Chapter Five

Thursday, 27 April 1826

Kirkstone House, Mayfair, London

Quarter to three in the afternoon

M ary closed her book, stood, and moved from the settee in the front parlor to a wingback near the fireplace. Two minutes later, she went to the window overlooking the pavement outside.

Her sister-in-law, who had snuggled into one of the other settees in the room with a book and the house’s resident mouser, Bastet, peered at her over the top of her novel. “Why are you so fretful? He set the time. I doubt he will bow out now.”

Mary took a deep breath and turned to Beth. “I am not sure. He is... different.”

Beth stroked the cat. “How so?”

Mary shrugged.

“Do not shrug. Ladies do not shrug.”

“So my mother keeps telling me. I do not understand why.”

Beth smiled, a wan expression in an already pale face. Mary knew the past twenty minutes had been the first break Beth had allowed herself in the midst of an extremely busy day of packing, storing, and household management. Her only other breaks had been to vomit. With the upcoming move to India, many of their belongings had to be crated and shipped in advance, and even now stacks of crates ran along the walls and behind the main staircase, similar to the ones that partially filled the servants’ hall and the stables. “Because it looks sloppy and can easily render your dress in a disheveled state.”

“And God knows we cannot have that.”

Even Beth’s low chuckle sounded exhausted. “It does not take much to set tongues a-wagging.”

“As if they were not already.” Mary stepped away from the window. “Why do we do this to ourselves? Women, I mean. Twist and trim and remake ourselves into something we are not? Just to marry? Men do not do this.”

“They have more resources than we do to survive. To make their way in the world. Most women need a position, a husband or a title, preferably both, in order to survive and not fall into ruin.”

“I think I already have that part taken care of.”

Beth shook her head. “Not to the ton , you have not, despite the rumors. And you should never forget you are the sister of a respected duke, a man in service to the crown. You may occasionally want to claw his eyes out—”

“Do you not want to, on occasion?”

Beth finished around a grin. “But he is an honorable man, and that will go a long way in making sure you are cared for.”

“Thus this outrageous arrangement.”

“Which you did agree to. And your young man has politely given you a way forward, if you wish to discontinue and go back to launching yourself into the Marriage Mart, rumors and all. I am sure my mother would be glad to sponsor you.”

Mary bit her lower lip. “No.”

“I thought not. So let us see what Lord Thaddeus is all about.”

The pendulum clock on the first landing chimed three times, and a knock sounded from the front door. Mary took two steps in that direction, halted by Beth’s low voice. “No, Mary. Let Samples take care of it.”

Another reminder that London had different standards than estates in the north. Although Kirkstone Abbey had a butler, a fine one, and few visitors, they did not wait for him to be summoned from other duties just to answer a door.

“I am never going to get this right.”

Beth motioned for Mary to join her on the settee. “Sit. Put down your book. Wait. I will speak first.”

Mary nodded and sat, smoothing her skirt.

After a moment, Samples knocked once on the parlor door and opened it, announcing, “Lord Thaddeus Bolton, Your Grace.” He stepped back and Lord Thaddeus entered.

“Oh, my,” muttered Beth.

Mary, too, stared. The unkempt young gambler from the Lyon’s Den had been spit polished. His unruly curls, now plastered into one of the latest styles, framed a clean-shaven face. Smooth dark lines of kohl shadowed his eyes—a trend Mary had noticed among the young blades of the ton , although she had not completely gotten used to it. The effect was startling, making the gray-blue of his irises even more prominent. He wore a pristine afternoon kit of a purple tailcoat—the tails narrowing to fine points—a lavender waistcoat with black embroidered swirls, and a sparkling silver-gray cravat. His spotless white trousers had a slightly flared waist and legs that tapered to his ankles. His black shoes had been buffed to a high sheen.

Mary suddenly felt a bit dowdy in her dark-blue day gown, simple straw and silk bonnet, and kid boots.

He executed a precise bow to Beth. “Your Grace.” And another. “Lady Mary.”

Beth extended a hand toward a nearby armchair. “Please, Lord Thaddeus. Sit and tell us why you have come.” She let her hand rest again across Bastet’s body, who stretched and purred.

Lord Thaddeus’s eyes widened. “You have a cat. In the house.”

Mary swallowed a grin.

“Yes,” Beth said. “One of our residence mousers, although Bastet is more of a companion than servant.”

“As one would expect a goddess of Egypt to be. The guardian of women’s secrets, if I recall.”

Mary’s eyebrows arched. “You know the origin of the name.”

He nodded. “Unless you know of another.”

Mary sat a bit straighter. “Not at all. I have just grown accustomed to explaining the names of all our mousers. Ptah, Mihos, Sekhmet.”

He smiled, his eyes gleaming. “A regal quartet. Do they live up to their names?”

Mary glanced at Beth, then whispered to Lord Thaddeus, “Mihos recently brought Cook a squirrel.”

Beth gasped. “What?”

“Oh, I do not think she cooked it. But she did have a moment of panic, thinking it might get loose in the kitchen.”

Lord Thaddeus chuckled. “But it did not.”

“No, it was rather dead at the time.”

“Mary!” Beth’s whispered scold silenced the room.

Lord Thaddeus looked at her, confused, but remained silent, and Mary let out a sigh. “My apologies, Lord Thaddeus. My mother and my sister-in-law have tried desperately to coach me on appropriate topics of conversation for young ladies of the ton , but the lessons have not always succeeded. As I suspect chats about deceased yard rodents would be one of the more inappropriate ones.”

Beth and Lord Thaddeus responded simultaneously.

“Indeed.”

“Not to my ears.”

More silence. Then both spoke again.

“I should send for tea.”

“Would you prefer a walk... in the park?”

Those last three words sounded alone in the room.

Mary felt her spirits lift in an unexpected—and unreasonable—manner, and she turned to Beth. “Please. May I? We?”

Beth looked from one to the other, then closed her eyes. “Send for your maid.”

Thursday, 27 April 1826

Hyde Park, London

Half past three in the afternoon

Thad retrieved his top hat from the butler and waited for Lady Mary’s maid to join them, carrying a shawl and parasol for her mistress. As they did, Mary looked up at the top of his head, nodding. “Nice hat.”

“I dared not come here without it.”

“People would talk.”

“Yes, but of all the things said about me among the gossips, I doubt my hat is part of the conversation.”

“Are you that notorious?”

Thad shook his head. “I believe they would find me more hopeless than notorious.”

Lady Mary scowled, but any words were stalled by the arrival of her maid. The three stepped away from the house, heading for Hyde Park. A steady breeze had risen up while Thad had been inside, and Lady Mary looked up at the gathering clouds and closed the parasol she had opened upon reaching the pavement. She handed it to her maid, a slight woman in her early thirties who trailed behind the two of them, eyes watchful and wary.

When the maid began to protest, Lady Mary shook her head. “Raleigh, I doubt I will become ruddy and freckled from one walk on a cloudy day.”

Kirkstone House, Lady Mary’s home lay only two blocks from the park, and the heels of her kid boots clicked on the pavement as they headed that way, mostly in silence. He was so unused to speaking with women—other than his sisters—that he felt unsure how to even begin a conversation. She too seemed reluctant, glancing up at him a few times, her mouth open as if to speak, but then she closed it again, watching the pavement in front of her feet.

Lady Mary had draped a lovely pale-blue and cream shawl around her shoulders as they left, and as they approached the crossroad near the park, she clutched it a bit tighter over her deep blue day gown.

Inspiration struck. “Are you chilled, my lady?”

She glanced up at him again. “Not really. I am a bit afraid the wind will take off with the shawl. I would hate to have to chase it down.”

“I suspect I would be the one chasing it. My sisters would never forgive me if I allowed a lady to chase her own shawl. They have told me repeatedly that ladies should not run in public.”

She peered up at him. “Why would they say such a thing?”

Thad’s cheeks warmed. “When they were children, I would chase them about the lawns in order to make them squeal and laugh. Then, when they were older, I found myself resoundingly scolded for it.” He looked away from her, suddenly embarrassed by the realization. “I do love to hear children laugh. I like to hear my sisters laugh.”

Lady Mary stumbled, and Thad reached out as if to steady her, only to have Raleigh clear her throat. He pulled his hand back as Lady Mary righted herself. The maid, of course, was entirely correct. He should not touch Lady Mary lest someone see it. After all, no one else knew of their agreement.

“How many sisters do you have?”

Thad jumped at the change of subject. “Three. And two brothers. I was born in the middle of them all, which is why I was usually over—” He broke off and cleared his throat. “Three. Two are out and married. The third is the youngest of the six and will make her debut next year. Is the duke your only brother?”

She nodded, studying one corner of the shawl, as if it had a loose thread. “It is just the two of us. Mother managed to produce an heir and a spare, who unfortunately passed away while still a child. Long before I was born. Apparently, I was... unexpected.”

“So your brother is quite a bit older.”

“Ten years.”

“Significant, but not unheard of. There are fourteen years between my older brother and youngest sister.”

Lady Mary grinned. “Yes, but there are four of you between them.” She hesitated a moment, and her smile faded. “I thought you were the second son.”

Thad grimaced. “I am now. The original ‘spare’—as with your family—passed away too soon, not long after he left Eton and took a commission in the navy.”

“I am sorry.”

“My parents had remarkably high hopes for him, as they did not for me. That did not change when my brother died. My father made it clear he could not envision me as his heir. But that has all been rectified with my brother’s marriage and the birth of my nephew. There is also another upcoming child. I am again third in line, soon to be fourth, and thus of no account to anyone.”

“What if the second child is a girl?”

He shook his head. “It would not dare.”

Lady Mary smothered a laugh behind a gloved hand as they paused, waiting for a carriage to rumble by before crossing the street toward the park. Entering through the wrought iron of the Cumberland Gate, they followed the path that paralleled Park Lane, which drew few strollers on an overcast Thursday afternoon, unlike other areas of the park, such as Rotten Row.

Walking again in silence, Thad searched his mind for a reasonable topic, something that would not overwhelm either of them, but he did want to find out whether the woman he had seen in the office of the Lyon had, indeed, more going on in her head than teas, balls, and visits to the modiste.

Ah . . . that might be a safe topic.

“Although I still like to see them laugh. That is one reason I accompanied them to their modiste during their first seasons. It seemed to give them great joy. The modiste, that is. Not that I accompanied them.”

Lady Mary stopped, looking up at him, eyes narrow. “I beg your pardon.”

“Oh! My sisters. I still like to see them laugh. That is why—”

“ You go with them to the modiste? Not your mother?”

“Mother is... um, as I mentioned, my brother’s wife is again with child. The spare, so to speak. So most of her time—does it seem odd to you that I would do that?”

“A little. Most men would not know a frill from a hem.” She paused. “It is certainly kind of you if their mother cannot go.”

Thad smiled, then studied the flowers beside the groomed path. “I suspect you would find a great deal about my family surprising.”

“I suspect that is true of most families. It certainly true with mine. As with your sisters, my mother did not accompany me to the modiste. Lady Kirkstone went with me. And we have had—”

She broke off, eyes down as two women approached them, their maids following at a discreet distance. Both women stared hard at Lady Mary, their gaze roaming from her delicate straw and beribboned bonnet, down over her linen day gown, pausing at her boots, then up again. They glanced up at Thad, eyes a bit wider, then one leaned closer to the other, whispering behind her hand.

Thad scowled. He had seen this behavior before, when he had been pursuing his suit with Lydia, and he knew what it meant. Gossip, on dit of the worst kind. Malicious.

Painful.

With Lydia, it had concerned her intellectual pursuits, her bluestocking nature, which so many had considered uncouth and unladylike, yet the very thing Thad had found most alluring about her. Lydia’s mind had constantly been awhirl with new ideas, new discoveries, new books. It had charmed him beyond repair.

A flash of protectiveness shot through him, a flash of memory of how hurt Lydia had been by her detractors.

Thad touched the brim of his hat, staring pointedly at the two women, one of whom he knew from his brief time on the Marriage Mart, a woman who had been particularly cruel to Lydia. “Good afternoon, ladies. Lady Elspeth. A lovely day to be out with those you care about, is it not?”

They both started, stopping in their tracks as if he had slapped them. Lady Elspeth, the taller of the two, a haughty blonde in a pale-green dress, tilted her chin up. “Lord Thaddeus. I suppose it is, if those you care about are of proper standing.”

Lord, I despise this woman. Thad took off his hat. “Indeed.” He stepped to one side and gestured to Lady Mary, who still stared at the path. “May I present Lady Mary Caudale, sister to the Duke of Kirkstone, a man who recently received a vital appointment from the king .” His careful emphasis on the words caused the two women to look at each other.

Lady Mary whispered, “What are you doing?”

“Lady Mary, this is Lady Elspeth Loxley. Her father is a kind but rather minor baronet, although her new husband is an earl. A randy gentleman but a delightful partner at vingt et un. ”

Lady Elspeth bristled. “How dare—”

Thad smiled, moving a bit closer to Lady Elspeth. “I apologize, but we must resume our ramble. The day is far too fine to waste. I do hope I see that new husband of yours at Campion’s Gentlemen’s Emporium again this week. He does love the games, but he has had rather foul luck lately at roulette. It is a marvel to see.”

Lady Elspeth gave a low gasp. “You insolent—”

Thad lowered his voice, a bare whisper. “Forty pounds, my lady. He owes me forty pounds, the house a great deal more. I hope your dowry is still intact.”

Lady Elspeth’s mouth thinned to the point of disappearing, and she urged her friend forward, glancing back at Thad only once.

Lady Mary waited until they were beyond earshot, then stared up at him. “What the bloody hell was that all about?”

He replaced his hat. “Secrets. A reminder that all families have secrets.”

With a wry smile, Lady Mary nodded and resumed walking. “Rather brave of you.”

He shook his head. “Not really. I am a reprobate at six and twenty, a man whose family gives him little support, and who retains a modest title solely because of my blood. I have little to lose and even less patience for the cruelty of some members of the elite.”

They walked in silence a few moments before she spoke. “I have to admit that the allure of London and the glitter of the ton has begun to wear thin. I so much wanted to debut, to attend the grand balls with the shining Beau Monde and attend the soirees with the finest minds. To buy scores of books and have gowns made beyond those of my dressmaker at home. She is quite talented, but I always believed that the modistes of London held skills she did not. I would not have thought I would long for the isolation and solitude of home.”

“Where is home?”

“Kirkstone Abbey is nestled in the fells north of Kirkstone Pass. The Lake District.”

Thad grinned, a memory sparking in his head. “The Lake District?”

She nodded.

Thad paused, looking around. Spring flowers lined the path—daffodils, tulips, narcissi—and a sweet fragrance hovered in the air. He peered behind them, but Lady Elspeth and her friend had passed out of sight, with only Raleigh continuing to scowl in his direction. The other direction remained equally clear.

“What are you looking for?”

“Spies,” he whispered. Then he bent and plucked a daffodil from a cluster near the path.

“Lord Thaddeus! You should not—”

He presented it to her. “For the lady who is as lovely as a spring flower.” He then lowered his voice again and recited.

“I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o’er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees—

Lady Mary interrupted him, a smile spreading across her face.

“Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

and twinkle on the Milky Way,

They stretched in never-ending line

along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

tossing their heads in sprightly dance.”

Thad thought his heart would burst, grinning as he picked up the lines, and they recited the rest of the poem together.

“The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

in such a jocund company:

I gazed—and gazed—but little thought

what wealth the show to me had brought:

“For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.”

Behind them, her maid rolled her eyes.

Lady Mary sighed. “Wordsworth.” She glanced at her maid. “Ignore Raleigh. She exists on a more practical plain.” She accepted the daffodil and tucked it into the edge of her décolletage, an action that drew more of Thad’s attention than it should have.

The soft petals now lay against the pale mound of her breast, and Thad cleared his throat, forcing his eyes back to her face. “You are an admirer of Mr. Wordsworth?”

“We are about twelve miles by road from Grasmere. Less as the crow flies, but I do not know many who would walk those fells. Spectacular views but the weather on the tops can be unpredictable, especially in the winter.”

“So he is practically your neighbor. Have you made his acquaintance?”

Lady Mary shook her head. “I have hardly met anyone, which is why I wanted to come to London. At home, we mostly remain on the estate. There are a couple of villages nearby, but my mother creates a fuss every time I leave the house.”

“I suppose that’s the purpose of mothers. To be concerned about their daughters.”

Lady Mary paused, and her cheeks pinked.

Thad’s stomach clinched. “I said something awry.”

She chewed her lower lip, then slowly shook her head. “I find it intriguing that you associated her raising a ruckus with concern for me.”

“You do not?”

“My mother can be... unpredictable. I believe it is less about concern and more about what other people might think of me. Even now—” Lady Mary took a breath and looked around, much as he did earlier.

“Spies?”

She gave a low laugh. “Not exactly.” She motioned to a nearby bench. “Let us sit for a moment. I should tell you something.”

Thad waited until she settled before joining her. Raleigh stepped behind the bench but hovered a few feet away. “This sounds ominous.”

Lady Mary smiled. “Yes. And no.”

“Ah. A conundrum.”

She shifted to face him. “More of a paradox, more precisely. And it has to do with why Lady Elspeth and her friend were discussing us behind their hands.”

Thad’s chest tightened as he fought a sense of exhilaration, and he barely heard the last words. She had used the word “paradox.” Paradox! He swallowed and forced his voice to remain calm. “How so?”

“My mother appears caring and generous, but in truth, she can be rather the opposite.”

“Ah.” That he understood.

“She came with me to London in order to present me to the queen. To see me launched into Society, and to visit old friends she has not seen in a long time.” Mary stilled, chewing her lip again and clutching her hands together in her lap. “I am about to tell you something about me that you would find out sooner or later, and I would rather you hear it from me.”

Behind them, Raleigh made a choking noise, and Thad glanced backward, dread making his muscles tense. “What would that be?”

She swallowed. “There are . . . rumors . . . gossip floating about me. That I am not virtuous.”

Is that all? No, man, this is serious to her. Listen! “Why would such rumors start?”

“The three of us—the duke and duchess and I—have had a somewhat eventful year. Last year about this time, my brother courted Lady Elizabeth Ashton, but they parted company, and she associated with another man. Then her brother’s scandal broke—”

“Lord Robert Ashton and Campion’s Gentlemen’s Club.” Thad had heard about how Lord Robert had come to own Campion’s and the resulting folderol.

Lady Mary nodded. “She went north to avoid it and wound up staying with some friends of ours. I had gone to visit them as well, and Beth—Lady Elizabeth, um, Lady Kirkstone—and I became friends. When my brother came to collect me, they resumed their acquaintance. While we were there, another mutual acquaintance, Charlotte, delivered a child, but perished in the aftermath. She left behind that child and an older one, Mattie, whom our friends could not keep.”

Thad swallowed, trying to keep up. “What happened next?”

“Kit and Beth decided to marry, to bring the two children back to Kirkstone Abbey and become their guardians.” She hesitated, twisting her fingers into her skirt. “Then Mina came along. So within a year, Kit and Beth acquired three children, two of them infants.”

Thad nodded. “Three children. One year. Two infants.”

Lady Mary waited, watching him.

He watched her in return, turning her words over in his head. He knew he was supposed to respond, to understand something about what she had said... ah! Two infants. One year.

He growled. “How cruel. The rumor is that one of the infants is yours, not your friend’s.”

Lady Mary gave a single nod. “It does not help that I adore them all, and I started coming to the park with Nanny, especially on the sunny days when she brings the children to the Serpentine to see the birds.” She stretched her fingers in front of her, as if trying to rid herself of the thought. “I had been unaware, I’m afraid, that members of the elite were not supposed to look at their children with affection.”

Thad tried to ignore the memories that statement stirred. “Most of them consider children in the same way they would their foot or hand. A useful appendage that, while one could do without it, one really should not. Having children has a great more to do with continuing the lineage—and thus money and ties to the crown—than it does with affection. When a child is no longer needed for the lineage, then the child is a useless bit of flotsam.”

Lady Mary looked up at him. “That is a bit harsh, do you not think?”

He shrugged. “Harsh, perhaps, but truth sometimes is.”

“That would make you rather cynical.”

Thad’s heart leapt again. “Cynical.” He stood. “Let us walk again so that you can tell me why you use words so foreign to many young ladies of a similar age.”

Her eyebrows arched, but she stood. “Such as? And why should we walk?”

His grin turned mischievous. “Because the longer I sit next to you, the more I wish to do things that would make Raleigh fearfully unhappy.”

Lady Mary’s cheeks pinked. “Well, we cannot allow that to happen. What words?”

“Oh, a few that have peppered our conversation. Cynical. Paradox. The lines from a favored poet. And I truly want to hear about those Highland Ponies.” He wagged a finger at her. “Do not think I have forgotten.”

She laughed, a soft sound just under her breath. “I would never. Your enthusiasm regarding that discovery is memorable.” She fell silent a moment, then continued. “I admired my brother a great deal as I grew up. Older. So much more accomplished. Of course, I mostly saw him summers and between terms. Our parents sent him off to school—Harrow and Cambridge—and he would come home with a head full of knowledge and a trunk of new books, some of which he left behind when he returned in the new term. Shortly after I turned eight, my parents hired a governess to teach me to read—English and French—as well as manners, dancing, sewing, and the pianoforte. I loved reading and the pianoforte—still do—the other three... not as well. And when those lessons became screaming fits, I hid in Kit’s room to read.”

“Autodidact.”

Lady Mary stopped, looking up at him. “How do you know that—”

Thad placed a hand on his chest. “Oxford. Four years during which I learned a vast number of words and an even vaster number of ways to lose money through gambling. A most extensive and expensive education.”

“Your parents must be proud.”

Thad resumed walking. “Hardly. Their primary interest in my education was in me meeting a wide circle of wealthy friends with equally wealthy sisters. The sooner I am out from under their roof the better. They knew I would be a disaster on the Marriage Mart—and I was—but also equally inept as a vicar or soldier. Also correct.”

“How so?”

“Ah. That is quite a long tale. The brief version is that my beliefs in God border on blasphemy, and I am blind in one eye. The eye I would aim a gun with, as it turns out. My father’s attempt to teach me to hunt resulted in a number of wounded trees.”

Lady Mary shook her head. “No, I meant the Marriage Ma—you are blind in one eye?” She studied his face as if trying to decide which eye lacked the sight.

Thad tilted his head. “The right one. You cannot tell. So I have been told.”

“You cannot. What happened?”

“No one truly knows. Birth, possibly. Some childhood illness, perhaps, of which I had several. It was not discovered until those unfortunate trees. I knew no different, and none of my tutors had noticed. I pay it no mind.” He gestured for her to continue walking. “Now. Tell me about the Highland Ponies.”

With a sweet smile, Lady Mary slipped her hand in behind his elbow, taking his arm. As Thad’s breath caught in his throat, she whispered. “Before I do that, have you ever heard of a relatively new breed called a Clydesdale?”