As Mary tried to figure what the basket had to do with her and Peter spending the night together, she heard another mewing from the basket, and she froze. Even muffled by the layers of cloths, there was no mistaking the sound of a baby's soft cries.
Her eyes flickered to the duchess for confirmation, saw the disgust on her face, and knew the basket contained Mary Jessica Haddad. Giving a wail of her own, Mary leapt toward the nursemaid and snatched the basket from her hands. She quickly uncovered the bundle nestled at the bottom, and found an olive-skinned, black curly haired, blue-eyed baby staring up at her.
"Mary Jessica?" she cooed at the baby, as the infant gazed up at her.
From the corner of her eye, Mary saw the duchess's face turn from contempt to malicious. "If there had been any question as to the identity of this child before, there is none now," the duchess said, then nodded at one of the footmen. He promptly held out a folded missive to her.
"This came from the solicitor of the woman that you fostered your bastard child on. Apparently, she and her husband succumb to some disease three months past. And the solicitor hired to deal with their affairs by their employer, the Duke of Vanworth, has sent your child back to you.”
Mary could hear the loathing in the woman’s voice. Apparently, Lady Hurtle had told the duchess about Mary helping a governess to marry a duke.
“I am not Mary Jessica’s mother, but I am her guardian,” Mary said, even though she knew it wouldn’t matter to the duchess. “And she will be my adoptive daughter as soon as I return to London and sign the adoption papers.”
“Hmph,” the Duchess snorted. “Do you expect me to believe that?”
Mary’s back straightened; she didn’t care what the duchess believed. Peter knew the truth, and that was all that mattered to Mary.
And then the duchess added, “Or that anyone in polite society will accept you, and your bastard?” Startled, Mary took a step back and the vicious woman pressed on. “You will be shunned by all and sundry. And thanks to you, so will my son.”
“No,” Mary cried softly. Peter was a duke. She might not know a great deal about the aristocracy, but she knew that no one would dare shun Peter because of her or Mary Jessica.
“You think not?” the duchess said, and took a step toward Mary. “Rollens might be a peer and a duke, but he is still held to the same standards of civility as everyone else.” She took another step toward Mary. “In fact, as a duke, he is held to an even a higher standard than anyone else.”
Mary’s vision began to blur from the moisture gathering in her eyes.
“And do you think he will not come to resent you for the loss of his reputation? Because I can assure you, I know my son. He will. Maybe not at first. But Rollens,” the duchess hesitated and then continued, “my son will come to hate you when he sees just how much he will lose by marrying the likes of you.”
It wasn’t true. Mary had worried about what marrying Peter would do to her. She had no doubts that most of the ton would turn their backs on her. And she had worried about what marrying Peter would do to Mary Jessica. In the end, she had decided that having Peter in Mary Jessica’s life would be good for her new daughter. But not once last night had she thought about what marrying her might do to Peter and his reputation.
“I see you are beginning to comprehend my meaning,” the duchess said. “But unless you don’t fully understand what marrying you will cost my son, let me explain it to you. Rollens is a leading member in the House of Lords. And he has a number of bills currently before Parliament. One of them, the funding for the women’s college, I am told you are so interested in.”
Mary didn’t need to ask how the duchess knew about her interest in the women’s college. Lady Hurtle had probably filled the woman in on everything Mary had ever done or said by now.
“And he will lose any support he has for those bills, as soon as word gets out that he has married a mere governess with a half breed, bastard child.”
Mary gasped, and fell back another step.
But the duchess wasn’t through. “And my son sits on the board of more than a dozen charities and other philanthropic organizations. And I can assure you, that not one of them will allow him to remain, not with you as his wife,” she glanced down at the basket, “and your bastard child in his home.”
Mary was unable to speak, so she just shook her head and looked down at Mary Jessica. A cold wind blew through the mews, ruffling the blankets and causing her child to shiver. She quickly bundled the blankets back around the infant, but refused to meet the duchess’s gaze.
“Do you love my son?” the duchess asked softly.
Startled, Mary jerked up and stared at the woman. “Yes,” she breathed.
The woman took a breath and let it out. “Then do the right thing, Miss Penrose, and leave. Now. Before my son finds out he’s been cuckolded, even before he’s been married. He has already endured one such humiliation from his first wife. And a worse scandal from his second wife. He cannot survive a third scandalous marriage.”
Mary couldn’t answer. Her mind was filled with too much chaos. She knew about his first two disastrous marriages, and how they had devastated Peter. And she knew what the duchess was saying was true; people would assume that Mary Jessica was her illegitimate daughter, as the baby looked too much like Mary with her short curly hair, and blue eyes to not be mistaken for her natural child. No matter what Peter and the courts said or did.
The duchess spoke over her turmoil. “Once you are gone from these premises, I will inform my son of your treachery and disgrace. And as I am not heartless, and I know my son has some affection for you, Miss Penrose, misplaced as it might be, I will not force you and your child out into the cold. Therefore, the two of you will remain in the stables until a coach can convey the two of you back to Newton-on-the-Moor. From there you can go where ever you like. So long as you stay far away from my family."
The duchess held out a packet and Mary took it with trembling fingers.
"Once again, I am not a heartless woman. If you go quietly, I will use my influence to find you another position. I’ll even use my authority to gain a position on the board of trusties of this women’s college my son is trying to help fund. If it is approved, I will ensure you are offered a job there.” The disinclination she heard in the woman’s tone was the same as she had heard in Lady Hurtle’s when Mary had tried to talk to her about the prospect of a college for women.
The duchess continued. “Additionally, in deference to my son, I have persuaded your employer, Lady Hurtle, to pay you your salary for the remainder of this month. And I have added another hundred pounds. You will also find a letter of reference from Lady Hurtle, with the understanding that you will never contact my son or darken mine or Lady Hurtle's family's homes again. Is that understood?"
Mary's stomach roiled and she was almost sick. Her hand shook as she eyed the envelope with the money and letter. A hundred pounds was more than four years' salary. A great deal of money for Mary. A pence for the Duchess of Rollens. There was no doubt that she was being bought off.
Her fingers crushed the packet. “Yes, your Grace,” Mary replied.
Mary would have liked to have thrown the money back in the duchess's face. But looking down at her new daughter gazing so trustingly up at her, she knew she no longer had that luxury.
"A runner has been sent to the Red Fox Inn in the village. A hired coach will be here within minutes to transport you to Newton-on-the-Moor. And I warn you, if you make any attempt to contact my son, before or after you leave, I will destroy you. Do I make myself clear?"
Unable to answer, Mary continued to stare down at her new baby. She nodded her head, which must have been sufficient as the duchess and her entourage left her standing in the middle of the courtyard.
It truly was over. His mother had made her feelings about Mary very clear. And regardless of the warning, Mary had no desire to be a part of a family in which the mother, and most likely the entire family, despised her.
Gazing down at Mary Jessica, she knew why the duchess believed the infant was her child. The baby had Mary's, and Tina Bywater's, bright-blue eyes. And although Mary knew the infant's curly black locks came from Ommar, no one who saw the child would believe anything but that Mary Jessica was Mary's own child.
So with all hope gone of marrying Peter, Mary walked over and settled on one of the stone benches set against the curtain wall and waited for the coach that would take her and her child away from the man that she loved.
Chapter 13
Peter awoke from the greatest night of his life to the worst morning. Lam, his very trusted if somewhat annoying, valet woke him at ten minutes after nine o’clock. Which meant Peter had gotten about two hours of sleep. Not nearly enough for him to understand a word his normally taciturn valet was spewing as he flung clothes at Peter's head.
"Lam," Peter snapped, "if you don't slow down and make sense, I'm going to fire you. Then I'm going to strangle you."
Unfazed by either threat, the rail-thin man rushed over and prodded Peter to the edge of the bed and then to his feet. Used to his master sleeping in the raw, he didn't bat an eye as he jerked a shirt over Peter’s head.
"I said, her Grace, the Duchess of Rollens, has evicted her from the castle. Even now they may be on the road to Newton-on-the-Moor," Lam replied as he rushed back to the wardrobe and pulled out Peter's boots.
Peter's sleep-deprived mind cleared in an instant. There was only one 'her' that his mother would dare expel from Alnwick Castle. But to be sure, he asked with a lethal note to his voice, "Which 'her' has my illustrious mother dared to evict from the Duke of Northumberland's home?"
Exasperated, Lam literally flung Peter's Hessian boots toward the bed. They landed with a soul-shattering thud at Peter's feet as his usual fastidious valet jerked open a drawer and pulled out a pair of hose.
"Miss Penrose, of course," Lam replied as he rushed back over to Peter.
A cold rage enveloped Peter. He knew his mother could be devious and relentless in her efforts to get her own way. But he had erroneously believed he had convinced her that Mary was indeed his perfect match.
Jerking on his pantaloons, Peter quickly buttoned them and was reaching for buttons on his shirt when Lam returned and tossed his hose onto the bed before continuing his report.
“I went to the kitchen this morning and was told that her Grace had once again ordered two of the Duke of Northumberland's footmen to detain Miss Penrose. Her Grace has also sent a missive to you. One I intercepted and read of course. In it she informs you that she has invited Miss Penrose to break her fast with her so they might discuss the forthcoming nuptials. It is, of course, a complete lie as her Grace had Miss Penrose escorted to the mews no more than five minutes ago."
“You read my private letter?” Peter asked, astonished despite the dire circumstances.
“I did,” Lam replied without showing any remorse.
Ignoring his valet’s pilferage of his mail, he demanded, "And is she still there? Miss Penrose, my fiancé, is still in the mews as we speak?"
Lam nodded and said, "I was assured that the coach her Grace sent for cannot possibly arrive for another half an hour, sir."
“Then I need you to go to the mews and make sure that my future wife is safe,” Peter ordered.
"Begging your pardon, your Grace, but I believe I know what precipitated Miss Penrose's eviction from the castle this morning. A package arrived in the middle of the night for Miss Penrose. A basket with a small child in it."
Peter's chest tightened painfully as he asked, "Are you telling me that this infant arrived at the castle last evening, and Miss Penrose was not immediately notified?"
The valet's spine snapped straight, and he spoke with a calm disgust in his voice. "The rumor downstairs is that a maid was sent to Miss Penrose's room around midnight, and that she was not present. A search of the castle was unable to turn up either her, or yourself. So the butler had the child delivered to her Grace, instead."
Peter had no doubt that the child was the one Mary had told him about last night. Apparently, the London solicitor had decided to send the child on to Mary in Northumberland. The action surprised Peter at first, until he recalled what Mary said about the possible prejudiced feelings others might have about her new daughter’s mixed heritage.
Which enraged Peter, because sending a three-month-old infant clear crossed England in the middle of winter is beyond dangerous, it was foolhardy. And Peter had every intention of confronting the man when he returned to London to find out why he had endangered his new daughter’s life in such a reckless way.
His anger quickly gave way to questions of why his mother would have not sent the child to Mary last night. And then he thought he knew; she still believed she could prevent their marriage, and had somehow decided to use the child in her scheme to tear them apart. How he didn’t know, but he fully intended to find out.
Looking up, Peter fixed Lam with a hard stare. "I will finish dressing myself. Go on to the mews and make sure Miss Penrose is still there and unharmed. And make sure that she does not leave until I arrive. Then meet me in the bailey. I have some more orders for you. Is that understood?"
Lam nodded smartly and took off with a quick, "Your Grace."
Mary was becoming increasingly anxious. It had been more than half an hour since she had been ordered to leave the castle. A light snow had begun to fall, coating the mews' courtyard in a white blanket. She had been worried about little Mary Jessica until the stable master had taken her to his office where a fire was warming the place.
At first she had refused, not wanting to deal with his judgmental stares. But he had surprised her with his kindness and assured her she and her baby were more than welcome. They would also be safer and warmer in his office. He then told her that due to the snow, a coach from the village wouldn't arrive for at least an hour.
She thought his explanation was a bit suspicious but didn’t want to argue with him. So she spent the time debating what she was doing. Peter deserved an explanation of what had happened. And not from his mother, whom Mary knew would put her own depraved slant on it.
Glancing down, she gazed at her new daughter. Her heart swelled with love for the infant, even as it broke over losing the love of Peter. Mary Jessica, whom she had decided to call Jess like another one of her friends, was sleeping peacefully in her arms, unaware of the turmoil going on around them. Jess was, in Mary's opinion, the most beautiful baby she had ever seen. Her eyes were incredibly bright blue. She knew that many times a baby's eye color might change over time, but she hoped her new daughter's would not.
At just three months old, the infant was fair skinned, but Mary could tell when she held her that Jess was going to be more like her father in coloring than her mother. And her hair was black as night and downy soft. It curled around Mary's fingers as she sifted her locks.
Mary was mourning the loss of Jess's parents while at the same time falling hopelessly in love with their child. Suddenly she heard deep voices coming from the courtyard, and then the unmistakable jingle of harnesses and the clatter of wheels against the cobblestones. The time had finally come as she had no doubts that the coach had finally arrived. Up until then,
Mary had been harboring a faint hope that Peter would show up and put an end to this nightmare. But it was not to be.
As gently as she could, she returned Jess to the wicker basket. Mary covered her new daughter with the blankets and then waited. Within seconds heavy footfalls echoed off the cobblestones as someone approached the office. Mary glanced down at her sleeping infant, and then stood up to greet the stable master.
But it wasn't the stable master that came through the door, it was Peter. Her heart froze at the sight of him. He was so very magnificent, taller than most men, raven black hair, and hypnotic green eyes. And two things hit her at the same time. The first was that he wasn’t smiling. He didn’t appear to be mad or upset, he just wasn’t smiling. So he probably didn’t kn
ow that her new child had been delivered to the castle last night. And secondly, with his coloring he could easily be mistaken as Mary Jessica's father.
He quickly dispelled her first conclusions when he asked, pleasantly, "Is that our new child? The one you told me about last night?"
Mary felt her mouth fall open. Of all the things she had expected this morning, his calmly claiming Jess as their child was not one of them. But before she could regain her wits he crossed over and reached toward the basket.
"You failed to tell me my new daughter's name last night," he said as he gently pulled back the top blanket and peered down.
His eyes flickered to hers with a flash of uncertainty. But it was gone just as quickly, and it answered one of her questions; he had known that Jess had been brought to the castle. Which meant he probably knew about Jess being taken to his mother, rather than being brought to her.
"So, what is our new daughter's name?" he asked again when she didn’t answer him. Mary couldn't have missed the emphasis he kept placing on the words our new daughter if she had been half deaf.
She squinted up at him as she distractedly replied, "Mary Jessica Haddad. Although I've decided to call her Jess for short, and to avoid any confusion. And I thought I would ask the court to hyphenate her surname to Haddad-Penrose when I adopt her so she would always know who her mother and father were."
He smiled, and her heart did a little somersault in her chest. "I like Jess. It has a nice ring to it. But why don't we hyphenate her name to Haddad-Hendricks. Otherwise she is going to have as many names as I do. And that can be a bit bothersome when you have to sign your full name."
A sharp pain squeezed her heart, even as a glimmer of hope burned. “Peter, I can’t marry you.”
The Christmas Promise (The Fallen Angels NOVELLA series Book 2) Page 11