by Eliza Lloyd
“Does he even remember Henbury? He would have been very young. Six, was it?”
“Yes, he was. But we’ve talked about it. There are things he remembers.”
“What he remembers, or what you’ve placed in his mind describing the past? I can barely remember a thing before I was twelve.”
“Would it matter?”
“Well, yes. You’ve given him a version of the past you experienced. Suddenly, the past is looking a lot different now that you have your mother’s last diary. All I’m saying is the urgency to go home isn’t the same for Timothy as it is for you, hence his desire to pursue an attractive female. That is more important to him at this point in his life.”
“Why do you keep steering us away from Henbury? Behind every one of your questions there seems to be a hope that I won’t want to go home. I don’t understand that. Henbury was the only reason for our marriage. It’s all I want. It’s all Timothy wants.”
“No, dear, it isn’t. And I think that’s why you are more upset with Timothy about his shifting loyalty than you should be. You see Henbury Hall as the end-all be-all. Timothy’s emotions are not so deeply tied to the past. I have promised to take you back to Henbury Hall, but I did not promise to take Timothy back.”
“But it’s his heritage.”
“If I deed Henbury to you, are you giving the property to Timothy?”
“Does that not seem the honest thing to do? And based on our marriage arrangement, it shouldn’t matter to you what I do with the property.”
“I expect my wife to protect our interests. We will have children someday, and those properties would be held for them.”
“Perhaps. There is no guarantee.”
“What if one of those children is the next Earl of Carlow? Now you are angry that I didn’t support you with regard to Timothy and I am a little concerned that you are not going to support me over Timothy’s future needs. You are going to have to choose, whether now or two months from now. Or when I die.”
“Reading Mother’s diary would be more pleasant than a conversation with you.”
“Because it’s true?”
“Because for once I want the last word.”
“Not possible. There is so much more we have to discuss.”
“But I have something to ask first. Something I’ve been thinking about.”
“Go ahead.”
“If my father sold his properties legitimately, how much did he sell them for and where is the money? Wouldn’t your estate books record the amount?” she asked.
“Hmm. And that leads to another question: Why didn’t he sell the properties back to Exeter? George would have known how his father acquired the properties. Exeter would have been the most likely to want the assets returned and maybe pay a premium for them.”
“How could Papa do that? If Exeter and my mother were…being dishonest with my father, Exeter would be the last person to whom he would sell.”
“Being a cuckold would certainly jade the most honest man. How much more so the infamous George Blasington?”
“So, why would he choose the three buyers that he had?” she asked.
“If only one of them were alive to ask…”
Nora gasped, then bit hard on her lip. “But it’s so obvious! He would not risk the property going back to Exeter. If Mother was so enamored with the duke and my father knew it, he had to see a future where all his holdings would end back in Exeter’s hands and not Timothy’s. That’s it, Carlow. That’s why Papa did it.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked, as Carlow remained silent, his eyes closed. “Carlow?”
“Let me think a minute. When we get back to London, we have to finish your mother’s diary. I think much of what you say will be confirmed.”
“Of course it will. Lady Fortenay did not raise a simpleton.”
He turned toward her again. “Do you have gooseflesh on your arm? I think I do. I’m feeling quite thrilled with this potential discovery.”
“I think I feel it on my legs,” she said. “But perhaps not.”
“Maybe I should check.” He reached for her thin skirt and her worn chemise and she didn’t care. He lifted the material from her leg and then stroked from her knee upward. “Indeed. Gooseflesh.”
“In the carriage, Carlow?” She wrapped her arm about his neck.
“Anywhere, as long as you are in agreement.”
“Anytime, as long as you are able.”
“Oh, my dear. I cannot think of a woman in London who entertains me the way you do. I do hope you are going to love me soon.”
“Well, you have two more months to prove your worth. And my standards are very high.”
* * * * *
“I think I should have a shot of whisky before we get started,” Nora said. The diary was on the bed beside her. After much discussion on the road home, and in spite of her acute fatigue, they’d agreed to settle in and read the most significant words of her mother’s writing. The minutia wasn’t important to this discussion, but Nora knew that is where the pain laid.
Why did Mother leave them to a guardian? Why didn’t she try to contact them, through letters or visits?
Carlow stood at the small sidebar in his room where he kept a few bottles of liquor. “I think we’ll have the Banffshire whisky made from the most holy waters of Fons Buliens in Scotland.”
“Saving it for a special occasion?”
“If it was good enough for fourteenth-century monks, it is surely good enough for two imperfect people looking for truth.”
He handed her the drink. Fortification burned from her throat to her belly and then pooled there like the embers of a leftover fire.
She set the glass aside and reached for the diary as Carlow sat beside her, legs outstretched and back propped up next to her on the voluminous pillows.
“Nothing but the truth,” she said. She opened the first page and took a deep breath. Those words were enough to make her dizzy with regret and sadness. “Page two,” she said. “I’m just going to summarize. Unless it is really important.”
“Seems logical.”
“I’m nervous.”
“Don’t you think you’ve already read the worst?”
“Possibly. I hope so.” She took a deep breath and turned her gaze back to the writing. "She’s arrived in London. She loves Exeter. Oh, I hope there aren’t pages and pages full of such tripe. I don’t want to know any more about her unfaithfulness to Father.” She reached for Carlow’s hand, laying over his stomach. “Carlow, I don’t want you ever to think I will be unfaithful to you. I may be my mother’s daughter, but not in that way.”
“You only have two more months to keep those vows. I should hope any woman could be faithful that long, but if you are talking for the entirety of the marriage I hope for, then I appreciate your conviction.”
She gave him a one-sided smile and then turned her attention back to the neat, leather-bound book, reading in silence for a while. There were several days where Mother just inked quick little on dits. A ring Exeter had given her. To go with the missing necklace, she though. A meal she had eaten prepared by a famed French chef. Three days in Brighton. “Exeter housed her off Russell Square. She doesn’t seem happy about it.”
“Not at one of his family homes?”
“I don’t know.”
“Exeter has two fairly large homes in London. Was she his mistress? Or did she come to London thinking she would be his wife? I think he married twice, if I remember rightly. Maybe my mother would know more details of Exeter’s history during that time.”
“Hmm,” she said, and started reading again, turning one page and then another. She stopped, sat up and reread the sentence. “Oh my God! Carlow! She was with child.” He leaned closer to her, reading over her shoulder. “Listen to what she wrote. ‘I told him today. Not only was he unhappy, he was furious with me, shouting how could he know the child was his. How could he question me so cruelly? He knows how much I love him and that I chose him over G
eorge.’”
Silence came between them as the weight of those words sank deep.
“How long was your father in Newgate? That should have been a fairly easy thing to verify.”
“Again, I don’t know. And I don’t know when he died either. It always seemed like their deaths occurred very close together, at least to my young memory.” She let the book drop to her lap. “Carlow, you don’t have to do this with me. I think I am emotionally ready to face the worst of my mother’s foibles.”
“I want to know, as well. We have a future to build. I don’t think we can build it without a true foundation.”
“With each day, there is yet another mystery to solve. I have a half-sibling, maybe a full sibling, if Exeter’s doubts were realized. I wouldn’t put it past my mother to lie to either man. Think of it. Her husband is about to be hanged. She becomes a widow with my father’s reputation staining her future. At some point, Exeter offers a ray of hope. What must she have done when she realized Papa sold Henbury Hall? Her home gone? It was easier when I just believed that your families were ruthless thieves who cheated Timothy and me of our inheritance.”
“How old would that make the child, if there is one?”
“Fourteen, maybe fifteen. That just seems like such an impossibility. Why wouldn’t Lady Fortenay know? She would have heard something through the family gossip vine. Oh, what am I saying? She’s read the diary. She knows. She may not know what became of the child, though.”
“There are other possibilities. Some not-so-pleasant possibilities,” he said.
“That’s dark. It is sad to think there might be a child; heartbreaking to think the child was never born.”
“True. But when I consider she also didn’t tell you what she knows about your mother, it’s not a huge leap to think she has other secrets she isn’t sharing.”
“Like whether or not Exeter raised the child? I don’t know how I feel about having another sibling.”
“Put aside the diary, Nora. We’re both tired.”
Nora fell back on the pillows. “Oh my God! What if Cecily Sheldrick is my sister? What if Timothy is about to become entangled in the worst Blasington scandal in our family’s sordid history?”
“No fourteen-year-old girl would be allowed at the Weatherby Ball. Don’t lose sleep over that wild improbability.”
“If Exeter refused to marry my mother, there could be a child out there who’s living the life of an outcast. A bastard.”
“Your mother would have considered that. If Exeter denied the child, your mother would have told anyone who mattered the babe was her deceased husband’s.”
“Then Exeter’s accusation would have been true. How would my mother have made such a decision?”
He pried the diary from her and set it on the bedstand. “No more of this tonight. Why don’t you dream about all the beautiful clothes that arrived from the seamstress? I thought that’s what women lived for.”
“If only I hadn’t been raised by Lady Fortenay.” She moved her robe, revealing the new pristine white rail she wore beneath her robe. “But I did peek. Do you like it?”
“Madame. In dishabille? Are you trying to tempt me?”
“Is it working?”
He rolled into her, dropping his head upon her shoulder and wrapping his arm across her. “Nora, if I weren’t so bloody tired, I would admire every inch of your new bedroom attire. And then I would remove it and admire every inch of you.”
* * * * *
The next morning, Gabriel woke to the pleasant surprise of his naked wife, pressed next to him. It was a rare interlude that required no encouragement or direction from him.
Later after Gabriel, Nora and his mother had shared lunch, Ellis Rawden and Nash Hildebrande arrived, full of gossip and questions.
“You are abandoning us for the rest of the season?” Ellis asked. “That seems very unsportsmanlike.”
They sat in Gabriel’s library enjoying an early afternoon drink. Ellis had arrived from South Weald after his father’s death and he wore the appropriate armband. His sister and mother had stayed at the estate, ready to mourn as their full-time occupation for the next year. Nash was still busy at London’s parties and social events, but he sat quietly as Ellis and Gabriel discussed their new lives.
“I have a new sport to entertain me,” Gabriel answered, feeling smugly privileged to have Nora as his wife. “Marriage agrees with me in every way.”
“Why not wait before you hie off to the country? Surely Lady Carlow would enjoy making the rounds and flouting her new position amongst the elite?”
“You don’t know Nora. I made a promise I am in no hurry to keep, but I have run out of excuses.”
“Have you told her yet?”
“No, I can’t. She will have to see it in person. It is beyond description. What about you? Has the transition from ne’er-do-well to earl suited you?”
Was it a good idea to build up trust between him and Nora and then have it shattered at the sight of her former home? It was the last thing in a chain of things that should be revealed.
They continued to chat about the season’s entertainments, until Nora opened the door. “My lords, would you care for refreshment?” She was followed by one of the servants, carrying a tray full of foodstuffs and the teapot and cups. All the men stood and bowed.
“Lady Carlow,” they said.
“Fromme. Andover. We are happy to have you in our home.”
“Your husband tells us you are making some progress in your search for truth,” Andover said.
“What is truth? How we want things to be or how they are?” she asked.
“It cannot be both?” Andover asked.
Nora did not answer but smiled politely. Gabriel and Nora had discussed many, many things in their short marriage, but they had not talked about his friends, especially after the first indecorous meeting at the Weatherby Ball. He could speculate as to her reasons to remain aloof but surely time would sort it all out. And time would hopefully reveal the truth that Ellis and Nash were as innocent as Gabriel when it came to the Wargrove assets.
As the service was laid out, Gabriel said, “You aren’t going to join us?”
“I don’t want to be a bother. And you know how much I like tea,” she whispered, but smiled conspiratorially.
“But I have a new tea blend from Twinings I want you to try. I think you will like it.”
“They all taste the same to me,” she said before adding, “I am still working on that project you required of me.”
“You have not found anyone you like for your lady’s maid?
“Oh, I like them all, but I have a difficult time trying to imagine how I will keep one person busy every day taking care of just me. I couldn’t keep Molly busy. And I think she was even relieved she was going to stay on with Gigi.”
“My mother would be happy to give advice.”
“No, Mintz is scrutinizing every word and every action along with reviewing their letters of recommendation with a looking glass. You are not to worry. He will find someone to press my linens and fasten my buttons. I should have just asked Lady Fortenay if I could hire Molly for myself.”
“That would have been difficult for Lady Fortenay and Mrs. Brady. Don’t worry, you will find the perfect person.”
“I hope so.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? The conversation is interesting, and my friends do want to become acquainted with you. Stay. I’ll send for new brew just for you.”
“Tea is tea, no matter the maker. I’ll pass. Besides, I’m going to finish Mother’s diary today, before we leave for Henbury.” She peeked around his shoulder, at his friends. “If they are staying for dinner, we can enjoy the conversation then. It’s all right. I just want it to be finished. I’ll be in my room, if you need me. Gentlemen, if you will excuse me.”
They bowed to her. Gabriel watched her walk away and he strolled to the library’s double doors, watching as she hurried up the stairs. Yes, he wanted it
to be over too. He was ready to start a real life with her.
Just as he was about to look away, the front door opened. Timothy burst in, disheveled, worn to the bone and obviously disturbed. He ripped off his top hat, dropped a small valise on the floor and confronted the doorman, saying, “I need to see Lady Carlow. It’s urgent. I’m her brother,” he said.
Gabriel approached him. “Lord Wargrave,” he said.
Timothy stared right through him. “Oh, Carlow. I need to see my sister.”
“She just retired to her room. Is there something I can do for you? Did something happen while you were in Reading?”
“No. I just need to talk to Nora.”
Gabriel waved to the footman. “Can you show him up?”
One thing was clear: something had happened in Reading.
* * * * *
When Timothy burst in, Nora set aside her mother’s diary, reading a few more pages and learning the depth of her mother’s desperate and unrequited love for Exeter. And the foolish way she demeaned herself for a man who only used her. For it was now clear to Nora that Exeter had wooed her for a single purpose.
Timothy sat on a ladderback chair, head down and forearms braced against his knees. Nora feared his transition to manhood was not going to be easy.
“Timothy, you are frightening me. Did something happen between you and Cecily?”
“Nothing happened with her.”
Nora paced. “I could be at this the rest of the day if you are going to make me guess.”
“I was a complete embarrassment to the Blasington name, to the earldom, to you, me.”
“I am happy to tell you that it is impossible to be a further embarrassment to the Blasingtons. We have hit rock bottom and are only just now reaching level ground.”
“Don’t try to be humorous. This is serious.”
“Was Cecily unkind?”
“She wasn’t allowed to speak with me except in the most public of settings. And there were others in attendance, obviously vying for her hand. I was a pariah. An outcast.”
Nora sat on the mahogany sofa with its heavy yellow upholstery. “Maybe it is for the best.” How to soothe his hurt? How to keep from wounding his already dented pride?
