Miles sighed and then smiled as if glad for the change of subject. “As well as can be expected for a ninety-year-old man and an eighty-six-year-old woman, but father time is inexorable. Every day when Eleanor and I visit, I open their bedroom door prepared for the worst, and yet… they are still here. They seem to take great joy in the coming babe.”
“Have you decided on names?”
Miles’ head dropped back, and he laughed. “Between the Countess, Maman, and Eleanor, neither the Earl nor I have any say whatsoever. Last I heard it was Montgomery Russell Everleigh if a boy and Elizabeth Russell Everleigh if a girl.”
Florence gazed at Eleanor. “So, Monty or Eliza, will you please tell your Aunty Flo when you will arrive?”
Eleanor stirred and pulled a hand from under the blankets to rub her expanded belly. “Yes, and tell your momma as well. It can be any time if you please. You are bruising my rib with your kicks.” Eleanor straightened with a groan. “It is going to be a boy, Miles. No girl would be this unruly.”
Miles and Florence chuckled. “I don’t think that is how it works, Eleanor,” quipped Florence. She glanced at the mantel clock and stood from her chair. “I’m going to change for dinner. I will see you later.”
She lay down that night after an early dinner and wondered how Greyson was fairing with the Calcutta venture. Well, it wouldn’t be too much longer, and she would be in London to find out for herself. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.
“Ma’am, ma’am, Lady Lloyd-Smith?”
A voice pulled her from her dreams. “Umm… yes, Violet? What it is?”
“Lady Miles is asking for you. I think she’s having her baby.”
“Oh!” Florence sat straight up in bed and threw back the covers. “Help me dress, Violet.”
Florence knocked loudly on the door to Eleanor and Miles’ apartment. “Eleanor, Miles, it’s Florence.” She opened the door and stuck her head in and blinked, then entered and stood watching as Eleanor, dressed in a floor-length white shift with a wool shawl wrapped around her shoulders, paced furiously up and down in her bedroom while a fully-dressed Miles, tried to hold her hand as she repeatedly shook him off.
“Please, Eleanor. I don’t think this is good for you. Please, love, lie down and let me send for the midwife.”
“I do not want to get in that bed. Stop grabbing me. I want to walk. Ohhh…” she bent slightly and held her belly. “That hurts.” After a moment, she straightened and commenced her furious pacing. “Mares don’t lay about for hours and suffer in pain until they foal. They are up and abo…Ohhh…about.”
“Eleanor, for the last time, you are not a horse!” declared Miles in a somewhat beleaguered voice.
Eleanor saw her. “Ha! Florence! Tell him. Tell him. Ohhh…” She bent and held her abdomen with a long groan.
“Tell him what, Eleanor?”
“Tell him I want to walk.” She straightened and went back to pacing.
“I think he knows, dearest. Ummm, Miles?”
The harried man gave her an impatient look. “What, Florence?”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Hours.”
“Hours?”
He expelled a frustrated breath. “Yes, Florence, hours.”
She threw Miles a beseeching look. “Will you please go for the midwife and let’s…ah…let’s allow her to walk.”
Miles sighed heavily. “I will get the midwife if you will promise not to let my child be dropped on its head before it has a chance to draw breath.”
“I promise. Now, please…go! And hurry!”
An hour later, and some twenty minutes before the midwife arrived, Florence, with the help of the housekeeper, the cook, and a birthing chair, delivered to Miles and Eleanor, a beautiful, vigorously healthy, baby boy. Florence bathed him and swaddled him tightly and placed tiny Monty in the arms of a remarkably serene Eleanor.
Florence was able to reassure an anxious Miles that his son had never been in any danger of being dropped on his head—for which she was rewarded with a crushing hug and a choked, “Thank you. God bless you, Florence.”
As she sat back and watched a glowing Eleanor and a joyous Miles gaze in wonder at their new arrival, counting his tiny fingers and toes, Florence vowed she was going to be the best Aunty that little boy ever had. It was the first strong emotion she’d felt in weeks.
“I will be leaving directly from the christening to return to London. I have been away nearly three months. It’s time for me to return.”
“I understand. I wish you would stay longer, but I am so thankful you were here at all.” Eleanor took Florence’s hand. A wicked gleam shone in Eleanor’s eyes. “I don’t know what Miles would have done without you.”
Both women burst into laughter.
The local Anglican clergyman had agreed to perform the christening in the morning room at Rutledge so that both the Earl and his Countess could attend. Florence was to be Monty’s godmother and Baron Stanton and Lord Edmund Everleigh, Miles’ younger brother, were to be his godparents. No one had made mention of His Grace, the Duke of Chelsony—at least not in her presence—so she had no idea if Duncan was coming, though he would generally be expected to.
The servants had done a beautiful job in creating an appropriate setting for the christening. All furniture had been pushed to the side to allow for an open space for the wheeled chairs of the Earl and Countess of Rutledge. An occasional table was covered with a pristine white damask cloth. A large porcelain bowl surrounded by some hothouse white roses sat atop the white cloth. A small silver pitcher held the water that the priest would bless and two white candles in sterling silver candle holders would be lit.
At the appropriate time, the family and guests assembled and Eleanor handed her son to Florence. It had been decided that Baron Stanton would have the honor of naming him.
The smiling clergyman welcomed the family and friends and then began quite simply, “Will the godparents step forward to present the child for baptism.”
Baron Stanton, Lord Edmund and she stepped forward to face the priest.
There were a number of prayers and then the priest looked at all three of them. “Name this child.”
She handed the babe to Baron Stanton with a smile, and he recited, “Montgomery Russell Everleigh.”
Whereupon Baron Stanton handed the child to the priest, and they watched as Montgomery Russell Everleigh was baptized with water. The priest made the sign of the cross on the child’s forehead with oil and then placed the bright-eyed Monty in his mother’s arms. Eleanor went to her father and mother, and each one kissed the little man on his head.
The Countess sighed and gazed at her husband with watery eyes and a tremulous smile. “Rutledge, I am perfectly content. We may go now.”
The Earl smiled up at his daughter. “You have done very well for us, Eleanor. I could not have wished for a better daughter. Now, if you don’t mind, your mother and I are very tired. We would like to go to our rooms.”
“Of course, Father.” She nodded to the four strapping lads that were assigned to carry the wheeled chairs and their precious cargo up and down the staircase.
Florence watched all of it, saw the love exchanged between father and daughter, mother and daughter, mother and child, husband and wife, and was overwhelmed with emotion. As the family and friends filed out to go to the dining room for a small reception, she placed her arm on Eleanor’s and whispered, “I need a moment. I’ll be along.”
“Are you alright?”
She nodded. “I just need a moment.” She crossed to the windows that in warmer weather would open into a walled garden. Still, there was quite a bit of green for the beginning of April.
“Florence?”
At the sound of her name spoken in his deep voice, all the agony she’d thought she’d moved past resurrected itself. Her muscles seized. She could not speak. She could not move. She could barely draw breath. Her body became fragile and brittle. She feared if touched her, she might
shatter.
“I understand that you don’t wish to speak to me, but I cannot go on without expressing my profound regret for my vile and ill-judged words, my infamous and despicable behavior that night. I don’t expect you to forgive me as I cannot forgive myself. My jealousy, a jealousy which I know now to have been unwarranted, blinded me. While I can do nothing to take away the pain my actions that night caused you, there is one source of hurt that I can remedy. I can give you my reasons for breaking off our engagement, though I hardly know where to begin.”
Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. She could not stand such hurt again. It had to stop.
“I suppose it starts with the surety I signed for your venture in Calcutta. I discovered far too late that the surety had no value. I was destitute. Edgar had stripped all the accounts, indeed stripped Chelsony Hall itself of anything of value, and fled to Amsterdam. I was in a panic. Your venture had progressed to the point where you had accepted money from a variety of very powerful, very conservative men on the strength of my surety. Should it get out that I could no longer back it, it is most probable they would have withdrawn their investment. You would have been required to make them good out of your personal funds. You would have been financially ruined. I couldn’t let that happen.”
She listened with no outward reaction other than the tears she could not prevent and swallowed past the lump in her throat. Her words came out husky and forced. “Thank you for telling me. I do understand why you took the action you did, though I should have preferred you to have trusted me enough to have told me. It would have spared me immeasurable heartache.”
“I was doing my best to protect you from a possible charge of misrepresentation and fraud. If you did not know my guarantee had no value, you could not then be accused of defrauding your investors. I had to disassociate myself from you. Please understand. Florence, the punishment for deceit by fraud is transportation to Australia. Or Newgate prison. Or hanging. I could not leave you vulnerable to that.”
“I see.”
“Between the day I ended our engagement and now, I have been singularly focused on finding Edgar and returning the stolen funds. It took me far longer than I had hoped, but I have done so. My surety on your Calcutta venture is once again good. You are no longer exposed to any risk, and whatever results between the two of us, I will stand behind it.”
“Thank you.”
“I love you. I have never stopped loving you. You are my world, my life. Every action I have taken is because of my love for you. Please tell me, if given sufficient time, you might put aside the terrible hurt I have done you and consent to be my duchess. Whether it be months or years, give me some hope that I have not irrevocably destroyed what was between us.”
She was silent for long moments. “I have no answer for you. It is as if my heart is dead. The hurt you dealt me was so profound I blocked out all emotion for feeling nothing was preferable to the unendurable agony in which I dwelt. Indeed, holding Eleanor’s small son was the first time in months I have been moved by anything at all. I cannot say if time will heal me. Still, I will consider your question and try to give you an answer when next our mutual ties bring us into each other’s company. Please do not send me anymore letters. I will not read them. Do not call upon me in London. I will not receive you.” She turned, walked past him, and out the open door.
Duncan watched her go, every sinew, every bone, every ounce of flesh, begging him to follow her, to hold her in his arms until she understood the depth of his love for her, and beg her to forgive him. Instead, he slumped into a chair, dropped his head into his hands, and tried not to fall into despair. He had known it would not be easy when he’d set out on this path, and he resolved to win her back to him. He would lay siege to Lady Lloyd-Smith.
When he finally looked up, he saw Miles standing in the doorway. He held a decanter and two tumblers. “I saw Florence leave. I am sorry.”
“Have a seat. I would welcome your company.” Duncan gestured wearily to a chair and pulled it in a haphazard fashion to align with his. “I have been successful in finding Edgar and restoring the money he stole from the Chelsony estate. My surety for the Calcutta venture is once again good. You are at liberty to tell Eleanor my reasons for breaking off with Florence if you wish.”
“When she asks, I’ll tell her.” Miles held out a glass. He took it and watched as his half-brother put two fingers of whiskey in it.
Miles sat down and poured himself an equal amount and the decanter went to the floor. “I just had a fascinating and at the same time disturbing conversation with my mother. Did you know that the Earl and Countess of Rutledge took her in when she fled from France to England to avoid being beheaded? She lived in this house. Did you know that the Earl and Countess of Rutledge introduced Maman to Father and promoted their romance?” Miles shook his head and took a swallow of his whiskey.
Duncan pursed his lips. “Huh. No, I never knew that.”
“Well, why not? You were there.”
Duncan reared back and looked at his half-brother. “Please tell me you jest. I was twelve and hardly in a position to converse with Father about his amours.”
“I take your point, though I must say, I do wonder what else she hasn’t told me.”
They both sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts.
“What is the mystery surrounding your marriage to Eleanor?”
“Beg pardon?”
Duncan chuckled without humor and took a sip of his whiskey. “Every time I remark on your unusual pairing and ask how it came about, I am met with silence. So? How did you come to marry Eleanor?”
Miles raised his eyebrows with a rueful shake of his head. “I suppose you might say she bought me, although that goes no further than you and I.” His lips quirked up in a crooked smile. “If you wish more details, you will have to apply to her. It is her story.”
“She bought you? My best and most favorite of all brothers…you cannot leave me in such suspense. I have only a passing acquaintance with Eleanor. I would not presume to be so familiar as to press her for details of her marriage to you.”
Miles smiled at him and with a good natured shake of his head indicated no more information would be forthcoming from him.
There was no point in pursuing his questions. When Miles decided not to speak he was as garrulous as a corpse. The man was a veritable repository of other people’s secrets. Duncan sighed and straightened. “Your son is a beautiful child. Was it an easy birth?”
Miles started to chuckle. It built into hearty laughter. When he finally sobered, he clapped Duncan on the back and rose to his feet. “I cannot say if it was easy or not. I can say it involved a lot of walking.” He snagged the decanter from the floor and sauntered out of the morning room still chuckling.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“My lady,” Greyson’s wide smile gladdened her heart. “I am delighted you are home. Did all go well with the birth?”
Florence walked down her entry hall, removing her bonnet and gloves and chuckled softly when she thought of that wild night. “Well…let’s say it was unconventional, though the actual birthing part of things was over quickly. I delivered the baby.”
“Indeed. How brave of you. And the christening? You wrote they had a son.”
“Yes, an adorable little boy called Montgomery. I am to be his aunty.” She smiled briefly and then sobered. “Duncan was there.”
“It was to be expected.”
“I suppose.”
“Did he speak to you?”
“Yes. When I first heard his voice, I thought I would shatter like glass the pain was so exquisite, but it faded away.” She stopped as they walked through the threshold of her study and turned to regard Greyson. “He apologized. Profusely. Eloquently. He explained his reasons for ending our engagement in such a drastic manner, and that he had remedied the situation which caused his abrupt action.”
“I would be interested to hear his justification if it is not too painful for you to recount?�
�
She shrugged and sat on her sofa, in her usual place. “It is not too painful. I feel nothing at all. Sit.” Greyson sat in Duncan’s chair. How curious that she would still consider it that. She repeated almost verbatim what Duncan had said.
“What do you think of his reasons?”
She was silent for a while. “I comprehend his thought process. His reasons for his actions are legitimate, I suppose. His actions were logical. He vows he still loves me and still wants to marry me. He stated he will not stop asking.”
“Well. How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged and gazed directly at Greyson. “I no longer feel the lash of the whip. I feel nothing whatsoever.”
The malaise of unfeeling she slipped into on her return to London was profound and destructive. Whereas before she had been too occupied, now she did nothing at all. She didn’t get out of bed. She forgot to eat or wash. She rarely got out of her nightdress. She left all business decisions to Greyson with a negligent wave of her hand. “Do whatever you want. I don’t care.”
She supposed it was Greyson that set Lord Seville and Baron Anthony upon her.
“Darling, you must drag your female self out of that bed on the instant. I am in need of money, and I have a lovely pair of chestnut thoroughbreds I am going to sell you for far more than they are worth. Get up. You need to drive them before you say yes and give me your cheque.”
She identified Lord Seville’s voice through her sleep-laden daze just before the bed covers were stripped from her body and the pillows yanked from underneath her head. She shrieked in protest. “What are you doing, Henry? Why are you in my bedroom?”
“What do you think about this? Or this?” Baron Anthony was shifting through her wardrobe pulling out skirts and bodices making dismissive faces at some and throwing others onto a chair back.
“Julian?”
“Hello, sweet Florence. We are here to take you out. Greyson said you had fallen into the mopes and wanted cheering up. We are here to cheer you up. So…” Julian picked up her sky blue jacket with gold braiding on a double breasted front, cut severely in the military style, and held it to his upper torso. “What do you think Henry? This or the scarlet wool?”
A Destitute Duke Page 18
