“What were they—”
He covered her lips with his fingers again. “Sound travels at night.”
Her stomach twisted. “They must have heard us, then.”
Mr. Parker-Roth rolled his eyes and pulled her toward the back wall. “I believe they were too involved in their own activities to be eavesdropping. However, that is not the case now.”
Meg followed behind him. Fortunately there was a narrow path by the wall so they weren’t forced to battle the vegetation. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for the back gate. I don’t believe you will be reentering the ballroom.”
Meg pushed her hair off her face. No, she would definitely not be gracing Lady Easthaven’s ballroom again tonight.
“I’ll—”
The man stopped so suddenly, she bumped into him.
“What is it?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do.” She hated to be patronized. She ducked under his arm—and stopped.
Thankfully, she was still hidden by the overgrown pine trees. Through their branches, she saw Lord and Lady Dunlee on the other side of a small clearing. They were frowning at Lady Felicity. Lady Felicity was…well…she was leaning against a tree. She had a very odd expression, and her dress was…was…
“Is there someone under Lady Felicity’s dress?”
“What…?”
Mr. Parker-Roth put his hand over her mouth once more. Really, the man was becoming extremely annoying. Still, she was appreciative of his action this time. She might otherwise have brought unwelcome attention to their presence.
“Lady Felicity,” Lady Dunlee said, “just whom might you be entertaining down there?”
Chapter 12
“What was he doing?” Meg had been trying to puzzle out the answer to that question ever since she’d seen Lord Bennington emerge from under Lady Felicity’s skirts in Easthaven’s garden two days earlier. “He’s not a physician.” She frowned, replaying the scene in her mind for the hundredth time. “Though Lady Felicity did look very odd. Do you suppose she was in pain?”
“She was not in pain.”
Mr. Parker-Roth sounded distinctly testy. Meg glanced over at him. His ears looked distinctly red, as well. Was he embarrassed? Why?
He did not meet her gaze, but lengthened his stride so they were almost galloping across the lawn at the Duke of Hartford’s estate on the Thames.
“Will you slow down? We are not in a footrace, are we?”
“No, of course not.”
If anything, the man increased his pace. Meg put out her hand and caught his arm.
“What is the matter?”
“Nothing is the matter.”
She blew out a short, annoyed breath. “I am not a complete ninnyhammer. Something is the matter.”
Mr. Parker-Roth stopped and looked at her. “Why didn’t you ask your sister about the scene in the garden?”
Meg felt her cheeks flush. She avoided Parks’s eyes. “I don’t know. It was too hard to describe, I suppose. Too odd. I mean, who would believe a grown man would be under a woman’s skirts in the garden outside a ball? It is…absurd.”
“Exactly. Just put it out of your mind.”
She couldn’t do that, either. She’d tried. There was something about the tableau that would not let it be forgotten.
“Lord Bennington and Lady Felicity are engaged now.”
Parks snorted and resumed his breakneck pace down the hill toward the group of people playing bowls.
“I would hope so.”
“Why?”
He stopped again. “Miss Peterson, please. You may not understand exactly what Lord Bennington was up to, but you certainly understand he should not have been involved in any activity requiring a visit beneath a lady’s skirt.”
“Of course, but—”
“And he was discovered by Lady Dunlee.”
Meg snorted herself this time. “Lady Dunlee is not one to preach propriety after what she was doing in the garden.” She paused. What had Lady Dunlee been doing?
“Lord and Lady Dunlee are married. What they do between themselves cannot be construed as scandalous.”
“I was scandalized.” She didn’t need to know the specifics to know something shocking had occurred.
“You are a virgin. You don’t count.”
“What do you mean, I don’t count?” She grabbed his arm again. She might not be experienced, but still…“Weren’t you scandalized?”
Mr. Parker-Roth flushed. “I might have been surprised, yes. I hadn’t considered…one doesn’t usually consider…” He shrugged. “But scandalized? No. As I say, they are married. A certain degree of…intimacy…is to be expected in marriage as a matter of course.”
Meg shook his arm. “But in the bushes? Lady Dunlee?”
Parks shrugged and started walking again. She fell into step beside him. Lord and Lady Dunlee were old. Who would have thought old people could still engage in activities requiring screening by bushes?
She should have thought it. Lady Dunlee was quite possibly younger than Papa and Harriet, and they were certainly very…ardent. Of course, they had only been married a few years, but still, if marital enthusiasm were limited by age…
No, it wasn’t Lady Dunlee’s age that made the incident in Easthaven’s shrubbery so shocking, it was her role as society’s arbiter of decorum. She’d shamed Lord Bennington into a marriage proposal minutes after she’d been…well, she’d been doing something that involved a secluded garden bench and potentially missing pantaloon buttons. For her to then act outraged at what Lady Felicity and Lord Bennington had been doing—
What had they been doing?
“I do wish you would explain the situation to me.”
Parks almost broke into a run. “I am not explaining anything to you. It would be most inappropriate. Ask your sister if you are so curious.”
“Has anyone told you that you are a shocking prig?”
He glared at her. “If you don’t care for my company, please seek a more congenial companion. I don’t believe I’ve been forcing you to stay by my side.”
“I was just trying to be polite.”
“That’s a first.” He muttered the words, but she still heard him quite clearly.
She should take his hint and leave him alone. She certainly had not intended to seek him out. She’d been extremely annoyed with the man and had planned to ignore him thoroughly. But she couldn’t. When she’d seen him arrive with his mother and Miss Witherspoon, she’d been drawn to him like a moth to flame. And then Mrs. Parker-Roth had suggested he take her for a stroll. She’d known he hadn’t wanted to do so, but she hadn’t refused when he’d offered.
Well, she’d had a question to ask him, which he’d now made abundantly clear he had no intention of answering, ever.
He was outpacing her again. Surely a man with even a modicum of manners would match his step to hers? She hurried to catch up.
No, not a moth to flame. The analogy was more a fly to dung. A maggot to rotting meat.
She could not ask Emma what Lord Bennington had been doing under Lady Felicity’s skirts. For one thing, Emma was not very pleased with her at the moment. The ton’s attention had been on the delightful scandal of the viscount and the disreputable earl’s daughter, but Emma’s eyes had focused on Meg’s muddied gown and tumbled hair. She had whisked her out the back gate before she had even approached the ballroom and had rung a peal over her the entire carriage ride back to Knightsdale House.
No, she was definitely not going to ask her sister anything about scandalous behavior.
“Your son does not look very interested in my sister.” Emma leaned forward in her chair on the terrace and frowned as she watched Mr. Parker-Roth stride across the lawn below her. Meg had to almost run to keep up.
“I would say he’s very interested.” Mrs. Parker-Roth, ensconced in the chair next to her, sounded almost smug. “Exceedingly. I’ve never seen him take such an interest in
a female before.”
The woman must be addled in the head. If Mr. Parker-Roth was showing interest in Meg, Emma would hate to see what his disinterest looked like. “How can you say—oh!”
Lord Henry had found a dead fly and was preparing to pop it into his mouth. Emma dove for his chubby little hand.
“No, Henry. Dirty!”
She wrested the disgusting item out of his fingers. He howled for a moment and then crawled off in search of another revolting morsel.
“Henry!”
He giggled and crawled faster. Emma lunged and grabbed him around his waist. He tried to wiggle free.
“No you don’t, you little monkey.”
She plopped him down to stand at her knees. He blinked up at her and then squealed with glee, the two small teeth in his bottom gum glistening like tiny pearls. He grabbed her skirts, balancing on his fat little legs.
“It might have been more relaxing if the duchess had not made this a family party,” Mrs. Parker-Roth said, laughing.
“Definitely. Dealing with Henry is like wrestling a greased pig—not that I’ve ever wrestled one, of course.”
“Of course.”
Emma frowned. Why did she feel so overwhelmed with Henry? He let himself down and crawled over to investigate an ornamental frog. “Charlie wasn’t this active.”
“Charlie is your oldest. Henry watches him and tries to do what he does.”
“But they are two years apart. There is no possible way Henry can match Charlie’s actions.”
“Tell Henry that.”
Henry had lost interest in the stone frog and was busily pulling flowers out of a planter.
“Henry!”
He grinned and crawled back toward them.
“Stephen is two years younger than John, and he was always trying to do whatever John did. Thankfully John was rather cautious or Stephen would have had many more bruises—and I would have had many more gray hairs.”
“And yet you had six children.” Emma handed Henry a biscuit.
Mrs. Parker-Roth chuckled. “Well, I wasn’t thinking of tending the babies when I was making them. My husband is very…persuasive.”
“Ah.” Emma glanced at Mrs. Parker-Roth. The woman had an odd, dreamy expression.
Lud! Mrs. Parker-Roth must be close to Papa’s age. Of course Papa had married Harriet only a few years ago and Charles thought they still—
A knot of panic twisted Emma’s stomach. Surely the woman would not share any details of…?
No, she could not consider it. A change of subject was in order—or a return to the original subject.
“Why do you think your son is interested in my sister?” Emma asked. “He was almost running away from her a moment ago.”
Mrs. Parker-Roth grinned. “I know. He had a very hunted expression on his face, did he not?”
“He did. And men do not like to be hunted—at least, Charles did not. That’s why he married me—to avoid being fox to all the matrimonial hounds after he inherited the title.”
The other woman laughed. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Of course. He said—”
“Oh, pooh.” Mrs. Parker-Roth flicked her fingers at her. “That may have been what he said. That may even have been what he believed at one point. Men do so hate to expose their feelings. Much easier to say—and think—they are marrying for convenience rather than love. But do not fool yourself. The marquis is madly in love with you.”
“He cares for me, certainly.” Emma handed Henry another biscuit. A good bit of the first had found its way onto his clothes and into his hair.
Did Charles love her? She thought so—until she came to London.
It was not as bad as she had feared before her marriage. He did not just come down to Knightsdale to get her with child. He stayed in the country as much as he could, but he had to go to Town to take his seat in the House of Lords. He wanted her to come with him, but she hated London. She much preferred Kent where the air was clean and society was so much more comfortable. And it was better for the boys and for Isabelle and Claire to be in the country.
But Charles was a man with healthy appetites. Had he visited the many London brothels or taken a mistress? She refused to ask. He was as attentive as she could wish when she was with him. What he did when she wasn’t…well, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
The women in London were so lovely, and she was so short and ordinary and…somewhat stout might be the most charitable adjective…from bearing her two babies. She sighed.
“I assure you, I cannot compete with the London ladies.”
“You do not need to. You are the marchioness, not they.”
Emma shrugged and watched Henry finish his last crumb of biscuit. The servants had brought a jug of water. She would clean him off with her handkerchief.
Mrs. Parker-Roth touched her knee. “Emma, you must not sell yourself short.”
“How can I not?” She bit her lip. She would not cry.
She had not meant to say it, but she was so weary of pretending to fit in with the haut ton. She did not. No matter how hard she tried, she felt out of place, like a…a pig in a parlor.
Mrs. Parker-Roth frowned at her. “Emma, people take us at our own valuation, you know. If you think yourself unworthy, society—particularly the nasty gabble grinders—will agree with you. But if you act as if you belong—which you most certainly do—they will accept you. You are the Marchioness of Knightsdale, for goodness sake.”
Emma shrugged and dipped her handkerchief in the water jug. “Come here, you messy little creature.” She grabbed Henry, glad her voice hadn’t broken. “I just wish Charles had really chosen me—not just settled for me.”
Lud, where had that come from? She bent her head closer to Henry’s, blinking away sudden tears to concentrate on cleaning the wet paste of biscuit and baby spit from his face.
Mrs. Parker-Roth clicked her tongue. “Emma, the marquis can never prove his love beyond all doubt. No one can. You have to trust him. Has he given you reason to doubt him?”
“No, of course not.” She balled up the messy handkerchief and stuffed it in her reticule. How had this conversation become focused on her anyway? She pinned a smile to her lips and looked at Mrs. Parker-Roth. “You still haven’t told me why you think your son is interested in my sister.”
The older woman frowned, her eyes searching Emma’s face, but Emma would not let herself look away. Finally Mrs. Parker-Roth smiled slightly.
“That’s simple. If he were not, he would not be attending these social events.”
Emma frowned. “But he needs to escort you.”
Mrs. Parker-Roth snorted. “Believe me, Johnny is not that dutiful a son. This is not our first visit to London, remember. I come up every few months for art supplies—and to try to find him a wife. He knows my motives. He has become very adroit at avoiding society gatherings—but this time he is indeed accompanying me, albeit complaining vociferously at every opportunity.” She smiled. “The only reason I can fathom for his change in behavior is the presence of your sister.”
“But he looks as if he is trying to avoid her.”
“If he really wanted to avoid her, he would do so.” Mrs. Parker-Roth chuckled. “It is quite amusing to watch him. After his unfortunate experience with Lady Grace, he convinced himself he would never marry. But now he is attracted to your sister. He is having a terrible struggle with himself.” She grinned broadly. “I am delighted.”
“You are?” How could a mother enjoy watching her son struggle? Emma picked Henry up and hugged him. His warm weight felt so good. She could not imagine him as a grown man, his soft cheeks scratchy with stubble, his plump arms hard and muscled.
Henry squirmed. She put him down and he crawled off toward the edge of the terrace. She caught him when he reached the balustrade. She did not need him getting his head stuck.
The duchess was walking by on the lawn below, talking to her husband, Baron Tynweith. The duke was asleep
on the baron’s shoulder, his fingers in his mouth.
Mrs. Parker-Roth joined her by the balustrade.
“What do you think of our hostess?” The duchess seemed like a safe topic, and Emma was curious. “My husband said she used to be called the Marble Queen—and then the Marble Duchess—but she doesn’t strike me as cold.”
“That’s because she’s changed. This second marriage has been very good for her.”
“She barely waited a year to remarry. People say…” Emma lowered her voice. “People say the baby is Tynweith’s.”
“I imagine that’s true. The man certainly dotes on the child as if he were his own son.”
Emma blinked. The older woman did not seem shocked in the slightest. “Hasn’t the alternate heir complained?”
“Oh, Claxton has been complaining since the old duke married. There isn’t much he can do, however. Hartford died in flagrante delicto nine months before the duchess’s baby was born. Only a fool would try to prove the child isn’t legitimate—and Claxton is not that big a fool.”
Henry chose that moment to make a rude noise with his mouth—a trick Charlie had taught him.
“Shh, Henry.”
He did not listen. Emma sighed. Henry never listened.
“You said the duke died, um, well…” Charles had said the man had more than eighty years in his dish. “Surely you don’t mean…he wasn’t…was he?”
“Indeed he was. As to whether he was coming or going, I can’t say, but it was clear he had been engaged in the proper activity to result in an interesting event nine months hence.”
“Oh.” Emma swallowed. Some things were best left unimagined.
“And it helps that Charlotte is so much pleasanter now. Tynweith, too. He’d turned into a complete recluse—when he wasn’t hosting disreputable parties at his estate, that is.”
Emma flushed. “Meg was at one of Lord Tynweith’s parties—the one where Hartford died. It’s where she met your son.”
Mrs. Parker-Roth chuckled. “That was one of Tynweith’s moderately acceptable gatherings. Lady Dunlee was there with her husband and daughter—and, as you say, Johnny was there as well. He certainly was not looking for scandal.” Mrs. Parker-Roth sighed. “I imagine he went to view the topiary.”
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