Unaware until that moment that her heightened emotional state had left her giddy, she pitched sideways, knees buckling. But Christopher had seen her sway and kept her from falling by taking her arm and holding her close. He whispered for her to lean into him, and hearing his calm deep voice, Mary looked up and around, and when he winked at her, all the emotional fight drained away and she was no longer angry but relieved.
“Thank-you… I’m—I’m sorry you had to hear such-such vile and-and preposterous suppositions, and from no less a person than Teddy’s grandmother,” she said, then looked about and saw as if for the first time that not only had Roxton moved to stand by the Duchess and both were regarding her with concern, but that Lady Paget was up off the settee and leaning lightly on her walking stick beside the ducal couple. “I would dearly love to make excuses for my mother and blame a megrim, or brain fever, anything but state the sad truth that she is a self-absorbed cold-hearted wretch—”
“You ungrateful child! Stand up straight and stop your theatrics. And who is this gentleman that he dares hold your arm as if he has ownership?”
“Enough,” Roxton hissed with menace, which had Lady Strathsay staring up at him in surprised fright and closing her mouth in an instant. “You have badgered and berated your daughter for the very last time, Charlotte. She is no longer a child, though I suspect you would continue with your ridiculous parental pestering were she sixty! But if you wish to continue as part of this family you will find some humility and circumspection, and you will leave your daughter alone. It falls upon me to remind you that you are part of this family through marriage only, not blood. Unlike Mary, whose blood connection gives her claim on my protection and munificence without question, you are here under sufferance and barely tolerated. Dear God, even her husband had a greater claim to his seat at my table as the Duchess’s half-brother, and I wouldn’t have Sir Gerald within twenty miles of here! One word from your daughter and I would be happy to never again admit your carriage through my gates. Do you understand me, Madam?”
The Countess glanced swiftly about at the mute faces and saw that they were all in agreement with the Duke. She understood that he was furious with her but not why, because she blamed Mary for his anger. Just as her parental conceit meant she was unable to comprehend why Roxton would favor her daughter over her, when she believed herself to be in the right. Yet she knew when to respectfully cower to ducal authority. So she bobbed a curtsy and said meekly, mouth set in prim line, “I do, Your Grace.”
“Good. Then I will no longer hear you voice such ridiculous and thoroughly reprehensible assertions about the gentleman you maligned. And now I will let him speak for himself, for I am certain he has been itching to tell you precisely what he thinks, and you deserve everything he cares to throw at you, Madam.”
When the Duke nodded to Christopher, Christopher let go of Mary’s arm with a smile, waited to see that she was steady on her feet and no longer fighting dizziness, then turned to greet the Countess. He executed a bow of extreme politeness, the effortless grace in which he conducted himself softening the prim line about the Countess’s mouth. But not a minute later the pucker returned, and more severely because when he straightened and met her gaze with an unblinking stare, she saw the contempt in his handsome face. But that was as nothing compared to the embarrassment she experienced when he addressed her.
“Your spiteful and defamatory remarks have forfeited you the right to a civil introduction, my lady. But for the sake of your daughter and your granddaughter, Their Graces, and my mother, who have listened with forbearance to the muck issuing forth from between your teeth, I will tell you precisely who and what I am. As Squire Bryce of Brycecomb Hall in Gloucestershire, with an income of ten thousand a year, I am anything but a simple rustic. And I mean to marry your daughter, if she’ll have me.”
“Rustic? Gloucestershire? Squire?” The Countess blinked. “Ten thousand a year? But-but you’re not an earl.”
“I am not. Nor shall I ever be.” Christopher grinned. “But I must be the one with brain fever for I still want to wed your daughter, very much, even though it means gaining you for a motherin-law.”
This quip was met by a collective chortle, and then punctuated by the loud clamp of a door hitting hard up against the gilded molding of the wallpapered wall. A liveried footman yelped and jumped in fright as the door narrowly missed hitting him. Everyone else in the room was also shaken and they turned as one to face the doorway to see who or what had caused the commotion.
And there was Jonathon, Duke of Kinross, swaying in the doorway, face white and staring without blinking. His eyes were brimful of tears, and his cheeks were wet. He took a step into the room, staggered, then crumpled and dropped to his knees. And when he covered his face with his large hands no one dared to breathe.
THIRTY-TWO
MARY WAS THE first to rush forward, and she, too, dropped to her knees in a billow of quilted silk petticoats, to press her handkerchief on Jonathon and to put a soothing hand to his back. Everyone else crowded around and stared down at them, except for the Duke who hung back, gazing through the open doorway. If not for Deb holding him fast, he would have taken off down that darkened corridor to his mother’s rooms to find out for himself why it was her husband was in a crumpled heap on the carpet.
“Breathe, Julian,” Deb whispered.
It was what Mary was telling Jonathon. Christopher strode to the tea trolley, found a decanter of lemon water, and poured out into a tumbler. This he gave to Mary, who gave it to Jonathon to take a sip so that he would have occupation to calm his nerves, and so that he might then be able to speak to them. He drank up, and Christopher took the tumbler from him, and then Jonathon swiftly wiped his face dry. And when he made motions to stand, it was Roxton who gave him his hand, while Christopher helped Mary to her feet.
And still no one spoke, and all eyes remained on Jonathon, waiting for him to tell them the news of the Duchess, and not wanting to ask or speak for fear that to do so would elicit a response they did not in the least want to hear. And when Jonathon again covered his face with a hand before wiping his eyes dry, it was too much for the Duke, who grabbed him by the sleeve and gave him a shake.
“For God’s sake! End this excruciating wait one way or the other!”
Jonathon nodded and took a deep breath, but then his mouth began to tremble and again he was too overcome to speak; he put up his hand and then buried his face in his sleeve. The Duke could take no more. He broke from his wife and had taken a step toward the door when Mary spoke. Her words and her calm assurance stopped him, and he returned to stand by the Duchess.
“Wait, Roxton! Please. It is the Duke’s right to give us news of his wife and child. Please. Give Kinross a few moments to collect his thoughts. It has been an emotional day for everyone, but most of all for him and for Cousin Duchess.” She touched Jonathon’s hand and smiled up at him and said confidently, though inside she was a quaking mess of anticipation. “Take your time, Your Grace… It is not every day a man becomes a father, and this for the second time. Every birth is a wondrous thing, as Roxton will attest, but we all know just how special this birth is for you, is that not so?”
At that Jonathon again wiped his face, and this time when he took a deep breath he gazed about at the expectant expressions gathered around him, and his face split into a grin. And with his smile everyone in the room relaxed and smiled back, even Lady Paget, to whom Christopher whispered the happy news that His Grace of Kinross was grinning from ear to ear.
Jonathon next fixed on Roxton and grabbed his shoulder and pressed it then shook his hand. He repeated this with Christopher, and then kissed Deb’s cheek, and then Mary’s. And with the kiss to Mary’s cheek he picked her up, and twirled her about on the spot before setting her down again, she taking a step back with a breathless laugh and falling into Christopher’s arms.
“I must return to her… She’ll be wondering what’s taken me so long… But I had to come and tell you,” Jonathon
finally blurted out, finding his voice in a series of breaths. He then laughed and shook his head and rattled on, as if he had already told them what they were all waiting to hear and was following up with the details. “I almost didn’t make it! Gabrielle scolded me; so did Michelle. And Antonia—ah! What a divine creature my wife is! Mary? Mary! It’s as well you weren’t there—how your poor little ears would’ve burned. Those final few pushes saw her curse like a French sailor! Tremendous! Now excuse me—Mary, you are wanted. She’s asked for you. And, Roxton—she asks that her sons wait just a little longer.” He grinned sheepishly. “Females. Got to have their faces scrubbed and their hair threaded with ribbons. Her women are attending to her now. She don’t want you seeing her until she’s your mother again, if that makes sense—”
“Perfect sense,” Deb agreed with a smile. “Isn’t that so, Julian?”
“Sense? Bloody hell! None of it makes sense to me!” blurted out the Duke, wiping a hand over his face. “For God’s sake, Kinross! You’ve not told us how she is. What’s most vital. Tell me she’s all right. Tell us all that Maman and her babe came through it and are all right!”
“Ah! Oh? Didn’t I? Apologies. Yes! Must do that of course… Harry! Jack! Come in! Come in and hear the news!” Jonathon called out and beckoned as the two youths, with Teddy skipping before them, entered the room. He waited until they joined the group and then looked down into Henri-Antoine’s grave face with a reassuring smile. “Everything is fine, my boy,” he said gently. “Your mother did splendidly. She and the babe came through it all just splendidly—”
“Oh, thank God!” Roxton announced with a heavy sigh of relief and promptly collapsed onto the nearest chair.
“—and she wants to see you. I’ll send someone out to fetch you and your brother when she’s ready.”
“Thank-you, sir,” Henri-Antoine replied and let out a soft breath. He flashed a rare smile. “And did Mama’s dearest wish come true? Do I have a sister?”
Jonathon looked about at the eager faces and was again overcome. He patted Henri-Antoine’s shoulder gently before clearing his throat and mentally pulling himself together. He stared over the youth’s head at Roxton, who still remained seated and was holding his wife’s hand, then addressed the room.
“Mme la Duchesse has given me a daughter. The dukedom of Kinross has an heir, and she’s the most beautiful creation on God’s earth.”
Everyone erupted into applause.
THE FOLLOWING HANDFUL of days was a blur of activity and tiredness for Mary, who supervised the coming and going of visitors to the Duchess’s bedchamber, ensuring family and guests alike were able to coo over the ducal infant but that the new mother was not left exhausted, and there was still time for Antonia and Jonathon to be alone to enjoy and become acquainted with their newborn. Gabrielle de Crespigny took charge of the infant’s needs and the nursery and its nurserymaids, Michelle supervised the maids, and the major domo Marc Gallet soon had the household returned to its daily routine, given there was a newborn in the house.
Come Christmas Day, two of the Duke of Roxton’s carriages arrived from the big house to collect Mary, Christopher, Lady Paget, Teddy, Mme de Crespigny, Marc Gallet, and the upper servants for the family service in the Treat chapel, to be followed by a lavish Christmas banquet and games and gifts for the children. It was the first time Antonia was left alone with her infant with only Michelle for company—she refused to leave her side—and without Jonathon, whom she sent off to spend the day with the family as he had not been outside their apartment since the birth, and who, in her opinion, needed a dose of winter air to unfuddle his brain so that they could come to a firm decision as to their daughter’s names for the christening ceremony. Besides which her grandchildren, particularly Frederick, was missing his company and would want news of his Mema and the baby from him and no other.
And so the corridors and rooms of Crecy Hall were quiet for the first time in a very long while, allowing Antonia to enjoy the quiet and do nothing more than gaze wonderingly at her baby daughter. It was while she was dozing with her infant nestled in the crook of her arm that she dreamed her nephew was seated on the edge of the mattress facing her. He was cross-legged and smiling in that way peculiar to him, head cocked to one side, like an enquiring parrot, bright blue eyes so like his father’s, full of undisguised mischief. Only this time his eyes were glassy, and he was much older and more gaunt than her remembrance of him. He had also acquired a scar to his eyebrow and left cheek. She did not remember his hair being streaked with gray, but then he had always worn a wig or powdered his own locks.
With a sleepy smile she put out her hand to him across the coverlet. He smiled back and took hold of her fingers, and after kissing the back of her hand, kept it in a firm clasp. As always, aunt and nephew spoke in French, their first language.
“Boy or girl?”
“A daughter.”
“I know nothing of infants. But she looks beautiful and serene, just like you.”
“I am glad you are here, mon chou. It has been far too long.”
“And I’m glad you are happy, and have a new family. You deserve nothing less. Mary tells me your new duke is a good man, and in his own indomitable and unique way, not unlike M’sieur le Duc Roxton.”
“He is and I love him; all the more because he accepts I will always love Monseigneur, too. And when my time it comes, I will return to him. Until then, I am Jonathon’s, and he has given me this most precious gift and we are very happy.”
“I went to the mausoleum to pay my respects. It is a fitting place for my parents. It is good to see them keeping company with Monseigneur. I asked their forgiveness… I wish my life had been different—that I had been different—for them. But there is no point in wishing the impossible, is there? That way madness lies…”
“Do you wish you had told them you were alive?”
“My father knew. He always knew. After my—um—death we continued to correspond. I made him swear not to tell Mama.”
“That was wise. Your mother she would have pestered Vallentine unto death to tell her your whereabouts. Better that she mourn and leave him in peace, than worry about you.”
“Aha! So mon père he did confide in Monseigneur, and in turn he told you! Of course he would. And yet you never said a word to anyone, not even to your son?”
“It was not my place to say anything to anyone. You wished to be dead. Il n’y a pas d’argument. Just as it is not my place to tell Mary that your offer of marriage, while sincere, was made in a bid to have Christopher Bryce act upon his feelings, yes?”
“And we all thought Monseigneur he was the omniscient one!”
Antonia dimpled.
“I do not know everything. But I know my son, and M’sieur Bryce his disposition it is very similar to Julian’s. Honor and duty and doing what is right, even if it is to their detriment, that is what is important to them.”
Evelyn smiled crookedly.
“I don’t doubt they are getting along splendidly. A mutual admiration society of sorts.”
“Absolument. But you knew that too, did you not, mon chou?”
“It was just a matter of herding them into the same room… And has Squire Worthy found his ballocks to finally declare himself to Mary?”
“Est-ce-que tu peux en douter? They are in love and so they are lovers. And he has asked her to marry him. But they are not betrothed—yet.”
“Whyever not!?”
“It was you, was it not, who told Mary you would return within the month to ask her to marry you? And so like a good girl she waits to speak with you, to tell you herself about her squire’s marriage proposal. She will only accept him after she has refused you. She too can be just as obdurate. Mon chou, she loves you but—”
“—it is in a different way to her squire. I know and I’m glad. Truly. I would’ve married her, made her my countess, and looked after her, had matters with him turned out differently. You have always known about Mary and me. We grew up under yo
ur very nose. Our first and only kiss was here at Treat. But I make a poor husband. And this you also know. Oh, she’d have put up with me, and loved me, and tolerated my selfish eccentricities. That is because she is a sweet creature—a good girl, as you say. But after her deplorable first marriage, she is deserving of a man who not only loves her deeply but worships her, who will be a devoted husband and father to their children, and to her daughter. I would be a poor substitute for the Squire. Christopher Bryce is a worthy man, and he is worthy of Mary.”
“All that is very true, mon cher neveu. You speak from the heart, because despite how you present to the world, I know you, too, are a good man with a good heart.”
“Only to those I love. To others I am the very devil.” He kissed her hand again and smiled into her eyes, a glance at her sleeping infant. “I hope one day to have the privilege of seeing her grown.”
Antonia’s fingers convulsed in his and her green eyes misted with tears.
“You are leaving us again.” When he nodded but did not speak she added, “I would ask you to write but I fear that may not be possible, yes?”
“I cannot promise, but I will do my best in my self-absorbed way to send you word that I live, if nothing else. Should you have news for me, send it via Shrewsbury. He’ll know where I am.”
Antonia was surprised, and yet also strangely not, that he was in the service of the Spymaster General. She made no comment, and said only,
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