Chapter Eighteen
It was late when their carriage turned into Grosvenor Square and pulled up outside Marcus’s house. To their surprise the house was still bright with light. “My aunt is still awake. Maybe she has guests,” Marcus observed.
A groom hurried to let down the steps and Marcus alighted first then helped Tessa down. She took a deep breath, then turned and said to Clothilde, who was staring open-mouthed at the grand house. “Pass Flora to me, please, Clothilde.”
Begin as you mean to go on.
With Flora in her arms and Marcus by her side, she began to climb the steps. The door opened before they reached it and Peverill, Marcus’s butler, came to meet them. “Welcome home, m’lord. We weren’t expecting you home so soon. I hope you’ll forgive—”
“Marcus? Is that you?” Lady Gosforth appeared in the entry hall. “What on earth are you doing home so early? We didn’t expect you for at least another month. What happened?”
“Change of plans. Good evening, Aunt Maude.”
She presented her cheek for him to kiss, glanced past him and saw Tessa with Flora in her arms. And froze.
After a moment she produced her lorgnette and raked Tessa and the child up and down with it. “And who is this?”
“My wife, Tessa,” Marcus said mildly. “Surely you haven’t forgotten her.”
“I meant the child, as you very well know,” his aunt snapped.
Tessa lifted her chin and met the old lady’s stare boldly. “This is my niece, Flora.” Her tone dared Lady Gosforth to make something of it.
Lady Gosforth stared at Flora. Flora stared back.
Lady Gosforth wrinkled her nose. Flora wrinkled hers, though it was just a button and no match for the old lady’s proud Roman nose.
“Your niece, you say?”
“Yes. My late brother Louis’s orphaned daughter.”
The old lady sniffed. “Then why is she dressed in rags?”
“They’re not rags,” Tessa said defensively. “Patched, yes, and mended, but—”
“Rags! Peverill!” Without taking her eye, horribly magnified by the lorgnette, off the little girl, Lady Gosforth addressed the butler who was supervising the luggage being brought inside. “Have the basket in my dressing room brought down here at once—the big one, with the lid.”
As the butler hurried upstairs Billy, Tessa’s little dog appeared on the landing of the stairs.
With wuffs of joy he bounded down and began to gambol around Tessa’s feet.
Her arms full of little girl she tried to pat him, but at the sight of him, Flora almost launched herself out of Tessa’s arms, reaching for the dog.
Feeling sure Billy wouldn’t harm her—and clearly the little girl was not the least bit frightened of the dog, Tessa set her onto the floor.
It was an instant love-fest—dog and child acted as if they’d been best pals all their lives.
Flora laughing and speaking unintelligible baby talk to the dog, and Billy wuffling and snuffling and wriggling with delight, licking any bits of her he could get to.
A short time later Peverill arrived carrying a large wicker basket.
“Ah, Peverill, the very thing. Put it on the table in the morning room.” To Tessa she said, “Bring that child into the morning room. Never mind the dog, he can come too.”
Tessa blinked. Lady Gosforth despised dogs. She glanced at Marcus, who shrugged and gestured her to go ahead, so she picked up Flora and followed the old lady into the morning room. Billy trotted after them.
Lady Gosforth undid the fastening of the basket and flipped it open.
Tessa gasped. It was full of the most exquisite little knitted, sewn and embroidered baby clothes. Lady Gosforth, muttering to herself, sorted through them quickly saying, “How old did you say the child was?”
“W-we’re not exactly sure,” she began. “Her mother died before—”
“Never mind, hold her up.” She measured a beautiful, embroidered smock up against Flora.
“Yes, that will fit. Here—” She pulled fistfuls of baby and toddler clothes from the basket, dumping them on the table.
“She’s smaller than Torie, and about the same size as I expect Jane will be, only I haven’t seen Jane yet, so I can’t be sure.
But at least she won’t be dressed in rags—will you?
—what did you say her name was? Flossie?
” She pulled a face at Flora, who promptly pulled one back.
The old lady chuckled. “She’s going to be a handful, mark my words.
Now, take that child up to the nursery and get rid of those dreadful rags!
Peverill, send a maid to take these things up—oh, you have one, I see,” she added, noticing Clothilde loitering in the doorway. “Here, you, gel, take these.”
Understanding the gesture and tone, if not the words, Clothilde gathered up the small pile of garments and followed Tessa, who was a little dazed by Lady Gosforth’s unexpected reaction, from the room.
Marcus wasn’t surprised. His aunt, unhappily childless her whole life, hid, under her brusque manner, a fondness for children that few people knew about.
He remembered her doing much the same when his half-brother Harry had arrived with his wife’s daughter, little Torie, dressed in nothing but a pillow slip.
With a critical expression, Lady Gosforth watched them go. “That maid will have to be outfitted properly too. Can’t have the child’s nursemaid looking so shabby.”
#
MARCUS WAS SEATED IN the morning room with his aunt. He had just finished explaining how they had discovered Flora.
“She eyed him cynically. “So that’s what you’re claiming, is it? That the child is Tessa’s niece. Her late brother’s child? His legitimate child?”
Marcus said mildly, “Yes, though we intend to raise her as our daughter.”
The old lady gave a scornful snort and arched one finely plucked eyebrow. “You expect me to swallow such a farrago of nonsense?”
Damn her sharp, suspicious mind. He was on shaky ground here, but he had no intention of failing at the first fence. He raised his own, much thicker brow and said stiffly, “You doubt—?”
“A farrago of nonsense?” Tessa sailed into the room. “I expect you are an expert on that, given the farrago of nonsense you spread about Marcus and me before our marriage.” She folded her arms and faced Lady Gosforth, a militant light in her eyes.
The old lady shrugged. “I have no idea what—”
Tessa cut her off with a sharp gesture. “Piffle! You know exactly what I’m talking about, so don’t try to deny it. We know all about it, don’t we Marcus?”
Marcus, deciding Tessa was well able to handle his aunt by herself, merely nodded in agreement.
The old lady pouted. “Well, what of it? It worked, didn’t it? You two would never have married otherwise, hiver-havering around as you were. You needed a nudge. And look at the two of you now, smelling of April and May!”
“You have no idea what we might or might not have done. Yes, we are happy now,” Tessa admitted, “but you weren’t to know that.” She glared at the old lady.
The old lady glared back.
There was a short, tense silence.
After a minute, Tessa gave a meaningful glance at Marcus, slipped her arm through his and said, “We were planning to ask you to become Flora’s godmother, but if you refuse to acknowledge her. . .”
The old lady’s brows snapped together. She sat up. “Godmother? You want me to be that child’s godmother?”
Marcus pressed his lips together to hide a smile. They hadn’t discussed it, but it was a master stroke. It was a sore point with his aunt that none of her nephews had invited her to be godmother to any of their children.
“We did,” Tessa told her. “But since you’re claiming our miraculous discovery of Flora is a farrago of nonsense. . .”
Wearing his best serious expression Marcus nodded wisely.
His aunt made a dismissive gesture. “Oh pish tush, how you do take one up, gel. It’s an extraordinary tale, I admit, but as we all know, truth can be stranger than fiction.
” She glanced at Tessa’s adamant expression and added, “And miracles do happen, after all.” She turned to Marcus.
“Besides, who am I to doubt the word of the head of the family? So, yes, I would be delighted to sponsor the child.”
Tessa glanced at Marcus, then eyed the old lady thoughtfully. “I’m not so sure anymore. If we thought you might cast aspersions on the story of how we found Flora . . .”
Again Marcus nodded solemnly. He was enjoying this hugely. It wasn’t often anyone got the better of his aunt.
“Cast aspersions? I? What nonsense!” the old lady said indignantly. “I’ve never cast an aspersion in my life!”
Marcus choked, and tried to turn it into a cough.
“Because we would be very unhappy if unpleasant rumors were to spread,” Tessa continued. “Would you undertake to ensure that didn’t happen, Lady Gosforth?” Her expression hardened and she added in the sweetest voice, “Because we know how skilled you are at handling gossip and rumors. Aren’t you?”
Lady Gosforth gave her a haughty stare. “No shadow of doubt will fall on my goddaughter, I assure you.”
“Nobody would dare,” Marcus murmured.
His aunt shot him a basilisk look. “As long as you don’t continue to dress her in rags!”
Tessa smiled. “Of course we won’t, not with those beautiful clothes you’ve given her. So thank you, we’d be delighted for you to become our daughter’s godmother, Aunt Maude. Now, I must go and see how she’s settling in. You can make the arrangements with Marcus.” She hurried out.
There was a short silence after she left. Then Aunt Maude said, “I’m surprised the child hasn’t been christened before this.”
“We’re not sure she hasn’t been, but from what we saw there was a distinct lack of priests in the area.”
Lady Gosford turned an appalled lorgnette on him. “Priests? That child is Catholic?”
He shrugged. “We assume her mother was—she was born in a Catholic country, after all. Though religion was frowned upon by the revolution.”
The old lady snorted. “What nonsense! We’ll have her decently christened in the family chapel at Alverleigh, like the rest of the Renfrew family, with a proper Anglican vicar presiding!”