“Thank you, my darling. But do go on with the play and introduce the characters.”
Deborah nodded. “If you like, but I’m pretty certain you know everyone. Let me see, Benedict is going to be Sabra’s father, the King, Louisa and Sarah are going to be the Princess’s attendants and Birdy will be the Princess because she already had the costume – but, she looks really pretty… and, Amanda Rose and Ewan are going to be soldiers and they have swords and they kill Henry but then James is the doctor – he looks silly in his hat, wait until you see – and, well, he cures Henry… and, Wills will be Saint George because he’s the oldest and the suit of armor from Somerton Hall fits him perfectly. Anything else?”
“Here.” Four-year-old Henry Darcy, Kathy and George’s youngest, waved his hand urgently. “I have to wee.”
“You’re the baker. You can’t wee!”
“I can too!” His hand now clutched between his legs Henry began to search frantically for his mother. Kathy came rushing forward, picked up her son and disappeared out the door.
“Won’t be a but a moment. Seems he’s already begun…”
Clarissa groaned once again.
Well, the tragic tale went off beautifully from that point onward. The King lamented his daughter’s impending fate and the townspeople stomped around waving their arms and shaking their fists at the dragon – a large, green figure cut from wood with stiff red and orange scarves attached to his mouth as if they were flames. When the evil knights, Ewan Durand and Amanda Rose Fitzwilliam, arrived on stage to do battle everyone booed. Dressed identically, they wore matching black caps, tunics and tights, long gloves and carried wooden swords – they even wore matching black mustaches.
Both children dutifully hacked away at the much larger Saint George while Will Darcy tried not to laugh or tumble over in the ancient suit of armor he wore. Ewan and Amanda were laughing so hard by the end that they leaned against each other for support. In fact, by this time everyone was laughing and cheering the battle on.
Almost everyone, that is.
Clarissa had not approved of the children’s theatrical going ahead during the country’s period of mourning, so she decided her look should be appropriately severe. Besides, she was bored silly and found it difficult to pay attention. After checking the mantel clock for the fourth time she stifled a yawn, then glanced at the pandemonium on stage, only really paying attention when her daughter appeared. How typically revolting for the Fitzwilliam family to have the girl dressed as a boy, and with that disgusting mustache. Then Ewan appeared beside her daughter. She froze.
Good God! They were identical.
Her precious daughter and that bastard boy, so alike in their costumes and fake mustaches they could be twins – their eyes, the color of their hair, their smiles… right down to the dimples in their chins! This was unbearable. Even their mannerisms were alike. This is deliberate, I’ll warrant. This family takes great delight in shaming me, laughing at me behind my back. Angrily she studied the others, ready to catch any eye wink or derisive expression. Pretending not to notice are they? Well, this is not my shame.
In reality, however, the only ones watching the play who appeared to be in any way surprised were the servants. It began with a cough, a throat clearing, then whispers behind hidden hands, giggles. One pretty young thing was even emboldened enough to catch Clarissa’s eye and smirk.
“How dare you?” Furious, Clarissa jumped to her feet. “Get out – all of you,” she shouted.
Matthew caught her wrist. “Have you lost your senses; sit down. You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
“You bastard!” She slapped him hard across the face. “Get your hands off me, you’re disgusting. You think I care a whit about this repulsive family of yours?” The play by now had stopped, the room frozen in shock, the children frightened, everyone watching in silence. Amanda’s eyes filled with tears, she began to move forward.
Matthew slowly rose from his seat, his hand still holding her wrist. Although his voice sounded calm, his gaze held white hot fury. “Clarissa, apologize to my family or leave.”
“Apologize? You allow that whore’s son…” No one heard what followed because the room erupted with outrage. She was still screaming back and forth with her sisters-in-law when Matthew pulled her out the door.
“Do not say one more word, Clarissa,” he warned as he propelled her down the stairs.
“Why? What will you do? You think I fear you, Matthew? I could chew you up and spit you out before the first blow!” He shoved her into the downstairs library and locked the doors behind them.
“This cannot go on Clarissa! You’ve become unhinged!”
“Unhinged you say! You realize, do you not, that your bastard son will now be the talk of the city, your shame on the lips of all of our friends! Did you hear those servants? They were whispering and laughing, your favorite little tart even smirked at me. By morning every household in London will have heard of this and spread the word. I shall be a laughingstock. How could you do this to me?! I refuse to remain in this family another day.”
“Very glad to hear it. Leave.”
“Be assured that I will. Do you believe for one moment I will allow myself to be portrayed as condoning this… this… acceptance of your mistress and your bastard son? Never! I will make it clear to all how I was completely innocent, duped by my philandering husband; and, I shall make certain she and her child are publicly shunned, don’t think I won’t. I shan’t be branded by this scandal, Matthew! I do have a certain standing in society, you know.”
He lit his cigar calmly. “Have a care, Clarissa. Think before you utter one word that could hurt my son.”
“Or, what? You are already considered a libertine, a hotheaded, arrogant, opinionated brute; just the sort of man about whom people love to gossip.”
“That may be so; however, if you say one word against my son, you will be finished.”
“Ha! And how would you accomplish that?”
“Money. The dearest thing to your heart, dearer than God himself. I simply will block your funds. You will have no money, Clarissa. Think about that and close your mouth. Remember, your father gave me complete autonomy over your inheritance. Do you understand me?”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Think again.”
“My friends would champion me!”
“Then they had better support you as well.”
“You evil man. Now I know why you became so distant from me, so cold. You wanted a divorce so you could be with her – but, she’s married now, isn’t she. Not even your family could weather two divorces without damage. I suppose that is what this is all leading up to, your annual request to end this marriage.”
“Yes. I simply want to live again.” They stared hard at each other, a bridge had been crossed now and there was no turning back.
Without a word Clarissa turned to a nearby mirror to smooth her disheveled appearance. “You’ve messed my hair, you beast.”
“Look at me, please. Can we end this marriage, finally?” Despite the animosity between them, saying the words out loud was painful, to both of them. They had been young once, in love, immortal. There had been joy then.
Clarissa’s eyes moistened and she eventually nodded. “I agree, I’ve had enough of you.” Matthew turned to leave and she tried her last card. “Amanda shall remain with me, of course.”
He laughed out loud. “Not bloody likely.”
“A child belongs with her mother; the courts all agree. Society demands it.”
“We are at an impasse then, my darling. Either we divorce on my terms, in that we share custody of our daughter – and, I shall continue to oversee your funds, the better to keep you silent – or, I shall hand all your inheritance over to the National Society for Women’s Suffrage and cut off all your credit. I’ve already made the inquiries.”
“What! That group of revolutionaries! You know how fervently we have been campaigning against them! You wouldn’t dare!”
<
br /> “I need only contact Lydia Becker and an article about your incredibly startling yet generous donation to the ‘cause’ will be featured in the Women’s Suffrage Journal. Do you know, I believe with that your father actually will finally turn over in his grave.”
Chapter 33
The play had come to a complete stop with Clarissa’s outburst, everyone stunned into silence. It took seconds for Henry to begin wailing, the child terrified of the tension in the room, then Deborah began to cry and then the others. Tears running down her cheeks Amanda looked from one angry face to another, humiliated and frightened by her parents’ behavior. She began to run from the stage when she collided with Roberta and falling off the platform with a crash.
Kathy scooped up the still screaming Henry as Anne Marie reached her sobbing daughter, Deborah, and then both hurried to Roberta to make certain she wasn’t hurt. Elizabeth already had Amanda cradled in her arms. “Are you all right, sweetheart?” The little girl panicked when Elizabeth touched the blood dripping down the side of her face.
“I’m bleeding?” she whispered in a shaky voice.
“There, there, dear. You’ll be fine. Luke,” Lizzy called out, calmly. “Could you send a servant upstairs to fetch the new nanny, I believe you said that she’s had training as a nurse? Excellent. Please hurry.”
He ran to the door and called for a footman while the rest began crowding in around the little girl, all talking at once, some telling Lizzy to have Amanda lie down, others saying no she should sit up, others insisted she staunch the bleeding by holding a towel on the wound, a comment which was met with a ‘certainly not, bleeding should be encouraged to clean to wound...’
“Please everyone,” Darcy kept exclaiming to no avail, “let us all remain calm. Step back, give the child some room. Fitzwilliam, will you stop cursing.”
“Excuse me… excuse me… move damn it…” Using his cane to slap ankles in his path, Mark reached his niece’s side in moments. He was sick with concern, the child as dear to him as if she were his own. “Let me see her, Aunt Eliza.” He struggled to sit beside them on the floor, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it to his niece’s bleeding forehead. Damn his brother and that fool wife of his, always fighting, always thinking of themselves first, never considering that it was the girl who suffered most. “You may have a lovely black eye tomorrow, Amanda.”
She gulped. “Really?” He grinned at her faint glimmer of interest. “Do you really think so?”
“I would be surprised if you did not. The boys will be green with envy.”
Bunny hovered behind him. “Mark? Mark, please be careful; you have a bit of blood now on your sleeve,” she bent to whisper in his ear. “Remember we’re expected at the opera later.”
“That’s not a concern of mine at the moment, Bunny.” Mark was tired of attempting to understand this woman. Her values would never be his; and, he would end up disappointing them both if this relationship continued.
“The nanny is here,” shouted the Mary’s in unison. “Come in, come in!”
The family began haranguing the poor young woman the moment she entered the room until she turned to them and raised her hand for silence. “Enough! Be good enough to stop speaking and step back. This child needs quiet and calm, and she alone deserves my full attention. Is that clear to everyone?”
She was so confident, so self-possessed, so poised that for the first time in memory… everyone obeyed. Even Fitzwilliam ceased cursing to see who dared speak so imperiously to his family, then stopped to look more closely at her. How odd. Wherever had he seen that face before?
Crouching beside the child the nanny smiled and gently took the girl’s hand. “Hello, little one. Can you tell me what has happened here?” Suddenly shy, Amanda shook her head then buried her face in her uncle’s chest.
“That’s all right, sweetheart.” Mark kissed her forehead. “The children were in the midst of their play…”
When he looked up Mark’s brain suddenly seized. He was staring into silver eyes that haunted his dreams, the lips he still felt, the face as familiar to him as his own. It was his angel, his heart and soul, the love he had waited a lifetime for, his very own Inappropriate Clarke.
“Bloody hell!” he snapped. “You’re supposed to be dead!”
Chapter 34
Moments before Martha had been resting in her lovely little room, still unsure whether this position had been a wise one to accept.
On the plus side, although she was newly employed with this family, she sensed the mistress was a decent sort and certainly grateful to have Martha there, a refreshing change from having been refused a nursing position at all the charity hospitals and clinics.
However, on the negative, there was yesterday when she had seen Mark Fitzwilliam for the first time from her third-floor window! Heartbreaking. He’d been riding with a woman in a carriage, laughing with his brothers riding alongside on horseback, their resemblance to each other very apparent. He looked wonderful and, best of all, on the mend, thank the Lord. From now on she would be able to see him from afar, but never speak with him again.
In addition, there was a real danger of being discovered. Earl Fitzwilliam hadn’t pursued his complaint against her because he believed her dead. Working for a member of his family might expose her presence to him at some point – although that was unlikely. Servants were ghosts in a home, not meant to be seen by gentry.
If he did see and remember her, though, she would surely be sacked. Again. And then where would she find employment? Mr. Bridges had continued spreading his lies, ruining her reputation. There was no future for her now in the career she loved, but in service she could at least have a roof over her head.
Pity. Before she married her late husband, a soldier whose father had been poor cleric, she would have been this illustrious family’s equal, a child of great privilege with servants and luxury herself, her father commander of British troops in India. Oh well. No use dwelling on what might have been. The sensible thing was to remember what was. But, oh, how the mighty are fallen. A woman had to eat. It was a habit of which she had grown quite fond.
So… if she absolutely had to be in service, at least she was with a family who seemed uncommonly grateful for her presence.
And… they were very kind. And very wealthy. And very generous.
And… the children were exceptionally bright. Martha was needed here, and inevitably she would be busy in future as governess as well.
And… most important of all, they were related to him. She had not believed her good fortune to have been recommended here by a physician with whom she’d worked. The one bright light was Mark Fitzwilliam. She would be in his world, even if never in his sight, and it warmed her to know a little of his blood ran in the children she would nurture. He would never be aware how close she was, though; nor how dear he was to her. She would live for the times she could see him from afar; not in the same room, of course, but from the top of the stairs, from the shadows.
With his new wife.
She wanted to vomit.
If Papa weren’t already dead, seeing me humbled like this would kill him.
The clock on her mantel chimed and she checked her pinned watch for the correct time. In an hour she would have the children’s meal to oversee next door in the nursery, she’d be listening to their giggly stories, supervise a few games, and then to bed. Martha was happy to be busy tonight; it would keep her mind off the fact that He and his fiancé were just downstairs from her, possibly announcing their wedding plans at that exact moment, the family celebrating and happy. She’d need a bucket nearby.
There was a hard rap on the door.
She hoped the children weren’t early, the table setting was far from ready. “Come in.”
“You’re to come quick, miss. Been an accident durin’ children’s play and oh miss there’s blood everywhere I think child mebbe dead but they sent Tommy for doctor so mebbe she isn’t.”
“Calm yourself and speak sl
owly.” Martha dropped the book she’d been staring blankly at and hurried past the young maid. “You said there’d been an accident. Is the child still in the playroom,” she asked, tying up her shoes.
“Yes, miss.”
“Very good. There is a large black bag in the back closet, please bring it down to me immediately.” With that Martha hurried out the door, forgetting entirely what was likely awaiting her…
“I don’t understand this.” Mark sounded both stunned and annoyed. When Martha gazed into his blue eyes she nearly swallowed her tongue. “I was told you were dead.”
“Perhaps that report was premature,” she muttered. Oh, she could stare at him for hours.
“Pardon me.” Elizabeth tugged on the nanny’s uniform sleeve for attention. “Can you see to the child, please?”
“Sorry, madam.” Martha gently stroked the arm of the beautiful little girl clutching his coat. “Is this your daughter, sir?”
What did she say? What the shite was going on here? “No. No, Amanda is my brother’s daughter.”
“May I see where she is injured, please?” He was still unyielding, staring intently at her, seemingly irritated by her presence. “If you do remember me, sir, then you must remember I am also a nurse,” she said softly.
“Of course I do. Amanda, dear, look up.” This wouldn’t do, he could hardly breathe. Although never truly accepting the news of her death, not in his soul at any rate, not in his heart, he’d never imagined to ever see the woman again! And, here she was within his own family.
A shriek from the maid entering just then made an already tense situation worse. Fitzwilliam stomped forward. “Whatever is the matter with you? Get a hold of yourself. It’s just blood, girl, not snakes.” Fitzwilliam snatched the satchel from her and handed it to Martha directly, whispering, “And you! After this, Mrs. Kelly, you and I are going to speak.”
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