Abigail absentmindedly curled her hands into fists. “He most certainly did marry you. He brought you to America, where you ran off and broke his heart.”
“Marry him?” the duchess mocked. “He was little more than a child at the time. Why would I marry him?”
“You married him because he stood to inherit a fortune,” said Abigail.
The duchess rolled her eyes. “Do you have the marriage certificate?”
Abigail took a moment and tried to remember if she had ever seen it. “I…do not recall seeing it.”
“You do not, because it does not exist,” the duchess said.
Abigail would not be deterred this time. “I suppose all your clothing, which I quite happily burned, did not exist either. What gaud awful kind of perfume was that? Never have I smelled anything so foul.”
“You burned my ball gowns?” If anything was going to push the duchess over the edge, it was the thought of all her beautiful Paris gowns going up in flames. It was difficult, but she remembered to breathe, look at her ring, and consider her engagement – she could soon buy all the new gowns she wanted.
It was Abigail’s turn to sneer, “You neglected to take your clothing with you when you got off the train in Kansas City.”
The duchess flashed a fake grin at Abigail. “Are you aware that Hannish paid me to run off?”
Abigail rolled her eyes. “That is preposterous.”
“Is it? He sent Dugan to meet us on the train. The footman got me alone and offered me money to get off the train.”
Abigail’s voice steadily rose. “Good for him!”
“I am confused,” said Blair.
“Me too,” Lillie Mae agreed.
The duchess ignored the servant…this time. “Hannish did not want me here because he feared I would tell the whole town he was still married to me.” She realized she was talking too loudly and lowered her voice so the butler would not hear her. “What a scandal that would have been. I rather looked forward to it, but…” she sighed, “alas, I took the money and saved my dear husband the trouble.”
“You have never saved anyone the trouble in your life,” Abigail claimed. Her glare was every bit as daring and as fierce as the duchess could manage, and for a moment, they stared each other down.
Finally, the duchess broke the spell. “Mrs. Whitfield, your manner is most unbecoming a lady.”
Abigail was about to come right out of her chair. “Mrs.…whatever your name is this week, I assure you, I have done many things unbecoming a lady, and I am not too proud to do them now.”
Blair put her hand on her mother’s arm to get her attention. “Please do not argue. Mrs. Whitfield has never been anything but kind to me, and I have many questions still.”
The duchess threw Abigail one last glare, and then smiled at her daughter. “What do you wish to know?”
“Why did you leave me?”
“I left you with my dear Mr. Sinclair, because I did not want your true father to know about you.”
“Why not?” Blair asked.
“Suffice it to say, you were better off not knowing him.”
“I doubt that,” Abigail muttered.
Blair ignored her. “Who is my father?”
The duchess sighed. “Be patient, I shall explain everything in due time.”
“I hope so,” Lillie Mae whispered. Her eyes widened when the duchess again glared at her.
“How did you find me?” Blair asked.
The duchess answered, “Your name was mentioned in an article when the castle burned.”
“That was years ago. Why have you waited all this time to come?” Blair asked.
Again, the duchess sighed. “You are very direct for someone your age.”
“What age might that be? Father said Mrs. Sinclair did not tell him which day was my birthday.”
“You are fourteen,” the duchess answered.
“Fourteen and not thirteen?” Blair asked. “I see.”
“You were born on a very hot day, on the twentieth of July and I gave you to Mr. Sinclair the month following.” It was a lot for a child to take in, the duchess realized, so she remained quiet while Blair thought it through. Her daughter was every bit as beautiful as she had been at that age, but far more mature than she was when George Graham married her.
“But who is my father?” Blair asked again.
The duchess slowly shook her head. “You may ask me anything but that. It is far better that you do not know.”
“Why? Will he hurt me?” Blair asked.
“Hardly, he has passed, but his wife shall ruin you if she learns of your existence just now.”
“Ruin me? How could she possibly do that?” Blair wanted to know.
The duchess artfully changed the subject. “Are the MacGreagors good to you?”
“Aye, they are wonderful parents.”
“And is Cameron still a Duke?”
“Aye, and my mother is a duchess,” Blair answered.
The thought that her daughter was calling a gutter rat mother was enough to make the duchess feel her anger begin to flare. This time, the matter at hand was too important, so the duchess forced herself to quickly overcome it. “Darling, a duke can give you all that London society has to offer.”
Blair shrugged. “I care nothing for London society. I am happy here.”
“Perhaps you are now, but someday, you may wish to see what being near royalty is like.”
“And my real father’s wife would take that from me?” Blair asked.
“She would do her best.”
“Why?”
The duchess lightly bit her lower lip. “Because she was married to him at the time and I was not.”
This time it was Blair who widened her eyes. “I am illegitimate?”
“You know what that means?” asked the duchess.
“Mother explained it.”
“I am afraid you are illegitimate, but it is not as bad as it sounds. As his daughter, even his illegitimate daughter, you are entitled to inherit.”
“Here it comes,” Abigail whispered to Gloria.
“What comes?” Gloria asked.
“My father is…was wealthy?” Blair asked.
“Extremely so,” the duchess answered. “He was a noble man with many powerful and influential acquaintances.”
“Of course he was,” said Abigail. “She knows no other kind.”
“Has he no other children?” Blair asked.
“You are the only one that I know of. His wife was barren.”
“I see. Yet to inherit, I would have to endure his wife’s bitterness?” Blair asked. “It hardly seems worth the trouble.”
The duchess smiled. “It shall be, I assure you.”
Blair shook her head. “I do not need his fortune.”
“Not now, perhaps, but someday you might.”
“I hardly see how all this benefits me, if you will not tell me who he is.”
The duchess sighed. “It is not yet time. However, if I should die, you shall receive a letter containing all the proof you need.”
Blair stood up and walked to the other side of the room. Her thoughts were jumbled, her stomach was in knots, and she was torn between wanting to hug her mother and strangle her. Why didn’t she answer? All she wanted to know was the identity of her real father.
“I cannot imagine why you are not already dead,” Abigail sarcastically said. “I have wished it constantly since the day you entered our lives.”
Both the duchess and Blair ignored Abigail’s comment.
Blair folded her arms. “My real father is dead, Mr. Sinclair is dead and according to you, my third father is a liar. I have very bad luck when it comes to fathers.”
“Cameron loves you very much,” Abigail assured her.
“I know, Miss Abigail. No father could love me more, but there must be a reason why he dinna tell me about my mother.”
Abigail looked the duchess in the eye. “He wanted to protect you.”
“
From what?” Blair asked.
“From her.” Abigail started to stand up and go to Blair.
“Sit down, Mrs. Whitfield,” the duchess commanded.
Reluctantly, Abigail did as she was told. “Blair, your mother uses the name Alexandra Sinclair. Do you not think it odd?”
“Sinclair?” Blair asked.
Abigail nodded. “She was married to Mr. Sinclair too.”
The duchess rolled her eyes. “Mr. Sinclair was my brother.”
“Your…brother?” Abigail gasped. “Your brother had you arrested and thrown in a London jail?”
“What London jail?” the duchess huffed. “Not one moment have I ever spent in jail.”
Abigail was so frustrated, she was about to tear up. “I believe we can prove that, given the time.”
“Be my guest,” the duchess shot back.
“Mother,” said Gloria, “should I ring for more tea?”
“I see no need for it,” said the duchess. “This won’t take much longer.”
Gloria reluctantly nodded. “Very well.”
“Blair, it is time for you to come live with me,” said the duchess as she too stood up.
“Do not listen to her, Blair, she will make you miserable,” said Abigail.
The duchess once more turned her glare on Abigail. “You think she is better off with people who lie to her?”
Abigail glared right back. “And what will she do, when you abandon her with no way to get home? Or when she runs away once she discovers what you truly are?”
“I am her mother. She belongs with me,” the duchess argued.
Abigail returned, “She belongs with the people who truly love her.”
“I’d not like leaving my friends,” Blair mumbled.
The duchess went to her daughter. “If you live with me, you shall have new friends and attend the best college money can buy.”
“How?” Abigail asked. “Have you suddenly…oh, I see, you have married again. Who is it this time? Do tell, I would delight in telling him all about you.”
“I am certain you would.” The duchess sighed and then continued, “Blair, darling, come home with me. I long to get you into proper clothing for a young lady your age, and if you are not happy, I shall gladly bring you back.”
“I doubt that,” said Abigail. “When have you ever kept your word?”
“I tire of you,” the duchess snapped.
“And I tire of you,” Abigail countered. “Blair, your mother is a bigamist.”
“What?” Blair gasped.
“What she says is true,” the duchess surprisingly admitted. “I married twice. I thought my first husband dead when I married Hannish. There, you see, I am the only one who loves you enough to tell you the truth.”
“Two marriages?” Abigail spat, “The last I heard, there were eight.”
“Eight husbands?” Lillie Mae couldn’t help but ask. “And you bedded them all?”
The duchess’ face began to turn red as she ferociously frowned at the maid. “Not another word out of you!”
If she could have, Lillie Mae would have slid right under the table.
The duchess composed herself once more and turned to her rude adversary. “Truly, Mrs. Whitfield, eight husbands? Is my daughter to believe such a ludicrous thing?”
Blair deeply wrinkled her brow, “You thought your husband dead when you married Uncle, but why are you not still married to him?”
“I am,” the duchess answered.
“Speaking of ludicrous,” said Abigail.
“Has he divorced me?” the duchess demanded of Abigail. “Have you seen a decree of divorcement?”
Abigail sarcastically answered, “I have not, but I am certain there is one.”
“I am certain there is not,” said the duchess.
Gloria looked at her mother, at the duchess, and then at her mother again. “He is not truly married to Leesil?”
“Hardly,” said the duchess.
“Oh, my,” Gloria said. “Does Leesil know?”
“Of course, she does,” said the duchess. “She was there when Hannish tricked me into going back to Scotland without him. It was likely her idea.”
“He tricked you?” Blair asked.
The duchess nodded, “One of his many tricks. He vowed he would meet me in Scotland. Instead, he moved my things out of the castle and confined me to a deplorable little cottage, with only two servants and a small allowance.”
“I cannae believe it,” said Blair. “Uncle is the most generous lad I know.”
“Then you do not know him as well as you think,” said the duchess. “He tried to put me out of the way, where I could not tell the world I am his wife, but I would not stay put.”
Abigail was not about to let the duchess get away with anything more. “He sent you back to Scotland because you lied to him.”
“There is that word again,” the duchess spat. “He lied, I lied, and everyone else lied. How confused Blair must be by now. Come away with me, Blair, and leave all this madness behind. I have a home for us now and we shall be happy together.”
“Where?” Abigail wanted to know.
“What about school?” Blair asked.
“Blair, do not listen to her,” Abigail tried again. “Your mother has been in a lunatic asylum these past six years.”
The duchess spun around. “Tell her who put me there!” she demanded.
“Hannish did, and with good reason,” Abigail answered.
“A lunatic asylum?” Gloria and Lillie Mae both gulped.
“What good reason?” the duchess asked.
“To keep you from taking Blair,” Abigail answered.
“Ah, yes, to keep me from claiming my own daughter.”
“Uncle did that to you?” an incredulous Blair asked her mother.
“Yes, Darling. He kept me there for six, very long years. Now do you see what kind of people these truly are?”
“I cannae believe it,” Blair muttered. “He put my mother in an asylum?”
Said the duchess, “If we hurry, we can catch the afternoon train. Otherwise, we shall be forced to stay in a hotel this night.”
“Blair, do not go with her,” Abigail begged. “At least give your father and Hannish a chance to explain.”
Blair went to the window and looked across the lawn at what she could see of Marblestone Mansion. “I have been happy here, but I wonder now if I could ever be again. I know not who is lying and who is telling the truth.”
“Sweetheart, let your father…” Abigail started.
Blair held up her hand. “Miss Abigail, might you allow me a moment to think.”
“Of course, dear.”
She stared out the window for several more moments before she asked, “Miss Abigail, if I leave with her, will you allow us time to get away before you tell Father?”
“I cannot,” Abigail confessed. “The MacGreagors are our friends, and I shall not let her take you without a fight.”
“That is what I thought?” Blair turned away from the window and looked at her mother. “Uncle was the Duke of Glenartair before Father, is that not so?”
“It is,” her mother answered.
“And you were once a duchess?”
“I still am, although your uncle gave up the title.”
“I see,” said Blair. “In our garden, there is a plaque that reads: Here lies the duchess, for it was here the duchess lied. I never knew what that meant before.”
Abigail explained, “Cathleen had it made the year before she married Cameron.”
“So she knew about my mother too?” Blair asked. She watched Abigail nod. “Does everyone know, even the servants?”
“I did not know,” Lillie Mae said.
A tear suddenly rolled down Blair’s cheek, but she quickly wiped it away. “Miss Abigail, if I agree to stay, and if I ask you to, will you let my mother go without stopping her?”
Abigail considered that for a moment. “If you do not go with her, then I shall do as you
ask…for your sake.”
Blair turned back to face the duchess. “You best go now. They shall come looking for me soon.”
The duchess smiled at her daughter. “Are you certain you do not wish to come with me?”
“Perhaps, when I am older, we shall meet again.”
“I assure you, we shall.” She gently touched her daughter’s cheek. “Have you any idea how beautiful you are? The world is yours – all you need do is reach out and take it.” With that, the duchess turned and walked out of the room.
Instantly, Abigail reached for the phone, and just as quickly, Blair raced to the end table and put her hand on top of Abigail’s. “Please let her go. She is my mother and I cannae bear to think of her locked in an asylum.”
Abigail slowly put the telephone back. “I must tell your father about this, you understand.”
Blair looked Abigail in the eye. “I assure you, I fully intend to have a word with him about it myself.”
Abigail stood up and gathered Blair in her arms. “Do not be too hard on him. He took you in when no one else would. He loves you and has always done what he thought was best for you.”
Blair left Abigail’s arms, went back to the sofa and sat down. “Save telling me the truth.”
“Do you not see, this is precisely what the duchess set out to do, she…” Abigail started.
“The duchess?” Blair asked.
“That is what we have always called her. She changes names so often, we cannot keep up. A new name for each new husband.”
“Mother,” Gloria asked, “what do you mean? What did the duchess set out to do?”
Abigail sighed. “She suspected Blair might not go with her, so she planted doubts in Blair’s mind. Enough doubts and Blair will be more inclined to go with her next time.”
When the telephone rang, everyone jumped, including Blair. “If they are looking for me, say I shall be home directly. I want to give her enough time to get away.”
Gloria looked at the clock. “She has just enough time to make the three o’clock train to Denver.”
“Good,” Blair said, “then we shall wait until after three to tell them.”
The telephone call was not for any of them. Apparently, it was for Claymore who was still not home. For a while, the four women in the sitting room watched the clock. Abigail’s tea was cold, but she needed something to quench her thirst and drank it right down.
Marblestone Mansion, Book 8 Page 15
