by Brenda Joyce
Lizzie shivered. Georgie had to be wrong! “He will never believe that I have had his son.”
“I don’t see why not. Oh, Lizzie. Maybe he will marry you. He is so taken with you!” Georgie exclaimed.
Lizzie gazed at her sister. She had to confess all—she had no one else to turn to. “He doesn’t want to marry me, Georgie. I can hardly believe you would suggest such a thing when you are so sensible. In fact, he asked me to be his mistress.”
Georgie gasped.
“So you see, he intends to marry properly.” Oddly, she was hurt. “As he should,” she added firmly. Marriage had never been a part of even her wildest dreams.
“What a cad!” Georgie exclaimed. She stood, flushed with anger now. “He gets you with child, abandons you for almost two years, then expects you to leap back into his bed, while he marries the beautiful Lady Blanche!”
Lizzie was surprised by Georgie’s anger—until she realized its true source. Georgie had problems, too. And in that moment, she realized how selfish she was being. She slid to her bare feet and went to her sister and embraced her. “I am sorry. What happened with Mr. Harold?”
Georgie’s chin lifted but tears filled her eyes. “He loves me in spite of a most unfortunate family connection,” she said bitterly. “And he would never abandon me because of my relations. I think I shall die on our wedding night,” she said, and then she flushed scarlet. “Oh, how your friend Mr. McBane did enjoy seeing him grope me!”
Lizzie was mildly surprised. “I doubt that Rory would enjoy any woman’s discomfiture,” she said.
“Oh, you are so wrong! He stared most rudely at me when Mr. Harold was caressing my arm. Why do you tolerate an acquaintance with that dandy?”
Lizzie started. “Rory has been nothing but kind to me! He is also amusing and clever. He draws the most witty cartoons for the Dublin Times, as well. Why would you call him a dandy? Did you not notice the elbows of his jacket? They were threadbare.”
“So he is a poor imitation of one.” Georgie shrugged. “If his cartoons have been in the Dublin Times, then I have surely seen them.”
“You have seen many of them, I am certain,” Lizzie exclaimed, wanting Georgie to like Rory as she did.
Georgie made a scoffing sound. “He hardly seems that clever.”
Lizzie sighed and hugged herself, unable to keep herself from thinking about the awful interview that would take place on the morrow. Georgie was wrong. Tyrell knew he hadn’t slept with Lizzie and she and Ned would be thrown out on their ears—which was what she wanted, wasn’t it?
“Lizzie? What is it? There is something else bothering you, I feel certain.”
Lizzie bit her lip. “How right you are. I haven’t been completely honest with you—but I made a promise I have refused to compromise.”
Georgie stared in some perplexity. “If that promise is compromising you, then perhaps you must rethink your vow.”
Lizzie sat down in a chair. She had been compromised from the moment she had made her promise to Anna, but she hadn’t realized it at the time. “Georgie, I promised someone dear to me to forever hold my silence on a particular subject. But my secrecy is placing me in the most untenable position, a position I never dreamed possible. Worse, this secret must eventually be breached.”
Georgie was wide-eyed. “I can only assume that you are referring to Anna,” she finally said. “What could you have possibly promised her?”
Lizzie grimaced.
“Anna has gotten all that she has ever dreamed of. Will this secret hurt her as it is now hurting you?”
“Only if it becomes public,” Lizzie said with care.
“If you must share it to gain my advice, I can swear to never reveal it,” Georgie said.
Lizzie nodded. Feeling terrible but certain she had nowhere else to turn, she said, “Anna is Ned’s mother.”
Georgie reeled in shock. She grasped the bedpost to remain standing. “I beg your pardon?”
Lizzie nodded. “I have never been in Tyrell’s bed and he knows it! If Mama and Papa go to Adare and claim that I am the mother of his child, he will undoubtedly reveal my lie! That is why I have been insisting that Tyrell will deny that he is Ned’s father. And Rory! Rory has seen me several times when I should have been pregnant! If he ever learns I have a son he will know it is not mine! This fantastic lie is about to become undone!” Lizzie cried in a rush.
Georgie inhaled. “How selfish Anna is!”
Lizzie gasped.
“Oh, that is not fair of me, I know! But look at what you are suffering so she can be happy with Thomas! This is not right! She has always had everything and everyone she has ever coveted. She has never suffered a single day in her life. She need only smile to attract her heart’s other half! And she foists her child on you like this?”
“I love Ned as if he is my son, Georgie. I wanted to claim him as my own—it was my idea, not hers! Eleanor tried to convince me to do otherwise, but I fell in love with Ned the moment I held him in my arms.”
“You have loved Tyrell your entire life and Anna has known it, yet she went to bed with him,” Georgie cried.
Lizzie closed her eyes, stabbed with the same fresh hurt as she had when she had first learned of Anna’s treachery. Somehow, in that moment, with Georgie so angry, it was as vivid as it had ever been.
“She has always had a deficiency of morals! And this is certainly the proof!” Georgie exclaimed.
Lizzie shook her head. “Let’s not attack Anna. She sincerely regrets her lapse of judgment. And it was just once, that night of All Hallow’s Eve when we switched costumes.” Lizzie had no intention of telling her sister that Anna had had other lovers before Tyrell.
Georgie made an incredulous sound and gave Lizzie a disbelieving look. “She has always been the wild one, has she not? And we spent many years defending her flirtatious manner and her carefree airs. Perhaps we should not have tried so hard,” she said with bitterness.
“She is our sister,” Lizzie said. “I have been upset with her, too, but in the end, we must remain loyal to her.”
“You are too forgiving, Lizzie,” Georgie said grimly. “And I am not sure I could be as forgiving as you, if I were in your shoes.”
“What am I going to do?” Lizzie asked in desperation, thinking of the humiliation that was sure to come on the morrow. “Mama and Papa will go up to Adare and tell the earl and countess that I am the mother of Tyrell’s son. There is no stopping them! I am about to be placed in the most humiliating circumstance! But we cannot destroy Anna’s life. What am I going to do?” Lizzie repeated.
Georgie sat down. “How complicated this is. You are right. We must protect Anna, of course. And there will be no stopping Mama and Papa. I do not see any hope.” She met Lizzie’s gaze. “My poor dear. Tyrell is going to think you the worst sort of liar.”
Lizzie nodded. “And he already thinks poorly of me.”
“This is so unfair,” Georgie exclaimed.
“I do not believe there is any other possible solution,” Lizzie said.
“Not unless we wish to ruin Anna’s life.”
The sisters stared at one another. Georgie stood. “You are too good for words, Lizzie. Maybe, one day, Tyrell will see that, too.”
Lizzie doubted it.
Lizzie had not slept the entire night. Now she sat with her parents in an opulent salon, her hands in her lap, awaiting the earl and the countess of Adare. Ned was on Rosie’s lap in an adjacent chair. Upon their arrival, Papa had handed the butler a calling card and insisted that he must speak with the earl.
Lizzie knew well enough that the earl could send the butler back, claiming any excuse for not greeting them. But Adare was known to be very generous and very compassionate, a truly honorable gentleman. While Papa hardly traveled in the same circles as the earl, Mama claimed he had a very distant relationship with the earl’s stepson, Devlin O’Neill. Apparently they both could trace their lineage back to Gerald Fitzgerald, the infamous earl of Desmond for whom Pa
pa had been named. That connection, and the fact they were neighbors, made Lizzie feel certain that they would be seen.
Footsteps sounded, clearly a woman’s slippered steps. Lizzie tensed as the pair of large oak doors was opened. The butler stood there with the countess.
Lizzie’s heart flipped. She stood, curtsying, while Mama did the same and Papa bowed. The countess had paused upon entering the room, a gracious smile on her beautiful face. She was darkly blond of hair but her skin was very fair, and the blue topazes she wore on her throat and hands and as earrings matched her eyes.
Papa cleared his throat and Lizzie realized he was nervous. “My lady,” he said. “I really had hoped to have a word with the earl.”
The countess nodded at him, glancing with some confusion at Rosie and Ned. “My dear Mr. Fitzgerald, how are you? It is so pleasant of you to call. I am happy to entertain you, but I am afraid my husband is preoccupied at the moment. I am sure you have heard that we have quite a number of guests in residence.”
“Yes, of course I have heard,” Papa said stiffly, his countenance strained. “My lady, I am afraid I must speak with the earl. Unfortunately this is not a social call. There has been a terrible injustice perpetuated, one which only your family can solve.”
The countess’s brows lifted. She did not seem very taken aback; perhaps she thought Papa prone to exaggeration, like his infamous ancestor. Or perhaps it was her nature to remain calm and at ease. Lizzie could not help but be impressed with the great lady’s graceful bearing and gracious manner. “An injustice? I can hardly imagine of what you speak. I am terribly sorry, but I cannot interrupt his lordship at this moment. Would you care to return another time?” She smiled pleasantly at Papa.
“Then I am afraid I am going to have to burden you with my shocking news.”
The countess seemed mildly perplexed. However, she smiled as she said, “Should I sit down?”
“I do think so,” Papa said grimly, holding out a chair for her.
Her smile finally fading, the countess sat and glanced briefly at Lizzie, who flushed, her heart banging wildly like an unhinged shutter in the wind. As if sensing Lizzie’s distress, she sent her a kind smile. “Do proceed, sir,” she said.
Papa looked at Lizzie. “Come forward, Elizabeth,” he said.
Lizzie steeled herself for the awful moment of revelation. Obeying Papa, she walked over to stand beside him. Now she avoided the countess’s eyes, which were trained upon her with unconcealed curiosity.
“My daughter Elizabeth Anne Fitzgerald,” Papa said.
Lizzie curtsied, so low she touched the floor with her fingertips to steady herself.
“Do rise, child,” the countess said, and Lizzie felt her touch on her shoulder.
Lizzie obeyed and met her eyes. In that moment, she knew this woman could only be kind.
“My daughter has been away from home for almost two years,” Papa said tersely. “She never told us why she wished to go to her aunt Eleanor in Dublin and we believed that Eleanor had summoned her. But Lizzie wasn’t summoned. She went away to have her child in secret. Her child—your grandson,” Papa said.
The countess stared, her eyes widening. “I beg your pardon?”
“Rosie, bring Ned,” Papa barked. He was crimson now.
Lizzie turned and took Ned’s hand as he came forward. She had begun to shake as she scooped Ned up, holding him tightly. In that moment, she was afraid she would be tossed out while Ned would stay.
“Your stepson, Tyrell, fathered this child,” Papa said sternly.
Lizzie closed her eyes. “I am sorry,” she whispered for the countess’s sake.
“This I do not believe,” the countess said. “I need not look at your daughter again to see that she is a gentlewoman. Tyrell is no rake. He would never behave so dishonorably.”
“He must do the right thing by my daughter and his son,” Papa cried.
Lizzie dared to look at the countess. Their gazes met and instantly, Lizzie looked away. She was lying to the countess on one account and it disturbed her to no end.
“Put the child down,” the countess said firmly.
Although she spoke softly, her words were an order and there was no mistaking it. Lizzie slid Ned to his feet. He beamed at her and said, “Mama, walk? Walk!”
“Later,” Lizzie whispered.
The countess stared incredulously at Ned. Then she said stiffly, “Miss Fitzgerald.”
Lizzie met her regard.
“Tyrell is the father of your son?”
Lizzie inhaled. All she had to do was deny it, but oddly, she could not. She nodded. “Yes, my lady,” she said.
The countess looked at Ned, who grinned at her and said, very demandingly, “Walk! Walk!” He pounded his fist on the arm of the chair, then he grinned, pleased with himself.
The countess inhaled, appearing shaken. “I will summon his lordship,” she said.
“Wait.” Mama stepped forward, tears in her eyes. “May I speak, please?”
The countess nodded.
Mama took a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her eyes. “Our Lizzie is a good girl,” she managed to say brokenly. “We had no idea when she went to Dublin to visit Lady de Barry that she was with child! You see, my lady, Lizzie is the shyest of my daughters. She has always been the wallflower. She has not an improper bone in her entire body!”
The countess glanced at Lizzie and Lizzie could guess what she was thinking—if Lizzie had a child out of wedlock, she was not all that proper or good.
Mama said, “I can only think of how such a seduction occurred.”
Lizzie cried out. “Mama, no!” She would accuse Tyrell of dastardly seduction. “It was my fault entirely!”
The countess seemed amazed, both by Mama’s accusation and Lizzie’s declaration. “I know Tyrell as well as I know my own sons,” she said tersely, “and Tyrell is a gentleman. There could be no seduction. Not of real innocence.”
“Can you not look at Lizzie and see how shy and modest she is?” Mama cried, her jowls trembling. “She is no coquette and no hussy! But he has turned her into one. Somehow, he made her forget her entire upbringing! Surely justice must be done!”
“Oh, Mama, please stop,” Lizzie begged.
“Yes, you should cease,” the countess said with quiet warning.
And even Papa understood, because he took Mama’s arm. But Mama cried, “Everyone knows Lizzie’s reputation? You need only ask anyone about my youngest daughter!”
“I will get the earl,” the countess said.
But Lizzie could not stand another moment of conflict. She rushed headlong to the countess, aware that she must speak with her now although it was not a part of her plan. “Please, may I speak? Just for a moment? And when I am through, you will see, there is no need to send for the earl or Tyrell.”
The countess faltered. And then, kindly, she nodded.
“It was my fault entirely,” Lizzie said, her gaze now unwavering upon the great lady she faced. “Tyrell is not to blame. I was in costume…I have loved him my entire life…he flirted with me, just a bit…and I seduced him. He had no idea who I was, and I am sure, from my behavior, he thought me an experienced courtesan.”
“Lizzie!” Papa cried in anger.
“Lizzie,” Mama echoed, aghast.
“You are telling me that my son made a mistake?” The countess asked.
“Yes. My lady, I take all of the blame. There is no need to disturb your husband or your stepson. Do not blame Tyrell for what has happened. Blame me—accept my apologies—and let me take my son home. I did not want to come here today!” She gripped the lady’s hand. “Let us go back home! I love Ned—I am a good mother—do not bother your husband or Tyrell!”
Mama sank into a chair and started to genuinely weep.
The countess stared at Lizzie in real surprise, lifting her chin with a gentle hand. “But you have come into my home seeking marriage.”
“No,” Lizzie whispered. “I am no fool. I know that
Tyrell would never marry me. That is what my parents seek, not me.”
“You do not want to marry my son?”
And Lizzie hesitated, her heart almost bursting now. “No.”
The countess’s gaze was searching.
Lizzie flushed. “Do not take Ned away from me,” she said. “Please. You are kind. I have heard it and I can see it. I did not want to come here today. Please. Let us go—let me take my son home.”
The countess dropped her hand. “You will stay here for another moment.”
Lizzie felt real dread then.
“I will be right back,” the countess said. “I am summoning my husband—and my son.”
11
A Great Mortification
Tyrell de Warenne paused on the flagstone terrace, gazing out upon the sweeping lawns and gardens behind the house at Adare. Roses were his stepmother’s favorite flower and they were in bloom everywhere, in every color, but he really did not see them. He was vaguely aware of his brother, Rex, seated on an iron lawn chair, a drink in hand. Feminine laughter sounded.
He quickly followed the noise. Several ladies could be seen emerging from the maze on the other side of the gazebo. One of them was his bride.
Tyrell had been raised in the de Warenne tradition from the very moment of his birth. It was a proud and ancient heritage of honor, courage, loyalty and duty. But it was far more than that, for he was the next earl of Adare. His duties as heir had always been clear—he alone would be responsible for the stature, political position and finances of the family and estate. He had always known that he would one day make a very advantageous marriage, one that would enhance the de Warenne position financially, politically, socially—or all three. He had never questioned his fate.
He wanted this match. Like his father and his grandfather before him, he would do his duty with pride. And that duty included making sure that no one in his family lacked in any way. He would be the one to provide for his brothers, his sister and, eventually, his parents; his actions would make or break the great and ancient name of Adare.
While his family’s holdings were rather large, they had recently sold off a lucrative estate in England to replenish their finances with an eye to the needs of future generations. It was not enough to guarantee a life of wealth and power for his own children and those of his brothers and sister. Lord Harrington was only a viscount, the title awarded a decade ago. However, he was incredibly wealthy, having made his own fortune in manufacturing. Marriage to his daughter would ensure a very solid financial position for the next generation of de Warennes, while giving the family another foothold in Britain.
