Belgravia (47 page)

“One thing.” He did not move but spoke with his face still turned toward the windows.

“Name it,” she said, starting to feel relief flooding through her.

“After tonight, we will never again mention that it is not my child. Not even between ourselves.”

Susan felt her breath come more easily. Her shoulders loosened and she leaned back among the lace-edged pillows behind her. Then she spoke with the voice of a lover. “Why would I ever say otherwise? It is your child, my darling. Who else could have a claim to it?”

Then he came to her and took her hands, and bent to kiss her mouth. Initially, the idea was rather revolting to her, but Susan was nothing if not disciplined. She did not feel attracted to this man. Indeed, she wondered if she ever had been. She did not even like him, or enjoy his company. But his affection was essential if she were to make a success of this life on earth. Very well. She would learn to like him. She would even conquer her revulsion at the idea of their making love. After all, she must have liked him once, at least a bit. He was quite wrong, of course. She had
absolutely taken a lover in John Bellasis and been caught out, just as her husband had suspected; but that version was gone now, lost in the ether, and she would learn to adopt her own story of personal sacrifice to bring about a child for them to love and bring up together. She reckoned that it would not take her much more than a year to believe it implicitly. If she tried hard enough, she knew she could forget the truth. And with that thought, she opened her mouth to kiss him as passionately as she knew how. His tongue felt unpleasantly large in her mouth at first, and it still tasted of sour wine, but Susan didn’t care.

She was in the clear.

C
aroline Brockenhurst stared at her visitor. She could hardly take in what she was saying. “I don’t understand,” she said at last.

Anne was not surprised. It was a great deal to digest. She had thought for some time how best to explain the situation, but in the end she’d come to the conclusion that she just had to say it. “We know now that your son, Edmund, was legally married to my daughter, Sophia, before he died. Charles Pope is legitimate, and in fact is not Charles Pope at all. He’s Charles Bellasis, or to be exact, Viscount Bellasis, and the legal heir to his grandfather.”

James Trenchard had come home that day bursting with joy. He held in his hand the proof he’d been waiting for. His lawyers had registered the marriage and it had been accepted by the Committee of Privileges. At least, this last would take some time to complete, but the lawyers had scanned the evidence and they could see no difficulty. In other words, there wasn’t any further need to keep it secret. It was Anne who decided they must tell Lady Brockenhurst straightaway. So she’d walked round and found her alone. And now she had told her the news.

Caroline Brockenhurst sat in silence as a million different thoughts jostled for a place in her brain. Would Edmund really have married without telling them? And the daughter of Wellington’s victualler? At first she was filled with indignation. How could this possibly have happened? The girl must have been a little minx. She knew Sophia had been pretty. Caroline’s sister, the Duchess, had told her that much, but what a schemer she must have been into the bargain. Then the greater truth started to impress itself on her. They had a legitimate heir, she and Peregrine. And an heir
who was industrious, talented, and clever. Of course he must abandon his trading at once, but he would. As soon as he knew the facts of the case. He could bring his abilities to bear at Lymington, or on their other estates. Then there were the London properties that no one had done much with in a century or more. There was such a lot for him to tackle. She concentrated again on the woman before her. They were not friends, exactly, even now, but they were not enemies. They had shared too much for that.

“And he knows nothing? Charles, I mean.”

“Nothing. James wanted to be quite sure there would be no obstacles that might have disappointed him.”

“I see. Well, we should send a message first thing in the morning. Come to dinner here tomorrow night, and we can tell him together.”

“What about Lord Brockenhurst? Where is he now?”

“He’s been shooting in Yorkshire. He’ll be back tomorrow, or so he said. I’ll send a telegram to confirm he’s to come here and not go on to Hampshire.” She thought for a moment. “If Mr. Trenchard was successful in getting the marriage accepted, how did he explain your daughter’s surname on the registry of the birth?”

Anne smiled. “All husbands are the legal fathers of any children born during a marriage.”

“Even when they’re dead?”

“If a child is born within nine months of a husband’s death, the legal assumption obtains that he is the father, whether or not the wife took his name, whether or not he is named as the father in the registry.”

“Can a husband not repudiate a baby?”

Anne thought. “There must be some mechanism for that, but in this instance one look at Charles’s face tells us all who his father was.”

“True enough.” And now, at last, the warm glow of relief and real joy was beginning to flood through the Countess. They had an heir, whom she already admired greatly, and he would soon have a family for her and Peregrine to love.

Anne must have been entertaining similar thoughts as she suddenly asked: “Where is Lady Maria? What does she know?”

Caroline nodded. “I’ve told her Charles is our grandson, as I thought then it might be enough to soothe the feelings of her mother. In fact, I was wrong, but that is what she knows.” She smoothed her skirts, relishing the knowledge of the news she’d have to tell the girl when she came back.

“Where is she now?” said Anne.

“With Lady Templemore. Her brother arrived from Ireland last night, and a footman brought a summons this morning. She’s gone there for dinner, partly to see him and partly to ask for his help in talking her mother around. I am tempted to send a note saying no such persuasion will now be necessary, but I suppose it must play itself out.”

Reginald Grey, sixth Earl of Templemore, was a man of real principle, if a little less passionate about his beliefs than his sister. He was handsome in his way, and upright, if perhaps a shade dull. But he loved his sibling fiercely. They had gone through a lot together, Maria and he, crouching behind the landing balustrade to listen from the nursery floor to the battles being waged below, and those unsettling years had created a bond between them that would not be easily broken, as their mother gloomily acknowledged. The family was sitting together in Lady Templemore’s drawing room, and it was easy to see that the mood in the room was not encouraging.

“How are things at home?” said Maria, in an attempt to move the talk along. She was wearing an evening frock in pale green silk, with embroidery around the low neck setting off her well-formed shoulders and bosom, even if the effect was wasted on her brother.

“Very good. We’ve lost two tenants recently, but I’ve taken their land in hand. I suppose I must be farming about a thousand acres directly. And I’ve decided to make more of the library. There’s a man coming to see me when I get back about installing
new bookcases and moving down the chimneypiece from the Blue Bedroom. I think it’ll work well.”

Maria was listening intently, as if to show she was an adult making adult choices. “I’m sure. Papa would have liked the idea of that.”

“Your father never read a book in his life,” said Lady Templemore. “Not if he could avoid it.” She rose to rearrange the Meissen figures on the mantel shelf. She was not making things easy.

Reggie Templemore decided there was no point in avoiding the subject any longer. “I gather from your letters that you two have been at odds recently.”

Lady Templemore ceased her attentions to the display on the chimneypiece. “You gather correctly,” she said.

Maria decided to take the bull by the horns. “I have met the man I am going to marry. I hope this can be done with your permission and your blessing. I would like to walk down the aisle on your arm. But whether or not you approve, I will not marry anyone else.”

Reggie held up his palms as if to calm a frightened horse. “Whoa.” He smiled as he spoke, attempting to take the anger out of the situation. “There’s no need for fighting talk, not when it’s only the three of us here.”

“Maria has thrown away a great opportunity that would have transformed both our lives. She can hardly expect me to approve of her decision.” Corinne returned to her seat. If the moment for the discussion had arrived, she might as well involve herself in it.

Reggie waited for the ruffled feathers to settle back into place. “I do not know this man, of course. And I am sorry if Maria is not to wield the power to do good that was on offer, but I cannot pretend to any strong pangs of grief at the thought of losing John Bellasis as a brother-in-law. His personality was never as attractive as his position.”

“Thank you,” said Maria, as if her brother had already won the argument. “He didn’t like me and I didn’t like him. That’s all there was to it.”

“Then why did you accept him?” said her mother.

“Because you made me feel that, if I didn’t, I was a bad daughter.”

“That’s right. Blame me. You always do.”

She sighed and leaned back in her chair. Hard as it was to believe, Lady Templemore had the uncomfortable sensation that matters were sliding out of her control. She had hoped her son might talk some sense into his sister, but he seemed to have sided with Maria from the start. “I do not think you understand, Reggie. The man she has chosen as a husband is a bastard and a tradesman.” It was hard to tell which she thought the worst insult.

“Strong talk, Mama.” Reggie was not sure he was quite comfortable with the direction this conversation was taking. “Maria?”

Naturally, Maria was made uncomfortable by this since, as far as she knew, both her mother’s accusations were quite true. Charles was a bastard, and he was a tradesman. She corrected the facts a little as she answered him, but she could not transform them. “It’s true he is the illegitimate son of a nobleman, received and welcomed by his father’s family. And he is a respected cotton mill owner in Manchester with plans to expand and develop his business.” As she spoke her tone grew more confident. “You’ll like him enormously,” she added for good measure. “I know you will.” To be fair, she was reasonably sure this was true.

Reggie was quite moved by his sister’s enthusiasm. Clearly she thought this man weighed equally with John Bellasis in the great scales of life. He found himself wishing that it could be so. “May we know the name of the nobleman who is so pleased to have an illegitimate son?”

Maria hesitated. She didn’t believe she had the right to name the Brockenhursts, not without their permission. “Actually, his father is dead,” she said. “It’s his grandparents who have welcomed him into their lives. But I’m not at liberty to name them just yet.”

Witnessing her daughter’s confidence that this nonentity could somehow be made to look the equal of her former suitor was driving Corinne to distraction. She turned to face them both, shrugging her shoulders as she did so. “But surely, when you match him against John Bellasis—”

“Mama.” Even Reggie was beginning to resist his mother’s obstinacy. “John Bellasis has gone and he will not be back. We couldn’t revive that even if we wanted to.”

“Which we do not!” added Maria, as forcefully as she dared.

“But a tradesman?” Corinne was not going to give in without a fight.

“Eight years ago—”

“Really, Maria. No more about the Stephensons.”

“No, not this time. I just wanted to remind you that Lady Charlotte Bertie married John Guest, and he was an ironmaster.” Maria had done her homework. She could probably list every mismatch in London’s recent history. “They’re received everywhere.”

Her mother was not so easily defeated. “Mr. Guest was also very rich and a Member of Parliament. Mr. Pope is neither.”

“But he will be both.” Maria did not of course have any idea if Charles even wanted to be a Member of Parliament, but she was certainly not going to allow any Welsh iron man to have the advantage.

“And you say his grandparents welcome him, but his father is dead?”

Maria looked nervously at her mother. Had she revealed too much? Had Lady Templemore guessed the connection with the Brockenhursts? Why had she been so detailed in her description? But before she could add anything more to the discussion, the door opened and the butler appeared. Dinner, it seemed, was ready.

“Thank you, Stratton, we’ll be there in just a moment.” Reggie spoke with the conviction of the man of the house, even though he was almost never there.

His mother looked at him in surprise. She’d been adjusting a loose shawl around her shoulders in preparation for the chill of the dining room below and was not aware of any reason for them to linger. But the man had nodded and retreated and the three of them were alone once more.

Reggie spoke. “I will see this man, Mr. Pope. I will send a message in the morning, and I am sure he will make time for me—”

“Of course he will!” said Maria, making a mental note to send
a message of her own to Bishopsgate. A message that would get there first.