Isabella's Secret Summer

by Tabetha Waite

  “Shall we retire to my private parlor?”

  Ridge glanced over at Millicent, so lost in his own thoughts that he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone.

  “Would you care for some tea?” she offered. “Or perhaps something a bit stronger?”

  “I could go for some brandy,” he returned, shoving a hand through his already tousled hair. “It’s been quite a morning.”

  “Indeed, it has,” she murmured in return. After pouring them both a glass, she handed one to him and they sat down across from one another near the low burning fireplace.

  He took a bracing sip and glanced about the room decorated in varying shades of red and purple. “You know, I always liked it in here when I was young. It felt… rather cozy, somehow.”

  Millicent smiled. “I daresay you were underfoot enough.”

  He chuckled, and they both fell silent, but it wasn’t awkward, but rather the kind of mutual stillness born of companionship.

  After a long while, Millicent heaved a sigh. “There was something brought to my attention earlier, and given a bit of time to reflect, I decided that my subterfuge has gone on long enough.” She tapped a smooth, polished nail against her glass. “While I can’t imagine anything good will come out of what I say, you have a right to know the truth of things. It was wrong of me to deny you that for so long. Perhaps you might not have been so… restless otherwise.”

  Ridge’s forehead drew together in a frown, not sure what to expect, but he didn’t speak, just waited for her to continue.

  After a time, she lifted her dark eyes to his and said, “Your mother did not perish in childbirth. I fear that was a lie I told you in order to protect you from the truth.”

  Ridge relaxed his hands. He hadn’t even realized he’d been clenching them until the nails bit into his palms. “Which is?”

  She looked at him with empathy in her gaze. “I’m your mother.”

  For an instant, he couldn’t breathe. The room seemed to spin about him, crowding together in a flurry of memories through the years, but then, it stopped. His frown faded away as he glanced at her and said softly, “To be honest, I think I’ve always known.”

  She shook her head. “There was no way you could possibly surmise something like that.”

  He rubbed his jaw. “I distinctly recall a time when I was little, perhaps not even five, and I fell and scraped my knee.” His gaze became distant as he recalled that almost forgotten stitch in time. “It wasn’t even the manner in which you spoke to me, but your touch that I’ve always remembered. I imagined that only a mother could be so kind.”

  When he looked at Millicent, she was blinking rapidly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

  While this was the most difficult part for him to say, for he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know, he had to ask, “Do you know who my father is?”

  Millicent clasped her hands together. “I do.” She took another generous sip of her brandy. “But I think you should understand a little bit more about my past — where you came from.” Her smile was tight, as if what she was about to impart was difficult. “I was born Mary Claymoore and grew up in Northamptonshire in a small village called Corby. My father was an ironworker, and my mother took in wash to help with the expenses of raising a large family. There were eleven of us. I was the eldest.” She smiled faintly. “It was a loving home, even if we were dreadfully poor and had to scrounge for our next meal. When I turned sixteen, I decided that I would find a position to help make ends meet, so I answered an advertisement in the paper and traveled to Bristol to interview as a scullery maid in an affluent townhouse in Berkeley Square. I was hired, but shortly after I started, I began to receive quite a bit of attention from the master’s son.”

  She sighed heavily. “It was foolish in the extreme to embark on an affair, but it happened anyway, because I was young and naïve and he was charming and handsome. When I found out I was with child, I was dismissed without reference. I couldn’t go home where my parents had enough mouths to feed. However, with my lover’s assistance, I was able to survive. I was his mistress for a short time, where he lavished jewels and fine gowns on me, which I later sold for more important things.” Her chin wobbled. “They were the happiest days of my life, but my time was short, for while his parents were aware of my condition, I had kept you a secret from him. Thus, when we parted ways after a few short weeks, I was heartbroken, but I had always known I couldn’t remain as his lover forever, for he would eventually wed and start a family of his own, where I could be nothing more than the ‘other woman,’ the mistress he kept, which I refused to be. I cared about him and our love too much to subject it to that much scorn. So, without many options for a woman in my predicament, I was lucky enough to buy this old boardinghouse and turn it into Madame Rinards’ House of Ill Repute and I became known by my pseudonym of Millicent. It’s been my trade ever since.”

  “Did you ever go home to see your family?” Ridge wondered.

  “No. I daresay I couldn’t face my father again after I’d ruined myself almost immediately upon walking out his front door. I have kept in touch with my siblings from time to time by post, but my mother has passed on.”

  “They’ve never even bothered to come visit you?”

  “I didn’t want them to see what I’ve been reduced to,” she amended. “And they have abided by my wishes. Either way, that life seems so far gone and foreign to me now.”

  Ridge digested all this, wondering if he should even try to reach out to these people whom he didn’t even know. So many aunts, uncles, cousins… he couldn’t even imagine it. It was almost too overwhelming for his mind to process.

  “I don’t want you to feel obligated to see them or begin a relationship,” Millicent spoke up, as if reading his very thoughts. “They are aware of your existence, although I’ve told them very little about you.”

  “And my father?” Ridge reiterated. He would be lying if he said he’d never wondered about his faceless sire, but now he might, at long last, have a name. While he considered his Claymoore relations, this was one person he had always been curious about.

  Millicent nodded and released a steadying breath. “His name was David.”

  Immediately, Ridge’s heart sank as he caught the past tense. “Was?”

  “Yes. Unfortunately, he passed away three years ago.” She closed her eyes. “I know I should have told you all this when there was still time, but I never imagined he would die so young—” Her throat worked past her pain, as she opened her eyes and said, “But I fear there is more you should know.”

  Ridge steeled himself for the worst, but even then, he wasn’t fully prepared for what was revealed.

  “After your father’s death, his younger brother succeeded to the title, but there has been a recent… complication, and the reason I decided to explain things to you now without delay.” Her dark eyes filled with moisture yet again. “Your uncle’s name is Richard Hindercray, the Earl of Gresham.”

  ***

  Isabella sat next to Ridge as they traveled to the Gresham estate in Harlow early that afternoon. He’d barely said a word since he’d told her the shocking news of his tie to the Hindercray line. While she might be quaking on the inside, she refused to let her reservations show as they drew closer to the earl’s estate and held on to his hand and offered the support she knew that he needed, but didn’t ask for.

  As they pulled up in front of the impressive, gray stone manor, Ridge alighted and then turned to help Isabella down. The door opened, and the butler greeted them with a polite courtesy. While they hadn’t written ahead to alert the earl of their arrival, Isabella was confident that Lord Gresham wouldn’t turn her away.

  After she gave her name to the butler, the man escorted them to the front parlor to wait while he delivered the message to his master.

  It wasn’t long before a tall man entered the room, his countenance still rather impressive, even though his hair was more salt than pepper and there was a decided weariness about his eyes. No
doubt his son’s recent activities weighed heavily upon his mind. She just prayed that the news they were about to deliver didn’t add to his upset.

  But then, Ridge said he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to tell the earl about their blood tie. He said he would decide once he’d had a chance to converse with him, to find out what sort of man he was.

  “Lord Gresham.” Isabella greeted him kindly. “It’s so good of you to receive us on such short notice.”

  “Of course, my dear.” He walked forward to bend down and kiss her lightly on the cheek. “Although I daresay I was rather surprised to learn that you were here. After what Simon did—” His throat worked as he obviously fought to contain his inner turmoil. “I hope that someday I can make amends for his reprehensible behavior. I can merely thank God that his mother isn’t alive to see how low he’s sunk, and that his sisters are happily married with families of their own to help see them through the scandal. I blame myself for his misdeeds. If I had been a better father—”

  Isabella reached out and squeezed his hand. “You are a good man, Lord Gresham. Some people are just born with a different sort of mindset, no matter how they are brought up.”

  He offered a slight smile. “You’re kind to say so.”

  His gaze shifted to Ridge and for a moment, he stilled, as if trying to figure out where he might have seen him before, so Isabella made the introductions. “Lord Gresham, allow me to present Mr. Ridge Claymoore.”

  With no hesitation, the earl’s face relaxed. “You’re the one who was pursuing Simon, are you not?”

  “I am,” Ridge returned evenly. “I hope that you won’t hold that against me.”

  “On the contrary,” the earl said. “I appreciate your loyalty and dedicated service to the Crown. I certainly wish my son had held that same honor within him. Unfortunately, his mistakes have caught up with him, and he will pay with his life.” He sighed heavily. “But enough of this dreary talk. Can I offer you both some tea?”

  “That’s not necessary,” Isabella said. “We should probably be returning to London.” She looked to Ridge to see if he had anything to add, but he was staring at the floor in silent contemplation.

  But as she started to move toward the door, Ridge paused and then spoke up. “Do you play cards, Lord Gresham?”

  The earl looked a bit perplexed by the abrupt query, although he nodded. “I have been known to visit the tables on occasion. Did you care to engage in a game, Mr. Claymoore?”

  “Actually,” Ridge withdrew the deck of cards from his coat pocket and handed them to the earl. “I wondered if you might be able to tell me something about these.”

  Isabella caught her breath, wondering if the earl would recognize the rare deck.

  His face abruptly paled, and with his hands shaking, he inspected the cards, turning them over and over.

  Isabella’s heart began to pound with anticipation.

  “Where did you come by this set?” Gresham whispered.

  Instead of answering, Ridge asked, “So they are familiar to you?”

  “My elder brother had…” His voice trailed off and he cleared his throat. “I pray you will discard an old man’s ramblings. David died a few years ago, but even before then he hadn’t… been with us for quite some time.” He exhaled heavily. “He’d done his duty and married as our father wished, and I believed that he’d had a good life with Cecily over the years. They had five daughters, all of whom married well, but I could tell that something was always… missing.” He smiled, but it was rife with sadness. “There was a woman when we were younger whom he could never quite get over. A union between them was forbidden, so he set her up as his mistress, but one day, for no apparent reason, she broke things off. He was devastated, and I don’t think that he fully recovered from it.” He looked down at the cards in his hands with a frown. “I don’t know why I even told you that story, expect that he used to carry around a deck of cards just like this.”

  Silence prevailed for a time, and then Ridge said, “What if I told you there was a reason that this woman ended the affair so abruptly?”

  The earl considered this for a time, and then he said, “It might give me a measure of peace to know that she might have held my brother in true affection, and didn’t just use him for what he could give her, but I don’t even know what happened to her.”

  “She goes by the name of Millicent now,” Ridge said quietly. “And she told me she loved him, and I believe her, but since she knew there wasn’t any way they could be together, she thought it best to let him go.”

  The earl’s eyes widened. “How do you know this?”

  Isabella saw Ridge’s jaw tighten, and then he said, “Because she’s my mother.”

  Time seemed to stop as the earl appeared to consider Ridge in a completely different light, and this time, he reacted as if he’d seen a ghost. “I thought you resembled him when I walked in the door, but I knew it couldn’t possibly be—” He broke off and took a deep breath, clutching the back of a nearby chair. “I need to sit down,” he mumbled.

  Isabella rushed to his side as she led him over to the settee. He collapsed onto the cushion, his ashen face in marked contrast to the deep green brocade, while she sat down beside him in concern. Ridge remained standing, although his hands were clenched at his sides, proof of his inner turmoil.

  For the longest time, one might have been able to hear a pin drop, as Isabella and Ridge waited for the earl to process all this new information. Isabella remained beside the earl, but when she caught Ridge’s gaze, she offered him a consolatory smile, reminding him that he wasn’t alone.

  After what might have been an eternity, Lord Gresham lifted his head. “I may have lost a son, but I am grateful to have gained a nephew to honor my brother’s memory.” He paused. “I truly regret that I cannot name you as my heir. I could try to petition—”

  Ridge shook his head. “I have no need of titles nor society.” His gaze shifted to Isabella and her heart melted when he added, “The only thing I require is that lady sitting beside you. I intend to marry her at the first opportunity.”

  The earl smiled at Isabella, patting her hand in a fatherly fashion. “Then allow me to be the first to offer my heartfelt congratulations to you both.” He rose to his feet and handed Ridge back the cards, which he tucked into his jacket. “If you would permit me, I’d like to give you something. If you’ll follow me?”

  Isabella rose and after taking Ridge’s arm, they joined the earl in his study, where he walked over and took a small portrait from atop his desk. After looking at it a moment, he handed it to Ridge. “This is the single likeness I have of David. He was about your age when this was painted. I’d like for you to have it.”

  Isabella saw Ridge’s throat work as he focused on keeping his emotions in check. As they glanced at the image forever captured in colorful oils, Isabella had to agree that there was a marked resemblance between father and son. They had the same dark hair and amused twist to their mouth. “I never thought I would see this day,” Ridge murmured.

  “Neither did I,” the earl agreed. “But I’m thankful for it. I hope that you will keep in touch.”

  Ridge nodded as he glanced up at his uncle. “And I hope that you won’t hold it against my mother for not telling your brother about me.”

  Lord Gresham sighed. “Their affair was a foolish endeavor to begin with, but David refused to listen to reason, or have his heart be denied. I know that he would have been overjoyed to know he had a son, but I suppose what Mary did was a kindness, since they could never be together.”

  As they left the earl’s residence shortly thereafter, Isabella couldn’t help but ponder Mary and David’s heart wrenching story. To be denied happiness solely because of their class differences just didn’t seem fair at all. She’d always believed that people should be able to marry whomever they wanted, but unfortunately, that wasn’t how things worked in English society.

  She glanced across the carriage at Ridge and vowed right then and the
re, that no matter what her parents might say, she wouldn’t allow history to repeat itself. She still had her dowry, and with it she and Ridge could have a modest life. But the most important thing is that they would be happy. She wanted nothing more than to gain her parents’ approval, but no matter what occurred, she would be spending the rest of her days with Ridge by her side.

  As if reading her thoughts, he looked at her and said dryly, “I know what you’re thinking.” He reached out and pulled her to him. “And there’s no need to worry. While I would prefer to have Lord Ashfield’s blessing, I don’t require it to marry you.”

  Isabella sighed and laid her head on his chest while he stroked her hair. “Why can’t things just be simple?”

  He snorted. “If there is one thing our entire relationship has been, simple doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

  Even though she didn’t want to laugh, Isabella couldn’t help but chuckle, for he was absolutely right.

  ***

  Ridge wanted Isabella to believe that he was composed, but as the carriage Millicent had allowed them to use pulled into the long, familiar drive that led to Ashfield Hall at St. Alban’s, he steeled himself for the inevitable battle ahead. Even though Claudia had been sent ahead with the news of their impending arrival that morning, he had no idea what sort of war would be waged within these walls.

  As the carriage rolled to a stop, Ridge reached out and grasped Isabella’s hand for his own courage as well as hers. He’d faced many adversaries over the years without hesitation, but this was one foe that he wanted to vanquish on good terms. “Ready?”

  At her nod, they stepped down to the ground. The front door opened to reveal the butler, who said in a dry tone, “Mr. Claymoore, the marquess has been expecting you. He will receive you in his study.”

  Ridge released Isabella’s hand but offered her a wink as he followed the butler down the hall. After a brief rap on the door, a voice called from inside. “Send him in.”