The Mayfair Affair (36 page)

"His family name, and his considerable fortune. All of which add up to a great deal. I'm more fortunate than I have any right to be."

"Not that. But while I enjoy indulging in flights of fancy where I can be the perfect mother—about which I pray you not to betray me to anyone—to be ruthlessly practical, I have to admit I have very little to offer Emily, at least in the material sense. It's all very well to say love matters more than material things, but love is not a substitute for food and a roof."

"I'm sure now he knows where you are, your father—"

"Move in with him and my stepmother, with a child of questionable parentage? Oh, they would do what they could, but I'd risk bringing scandal on all of them." Laura folded her arms across her chest and gripped her elbows. "I've managed to keep my head above water. Some might say by compromising every shred of morality I possessed, but nevertheless I haven't fallen into the abyss. But I've seen what happens to women who do. It's not a life I could forgive myself for dragging my daughter into."

For a moment Suzanne felt clawing hands, smelled stale sheets, tasted sour wine and despair. And even in the brothel she'd had food and a roof over her head. She hadn't reached the nadir of the abyss. "Trenchard has left Emily a very comfortable legacy."

"Which he took from his wife. I'm not sure the will could or should stand."

"James Trenchard is a decent man. He wants to find Emily. He'll want to do what's right for both of you."

A spasm crossed Laura's face, as though at the thought of being Jane Tarrington again. "And if he learns the truth of Emily's parentage?"

"I think there's a good chance Trenchard was lying to you when he said Jack had confided in friends about his discovery of your affair with his father. Otherwise I think Trenchard himself would have been more worried about discovery. But even if James did learn the truth, I think he'd know where to place the blame."

"In which case, he might well place a share of it on me."

"I think you're being too hard on yourself and on James. But until all this is sorted out, I've been assuming you'd bring Emily to live here. She may like to share your room at first, and eventually we can rearrange things upstairs to give her a room of her own. She can do lessons with Colin and Jessica, who I'm sure will quite like having another companion. I know we can't ask you to be their governess any more, but for the time being—"

Laura met her gaze across the room. "Suzanne, I wasn't asking—"

"Of course not. You're much too proud, and I daresay so would I be in the same circumstances. Or perhaps not. I've always tended to put practicality ahead of pride. For heaven's sake, Laura, you can't imagine Malcolm and I would turn you and your daughter out on the street."

"Of course not. That is, I wouldn't have put it that way. But I can't ask—"

"As a mother yourself, you must understand how desperate I am to hold on to you, having found someone I can trust with my children."

"There are other governesses."

"Not like you. Not who fit into this family."

"Given recent revelations—"

"Recent revelations have given all of us all the more reason to trust each other. We share the same secrets."

Laura met her gaze. "Have you considered what people will say?"

"Since when have Malcolm or I given a damn about what people say?"

"A governess's reputation can reflect upon her charges. If it's known or even whispered that Colin and Jessica's governess had a child out of wedlock—"

"But you didn't. You were married. Even if Jack's friends gossip, nothing can change that. You're the Duke of Trenchard's sister-in-law, which means we can't hold on to you as a governess, but I hope I can always count on you to be the children's friend—"

Laura's shoulders bent as she gave a shout of helpless laughter. "You're remarkable, Suzanne. I knew that, but—" She met Suzanne's gaze for a moment. "You must know how grateful I am. But Mr. Rannoch—"

Suzanne shook her head. "I've made the mistake in the past of thinking Malcolm is too much a prisoner of his world and his upbringing. He never fails to surprise me."

"There's always a first time."

"I don't think so. There's no one more loyal than Malcolm."

"Even to a woman who's betrayed him?"

Suzanne choked back a laugh that masked a sob. "Perhaps especially so. Malcolm is a spy. He's forgiven worse betrayals."

Laura's smile said she understood all too well. But it trembled round the corners. "You're kinder than I deserve."

"God saves us all from getting what we deserve." Suzanne moved to the edge of the bed beside Laura, waiting for what would come next.

Laura spread her fingers over her lap. "I read stories to Colin and Jessica tonight. A sign of how much they seem to have missed me—usually they only want me to read if you or Mr. Rannoch aren't available. But I couldn't help but think how fairy tales are full of princes and princesses spirited away from their parents and raised by others. Somehow the country people who raise the prince or princess in disguise are only too happy to relinquish the child they've raised to its rightful parents. Or if they have qualms, they aren't part of the story. The viewpoints of peasants and servants tend to be lacking."

"Except in Mozart and Shakespeare," Suzanne said.

Laura nodded. "Perdita at least says she will always love her foster father and brother. Usually the princess or prince has no questions about who her or his real parents are. Either that, or the foster parents are so dreadful no one could want the child to stay with them." Laura stared down at her fingers. The glossy blue silk of her best gown was pressed taut beneath them. "Even if she's at this school, Emily may well have people she considers her parents. How on earth do I judge—"

"If she's better off with them?"

Laura nodded. "And even if I think I'd make a better parent, she might not be at all happy to leave them. Most children don't want to be ripped from their home, whatever its imperfections." She shuddered, but when she spoke her voice was flat. "One can't undo the past, however unjust it may be."

"You're her mother," Suzanne said.

Laura picked up a pair of gloves and put them in the bandbox. "I'm not sure I am anymore. What makes a parent? It's more than simple biology."

Suzanne saw Malcolm with Colin; and her friend Juliette Dubretton with Pierre, the son she had raised from the moment he was born though she hadn't given birth to him. But Raoul and Pierre's mother Tatiana had given up their children willingly. "You didn't have a choice," she said. "That should make a difference."

"I'm not sure it would to Emily. And whoever is raising her may be as much a pawn of Trenchard's as I am."

Suzanne touched her friend's arm. "You can't know until you know where she is. It's hellish to wait. And I can scarcely imagine having to do it when it comes to one's child. But, whatever you decide, she is your daughter."

Laura smiled. "You're very good at knowing what to say, Suzanne."

"Progress. At least you've got round to calling me Suzanne."

"I swear we meet at Brooks's more often in the course of an investigation than any other time." Harry flung himself into a chair beside Malcolm. "It almost makes having a membership worth it."

"What have you learned?" Malcolm asked.

"James told you he quarreled with his father because Trenchard had used his influence to get him the Board of Trade position?"

"Yes. They weren't close, but Trenchard was the sort to relish family power."

"Except that I just had a word with Ronny Norwood. He said he hated to speak ill of the dead, but it was hard to feel much sympathy for Trenchard, because when the duke found out his son was being recommended for the Board of Trade position, Ronny heard Trenchard say, 'Dear me, are you sure you can't do better?'"

Malcolm spun round. "When was this?"

"A week before Trenchard died, apparently. So either he was lying to Norwood, or Norwood made it up for some unknown reason, or—"

"James lied about the reason for the quarrel."

Harry nodded.

"Good work, Harry."

Harry leaned back in his chair. "Cordy told me about Gui Laclos. Is he a suspect?"

"He has a motive."

"Do you think—"

"My dear Davenport. You know I don't like to speculate."

"Sorry. Lapse in judgment." Harry crossed his booted feet. "Cordy's convinced he's innocent. It will be difficult for her if he proves otherwise."

Malcolm studied his friend. "Harry—"

"I'm not jealous." Harry gave an abashed smile. "That is, I know I shouldn't be jealous. But Cordy cares about him. There are different types of caring. Different types of love, perhaps. Even if one believes in love of the happy ending sort, it doesn't make the other go away."

Malcolm saw Suzanne looking at Raoul in Hyde Park the night Craven was killed. "No."

"And I wouldn't want it to. Or at least I have enough perspective to know I
shouldn't
want it to."

Malcolm clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "No one can be blamed for thoughts."

"You mean I shouldn't blame Cordy for however she may feel about Laclos?"

"That too. But I meant you shouldn't blame yourself for being jealous."

Harry gave a wry smile. "I have enough rationality to know Laclos is a good man. I hope to God he isn't guilty. He was a friend to Cordy at a time she desperately needed one."

"Your empathy is remarkable, Davenport."

Harry leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. "Don't let it get about."

"Your father wasn't the one who got you the position at the Board of Trade." Malcolm faced James across the new duke's study. "I think you were quarreling about something very different. You knew Trenchard was reaching for the prime minister's office."

James laughed. A shade too quickly and a shade too heartily. "Father? As prime minister?"

"Is that so hard to believe? He was active in politics."

"Behind the scenes."

"He wouldn't be the first to step on stage from the wings. I imagine your father saw men like Liverpool and Pitt as upstarts and thought the country should properly be ruled by the sort of man whose lineage went back to the conquest and whose title placed him one step below royalty."

"There are some distinctly shady jumps in our ancient lineage. A baron who was attainted and then a third cousin who recouped the title. Not to mention the first duke, whose real father was probably Charles II."

"All the more reason for your father to feel entitled. Not that I think Trenchard needed reason."

"Liverpool has friends. Powerful friends."

"So does your father. More to the point, he has information that could be very useful in getting powerful people to do what he wanted."

"You're saying I accused Father of employing blackmail?"

"No. I think you were trying to blackmail your father into abandoning his quest for the premiership."

"With what?"

"That's what I would very much like to know."

James glanced away, then sank into a chair. "Can you imagine Father as prime minister?"

"Yes, and the thought chills me to the marrow. If you were trying to stop him, I'm entirely in sympathy with you. But I want to know what you threatened him with."

"Because you think if it didn't work I may have killed him."

"Because anything to do with your father is relevant to the investigation."

James passed a hand over his face. He seemed to age ten years in that moment. "I only found out because Glenister let something slip. Father was trying to rally votes. I was horrified. The thought of him wielding power over the country the way he wielded power within the family— So I went to him and demanded he tell me if it was true. He didn't even try to deny it, just laughed and asked if I was worried about keeping Board of Trade. All I could think was that a country governed by him wasn't a country I wanted my children to grow up in. So I told him if he didn't give up his ambitions, I'd reveal every nasty secret I knew about Jack."

"Meaning?"

"The debts of honor he failed to honor. The horse race he won by trickery. The duel Father hushed up before he bundled Jack off to India and how the duel wasn't simply because Jack had had an affair with a married woman, but because he'd got her pregnant and her husband wasn't as complacent as some."

"Who was the husband?" Malcolm asked.

"I don't know. I never did. Which Father pointed out to me. He said even if I was willing to drag the family name through the mud—which he didn't think I was—no one would believe me. Not if it was my word against his. He was probably right."

"So you gave up?"

"I wasn't sure what I was going to do. I left Trenchard House and paced the streets. Because he was right, damn him. It matters to me. Our name. Our history. The honor of the title I'll pass to my son." James shot a look at Malcolm that was half defiant, half challenging.

"I'm not arguing with you," Malcolm said. He wouldn't entirely use James's words, but he was aware of the impulse. It was bred in the nursery and reinforced over Latin and Greek translations and school speech days. He could recognize the folly and at the same time he could never entirely escape the insistent tug. It would forever divide him from his wife.

"What did you decide?" Malcolm asked.

"I was mulling it over in Richmond, looking at my sons and wondering what the scandal would do to them. Lily told me about Father's threats, which pushed me even further against him. Then I got the news of Father's death."

Gui came quickly into the salon in Trenchard House. "What's happened?"

"Nothing." Mary was on her feet before the fireplace. The firelight shimmered over the heavy black folds of her gown and gleamed against her coiled hair. "That is, nothing new. That isn't why I sent for you. Or rather, I wanted to send for you before anything did change— Oh, poison."

"Mary." Gui closed the distance between them and took her hands in his, heedless of her probable response. "Any service I can do you—"

"It's not that." Mary looked up at him. Her blue eyes had never seemed so clear. "I don't want to find out you didn't have anything to do with Trenchard's death, and then tell you this and have you not believe me."

"Tell me what?"

Her hands tightened round his own. "That I love you. That I can imagine no greater joy than being your wife. That our child is lucky to have you for a father."

For a moment, happiness overwhelmed his senses. But some vestiges of clarity remained. "So you don't think I had anything to do with Trenchard's death?"

"What is love if it isn't keeping faith in the face of doubt? Besides—God help me, I don't think I care. I know you, Gui. I know the man I love. I know I want to spend my life with you. Unless"—her gaze darted over his face—"you have doubts about me?"

"Doubts?" Gui pulled her into his arms. "Nothing you could do could shake how I feel about you."

Mary took his face between her hands. Her gaze had gone serious. Joy still rang through him, but at the same time he felt a chill of dread. "So, whatever is to come," she said, "at least we face it together."

Hetty, Duchess of Trenchard, smoothed her younger son's hair and straightened up to look at her husband, who was tucking the quilt over their older son. "I just need to get my shawl and my gloves, and I'm ready."

"Hetty." James reached out and grasped her wrist. She spun towards him, startled by the iron grip. "I need to talk to you."

Her mouth went unaccountably dry. "Of course. In my dressing room?"

Inside her dressing room, James took a turn about the blue and cream carpet. "I need to tell you something."

Hetty sank down on the settee, hands locked together. When one has known a thing for months, why was it hard to hear it put into words? "It's all right, James. I already know."

"Know?" He spun round on the hearthrug to stare at her.

"About the—woman—in Half Moon Street. It was hardly a surprise." Though expecting it hadn't lessened the sting.

"Hardly a
surprise?"

"James, I know how these things work. And why you married me."

His brows drew together. "Why did I marry you?"

"Because you needed a wife."

"For God's sake, Hetty—"

"My dear, you've always dressed things up prettily, but you can't pretend you'd have offered for me if you hadn't suddenly become the heir to the dukedom."

"No, but—"

"It's all right." She folded her arms over the jet-beaded bodice of her gown. "I always knew."

"Sweetheart, you didn't know anything." He crossed the carpet and dropped down on his knees beside the settee. She half thought he was going to touch her and wasn't sure if she wanted him to. "If Jack hadn't died, if I hadn't become the heir, I wouldn't have presumed to act so quickly."

"So quickly?" she heard herself repeating.

He dropped back on his heels and scraped a hand through his hair. "I knew you were mourning Teddy. I thought it would be another year at least before you would entertain a proposal. If even then. Then, when Jack died, I realized everyone expected me to marry at once, and you were so kind—"

"Wait a minute," Hetty said, feeling very stupid. "You were planning to offer for me before Jack died? Why?"