by Lenora Bell
Wait. His what?
“Your what?” Mari asked.
Mrs. Trilby’s jaw flapped open. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh I’m deadly serious,” he said. “I have a ring in my waistcoat pocket.”
He did? Their eyes met, and Mari saw the truth there.
“But, but . . .” sputtered Mrs. Trilby. “Dukes don’t marry governesses.”
“No buts, Mrs. Trilby,” said Mari in grand, trilling tones. She walked imperiously to Edgar and slid her arm through his. “Good day to you, Mrs. Trilby.”
And she stuck her nose in the air, as any future duchess might, and sailed out of the room on the duke’s arm.
And she didn’t stop sailing grandly until they reached his carriage. Then her shoulders deflated, as if she’d been a hot air balloon descending from the sky.
“That was a very nice thing to do, Edgar. But I know you don’t really want to marry me.”
“Yes, I do.”
She sighed. “You just think you do, because you’re so honorable and you’ll do the right thing by me, as you did by your children. Not because it fits with your life, but because it’s the right thing to do. And that’s no reason to be married.”
His face closed up, just as it had when his mother walked in the room during Lady India’s antiquities exhibition. She’d wounded him, which was all for the best.
She’d been hiding too much from him.
This love was a double-sided coin, forged by sadness.
One side of the coin, love, longing, and hope. The other side, the keen edge of loss and the bitter taste of tears.
Oh she would shed tears. So many tears. When this ended. When she could never see Michel and Adele again. When she was banned from their sight. When he wed another.
She laid a hand on his arm. “I release you from any obligation. Now if you’ll just convey me to Cheapside, I’m late for an appointment with a lawyer.”
“I don’t want to be released from any obligations,” Edgar protested.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Mari said. “You’re wondering if everything Mrs. Trilby said about me is true. Well, it’s all true.”
Actually, Edgar had been thinking about how beautiful she was. About the way her skin glowed from within with a light that was all her own.
“I . . . deceived you,” said Mari. “I was going to tell you today, after my meeting with the lawyer. There are unknown circumstances about me and my life and I was hoping to find some answers before I had the conversation with you.”
The easy rapport they’d shared at the seashore was gone.
Forever? No, he refused to believe that.
“What are the unknown circumstances?” he asked.
“I never wanted to lie to you. Everything I’ve told you was as close to the truth as possible. I said that I never knew my mother and that my father was a distant figure. I’m an orphan, Edgar. Raised in a charity school.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me? Did you honestly think that I would have turned you out for being educated at a charity school?”
“The man I met in your library on that first day was looking for any excuse to throw me out.”
“Mari, I didn’t know you then. So much has happened. I’ve changed. You’ve changed me—”
“I lack the requirements for governess to a duke,” she interrupted, her tone formal and wooden. “I wasn’t educated in an elite school. I’m not of good family, I don’t even know my parentage.”
“But I don’t understand. How did you find out about the position if you didn’t possess the qualifications for it?”
“I came to London because I’d been promised a position as governess to a tradesperson with a large brood of children. My trunk was stolen at the coaching inn and I was fifteen minutes late for my appointment with Mrs. Trilby. She threw me out into the street and refused to offer any assistance. I was desperate. Alone and friendless in an unfamiliar city.”
“I’ll close down her agency,” Edgar promised. “She can’t get away with treating people like that.”
Mari placed a hand on his arm. “I’m the one who acted wrongly. I overheard Miss Dunkirk telling Mrs. Trilby that she’d left your household. I saw my opportunity and I seized it.”
He took a deep breath. “So you blustered your way into my house and you’re of uncertain parentage. As I’ve said before, you’re not a typical governess. Just as I’m not an ordinary duke. Don’t forget that I left the aristocracy for seven years and lived as a foundry worker.”
“I know, Edgar, I know. You’re nothing like I thought you would be. You’re not unyielding or arrogant. But right now, can you please take me to Cheapside? I’m already late for my appointment with the lawyer. I may learn the truth about my origins today. This could change everything. For better . . . or for worse.”
He’d take her anywhere she wanted to go. He’d take her to the Archbishop for a special license, if she’d let him. But the urgency in her voice made him realize that this appointment with the lawyer was extremely important to her.
He gave the instructions to the coachman and climbed into the carriage. They would sort everything out. This couldn’t be the way things ended.
As they neared the lawyer’s offices, Mari’s shoulders tensed.
“Are you anxious?” he asked.
“Terrified. I’ve thought about this moment for so many years. Imagined so many possibilities.”
He clasped her hand. “I’m here with you. We’ll face this together, whatever it turns out to be.”
Mari stared at the carpet. She hadn’t noticed it when she’d been here before, but now she stared at the pattern in a daze. Gold ornamental urns strung together with garlands of red and blue roses. Blue roses?
“What did you just say, Mr. Shadwell?” she asked.
“Mr. Lumley of Lumley’s Toy Shop is your father, Miss Perkins. Or, should I say, Miss Lumley.”
Edgar leaned forward in his chair. “Are you quite sure, Mr. Shadwell?”
Mr. Shadwell raised his thick white eyebrows. “Do I appear to be a jesting sort of fellow? Does anything about my demeanor give you the least indication that I might play pranks? I know my son is—there’s no delicate way of putting it—a sot. But I can assure you that the apple fell far, far from the tree.”
Edgar glanced at Mari. She was happy to have him there. He was such a strong, steadying presence.
She gathered her wits and took a deep breath. “Am I of legitimate birth?” Mari asked the lawyer.
“You are.”
“And my mother?”
“Deceased. I can tell you no more than that. You must ask your father, Mr. Lumley, for more particulars. I am permitted to tell you, however, that you are his sole heir. Which means,” Mr. Shadwell cleared his throat, “you are an heiress of considerable fortune.”
Blue roses danced before her eyes. Legitimate and an heiress. She raised her head. Edgar was gazing at her with a tender smile on his lips.
He rose from his seat and offered her his arm. “Shall we go to the toy shop, Miss Lumley? I believe you have a fortune to claim.”
Her head swimming, Mari said her goodbyes.
“Can it be true?” she asked Edgar as he helped her into the waiting carriage.
“We’ll soon find out.”
“A fortune,” she whispered.
A fortune . . . and a family.
“That’s right.” Mr. Shadwell nodded. “And you, Miss Perkins, are an heiress.”
Chapter 31
The bell tinkled as Mari and Edgar entered Lumley’s Toy Shop.
The shop clerk met them at the door and bowed. “Your Grace. Miss Perkins.”
“Are you back so soon, Your Grace?” Mr. Lumley called from the counter. “How was the seashore? Have you brought the children for another game of chess?”
Mari hesitated, holding back from entering the shop.
“Go to him,” Edgar whispered in her ear, taking her hand.
“What if . . .
what if he doesn’t know me? What if I’m not his daughter? What if Mr. Shadwell has everything wrong.” She couldn’t bear it. This sudden, all-consuming hope ripped away.
“Go to him,” he urged. “You can do this.” He squeezed her hand and his touch gave her strength.
She walked toward the counter. “It’s just me and the duke, Mr. Lumley. We’ve just been to see a lawyer named Mr. Arthur Shadwell and he told us the most extraordinary news.”
“Mr. Shadwell, you say? The lawyer in Cheapside?” Mr. Lumley turned his face toward Mari.
Could he be her father? He must have been much older than her mother.
Edgar handed her the cloth bag and she laid it on the shop counter and extracted P.L. Rabbit. “When I was a babe, I was left at the Underwood Orphanage and Charity School in Derbyshire. This rabbit was left with me.”
Mr. Lumley’s fingers moved over the rabbit. “She’s wearing a green velvet dress.”
The tremor in his hands increased as he slid them across the counter toward Mari.
He touched her hand. “You were left at Underwood, Miss Perkins?”
“I was.”
“You have red hair.” His hand lifted to her hair. “You said she has freckles, Your Grace?”
“She does,” Edgar replied, moving closer to them. “Scattered like golden stars across her nose and cheeks.”
Mr. Lumley removed his spectacles. “Your mother had freckles and auburn hair.”
“Was her name Ann Murray?” asked Mari.
“Ann?” Mr. Lumley frowned. “No, her name was Pauline.”
“How strange,” said Mari. “There was a prayer book left with me at the orphanage inscribed with the name Ann Murray.”
“You were born at a nunnery,” said Mr. Lumley. “The prayer book must have belonged to another woman. Your mother’s name was Pauline, but I called her Clover, because of the color of her eyes. Do you have green eyes, my dear?”
“My eyes are blue,” she said. “Like yours.”
Tears streamed down Mr. Lumley’s face. Mari’s cheeks were wet as well.
“I didn’t know about you until three years ago,” he said. “Or I would have searched for you sooner. Why did the headmistress at the school tell Mr. Shadwell that you had died of a fever?”
“She hated me. It was only on her deathbed that she repented of her falsehood and called me to her side to tell me the truth.”
“And then you came here to London.”
“To find you.”
“I learned of your birth from your grandmother. It’s a very sad tale. Pauline and I ran off to Gretna Green to marry because her parents opposed the match. She was younger than I, but we were very much in love. She was highborn, and I was only a toy maker.”
Mari took his hand. “That’s a good reason for running away.”
“Her parents pursued us. They wanted to stop the wedding but they were too late. We were married and we consummated our marriage that night. They abducted their own daughter the very next day.”
“I don’t understand,” Mari said. “Why would they do that?”
“To keep the marriage secret. I thought they’d hidden Pauline away in Scotland somewhere. I searched and searched for my bride with no success. By the time I returned to London, they told me that she had died in a carriage accident.”
He broke down then, sobs wracking his body. Edgar gave him his handkerchief.
“I only found out recently that when they learned Pauline was with child, they sent her to a nunnery. She died in childbirth. And you were given to Underwood, with one of my wooden rabbits. The one I had given to Pauline as a wedding gift.”
Her mother had died giving birth to her. So many conflicting emotions churned in her chest. Sadness for the mother she’d never known; astonishment at discovering she had a father.
Mr. Lumley patted her hand. “I only wish I’d found out sooner. I gather from Mr. Shadwell that Underwood was a very somber sort of place. No place for a daughter of mine. I would have filled your childhood with laughter and with love.”
“I know,” said Mari. “I know you would have.”
Edgar smiled. “I had very similar feelings, Lumley, when the twins arrived on my doorstep. I would have given them everything if I’d known about them.”
“I’ve no other children,” said Mari’s father. “I never remarried. You have some distant cousins, though, my dear.”
“And I have grandparents in London?” she asked.
“I can’t tell you their names. It’s better if you think of them as being dead.”
“I understand,” said Mari. “You’re all I need. You are more than I ever thought I’d have.”
“Isn’t it extraordinary?” She turned to Edgar. “I’ve finally found my family.”
Edgar nodded, because that’s what she wanted him to do. Because that’s what he should do.
He should be happy for her. This was extraordinary and miraculous.
She’d found the truth about her past. Except he had a bad, ungrateful feeling in his chest. A hard knot of doubt and hurt.
I thought you’d already found a family, he wanted to say. I thought you belonged with me and with the twins.
You’re all I need, she’d said. To her father.
Not to Edgar.
“How good of you to bring her here, Your Grace,” said Lumley. “She’s your governess. And you’ll be losing her.”
“Losing her,” he repeated, the hollow feeling in his chest growing stronger by the second.
Mari didn’t correct him. Didn’t tell Lumley that she was more than just his governess. She was his lover. He’d hoped she might want to become his bride.
Maybe she didn’t need him now. Didn’t want him.
Lumley and Mari were still talking. Something about how much money she would inherit and how she could live in luxury from this day forth. The toy business must be going well. His shop was one of the oldest in London.
“Why, you’re an heiress now, my dear,” said Lumley with a wide smile. “I hear heiresses are much in demand on the marriage mart these days, with all of these titled gentlemen falling on lean times. We should be able to find you a perfectly respectable husband.”
Mari laughed. “Now you’re getting ahead of yourself. I don’t want a respectable husband.”
She didn’t want a husband.
He’d never even considered it. Had he just assumed that she would want to marry him because he was a duke and she was a governess?
Edgar was disgusted by his own selfishness. He’d assumed things he shouldn’t have.
Maybe he shouldn’t even be here. This was a private family moment between Mari and her father.
“Close the shop, Tom,” called Lumley to the clerk.
“Sir?” Tom approached.
“Tom, I want you to meet my daughter . . . what’s your Christian name, my dear? I never asked you.”
“It’s Mari.”
“It rhymes with starry,” said Edgar, too softly for them to hear.
“It’s a very nice name,” said Lumley. “And my name is John.”
“Your daughter? I didn’t know you had a daughter,” said Tom, gaping at Mari.
“Neither did I.” Lumley smiled. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
Mari’s eyes brimmed with tears and happiness.
“I should be going back home,” said Edgar.
“Oh of course,” Mari said. “Well I’ll be back tonight to see the children and tell them the news in person.”
He nodded and drifted away quietly. Mari didn’t stop him from leaving. She’d already forgotten about him, it seemed.
She didn’t want a husband and, even if she did, why would she want one like him? Someone as starry-eyed and filled with hope and conviction as she could never be happy with someone like him.
One night hadn’t made the darkness recede forever.
Outside on the street, Edgar lifted his face to the fine drizzle of rain that had begun while they were inside the shop.
He couldn’t go home, couldn’t face them just yet.
He gave the coachman instructions to a house he’d never visited before.
The dowager duchess’s apartments in Mayfair.
“Banksford? To what do I owe this dubious honor?”
“Hello Mother.”
“Why are you here?”
Mari had suggested that he visit his mother in her own home. She wasn’t happy to see him, that much was obvious. “May I sit?” he asked.
His mother narrowed her eyes. “You may sit, but I will stand.”
Edgar sighed. It had been a mistake to come here. “I didn’t come to fight with you, Mother.”
“Then why come at all? After what happened at India’s antiquities exhibition I didn’t think I’d see you for another decade, or so.”
Edgar closed his eyes. “I came to apologize. You probably don’t believe that, but it’s the truth. I understand that I caused you great anguish by my actions. When I challenged Father, and then when I disappeared. I’m sorry.”
She was silent. He opened his eyes.
“Are you well?” she asked. “Because you don’t sound like my son.”
“I don’t feel like him. I’m weary of this enmity, these dark, sad memories. I want to make things right. I want to make amends.”
The dowager sank into a chair. “I never thought I’d hear you say such words.”
“I never thought I’d say them.”
“What has changed? Or, perhaps I should ask, who has changed you? Wait.” She held up her hand. “I know. It’s that Miss Perkins. I saw the way you gazed at her. You’re besotted with the governess.”
There was rancor in her voice, not gentleness. She must be thinking of the times her husband had become infatuated with their servants.
“This is different, Mother. I love her with all my heart. I mean to marry her, if she’ll have me.”
His mother’s face remained impassive. “I see. And you’ve come to seek my blessing.”