The Madcap Masquerade (13 page)

So far, everything he’d learned about her had convinced him she was the woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. Except, of course, for her tendency to stretch the truth about such odd things as her mysterious music teacher. A French
émigré
indeed! Didn’t she realize servants carried tales? Everyone in the village would have known within the hour if such a fellow had arrived at Barrington Hall.

Ah well, that one shortcoming was of little consequence compared to her many virtues. He felt certain that once they were married, he could convince her she no longer needed to make up ridiculous stories to gain his attention.

This test today would be the most important of all. If she displayed the kind of maternal instincts he suspected she had, she would indeed be the perfect wife for him and the perfect mother for the children he longed to sire.

“I thought we’d begin our inspection by stopping to congratulate John and Annie Jennings on the birth of their new daughter,” he said.

His betrothed’s eyes instantly lighted up, just as he’d hoped they would. “A new baby? How exciting,” she exclaimed. “Oh, I am glad you thought to share this with me, Theo.”

A few moments later, he drew up in front of a neat little cottage surrounded by a garden in which the tops of early spring vegetables were just poking their heads above the carefully tilled soil. The young father answered their knock—the sleeping baby in his arms, a worried look on his face and three small children clinging to his trousers.

He blinked as if the sunlight hurt his eyes. “How kind of you to come, my lord, and with your lady too.” He stepped aside to let them enter. “Annie will be that proud.”

Maeve watched Theo’s black brows draw together in a frown. “Is everything all right, John?” he asked. “You look a bit pulled.”

John Jennings gave a heartfelt sigh. “We’ve a colicky one this time. I was up all night walking the floor with the wee mite.” He hesitated, a furtive look on his thin, young face. “And I’m that worried about my Annie. She’s not getting her strength back as fast as she did with the other babes. It’s not that she’s sick with the childbed fever or anything like that, but she just…she just cries all the time and I don’t know what to say to make her stop.”

Maeve studied the three tow-headed stair-steps clustered around him, the oldest of whom couldn’t yet be five years, and decided the poor woman was probably crying from sheer exhaustion. “May I hold the baby?” she asked, and a moment later cuddled the blanket-wrapped babe to her breast while the young farmer left to inform his wife of the arrival of their distinguished visitors.

It was the first newborn infant Maeve had ever held and she found the sensation so overwhelming she felt as if her heart would burst from her breast. The tiny girl-child smelled indescribably sweet and milky, and her little rosebud mouth worked as if she were dreaming of suckling at her mother’s breast. Maeve buried her nose in the silky curls atop the baby’s head and gave herself up to the pure joy of the moment.

“You look very natural with a babe in your arms, Meg. You will make a wonderful mother for our children,” Theo said, and there was no mistaking the emotion in his deep voice. Startled, Maeve raised her head and stared into a pair of dark, fathomless eyes whose tender expression warmed her to the very depths of her soul—until she remembered that if he knew the truth about her, she would be the last woman on earth he would want as the mother of his children.

“Annie can see you now, my lord.” John Jennings’ voice snapped her out of her painful reverie and, with the babe still in her arms, she followed the two men into the one other room of the tiny cottage. Theo drew a gold sovereign from his pocket and laid it on the crude table beside the bed. “Congratulations on your lovely daughter, Annie.”

“Thank you, my lord,” the young mother said, but tears spilled from her eyes and she turned her head and stared at the wall. John Jennings exchanged a puzzled look with Theo, and as if on cue, the two men tiptoed from the room.

Gently, Maeve laid the sleeping baby in her cradle and prepared to follow them until she glanced toward the bed and saw that Annie Jennings’ tear-filled blue eyes were following her every move. The forlorn look in those eyes told her the young mother desperately needed to talk to another woman.

She closed the door behind the men, then stepped to the side of the bed and took Annie’s hand in hers. “You have a beautiful baby,” she said because she could think of nothing else to say.

Annie nodded, spreading a wealth of golden hair across the coarsely woven pillow cover. “Aye, and three more, and barely a full year between any of them.”

“Four children in less than five years. You must be worn out.”

Annie nodded again. “I am that, my lady,” she whispered and Maeve saw a look of abject terror in her eyes.

“But that’s not why you’re crying. What is it that’s troubling you? Tell me, Annie. I promise nothing you say will go beyond this room, and perhaps I can even help.”

The girl’s fingers tightened on Maeve’s and she closed her eyes as if attempting to shut out the specter that haunted her. “I don’t want to die and leave my brood for another woman to raise. I want to see my children grown. I want to live to hold a grandchild in my arms.”

“Of course you do,” Maeve soothed. “But why should you think you won’t?”

“Because next year there’ll be another babe and the year after that another—and another and another without ever a chance to gain back my strength in between—until a few years from now I’ll be so worn out I’ll just give up and die. I’ve seen it happen time and again with women I’ve known.”

Annie choked back a sob. “It’s not that I don’t love my babes, for I do with all my heart and I’d not take all the gold in England for a hair off one of their dear little heads. But we’ve scarce enough food to fill the bellies of the ones we have now. God only knows how we’ll feed the ones to come.”

“I can understand your dilemma,” Maeve said. “Maybe you should talk to your husband about it. He seems a kindhearted fellow.”

“John’s a good man and that’s the trouble. I can’t turn him away when he comes to me for comfort after working so hard all day in the fields. But every time he touches me—you know, that way—there’s another babe on the way.” Maeve gave Annie’s hand a comforting pat. “Perhaps there’s another way around your problem.” She hesitated, wondering if she dare pursue this line of conversation with a young woman who but a few moments ago had been a complete stranger to her. The utter despair she read in Annie’s face decided her.

“I understand,” she began hesitantly, cleared her throat and started again. “I’ve heard tell there are ways to prevent having babies.”

“I’ve heard so too,” Annie said, her eyes wide and solemn. “And ‘twould be the answer to my prayers, but I daren’t ask any of the village women if they know how ‘tis done, for my mam said ‘tis a thing only a whore would know about.” Her mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “I wish some whore had told my mam the secret. She died in childbirth with her tenth babe the year I married John.”

Two bright spots of color flamed in Annie’s cheeks, but her steadfast gaze never wavered from Maeve’s face. “I got to tell you, my lady, there’s gossip in the village that the titled and the gentry look at such things different from us ordinary folk.”

“I suppose that’s true in some cases,” Maeve agreed.

Annie searched Maeve’s face hopefully. “Then I got to ask, do you know how to keep from having a babe every time a man and wife does…that?”

Maeve was sorely tempted to tell her no. Regardless of what Annie had heard, it was not the sort of information a proper lady should have at her disposal. But the girl was obviously desperate, and understandably so.

She cleared her throat again. “Mind you, I’ve no first hand knowledge of such things, but I once knew a lady who was a very forward thinker. She believed every woman should have such knowledge in case she found herself in a situation such as you’re in now.”

Annie took a death grip on Maeve’s fingers. “And did she tell you, my lady?”

Maeve nodded. “As a matter of fact she did, and if you promise to never divulge where you heard it, I’ll tell you what she said.”

Annie gave her solemn promise and for the next few minutes, Maeve related everything she could remember that Lily had told her about how to prevent an unwanted pregnancy. It was information that, at the time, she’d protested she neither needed nor wanted. She was glad now that Lily had insisted on educating her about such matters. For Annie was right. At the rate she was producing offspring, she’d be lucky to live long enough to see her oldest child reach the age of ten.

When at long last Maeve opened the door and stepped into the other room, she couldn’t bring herself to meet Theo’s questioning gaze. Her frank discussion with the troubled young mother had left her feeling unusually shy and embarrassed around him—not to mention considerably more guilty than she’d already felt about deceiving him. She had, after all, shared information with one of his tenant’s that only a hardened Cyprian would normally know. She doubted even an inveterate rake like Lynley would countenance such unconventional behavior.

It was all too apparent their frank discussion had neither embarrassed Annie nor turned her up shy. Glancing over her shoulder, Maeve saw her sitting up in bed, grinning from ear to ear. “Thank you again for the gold sovereign, my lord,” she called out. “I shall add it to the three others you gave me when you returned from the wars.”

John Jennings stared first at his wife, then at Maeve, a look of wonder on his face. “Will you look at what your lovely lady’s done, my lord,” he marveled. “A few words of kindness from her sweet, innocent mouth and here’s my Annie, her old happy self again.”

T
heo returned in high spirits to the Ravenswood manor house some two hours later. His tenants had all responded to Meg’s quiet charm with the same enthusiasm as the Jennings family. She’d held their babies and admired their gardens, shook hands with the men and chatted with the women, and generally deported herself in a restrained but friendly manner which had obviously won the respect of one and all.

She’d even ducked her head, in that demure way she had, and admitted she’d often longed to speak to the women after Sunday service in the village church, but she’d always been too shy to do so. This, of course, had only endeared her more to the plainspoken people whose families had worked the land for as long as his family had owned it.

Yes, indeed, Meg would make a fine mistress for Ravenswood and for his two lesser estates. With her at his side, there would be none of the barely concealed animosity his tenants had shown toward his mother on the rare occasions when she’d accompanied him on his inspection tours.

Things were looking up—or so he thought until he handed his horse to a solemn-faced groom and entered the door of the manor house to find utter bedlam. Two of the maids were huddled at the foot of the staircase weeping copiously, a young footman appeared about to do the same and Mrs. Heatherwood, the housekeeper, stood above them on the landing, looking for all the world like one of the fire-eating dragons of ancient mythology.

The dragon advanced on him, eyes blazing, the moment she saw him. “Just like that, she sacked him, my lord, because his hand shook when he served the tea and a mite sloshed on the sour-faced duke—and him serving the Earls of Lynley for more than forty-five years. No disrespect to my betters, but it’s not right and it fair broke the old man’s heart.”

It took no imagination on Theo’s part to figure out who had sacked whom. His mother had apparently flown into one of her rages and discharged Doddsworth, the ancient butler who had served three generations of the Hampton family through triumph and tragedy with quiet distinction.

What in God’s name was the woman thinking of? Doddsworth was as much a fixture at Ravenswood as the bronze lions at the gate and the Gobelin tapestries and Baccarat chandeliers that decorated the drafty entryway.

“Where is Doddsworth?” Theo asked. Repairing the old man’s injured feelings was the important thing at the moment; he would deal with his mother later.

“In his chamber, packing his things. If you’ve a mind to speak to him, my lord, I’ll show you the way.”

Theo raised a hand to forestall her. “I know the way, Mrs. Heatherwood.” Many’s the time he’d sought refuge from his mother’s rigid discipline in Doddsworth’s neat little apartment when he was a lad. The one place the countess would never demean herself to enter was the servants’ quarters.

He knocked on the butler’s chamber door to find, as reported, that Doddsworth was indeed packing a battered brown valise—probably the same one he’d brought with him when he’d begun his service at Ravenswood nearly half a century before. Theo clasped the old fellow’s hand in his, shocked to see how uncontrollably it shook. No wonder he’d spilled the blasted tea. “So, Doddsworth,” he said, “what’s this I hear about you and my mother having a run-in?”

“It was all my fault, my lord. I should never have tried to pour, what with my hands shaking as they do nowadays. I’m just a pride-foolish old man, too stubborn to let loose of the reins.” His rheumy eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I should have retired when the old earl died, but I convinced myself you needed me until you settled in.”

“And so I did, Doddsworth.”

“But now look what I’ve done. Disgraced myself and disgraced Ravenswood as well, to my everlasting shame. Did they tell you it was the Duke of Kent I spilled on?”

“The Duke of Kent be damned. I thoroughly despise the pawky fellow. Hopefully he’ll be gone in a day or two and this sorry business will be forgotten. I’ll smooth things over with my mother and—”

“No, my lord. You’ve enough on your plate as it is without a doddering old fool like me to worry about. The number one footman can take over my duties. The kindhearted fellow’s been quietly relieving me of more than half of them for the past year, though he thinks I don’t know it. I’m tired, my lord, and more than ready to spend the summer sitting in the sun outside my sister’s cottage in Surrey. She’s been after me to move in with her ever since she was widowed five years ago.”

“Are you certain that’s what you want, Doddsworth? I wish you’d reconsider. It won’t seem like Ravenswood without you at the helm.”

“I’m certain, my lord, now that I know you’ve found yourself a fine lady to be your countess. Anyone with eyes in his head can see yours will be a happy marriage, unlike that of your poor father, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”

“I doubt my parents’ unhappiness was a secret from the staff—certainly not from you,” Theo said drily. “Neither of them made any effort to hide the fact that they despised each other, as well as the only issue that came of their hell-spawned union.”

“Never think that, my lord. Your father loved you in his fashion. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to protect your claim to the earldom. If he spent little time with you when you were a lad, it was more than likely because you were too painful a reminder of …of the unhappy past. But forgive me, my lord, I’ve said far more than I’ve a right to.”

Snapping the ancient valise shut, he straightened up and smiled fondly at Theo. “I’ve watched you grow from a wee babe into a strong man worthy of the title and responsibilities you’ve come into, and I’m proud to have served you and your father and your grandfather before you. But it’s younger hands you’ll be needing for what’s ahead of you now, so if you’ll be kind enough to give me the loan of a carriage to carry me to the coaching inn at Maidstone, I’ll be on my way.”

“The carriage and John Coachman with it are yours for as long as it takes to carry you to your sister’s cottage in Surrey,” Theo declared. “And if you’ll leave her direction with my man-of-affairs, I’ll instruct him to send your pension to you there each quarter from now on.”

Overcome with emotion, he abandoned all thought of social decorum, clasped the frail old butler in his arms and gave him a fierce hug that left them both close to tears. “God bless you, Doddsworth,” he managed in a strangled voice, “and don’t be surprised to find me dropping in for a cup of tea the next time I’m on my way to London.”

The old man pulled a square of linen from his pocket and blew his nose. “I’ll be looking forward to it, my lord.”

“Well that’s that then,” Theo said, and without further ado, he marched down the three flights of stairs to the entryway and sent a footman to the stables with orders to his coachman to ready his crested traveling coach. Then, through the myriad hallways of Ravenswood he strode to where Nigel Farnham, the man-of-affairs he’d inherited from his father, maintained his cluttered little office.

“Doddsworth is retiring,” he announced as he threw open the door. “You’ll need to set up an adequate pension, to be paid quarterly, so he can live out his remaining years in comfort.”

Farnham looked up from the account book on which he was working, a smile on his heavily jowled face. “Yes, my lord. Luckily that will be no problem since I received notification from our London banker just yesterday that the squire has already transferred a sizable portion of Miss Barrington’s dowry into your account. I shall simply start a new sheet in the pension ledger.”

“We have other servants currently on pension? I don’t recall seeing any such accounts when I went over the books with you last winter.”

“You would not have, my lord. The pension accounts are in a separate ledger which is locked in my safe. Only the total quarterly amount is entered in the general ledger.”

“Are there any other accounts kept in
your
safe that I may have missed?” Theo asked, struggling to control his temper. Farnham was a good man and kept meticulous records, but prying information out of him was like pulling hens’ teeth.

“No, my lord. There is nothing else in my safe except the oilskin packet Doddsworth gave me for safekeeping the day your father died.”

“What is in the packet?”

Farnham looked insulted. “I wouldn’t know, my lord. It is sealed.”

Theo took a deep breath and began again. “Would you be good enough to explain why the pension accounts are secreted away in such a manner?”

A dull red flush darkened Farnham’s pasty complexion. “I cannot say, my lord. Your father gave me explicit instructions on my first day of employment, two years ago last March, on how the pension ledger was to be handled. He did not, however, explain why.”

“I see,” Theo said, but, in truth, he saw no reason whatsoever why something so simple and straightforward need be locked away in a safe. Furthermore, he had a strong suspicion that his man-of-affairs was not being entirely candid with him about this particular matter. He scowled darkly at the portly fellow. “Please retrieve the ledger from the safe, and the oilskin packet as well. I would like to examine them.”

Farnham instantly leapt to his feet and sprinted across the room to where the small metal safe was tucked in between two tall, wooden file cabinets—not an insignificant accomplishment for a man of his bulk.

“Here they are, my lord,” he said breathlessly a moment later, handing the two items to Theo. “As you will see when you look at the ledger, we currently have three pension accounts—Eudora Thistle—your former nanny, Joseph Hogg—the head gardener who retired four years ago after thirty years of service.” He hesitated and his flush unaccountably deepened.

“And the name of the third pensioner?” Theo asked impatiently.

“Rosa Natoli.” Farnham’s tongue slid over the name so rapidly, Theo nearly missed it. “There have, of course, been others over the years,” he continued, “but their accounts were closed out when they died.”

Theo remembered Eudora Thistle and Joseph Hogg very well. They had both been an integral part of his childhood. But who the devil was Rosa Natoli? The name sounded Italian and offhand, he couldn’t recall there ever having been an Italian servant at Ravenswood—or, for that matter, even an Irish, Scottish or Welsh one. What he could recall very clearly was his mother’s often-expressed horror of having any servants in her house except those with staunch English blood flowing through their veins.

There was something havey-cavey here if his father felt it necessary to go to such lengths to keep the pension ledger away from prying eyes—something he felt certain his man-of-affairs knew more about than he was willing to admit. Furthermore, now that he thought about it, Doddsworth had made some rather odd allusions to his father’s conduct as well.

He thanked Nigel Farnham for his help, tucked the account book and packet securely under his arm and declared, “I’ll take these with me and look at them when I find time.” If, as he suspected, they contained some dark family secret, the last thing he wanted was an audience when he came upon it.

All the way to his bookroom, he speculated on who this woman, Rosa Natoli, might be. Probably some doxy his father had gotten with child; even in his fifties, the earl had been a virile man, and few had condemned him for his philandering ways once they’d met his frigid countess.

But why so secretive? His father wouldn’t be the first nobleman who’d chosen to support a mistress of whom he was particularly fond. If such an act were seriously frowned upon by society, most of the royal dukes would have been ostracized years ago.

After pouring himself a brandy, Theo settled into the chair behind his desk and opened the account book to the place marked by a strip of wide white ribbon that had yellowed with age. It was the quarter just passed and Farnham’s neat figures clearly showed that the three pensioner’s he’d mentioned had been duly paid their stipends.

One ledger sheet was allocated for each quarter, and Theo leafed back through them to where the gardener’s name first appeared, then farther yet to when his old nanny had been pensioned off after being replaced by the tutor who’d prepared him for enrollment in Eton. Even that far back, the mysterious Rosa Natoli was listed on each sheet.

One by one he turned the sheets, back fifteen years, twenty years, twenty-five years …thirty. Other names appeared and disappeared, always with their occupation and length of service to the Hampton’s recorded next to the first listing of their names, but Rosa Natoli’s name still headed each ledger sheet.

Finally, toward the front of the book, he found the sheet on which her name first appeared. Her occupation was listed as ladies’ maid, her length of service at Ravenswood a mere seven months. Her first quarterly stipend was entered in the ledger on the thirtieth day of June in the year seventeen hundred eighty-two.

Theo’s jaw clenched. He was born on the twenty-first day of June in that same year.

The coincidence was so glaring no one, including the village idiot, could come to any conclusion other than the obvious one. Now he understood why Farnham had found the subject of the pension accounts so embarrassing.

“Bloody hell, I’m my father’s bastard,” he muttered to himself, and an icy chill crept through him that not even the finest French brandy could dispel.

For a long, painful moment he simply stared at the telltale entry in the ledger, his mind too shocked to accept what his eyes had already verified as an indisputable fact. Finally, with shaking fingers, he broke the seal on the oilskin packet.