“Us?” Natasha lowered the serving spoon with which she had been about to set broiled eggs upon her plate. “I thought he didn’t approve of the marriage. I thought…”
Kitty laughed hollowly. “Welcome to the family.”
Natasha lifted the spoon again, slid the eggs onto her plate, and then slowly placed the silver utensil back down, careful to keep the clatter of metal against metal to a minimum.
The day would be interesting at the very least. She could likely face no additional humiliation at the hands of the old earl, and she was curious to finally meet the man whose will had so greatly affected her life.
The event, too, contained a sense of inevitability—another man pulling the strings of her life. But what could a woman do to gain her freedom when she had already determined not to run again?
In the afternoon, their carriage rolled past elegant wrought-iron gates and across uneven paving stones until finally, with an uncomfortable jolt, it stopped. They exited the carriage, descending into the cold winter day, its sky low above their heads. Natasha had only an impression of the vastness of the large gray stone building before she was walking through tall open doors into the entry hall.
The footman in his dark but stately Landsdowne livery led them to an empty sitting room, already warmed by a fire.
“Lord Landsdowne will be here momentarily,” the footman said before he left. “May I send in tea?”
“Yes, please do,” Kitty said.
The room was large, decorated ornately in the style of the last century. Above the mantel over the fireplace was a family portrait of a young man, his wife, and two small boys.
“He wants to impress you, I believe,” Kitty said quietly.
Natasha laughed, a short, breathy release of air. “I can’t see that he would want to impress me.”
Kitty gave her a sidelong glance and that small smile, which Natasha understood meant her mother-in-law thought her a bit stupid. But Kitty’s glance slid past Natasha and up to the portrait, and a very different expression crossed her face.
“He was a handsome child, my husband. The one on the left.”
Natasha swung her gaze back to the picture of domestic bliss, studied the angelic expression painted on the young boy’s face. He was young enough there that he still wore a dress.
“Who is the other boy?”
“Edmund. His younger brother.” With a rustling of her skirts, Kitty moved, sitting on one of the sofas. With new questions in her mind, Natasha joined her.
“I didn’t realize your husband had a brother.”
“I left a copy of Debrett’s for you on your bed table. The page on the Templetons was even marked.” Kitty’s voice was filled with unmistakable derision.
Natasha flushed. Then she lifted her chin. She had not joined the family of her own free will. She owed them no loyalty and no interest, no matter the name she now bore.
A maid entered the room carrying a tray of tea and cakes. Her dress beneath the white apron was a steel blue that matched the livery of the footmen. Her shoes, when they peeked out from beneath her skirts, were a highly polished black. The contrast of that inky black against the white of her petticoat and then the steel blue, when the maid bent to put the tray down, was lovely in its own way. Much the way Natasha had thought the contrast of the houses in Little Parrington against the foamy sea was lovely.
When the maid was gone, disappeared around the corner of the open door, Natasha could no longer politely avoid her mother-in-law. Or the thick silence.
But when she looked up, she found Kitty staring at the painting.
“They were close, and Edmund died shortly after Marcus was born.”
A faint rumbling sounded down the hall and then came closer. Kitty turned back to Natasha, suddenly more alert, out of the mist of memory in which she had clearly been ensconced.
As the noise grew louder, Natasha heard squeaking as well, discerned the clear sound of a wheel and the soft tread of footsteps.
“That will be Lord Landsdowne,” Kitty said softly. “In his Bath chair, of course.”
It was hard to sit still with anger radiating through her body and swallow that anger down. But it was not this man’s fault that Marcus had made the choices he’d made. It was not his fault.
Then Lord Landsdowne was there in front of her: a frail, elderly man hunched in his chair, being wheeled toward them by one of those well-dressed footmen.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said in an unexpectedly strong voice. The footman placed the chair in the space between the two sofas, in reach of the table. Then the earl waved the man away. “Kitty, I see you are well.”
“Yes, my lord,” Kitty said. “May I present to you my new daughter-in-law? Lady Templeton.”
“It is an honor to finally meet you, Lord Landsdowne.”
“My grandson was remiss in not bringing his lovely new wife to meet the head of his family. But clearly he is deeply in love with you. Come, shall we have tea and you’ll tell me about how you met?”
Natasha snuck a quick glance at Kitty, who merely leaned forward to pour tea.
“I believe Marcus has told you that I was his mistress five years ago.”
Although Kitty made a choked sound and the teacup she held rattled against its saucer, Lord Landsdowne merely nodded.
“And how did a sheltered young lady like yourself make the acquaintance of my grandson? From what your father has intimated––”
“My father?” Natasha interrupted.
“No need to be alarmed,” the earl assured her with a placating smile. “Your father joined me at my club. I found him a man of perfect comprehension.”
Natasha stared. It was as if there had never been any strife, nothing the matter. Only this frail, charming older gentleman who seemed nothing like the manipulative myth Marcus had made him out to be.
“I don’t understand.”
“Come, Natasha, is it?” He waved away the cup of tea Kitty offered him and leaned forward in his chair. “I won’t pretend that I was happy my grandson married you. Perhaps if your father were still on good terms with the Emperor Alexander, but as it is, not the most illustrious marriage. I would have chosen someone more suitable for the next Earl of Landsdowne, for a man soon to be consorting with the most powerful men of Europe. But we are where we are.”
And where was that?
He paused, settled back into his chair and gestured for the tea, which Kitty handed him as if she had known that moment would come.
Natasha forced herself to pick up a pastry––a slice of cake dipped in powdered sugar––and place it on a plate. She had no interest in the sweet, but piece by piece she ate it all the same, waiting for him to continue.
“Family is family. I feel certain it must be your gentling influence that has opened Marcus up to the opportunities our family can offer him.”
The cake stuck in her mouth, lay thick on her tongue. From the earl’s placid expression, she couldn’t tell if he was expressing sarcasm or if he truly believed what he had said. She swallowed hard.
“Natasha’s presence has brought an entirely different air to our little home,” Kitty said.
“You see, Natasha, I am a pragmatist and I am quite willing to believe that there is good that may arise from this unexpected, unadvised union. I will host a dinner Thursday night in your honor. Your parents will be there as well.” He said it as a statement, as if she should be pleased that he would do such a thing on her behalf.
“You are too kind, my lord,” Kitty said, saving Natasha from choking over the conflicting emotions.
The earl only nodded, watching Natasha. His gaze was sharp, his expression polite and respectful. He had laid his cards down on the table, out for her to see. Why should she hate the man?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Two nights later, Natasha stood in the marble-lined hall of Landsdowne’s house, handing her cloak to the footman. She was well aware that, despite her new gown, she hardly looked her best. Her eyes were dry and
gritty from lack of sleep and the shadows beneath them were discouragingly pronounced. Nearly a fortnight of sleeping in Marcus’s arms and the comfort of five years of solitary slumber had been erased. In the dark midnight of her chamber, loneliness and longing kept her awake.
Courage calls the faithful ones, she thought. She was a Templeton now, but her faith was hollow. She remembered clearly that day on Pall Mall, the way her parents’ friends had turned from her, the way John Underwood had stared incredulously. And she remembered her wedding day, the softness of the cashmere shawl, the brilliance of the candlelight, and Lady Alinora asking with such invasive curiosity about how it felt to be a courtesan.
The candlelight in Lord Landsdowne’s home was also brilliant this evening. The earl had assured her that none of the dinner guests would either know or care about the origins of her relationship with Marcus. All that mattered was that she was the newest Viscountess Templeton and the daughter-in-law of the Earl of Landsdowne. Perhaps not all of society would embrace her when and if they heard of her history, but tonight she needed to worry about none of that.
Yet, Natasha could not still her anxiety.
A deep sigh turned her attention to Kitty, who, for the first time in the few weeks Natasha had known her, did not seem to have her perfect poise.
“What do I not know?”
“What?” Kitty asked, startled.
“I feel as though I am entering the lion’s den.” The words felt truer after she said them, and Kitty’s dismissive smile seemed forced and thin.
“Should I caution you, Natasha?” she said, almost as if she meant to think the words rather than speak them aloud. “I simply wanted a Season in London, something to liven up the cold winter. I wanted my niece, Charlotte, to have a chance at happiness rather than withering away in the country. Yet here we are, caught in some web of Lord Landsdowne’s.”
“Web?” Natasha repeated. The word trapped her, as if the mere suggestion could have the power to imprison. Some latent instinct told her to flee, turn now, take this brief interlude of freedom and stretch it out.
“No, no, darling,” Kitty said with another one of those rare, deep sighs. “It is good he likes you. Perhaps he will change his mind about that foolish codicil. We are all dependent on him, you realize. Even Marcus.”
His name struck at her, and Natasha quickly slid down the thick iron wall that separated her daily thoughts from the inner maelstrom of emotion.
She grasped for something, anything that would bring her back up. She found it in the footman who guided them into the drawing room and announced them to the nearly dozen people gathered there.
Viscountess Templeton. The footman meant her, not Kitty, who was the dowager now. Marcus should have been here at this moment. Her arm should have rested on his. No. This moment should not be happening at all. She should still be in Little Parrington. Or she should go back even further and never have met Marcus to begin with.
But would she trade Leona and every memory she had cherished for five years? Would she trade even the delicious reawakening of her body that night Marcus stole into her room all those weeks ago?
The answer came to her with a bone-deep shiver that she struggled to control as all the faces swung round to look at her. For a moment, Natasha could not see past a blur of candle flames, pale skin, rich winter-weight fabric, draperies, and gold-framed paintings. Then her eyes settled on the earl––not in his Bath chair this evening, but leaning heavily on an intricately worked and bejeweled wooden cane––whose heavy-lidded, considering gaze caught hers.
He stepped forward. Natasha heard the introductions, made small murmurs, struggled to keep faces with names, even though with such a small group, it should not have taxed her in the slightest. There were Lord and Lady Grayson, who were both of an age with the earl, then Lord Langley, his daughter Lady Jane Langley, and a rather brooding but handsome man, Lord Carslyle.
These men and women were elegant and erudite, and she found herself stretching to keep afloat in their conversation. They referred to Marcus constantly, as if they had nothing else to converse about with Natasha. Awkwardly, she stood at the side of a conversation in which Lord Langley and his daughter heatedly debated whether the question of Poland was of the utmost importance in any future discussion of peace between the allies.
Lady Jane was younger than Natasha, had clearly never needed to struggle or worry about her future. She shared her opinions with the confidence of the elite, and Natasha watched in awe, wanting some of that haughtiness.
“Perhaps the Polish people should be asked what they prefer?” Natasha said tentatively, fearful of the sudden attention her question drew.
“Ah, but Lady Templeton, you are missing the point. Naturally, the people shall have autonomy. We are merely talking about what would be in their best interest. And in our best interest,” Lady Jane explained.
Lady Jane’s words stirred something inside Natasha, a discomfort, a sense that there wasn’t that much of a distinction. She wasn’t certain if she was rebelling on behalf of the Polish people or on behalf of herself. The thought of Marcus crashed into her mind, and her head ached.
“Would you like to take a stroll about the room?”
She seized on Lady Jane’s suggestion with gratitude. When the other woman took her arm, it felt strange, as if she’d been taken under her wing much the way Lady Alinora had done in Little Parrington. What would it be like to be one of these young women born with such assurance and sense of place?
“I don’t suppose you understand yet, Lady Templeton, that this is what they do. You have married into the Earl of Landsdowne’s family, and he, my father, their closest friends, they are always discussing what might be. Of course, to understand that, one must know what was and what is.”
“Is that all they ever talk about?” Natasha asked. Marcus was so different, despite his grandfather’s influence. She forced the brief, unwelcome thought of him away.
“Do you know, I was quite surprised when I heard Lord Templeton was to be a diplomatic attaché. He seemed not the slightest bit interested in politics, in the world outside his estate.”
Natasha said nothing, saw Marcus’s face clearly in her mind.
“I must have been mistaken, but I usually never am about these things. I can judge a person instantly.”
Lady Jane pulled Natasha over to a pair of empty chairs.
“You, for example, I find interesting. You have lived in London most of your life, but you know nothing of society, of politics, of anything that makes this country great. You are a foreigner but you are English, too, by birth.”
It was all too similar to what Kitty had said derisively. Natasha looked over Lady Jane’s shoulder and around the room, filled with a dozen men and women of England’s finest society. Her parents were there, true, appearing uncomfortable. They had isolated themselves away from London even while living in the midst of it. But as the new Viscountess Templeton, and most likely someday the next Countess of Landsdowne, she could hardly isolate herself as they had done.
“I am going shopping for ribbons tomorrow,” Lady Jane said, abruptly changing the conversation. “I do hope you’ll join me.”
Panic struck Natasha silent. It was as if Lady Jane had known exactly what was in her mind, had decided to push forward and force Natasha to confront her fears. However abrupt, it was a kind invitation, but how could she accept? It was one thing to attend a carefully organized gathering, but to be seen together in public…
“Do say you’ll come. The weather is finally beginning to thaw, and I would love some feminine company.”
“Lady Jane,” Natasha said hesitantly, wondering if she was about to make a terrible mistake in this confidence. Perhaps John Underwood would hold his tongue. Perhaps the others who had known her, her parents’ friends, everyone, would–– No, she had to do this. “I would love to accept your kind invitation. However, I don’t think it would be equally kind of me to allow you to extend it without knowing of my reputat
ion.”
“You have a reputation?” Lady Jane said with a laugh. “How impressive for someone who has only truly been out in society, oh, three hours?”
“I was Marcus’s mistress before I was his wife.”
There, it was said, and it was Natasha who had said it. Somehow that made all the difference. She hadn’t waited to be found out or embarrassed. A surge of excitement ran through her. Whatever Lady Jane said in response, it hardly mattered. This was a new beginning, a new life.
But Lady Jane was staring at her, not gaping, just staring, as if Natasha were an insect. In that way, the look wasn’t any different from Lady Jane’s usual expression.
“Five years ago, here in London. People know. People will know.”
“How amusing,” Lady Jane said. “I appreciate your forthrightness, Lady Templeton. I do prefer not to be surprised. Does Lord Landsdowne know? And the dowager viscountess?”
Natasha nodded. Lady Jane’s face was a perfect mask of politeness. Then that mask broke into a slight smile.
“I do hope that, as you have unburdened yourself, you will now say yes?”
Behind Lady Jane’s placid demeanor was something far more complex, but Natasha nodded once more. She was filled with a sudden sense of possibility, as if there might be a place for her here in London, a life independent of Marcus, despite bearing his name.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next morning was a rare, bright blue, and the garden at the rear of the house, just beginning to come into its bloom, was still damp from the night. Natasha watched the puppy, off its lead, sniff about the pitiful flower beds as Leona tried to cajole her to play a game of fetch. Later, in the afternoon, Natasha would go shopping with Lady Jane and wear her best armor beneath her new fashionable clothes. But at that moment, it was a peaceful morning, a morning not dissimilar to many she had spent with her daughter in Little Parrington. Only, this garden was small, the walls high, and Natasha yearned for space.
She could leave. It had crossed her mind several times that with Marcus gone, there was no reason for her to stay in London, for even Leona to stay. Yet as miserable as she was, as angry as she still was at Marcus for having forced her to this point, this life was most likely better than an uncertain future.
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