Chapter Twenty-Six
Longford Hall, Sussex, November 1817
S trains of laughter filtered through the air. Etty glanced across the lawn to a gap in the hedge clipped into the shape of an arch. Four children emerged, brandishing sticks.
Mr. Baxter, who was clipping the hedge at the far end, glanced up, smiled, then shook his head and resumed clipping.
“He’s after us—quick!” one of the children—a girl, though she wore breeches—cried. “What shall we do, admiral?”
“We stand and fight!” another child yelled.
“At arms!” called a third.
The fourth child, Florence, stood apart from the rest, holding her stick awkwardly.
“Come on, Florrie,” the girl in breeches said, placing an arm around her shoulders. “We must defend ourselves from the captain of the enemy ship.”
Arabella, who sat beside Etty, looked up from her embroidery. “Roberta, sweetheart, maybe Florence doesn’t want to fight. Not all girls like to play sailors.”
“She’s not Florence, Mama,” the girl replied. “She’s Captain Edward Berry!”
A fifth child emerged through the archway—Etty’s son, holding a stick aloft as he ran toward the others.
“Gabriel!” Etty cried.
“He’s not Gabriel—he’s Captain Thomas Foley,” the girl said.
“Roberta!” Arabella said. “That’s no way to speak to our guest.”
The girl blushed and lowered her stick. Gabriel continued to run toward her, then he tripped and fell forward onto the grass. He looked up, his face wrinkled with distress, and Etty leaped to her feet, anticipating the screams. But the girl ran toward him and scooped him up into her arms. He burst out laughing, his little body shaking with mirth.
Arabella placed a hand on Etty’s arm. “Your son’s fine, Juliette. Roberta will ensure he comes to no harm. She quite adores him. Come, sit.”
Etty resumed her seat. “Who’s Captain Thomas Foley?”
Arabella shrugged. “Something to do with Admiral Nelson. The children are playing Band of Brothers.”
“Band of what?”
“Band of brothers, Miss Howard,” the girl said, approaching Etty.
“Mama!” Gabriel cried, his cheeks pink with exertion, a broad grin on his face. He wriggled free from the girl’s grip and rushed toward Etty, stumbling into her arms.
“Are you having fun, sweet boy?” she asked.
“I’m taking care of him, Miss Howard,” the girl said. “Come along, Gabriel, we need to induct you into our band if you want to be a brother. Then we can give you your command.”
The boy wriggled free from Etty’s grip, and she swallowed the sense of loss as he ran toward Roberta and took her hand.
“Thomas Foley is captain of the Goliath ,” Roberta said. “We thought it fitting, given Gabriel’s size.”
Etty glanced at her son, over whom the girl towered, and let out a soft laugh. “You may live to regret that, Roberta. You’re taller than Gabriel now, but when he’s older he’ll tower over you.”
“Was Gabriel’s father very tall?” the girl asked.
Etty stiffened, and Arabella took her hand.
“Roberta, why don’t you take the children into the kitchen? Mrs. Brown said she’d be making iced buns for tea today. Tell her I said you could have one each.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“That’s one each, Roberta—I don’t want you overindulging, then claiming you cannot eat your supper tonight.”
The girl grinned, then tugged on Gabriel’s arm. “Come along, captain. Mrs. Brown makes the finest buns in the whole of England.”
The children trooped inside, laughing together, and the youngest of Arabella’s stepchildren—a freckle-faced lad with a mop of red hair—took Florence’s hand.
“You come with me, Florrie,” he said. “Mrs. Brown will give you an extra bun for your sister, and maybe your mama would like one also.”
Their animated chatter faded as they disappeared inside the house, and Etty leaned back into her chair.
“Exhausting, aren’t they?” Arabella laughed. “But the key to managing children is ensuring that they tire each other out.”
“Your Roberta seems a sensible child,” Etty said.
“That she is. She terrified me at first, but I love her as if she were my own. No—she is my own.”
“Does she fear that when…” Etty trailed away as she glanced at Arabella’s swollen belly.
“That when the baby comes I’ll love it more than her and her brothers?” Arabella caressed her belly and smiled. “It was the first thing she asked me when Lawrence and I told the children that I was expecting.”
“You told them together?” Etty asked, glancing across the garden. Mr. Baxter had stopped clipping and was standing back to admire his handiwork. “I must say, your husband is a most unusual man.”
A soft smile curved Arabella’s lips. “That he is, and I wouldn’t have him any other way. He’s even insisting on being present for my confinement. I know it’s not proper, but I have to admit to some relief in knowing that he’ll be with me.”
A ripple of fear flickered in her eyes, and Etty took her hand. “You will be well, Bella,” she said. “You’ll be surrounded by people who love you.”
Whereas I was alone.
Etty shivered at the memory of the pain, the ripples of agony that gripped her body until she couldn’t breathe, tugging at her insides until she feared she would burst…
And the screams—shrill and desolate, they had filled her mind while she prayed for them to stop. Until she’d realized the screams were hers.
And then, finally…
The plaintive cries of a helpless creature—unwanted and reviled, the cause of her ruination; cries that, instead of inciting the disgust she’d expected, had unlocked her heart until her body and soul were consumed with a single need.
The need to protect the one she loved.
Etty blinked, and a tear splashed onto her cheek.
A hand caught hers. “Juliette! Oh, forgive me. I didn’t mean to distress you with my concerns. I should have realized.”
Etty shook her head. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Nor was it yours,” Arabella said. “It was his .” She squeezed Etty’s hand. “But there’s no need to speak of those who should be confined to the past. You and your son are here now, which is all that matters. He’s an adorable child. I see much of you in him.”
“You do?”
“He has your kindness.”
“I am not kind, Bella. When I think back to how I was in London, before…”
“That wasn’t the real you,” Arabella said. “And what of myself? Harpy of the Ton , they called me. We were a pair, were we not? But we were a product of the world in which we lived.”
Arabella glanced across the lawn to her husband and raised her hand in greeting. He responded in kind, and she smiled softly.
“Lawrence showed me that another world existed outside of Society,” she said. “A good world—a world where a woman can be honest about her needs and desires, and not be ruled by a man.”
“Not even a husband?”
“Not if she finds the right husband.”
“I don’t want a husband,” Etty said. “I have no wish to be owned.”
“What about being loved ?”
“You cannot expect me to place myself on the Marriage Mart again. Not after…”
“Heavens, no!” Arabella said, laughing. “I wouldn’t send my worst foe into that nest of vipers. But a wider acquaintance might ease your melancholy.”
“I’m not—”
“I’m your friend, Etty,” Arabella said, the laughter dying in her eyes. “I know you well enough to recognize your unhappiness. You’ve had your heart broken.”
“A fitting end for she who was called Heartbreaker .”
“Etty, you have as much right to be happy—and loved—as any other.”
“I’m not looking for a husband.”
“Friends, then.”
“I have all the friends I need, Arabella,” Etty said, “but I have no wish to trespass on your hospitality for too long. I’ve already been here a month.”
“Is it that long?” Arabella asked. “Though it matters not, it feels as if you’ve been here forever.”
“Gabriel and I can leave as soon as you wish it.”
“Oh, no, dearest Etty!” Arabella said. “You’re welcome here for as long as you wish. I only meant that I already feel as if you’re part of the family.”
“And Loveday?” Etty asked.
“Mrs. Smith is proving invaluable,” came the reply. “My housekeeper told me only yesterday that she doesn’t know what she’d do without her. She’s turned into a confident young woman, fulfilled in her occupation. Nothing like the poor, timid creature who first came here. Her Florence is getting on so well with the children, and you wouldn’t want to remove her from her home, would you? As to young Frances, my own maid Connie quite dotes on her. The life of a lady’s maid can be rather lonely when she has only her mistress for company. I’ve never seen Connie so animated. You wouldn’t want to deprive her of her new friend, would you? Frances has the makings of an excellent lady’s maid, and who better than Connie to teach her?”
“You make a good argument.”
“What’s this about arguments?” a deep male voice said.
Mr. Baxter appeared, a pair of shears in his hands, his large frame silhouetted against the low afternoon sun.
“Is my wife plaguing you, Miss Howard?” He chuckled. “Bella, love, you might consider yourself within your rights to order your poor husband about, but your friend must be permitted to think for herself.”
“Lawrence, you’re a beast!” Arabella replied.
“Ah, but I’m your beast, love,” he said, kneeling before his wife and taking her hands.
A pang of envy tugged at Etty’s heart at the easy manner between a couple so evidently in love.
“I must apologize for my manners, Miss Howard,” he said. “Our life here is somewhat different to what you’re used to. Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Etty said, “and everything to admire.”
“I was about to ask Juliette whether she’d object to our hosting a house party,” Arabella said.
Etty’s gut twisted with apprehension. “A house party?”
“Just a small one, with a few close friends,” Arabella said. “You have naught to fear—our parties are nothing like those you’ve experienced in London.”
“But they’re parties nonetheless,” Etty said, cringing at the notion of members of Society—the very same individuals who’d once admired her for her beauty—now looking down on her and basking in their own superiority over the fallen woman in their midst.
“We select our friends very carefully,” Arabella said. “People who have something interesting to say.”
“Provided they can get a word in when Bella’s talking, of course,” Mr. Baxter said.
Arabella gave him a playful slap. “You’re supposed to be encouraging my friend, Lawrence, not putting her off. I shall have to admonish you later.”
“You may admonish me all you like, love, after supper.”
Etty’s cheeks warmed as she caught the glint of desire in his eyes as he smiled at his wife.
“Lawrence!” Arabella chided, though desire flickered in her eyes too.
“Forgive me, Miss Howard,” he said. “I’m afraid you must be unused to my uncouth manners. My wife was right when she said I am a beast. But our friends are liberal enough to endure my company, and I know they’d find you charming. You’ll have nothing to fear. And if any of them give you cause to complain, I can always throw them into the ditch.”
Etty eyed the giant of a man with broad shoulders and thick muscles that strained at his jacket—and his huge, rough hands, covered in callouses, with traces of dirt under the fingernails.
“I daresay you would,” she said, smiling.
“So that settles it,” Arabella said. “You’ll find our friends somewhat different to the acquaintances we shared during our Season. Here, we prefer people who have something interesting to say.”
“Such as?”
“Your sister, of course,” Arabella said. “Then there’s Lady Marable. She’s a poet—writes the most extraordinary verse. Some might say her work is a little scandalous, for it certainly stirs the blood.”
“Doesn’t it just,” her husband said, a wicked grin twisting his lips.
Arabella gave him another playful swat, and he rose to his feet.
“I’ll leave you ladies to it,” he said. “I fear the conversation will soon turn to discussions about meus and after-dinner entertainment—something I’d rather indulge in at the time than discuss the preparations for at length. Besides, talk of Lady Marable’s verse is rendering me in need of a cold bath, and I fancy a dip in the lake.”
He bowed to Etty and winked at his wife, whose cheeks had turned a shade of crimson, before leaving.
“I must apologize for—” Arabella started.
“It’s not necessary,” Etty said. “Your husband is an extraordinary man, and I find his… natural style of address refreshing.”
“Our friends are quite in awe of him,” Arabella said. “He says what he thinks with no concern for propriety. And if he takes a dislike to someone, he makes it perfectly clear.”
“That must be challenging.”
“Ah yes, but at least it means I can trust him. He speaks highly of you , Etty.”
“Of me? I’m of little consequence to him.”
“Ah, my friend, that’s where you are wrong. He admires your defense of Mrs. Smith.”
“I merely removed her from a violent husband.”
“You speak as if that were nothing, but it was everything to Mrs. Smith. Few people will stand in defense of others if they have nothing to gain themselves. Lawrence dislikes men and women of Society who only wish to further their own cause.”
“Isn’t that how most members of Society behave?”
“Not all of them,” Arabella said. “And my husband has the good fortune to be in a position that has given him a better understanding of men than I.”
“How so?” Etty asked.
“Lawrence works in trade,” Arabella replied. “And you can always tell a man’s honesty by how he treats his paid subordinates. Some of Lawrence’s clients would faint at the notion of associating themselves with us—which suits me just fine, as I am not so desperate to gain a ticket to Almack’s. So you see, my friend, you are safe with us.”
“Is that because those who would associate themselves socially with a common gardener and his wife are more likely to tolerate my company?” Etty asked. “A fallen woman who was evil enough to ruin her own sister and debauched enough to bear a bastard child?”
Etty regretted her words as soon as she spoke them, but Arabella gave no sign she’d taken offense. She merely took Etty’s hand.
“Etty, my love, you must cease to say such things about yourself. Gabriel is a delightful child. Surely you don’t think…”
Etty shook her head. “No, of course not,” she said. “Gabriel is my world, and I love him more than life itself. But what chance do I have of finding someone to love me for who I am, someone who’d accept Gabriel for who—and what—he is?”
What chance have I of finding another man such as him ?
But even Andrew, the man who had professed to love her and Gabriel, could not bring himself to love Etty for herself—her true self, with all her past sins.
“You have as much chance as any of us, dearest Etty,” Arabella said. “Better, in fact, now that you’re not required to parade yourself around the Marriage Mart. There’s plenty of eligible men among our acquaintance. There’s Lord Devereaux, who, despite his eccentricity, has secured my husband’s good opinion.”
“His eccentricity?”
“He doesn’t talk.”
“As in gossip?” Etty asked.
“As in at all. He comes across as a little standoffish. But perhaps he’s merely shy. Lawrence won’t hear a word against him.”
“Why not?”
“Because he has one defining characteristic that sets him apart from most men of the ton .”
“Which is?”
“He settles his accounts on time,” Arabella said with a smile. “Lawrence told me that no sooner had he shaken hands with the fellow after completing the works on his garden, Lord Devereaux sent his steward to the bank to deposit the funds in his account. You can always tell a man’s virtue by how quickly he settles his debts.”
“And you intend to invite this Lord Devereaux to your house party?”
Arabella shook her head. “Sadly, he’s something of a recluse. But Lawrence has secured another client—a new viscount about whom I have high hopes. I’m minded to invite him.”
“Because he’s a viscount?”
“Oh no, my dear—because he’s already issued a down payment for the work. It seems as if his estate was left in disrepair by the previous incumbent and he’s eager to restore it.”
“A man concerned with appearance, no doubt.”
“And concerned about his tenants. Lawrence told me that while he was there, the fellow was engaged in a discussion with his steward about restoring the tenants’ properties. And he was very insistent that if Lawrence were to undertake the works, he must employ men from his estate and pay them a fair wage.”
“A veritable paragon, then,” Etty said.
“You jest, but you’d be surprised at how many of my husband’s prospective clients spend much of the first meeting justifying why they should pay a lower fee than everyone else. You recall Heath Moss—or rather, Sir Heath Moss now he’s inherited the baronetcy?”
Etty shuddered at the memory of the golden-haired Mr. Moss, who’d always thought a little too much of himself, and thought nothing of ruining the women he preyed upon. “What of him?”
“He refused to even speak to Lawrence,” Arabella said. “Instead he sent his steward to convey the message that the privilege of having Sir Heath as a client was worth more than any fee.”
“And did he pay the fee?”
“My husband refused the work. He said that as a commoner, he was unworthy of that privilege. But this new fellow—Viscount Radham—offered my husband tea and apologized for the state of the house.”
“Radham?” Etty asked. “I’ve heard that name somewhere.”
“He’s the one with the profligate brother,” Arabella said. “Eleanor’s husband mentioned him—he recently inherited the viscountcy, poor fellow.”
“Why poor fellow?”
“Because he’s short on funds, and there’s only one way by which a titled man can restore his fortune. A rich wife. If he went to London for the Season, he’d be devoured by desperate debutantes.”
“Women such as us?” Etty shook her head. “Bella, I have no intention of throwing myself at the feet of a titled man. You saw how Eleanor’s husband spoke to me. In the eyes of any respectable person, I’m nothing but a—”
“No, you’re not , Etty, and well you know it,” Arabella said firmly. “And though you may never be admitted into Society again, is that so much of a loss? Whitcombe was insufferably rude toward you, but his behavior came from the ferocity of the love he bears your sister. Not all men will think badly of you because of your past. And my husband tells me that Radham had a profession before he inherited the title. In fact, Lawrence told me that had the man not introduced himself as a viscount, he’d have believed him to be a perfectly ordinary man. Coming from my husband, that is the greatest of compliments.”
“A perfectly ordinary man in search of a rich wife to purchase his title,” Etty said. “What would he say to a fallen woman with a natural child?”
“I’ll not invite him if you don’t wish it,” Bella said, “but you must appreciate the benefits of a wider acquaintance. You weren’t born to be tucked away in obscurity—you were born to be admired.” She squeezed Etty’s hand. “Admired for your disposition and your kindness, rather than your beauty and fortune.”
“I don’t know…”
“Would you trust me?” Bella asked. “I only want you to be happy. You liked Mr. Ryman, did you not?”
“Ah, Mr. Ryman,” Etty said, smiling at the recollection of the thick-accented man who’d arrived in the garden last week in search of Arabella’s husband—who, on being asked whether he’d had a productive day, said it would have been a good deal more productive “had the fucking horses not escaped again.”
Bella let out a laugh. “The poor man! I thought he’d have a fit of apoplexy when he caught sight of us and realized we’d overheard his rather interesting greeting to my husband. He didn’t speak a word all afternoon after your unfortunate introduction, for fear of offending you. But you liked him, nonetheless.”
“I did, but he’s smitten with your maid.”
“Ah yes,” Bella said, smiling, “and Connie is quite in love with him. But there are plenty of men like Mr. Ryman, hardworking souls capable of making you happy—as you deserve.”
“I suppose so,” Etty said. “Gabriel took to him immediately.”
“There! You see? Is your son not the best judge of character?”
Etty nodded, recalling the way her son had nestled into the shoulder of another man in the little cottage at Sandcombe.
But he was long gone. No doubt he’d live out his days as a respectable vicar, preaching goodness to those who came to his church to be seen rather than to listen.
He would never have been happy with her. The stain of her past would have tarnished his reputation and stunted his prospects. Lady Fulford and her acquaintance with the bishop would have seen to that. At least, free from association with Etty, he might ascend to the position of bishop himself and fulfil his dreams—his destiny.
As to my destiny…
“Very well,” Etty said. “You are right—it’s time I looked to my future. And Gabriel’s.”
“Excellent!” Arabella replied. “I’ll issue the invitations. And have no fear, my dear. One word out of place with regards to your past, and they’ll have me to reckon with. That is, if they can survive a pummeling from my husband. Marriage to a beast has its rewards, you know.”
She smiled the smile of a woman well satisfied—in every respect.
But it wasn’t merely Mr. Baxter’s looks and manner that Bella took such enjoyment from. It was the fact that she had found a man to love her exactly as she was. And that made him unique among men. The chances of another such man existing were slim at best. Only one had come close to measuring up.
But Etty would never see him again.