Proud Mary

by Lucinda Brant

  “I see. It now becomes obvious to me why a ten-year-old child, who has never met my son in her life before, screams her lungs out and runs away to hide in a tree house and won’t come down for anyone or anything! Why did you do nothing to dispel these horrid lies about M’sieur le Duc?”

  “Mme la Duchesse, fairy tales, whether tales of good or evil, are not lies to those who believe in them,” Christopher said patiently. “They are very real to child and adult alike. There are many who accept as true the existence of fairies, gnomes, goblins, and ghosts. The vale is filled with such spirits and tales. Lady Mary told Teddy happy stories of a Fairy Godmother and her father told her a tale of a handsome duke masquerading as an ogre. You cannot dismiss one tale as utter nonsense without then dismissing the other as nonsense, too. What then do you tell the child? That her parents were lying to her? That there are no such beings as fairy godmothers and ogres—”

  “That is exactly what you should have told her!”

  “I do not believe the Duke to be an ogre, but how could I tell Teddy otherwise when I have never met your son? Teddy is a smart child. Had I dismissed her father’s tale out of hand, she would have instantly asked me how I could do so when I have never seen the Duke for myself. I could have offered her all the reassurance in the world, but I could not offer her the evidence to prove otherwise.”

  Antonia sat up very straight, uncomfortable as this was, given her pregnancy, green eyes bright with anger.

  “Mon Dieu! Je suis incroyablement furieuse. So, that child continued to believe my son, a man of the highest morals, a loving husband and father, to be an ogre. He is beloved by his family, his tenants, his workers, and his servants, and none have a bad word to say about him. And yet Teddy believes him to be this monster hiding in the skin of a duke, and nothing was done to dissuade her of this belief?! Incroyable. Et vous le lui avez laissé croire.”

  “I did nothing to reinforce the idea,” Christopher stated politely but firmly. “But as I said, I could not dismiss the tale as nonsense, for to do so would have called into question the reality behind Lady Mary’s fairy story of a good and kind fairy godmother living in a happy place. Which, when you consider it is not so far from the truth, is it? And because Teddy believed her mother’s tale, she was able to find sanctuary with you.”

  “But if you had dismissed both tales as merely tales, then perhaps we would not find ourselves in this predicament in the first place, hein? Teddy would have questioned the existence of an ogre and of a fairy godmother. But she would not have needed the latter had she not believed in the former! Which leads me to think that you, M’sieur Bryce, think there is a grain of truth in Sir Gerald’s tale about my son—that he is in some way an ogre?”

  “Mme la Duchesse—” Christopher began, but was cut off.

  “Cousin Duchess, you are justifiably angry because it is your son who was maligned by Sir Gerald,” Mary interrupted with uncharacteristic bluntness. “But if you were to ponder the situation with a cool head, surely you cannot be surprised her father would plant such a black seed in Teddy’s mind about Roxton? Your son banished Sir Gerald from Polite Society; the only thing of consequence to him was his Cavendish name and his position amongst his peers as the cousin of the Duke of Devonshire, and the brother of the Duchess of Roxton, and thus the brother-in-law of her duke. He only married me because I am your cousin. Social standing and bowing and scraping before his titled relatives is what he lived for, and Roxton stripped that from him. Even in exile here in the remote Cotswolds, he spent his days writing to his titled friends and relatives, his mind faraway in the drawing rooms of London society. He was bitter and angry and he never forgave your son. Refusing to allow his only child to visit her relatives was part of his revenge, as was implanting his black fairy tale so that his daughter would have a lifelong fear of Roxton. That he used Teddy to exact his revenge is appalling, but I am not surprised by it, and neither should you be.”

  Antonia took a moment to answer Mary, both women regarding each other with a steady gaze, and then she smiled forlornly, no longer angry.

  “Mary, I have never told you this before but it has always been a great regret of mine that I gave in to your mother’s wishes and left you behind when Monseigneur and I took Henri-Antoine to Constantinople to meet his brother. If you had been with us you would never have married that man. But you did and we had to live with the consequences. But you… you had to live with him, and we did not think enough about that, did we? S’il te plaît, pardonne-moi, ma chérie.”

  She glanced at Christopher, but said to Mary,

  “And you are correct. My son he acted impetuously, as young men are often wont to do. At the time, I think he did so as to assert his authority, but he did not think through the consequences of his actions upon you and your baby daughter. I am very sure he would agree with me, and add his apologies to mine. And now, here we are, arrived at a situation that requires the utmost delicacy to resolve. I offer my apologies to you, too, M’sieur Bryce. For although we have only just met, I realize you have Teddy’s best interests at heart. That child loves and trusts you as much as she does her mother, and so, too, must I trust you. So I must hope that you can come up with a way to get Teddy and the family out of this sad predicament, yes?”

  Christopher bowed his head in acknowledgment of Antonia’s apology and smiled.

  “I have the germ of an idea, Mme la Duchesse. But I wish to consult with the Lady Mary to ensure she is agreeable. Hopefully it will break the curse that holds the Duke captive as an ogre in Teddy’s eyes.”

  Mary swiveled on her chair and looked up at Christopher. “Oh, yes! If Teddy believes the spell is broken she will no longer fear Roxton. You are clever!”

  “I am not surprised you think him so,” Antonia quipped, tongue in cheek, adding more audibly, “You have the two-day journey to Treat to come up with a suitable plan. Now, me I must rest. And you, my lady,” she said softly to Kate, pressing her hand, “I will scold in the carriage. No doubt this conversation, not its content, has been music to your ears. And you know very well why, and now so do I!”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  JUST AS ANTONIA was getting used to the idea of Mary being in love with a Cotswold squire, and having confided in Jonathon and asked him to form an opinion of Christopher on the return journey to Treat, her cousin confounded her with a revelation that was so surprising that it left her momentarily speechless.

  It was on the second day of travel, and the Duke and Duchess of Kinross, their guests and entourage had been an hour on the road, having set out after breakfast from The Castle Inn at Marlborough, where they had spent an uneventful night. The Duchess, the Lady Mary, Lady Paget, Antonia’s lady-in-waiting Michelle, and Lady Paget’s companion Fran occupied the first carriage, while the Kinross’s major domo, Lady Mary’s maid, Antonia’s two tire women and, much to his consternation, the Duke of Roxton’s physician, occupied the second. Jonathon, Christopher, and Jonathon’s valet were all on horseback, riding alongside the carriages, with the liveried outriders front and rear.

  On a particular stretch of road, Jonathon and Christopher rode side by side and were in conversation, and as they passed Antonia’s carriage, Mary’s gaze locked on the two men. Antonia, who sat opposite and watched her, knew to which gentleman Mary’s attention was fixed. But she said nothing and waited, knowing by the way Mary fidgeted with the fan in her lap that her mind was racing, and that very soon she would end her preoccupation and want to confide her thoughts.

  Just as predicted, Mary looked away from the window and about the interior of the silk lined carriage, to where the Lady Paget sat in the far corner, staring out the window. Next to Mary was Antonia’s lady-in-waiting, head back against the padded squab with eyes closed, and beside her, the old woman’s companion Fran, who had her head in a small volume of poetry which Antonia had loaned her. And there was her cousin, fingers entwined under her belly, as if holding her child against every bump in the road. But her gaze was very much on Mary.<
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  “Evelyn is alive, Mme la Duchesse.”

  Antonia was more surprised to be addressed formally by her cousin than by the revelation itself. She guessed it was perhaps easier for Mary to confess her disordered emotions in this way.

  “Yes, ma chérie. Your brother Alisdair he told me.”

  “Did you also know he is a spy?” When Antonia nodded Mary continued. “He came to Abbeywood. You will be shocked when you see him. He is much altered in body if not in mind, his hair is gray before its time, and he is all but skin and bone. He has the parts of two fingers missing, which makes me wonder if he can still play his viola. But for all that he is still the same Evelyn I remember, with the same eccentric outlook on life.”

  “I am very happy he is alive, that he is finally home, and that he is still Evelyn. I hope he comes to Treat, to make his peace with my son, and to see me, and to visit his parents.”

  Mary met Antonia’s clear green eyes and leaned in to blurt out in a loud whisper, “He means to ask me to marry him.”

  Antonia’s arched brows lifted slightly. “Is that so? What do you mean by means to ask—that he has not done so already?”

  “He has given me the month to think over my future, and then he will ask me.”

  “A wise decision. It seems you have much to think about, ma petite.”

  Mary glanced out the window again, the countryside of hedge rows and autumn trees a blur this time. She took a deep breath and turned to meet Antonia’s steady gaze.

  “I know what you must be thinking—”

  “I do not think that is possible because me I am not thinking anything. It is your thoughts and actions that will decide what I think.”

  “But I can imagine what you must think of me after His Grace told you about—” She glanced over at Lady Paget, but as she still had her face turned to the window and seemed to be dozing, she looked back at Antonia and added in loud whisper to be heard over the noise of the carriage wheels, “—about finding us alone at the cottage, and—”

  “Mary, M’sieur le Duc has said nothing to me about a cottage. And that is the truth.” Antonia dared to smile. “But I do not need to know, do I? Because it is evident to me, and possibly to everyone around us, that you and M’sieur Bryce have more than a—um—passing interest—in each other.”

  Mary blushed. “It was not planned. It just happened. I cannot explain it. I am—he is—Oh! I don’t know! I don’t know!”

  “All I know, Mary, is that it is time for you to consider what you want. And that will be difficult indeed. Not because you do not have a mind or opinions or secret desires of your own, but because you must think about what it is you want from the rest of your life.”

  “It would be an easy thing to marry Evelyn because we care deeply for one another,” Mary stated, as if convincing herself. “Such a marriage would be the right and sensible thing for me to do because I will be made a countess, and Teddy will have an earl for a stepfather, and he will take good care of us both. Such a match will be welcomed by everyone of our acquaintance.”

  “And so it will. You will be Countess of Stretham-Ely, and Society will embrace you with open arms. It will be the match of the season.”

  Mary frowned. “You want me to marry Evelyn? It would certainly make my mother very happy to see me finally elevated to the social status she deems appropriate for the daughter of an earl—and now sister of the new Earl of Strathsay.”

  “What I want is unimportant. And you will never make your mother happy, whatever choices you make. Some people are born miserable. They never see the joy that is before their eyes and never will. In truth they like being miserable. That is your mother. My only advice to you is that you realize you have been given a unique opportunity, rare amongst females of our station—one of choice. You can choose the way in which you wish to live your life. But that comes with consequences which you must be prepared to accept. And before you make your choice, be very certain you know everything there is to know about—”

  “He has told me everything about his life in Lucca,” Mary interrupted matter-of-factly, and when Antonia smiled she realized her cousin had been talking in a general sense and not about Christopher at all. She was so flustered she could not speak.

  “Me I am pleased to hear it,” Antonia stated. “I am more certain of his feelings for you than I am of yours for him. Naturally he would wish to confide everything in you. But—”

  She glanced at Kate, who sat beside her, saw that her eyes were closed and her jaw slack so assumed her to be asleep, and continued, “—it would be wise to ask him if that is all he wishes to confide in you, or if there are other particulars—

  “Other particulars? What other particulars, Cousin Duchess? Do you know of something he should tell—”

  “—that is, assuming your choice it lies with him,” Antonia finished off smoothly, ignoring Mary’s interruption. Her smile widened, and she fluttered her fan prettily and said with a sparkle in her green eyes, “I think, Mary, it is time for you to be less the dutiful daughter and more the Mary who knows what she needs to make her happy. And when you know that, come and tell it to me, and then I will tell you what I think.”

  THE CARRIAGES did not proceed on to Crecy Hall, but turned in through the elaborate black and gold iron gates proclaiming the entrance to the ducal estate of Treat. As it was almost the dinner hour, Antonia thought it best if they first see the Duke, who would welcome them all to dine, to discuss what was to be done to end Teddy’s fear and see her come down from her tree house sanctuary for good.

  With everyone indoors and divested of their cloaks, hats, gloves, and muffs, the guests were shown up to the saloon off the dining room where they were given refreshment and waited the arrival of the Duke and Duchess. It was too late in the day to change for dinner. But as there were only family members present, Antonia was certain her son and his wife would not care in the least that they were all slightly travel worn and weary, but just be happy and relieved to see them returned home.

  “And you and the babe returned safe and well most of all, sweetheart,” Jonathon added, kissing his wife’s forehead. He took a glass from a tray held by a hovering liveried footman and handed it to Christopher. “Drink up. You look as if you could do with a bottle, not a glass. It’s the scale of the place, ain’t it? Had me staggered the first time I came here. This noble hovel has to be the largest privately-owned palace in England, if not the Continent.” He leaned in to Christopher and said confidentially, “It’s as well the family see their gilt and marble kingdom as a great weight of responsibility, and not as an advertisement for their conceit. Saves me the trouble of popping a few puffed chests and knocking back the odd jutting chin. Same can’t be said for the trencherflies who circle ’em. But the main thing is, the Duke, for all his pompous self-righteousness, is a decent fellow. I think you’ll like him.”

  “But will he like me, Your Grace?” Christopher asked seriously, though his lopsided grin belied the seriousness of his question.

  “Naturelment, M’sieur Bryce,” Antonia replied for her husband. “He is his mother’s son, and so my son he likes everyone. Kate, shall you walk with me a little?” she asked Lady Paget, who still held on tightly to Christopher’s arm since he had helped her alight from the carriage.

  Antonia took Kate’s arm and wrapped it about her own, and the two women walked a little way from the group.

  “This is the first time you have been back here since your stay just before my marriage to Monseigneur, yes?” When the older woman nodded but was too overwhelmed to speak, Antonia understood. “I remember that day as if it were yesterday. You sat with Monseigneur at the head of the table, and across from you was a silly girl doing her best to catch Monseigneur’s eye—”

  “But he had eyes only for you. It was as if the two of you were the only ones at the table!”

  Antonia sighed. “Yes. It was always that way, even with family. We were quite rude at times, I think.”

  Kate patted Antonia’s
hand. “But I like this new duke of yours. I suspect he is just as handsome as his voice suggests, and as arrogantly self-assured. Despite his deceptively easy-going manner, he wouldn’t suffer fools. And he loves you very much. I can hear that in his voice, my dear. You have been twice blessed.

  “Yes. I know it, and never do I take it for granted. The three of us get along very well indeed.”

  “Three?”

  “Monseigneur, Kinross, and me. There will always be the three of us.”

  Kate smiled and understood. “Of course. I am glad.” She squeezed Antonia’s hand and added in a breathless whisper, “Do you know, my dear, I was making mental calculations in the carriage, and I am very sure your new duke is younger than my son!”

  Antonia giggled behind her fan. “Yes. He is. I am as unbelievably outrageous as ever, am I not?”

  Kate gave a snort of laughter and the two women continued up the room, heads close together and deep in conversation.

  Christopher continued to watch them, greatly relieved and delighted to see Kate looking happier than she had been in years, no doubt because the Duchess had put her at her ease and made her welcome. But he also knew it was due in no small part to the fact Kate was back amongst the rarified surroundings and people of the elite, a milieu she had lived in for most of her life. He was so distracted that he was unaware Mary had come to stand by his side. And when he did finally notice her, he smiled and said,

  “Do you wish as I do that we had gone straight to the treehouse?”

  “I do. I know Teddy is safe, but I am more anxious here, this close to her, than I was before we left Brycecomb.”

  “Yet, something more immediate is troubling you…”

  “How did you guess?”

  “I didn’t. I can always tell when you are fretful by the way you hold your hands in front of you thus, right hand squeezing the fingers of your left. It is particularly apparent when you wish to say something to me which you think might offend me, and so you have this internal struggle to find the right words. You won’t, y’know—offend me.”