“Mr. Bourdon..?” Alec enquired letting the sentence hang, knowing full well she was referring to the Duke of Cleveley, and to test the theory he had explained to his doubting Selina.
“Oh my husband and I have never stood on ceremony with each other,” Miranda replied, understanding Alec’s inference. “Even before we were married not quite a twelvemonth ago, I called him Mr. Bourdon. It was a schoolroom name that stuck. There is a beehive on the Cleveley coat of arms,” she explained, “and a bumblebee on the livery buttons. Mr. Bourdon says bees are a symbol of industry and perseverance, which suits him very well, don’t you agree?”
“Yes. Aut viam inveniam aut faciam: I will either find a way or make one,” Alec stated, adding, because Miranda was looking at him with polite enquiry, “The motto on the Cleveley coat of arms, your Grace. And if I may be so bold, very apt for the Duke where you are concerned.”
Miranda tilted her head, not fully comprehending his meaning and politely said, “Years ago, Mr. Bourdon gave me a bumblebee button as a token of his perseverance that we would one day marry.”
“On one of his visits to hear you play the pianoforte perhaps? He turned the pages of music for you.”
“Yes. Yes, he did! Thomas told me how clever you are.” A sudden thought made her brows contract, but only for a moment and instinctively she held her baby son a little closer. “Miriam laughed when I confided in her my feelings for my M’sieur Bumblebee. I suspect she told George, too; she confided everything in George. She said Mr. Bourdon’s only interest in me was to-to lift my-my petticoats…” Miranda swallowed and was suddenly bashful at such revelations. “He was never like that. Not once while I was in the schoolroom did he-he make an improper suggestion or-or remark. Why! Our first kiss was on our wedding day.”
“I can readily believe that, your Grace,” Alec agreed, adding with a touch of irony, thinking of Selina, “As a husband I am sure he has been the very model of noble rectitude.”
“He is. Thank you. I knew you would understand. Lord Halsey, the reason I wished to speak to you is to ask a favor.” When Alec inclined his head, Miranda said, “I would very much like you to be my son’s godparent. Please,” she added quickly when his smile faded, “please give the offer serious consideration because I can think of no better protector for my son should anything happen to his parents.”
“Your Grace, I am honored, truly honored, but… You do not know me,” Alec said, flustered by such a grand gesture. “You must consult with the Duke, who will surely have his own ideas as to who would make a suitable godparent for his son and—”
“But I do know you,” Miranda interrupted, a smile at Tam. “Thomas told me all about you and unless you argue otherwise, I believe him to be truthful and trustworthy. Mr. Bourdon may choose a second godparent, as is his right; but you are my choice.”
Alec did not know what to say. How could he refuse her? How could he refuse the new little life nestled in the crook of her arm his protection if required? He bowed his head in acceptance, a sideways glance and raise of his black brows at Tam as if to ask what have you been saying about me? “Then how can I refuse you? I would be honored to accept… Is there anything else I may do to make your stay comfortable until his Grace arrives?”
For the first time since Alec had entered the bedchamber, Miranda became flustered.
“I do not know what is keeping him from me… It was arranged that I would have my lying-in at Bratton Dene and then his letter came telling me to come here and wait for him. And I have waited and he has not come…”
“He will be here very soon, your Grace,” Alec assured her, though he was not sure of that at all. He was confident the Duke was in Bath, the mountainous footman at her door and Molyneux’s presence in taking Sophie to the Duke told him that. But as to why he remained distant from Miranda, and at such an auspicious time baffled him. “You and your baby are safe here. That I promise you. No one can cross the threshold with the impassable Bear Brown and my uncle both guarding the outer door; Bear Brown with his entire being and my uncle armed with his Malacca cane are a formidable team. There was a crowd gathered to hear news of the birth but it would have dispersed by now, Mrs. Jamison-Lewis giving them the good news that you were safely delivered of a girl.”
“Thank you,” Miranda said with a sigh of relief. She smiled at her sleeping infant. “His father should be the one to tell the world he has a son… and my little one will be safe now…”
“Why, your Grace?” Alec asked bluntly. Knowing the answer, her response did not disappoint, but it did surprise him.
“Cousin George will not be happy. Indeed he may be very angry. I have no way of knowing until I speak with him. And I would rather be the one to tell him his father now has a son of his own. The birth of my son considerably alters his prospects. Though, I have always wondered if, in his heart, George truly wants to be Duke. Whenever he spoke of it to us, to Miriam and to me, it was always what other people wanted of him, but he never once said it was what he wanted. He certainly never wanted to marry me, as his mother and mine were demanding should happen. He loved me as a cousin but not in that way. He was in love with Miriam. He told me he was going to marry her; that he cared not a penny what my mother and his thought of the match. Nor did he care that she was base-born. Miriam’s pregnancy changed everything…”
A small domestic interruption halted their conversation. Janie entered with a tray of tea things, and following her was a maidservant carrying a hot brick. Alec took the brandy offered him, suddenly tired. He was acutely aware that Miranda must be in need of sleep for soon her infant son would be demanding her breast, and that Tam and the maid were also limp from exhaustion, yet if he was to front the persons now assembled in the drawing room and whom he had sent Selina to keep entertained until his arrival, he needed to make certain he had all his facts correct to be able to level an accusation of murder.
He waited for Miranda to take her tea, the baby given up reluctantly to Janie to hold and who cooed and clucked over his little lordship from the safety of a wingchair in the corner of the bedchamber.
“Earlier today, Sir Charles Weir left here greatly agitated. In fact, he declared he had seen a ghost.”
“Yes. He had. I have spent the past four years of my life, if not being someone else then not being myself,” Miranda confessed matter-of-factly, sitting her teacup on its saucer. “I am sorry I frightened him but he has only himself to blame believing me to be Miriam. It was not unreasonable he would think so because I died four years ago, but when he threatened me, accused me of blackmailing George… I did not know what else to do to convince him otherwise! I still do not understand why he would think I would want to harm George?”
“Was your death from pneumonia the Duke’s idea?”
Miranda nodded.
“And Miriam’s body in the casket?”
“Yes. It is a relief that you know. I only hope Mrs. Jamison-Lewis will forgive me—forgive us—our deception, but Mr. Bourdon was adamant I remain in my grave until we were safely married, and that was not until after the Duchess’s death. She was very ill; we thought it only a matter of months, but she lingered.”
“Three years is a very long time to wait when two people are in love,” Alec remarked, thinking of his own predicament. “Legally there was no reason for you to wait. After all, the Duke and Duchess were in truth never legally married though they lived as husband and wife for twenty years.”
“Oh? So you know that too? You are clever! We could not, I would not marry, while his wife was still alive. And she was his wife, despite her earlier marriage to Mr. Blackwell; a sorry affair. Mr. Bourdon confided he had known for many years that the Duchess was in truth another man’s wife, but that he had no motivation to change his way of life until—until—”
“—until he fell in love with you.” Alec wanting to add, but did not, “And because Selina fell pregnant with his child it gave him hope that he could have children of his own.”
“Yes. We fell
in love. And I made him wait. Even after we were married, I remained at the farm while Mr. Bourdon spent the twelvemonth in public mourning for the death of the Duchess. It was not important that the Duchess had lived in a state of bigamy with Mr. Bourdon. She was to me, to my mother, to Miriam and to George, indeed to Mr. Bourdon and to all Society, the Duchess of Cleveley.”
“Do you think Lady Rutherglen has any idea of her sister’s previous marriage, that she was the wife of Mr. Blackwell before she was ever the wife of the Duke of Stanton and then the Duke of Cleveley?”
Miranda’s face flushed with embarrassment. She glanced at Janie, but she was preoccupied with the baby and then looked for Tam but he had excused himself and gone into the small servant bedchamber with the maid who had delivered the hot brick to see to the removal of soiled sheets and ensure the copper containing the afterbirth was left for the physician to examine.
“I would like to tell you that my mother had no notion, that she believed her sister legally married to the Duke of Cleveley, but that would be a lie. She knew. She knew, too, that the Duchess was pregnant by Mr. Blackwell before her marriage to the Duke of Stanton, and that George was Mr. Blackwell’s son, not Stanton’s. She knew also when the Duchess and Mr. Blackwell were briefly reunited on his return from the West Indies, and that nine months after that bittersweet reunion Miriam was born, in the country and in secret. And knowing this she still did nothing to stop George bedding Miriam.”
“Pardon, your Grace, but how did you discover the truth? Did his Grace—”
Miranda shook her head.
“No. I overheard my mother and the Duchess in heated argument.” She looked steadily at Alec. “It is not easy for me to say this, but it is a truth I have known since a little girl: Lady Rutherglen, my mother, is a nasty, mean-spirited woman capable of great cruelty. I was not the boy she so desperately wanted and so I was considered of no value and was locked away, as one puts to the back of a dusty cupboard an ornament one is given but considers worthless. She spent years encouraging my cousin George’s worst traits, seeking his approval and lavishing what love she possessed on his welfare, much to the detriment and sadness of my aunt, who could not persuade George away from Lady Rutherglen’s corruptive influence. And then, when Lady Rutherglen realized George was interested in Miriam she gave my natural cousin to him as one gives a boy a puppy; Miriam was to be George’s plaything. What Lady Rutherglen could not understand and never comprehended was that George fell in love with Miriam; he truly loved her.
“Naturally my poor aunt was horrified to learn George was bedding Miriam; she was even more appalled when Lady Rutherglen laughed at her. Yes, my lord, she laughed most cruelly when the Duchess begged her to spirit Miriam away before more damage was done. And what did my mother say? She said it was God’s punishment for her sister’s wickedness in marrying a penniless nobody and yet she paraded about society as a duchess, to which she had no right. What did my mother do? She encouraged George and Miriam, giving them every opportunity for the calamitous outcome that was to come. I believe Lady Rutherglen hated Miriam all the more because George loved her. My poor aunt’s health deteriorated rapidly after that. She became bedridden and never recovered.
“My lord,” Miranda added, blinking back tears, “it has always been my fervent wish that George never discover the true nature of his connection to Miriam…”
Alec voiced what Miranda could not and never would.
“That he and Miriam are in truth brother and sister, and Sophie their child?”
“Mr. Bourdon and I will never allow Sophie to know the hideous truth. She is inked in St. Jude’s parish register as my daughter; Mr. Blackwell saw to that. Sophie will never suffer from lack of love and will know every advantage we can provide her. But George must never know…”
“I fear there is more certainty in keeping him ignorant of Sophie’s parternity, your Grace,” Alec said with a small smile, “than there is in knowing what his reaction will be to the news his father has remarried and that you, his cousin, have delivered the dukedom a legitimate heir.”
“Oi! You can’t go bargin’ in there as if you own the place, just because you think you’re His Grace Lord-Bloody-God-Almighty! Have some manners! Give the woman her peace! She’s just given birth…”
It was Plantagenet Halsey, and Alec had bowed to take his leave of Miranda when his uncle’s shouts penetrated from the sitting room and he turned to the door in expectation of the old man storming in brandishing his cane. The other occupants continued on with their duties, two maids under Janie’s direction were clearing the servant bedchamber of clutter, Tam was fossicking in his apothecary’s cabinet for a salve or some such medicinal balm for the new mother, while Miranda catered to his little lordship’s immediate demands for nourishment.
Into the bedchamber strode His Grace the Duke of Cleveley and on his heels was the old man holding his cane aloft and repeating his threat. The Duke was as one deaf and blind to all else, his attention wholly on the four-poster bed. Disheveled in woolen frockcoat and dusty jockey boots, thick brown hair streaked with gray cut short above the ears and in wild disarray, he came to an abrupt halt at the undraped foot of the bed. Alec blinked, as if to assure himself that this panic-stricken countrified gent was indeed one and the same as the self-possessed nobleman in velvet and powdered wig magnificence he had studied at the Opera.
Cozily propped up amongst down pillows, Miranda looked up from watching her newborn son suckle at her breast and her blue eyes brightened. She smiled and said as if it was a most common place thing,
“Mr. Bourdon! You are here at last. Come and meet your son Thomas.”
The Duke swayed and slumped against the bedpost, Alec at his back in two strides lest he faint. It was Plantagenet Halsey’s turn to blink and his jaw fell open in amazement, not only at the change that came over his political nemesis but at the discovery that this most despised of noblemen, the great man, a man whose politics he reviled, was none other than the husband of sweet-tempered Miranda Bourdon. It made no sense to him. He must have misheard. He retreated to the windowseat and sat there, leaning on the Malacca handle of his cane as if the wind had been knocked out of him.
“I’ve been half way to London and back in search of you and Sophie,” the Duke finally said as he gingerly inched his way up the bed, a leg pressed to the mattress as if needing support to remain upright. “Robert’s been at his whit’s end, riding the length and breadth of Somerset as well as losing shoe leather up and down Bath’s streets. Why is Sophie not at the farm? I thought we had agreed—But none of that is important. You’re both safe and so is—so is our son. A son! Oh, Mimi! My precious, darling dear…”
“Please—Mr. Bourdon—Ninian—you must not upset yourself,” Miranda chided him playfully, her free hand extended across the coverlet for him to take. “We are both safe and very well indeed thanks to the efforts and care of Thomas, Janie and Lord Halsey. Oh! And Mr. Halsey, whose fine name I have also saddled on our son. And we will add your name too. Thomas Plantagenet Justinian Beaumaris. It is such a mouthful for one so tiny.” She glanced down at her now milk-drunk sleeping son and then smiled up at her husband. “But not for a Duke. Until then, shall we call him Thomas Bourdon?”
“As you wish… Thomas… A fine name…”
It was all the Duke could utter as he stared down at his wife and newborn son. And then emotion took hold and would not let go. The reality that the woman he loved beyond reason and their son, he had a son! were alive and well, safe and unharmed, hit him in the chest, and so hard that he was utterly undone. He shuddered in a great breath, crumpled to his knees and sobbed into the coverlet.
Plantagenet Halsey thought he had seen it all until now. If he was struck speechless to discover that the Duke of Cleveley was the elusive Mr. Bourdon he was now shocked rigid to see a man he thought devoid of sentiment and possessing the temperament of a cold cod reduced to quacking emotional wreckage. He did what any decent human would do in such a circumstance: He of
fered the nobleman his clean white handkerchief and, with a perfunctory pat to the stooped shaking shoulders, his hearty congratulations before making Miranda a bow befitting her station as her Grace the most noble Duchess of Cleveley. He then turned to his nephew, and taking his arm, walked with him out into the sitting room, still in a daze of new knowledge and much subdued.
“I’m not entirely certain I believe what’s goin’ on in there and if you told me to pinch m’self and I’d wake up, I’d do it! But I can see by that grin that you are perfectly reconciled to it. I need a brandy. There’s one to be had in the drawing room where you won’t be surprised to discover an assortment of interestin’ individuals. And kickin’ their boot heels in the servant corridor and waitin’ your instructions is a handful of militia under direction of a pompous git named Rawlinson who tells Barr he’s the local magistrate.” He glanced over his shoulder just as Janie closed over the bedchamber door and caught a glimpse of the Duke sitting on the edge of the bed cradling his newborn son. “Oh, and this here,” he added, joining his nephew in the passageway, a nod to Bear Brown who still stood at his post, pointing his cane at a stout little man in dark cloth and brown bob wig who waddled up to them, round cheeks diffuse with blood, “is the sawbones Ketteridge with his black bag and bottle of leeches. I’ve told him he’s not wanted but he won’t go away.”
“Sir! My lord! I must be permitted access to the woman in that room. If she has indeed given birth to a live child then it is the law that she, the baby and the afterbirth, be examined…”
Plantagenet Halsey stopped listening to the physician on the word afterbirth, leaving him in his nephew’s capable hands. But as he slowly descended the stairs with the aid of his Malacca cane he heard the physician list off his qualifications, experience and the letter of the law, and shook his grizzled head in sympathy for his nephew. He hoped Alec would soon join him in the drawing room so there could be a swift resolution and application of justice. He had had enough excitement to last him out the month. And after what he had witnessed upstairs he wasn’t up to any more surprises. He was to be disappointed.
Deadly Affair: A Georgian Historical Mystery (Alec Halsey Crimance) Page 32