by Erica Taylor
Voices rang in through the front window and within moments the reverend was in the drawing room, handing over packages to the housekeeper. Mrs. Willis rose to her feet and introduced them, quickly explaining the reason for their visit.
“We don’t often get visitors from outside the parish,” the reverend said. “When I saw your carriage, I thought maybe the King had come to call.”
“Almost dear, but not quite,” Mrs. Willis said. “Now, Reverend, where is Mary?”
The reverend twisted around, looking for the little girl who was hiding behind his legs.
“Come out dear, these fine people have come to see you,” Mrs. Willis said.
A petite blonde girl peeked her head around the reverend’s legs, and Clara gasped. The little girl’s eyes were quick and intelligent and very brown, and she possessed the same rosebud mouth as Clara. Her hair was the same shade of blonde, pulled back from her face in a plait down her back. She glanced back and forth between Andrew, Patrick, and finally Clara, stepping around the reverend and sticking her chin up defiantly. She stared him straight in the eyes, and Andrew could not help but shake his head. She was a miniature spitfire.
“Mary, please meet the Duke of Bradstone,” Mrs. Willis said. Chin still in the air, Mary dipped into a quick curtsy. “And this is a Lady Clara and a Mr. Masson. They are relations of yours.”
“Hello,” the little girl’s voice rang out, defiant but clear and sweet. “Have you come to offew me a job?”
“Hello, dear,” Patrick said, stooping to the girl’s three-year-old height. “My name is Patrick, but I suspect you could call me Uncle Paddy.”
“Wobbie says when wich wewations come to see you they’ve come to offew you a job,” Mary explained, her “r’s” sounding like “w’s.” Andrew was enchanted.
“Robbie is the baker’s son,” Reverend Willis provided. “He has some interesting thoughts on the world.”
“No, we’ve not come to offer you a job,” Andrew replied, the idea laughable.
“Why have you come then?” Mary asked.
“We came to see you,” Patrick replied.
Clara knelt beside her brother, eye to eye with the young girl. “Hello, my darling,” Clara cooed at her. “Your mother was my sister. My name is Clara.”
Mary’s mouth popped open in surprise. “Like me?” she asked. “My mamma named me Mary-Clare.”
“Yes, almost the same,” Clara replied, and Andrew could hear the emotion in her voice. Turning, Clara glanced at Andrew, and he gave her a curt nod in agreement, knowing what she was asking. She rose and addressed the reverend and his wife.
“We are grateful to know that my sister’s daughter lives,” Clara said. “We would like to offer her a home.”
“Now just a minute here, missy,” the reverend said shaking a finger at Clara, and his wife pulled his arm down.
“Mary, dear, please head to the kitchen and see if Ms. Doggins needs any help with preparing tonight’s dinner,” Mrs. Willis said, giving the little girl a stern look. Mary nodded and scurried quickly out the room. “Please,” Mrs. Willis continued once the door was closed again. “We do not mean any disrespect, but you must understand we’ve come to love Mary as our own. We are getting older, and some days it feels like she keeps us young. But it would be a relief to us in our ending days to know she is well taken care of.”
“She would never want for a thing,” Andrew assured her. “She will be raised as the daughter of a duke, with all the privileges that entails. A proper education, to say the least. You can rest assured she will be loved for always.”
“When poor Tilly came to us, we had no idea what that dirty young girl would do to our lives,” the reverend said and slumped into the nearest chair. He too looked exhausted. “She was a troubled girl, but I do not regret our decision to help her. She made us promise never to tell the truth. We helped her fool the lord who came looking for her, and we lied for her, knowing we were helping her in the end.”
“Was this other lord perchance the Earl of Morton?” Patrick asked.
Reverend Willis nodded. “How did you know?”
“He is our brother,” Clara replied.
“Tilly eventually told us her name, and we sent him a letter as she requested and he came down here, pompous and full of air,” Reverend Willis said. “We told him Tilly had died in childbirth and her baby with her, but he refused to believe us. Tilly warned us we would have to give proof and sure enough he made us dig up the grave. In it he found the body of a young mother and her baby, obviously not Tilly and Mary, but the bodies of a mother who had died in the area just before Tilly came to us. The earl believed the ruse, which was a miracle because I thought for certain God himself was going to smite us down for our deception. Tilly was so troubled and fearful of someone finding her that we could not refuse her requests. In the end, I stand by my part in this. I would have never allowed that man to take her.”
“She and Mary have brought us such joy,” Mrs. Willis said, dabbing at her eyes again with Andrew’s handkerchief. “It broke our hearts when Tilly passed on. We knew there was a reason Tilly did not want anyone to know about her or Mary, so we kept our peace and maintained her secret. We . . . we were never blessed with children of our own, so it has been such a gift to have Mary here with us.”
“We could not in good conscience let her go with just anyone,” the Revered said, glancing at his wife. “And lately it has been on our mind, wondering what will happen to the girl once we pass on. We’ve prayed on it profusely, and then you two turn up on our doorstep like a gift from the Heavens.”
“We are happy to give the girl a home,” Clara said gently, handing her handkerchief to the reverend. He accepted and blew his nose loudly before dabbing at his eyes with what Andrew hoped was a clean, dry corner.
“It would be such a relief to know she is cared for,” Mrs. Willis added sadly. “It just breaks my heart to give her away, because she is so much more to us than that.”
“Why don’t you join us at Foley Cottage?” Andrew suggested, realizing that this would be an important transition for the girl and for the parents who had fostered her since her mother’s death. “Come be our guests at our home, and you can see where she will live. Spend a few days with Mary there so she can see she is not being sent off to live with distant relatives who will not treat her well. We are only a two-hour ride from here. You can see for yourselves that she will be cherished as you two have cherished her. After, you are welcome to visit as often as you wish as I am sure Mary would like to see you from time to time.”
“Your grace, that is awfully kind of you, but completely unnecessary,” Mrs. Willis said, a little wistfully.
“I insist,” Andrew replied. “It will help put your mind at ease. There is no one else in residence at this time, so you are welcome to stay as long as you like. The future duchess and I unfortunately must return to town on the morrow, but we would feel more comfortable knowing Mary was safe and sound at Foley Cottage.” The reverend exchanged a look with his wife and he could see acceptance of his proposal pass between them.
It did not take long for the reverend and his wife to pack for a short stay at Foley Cottage. Andrew went into Petersfield proper and hired a post-chaise for the reverend and his wife as all five of them would not fit into his carriage for two hours.
Andrew watched as Patrick assisted with loading the two traveling trunks onto the post-chaise and Clara came out of the house, handing a small case to the footman before coming to stand beside him. She slipped her gloved hand into his and gave him a light squeeze.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “You did not have to do this.”
“Of course I did,” Andrew replied. “She is obviously your sister’s daughter. It is only right she is with her family. But we cannot forget about Morton. He made them unearth a grave, Clara. He blackmailed your maid into poisoning you, threatened a foo
tman to abduct a lady. Don’t think he would stop at killing an innocent child.”
“Then we will have to protect her,” Clara said, turning towards him. “Jonathan will have to walk through fire and hell to get to her.”
Andrew saw the determination in her eyes and he nodded. “I just wish we did not have to bring her into this.”
“I agree. But we don’t have a choice. She’s safer at Bradstone House surrounded by servants and Macalisters than she will be here.”
“No,” Andrew said with a shake of his head. “I will not have her in town, not where Jonathan can catch wind of her existence.”
“Then where do you suggest we hide her?” Clara asked, folding her arms across her chest.
“We leave her at Foley Cottage until it is safe to bring her to London,” Andrew replied quickly.
Clara nodded, determined. “And what do we tell the ton?”
“Once your brother is dealt with, once we have assured her safety, we tell the truth,” Andrew answered. “We wanted to find out what happened to Christina all those years ago and we tracked her to the parsonage and found her daughter here. She was born perfectly legally in wedlock. Aside from her parent’s elopement there is no scandal to her name.”
“With the exception that her father was a footman,” Clara added.
“Yes, but she is also half Masson, and she will be raised as the daughter of the Duke of Bradstone.”
“You know everyone will take this as evidence of one of those stupid rumors, that I’ve been in the country to give birth,” Clara said.
“Perhaps,” Andrew replied. “But like every other rumor we have weathered, we will beat this one down as well. Besides, if need be we will have the reverend reveal the story of how Christina came to them. They must have a grave marker for her somewhere, a real grave marker.”
Clara nodded. “I’d like to see it before we leave,” she said softly. “I’d like to finally say goodbye to my sister.”
Andrew smiled down at his wife. “Of course,” he replied.
Mary and Mrs. Willis arrived a moment later. Mary looked hesitant, but she kept a proud look upon her face. Andrew felt the twinges of pride developing deep within him. This tiny little girl had endured so much, having her mother taken from her, expecting to be some wealthy relation’s paid companion. He wanted to give her everything she never thought she’d have.
Andrew stood beside the carriage with Mary as Clara and Patrick went with the reverend’s wife down the little hill in the direction of the parish cemetery.
“Does this howse have a name?” a little voice asked him and he looked down upon her sweet face.
He stooped down and picked her up, carrying her around the front of the horse.
“Certainly he has a name,” Andrew replied, holding Mary in one arm. He looked up at the horse. “Who do we have today? Oh yes, this one is Bentley, and this one is Beauford.” The matching bays twitched their ears.
“Those awe not good names for a howse,” Mary decided, hesitantly rubbing her fingertips along the horse’s nose. Bentley nuzzled closer to the soft touch and Mary giggled.
“Then what should a horse be named?” he asked.
She thought for a moment before answering, “Peaches.”
“Peaches?” he asked. “You wish to name a male horse Peaches?”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, shaking her head. “Peaches is a perfect name for a giwl howse. You should name a boy howse Gilbewt, if he is a pwoud howse. A sad howse should be named Sadly.” Andrew nodded in agreement with her innocent logic and she seemed pleased to have his approval. “How many howses do you have?” she asked.
“Many,” he replied quickly doing a mental count because he knew what her next question would be.
“Exactly how many is that?”
“Eighteen, I believe,” he replied.
“That is a gweat many howses,” she said approvingly.
“Yes, but none are named Peaches, Gilbert, or Sadly.”
“You should talk to youw gwoom about that,” she said pensively, petting the horse. “Gwooms know a gweat deal about howses. Maybe he can help you pick out a bettew name fow youw howse next time.”
Andrew chuckled to himself, but it seemed the Great Horse Inquiry was over. Garnet the coachman hopped down off the carriage perch and offered the bits of carrots he carried for the horses. Andrew nodded his thanks and showed Mary how to feed the horse so he did not nip her fingers off. She held her hand flat with the carrot in the middle of her palm and laughed as Bentley’s whiskers tickled her hand.
Mary turned her chubby face to regard him. “Missus Willis says you awe to be my new papa. Is that twue?”
Andrew shifted her in his arms. “Do you want me to be your new papa?”
“I don’t know yet,” Mary admitted. “That lady looks like my mamma. Is she going to be my new mamma?”
“That is entirely up to you,” Andrew replied honestly. “You are to come live with us, and there will be great many people who will be excited to meet you, when the time is right. We will do our best to take care of you, make sure you have food and dolls and whatever else little girls need.” Andrew frowned. What did little girls need?
“I don’t like dolls,” Mary replied, her little arms wrapping around his neck. “Can you tell stowies?”
“I’m sure I could figure it out,” Andrew replied.
“I can teach you,” Mary replied with a grin. Mary looked so much like Clara that it was startling.
“I think I would like that.”
Footsteps crunching on the gravel caught his attention and he turned to see Mrs. Willis returning, Clara tucked under her brother’s arm. Clara’s gaze met Andrew’s, warming at the sight of him holding Mary.
“Mary dear, do get off of the duke, for Heaven’s sake,” Mrs. Willis chided. As if in defiance Mary leaned in closer to him. Andrew wanted to laugh.
“She’s not a bother, Mrs. Willis,” he assured the reverend’s wife. “Are we ready to be off?”
Nodding, Clara smiled at Mrs. Willis before accepting Garnet’s assistance into the carriage. Reverend Willis came out of the house and nodded to Andrew before helping Mary and Mrs. Willis into the post-chaise.
Andrew followed Clara and Patrick into their carriage and settled himself onto the rear facing seat. He rapped his knuckles onto the roof, and a moment later the carriage lurched into motion, conveying them back to Foley Cottage.
Gentle reader, the days have been so boringly unbearable. This author can only hope the Duke of B— returns soon, unattached and ready to choose his bride.
Chapter Twenty-Five
With promises to return soon, the following day Andrew and Clara made their return trip to London, mostly in a comfortable silence. Clara read a bit from the books she had packed for the six-hour journey. After an hour of staring out the window, Andrew had grudgingly accepted Pride and Prejudice from Clara’s books. She was fairly certain he knew she packed it specifically for him.
Clara hadn’t said much about the finality of the death of her sister and was thankful Andrew hadn’t pressed her for a reaction. She was not sure if she was upset or not. She had lived the past three years thinking her sister was dead, was there any difference now that she was absolutely certain she was? What would she have done if her sister turned out to be alive, rejoice and embrace her? Christina had given herself to let Clara live, that much she understood and appreciated. She was grateful to Christina for her sacrifice, but that sacrifice had given them both Mary, whose full name was Meredith Clara Baker. It brought tears to Clara’s eyes to realize her sister had named her daughter for both Clara and their mother Meredith. It was a relief to discover, after all these years, Christina had still cared about her family. After she ran off with the footman, Clara had assumed it was Christina’s last vain and selfish act, and it was liberating to know that it was actual
ly an act of selflessness. The trip to the parsonage had been to seek answers, and while it answered the question of whether or not Christina was still alive, it also answered the question that had plagued Clara for five years: had Christina ever really cared about or loved Clara at all? Clara was sorry she had ever doubted her sister and glad she finally knew the truth. She felt as though she could finally let Christina rest in peace.
Their arrival at Bradstone House was uneventful. Luke, Susanna, Sarah, and Patrick—who had been given rooms at Bradstone House—disappeared into the house to ready for that evening’s events. Norah and Nick where holed up in Norah’s recovery room deep in a game of chess when Clara poked her head in. Throughout the dinner party, Clara smiled as much as she could, but she was exhausted. She was torn, wanting to be near Mary and yet protect her at the same time. It was harder to leave Mary in West Sussex than Clara had imagined, though she knew Mary was in good hands. Andrew’s idea to suggest the reverend and his wife stay at Foley Cottage with Mary was ingenious, but Clara knew he regretted leaving Mary as much as she did.
But there were things to take care of in London. Andrew needed to finish out the session of Parliament as well as the social season. Clara intended to hire a nurse or governess and many tutors for Mary, and the best place to interview would be in town. There was also the constant threat of Jonathan and what he may do once he found out about Mary. That alone was motivation for Clara to leave Mary safe and sound in the country.
There was also the matter of their wedding.
The morning of the wedding was dreary and grey, though that was a common occurrence in London, so Clara paid it no mind.
Martha, who had been permanently promoted as her new lady’s maid, woke her early, as Clara was set to be at St. George’s Church in Hanover Square by eight o’clock.
After a bath, her hair was brushed and set to dry, and Clara managed to consume part of a biscuit and a cup of tea before she was dressed for the occasion. Her wedding gown was the palest of pink silk, a little more elaborate than she might have chosen, but she felt divine. Sarah gifted her a long strand of pearls to wear.
