Proud Mary

by Lucinda Brant

  She too was a romantic, and she knew the couple needed a champion if they were to have any hope of marrying at all. And she was determined that Antonia would be that champion. After all the Duchess had overcome not one but two scandals in her own marriages. A much-older first husband, and then a much-younger second husband meant she would have an open mind to her closest cousin marrying Christopher. And with the support of the Duchess of Kinross, the match would be sanctioned. Polite Society, and more importantly her family, would have to accept the union then, surely?

  She shifted up the window seat and reached out to touch Antonia’s silk-clad arm, intent on confiding in her that it was the Lady Mary with whom her son was in love. But she thwarted her own best-laid plans when she made a surprising discovery, one which diverted her thoughts in a different direction altogether.

  She finally took a good look at her guest, as best she could, given her disability. And while Antonia’s facial features were a dark blur, she was able to make out the upswept abundance of blonde hair framing her face, and take in the richness of her velvet embroidered gown, and the pair of quilted jumps with tight-fitting sleeves and low-cut neckline that came together over her breasts with hook and eye, and cut away either side of the roundness of her belly.

  “Good God! You’re pregnant!” Kate blurted out, incredulous. Such was her shock that she continued to speak her thoughts. “Serve you to rights for marrying a much younger man, and a virile one at that!”

  Far from taking offence, Antonia dimpled.

  “Yes, every night I am paying for my sins.”

  “Ha! I don’t doubt your need for repentance is profound, you wicked creature,” Kate quipped and patted Antonia’s hand affectionately. “News of your marriage was the only topic of conversation in every letter I received from London for months. That you’d married a man ten years your junior, and a duke into the bargain, was enough for some matrons to bemoan the sky had fallen in! But this! You’ve kept your news very quiet indeed.”

  “I made no effort to do so. And me I am not ashamed of having a baby at my age because I want this child very much, and so does he—even more so. But I suffered from the morning sickness, and then it was decided it would be best if I remained at Crecy Hall for the duration of the pregnancy.”

  “When is the baby due?”

  “It is five weeks until my lying in, although Michelle she tells me it is closer to three, and she is probably in the right. But I suspect it will be sooner than that. Julian he came three weeks early, and Henri-Antoine, as you know, was early too.”

  Kate frowned, and as she was still holding Antonia’s hand, squeezed her fingers and said with angry concern, “Then what in heaven’s name are you doing here disturbing my peace, you silly girl? You should be in Hampshire in your own home, in your own bed, biding your time, not gadding about the countryside!”

  “Yes. That is all true. But this cannot wait. I need your help. But I need the help of your son even more.”

  ANTONIA WAS SAVED giving Kate a further and full explanation and then having to repeat herself to Christopher and Mary because Fran had arrived with the tea things. Not a minute behind her was Christopher, and he was everything Kate had said about him, and more. With introductions made, Christopher took charge of distributing the tea cups for Fran, which gave Antonia time to study him, and it also gave him a moment to hide his surprise because his first thought upon making Antonia’s acquaintance was how alike she and Mary were in form, if not in coloring.

  With Christopher returned to the tea trolley to make his own cup of tea, Antonia had the opportunity to voice her first thought to Kate. She whispered behind her fan,

  “He is very handsome, and has a great look of you.”

  “When he was born I thought so, too, but later wondered if that were wishful conceit,” Kate whispered back and smiled thinly. “But I had my conceit confirmed when I met him again; he was about fifteen. I fell all to pieces.”

  “I do not doubt that. But it is his eyes, Kate, that intrigue me…”

  “Because they are a Cavendish trait.”

  “Bon Dieu! That is so!” Antonia hissed, green eyes wide over the pleated edge of her fan. “My daughter-in-law she has those same eyes.”

  “Yes. And no doubt she has perfected the Cavendish stare, too,” Kate drawled, and sat back to take a sip of her tea. “That’s the only good thing to have come from my blindness. I may still have to live under the Cavendish stare, but I no longer have to see it. Those gentle but reproachful brown eyes could melt metal—”

  “—and hearts.”

  “Can you doubt that? Too many to count when he lived abroad, and if the females here were given half the chance there’d be melted hearts all over this county! A mucky business.”

  Both women chuckled at the same time, and that set them off into a fit of the giggles that stopped Christopher in his tracks. It had been a very long time since he had seen Kate be so spontaneous as to laugh out loud. He sipped his tea in the middle of the carpet, enjoying the moment and allowing them theirs before crossing to join them. But the laughter stopped as suddenly as it had begun when Fran interrupted the reverie to announce that the Lady Mary was here to see the Duchess of Kinross. Before Kate could respond, Mary was standing before them. She dropped into a respectful curtsy at her cousin’s feet in a billow of silk petticoats.

  “Mme la Duchesse, you can only have risked coming all this way in your present condition for one reason,” she said breathlessly and in French. Rising up, she lightly kissed Antonia’s left cheek and then her right. “Tell me the bad news: Which is it—Dair or my father? But please, I beg of you, don’t tell me it’s both!”

  TWENTY-SIX

  ‘YOU LOOK VERY WELL in my clothes, ma petite,” Antonia responded mildly, looking Mary up and down with approval. “You should wear that shade of lavender more often. It complements your eyes and your hair. My lady, does not my cousin have the same glorious shade of red hair as our grandmère?”

  She had begun this inane conversation in the hopes of allowing the Squire a few moments to regain his sense of time and place. For no sooner had Mary swept across the room than Christopher’s gaze locked on her and remained fixed, as if she were the only person in the room. Antonia knew the look of a man deeply in love, and here it was, writ large for all the world to see. She could have kicked her own shin for not being more attuned to Kate’s hints as to the identity of the woman her son was in love with and wished to marry. Well! Here was an interesting turn of events even she would not have predicted. Now it remained to discover her cousin’s feelings, and she didn’t have long to wait for that to become evident.

  “Indeed she has inherited your grandmother’s hair, Mme la Duchesse,” Kate agreed. “And how Augusta would have hated the competition, to think there was another, much younger beauty with the same fiery red mane.” She addressed Mary directly. “I mean no disrespect to your grandmother, my lady, but I was Augusta Fitzstuart’s best, and possibly only, friend, so I knew her better than anyone.”

  “That is very true,” agreed Antonia. “And that woman didn’t deserve your friendship.”

  Mary looked from Antonia to the woman seated next to her and made a startling discovery. She was so surprised by it that she turned and looked at Christopher before looking back at Kate and saying, “Oh! How do you do, my lady. I would have known you anywhere. You have a great look of your nephew. Or I should say Chris—Mr. Bryce has a great look of you. I’m so glad to finally make your acquaintance.”

  “Forgive me, my lady,” Christopher said, stepping forward. “I should have made you known to one another at once. This is my—”

  “Not yet. This isn’t the time,” Kate hissed, grabbing for Christopher’s wrist.

  “This is Kate, Lady Paget. My—aunt,” Christopher stated, giving Kate’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Let me find you a chair,” he continued smoothly, and stepped away to fetch Mary a seat.

  Unconsciously, Mary’s gaze followed him, and despite her
apprehension and preoccupation as to why her cousin had traveled all the way into Gloucestershire to see her, her thoughts were back at the cottage, where she still wished to be, alone with Christopher. Real regret was reflected in her eyes. Their time together had been all too brief, and she had no desire to leave that world behind and reenter this one. Yet, here they both were, freshly scrubbed, hair washed, she dressed in her cousin’s exquisite petticoats, while he in his plain buff breeches and dark woolen frock coat with silver buttons was every inch the prosperous squire. Oh, why had they not had a few more weeks together, to enjoy each other’s company, and each other’s bodies…

  “Mary? Mary!? About your brother and your father…” Antonia said quietly, and let the sentence hang, watching her cousin keenly.

  And there it was—that look; Mary was just as in love with the squire; why had she thought it would be any other way? She waited for Mary’s focus to return to her, and was not at all alarmed when the woman blinked at her, as if coming out of a stupor.

  “There is no fresh news in that quarter. Julian he received Alisdair’s letter officially informing the family of your father’s death. And like me, who did so for a beloved uncle, I am sure you have shed all the tears there are to weep for your papa. But after all these months of waiting for this news it cannot come as a shock. And you have read the Duke’s letter passing on his condolences, yes?”

  “No, Cousin Duchess. I have not had any letters this past week,” Mary answered truthfully before she thought much about the implications of her honesty.

  “A week?” Antonia glanced slyly at Christopher, who set down a chair for Mary. “You have not had any letters for a week?”

  “I—I—That is—I may have received letters, I just have not read any of them.” She sank onto the chair without realizing Christopher had placed it there, and put her hands in her lap. “So father is dead, and Dair has proof he is dead?”

  “Yes, ma petite. It is as we feared. And your brother is now on his way home.”

  Mary nodded. She was numb. But she had no tears left for a father she had not seen since she was twelve and who had abandoned his family. “I’m pleased. Not that he is dead. But that Dair can now have his inheritance. And that he is on his way home. He needs to be here with his wife. Has Rory been told?”

  “M’sieur le Duc wrote to her and enclosed a letter from your brother. So yes, I am sure she knows by now.” Antonia resettled on the window seat, shoulders back, and placed a hand lightly on her round belly. She glanced again at Christopher, who remained standing behind Mary’s chair, then said with a frown, “It is unlike you not to have read any letters. Particularly ones from my son, and from your mother… Are you unwell, ma petite?”

  “No. I am well. It’s just—I’ve been doing a lot of walking recently—and thinking.”

  “Walking? And thinking?” Antonia repeated, incredulous. “And you have been doing this walking and thinking in the woods, yes?”

  Again Antonia glanced at Christopher, and this time she caught him staring at her with that Cavendish stare Kate had so derided. But there was nothing bold or smug in his look, and she knew it well. Her daughter-in-law had those same brown eyes, and when she gave someone that look—the Cavendish stare—it was a simple acknowledgment that they were aware the person under their gaze was being less than fair, that they did not approve; and that the person was to modify their behavior or there would be consequences. Deb used it to great effect with her children; once she had even used it on her husband, and to see Julian squirm under his wife’s gaze had sent Antonia into a fit of the giggles, which had not pleased her daughter-in-law or her son.

  And now here was Christopher Bryce silently chiding her for being less than fair with Mary. He was right, of course. She was teasing her, and this was not the place nor the time for banter. Far from being affronted by his visual reprimand, Antonia liked him all the more for it. The romantic in her saw that he was doing so as a way of protecting Mary, but because he was not in a position to openly do so, he did the only thing he could think of without being impolite. What a shame Kate could not witness this!

  “You are quite right, M’sieur Bryce,” Antonia said, holding his gaze and inclining her head in acknowledgment of his warning. And when he made her a small bow and respectfully lowered his gaze, a ripeness to his cheeks, Antonia continued, all playfulness gone from her tone. “This walking and thinking is unimportant as to why I am here. If you have not read your most recent correspondence, then you would not have read a letter from your mother, which is what I feared most. And why I had to come, so that either I could tell you the true state of affairs, or if you were still in ignorance of what has happened, that you at least hear the news from a close relative, and not by letter. But promise me one thing, Mary.”

  “Yes, Cousin Duchess. Of course.”

  “That you listen carefully to everything I tell you, but know in the back of your mind that she has come to no real harm. That she is safe and being cared for, and she knows I have come to fetch you and—”

  Mary rose half out of her chair. “Has something—has something happened to my mother?”

  “Your mother?” Antonia shook her head and Mary sat back down again. “No, Mary. Your mother she is in excellent health, despite her constant complaints to the contrary. But she has done a very silly—some would say, we would say—wicked—thing, that now requires all of us to do our best to put to rights. And I include M’sieur Bryce and Lady Paget in this, too, because Teddy she has asked for them most particularly. Naturellement it is her mama she wants most.”

  “Teddy? What has happened to Teddy?” It was Lady Paget who blurted this out, and she grabbed Antonia’s arm. “I can’t see what you are all thinking, so you must tell me, Antonia. Tell me nothing has happened to that sweet child!”

  “She is not unwell, Kate,” Antonia replied and patted the older woman’s hand. She turned back to Mary, who was sitting rigid on the chair, hands clasped tightly in her lap, and she knew her cousin was doing everything in her power to remain in control. “Mary, my dear, that is the truth. Teddy is not unwell, nor is she injured. But your daughter she is a little scared being in a strange place, and she is asking for you, her mother. And you,” she added, addressing Christopher. “Teddy wants her Uncle Bryce to come and collect her and bring her home. And I have given her my word that this will happen. And I do not break my word, and never to a child. So, we will all leave tomorrow at first light so this can be done as quickly as possible.”

  “Where is my daughter, Cousin Duchess?” Mary demanded in a hoarse whisper. “What has my mother done with her?”

  “First I will tell you where Teddy is. She is in my treehouse—”

  “Tree house?” Christopher, Mary, and Kate blurted out in unison.

  “That is so. My grandchildren’s pirate ship treehouse. Now let me tell you how it is she came to be there, so you will not worry so much.”

  “How can you tell me not to worry when you say Teddy is scared and in your treehouse, and is asking for me and-and her Uncle Bryce?” Mary demanded, all semblance of control lost. “Oh God, I should’ve insisted on going to Cheltenham with her. I should not have agreed to her visiting with my mother alone. I should’ve—”

  “Mary, the time for should-haves has passed,” Antonia said softly but firmly. “It serves no purpose. You must allow me to—”

  “I knew Mother was up to something. I had a feeling, a-a foreboding that this visit would not go well. She was so insistent I remain at home, that my presence would only be an unnecessary interference in Teddy’s welfare. Interference? How can she say a mother—me—is an unnecessary interference in my child’s life?”

  “I think you can answer that easily enough, ma petite, from your own childhood experiences, yes? Your mother she has always acted in the ignorant belief her intentions are for the best, when in fact she has allowed a false sense of pride and self-worth to govern her actions. That has led, as you know, to disastrous consequences for you an
d your brothers. Your mother was an unnecessary interference in your lives that you all could have done without, and that is a great tragedy, for her, and for you. She has tried to do the same with Teddy, and now we must all come together to salvage the consequences of that interference. Do you not agree?”

  Mary stared at Antonia, and the sadness in her cousin’s gaze brought tears to her eyes, the truth of her words striking her like a blow, so that she was forced to clap a hand to her mouth to stop a sob escaping. She turned on the chair to look up over her shoulder at Christopher, and extended a shaking hand to him, which he readily took in his firm clasp.

  “I should have insisted you accompany the carriage to Cheltenham. Perhaps if you had been there you could’ve put a stop to my mother’s foolishness.”

  “Perhaps. But I doubt it,” Christopher told her gently. He wanted to kiss her hand, to press his lips to her forehead in reassurance. But he did not. Reluctantly he let her go, acutely aware of the Duchess’s gaze upon them. And yet he could not help offering Mary some comfort by placing his hand on her shoulder, and adding with an encouraging smile, “We don’t know the manner of your mother’s interference. Nor do we know much about what has been done to counter it. Though I am very sure Mme la Duchesse has done everything in her power to make Teddy as comfortable as possible until we arrive.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. I am being foolish—”

  “No. Never foolish. A mother’s unconditional love is never foolish, Ma—my lady,” Christopher assured her. “Kate agrees with me. Don’t you, Kate?”

  “Are you intent on making us all cry, you wretched man!?” Kate demanded and groped about the layers of her petticoats for her pocket which held her handkerchief. Antonia gave her hers. “Now be useful and have Fran make us all a fresh cup of tea and coffee! And let the Duchess get on with telling us what’s happened to Teddy—Oh, and before I forget to tell you, that sweet child so reminds me of you, my dear,” she said to Antonia. “Not her red hair and freckles, which I find delightful, but her exuberance for life, and the way she sees the good in everything and everyone! Such a little whirlwind of joy—oh dear,” she added when there was a burst of tears she could only assume came from Mary. “Forgive me, my dear. Christopher will tell you I tend to say out loud whatever pops into my head. And that only started with my blindness and not being able to take any visual clues from those around me. I do apologise…”