Robert had sat back then and lifted himself up to sit on the side of his mother’s bed. “Shh. Mama. Rest. There’s no need to speak of my father and me. Not now. We’ll talk of it when you’re well.”
She’d smiled. A wan, sad, soft reflection of the flashing grin she’d been nearly famous for since she’d been presented at court seventeen years prior. At eighteen, with a fortune behind her to match her beauty, she would have been quite the catch for any man wishing to strengthen his position within the ton. Her father had been a Duke. And she’d been married off, on her eighteenth birthday, to his gambling partner’s first son, who would, himself, be a Duke one day. Lord John Weston, the Marquess of Hempstead.
The Marquess had been dashing and handsome then and, also, quite the catch. But after meeting Lady Sophia, he’d fallen in love with her at first sight. By all accounts, it had become his mission to ingratiate himself with her. He’d shown that he was beside himself at the good fortune which had united her life with his.
“No, we, we must speak now, my son.” She opened her eyes and gave him the same sad look. “My Robert. I owe you a great debt. I am so very sorry.”
“Mama, you owe me no debt. There’s nothing for you to say you’re sorry about. You owe me nothing. Mother, please. Don’t talk that way.”
The Duchess had shaken her head against the damp pillow. “You must heed my words, child. You are made from love. It’s why your father has always misunderstood you.”
“What are you saying, Mother?” She must be delirious. “Let me call the doctor.”
“Shhh. When I married your father, I … I was in love. With another. And he was in love with me. He worked for the family of a dear friend of mine.” Sophia closed her eyes to rest for a moment.
Robert was beginning to experience a roiling in his stomach. He was suddenly nervous about something other than the imminent death of his mother. He waited for her to gather some strength.
She opened her eyes once more. “I … I’ve been a good wife, Robert. I did my duty by my husband. I lived by the rules of the life I was born into.”
“Mother, lie still.” Robert wrung the head cloth out in cool water and replaced it on his mother’s brow. “You must rest. Please.”
“No, you must listen.” Her small, withered hand reached for his. “I cared for your father, Robert. You must believe that. I am not a … a bad woman. I am not a … a harlot.”
She must surely be delirious, voicing fears and regrets about a life spent in service to her family’s place in society. “Mama, let me get the doctor. I heard him arrive a little while ago. He’s probably with father in the library.”
“You must stay here, my son. My Robert. Your father, the Duke of Atwater. Dear, he is not.”
Once more, she closed her eyes. It was a full five minutes before she opened them again.
“Two months after my marriage to his grace, a new groom arrived at Hempstead Hall. He was in the Duke’s employ until …” her eyes brimmed with tears, “… until the Duke found us talking in the garden one afternoon.
“He was a groom, you see. It wasn’t acceptable. Even a conversation about something other than carriages and appointments. I was to tell Terence’s father, the butler then, when I needed a carriage. I was not to fraternize with anyone from the stables.
“I wanted to run away with him when I was eighteen. And when my first love came to Hempstead, I believe the Duke thought I might do just that. You see, there had been some rumours about the groom. And me. Our friendship was unseemly. Our love impossible. So, the Duke had the groom dismissed.” She sighed, finding the need to rest yet again. “Robert. I’m sorry.”
The roiling in Robert’s stomach became so intense he doubled over. He began to question facts. He was shrewd beyond his years, and he didn’t like the one fact that some of the details of his mother’s life seemed to point to.
“Mama?”
Sophia slowly nodded her head. “You must understand, Robert. He was the love, the true love of my life. And he was taken from me. But he returned two years later. He’d been to exotic lands and had made a name for himself in the King’s navy.”
“There was a ball ... at Almack’s. In his honour. He’d been knighted for his successful ventures for the crown.” Lady Sophia sighed deeply. “No one but myself and his grace, the Duke, knew the true identity of the guest of honour.”
“And?” The young Lord Robert had become involved in the confession his mother was sharing. Her deathbed avowal. A tale that was as an inverted night-time story, where the one to go to sleep was the narrator. And the one who heard the story would live with the consequences of the telling.
“And there was a night. One night. At Hempstead Hall. His grace was in London. My love came to me, in secret, the night before he was to leave for America.”
Young Robert didn’t want to hear anymore but could not deny himself the resolution of the mystery. The resolution he was sure he knew. He wouldn’t deny his mother the relief of full disclosure before dying.
“My child, your … my lover was killed on the journey. But by then you were growing within me, and when the news of my lover’s death came to London, you were a chubby baby of ten months.”
“What are you saying, Mama?”
“I’m saying, my son,” Sophia sighed. The talk or the memories were taxing her. “Your.” She took a deep, slow breath and looked directly into her son’s eyes, so like her own. “Your father, Robert. Your father is not his grace.”
Robert had clenched his teeth with a sharp intake of breath.
“If his grace is not my father, then who is?” he’d asked even though he knew the answer.
“My first love, son. Sir Robert McDonnell.”
*******
The moon, winking in the window at him, drew him from his reverie.
Robert watched the glowing orb as it followed alongside the carriage on the road that led out of the city. He was glad to have escaped the ball at the first opportunity. His idea was to stay at Hempstead Hall for another month at least.
He sighed. Phoebe played in and out of his thoughts. She’d looked like a shimmering angel when Tom had brought her over to meet him. He hadn’t wanted to attend the ball. Indeed, he almost hadn’t. But meeting Phoebe had stirred something in him. He’d wanted to ask her more about herself. He’d wanted to dance with her all night.
If not for meeting her, the night would have been completely wasted. Especially since he’d accepted that he could do nothing about Lady Judith’s plans to become his sister-in-law.
Lady Phoebe hadn’t seemed to be aware of the scandal he was embroiled in. Perhaps she didn’t care. He wished there were others besides Tom and two other men, employees at Brooks’, who believed his side of things. He thought he wouldn’t mind having Lady Phoebe as an ally.
His last stay at Hempstead Hall had been filled with hours of figuring. How was he to win Judith back? He hoped the two of them still had a chance. He was sure she would tell him that she’d never told any stories about him. He was sure she’d be grateful that he’d waited for her despite the fact that she’d stopped writing. The response he’d gotten had shaken his confidence.
The pressure from the ton had been so high; Robert had also spent hours planning his return to London. Days of questioning how to move beyond the awful blight that had been cast upon his reputation.
But he’d realized, when he came back to London, that he would never have been able to make things right with Judith. She wanted what she wanted. And, with the denial he’d sustained, Robert was quite sure she didn’t want him. Why she’d told so many lies had remained a mystery.
There was one thing she had been truthful about, though. Her plan was to become a Duchess. Nothing would sway her from her endeavour. Robert had finally let go of his desires to reconcile with her. And when he’d gone back to London from Hempstead, he’d been resolved to move on.
Once again Lady Phoebe’s presence asserted itself in his mind. He shook his head vigorous
ly to clear the thoughts away. It would do no good to think about her. He needed to put her, and all women, out of his mind. At least for the time being. Better to stay at Hempstead licking his wounds than to go up against the ton and think he could walk away from scandal unscathed.
*******
“Lady Phoebe?” Mary came out of Phoebe’s bedchamber blinking her eyes against the light. She’d fallen asleep in the corner chair while sewing and waiting for her mistress to return.
“Did you enjoy the ball, My Lady?” Mary helped Phoebe out of her dress. The lady went on about how lovely the ball had been.
“Everyone was there. The wagging tongues and the ogling eyes. The ratafia was watered down. The waistlines are already dropping! Can you imagine? La! I was only barely in fashion!” Phoebe laughed. “Everyone takes it quite seriously, you know. Sometimes I long for old age so I no longer need to attend these types of sordid affairs. And I can dress in frocks from my youth and not have a care about anything.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy yourself, My Lady. Did anything else happen?”
“I did meet two people I haven’t met before, Mary. Well, I have met Lady Judith, but she had no recollection of meeting me. But who can blame her, with all she’s been through? We met two years ago in Paris. I don’t hold it against her, not remembering me. She was nice enough tonight.”
“Who was the other person you met, My Lady?”
“Oh Mary! I was hoping you’d ask. I’ve been bursting to tell you since I’ve been home! He was so handsome. So stylishly dressed. Such a divine dancer!”
“Ooh! Tell me, My Lady. Who is he?”
“The man from the bridge. Remember? In the plain black carriage? I saw him the day I arrived back in London from Paris. His name is Lord Robert. Um, Lord Robert. His full name escapes me. Something like Wayfair or maybe Wescott.”
“Weston, My Lady?”
“Yes! Mary, exactly. Lord Robert Weston. Oh, I don’t know when I shall see him again. He seemed to have disappeared after our dance together.”
“You said Lord Robert Weston, My Lady?”
“Yes, yes, silly! Are you listening, Mary? That’s him! Are you acquainted with him?”
“No, My Lady.” Mary turned abruptly and began putting her mistress’s formal clothes away.
Phoebe watched her maid’s reflection in the looking glass. “Mary. I asked you a question, dear. Is there something amiss? You say you don’t know Lord Robert. But that’s not all, is it? Is there something you’re not telling me? Something about the gentleman I’m speaking of?”
Mary sat on the little bench in front of the vanity table. She took her mistress’s hand. “My Lady, you became ill so soon after returning to London. I didn’t know Lord Robert would be at the ball this evening. He was away, in the country, if I heard otherwise, I would have told you.”
“You would have told me? Told me what? I don’t understand.”
“My Lady, I didn’t know it was Lord Robert Weston when you told me about the man on the bridge.”
“Well, how could you? You weren’t there.”
“But I should have put it all together, My Lady.”
“What do you mean? Put what together?”
“Your description of the man on the bridge and the talk I’ve been hearing.”
“What talk Mary? Why haven’t you told me?”
“My Lady, if I was to tell you every bit of gossip I hear, you’d never sleep at night. There are those who can be quite vicious in their judgements. It can be very upsetting to be around that kind of talk.”
“Mary? I’m surprised. You indulge in gossip? With the servants of others?”
“No, My Lady. I say nil; however, I hear a great deal of tawdry words about people. And because I don’t repeat anything, I’m also privy to some deep secrets that others need to relieve themselves of.”
“And you’ve heard something about Lord Robert?”
“I have, My Lady. One of the reasons I don’t repeat gossip is because it’s just that, My Lady. Oftentimes not even based on a kernel of truth. This, at least the main part, is a fact.”
Phoebe was growing impatient. “Mary, please. Out with it. What have you heard?”
Mary took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Lord Robert is disgraced, My Lady.”
“Disgraced?”
“Yes, My Lady. And he had been away in the country for some weeks. I didn’t know he’d come back to London.”
“But what kind of scandal would cause a gentleman to hide away in the country? What could Lord Robert have done to be so disgraced?” Lady Phoebe’s eyes met Mary’s in the glass. Phoebe gasped. Her tiny hand, still sheathed in a lacy white glove, went to her mouth. “Mary, is there a … a child? A child out of wedlock?”
“No, My Lady, but there might as well be. You know how people talk. The gentleman is no gentleman according to what I’ve heard. Many people are talking.
“Tell me, Mary,” Lady Phoebe leaned towards the maid, shivers of excitement causing gooseflesh on her arms and shoulders.
“My Lady, it is not fun, harmless gossip. It is the kind of slander that can taint one’s reputation forever.”
“Oh dear. In Paris things were quite different. Everyone would delight in who-kissed-who stories and conjecture over why a certain Count or Duke might be late to the salon. It was light and amusing. No one ever got hurt. I’d no idea the ton’s conversation could be so damaging. Maybe I ought not to know about Lord Robert and his fall from grace.”
“I’m only amazed that you haven’t learned of it before now. I’m surprised that no one at the ball said something to you.”
“Mary! What can be so, so sordid?”
Mary sighed. “Lord Robert. Are you sure you want to know, My Lady?”
“Yes, Mary. Tell me.” Phoebe’s excitement at learning a delicious bit of talk had dissipated. Her maid was about to tell her something bad. Very bad.
“Lord Robert reneged on a marriage promise, My Lady. He abandoned his betrothed.”
“No!” Lady Phoebe was shocked.
“That’s what’s being said, My Lady.”
“What else? There’s got to be more to the story.”
“The lady was away travelling for three years. She recently came back to London, and Lord Robert told her he would not marry her. They had made a secret betrothal before she went abroad. She was only seventeen at the time, but now she’s of marrying age, Lord Robert has forsaken her.”
Lady Phoebe grabbed her fan off the vanity and frantically fanned herself. Her mind was spinning. “How can this be true, Mary? Tell me the rest of it.”
“He’s not received at many of the homes of your friends, My Lady. Although I, myself, do not believe the gossip.”
“You don’t? Why?”
“Because there’s something not quite right about the story. I haven’t put my finger on it. But, everyone I’ve heard speak of it agrees.”
“Yes, go on, Mary.”
“Everyone tells the same story.”
“I don’t understand. That’s what gossip is, no?”
“My Lady, exactly the same. I don’t want to overstep my bounds, My Lady ... but it’s almost as if the story has been taught to them. I know it sounds odd, but there’s something about the whole thing that I don’t believe.
Love Stories of Enchanting Ladies: A Historical Regency Romance Collection Page 58
