Deadly Affair: A Georgian Historical Mystery (Alec Halsey Crimance) (43 page)

Alec pulled up. “I beg your pardon? Loss?”

Tam mentally cursed himself for his free and easy tongue, pretended deafness and continued across the room to the foot of the four-poster bed. He blamed a combination of tiredness and exhilaration for letting down his guard. The frown of incomprehension on his master’s face was enough to tell him that Mrs. Jamison-Lewis had not confided in his lordship about her miscarriage in Paris. Tam had found out from a loose-tongued apothecary’s lackey who had delivered a tonic to her apartment on the Rue St. Honoré at the same hour Tam was delivering his master a set of new clothes.

“If you don’t need me, Mr. Fisher, I’ll fetch up some tea and slices of bread and butter for the mistress,” Janie said brightly, a curtsey to both but eyes remaining on Tam, for whom she had newfound respect and admiration after watching him deliver Mrs. Bourdon’s healthy baby. “And I’ll have a hot brick fetched for the bed. Will you be wantin’ some tea, too?”

“Thank you, Janie,” said Tam, grateful for the interruption. “Coffee for his lordship—”

“—and brandy,” Alec said come to stand beside Tam at the undraped end of the four-poster bed, the curtains drawn up along the left side to stop the draft from the open window.

He found the bedchamber surprisingly airy, given the cloistered drama of previous hours. The curtains were tied back on the night sky and a window pushed up to allow in fresh air. A fire crackled in the grate and whatever the detritus of birth it had been removed, possibly to the small adjoining servant bedchamber. A candelabra on the bedside table cast a warm yellow glow across the bedcovers and illuminated mother and newborn, who were tucked up amongst down pillows.

“You have done a wondrous thing today, Mr. Fisher,” Alec said quietly, inexplicably filled with pride as he gazed upon mother and newborn.

“Thank you, my lord,” Tam beamed, eyes bright with a film of happy tears. He stood at Alec’s shoulder and he too was looking down the bed at Miranda and her baby. “He’s a fine little man.”

“A boy? How splendid! His father will be doubly pleased with your efforts, and hers. It may get you a knighthood...”

“Lord Halsey?”

It was Miranda and she forced herself awake from a contented doze. She was utterly exhausted and, like Tam, could not help her smile. Her cheeks were flushed and her long black hair fell about her shoulders in messy disarray. Still, despite her painful and hard fought exertions, she was radiant, and quite possibly the loveliest female Alec had ever seen. It was a limpid beauty and when she smiled he saw that it also came from within. Not surprising then that his uncle was her fierce champion and Talgarth felt compelled to immortalize her in paints. Yet, for all her beauty, Alec was not so enamored for he preferred females, one female in particular, with more fire and ice and there was something about the love of his life’s pale golden-red hair that warmed his blood... What did Tam mean by
loss
? What loss?

Alec bowed to Miranda, face suitably blank of his thoughts. “Congratulations on the birth of a son, your Grace.”

“Is he not the most perfect baby in all creation?”

“His father will certainly agree with you,” Alec replied with a smile at a mother’s singular adoration. He drew up a chair but did not sit upon it. He had seen Tam sway at his salutation and look at him with wide eyes of dismay, and so he gently pushed the chair under the boy’s legs and with a hand to his shoulder pressed him down. “Sit before you pass out, my boy.”

Tired he might be but it wasn’t that which had Tam reeling. He was in shock. He wondered if exhaustion had affected his hearing because he was sure his master had greeted Mrs. Bourdon with a salutation reserved for those of ducal rank. He stared up at Alec, who winked at him, and then at Miranda, who was smiling upon her sleeping infant, oblivious to all. He gripped the padded seat hard. “Sir, is she—”

“—a duchess? Yes. You have successfully delivered the Duchess a son, heir to the Cleveley dukedom.”

“
Jesus Christ
.”

Alec grinned. “I don’t believe even his Grace thinks of himself as God, despite my uncle’s low opinion of the Duke’s overbearing hubris. Enjoy the moment. You have certainly earned it. Have you thought of names for his little lordship?” he enquired politely of Miranda.

“I was in two minds for a very long while. Had he been a girl she was to be named after Mr. Bourdon’s Grandmamma, but being a boy...” She sighed contentedly and was suddenly distracted when her infant son turned ever so slightly toward the warmth of her skin. She played with his tiny fingers. “But I have settled on two names I like very well indeed. Mr. Bourdon may care to choose a third and fourth, if it is necessary for such a little one to have a string.”

“Mr. Bourdon..?” Alec enquired letting the sentence hang, knowing full well she was referring to the Duke of Cleveley, and to test the theory he had explained to his doubting Selina.

“Oh my husband and I have never stood on ceremony with each other,” Miranda replied, understanding Alec’s inference. “Even before we were married not quite a twelvemonth ago, I called him Mr. Bourdon. It was a schoolroom name that stuck. There is a beehive on the Cleveley coat of arms,” she explained, “and a bumblebee on the livery buttons. Mr. Bourdon says bees are a symbol of industry and perseverance, which suits him very well, don’t you agree?”

“Yes.
Aut viam inveniam aut faciam
: I will either find a way or make one,” Alec stated, adding, because Miranda was looking at him with polite enquiry, “The motto on the Cleveley coat of arms, your Grace. And if I may be so bold, very apt for the Duke where you are concerned.”

Miranda tilted her head, not fully comprehending his meaning and politely said, “Years ago, Mr. Bourdon gave me a bumblebee button as a token of his perseverance that we would one day marry.”

“On one of his visits to hear you play the pianoforte perhaps? He turned the pages of music for you.”

“Yes. Yes, he did! Thomas told me how clever you are.” A sudden thought made her brows contract, but only for a moment and instinctively she held her baby son a little closer. “Miriam laughed when I confided in her my feelings for my M’sieur Bumblebee. I suspect she told George, too; she confided everything in George. She said Mr. Bourdon’s only interest in me was to-to lift my-my petticoats...” Miranda swallowed and was suddenly bashful at such revelations. “He was never like that. Not once while I was in the schoolroom did he-he make an improper suggestion or-or remark. Why! Our first kiss was on our wedding day.”

“I can readily believe that, your Grace,” Alec agreed, adding with a touch of irony, thinking of Selina, “As a husband I am sure he has been the very model of noble rectitude.”

“He is. Thank you. I knew you would understand. Lord Halsey, the reason I wished to speak to you is to ask a favor.” When Alec inclined his head, Miranda said, “I would very much like you to be my son’s godparent. Please,” she added quickly when his smile faded, “please give the offer serious consideration because I can think of no better protector for my son should anything happen to his parents.”

“Your Grace, I am honored, truly honored, but... You do not know me,” Alec said, flustered by such a grand gesture. “You must consult with the Duke, who will surely have his own ideas as to who would make a suitable godparent for his son and—”

“But I do know you,” Miranda interrupted, a smile at Tam. “Thomas told me all about you and unless you argue otherwise, I believe him to be truthful and trustworthy. Mr. Bourdon may choose a second godparent, as is his right; but you are my choice.”

Alec did not know what to say. How could he refuse her? How could he refuse the new little life nestled in the crook of her arm his protection if required? He bowed his head in acceptance, a sideways glance and raise of his black brows at Tam as if to ask
what have you been saying about me?
“Then how can I refuse you? I would be honored to accept... Is there anything else I may do to make your stay comfortable until his Grace arrives?”

For the first time since Alec had entered the bedchamber, Miranda became flustered.

“I do not know what is keeping him from me... It was arranged that I would have my lying-in at Bratton Dene and then his letter came telling me to come here and wait for him. And I have waited and he has not come...”

“He will be here very soon, your Grace,” Alec assured her, though he was not sure of that at all. He was confident the Duke was in Bath, the mountainous footman at her door and Molyneux’s presence in taking Sophie to the Duke told him that. But as to why he remained distant from Miranda, and at such an auspicious time baffled him. “You and your baby are safe here. That I promise you. No one can cross the threshold with the impassable Bear Brown and my uncle both guarding the outer door; Bear Brown with his entire being and my uncle armed with his Malacca cane are a formidable team. There was a crowd gathered to hear news of the birth but it would have dispersed by now, Mrs. Jamison-Lewis giving them the good news that you were safely delivered of a girl.”

“Thank you,” Miranda said with a sigh of relief. She smiled at her sleeping infant. “His father should be the one to tell the world he has a son... and my little one will be safe now...”

“Why, your Grace?” Alec asked bluntly. Knowing the answer, her response did not disappoint, but it did surprise him.

“Cousin George will not be happy. Indeed he may be very angry. I have no way of knowing until I speak with him. And I would rather be the one to tell him his father now has a son of his own. The birth of my son considerably alters his prospects. Though, I have always wondered if, in his heart, George truly wants to be Duke. Whenever he spoke of it to us, to Miriam and to me, it was always what other people wanted of him, but he never once said it was what he wanted. He certainly never wanted to marry me, as his mother and mine were demanding should happen. He loved me as a cousin but not in
that
way. He was in love with Miriam. He told me he was going to marry her; that he cared not a penny what my mother and his thought of the match. Nor did he care that she was base-born. Miriam’s pregnancy changed everything...”

A small domestic interruption halted their conversation. Janie entered with a tray of tea things, and following her was a maidservant carrying a hot brick. Alec took the brandy offered him, suddenly tired. He was acutely aware that Miranda must be in need of sleep for soon her infant son would be demanding her breast, and that Tam and the maid were also limp from exhaustion, yet if he was to front the persons now assembled in the drawing room and whom he had sent Selina to keep entertained until his arrival, he needed to make certain he had all his facts correct to be able to level an accusation of murder.

He waited for Miranda to take her tea, the baby given up reluctantly to Janie to hold and who cooed and clucked over his little lordship from the safety of a wingchair in the corner of the bedchamber.

“Earlier today, Sir Charles Weir left here greatly agitated. In fact, he declared he had seen a ghost.”

“Yes. He had. I have spent the past four years of my life, if not being someone else then not being myself,” Miranda confessed matter-of-factly, sitting her teacup on its saucer. “I am sorry I frightened him but he has only himself to blame believing me to be Miriam. It was not unreasonable he would think so because I died four years ago, but when he threatened me, accused me of blackmailing George... I did not know what else to do to convince him otherwise! I still do not understand why he would think I would want to harm George?”

“Was your death from pneumonia the Duke’s idea?”

Miranda nodded.

“And Miriam’s body in the casket?”

“Yes. It is a relief that you know. I only hope Mrs. Jamison-Lewis will forgive me—
forgive us
—our deception, but Mr. Bourdon was adamant I remain in my grave until we were safely married, and that was not until after the Duchess’s death. She was very ill; we thought it only a matter of months, but she lingered.”

“Three years is a very long time to wait when two people are in love,” Alec remarked, thinking of his own predicament. “Legally there was no reason for you to wait. After all, the Duke and Duchess were in truth never legally married though they lived as husband and wife for twenty years.”

“Oh? So you know that too? You
are
clever! We could not, I
would not
marry, while his wife was still alive. And she
was
his wife, despite her earlier marriage to Mr. Blackwell; a sorry affair. Mr. Bourdon confided he had known for many years that the Duchess was in truth another man’s wife, but that he had no motivation to change his way of life until—until—”

“—until he fell in love with you.” Alec wanting to add, but did not, “And because Selina fell pregnant with his child it gave him hope that he could have children of his own.”

“Yes. We fell in love. And I made him wait. Even after we were married, I remained at the farm while Mr. Bourdon spent the twelvemonth in public mourning for the death of the Duchess. It was not important that the Duchess had lived in a state of bigamy with Mr. Bourdon. She was to me, to my mother, to Miriam and to George, indeed to Mr. Bourdon and to all Society, the Duchess of Cleveley.”

“Do you think Lady Rutherglen has any idea of her sister’s previous marriage, that she was the wife of Mr. Blackwell before she was ever the wife of the Duke of Stanton and then the Duke of Cleveley?”

Miranda’s face flushed with embarrassment. She glanced at Janie, but she was preoccupied with the baby and then looked for Tam but he had excused himself and gone into the small servant bedchamber with the maid who had delivered the hot brick to see to the removal of soiled sheets and ensure the copper containing the afterbirth was left for the physician to examine.

“I would like to tell you that my mother had no notion, that she believed her sister legally married to the Duke of Cleveley, but that would be a lie. She knew. She knew, too, that the Duchess was pregnant by Mr. Blackwell before her marriage to the Duke of Stanton, and that George was Mr. Blackwell’s son, not Stanton’s. She knew also when the Duchess and Mr. Blackwell were briefly reunited on his return from the West Indies, and that nine months after that bittersweet reunion Miriam was born, in the country and in secret. And knowing this she still did nothing to stop George bedding Miriam.”