At Last Comes Love

by Mary Balogh

  “And whom his new mother and uncles and aunts love dearly and have welcomed into my family too,” Merton added.

  “Randolph,” Norman said, “would you—”

  But Turner had turned on his heel and was striding back in the direction of the house.

  “Caroline,” Norman said, “would you—”

  “Oh, be quiet!” she cried, turning on him, her eyes flashing. “Cannot you see that he is blackmailing Randolph and that Randolph has no choice but to allow it? You do not believe Laura would have run away from him if the child had really been his, do you? And he is not Lord Sheringford’s either—he was besotted with me at the time. Oh, I wish in my heart I had never suggested that Randolph bring Gareth to London. I might have known he would be too jealous to make the idea work and that Laura would be too squeamish. And I might have known that she would run to Lord Sheringford and that he would take her away and abandon me to you. Oh, do stop gaping in that ridiculous way, Norman, and come along, or Randolph will leave without us.”

  And she went hurrying back along the avenue, all delicate, feminine little steps and flouncing muslin.

  For once Norman was speechless. He looked at Duncan, his lips working soundlessly, and then went scurrying off after his wife.

  “Dash it all,” Merton said when he was out of earshot. “Neither one of them gave me enough excuse to break his nose. My knuckles will itch with frustration for a week.”

  “A woman’s way of doing things is never quite satisfactory to a man’s way of thinking,” Moreland said with a sigh. “I still prefer your original plan of pounding Turner to a bloody pulp, Sheringford, while Stephen and I tossed the dice over who would have the pleasure of breaking Pennethorne’s nose. But Margaret’s plan really was the better one. Turner has been thoroughly and permanently vanquished, and not a drop of blood shed. Damnation! Why could he not at least have taken a swing at you?”

  “At one point,” Duncan said, “I really thought he was going to. Alas, he remembered his true nature in time. Maggie has made Toby safe, but I wish her plan could have included just a small degree of violence. Or, even better, a whole lot of it.”

  Moreland clapped a hand on his shoulder.

  “And talking of Margaret,” he said, “I daresay she and Vanessa are having a very bad time of it, waiting to hear what happened out here.”

  “Yes,” Duncan said, closing his eyes briefly.

  Was it really all over? As easily as this?

  Could he now return to Maggie and to Toby and assure them that their life together as a family was secure at last?

  Where were they? In the nursery?

  He hurried off in the direction of home without even stopping to thank his brothers-in-law for offering such formidable moral support.

  He was running by the time he had crossed the bridge.

  The carriage, he could see when he reached the terrace, was already disappearing down the driveway.

  He took the steps up to the front doors two at a time.

  Margaret had not moved from the chair in the nursery where she sat with Toby. Vanessa was standing at the window looking out, but there was nothing of any significance to see. The nursery was in the west wing with a view over the stables and the west lawn.

  Margaret imposed deliberate relaxation on her body so that her anxiety would not convey itself to Toby, even in sleep. But, oh, it was so difficult to wait.

  Bullies were usually cowards. Perhaps extreme bullies were extreme cowards. She fervently hoped so. She had based her whole plan on the theory. She had talked Duncan and her brother and brother-in-law into following her plan—Nessie had needed no persuading.

  What if she was wrong?

  She hoped the encounter would not turn violent. Men always found it easier to use their fists than to be rational. Perhaps it was as well that Caroline Pennethorne was with them. Perhaps her presence would force them all into talking rather than using their fists.

  Her rational mind told her that Toby was safe, that her suggested plan of action was bound to work. But it was hard to trust cold reason when so much was at stake. Randolph Turner had the legal right to take Toby no matter who his real father was. And he had wanted a son desperately enough to concoct that ghastly scheme. Perhaps he did not care what people thought of him. Perhaps …

  The nursery door opened quietly. Even so, Toby stirred. He rubbed an eye with one fist, burrowed closer for a moment, and then turned his head to watch with sleepy eyes as Duncan approached.

  It was hard to read his expression.

  Vanessa turned from the window.

  “Papa,” Toby said, “has the bad man gone?”

  Duncan’s eyes met Margaret’s briefly before he bent forward slightly and set a hand on the boy’s head.

  “He is not really a bad man, Tobe,” he said. “Just a rather annoying one. He is a cousin of mine and used to annoy me dreadfully when we were lads. He still does, but he is harmless. Yes, he has gone. I sent him away along with the two people who were with him. They will not be back—they will never be invited. You are perfectly safe here with Papa and Aunt Meg to look after you.”

  “Not Aunt Meg,” Toby said. “She is not my aunt. She is Mama. Where is Uncle Stephen? I want to ride on his shoulders, not just on his back. Do you think he will let me?”

  He threw back the blanket and climbed down off Margaret’s lap, eager to resume his day.

  Margaret swallowed a lump in her throat and looked across the room to see Vanessa smiling at her. She was officially Mama, it seemed.

  “I suppose,” Duncan said, holding out a hand for Toby’s, “we can go and ask. But why Uncle Stephen and not Papa?”

  “Because he is taller than you are, silly,” Toby said, ignoring his hand and dashing for the door.

  “Ah, yes, quite so,” Duncan said as Margaret got to her feet. “Silly of me to ask.”

  He turned to Margaret, took one step toward her so that his body collided with hers, and kissed her hard on the lips.

  “Nessie is here,” she said, her face flushing.

  He turned his head and grinned at Vanessa.

  “Turner chooses reputation over the acquisition of a son and heir,” he said.

  “I knew he would,” Margaret cried. “And once he has publicly repudiated Toby and declared him to be your son, he cannot change his mind. Not that he ever would. He knows that Stephen and Elliott know and that soon Jasper and your grandfather will know. He knows that none of them would scruple to tell the truth if he should prove troublesome.”

  “If only,” he said, “Turner were one smidgen less of a coward than he is. He actually flexed his fists and looked belligerent for all of two seconds. I willed him to throw a punch. Alas, he did not.”

  “I daresay Elliott and Stephen were disappointed too,” Vanessa said. “And I must confess that even I am—a little.”

  “You could not have fought,” Margaret said, “with Caroline Turner there.”

  “Oh, Maggie,” he said, “it was all her idea.”

  “What was?” she asked.

  “Using the half brother to get Turner his heir,” he said. “It was her idea.”

  She wrapped her arms about his waist regardless of the presence of her sister in the room.

  “We might have guessed it,” Vanessa said. “It is too clever and fiendish a scheme for a man to have dreamed up. I shall go and tell Elliott so merely for the pleasure of listening to his retort.”

  She whisked herself out of the room, laughing.

  “And to think that you might have married that woman,” Margaret said.

  Duncan grinned. “Never in a million years,” he said. “I was always quite safe from her, Maggie. Fate was saving me for a certain flying missile in a certain doorway in a certain ballroom.”

  She kissed him on the lips.

  “We had better go down,” she said, “and rescue my poor brother.”

  But when they arrived at the head of the staircase, they could hear sounds of commotion coming f
rom the hall below. Margaret’s stomach turned over. Duncan released her arm and went charging downward ahead of her.

  Had they returned?

  Were they going to try to take Toby after all?

  She came to an abrupt halt when she was still a few stairs above the hall. Duncan was down there already. So were Vanessa and Elliott and Stephen—with Toby astride his shoulders.

  And so were Sir Graham and Lady Carling and the Marquess of Claverbrook.

  “Duncan, my love,” Lady Carling was saying, “whatever has been happening? Is this the child? He is perfectly adorable. Oh, just look at those curls, Graham! You utterly provoking man, Duncan, to have said nothing about him to your own mother. Graham has said that of course you said nothing under the circumstances, but that is nonsense. I am his grandmother. There is the most dreadful gossip making the rounds in London, though, and Randolph Turner must have listened to it and even believed it, or he would not have come here to see for himself. And he did come. We passed his carriage just the other side of the village, but he would not stop it when I waved to him or even look at us. Though he could not possibly have missed seeing us. How could he? He had other people with him too. I daresay it was Caroline and Norman, but they would not look at us either, and really they were quite pointed about it, were they not, Graham? They were not on their way to fetch a magistrate, were they? Oh, do tell me all, Duncan. No one ever tells me anything. It is most provoking.”

  And she burst into tears.

  Margaret hurried downward, but Sir Graham had already taken his wife in his arms, looking pained.

  “If you would just let Sheringford talk, Ethel,” he suggested, “perhaps you would be put out of your suspense a little sooner.”

  Toby, Margaret could see, was clutching fistfuls of Stephen’s hair and was trying to duck down behind his head. His eyes were frightened again.

  “They were going back to London, I assume, Mama,” Duncan said, “or to the devil for all I care. Meet Toby—Tobias Duncan Pennethorne, my son and Maggie’s. I will tell you the whole story later, after you have rested and had some refreshments.”

  “Grandpapa,” Margaret said to the marquess, “let me take your arm.”

  He was leaning heavily on his cane. He was looking fierce, but his complexion was gray-tinged with fatigue.

  “Hmmph,” he said, and he looked at Toby with a ferocious frown.

  Toby was making small wailing sounds, and Stephen’s hands had gone up to hold him protectively by the waist.

  The Marquess of Claverbook was feeling about in the pocket of his coat with his free hand.

  “What the deuce is this poking into my ribs and rubbing them raw?” he asked of no one in particular.

  Toby’s eyes were riveted upon him.

  He pulled something out of the pocket and held it up between his thumb and forefinger.

  “A shilling,” he said. “Deuced uncomfortable thing. Here, boy, you had better take it from me. Spend it wisely on some sweets.”

  And he took a few steps closer and held it up to Toby, who hesitated for only a moment before releasing his hold on one clump of Stephen’s hair and closing his hand about the coin.

  “Tobe?” Duncan said softly.

  “Thank you, sir,” Toby said. “Can I buy sweets, Papa?”

  “Tomorrow,” Duncan said.

  Margaret took the old gentleman’s arm and turned him in the direction of the stairs.

  “Come up to the drawing room,” she said, including Sir Graham and Lady Carling in her invitation. “You will be ready for a drink before going to your rooms to change for dinner. Oh, how very pleased I am that you came. I do hope you will stay for a good long while.”

  “Hmmph,” the marquess said.

  “I would give my kingdom for a cup of tea,” Lady Carling said. “Not that I have a kingdom to give, of course, but I am parched. Oh, Margaret, do let the child come to the drawing room too. I do not care what Graham says about how inappropriate my raptures over him are. I am quite determined to know him and to love him and spoil him quite atrociously.”

  “In all fairness, Ethel,” Sir Graham said, “you must admit that I have not said a great deal on the subject yet. I have not been given the opportunity.”

  Margaret glanced at Duncan, and they smiled at each other.

  “How many sweets will I be able to buy, Uncle Elliott?” Toby was asking.

  “Enough,” he said, “to tempt your mama and your nurse to insist that they be kept on a very high shelf and doled out in small amounts over the next month or two. And we all know that that is no way to enjoy sweets. If I were you, I would hide them away in a secret hiding place before they can get their hands on them, and pick away at them whenever you please.”

  “Oh, Elliott!” Vanessa protested. “Meg will be forbidding us the house.”

  Toby was shrieking with helpless giggles. His terror was forgotten, though it would, Margaret supposed, reappear in his nightmares for some time to come. They would deal with it, she and Duncan. Just as they would deal with the fact that he would forever be illegitimate and different from any brothers and sisters he might have.

  And eventually he would learn to deal with life himself.

  Life was never perfect.

  Only love was.

  25

  SOME days were so uneventful that a week later one could not recall a single thing that had happened. Other days were crammed so full of events that it was impossible to believe that so much living could be packed into twenty-four hours.

  Today, Duncan reflected at the end of it, had been the latter sort of day.

  He was feeling drained, both physically and emotionally, by the time everyone had retired for the night. So was Maggie. She had looked quite exhausted all evening, in fact. Both her sister and his mother had tried—without success—to persuade her to have an early night.

  And even now, when it was close to midnight, she was not in bed. Neither was he. In fact, they were not even inside their home. They were seated on the riverbank, where they had picnicked earlier before all the excitement and activity began.

  They sat with their backs to a thick tree trunk. The water rippled darkly past them and lapped against the bank. The leaves overhead rustled in the cool breeze, which was welcome after the heat of the day. A night owl hooted some distance away.

  Duncan felt relaxation seep into his bones. At the moment it meant as much as sleep.

  Toby was safe. They were all safe. His family and Maggie’s knew the whole truth, and incredibly none of them were scandalized at the presence of the child in his nursery—even though Tobe was not in reality his son at all but the product of incredible ugliness. Duncan’s mother was quite determined, despite those facts, that she would be his grandmama. And his grandfather had somehow managed to fish a shilling out of his coat pocket.

  Duncan had felt embarrassingly close to tears when that had happened.

  “I wish,” Maggie said, reaching for his hand in the darkness of the night and clasping it in hers, “you did not have to appear the villain in all this yet again, Duncan. I wish everyone did not have to believe that you and Mrs. Turner were lovers even before you ran away together.”

  “But it must be what people have always believed,” he said. “Why would we have eloped if we were not lovers, after all? Nothing has changed. And it is very old news. The recent discovery that there was a child of our illicit union has doubtless titillated a few fancies, especially when it seemed he might have been Turner’s. But Turner’s repudiation of him will soon put an end to that speculation. All will be forgotten again soon enough.”

  “I just wish,” she said, “you might have been vindicated in the end. I wish people might know the truth.”

  “About Toby?” he asked, turning his head to look at her.

  She was silent for a while.

  “About you,” she said. “But one could not be known without the other, could it?”

  “Life is not perfect,” he said. “It is one thing one
learns in thirty years of living, Maggie.”

  He watched her smile.

  “No,” she said. “Life is not perfect. Will you shield Toby from the truth all his life, Duncan?”

  He sighed.

  “No,” he said. “He would surely find out. Too many people know the truth, after all, and someone would be sure to think it a fine thing to tell him. I will let him know about his birth when he is old enough to deal with the knowledge, and when he is secure enough in my love and yours not to have his sense of self destroyed by it. We can love him and love him, Maggie, but only he can live his life. Just as only we can live ours.”

  “There is no happily-ever-after, is there?” she said.

  “Would you want there to be?” he asked her. “Would not life be horribly dull? I would rather aim for happiness.”

  “Happiness?” she asked, turning her face to look back at him. “When everyone will think the worst of you?”

  “Oh, not everyone,” he protested. “All those who are nearest and dearest to me know why I did what I did—both five years ago and this year after Laura died. Sacrifices must sometimes be made, Maggie. And sometimes they bring with them blessings that far outweigh the suffering they caused. If I had not run off with Laura and scandalized the ton, I would not have known and loved Toby And I would not have met you. Or if I had, it would have been too late—I would have been married to Caroline.”

  “Would that have been so dreadful?” she asked him, her voice soft and surely wistful. “Not meeting me, I mean?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It would have been the most dreadful thing of all. I would have missed the whole point of my life. I would have missed the reason for my existence. I would have missed the love of my life. I might have known what it is to love, for there are people in my life whom I do love and always will. But I would never have been in love. There would never have been that magic—or that missing part of myself to make me whole.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  “Just oh?” He lifted one hand to set the backs of his fingers lightly against her cheek.

  “You love me?” she asked him. “Truly love me? Love betrayed me once, Duncan, and then life and youth passed me by. I have wanted so desperately to gather the dregs of life and love to myself so that I could give contentment to someone else and draw contentment to myself. Have I found love instead? A love that makes the other one pale in comparison?”