"I see."
He would wager Annie's sort of woman had never inhabited Upper Frampington.
"What is the babe's name?"
"The woman who has been caring for her calls her Fanny. She saw that she was baptized after the babe's mother died in childbed. The child's name was recorded as Frances Davis."
The hackney pulled up at St. Clement's, and he turned to her, taking her gloved hands in his. "I won't be able to speak to you privately after the ceremony. I wish you—and Fanny—well."
"And I will pray for you."
Chapter 1
London, Two years later
"I'm a viscountess?" In her entire one and twenty years Elizabeth had never been more astonished. She could not remove her gaze from the aging solicitor who sat across the desk from her perusing documents. Was the poor man delusional? "Surely, Mr. Ferguson, you have mistaken me for another of your clients."
"I think not, Mrs. Tate. You are married to Harold Tate, who has ascended to the Broxbourne viscountancy upon the recent death of his father. It is likely your husband has not yet learned of his elevation, owing to the difficulty of communication to the Peninsula."
Just hearing Harry's name and learning he was still alive allowed her to relax. She had been tied in knots since receiving the summons to Mr. Ferguson's establishment. With each churn of the carriage wheels coming here, she had feared the solicitor was going to tell her that her husband had died.
And now she was a viscountess! "You are absolutely certain?"
"Absolutely. I've been retained by Lord Broxbourne's family for more than forty years."
She would love to have quizzed him about the family. She knew nothing about any of them. To query the solicitor, though, would indicate what a hideous sham this marriage was, and Elizabeth was far too proud to reveal the desperation that made her wed him.
Mr. Ferguson cleared his throat. "I also am in possession of a letter to you from the dowager viscountess. She says she will be delighted to have you for Christmas and is looking forward to showing you your new home."
Elizabeth's heart began to beat prodigiously rapidly. How terribly awkward that would be! She was, after all, an imposter. "Is the dowager not mired in melancholy after her grievous loss so very recently?"
"Because Lord Broxbourne had been gravely ill for several weeks, his viscountess—a most religious woman—imparted to me that her husband's passing was a blessing. It is her belief that he's in a better place."
The way Mr. Ferguson phrased the last indicated to Elizabeth he was a nonbeliever. She was very sorry for him.
He handed her the letter from her mother-in-law but continued to talk. "It is also my pleasure to tell you your income is going to increase dramatically. For the present, you can expect to have at your disposal at least four times what you have now, but as Farley Manor is a much larger home with many more servants than you are accustomed to, the larger income is necessary. It will be up to the new Lord Broxbourne to determine the exact settlements upon each family member. "
Each family member
? How many were there? How Elizabeth longed to question Mr. Ferguson, but she was too embarrassed to admit her total dearth of knowledge about the man she had married two years ago and never heard from since.
"The dowager has asked for your direction as she plans to send the Broxbourne carriage to take you to Farley Manor on Wednesday."
Wednesday? That was a mere two days off! Oh, dear, what was she to do? She couldn't go. She would feel the most mercenary usurper on God's planet. And Harry's family would be sure to learn immediately that she was not
really
his wife.
"Would it be possible, do you think, Mr. Ferguson, for me to decline the title and let the dowager continue to preside over Farley Hall? I'm in no way qualified to take her place."
He shook his head. "The Broxbourne's are a very old family mired in traditions going back for hundreds of years. It is not
your
prerogative to decline such an honor, and you would discredit your husband by even attempting to do something so unconventional. Besides, the dowager has already moved out of the viscountess's chambers and had them made ready for you."
She stiffened.
What about Fanny?
"Does Lady Broxbourne know of my . . .husband's child?" She had started to call Fanny her own child for that is exactly how she thought of the precious little girl who'd enriched her own life so immeasurably.
He cleared his throat. "I do not believe she does."
"It is really best that I not go to Farley Manor because I go nowhere without the child. Furthermore, I should die if Harry's family should shun her in any way." Why had she called him Harry? She had always thought of him as Harry, but it was far too intimate, especially to use with his solicitor.
The silver-haired man eyed her, his bushy brows lowered. "I cannot advise you. I told you what your duty is. You must know what your husband's thoughts are about revealing the child's paternity?"
How could she tell this man she not only did not know of her husband's thoughts about anything, she had not even communicated with him in two years?
In any decision regarding Fanny, Elizabeth would defer to no one. She alone knew what was best for
her
child.
The solicitor watched Elizabeth, obviously waiting for a response she was incapable of giving. "I would suggest, Mrs. Tate, you ask yourself what would your husband want you to do. Lord Broxbourne has always been possessed of a keen sense of duty."
Although she had been in her husband's presence for less than two hours, she had quickly surmised that he was guided by an acute sense of duty.
As she thought of him, she knew what she must do. Not for her. For her child. Harry would want his child acknowledged. He would want Fanny to come to Farley Manor now that his stern father was not there.
For the man she had married was an honorable man.
* * *
Night had already come to the Derbyshire hill country by the time Elizabeth and Fanny neared Farley Manor. Night came much earlier this time of year, and nights were so much darker here in the country away from the busy Capital. She peered from the window as the coach turned from the main road. Everything looked black and white. White snow against black sky.
"Are we there yet, Mama?" Fanny asked.
Elizabeth smiled as she looked down at Fanny's dark little head barely poking above the rug mother and daughter shared. The child must have asked the question a hundred times. Because the carriage was speeding toward a stately home in the distance as steadily as a compass points north, Elizabeth felt she could finally give the little girl an affirmative answer. "I believe we're very close, my sweet."
Moonlight illuminated the very large house. Its irregular roofline with at least twenty chimneys poking from it indicated the house had likely been constructed over several generations. It did not seem to belong to a single era. It was neither Tudor nor influenced by the current passion for Palladian. It was just a large English country home.
Her pulse accelerated. It would now be her home. And Fanny's. She hugged the child to her.
"I'm cold," Fanny said.
"I know, love. We'll soon be in a warm house."
Despite the twenty chimneys, Elizabeth feared the house would be big and drafty and exceedingly cold.
She prayed their welcome would not be so.
* * *
By the time Elizabeth and Fanny reached the front door, it swept open. A man of middle age and formal demeanor greeted them, his gaze flicking from mother to daughter. "Lady Broxbourne?"
Lady Broxbourne?
So unaccustomed was she to even the notion of being referred to in such a manner, Elizabeth was confused. Before she had the opportunity to embarrass herself further, she realized he was addressing her. "Yes."
"Come right in. The family is expecting you."
Once inside, she and Fanny divested themselves of their damp cloaks.
She had been right about the drafty rooms. It was beastly cold as they followed him along cold stone floors beneath soaring ceilings. She continued to keep her hands encased in her fur muff.
They had entered into a rather square corridor from which one could ascend a broad stone stairway anchored by a pair of chunky Tudor newel posts where banisters of age-darkened oak terminated. Huge paintings of Elizabethan-looking men and women stared down at them from walls papered in a floral print as they passed several doorways.
Elizabeth could only imagine what was going through the little girl's mind as she clutched her hand tightly. She had never been in so large a house before, but for that matter, neither had Elizabeth! And while Fanny might be apprehensive over these strange new surroundings, the dear child could not be more terrified than her mother. Elizabeth felt as if tin cups clanged against the walls of her heaving chest.
The butler led them to a vast chamber that Elizabeth presumed was the drawing room. He stopped in the room's doorway and announced her. Gripping Fanny's hand even more tightly—as if to draw strength from the tiny child—Elizabeth entered the chamber, forcing a smile.
Her gaze fanned over the room which was softened by Turkey carpets and warmed by a fireplace at either end of the chamber. Though the room was large, it had an intimate feel.
Would that the expressions of the faces of those assembled were as comforting.
She immediately knew the fair pretty woman who could not possibly be fifty had to be Harry's mother, not because they resembled in any way but because she was the only person of the five others in the chamber who was over thirty years of age. Another woman looked exceedingly like Harry and also seemed to be the same age as he. The man seated beside her—the only man present, other than the butler—also looked the same age. She surmised he must be married to the woman who looked so much like Harry. Two other, younger women were seated at a game table where they'd been playing chess.
The young man with curly blond hair spoke first. "By Jove! Knew when Harry shackled himself it would be to a pretty blonde." He had done Elizabeth the goodness of standing when she entered the chamber.
"Robert!" The woman Elizabeth presumed to be his wife turned a scolding countenance upon him. "You'll embarrass the poor lady." She raised herself to her considerable height and came forward, curtseying. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Harry's eldest sister, Susan, and I should like to present you to our mother." She indicated the lovely older woman.
Elizabeth curtsied. "A pleasure to meet you, my lady."
A tight smile barely moved the woman's mouth as her gaze fell on Fanny. Uncomfortable with strangers, the little girl buried her face in her mother's skirts.
"It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance," the dowager said. Her gaze shifted to Fanny as Elizabeth picked up the child in an effort to comfort her. "And who is the lovely little girl?"
No one could look at Fanny and not see her father. Her mahogany hair was his hair. Her piercing black eyes were his eyes. Even the tiny cleft in her chin was his. But Elizabeth did not know how Harry would want Fanny introduced. She could hardly take the liberty to announce to her husband's family that this beautiful child was his bastard. "This is my daughter, Fanny," Elizabeth said after an awkward pause.
The dowager carefully masked her emotions. "I have not been told about the child." She softened her voice and asked Fanny, "Pray, child, how old are you?"
Her little hands digging into Elizabeth, she said, "Two half."
Elizabeth could tell the dowager was doing the arithmetic. She would, of course, realize the babe was born out of wedlock. Lady Broxbourne's face went from quizzing, to icy, then—as would a well-brought-up lady—she recovered and said to Fanny, "You will have a cousin very close to your own age to play with."
"What's a cousin?" Fanny asked, peering up at Elizabeth.
"It's something like a sister."
"Brother is more like it," Susan said. "It appears Mama suddenly finds herself grandmother to three. I have two sons, but Fanny will be the first granddaughter."
"How old are your lads?" Elizabeth asked.
"Our Robbie is six, and Tommy is three and a half."
Elizabeth was delighted that Fanny would finally have the opportunity to play with other children.
Susan linked her arm to Elizabeth's. "Let me make you known to my husband, Robert Townshend, and my sisters."
The young women who had been playing chess had directed their full attention to Elizabeth.
"The blonde who resembles Mama is Diana, and the one who resembles Harry and me is Sarah."
As the younger sisters stood, Elizabeth became ever more acutely aware of how out of place she was here. These ladies' dresses looked as if they had been copied from Ackerman's newest magazine. Elizabeth spent little on clothing, even though Harry gave her a generous allowance. Why would she need fine clothes? She never entered Society. The two dresses she possessed she had sewn herself. And they looked it.
"I'm ever so happy to meet you, Sister," Diana said, curtsying.
"I feel the very same," the other sister said. "I declare, you and I must be the same age."
"I am one and twenty," Elizabeth said.
"And I but one year elder—much closer in age to you than I am to my other sisters," Sarah said.
The sisters at least were excessively gracious. "As an only child, I am delighted to finally have a family."
Taking Elizabeth with her, Susan returned to the silken sofa she had been sharing with Robert.
"I confess I'm astonished at the strong resemblance between you and Harry," Elizabeth said. She had slipped and called him Harry again. "And Sarah, too." Would they comment on how strongly Fanny resembled her father?
"They all resemble my late husband," the dowager said, bowing her head. "God rest his dear soul." Her gaze settled on her youngest child. "Only my baby looks like me."
Elizabeth found it odd that none of them commented on Fanny, who sat on her lap, thumb shoved in her mouth as she looked around at what was likely the largest room she had ever been in.