Authors: A London Season
Jane's eyes began to blaze with excitement. “So that is it!” she said cryptically. “Of course.” Her face took on an abstracted look. “I'll take you to David's cottage, Lord Wymondham. First, I must write a note to my uncle.” She walked swiftly to a small secretary and, opening it, took out paper. She seated herself and wrote a few lines. Then she rose again. “I think it best if we go out the side door, my lord,” she said. “We can explain matters to my uncle after you have met David."
Lord Wymondham agreed and followed her down the back staircase and out the door. They went down to the stables, where Jane ordered the phaeton and gave her note to be delivered to Lord Rayleigh. She took the reins and in a very short time they were pulling up before David's cottage.
As they drove, Jane had given the Earl a brief summary of David's position at Heathfield so that the modest, timber-framed house with its thatched roof was not a surprise to him. In actuality the immaculate white-plastered cottage set off the high-hedged lane looked comfortable and welcoming in the twilight. Jane glanced at the Earl. His face wore a look of tense, abstract steadfastness. “I'll go in first,” she said.
Lord Wymondham nodded and allowed Jane to open the door. Inside, the room was worn and comfortable, a combination sitting room-dining room-kitchen. A tall man was bending over something in the oven. He turned at the sound of the opening door. “Jane!” he said, surprise and warmth in his deep, gentle voice. “I didn't expect to see you."
"Something very important has happened, David.” She walked into the room and he saw for the first time the man in the doorway. He raised his brows in surprise.
"This is Lord Wymondham, David,” she said in the quiet, toneless voice of deep intimacy. “I brought him to see you because he was married nineteen years ago to Jeanne Dumont."
There was a puzzled silence. “But Jeanne Dumont was my mother,” David said blankly.
"I know,” she replied steadily.
Bewildered, David turned from her to look at the man who had entered after her and for the first time Lord Wymondham faced his son. That David was his son there was no doubt. Looking at him, Lord Wymondham understood Jane's instant recognition. David's face was his own, purified and refined by the strange alchemy of biology into a beauty the Earl's harsher features had never possessed. But the resemblance was remarkable. The only thing of his mother about David was the color of his hair. For a moment it seemed impossible to the Earl. He had looked for the boy for so long. He had resigned himself to the loss. And now, to be confronted by this tall, strong, golden youngster who looked at him out of troubled eyes and said, “I don't understand."
"It is very simple, David,” Jane said gently. “Lord Wymondham is your father."
David fixed his eyes on her. “Explain it to me,” he said tensely.
She went to stand beside him, her head tipped back, her beautiful aquamarine eyes fixed steadily on his. As he watched them, the Earl realized that there was something between the boy and girl that went beyond friendship. “Don't you see, David,” Jane concluded, “you are Lord Wymondham's true heir. His son. His only legitimate son."
David looked now at the Earl, his young face surprisingly grim. “Is there any proof of this?” he asked Lord Wymondham.
"The proof that you are my son lies in your own face, David,” the Earl said gently. “As for the rest—it is no secret I was married in France. The marriage was registered. I went back to England to try to win over my family. Your mother was of good but not noble birth, and they were angry that I had married her. The Bastille had been stormed and many aristocrats were leaving France, but I never thought I would be unable to return. I should have brought her with me, of course, but I was unsure of the reception that would await her. I wanted to smooth things down first myself. Then the royal family tried to escape and were captured at Varenes and brought back to Paris. The ports were closed and I couldn't get back. I was frantic. It wasn't until the following year that I persuaded an American passport out of the United States embassy and returned to France. I found that your mother was dead and that you, whose existence I had discovered for the first time, had been spirited out of Artois by your aunt."
"But why didn't Mlle. Dumont bring David to you?” asked Jane, who stood close beside David as if to give him support.
"She didn't know about me. Evidently Jeanne thought it was dangerous to let it be known that David's father, and her husband, was an English noble. It was a poor climate for aristocrats. She let everyone think the child was illegitimate. She refused to name the father."
"Even to her sister?"
"Heloise had been in Paris. She arrived in Artois after Jeanne had died. Evidently she invented this Raoul La Chance to save David the embarrassment of illegitimacy.” He looked at his son. “I have never forgiven myself for leaving your mother. And I looked for you, David. In seventeen-ninety-two and again in eighteen-oh-two, when the Treaty of Amiens allowed the English to briefly return to France. There was no trace."
"I see.” David's face was reserved. He obviously was not sure how to take this father suddenly resurrected from the void. A thought struck him as he looked at Lord Wymondham's authoritative face. “Jane!” he said excitedly. “Do you realize what this means about Wrexham?"
She nodded solemnly. “I do. Of course he saw the resemblance between you and Lord Wymondham immediately. And I remember how I took him up Marren Hill and let him pump me about your background. I very nicely provided him with all the necessary information to put two and two together."
"What is this about Julian?” Lord Wymondham asked imperatively.
Jane and David stared at him, the same speculative look in their eyes. Then Jane said, “I think we have to tell him, David."
David looked for another minute at his father, then he sighed. “I suppose so. At least now people won't think I'm crazy."
The Earl had borne their combined scrutiny with composure. Now he said, “Perhaps we could all sit down and then you can tell me about it. It has to do with Julian's death, I gather."
He had struck the chord of David's inborn courtesy. “I beg your pardon, sir, for keeping you standing. Please do sit down."
Jane sniffed. “Is that lamb stew in the oven, David?” At his nod she smiled for the first time since she had come in. “Oh, good. Mrs. Copley makes excellent lamb stew and I'm starving. Sit down, my lord.” She gestured to the large table positioned in front of the fire. “By the time we get back to Heathfield, dinner will be over. We may as well eat here.” She looked suddenly anxious. “I hope there's enough?"
David laughed. “I don't believe anything could take away your appetite, Jane. Yes, there should be enough. Mrs. Copley cooked for lunch tomorrow as well."
"Excellent. I'll set the table and serve. You tell Lord Wymondham about Wrexham."
So, as Jane dished out the stew, with an ease that betokened long familiarity, David told his father about Wrexham's attempts on his life. “I couldn't understand why he would do such a thing,” he concluded. “He did say he couldn't allow me to take what was his, but that didn't mean anything to me."
Jane looked up from the last of her stew. “He said that? You never told me."
His gaze was serene. “I must have forgotten."
She raised an eyebrow. “Really?” she said skeptically. Then she transferred her eyes to Lord Wymondham. “What do you think we should do, my lord?” she asked.
There was a slight frown between the Earl's brows. “Exactly what you have done,” he answered slowly, his eyes on his son. “Nothing. We will say that my discovering you like this was just an accident. I had come to Newmarket to bring home Julian's body and by chance discovered you working in Rayleigh's stables. No one who sees you will question the relationship."
"Evidently not,” said David. “Wrexham and Jane seem to have picked it up right away."
Jane snorted. “I'm sorry if you liked your nephew, Lord Wymondham, but for my part, I'm glad David pushed him into the quarry. He was a snake, first trying to steal David's inheritance and then trying to kill him. He deserved what he got."
"I never greatly cared for Julian, Lady Jane, and I perfectly agree with you.” Jane looked at the Earl approvingly as he pronounced these words.
"I didn't push him into the quarry, Jane,” David protested. “He fell."
"Well, you should have pushed him,” Jane said stubbornly.
"I
would have."
David suddenly grinned. “And then left his body for the vultures."
"Certainly.” She rose from the table and began collecting the dishes. “I told you the stew was good,” she commented as she took Lord Wymondham's empty plate.
"It was. Very good.” The Earl looked at his napkin for a minute and then said carefully, “I want you to come home with me tomorrow, David. You are my son. My heir. It should not be difficult to take care of the legal side of things. You belong at Wymondham. It will be yours some day."
Astonishingly, David said, “I don't know."
The Earl raised his eyes and looked directly at David. “Why not?” he asked.
In answer, David looked at Jane. “Of course you must go,” she said. “Don't you see it's the perfect solution?"
He looked intensely serious. Of course he knew what she meant. If he approached Lord Rayleigh as the future Earl of Wymondham, his suit would almost certainly be accepted. He and Jane could marry without any of the scandal that would inevitably attach itself to an elopement. But he thought again of Anne. “How will I know if you're all right?"
"I'll write. Don't worry. Of course you must go,” she repeated.
As Lord Wymondham watched them, he felt his face stiffening. The meaning of David's question did not escape him. So things had gone as far as that, he thought grimly. He was not pleased. He did not want to relinquish his son as soon as he was discovered. He wanted to make up to David all the things he'd missed during his lost years. He did not want David to marry at eighteen years of age.
None of this appeared on his face as he listened to Jane promising to write. David then said he did not want to accompany Wrexham's body back to Wymondham. He would come after the burial. Next week. With that, Lord Wymondham had to be content. For the first time in his life the Earl helped with the dishes and then he and Jane drove back to Heathfield.
...all my fortunes at thy feet I'll lay
And follow thee my lord throughout the world.
—William Shakespeare
Lord and Lady Rayleigh were in the drawing room when Lord Wymondham and Jane returned. Jane's face was brilliant as they came into the beautiful, tapestry-hung room. “Don't be cross, Uncle Edward and Anne,” she said. “We apologize for slipping out on you, but the most wonderful thing has happened. Oh, Anne, have you met Lord Wymondham?” Anne was staring at the Earl, a startled expression on her face, and when he spoke to her her eyes instinctively went to Jane. Jane was regarding her with an expression that could only be called triumphant.
Good breeding came to Anne's rescue. She asked Lord Wymondham to be seated and offered him a glass of brandy, which he accepted. He sipped it, glanced at Jane, and said, “Well, Lady Jane, the story by rights belongs to you, I believe. Suppose you start."
Jane's eyes sparked green fire. “Take a good look at Lord Wymondham,” she said dramatically. “Whom does he remind you of?"
The Marquis frowned. “You know, he does remind me of someone. I thought so all afternoon. I supposed it must have been Wrexham."
Jane turned to Anne. “And what do you see, Anne?"
Anne said slowly, “I see a man who looks remarkably like David Chance."
Jane's smile was beatific. “With good reason, Anne. Lord Wymondham is David's father."
Lord Wymondham left Heathfield the next day, taking home with him the body of Julian Wrexham. Jane had told the Rayleighs the whole story of Wrexham's death and the Marquis had agreed with Lord Wymondham that the original explanation should not be tampered with. “An inquest was held,” Lord Rayleigh had said. “If there is any talk, it will soon die down. Leave the dead man in peace."
Jane felt no compassion at all for the reputation of the dead Wrexham, but she did not want to make possible difficulties for David. Julian Wrexham's body was sent home with an outward show of regret by the whole Rayleigh family.
Scarcely anyone thought about him, however, once the coach was out of the drive. All anyone could talk about was David. The house and stable buzzed with comment. There was some awkwardness at first as people stumbled over how to address him. Properly speaking, as the heir to Wymondham he was now Lord Audley. When Stubbs called him that, however, David had first looked startled and then had laughed. “Please don't complicate my life any more than it is at present,” he had begged in his deep, gentle voice. “Mr. David will do just fine, Stubbs."
He was the same. In the face of his extraordinary new fate, David remained David: courteous, kind, thorough, and endlessly patient. He spent a few days working in the stable. Anne had protested that it wasn't necessary, but David said it was. Jane and Lord Rayleigh agreed. They followed him about slavishly for two days, taking endless mental and written notes on his soft-spoken comments on each horse and its progress. Jane and the Marquis would have to run the stable until they could hire another head trainer.
There wasn't a soul at Heathfield who wasn't delighted for David and who wouldn't genuinely miss him. Lord and Lady Rayleigh were perhaps the happiest of all. “Have you seen the expression on Jane's face when she looks at him?” Lord Rayleigh asked his wife one evening as they were talking in her bedroom.
Anne's eyes glinted with amusement. “She looks positively smug,” she asserted. “Like a vindicated mama whose ugly duckling has miraculously turned into a swan."
"Smug,” he repeated. “That's it.” He heaved a sigh. “You've no idea what a weight has rolled off my chest, Anne,” he said. “Now if she wants to marry him I can give my blessings in all good conscience. I simply could not have allowed her to marry him before. And God knows what she would have done then, or forced me to do."