Lady Lost

by Jane Goodger

  Mount Carlyle was a lovely home, completely renovated in this century so that the white stone front gleamed richly in the morning sun. It stood three stories high with massive square towers at either end, built in the baroque style of Blenheim Palace, a home greatly coveted by Weston. He’d wanted something grander, lovelier than the Duke of Marlborough’s famous palace, and had nearly succeeded. As beautiful as it was on the outside, the inside was even more lavish, and she’d felt like a visitor in some museum the entire time she’d lived there. For nearly three years, Lilian had lived in the east wing, far from her sister and the duke, and had felt almost as if she were living alone. It might have been lovely had the duke not wandered over to her side far too frequently. Only two things had prevented her from leaving: her sister and the sad fact that she had nowhere else to go. Each time she’d mentioned leaving, her sister would dissolve into tears and beg her to stay, and so she’d stayed, feeling more and more trapped as time went on.

  Now, stepping down from her carriage, Viscountess Granton felt an overwhelming sense of sadness that everything had gone so wrong for her sister. Theresa had always been spoiled. As the youngest, she had been doted on, and so when Weston had turned his favor toward Theresa, her mother, knowing she was dying, had given her blessing. It hadn’t really mattered which daughter married the duke, for if either one was well settled, the other would also be taken care of. Desperation and fear had driven her mother to accept Weston’s suit for Theresa.

  Lilian stepped down from her carriage, noting a second carriage with six servants, including two footmen, followed closely behind. Within moments, the large double doors opened, revealing the dear face of Weston’s butler, Mr. Dawson. If he was surprised to see her at the front door, he did not show it.

  “Lady Granton, a pleasure indeed.” Lilian smiled at the proper use of her title. “I do apologize, but Her Grace is not at home.”

  “No matter, Mr. Dawson, I’ve only come to collect my belongings, not visit. I left in such haste the last time I was here, I hardly had time to collect them.”

  Lilian walked up the shallow steps, and Mr. Dawson stepped out of the way, saying blandly and not meaning a single syllable, “Oh dear, Lady Granton, I must insist you do not enter the house. Please do stop.”

  Lilian grinned up at his somber face, and she could tell he was using his best butler mien to not smile. “I assure you we’ll only be a few minutes.” Turning to the servants who had gathered behind her, Lilian said, “Please follow me.”

  She got as far as the edge of the grand foyer, where the curving stairs to the second floor began, when the first screech was heard. Everyone except Lilian immediately froze.

  Her Grace, the Duchess of Weston, then appeared at the top of the staircase, her hair a mess and her belly—Lilian opened her eyes wide—her belly large and showing an obvious pregnancy. “Heavens,” Lilian whispered to Mr. Dawson, “Her Grace is—”

  “Not,” he finished with authority.

  How very curious, for Lilian couldn’t help but concur. When she’d left her sister not two weeks ago, Theresa had not been with child—and if she had been, she certainly wasn’t as far along as the woman glaring down at her from the stairs.

  Collecting herself, she said, “I’ve come to get my belongings.”

  “I had them burned,” Theresa said.

  “No, she did not,” Mr. Dawson said softly, but not softly enough that the duchess did not hear. She glared at the butler but said nothing.

  “Theresa, please. Let me collect my things and then I’ll leave.”

  Theresa lifted her chin imperiously. “Very well.”

  There was something a bit odd about the way her sister was acting, and it wasn’t just that her usually meticulously groomed sister looked more like an overworked chambermaid than a duchess. She had dark circles beneath her eyes and her face was unusually pale. Perhaps the strain of all that had happened was affecting her more than Lilian would have thought. After all, she’d truly believed her older sister had murdered her husband. Of course it would have affected her, and Lilian felt a sharp twinge of guilt that she hadn’t given a thought to how Theresa must have suffered through all this.

  Lilian led the servants to her suite and directed them where to go to collect all her belongings. She went immediately to the little shelf that held her rock, and she picked it up, feeling unaccountably relieved that it was untouched, before placing it in her pocket. Theresa hovered just outside her door, looking young and lost. Despite all that had happened, she loved her sister, and seeing her looking so forlorn touched her heart.

  “Would you like to visit for a bit?” she asked, and her sister started, as if she’d forgotten Lilian was in the room.

  “Yes, that would be nice.”

  “Perhaps in the sitting room. That way if the servants have any questions, they’ll be able to easily find me.”

  When they were seated, Lilian eyed her sister warily, then looked pointedly at her belly.

  “Oh, that. It’s a pillow.” Theresa said the words almost listlessly, as if she hadn’t any idea how odd it was that she’d stuffed a pillow under her dress.

  “Why?”

  “Weston hardly provided for me. A silly small house in the village without even gaslight and only enough income for a handful of servants. If Lord Standish believes I may be carrying the duke’s heir, he’ll stay away at least for a time.”

  “Lord Standish, oh yes.”

  “His Grace’s brother. He’s next in line, as you know, and he wants to move into Mount Carlyle. But this is my home.”

  Lilian studied her sister a long moment. She was only eighteen years old, still a child, really, and here she was, alone and widowed. “Regardless of how long you stay here, we shall be neighbors. Cannock is a charming little village, and even if your home isn’t what you would have wanted, it will still be yours. As a widow, you’ll have far more freedom than a single girl would. You’ll see, everything will work out.” Lilian eyed the large bulge beneath her sister’s skirts. “How long do you think you can hold Lord Standish off? I think you should have perhaps used a smaller pillow.” Lilian smiled and hoped Theresa would too.

  But Theresa looked down and patted the pillow, frowning. “Lord Standish already saw me. He was quite surprised.” Theresa giggled.

  “Is there any chance you could be with child?” Lilian ducked her head so she could see her sister’s expression.

  “No.” And Theresa’s eyes filled with tears. “I had so hoped. Oh, Lilian, you had no idea how I hoped. What was I to do? Lord Standish wanted to move in immediately, the cad.”

  Lilian smiled sadly at her sister, so young and now so lost.

  “It is the way of things, Theresa, you know that. Think of what happened to poor mama when Father died. Many women would be happy to have a home of their own and servants. And you can always remarry; you are so young.”

  And then Theresa burst into tears. “I don’t want to marry just anyone.”

  “Of course not.”

  Theresa sniffed. “You don’t understand. I’m already in love.”

  “You are?” Lilian asked cautiously.

  She nodded, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “With John Munroe,” she said with a sniff.

  “Mr. Munroe? Weston’s secretary?” Lilian asked, dumbfounded. She’d lived in the same home as her sister and never suspected a thing. Then again, she’d spent most of her days wandering the grounds or in her own wing of the massive house, so it wasn’t entirely impossible the pair could have kept such a secret.

  “We love each other. Oh, Lilian, it’s wonderful. He had to leave to make arrangements, but he’ll be back and then we can marry. I haven’t heard a word from him in two weeks, and I suppose I’m a bit weepy from missing him. I do hope I can find a new maid before he returns. I’m such a sight.”

  “Marry? But Theresa, you’ve only just become widowed. You can’t possibly be discussing marriage at this time. It’s, well, it’s unseemly.”

&nb
sp; Theresa laughed. “Unseemly? I don’t care. We’ve been planning to run away together for months.”

  Lilian furrowed her brow. “Months?” Weston had been dead for less than a month.

  “Well, not really planning,” her sister said quickly. “Just dreaming, really. Oh, he’s so wonderful, Lilian. I know you’ll adore him as much as I do. He’s so gallant and he loves me, truly, truly loves me as much as I love him. I know what you’re thinking, that it was awful of me to have an affair right beneath my husband’s nose, but was he not doing the very same to me? And not just with one woman, I might add.”

  “How fortunate for you that Weston died,” Lilian said, only half joking.

  “Nothing could be more fortunate,” Theresa said with enthusiasm. “As soon as John returns, we’re off to America. Can you imagine? This,” she said, indicating the pillow, “is just to keep Standish away until John returns. I think it’s brilliant. It was John’s idea, you see. He is brilliant. And so handsome.”

  Lilian forced a smile. “I’m so happy for you, Terri, but why America? Why not stay here?”

  “John thinks it’s best to get a brand-new start. I miss him so much, Lilian. He should be returning this week, if all has gone well. Just in time for the birth!”

  “Birth?”

  Theresa patted her stomach and giggled. “I daresay as soon as John returns, my baby will be born. I loathe this house. I’m here alone and no one cares about me. The servants hate me, I know they do. My maid quit.” She motioned to her hair and dress as proof. “They’re all hateful and awful.” She looked suddenly distressed.

  “What is it, Theresa?”

  “What if John doesn’t return?”

  “If what you say is true, he will.”

  Theresa frowned. “Why would I lie?”

  “You misunderstand, Terri. Of course he loves you, and I’m certain he will return.” This seemed to brighten Theresa’s mood, which only made Lilian wonder at her sister’s mercurial moods. Lilian didn’t care for the situation at all. What sort of person talked of marriage not three weeks after burying her husband? It didn’t matter a bit if Weston was an awful husband. Society had rules, and one of those rules was one had to wait at least a year before remarrying, particularly if one had been married to a peer. It also was rather unseemly that her sister, a duchess, was considering marriage to a commoner. She wondered at this man that he could have influenced her sister so. It didn’t speak well of him at all. Still, her sister may have been a spoiled girl, but she had not deserved what she had got when she married Weston.

  Despite her misgivings, Lilian put on a bright smile. “You haven’t congratulated me on my own marriage, you know.”

  “Congratulations.”

  Theresa didn’t sound at all sincere, so Lilian let the subject drop.

  * * *

  Marcus descended from his coach in Birmingham, where he’d agreed to meet with Kathryn Cates, his dead wife’s former maid. He would do nothing with the information she had for him, but perhaps knowing who sired his daughter would one day be valuable. How, he couldn’t say, but he had just enough curiosity to agree to meet with the woman.

  She sat on a bench overlooking the large pond in Cannon Hill Park, her back ramrod straight, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. Just seeing her brought back ugly memories of his wife, and he tried to push down his dark thoughts. When she saw him approaching, Miss Cates stood immediately and waited in silence until he’d reached her. Then, she sat, her lips pressed thin, her pale blue eyes on a small group of ducks that were making their way across the pond. Marcus sat beside her, giving her a curious look before turning his attention to the ducks as well.

  “Thank you for meeting with me, my lord. It has been a difficult time, these past years. A trial. I’m not one for secrets, and working for your wife . . .” She let her voice trail off. Yes, Marcus was well aware that his wife had held many secrets, but he’d never actually given a thought to what this would have meant to the woman who was keeping them for Eleanor. “It has weighed heavily on me, knowing that poor little mite was left behind with that awful woman in Northumberland. How is she?”

  “She is healthy and seems to have been well cared for. You needn’t worry on that account, though I don’t believe her childhood was as it might have been had Eleanor not resorted to such subterfuge.”

  Miss Cates nodded, but her demeanor did not change; she still looked as if she were about to bolt from the bench and run away.

  “You have knowledge of who the father of the child is?” he prompted, wanting this interview over as quickly as possible so he could return to Lilian. The sun was shining brightly, after all.

  “Yes,” she whispered, and something about the way she said it, or perhaps the way her hands tightened in her lap, making her knuckles white, put Marcus on edge.

  “Miss Cates, please be assured that whatever my wife did, I hold you in nothing but the highest esteem. You were put in a difficult situation, and for that, I apologize.” It was clear the poor woman was distraught. “The name of the child’s father, if you please.”

  She took a deep and shaking breath. “The youngest Mr. Dunford, sir.”

  The blood fled his head so suddenly that Marcus’s vision momentarily darkened and blurred. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice low.

  The poor woman twisted her hands together and looked up at him, and he knew by the look in her eyes that she pitied him nearly as much as she feared him. “Stephen Dunford, sir. Your brother.”

  It could not be true. It could not. The pain slicing through Marcus at that moment might have felled another man, and even as he sat there, deathly still, Marcus wondered that he was able to breathe, to look out and see those ducks swimming, to hear the sound of a child’s laughter. Everything, everything, changed at that moment. “Are you certain? It is vital that you are certain.” He sounded normal, like a man discussing some mundane topic and not the fact that his brother had stabbed him in the back.

  Miss Cates’s eyes filled with tears. “She told me so herself. And I was . . . aware of the goings-on. She wasn’t very discreet, at least with me. He visited her room more than once and I—”

  “You what?” he asked, more harshly than he intended, but he could hardly feel sorry for the woman even when she flinched.

  “I saw them. Together. One morning. She screeched at me, and I ran from the room, but not before I saw him. It was Mr. Dunford, sir. And then, when she realized she was going to have a baby, she wailed and cried and told me all, about how angry you would be, about how you’d kill her and Mr. Dunford, too. I’d never seen another soul so afraid. She asked me what to do, where to go, and I, God forgive me, I helped her.”

  A strange calm enveloped Marcus at that moment, almost as if he’d stepped outside himself, leaving behind the man whose heart and soul had just been ripped to shreds. “Does Stephen know about the child?”

  Miss Cates shook her head briskly. “No. He never knew. No one knew except myself and Lady Granton. She was very clear that no one should know.”

  “Particularly not me.”

  “No, sir. I mean yes, sir.”

  Marcus stood, though he wasn’t at all certain his legs would be able to support his weight. “Thank you, Miss Cates. I realize this was not an easy discussion, but I do appreciate your honesty.”

  “I’m so sorry, sir. Truly I am. I wish there was something else I could have done. You never deserved any of this.”

  For some odd reason, Marcus felt a smile tug at his lips. Perhaps this was exactly what he deserved.

  * * *

  Marcus entered Hallstead Manor with exaggerated calm, though inside he was a seething mass of emotions. Funny, the house looked the same, smelled the same. In the distance, he could hear the soft murmuring of the maids as they cleaned somewhere. A large grandfather clock ticked, its heavy pendulum swinging back and forth, as if time hadn’t stopped when Marcus had learned the awful truth about his brother.

  Handing off his coat an
d hat, he inquired as to the location of his youngest brother.

  “I believe he is having luncheon with the rest of the family.” The footman eyed Marcus warily, and Marcus realized he wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he’d thought.

  “And the children?”

  “Are in the nursery, my lord.”

  Marcus thanked the footman, then headed directly to the breakfast room, where the family often had luncheon as it was a smaller, more intimate room for family gatherings than the large, ostentatious dining hall. He wasn’t certain what he would do or say; he only knew that he had to see his brother, the same brother who had been so very worried about Marcus disappearing to Merdunoir after Eleanor had died that he had followed him there, written heartfelt letters full of concern. The same brother who had greeted him with a warm embrace when Marcus had finally returned home.

  Marcus stopped at the entrance to the breakfast room, taking in the homey scene. Most of his family, including his father, his brothers, Georgette, and Lilian, had gathered around the table and were chatting about something mundane and unimportant. Lilian looked up and smiled a smile that froze in place when she saw him. Her eyes widened. Stephen looked happy, sitting there, laughing at some joke Adam had made. As if nothing in the world were wrong.

  Without thinking, without even knowing what he was doing, he strode up to Stephen, grabbed him by the collar, and smashed his startled face with his fist so hard, his brother was ripped from his grasp and fell to the floor, his chair upending and landing atop him

  “Bloody hell, Marcus, what was that for?” Stephen asked from the floor, as the others around the table stood in shocked horror.

  “How could you?” He knew his words were laced with anguish, but it couldn’t be helped. Not now.

  Stephen’s look of confusion soon turned to one of dawning, terrified realization. “Oh God, Marcus. How did—”

  It was not the correct thing to say, as Stephen quickly realized, for he snapped his mouth shut. Marcus wasn’t certain what he’d expected, but for Stephen to ask—or start to ask—“How did you find out?” was not quite what he was looking for.