old lady pointed out, it was a secret that could not be told. ‘Does Viscount Leinster know?’
‘No. His purpose in coming to me was to persuade me to see you. He asked no questions. Whether you tell him or not is up to you, but I beg of you, do not let it become common knowledge. No good can come of it.’ The old lady was exhausted from telling her tale, but she managed a wan smile. ‘I believe he wants to marry you.’
‘He says he does.’
‘What about you?’
‘I love him dearly but he will be making a huge sacrifice to marry me and I cannot allow him to do it.’
‘I think you should let him be the judge of that. As your grandmother, I give you my blessing.’
‘Grandmother,’ Louise repeated in wonder. ‘So you are. I never thought of that.’
‘Grandmother for a day only. You must go away and never come back,’ the old lady insisted.
‘I am sorry for that. I am glad I met you. I only wish I could have met the Countess.’
‘It is for the best, child. Meeting you would throw her back into the abyss.’
Louise sat on, unable to take it all in. She found herself thinking of her adopted mother and how she must have felt at losing her son in that horrible way and yet she had still looked after Louise and loved her as a daughter. Never, in all the years, had Louise ever felt unwanted.
‘Now I am tired…’ It was a clear dismissal.
As Louise rose to go, Hamish returned. Louise was surprised; the old lady had not rung a bell and perhaps the servant had been listening at the door. Louise hoped he was as discreet and faithful as the Countess believed him to be. He walked over to the Countess and bent to whisper something in her ear. He seemed agitated, which he had never been before, and he glanced at Louise as he spoke.
Listening, the old lady looked shocked. She was shaking as she rose and picked up a walking stick, but her voice, when she spoke, was steady. ‘I have to go. Hamish will take you back.’
‘There is no need. I can easily walk. I need to think.’
‘Very well. Hamish, wait two minutes after I have gone, then take Miss Vail to the gate, then come back to me.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ He looked doubtful. ‘You will be all right?’
‘Of course I will. You are too fussy. Goodbye, Miss Vail.’ She walked slowly out of the room.
Although Louise rose, ready to leave, Hamish obeyed his employer to the letter and stood, doing nothing but allow the two minutes to pass. Then he said, ‘Follow me, Miss Vail.’
He took her back along the corridor and down the stairs, walking slowly and sedately with Louise behind him in a dream. It must surely be a dream? It was too bizarre to be real. Never in her wildest imagination, and there had been theories enough, had she imagined anything like this.
They were on the ground floor, passing the closed doors, but one was not properly shut and the dowager’s voice drifted out to her. ‘Catherine, what are you doing here? Does Augustus know?’
And then she heard the quiet reply, ‘He is dead, Mama. Of a heart attack. It is all over. I am free.’
Louise stumbled and would have stopped, but Hamish turned and glared at her, waiting for her to keep up with him. She could not turn aside; he would have physically stopped her if she had. He took her down the drive under its dark canopy of trees, to the gate, watched her pass through, then shut it after her. She was alone on the road.
Slowly, on leaden feet, she began to walk down the hill to the village, trying to think what the revelation could mean to her. Everything had changed and yet nothing had. She had asked how a mother could give away a child, meaning herself, but she had not been the only one given away. There was Thomas. She wondered what would have happened had he grown up and then learned the truth. What would the Earl have done? What would her parents have done? When had Papa learned the truth? Knowing how close they were, she supposed her mother could not keep it from him. How had he reacted? He was a parson, committed to the truth. He would have been appalled. But he had ultimately accepted the situation and been a good father to her. She was still the adopted daughter of the Reverend Vail and his wife, still too lowly to be considered a suitable wife for Viscount Leinster. Knowing she came of noble birth could make no difference, because it could not be told.
Her steps quickened and then became faster and faster until she was running, tumbling down the hill, almost falling over her own feet. Her hat fell off down her back and the pins came out of her hair, so that it tumbled about
her shoulders. The village green was deserted except for some children playing with a mongrel dog. She sped across it and into the church where she sank on to her knees at the back and prayed as she had never prayed before. She prayed for understanding, for the humility to accept what she had learned about herself, for the strength to go back to Chipping Barnet and face her mother, for the courage to reject Jonathan if he asked her to marry him again.
Chapter Eleven
Jonathan, leaning against a tree idly watching the children, saw her mad dash and followed her. He stood at the back of the church watching her prostrate herself and his heart went out to her. Whatever she had learned had not filled her with joy; it was up to him to convince her it did not matter. He waited patiently until she crossed herself and rose to her feet. She turned and saw him.
He smiled, holding out both hands to her. She hesitated and then walked slowly towards him. She did not return his smile, nor did she take his hands. ‘Was it so very bad?’ he asked quietly, dropping his arms to his side.
She did not answer that. ‘You asked the Countess to see me. You went behind my back. Did you think she would tell you the truth and not me?’
‘No. I did not ask for explanations. I asked her to consider talking to you because I knew how important it was to you. You vowed not to give up and go home until you had spoken to her.’
‘I changed my mind.’
‘I did not know you were going to do that yesterday when I spoke to her.’
‘No, but all the same…’ She stopped; it was unfair of her to take her unhappiness out on him. ‘Oh, it does not matter now.’
‘What happened? What did she say?’
‘I cannot tell you.’
‘Then do not. It does not make the slightest difference to me.’
She gave a harsh laugh. ‘Oh, it is not what you think.’
‘What, then?’
‘It is not who I am or what I am that has upset me so much as what they did, the way they ordered their children’s lives, as if they were animals to be bartered and not human beings. I find that impossible to comprehend.’
He pulled her down beside him into a pew. ‘Who are they?’
‘The Countess and my adoptive mother, and the nurse too…’
In spite of himself, he was intrigued. ‘I think now you have started, you had better go on.’ It was said quietly, but it was an instruction none the less, almost an order. ‘I will not tell another soul unless you give me leave.’
‘The Dowager said it was up to me whether I told you, but she does not want it noised abroad. Too many people would be hurt.’
‘I am listening. I will say nothing.’
Bit by bit he dragged the story out of her, prompting her when she stumbled. At first she was dry-eyed, but as she related how the babies were changed, the tears began to flow. He put his arm about her shoulders and held her close, kissing the top of her head. She hardly seemed to notice, so involved was she in her tale. In any case he did not know what to say. He was almost as surprised as she had been and was too concerned with how she must be feeling to analyse his own reaction. It was a minute or two before he felt the relief of learning she was not a bastard. She was a trueborn gentlewoman, and his marriage to her would be acceptable—more than acceptable, would be received with joy and satisfaction among relations and friends—but this was quickly followed by the realisation that the truth could not be made public. For one brief second, his heart sank, but it was only a tiny pause before he realised it did not make a jot of difference to him. He would marry her regardless.
He was tempted to repeat his proposal, but she was still too full of her interview with the Dowager and what she had been told to listen to what he had to say. It could keep. ‘Are you ready to go home now?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ She looked up at him and smiled wanly through her tears. ‘There is so much I want to ask Mama. About Thomas and why she agreed to the exchange. He lived for five years, five years when she would often have seen him about the village with the Countess or his nurses and certainly in church every Sunday. How could she bear it?’
‘She had you.’
‘Yes, and I suppose the same applied to the Countess—she had Thomas. At least at first. I am finding it very difficult to grasp any of it.’
‘I can understand that, but it was done and there is no undoing it.’ He paused. ‘You do not want to try and undo it, do you?’
‘No, it is much too late. It was too late on the day I was born. It was certainly too late when Thomas died. Poor little boy.’
‘He wasn’t poor, Louise. He had everything a child could wish for and his death was a tragic accident, due perhaps to his adventurous nature and the negligence of those who should have been looking after him.’
‘Yes, you are right, but I think I had the best of the bargain, don’t you?’
‘Undoubtedly,’ he said, standing up and taking her hand to pull her to her feet. ‘Let us go back to the Shepherd’s Crook. Tomorrow we begin our journey south. It is too late to make a start tonight.’
Hand in hand they left the church and walked towards the gate. They were halfway when he led her off the path and across the grass to a monument, which he had seen earlier while waiting for her. He did not speak, but stopped in front of it. It was elaborately carved with cherubs and wreaths. Louise read the inscription. ‘In loving and abiding memory of Thomas Augustus Fellowes, Viscount Thirsk, only son of the Earl and Countess of Moresdale, taken to rest on the 10th of March 1745, aged 5 years. RIP.’
‘Better that he never knew,’ she murmured, crossing herself. ‘We must leave him in peace.’
Together they turned and walked away.
After supper that evening, Betty went with Joe to help look after the horses, though how much of that she did and how much time was spent watching him work and then enjoying his kisses in the room above, no one but they knew. It was still daylight and the air was balmy; Jonathan took Louise for a walk up the hill behind the inn.
They stopped and sat on the rock where they had rested before when she told him the true reason for her journey. So much had happened, it was impossible to believe it was only three evenings ago. And the wonder of it was he had not condemned her, nor her parents, nor the Countess. But he was not the one in turmoil, not any more. His doubts had been resolved.
‘Darling,’ he said, taking both her hands in his. ‘Yesterday when I asked you to marry me, I did not know the truth, but I wanted you to know how I felt about you no matter what you discovered. Today I feel no different. I am still determined to make you my wife.’
‘Even if you cannot tell your parents who I really am?’
‘Louise, I am twenty-five years old and of independent means. I am perfectly able to choose a wife for myself and the wife I have chosen is you. And I am convinced when they meet you and get to know you, they will love you as I do.’ He took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly, starting with her forehead and then her nose and then her cheeks, one at a time, and then her lips. It was nothing like his previous kisses, the one short, with no pressure to speak of, the other fierce and demanding. These kisses were gentle but persuasive. He put all his love, all his hopes, all his passion into them, murmuring her name, telling her how much he adored her, until she really began to believe it.
‘Oh, Jonathan, do you think it is possible?’
‘Possible?’ He laughed, playing with her fingers. ‘More than possible. A certainty.’
She was still doubtful. Nothing had really changed. She was still Louise Vail, still, according to the world, the daughter of a parson. ‘I am afraid…’
‘Afraid, Louise? You, my intrepid adversary, are afraid? What is there to be afraid of? Do you think my love will not last?’ He paused. ‘Shall I tell you something?’
‘Go on.’
‘No one would think it to look at them, but my parents’ marriage has been far from happy. My father has had a string of mistresses and my mother has had lovers. And my sister is married to
a brute who beats her and yet she will not leave him. Marriage should not be like that. It put me off and I vowed to think long and hard before venturing into it.’ He gave her a rueful grin. ‘And what do I do? In the space of a se’nnight, I fall headlong in love with a madcap of a girl who is half-convinced she should have been a man.’
‘I am not,’ she pro tested. ‘I never thought that!’
‘That is just as well, for you are far too beautiful to be a boy and you have curves where boys should not have curves.’ He stroked his finger down over her cheek, down her throat and across the top of her stays, sending shivers of delight through her body. ‘But that is by the bye. What I am trying to say is that, when it came to it, I did not need to think because I knew. I knew as night follows day that no other woman would do for me. It is you or no one.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, Jonathan, I should hate to condemn you to the life of a lonely bachelor.’
His eyes lit up. ‘Is that a yes? You do love me and you will marry me?’
‘Yes, I do love you and I will marry you.’
He let out a huge breath of relief. ‘Thank the good Lord. I do not know what I would have done if you had refused me again.’
He put his arm about her shoulder and with his other hand took her chin and turned her face towards him. He had never seen those extraordinary eyes look so bright. He bent to kiss her lips. She put her arms about his neck and kissed him back, finding it hard to believe it would all come right for her. There were still questions she needed to ask, but the answers were back in Chipping Barnet. And it did not matter now. She had Jonathan and she would soon have a new name, one which was truly hers.
‘If we are going to spend another week or more travelling together, I am going to find it almost impossible to maintain even a pretence of being a gentleman,’ he told her, when he stopped for breath. ‘For the sake of your reputation and my sanity, we ought to be married first.’
‘But how can we do that? There is a new law about having one’s intention to marry read out in church for three consecutive weeks before the ceremony.’