Chapter Eight

Friday, 28 April 1826

The Serpentine, Hyde Park

Three in the afternoon

M ary sat on a blanket under a tree near the Serpentine, reading Mrs. Burney’s The Wanderer and occasionally watching the sun’s rays create shining dapples of light on the water. Near the edge of the blanket, Joshua and Mina snoozed in the unusual warmth of the late April afternoon, their empty prams parked just behind Mary. On the path near the water, Mattie scampered back and forth, tossing scraps to the ducks, geese, and swans that gathered near the shore, awaiting their treats. Nanny followed the child closely, ready to snatch an arm or collar should Mattie wander too close to the edge.

Nanny had surprised them all. Mary, Kit, and Beth had expected the woman to resign upon hearing Mary’s pronouncement. To remain employed in a house with a by-blow could damage the woman’s reputation. But Nanny had explained that she, too, had a sister who had found herself in Mary’s predicament but without the kindness and help Mary had received. She would stay. She would keep their secret for now.

For now.

Mary had been grateful to the woman, but it was one more sword of Damocles over her head. Their heads. And Mary knew that sooner or later, one of those swords would fall.

She could not continue to do this.

Kit and Beth had assured her that taking the children to India would alleviate the rumors, as would her marriage. The ton is a fickle beast, Beth had said. Without fuel, without feeding it, the rumors would fade, as they had with her and her family. Almost a year after their own scandals had broken, in Society’s eyes, all was right with the Kennet clan once again.

While Mary appreciated Beth’s words, she did not quite believe them. And she knew in the deepest part of her soul that she could not continue the charade, especially if it meant surrendering her child and marrying under the veil of a lie.

More than that, she would not.

“So which one of these little by-blows is yours? Because I know neither belong to Lady Elizabeth.”

Mary looked up, shading her eyes against the sun, to see the two women from yesterday glaring down at her. The one who had spoken continued to look smug, her mouth twisted into a smirk. Lady Elspeth... something. A low fire began to burn in Mary’s gut as she pushed to her feet.

“And you sprawled out here on a rug like servant.” The woman’s tone continued to sound like a wire brush on a steel pan.

“First,” Mary said, forcing her voice to stay even but firm, “that would be Lady Kirkstone to you, as she is the Duchess of Kirkstone and your superior in every way possible.” Mary took a step closer to the two, her words growing in volume. “Second, she is the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Kennet, who are so close to the king and queen that the royals regularly call on them for advice. Implying that either of those good families is perpetrating a fraud on the public would be unwise in the best of circumstances.” Mary took another step.

Lady Elspeth backed up. “Perpetr—what? Now you are making things up.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw Nanny and Mattie—and several other people—drawing closer, and she raised her voice even further. “So if you plan to continue this felonious campaign of accusing two dukes and two duchesses of the realm of lying , then I recommend you have your facts straight. The Duke and Duchess of Kirkstone, out of the goodness and kindness of their hearts—something which you would know nothing about—have taken into their home two children who had no other place to go, adding them to their own little family. And unlike some members of Society, for us, family is more than whose blood is whose. So before you start disparaging two of the finest people I have ever known, you might check under your own sheets. Now walk away and leave us alone!”

The small cluster of people around them had gone dead silent. Lady Elspeth’s eyes widened, and her mouth gaped as if she struggled to find both breath and words.

Then a lone male voice sounded from behind the rows of people. “You might want to close your mouth, Lady Elspeth, before a beetle wanders in.”

The people parted and Lord Thaddeus Bolton stepped forward. Lady Elspeth’s mouth snapped shut a moment, then she looked from Mary to Lord Thaddeus and back. “I cannot believe she spoke to me like that! It’s scandal—”

“I can. I witnessed the two of you harassing my betrothed from up the path. What you said was rude, vulgar, and completely uncalled for. I thought her response rather mild.” He leaned a little closer to the women, his words a stage whisper. “Mine would have much harsher and infinitely sneakier.” He cleared his throat. “Starting with ‘forty pounds.’”

Lady Elspeth gasped and stepped away, her face a bright scarlet. “You would not dare, sirrah.”

He held his arms wide. “You are looking, my dear ladies, at a man with nothing to lose.” He dropped them to his sides with a wry smile. “So please do not tempt me. Now. Shoo.”

Mary watched, her own mind caught in astonishment, as the two women hurried away. As the crowd around them dispersed, she shook her head as Lord Thaddeus approached her. “It will not stop them from gossiping.”

He tilted his head to one side. “Of course not. Spreading tales is in their blood and their only way to amuse themselves, since they are incapable of finding interest in anything else.” He looked down at the two infants, who had slumbered through the entire fuss. “Are these—”

“Who are you?” Mattie demanded. She had pulled free of Nanny’s hand and now stared up at Lord Thaddeus in the same way she did Kit.

Before Mary could answer, Lord Thaddeus squatted to face the little girl, holding out one hand. “I am Thad. Who are you?”

She took his hand and gave it a single, firm shake. “I’m Mattie.” She pointed down to the babies. “That’s my brother Joshua. And that’s Mina.” She looked back at Lord Thaddeus. “We’ve told everyone she’s Beth’s but she’s really Mary’s.”

“Mattie!” Nanny’s gasp drew the girl’s attention.

Mattie looked around. “What? I thought we were not going to keep it a secret anymore.”

Mary bit her lip to keep from laughing as Lord Thaddeus slowly rose to his feet, staring at her. They had been assured of Nanny’s discretion. They had forgotten about Mattie’s. She reached down and stroked the girl’s hair. “You are correct. We did say that.” She looked up at Lord Thaddeus. “We should talk.”

A wry smile crossed his face. “Preferably,” he said slowly, “out of the hearing of little girls.”

Mary grinned. “Indeed.” After a few moments, she laughed under her breath, remembering their earlier conversation.

“What is it?”

“I am glad, Lord Thaddeus, in the midst of that altercation, that you managed to keep your hat.”

“Ah, what can I say? You inspire me to millinery precision.”

“Well, let us hope I can do better than that.”

“Oh, I have no doubt on that score, Lady Mary. No doubt at all.”

Friday, 28 April 1826

Kirkstone House

Half-past four in the afternoon

Thad stood in the front parlor of Kirkstone House, his mind wandering back over the last few hours. He waited alone, as Lady Mary had gone to freshen up, and Nanny had returned to the nursery with the children. Servants had been sent for tea and to find the duke and duchess, but no one had returned yet. Lady Mary had invited him to sit, but he preferred to remain standing.

Thad did not mind. The quietness gave him a moment to collect his own whirling thoughts and feelings in a pleasant and cozy room. He had been in it only a few moments during his prior visit, and now he appreciated that it felt warm and welcoming after the frenetic activity of the park, with its deep blues and light woods rendering it neither too masculine nor too feminine. Books lay haphazardly on almost every flat surface, and a few soft-looking blankets draped the backs of every chair and the two settees, which were separated by a low table. Twin wingbacks flanked the fire, and in front of the window overlooking the street, an armchair sat next to a table holding an inkpot, a box of quills, and a tray of paper. A pair of spectacles rested on an accent table near one wingback, and an open sketchbook lay on top of a low bookcase near the far wall. A family room, well and often used.

No such room existed in the house of his parents. They seldom gathered together beyond the dining room and rarely entertained. After meals, they scattered, with his father and older brother retreating to the study to drink brandy, smoke cigars, and discuss business and politics. One or two of his sisters would retire with his mother to her boudoir. Thad and his younger brother usually went out to the clubs or to the stables, as neither desired lingering in the house. No one ever asked where they went as no one particularly cared.

Thad had realized long ago that he lived in a house of strangers. Sharing blood did not make one a family.

Thad moved closer to the fireplace, which lay cold and black, unused in the unusual warmth of the season. Over the mantel, a portrait of four people loomed over the room, and Thad recognized the young man in it as the duke and the girl, who could not have been more than twelve or thirteen when the portrait had been painted, as Lady Mary. The older man and woman, obviously the previous duke and duchess, shared a settee in the painting, while Lady Mary sat between them and their son stood to the rear. A rather formal setting—until Thad realized that dogs filled the room. One lay on each side of Mary on the settee and two more lay on the floor near her feet. Her mother’s hand caressed the hound between them and the one between her and her father had laid its head on his thigh.

In Mary’s lap, a kitten had curled into a fuzzy ball, and her thumb lay lightly on the creature’s head.

“So not just the Highland Ponies,” he murmured.

A family.

Thad crossed his arms as a slight ache gripped his chest, and he looked away, deciding to examine the titles in the bookcase instead.

Thad’s mind began to calm, an unexpected resolve building within, a neat contrast to the chaos that had started when he met George earlier in the day. With George continuing his unrelenting snit about Thad’s debt and the news about Lady Mary, Thad had left his friend stewing at the coffee house under the tender ministrations of Stella.

He had walked, first down to the Thames, then he had circled back toward the Strand and Whitehall, toying for a moment with stopping at the Lyon’s Den. But he could not entirely decide what he wanted to ask Mrs. Dove-Lyon about the Kirkstone clan—and he remained reluctant to meet with George again—so Thad kept going, heading steadily west.

George had expected Thad to be angry, as angry as he had been at the web of deceit the Caudales had woven. That Lady Mary had acted as if she were being honest with Thad, but she had confirmed only the rumors and not the facts that lay behind them. Combined with Thad’s own misdirection about how much money he owed, George had reached the end of his patience with the whole situation. For all that George thumbed his nose at the vagaries of Society, he still clung to them in ways that not even Thad did as the son of an earl. George had been angry at Lady Mary’s lies but enraged that she had had a child out of wedlock and now used Thad’s debt to trap him into marriage.

Thad, however, had felt strangely calm about it. He had already known that some dark secret had sent the duke and his sister to seek the help of Mrs. Dove-Lyon, but he felt neither appalled nor scandalized. In some ways, he felt amused, as if this entire situation had been a confirmation of his belief that most of Society existed behind a fragile facade—that even the most elite of families existed one human mistake, one human frailty from ostracization and humiliation.

But Thad did need to decide what, if anything, he should do next. In an unexpected realization that happened as he strode by St. James’s Park, Thad understood clearly Kirkstone’s actions, if not Lady Mary’s. Perhaps because of Thad’s own sisters.

He had watched them grow, become excited about their debuts, heard their dreams about husbands, friends, and children. So few paths lay open to women in Society, and if anything—such as an unexpected child—had derailed those dreams and desires, they would have been devastated. And outcasts. Society did not allow women to make minor mistakes, much less one of that magnitude, even if most of those missteps were made by impossibly young and na?ve women and often caused by the men who pursued them with lies and promises they never intended to keep. Society would—like some wild animals—eat their own.

His parents certainly would have. He had heard his mother threaten her daughters more than once, assuring them they would be exiled and disowned for disobeying the expectations of Society. But Thad had bristled at such words. If one of his sisters had found themselves with such a secret, Thad knew he would have done anything possible to protect them. Lie, steal, even take shame upon his own head. Anything.

So Thad understood Kirkstone. But he needed to understand Lady Mary.

Entering Hyde Park from the southeast, Thad knew he needed to hear Lady Mary’s words. Give her the opportunity to explain why she had chosen a path that had landed her and her family on the doorstep of the Lyon’s Den. What had happened that had driven her to such desperation as to involve her entire family in an agreement with a man such as himself. Who was also a liar. A gambler. A fool, who would agree to marry in order to settle a debt. A man who had few prospects for supporting a wife and family.

That’s when he had seen her in the park, sitting peacefully on a blanket with two babies, reading a book. Reading instead of taking note of who else paraded in the park, what they wore, and who they were with. Reading instead of scheming about who in Society she could use for her benefit.

Reading .

Thad turned in that direction, then noticed Lady Elspeth and her friend returning for a renewed attack. Thad heard the first words... and saw the fire building in Lady Mary’s eyes as she stood, fists clinched, chin down, as if she were a veteran boxer preparing for a new round. He half expected her to throw a punch.

But words flew instead. Glorious words. Words in defense of her family. Complex phrases with not-so-subtle threats that clearly hit home. As Lady Mary’s face reddened, Elspeth’s paled, fear finding light in her eyes. If he had been merely calm before, now he became enthused, his heart soaring.

But he had surprised even himself as he stepped forward, taking her side and declaring her to be his betrothed. Reiterating his own implied threat to Lady Elspeth. Enjoying Lady Mary’s amusement at that and her surprise at young Mattie’s declaration.

A declaration Lady Mary neither denied nor claimed. And as Thad thought about her words to Lady Elspeth, he realized that Lady Mary had not denied it then either. Nor had she lied about little Mina’s parentage, saying only that the duke and duchess had taken in two children who had no home. Nor had she claimed, as they had previously, that Mina had been born to the duchess.

This time, she had not lied. Obfuscated, perhaps. But she had spoken no falsehood.

The parlor door opened, and the peace of the room ended as a stream of people filed in, starting with a butler and two footmen carrying a tea service, a tray of cups and saucers, and a platter of biscuits. As they set up the service on the table between the settees, Lady Mary entered, followed by the tall, willowy duchess and the walking boulder that was the duke.

Thad straightened his coat and bowed to the three of them as the ladies sat on one of the settees and the duke took up a stance behind them, a lion guarding his pride, much as he had appeared in the portrait over the fireplace. They greeted Thad, then fell silent as the servants finished arranging the tea. Finally, with a nod to the duke, the butler escorted the footmen out and closed the door.

After another moment of silence, Thad took a breath and began. “Your Grace—”

Kirkstone held up a hand. “Your pardon, Lord Thaddeus. My sister tells us that she invited you here this afternoon to hear an explanation of a few items in our background. She feels she cannot proceed with the agreement for marriage unless you are more fully informed.”

Thad’s eyebrows arched as he looked from the duke to Lady Mary, whose cheeks had grown rather pink as she studied her fingers. “I appreciate your—and her—forthrightness, Your Grace, but do know that I am fully aware that an arrangement of this type would by its nature involve any number of secrets. One does not resort to the services of Mrs. Dove-Lyon unless there is some desperation involved.”

Lady Mary gave a small laugh-snort, which she hid behind one gloved hand, but she said nothing.

Thad felt oddly pleased by that, even as the duchess shot her a scolding glare. He continued. “Likewise, although you know already that I tend to be an inveterate gambler who struggles to pay his debts, I am sure I have other detrimental habits that Lady Mary will find frustrating in the extreme. But it is my understanding that most marriages among the aristocracy occur before all cards are on the table, do they not?”

The duchess turned and looked up at her husband, one eyebrow cocked. The duke cleared his throat. “So they do.” He nodded to Lady Mary. “But we are here so that my sister can give you a fuller account of why we turned to Mrs. Dove-Lyon.”

Thad waited, and in hearing her tale, Thad felt his earlier understanding of Kirkstone’s actions underscored and emphasized, and the fury he had not felt early began to build—not at Mary, but at all those around her who had failed to honor and protect this beautiful soul.

His perfect, slightly fallen angel.

Mary’s words came slowly, starting with an affectionate glance at her brother. “After our father died, Kit’s—the duke’s—responsibilities became overwhelming. Business with the government and the estate drew him and our mother here to London. Everyone, including me, thought it best for me to stay at Kirkstone Abbey. We did not realize how alone I would feel—I never had before—or lost without Father. I found myself going to the church more and more, and the vicar there began consoling me.”

I bet he did. Thad’s heart ached but he kept silent, aware that his own cynicism about the church had no place in this.

“He had always seemed like a father to me in the years before, but now he began to try to... comfort me... in other ways.” Lady Mary’s voice broke, and she looked down at her fingers again, watching as they clutched and released her skirt in a rhythmic motion. “Before long, he promised marriage, a family, a new life away from Kirkstone. He had children... grown children... but claimed he wanted many more. A true family. It sounded sweet and kind at first, but when I realized I was... with child... everything turned sour. He denied it—” She stopped, her lips pressed together, her hands now tight, trembling fists. After a moment, she inhaled deeply and released it slowly. “And accused me of being with another.” She looked up at Thad, her eyes glistening. “I had not—”

“I believe you.” His words came quickly, even as his fury roiled within.

She blinked. “You do?”

He nodded. “I have known such men. Some are even vicars. And I assure you that you were not the only innocent to whom he made such promises.”

“Indeed.” The duke’s one gravelly word spoke volumes.

Mary looked down again. “I did not know what to do. So I fled. I sought refuge with friends, and that is where Beth—the duchess—and my brother found me. Where Mina was born. Where I began to realize what a true family is.” She looked at the duchess, who squeezed one of Mary’s hands. “And where we created this story in an attempt to protect my reputation because I so wanted a season in London.” Her lower lip quivered and she chewed it.

“Do you still wish to have a season?”

Lady Mary looked up at Thad, her eyes pensive. “Perhaps. At first.” She finally released a long sigh. “But I do not know anymore. The more I have cared for Mina, the more the luster of attending soirees and flitting about ballrooms has waned. And even if I wanted to, I am no longer sure it is possible. The first invitations for the season’s balls have gone out, and we have received none.”

“Do you know how the rumors started?”

Lady Mary glanced up at her brother again, and the duke mumbled, a growly threat that made Thad even more wary of the man. “I should have shot him when I had the chance.”

Recognition flooded over Thad. “The vicar.”

The duke snarled. “I assured him I would make his life a living hell if he ever spoke of this, but that apparently landed on deaf ears.”

“Drunken ears, more likely,” muttered the duchess.

Thad pushed down a smile. “So are you in the process of making his life a living hell?”

The duke’s mouth quirked. “The Duke of Kennet and I had a chat with the archbishop. The vicar is currently being reassigned to a parish in Shetland, with an associate who is to send monthly reports on the vicar’s behavior to the archbishop.”

“A spy,” whispered Lady Mary, a new gleam in her eye.

The duchess sat a little straighter. “Lord Thaddeus, there is something else you should know. Our departure date for India has been moved up. We are now due to board our ship on the seventh of May. We realize this falls within the two-week period you requested in your amendment, but it is not a date that can be changed. We realize that this may put your marriage to Lady Mary at risk, but we are hoping to find a solution that is amicable for all parties.”

Thad almost laughed. “Has Lady Mary explained what happened in the park today?”

The duke and duchess looked confused, and Lady Mary shook her head slightly. “There has been no time.”

“Ah. Then you should know that I announced to a gathering of several people that Lady Mary is my betrothed. I am sure the news is halfway around the ton by now. So I have already violated one clause of the amendment, that we were to keep the matter private for those two weeks. And in the brief amount of time since we were first introduced, I have grown rather fond of Lady Mary. I am still amenable to marrying her, if she feels likewise. If we need to make special arrangements to make that happen before you depart, I am willing to listen to your ideas.”