“They worry that she’ll turn out like me,” Laurette said wryly.
“I hope she does. You are the purest soul I’ve ever known.”
“Oh, Con. I wish that were true. From the moment I decided to make you mine, I’ve flown awfully close to the sun. My angel wings are singed.”
“You were so young, Laurie. We both were. Can you imagine even being so young again? But I wouldn’t change a thing—not one—if it meant you would not be here in this bed beside me. Marry me.” He was hasty again, but he couldn’t help himself.
“I already did, Con. At twilight one August night.” She smiled wistfully at him.
“In a church this time. Here or in Dorset, I don’t care which.”
She was so quiet he felt the sourness rise up his chest, but then she spoke.
“Yes, I will.”
“Thank God.” He closed his eyes to keep his tears at bay. When he opened them, he saw Laurette’s own tears sliding down her cheeks. “Look at us. I’m already called the Mad Marquess. You’ll be my Mad Marchioness. Between the two of us we’re blubbering idiots.”
Laurette wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I don’t dare to feel happy yet.”
“Do you want me to be there when you tell her?”
“I don’t think so. It’s something I have to do myself, as you did with James. Thank you for offering, though.”
Con rolled out of bed and got back into his clothes. “I’m going to see James. If you need anything—”
“I know.”
And she did. He would do anything and everything to honor the vows they made to each other that evening in August.
Laurette felt a little like a spy, poking her head out of Con’s room to see if the coast was clear. The hallway was empty. And endless. She tied her robe tight and headed for her room. The house was quiet, probably in deference to the invalid and because its inhabitants were so very tired. She had slept for perhaps an hour in Con’s arms, and wondered if she was thinking clearly. She was going to marry the man—again—and tell her daughter that she was her mother. Two rather life-changing decisions that perhaps should be made tomorrow instead of today. But tomorrow her old cowardly self might resurface.
Her room had been straightened, the bathwater and Tom’s filthy clothes removed, and her bed turned down. Laurette looked at it longingly, but got dressed instead. She donned a sea-blue dress that Con had ordered to match her eyes, then spent an inordinate amount of time brushing the snarls out of her hair. She wished she had a brush for her stomach, which clenched in knots with every thought. When she was presentable, she stepped a few doors down to Bea’s room and tapped.
“Come in.”
Bea was on her window seat, still in her ruffly white nightgown.
“Good morning, sleepyhead. Or is it afternoon already?”
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“You’ve been sadly neglected with all the to-do about James. Shall I help you dress?”
“I don’t care.”
“Bea, what’s the matter? Are you feeling all right?”
Bea curled herself up in a ball and leaned against the glass. She gave Laurette the most curious look, then turned her face away. “When are we going to leave here?”
“That’s partly why I’ve come to talk to you. I know you want to stay for the summer.”
“I don’t care,” Bea repeated.
This was not one bit like Beatrix. While she was naturally reserved, this morning she seemed very distant. “You must be very tired. Thank you for sitting with James. I haven’t seen him yet. How is he?”
“I forgot his tea.”
“His father is with him now. I’m sure he’ll take care of it. Poor James lost his voice and tea will do him good. Tea cures everything.” Laurette was babbling, but something felt wrong. Surely James hadn’t broken his promise. He couldn’t really talk, after all. But if he was feverish—
“Beatrix, may I sit down? I have something important to tell you.”
Bea didn’t move. Her face was still pressed against the window, her hands around her knees.
“I’m not sure how to begin.”
“At the beginning,” Bea muttered, still facing away.
“Yes, well.” Laurette’s knees were weakening and her heart thumping. “If I begin from the beginning, my story will take a while.” She dragged a chair over the carpet to the window seat. “Do you suppose you might look at me while I speak?”
Bea turned a fraction of an inch.
She knew.
Laurette didn’t know how, but she would swear on her life that Beatrix already knew the truth and was punishing her for it already. Between the uncanny painting and Con’s attention and James’s teasing talk of Gypsies, Bea had put it all together.
So Laurette got right to the heart of it. “I am your natural mother, Bea, and Lord Conover is your father. We both love you very much.” She wasn’t going to apologize for her “sins,” for loving Con had been the only thing she
could
do, both then and now.
She had Bea’s full attention now, and, inconceivably, the smallest of smiles.
“I know.”
Laurette felt the air whoosh out of her lungs. “Did James tell you?”
“No. He couldn’t wait to get rid of me. I overheard Sadie and Nadia talking.”
“Oh, my poor Bea. I’m so sorry.” Laurette was afraid to get up and touch her daughter, so she sat, stiff in her chair, her fingernails digging into the armrests.
“I’m illegitimate.”
Laurette closed her eyes. “Yes. In the eyes of the law, perhaps. But not to God. God loves us all. Con and I loved each other. We planned to marry when he came of age, but then we couldn’t. He was forced to marry James’s mother instead. But before that wedding, we spoke our own vows in our own private ceremony. At the standing stones at home. I have felt married to him since I was seventeen and he nineteen. I’ve loved him much longer. I love him now. We’re going to marry, Bea. In a church this time.”
“Where do I fit in?” Bea asked, her voice cool.
“We would like nothing better than if you would come to live with us. Con wants to become your guardian.”
“Would everyone know? I’ll never be able to enter society if they do.”
Her very practical child had just uttered Laurette’s worst fears. A bastard son might be able get on in the world, but a bastard daughter would be prey for every unscrupulous man in England. Bea would be shunned, have no friends. No matter how high her dowry, she would be met with repugnance on the Marriage Mart. The unfairness of it made Laurette furious, but females were always blamed for Eve’s sins.
“No. We can keep this secret to ourselves. We don’t want you hurt any further. I know this has been a terrible shock.” Though Bea was handling herself with far more poise than Laurette expected. Or deserved.
“What about James?”
“Con and I both have spoken to him. He knows you are his sister. I think he understands the need to be discreet.” Laurette sighed. “I have been living with lies for so long I suppose it doesn’t matter to go on doing so.” She swallowed hard. “I was afraid you’d hate me, Bea. Judge me. I couldn’t blame you if you did, but couldn’t bear it if you do.”
“I don’t know how I feel.” Bea turned back to the window and opened the latch. Warm fragrant air swirled in, with the scent of fresh-cut grass and summer. Laurette felt homesick for a moment, but now home would be wherever Con was.
She could give her daughter up again if she must. She had once.
“It’s your decision, Bea, what to do. Where to live. I don’t expect you to tell me now. You probably want to talk to your parents.”
Bea raised a copper brow but said nothing. Laurette felt a hot flush sweep across her throat. “You haven’t been unhappy with them, have you? I know they are strict, but I’m sure they did the best they could.” Another layer of guilt surrounded her. The Vincents had been rather joyless in comparison to her own hard-drinking, careless parents, but Laurette had welcomed that. Her daughter would be raised to be the proper lady that she was not.
“I think they kept me for the money,” Beatrix said quietly. “I’ve heard them arguing about it. Wanting more. Lady Conover paid them, didn’t she?”
Laurette felt her heart splinter. “Her father first, then when he died, she did, yes. I had nothing to give you, Bea. But they—the Vincents—love you. I know they do. When you were a baby, they wrote to me regularly. About your first step. Your black kitten. How you taught yourself to read. They were proud of you.
Are
proud of you.”
“It doesn’t matter. I live at school most of the year now. With the charity girls. My moth—they told me it was too expensive to have me come home between terms. Or they are
off somewhere on one of Papa’s business schemes. They don’t really want me.”
“Oh, Bea. My darling girl. That’s not true.” But hadn’t Con said as much earlier? Laurette couldn’t hold back any longer. She joined Bea on the window seat and stroked her cheek.
Bea drew back from her touch. “I know you and Lord Conover mean well. You’re not bad people, but I just can’t think right now.”
“I understand. I am so sorry, Bea. So very sorry to cause you distress. This is exactly why I never wanted to tell you.”
“I’m glad you did, Cousin Laurette. Really. But I’d like to be alone now.”
Cousin Laurette.
Laurette stood up reluctantly. When James had been left alone, the earth had swallowed him up. But Bea didn’t seem angry, just sad. And all her clothes were packed. She wasn’t apt to run off in her nightgown. “I’ll look in on you later, then. Do you want a tray sent up?”
“I think I’ll go back to bed.”
“Sweet dreams, then. I love you, Bea.”
Beatrix dipped her pointed little chin and nodded.
Laurette shut the door, tamping back her sorrow. It had gone much better than she had hoped, yet still was one of the worst days of her life. There had not been many, but enough. The day Con married Marianna. The day she left her daughter behind in Cornwall. And now the day she found that daughter, perhaps to lose her forever.
She needed Con, needed to tell him—what? Everything was still unsettled. It might almost have been better for Beatrix to scratch and spit at her, and hate her, than to see the sad resignation on her precious face. No child should have the rug pulled out from under them like this, and she and Con had done it to both the children in the span of twenty-four hours.
The truth shall make you free.
Con had quoted those words to her, but Laurette felt far from free. As she approached James’s room, she heard the unexpected sound of his raspy laugh, which went a little way to ease her. James was propped up on a pillow mountain, his midnight hair—his father’s hair—sticking up every which way. The white bandage on his upper arm and shoulder showed a pale stain, not the scarlet of before. His father leaned back on a chair beside the bed, his stocking feet propped up on the bed coverings.
“How is our brave patient?” Laurette asked, managing a smile.
“Laurette!” Con scrambled up and went to the doorway. He lowered his voice. “What happened?”
“She knows. She’s thinking.”
“How did she take it?”
Laurette shook her head. “She was remarkably composed. But so sad. I have no idea what she’ll do.”
“What are you two talking about?” complained James. He sounded much stronger, the sandpapery quality of his voice healing.
Con gripped her hand and dragged her into the room. “We’re talking about our family. All of us.”
James looked wary.
“Not now, Con,” Laurette whispered.
“It’s all right,” James said. “I expect you’re going to tell me that you’re getting married. I have no objection.”
The rug had been pulled out from under the adults this time. Con’s expression was a priceless mix of chagrin and relief that he was spared one more confession.
“Thank you, James,” Laurette said.
“Have you told Bea? Everything? I swear, I kept my promise, but it was hard.”
Laurette sat in Con’s chair, suddenly exhausted. “Yes. She
saw the repercussions to her reputation immediately. If she chooses to live with us, I promised it would be as an adoptive daughter only.” She saw the resistance on Con’s face. “It’s the only way, Con. As it is, people at home will suspect.”
“Then we’ll go abroad. To my villa in Greece,” he said stubbornly.
“You said a civil war is brewing. And you have an obligation to your estate. If you want to win Bea’s heart, in this one thing you must compromise. You will know the truth, and that will have to be enough.”
His fingers slid through his hair in frustration, making it nearly as disheveled as his son’s. They were both in desperate need of some barbering. “Very well. I want what’s best for Bea. For James. For us. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“I know. I haven’t always approved of your methods, but I understand.” One truth James was not going to learn was that his father had taken her as his captive mistress. There were some things that were simply too truthful to tell.
James yawned. “Tell Bea to come visit me later. I had better go back to sleep for a while. My head is fuzzy.”
Laurette could relate. She brushed her lips on the boy’s forehead. But she was too keyed up to sleep herself. And realizing as her stomach rumbled, hungry too.
Con chuckled and led her out of the room. “Come. We’ll pack a picnic basket and find a quiet spot.”
Laurette thought of lunch and love al fresco. Tempting, but it was time to be practical. “I think we should visit with the vicar instead. Have the banns called. We can marry here within the month.”
She was swept up in Con’s arms, twirling around perilously close to the stairway. After her little shriek, he put her down and kissed her. “Are you sure you don’t want to marry from home?”
“Everyone I love is right here. Except for Charlie, and I can’t wait until he comes back.” She bit her lip. “Even if Bea
decides to go back to Cornwall, I can deliver her and be here in plenty of time. I don’t want any fuss made, just a simple country wedding.”
“You’ll have to argue with Sadie over that. And probably Nadia, too. They’ll want to invite all the neighbors.”
“No. This is for us, Con. Just like last time.”
Her words gave Con an idea, but he held his tongue to put it in Laurette’s sweet mouth. His bride. His wife. His life.