Chapter Twenty-Six
Five Months Later
“Are you ready, my love?”
“I believe I am,” Clarice replied, leaning into Samuel’s body for warmth, as autumn was upon them. And today, with the wind whipping, it was especially bone-chilling.
Clarice was ready to meet her son the day he was born.
Now that she was close to seeing him—the son she had given birth to and thought she’d never see again—nerves and panic swirled inside her.
It had taken months for the Bow Street Runner to track down the servants who had delivered her baby.
Both women had changed their names to hide from her fury, knowing it was only a matter of time before she found them.
At first, they’d refused to reveal their true identities, pretending they knew nothing of the Marquess and Marchioness of Chesterfield or any baby born on the wrong side of the blanket.
The Runner had made them see that if they were wise, they would also fear the Duke of Stanton. A duke of the realm was not someone you wanted to deceive. The women had finally admitted where their son was.
Over the past month, Clarice had been exchanging letters with her son’s mother, Mrs. St. George. The son she never knew was named Reginald after his father, a local vicar in Northumberland.
Mrs. St. George had been cautious when she received Clarice’s letter, and she wasn’t afraid to say so.
Clarice still didn’t know her well, other than through her letters, but she admired the woman.
She had been unable to conceive. Mr. St. George was originally at a vicarage just outside London when Mrs. Fitzhugh brought Reginald to them—Mrs. St. George and Mrs. Fitzhugh were cousins.
Chesterfield had apparently ordered her to kill the baby and toss him into the Thames.
But though Mrs. Fitzhugh was an unkind woman, she was not a baby killer, so she brought the baby to her cousin, knowing she would take good care of him.
The vicar and Mrs. St. George, fearing Chesterfield, fled to the north, where the vicar was fortunate and received his own vicarage, as the previous vicar had recently succumbed to old age.
It had been six years, and in that time she’d adopted two other children—a girl and a boy, Reginald’s younger brother and sister.
And Mrs. St. George assured Clarice in her letters that Reginald was an intelligent, smart, and kind boy.
Thinking about all this, Clarice wiped tears from her eyes with her gloved fingers. “You are so handsome, Samuel. I hope Reginald resembles you.”
Chuckling filled the carriage. “Whether he does or not, I’m sure he is a handsome boy.
And from reading Mrs. St. George’s letters, he is a good boy and they love him and have provided for him, his every need.
” He paused, moved the curtain aside, and stared out the window.
“We’re coming into a small town. The vicarage should be nearby.
I see an inn up ahead.” He rapped the roof, and the carriage stopped.
“I’ll see about securing rooms for a few days. ”
Samuel disappeared and returned less than ten minutes later. “We have rooms listed under our last name of Radcliff. I’d rather no one know the Duke and Duchess of Stanton are in town until we know if the St. Georges plan to tell Reginald who we are.”
“From what I gathered from Mrs. St. George’s letters, they will tell Reginald when he is ten and can understand the circumstances of his birth,” Clarice said.
“Regardless, during our time here, I need to speak with Mr. St. George to agree on the stipend amount to be sent to him monthly from my bank. Also, I want to inform him of a trust that has been set up, from which Reginald will begin receiving a portion upon turning twenty-one. I also want him to know that we will cover all his educational costs.”
“Samuel, there will be time to discuss all of that. We don’t want to insult the man, thinking he can’t provide for his son.
We should be thankful that we are finally getting to meet our child.
And the time will come when we can acknowledge him, but we need to be patient and not compromise the wonderful job the St. Georges are doing raising Reginald.
We will be introduced as friends from London for the time being. ”
Sighing, Samuel said, “I don’t care who or what we are. I just want to see my son and know he is being cared for and is happy. I would never tear his young heart out and security apart by telling him the truth at his young age.” He knocked on the roof and the carriage started going.
A short time later, the carriage came to a stop and Samuel said with a strained voice, “We’re here.
” One of Stanton’s footmen opened the door and flipped down the stairs.
Samuel exited, leaned back in, and held out his hand to assist Clarice.
When she exited and stood beside the coach, she swayed.
As always, her husband steadied her by wrapping his arm around her back.
Clarice’s hand went immediately to her increasing stomach as the baby moved around.
A little Stanton baby was due in roughly four months, and they were both elated.
“Mr. and Mrs. Radcliff.” Mrs. St. George, a woman around forty, hurried over to them with Mr. St. George, two boys, and a girl following. Clarice couldn’t take her eyes off the oldest boy, who did resemble Samuel. Blinking back tears, she forced herself to look away.
“Mrs. St. George, Mr. St. George,” she said, briefly grasping Mrs. St. George’s hands and meeting her kind, compassionate eyes.
“It’s so very good to see you both again.
It’s been too long.” Clarice went along with what the St. Georges had told their children.
They needed to pretend they knew one another.
“Yes, it has,” Samuel said as he stepped forward and shook Mr. St. George’s hand. “And who are these fine children?”
Mrs. St. George’s eyes shone with pride. The pride of a mother. “This is our eldest, Reginald, he’s six. Richard is five, and Penelope, four.”
Samuel held out his hand and shook each boy’s hand, then bowed to Penelope, who giggled. “It is very nice to meet you. Your parents speak highly of you.”
Clarice turned her back and quickly wiped away her tears from seeing Samuel shake his son’s hand, before she pivoted and addressed the children. “I’m pleased to meet such well-behaved children.” She curtsied, and little Penelope copied her while still giggling.
“Where are my manners?” Mrs. St. George said. “You must be tired from your long journey. Please come in. I had the cook prepare luncheon, hoping you’d arrive soon.”
“Thank you. I hope it’s not an imposition.
We have taken rooms in town,” Clarice said as they entered the square house built with cream-colored stone.
It was larger inside than she had originally believed, comfortable and clean.
The smells coming from the small kitchen she could see at the back of the house smelled divine.
A nice place for Reginald to grow up in.
“No imposition at all.” She pointed to a long rectangular table with eight chairs. “Please have a seat. Luncheon will be served.”
“Thank you.” Samuel met her eyes, hesitating on where to sit.
The vicar, noticing their hesitation, offered her a chair. “Please sit here, Mrs. Radcliff. Mr. Radcliff can sit beside you.”
“Thank you,” Clarice said as she sat down and Mr. St. George pushed her chair in. One servant served the food—a thick rabbit stew that smelled and tasted wonderful. Fresh bread and sweet cream, fruits, and nuts also accompanied the meal.
As the dishes were being cleared away, Clarice leaned toward Samuel and whispered, “Would you please get the gifts from the coach? There are five of them.”
Samuel stood up. “Please excuse me. I have some things to retrieve from the carriage.”
Mrs. St. George said, “Reginald, why don’t you go with Mr. Radcliff and help him?”
“Yes, Mama.”
Clarice covered her mouth to hide her gasp. He even sounded like a young Samuel from when they were children playing together.
“Let us relax and talk in the drawing room,” Mrs. St. George said as she led the way into the next room, which was bright with three large windows, two settees, and several chairs. “Sometimes the vicar entertains his parishioners here, so it’s a little crowded with furniture.”
“Not at all. It looks very cozy and welcoming.”
“Please have a seat. You and Mr. Radcliff can take that settee, while the vicar and I will take this one.”
“Thank you,” she said as she sat down, hoping her nerves would settle and the awkwardness between them would fade. Meeting new people was always discomforting, but these were her son’s family—people she could only acknowledge as Mr. and Mrs. St. George.
*
Samuel walked beside Reginald toward the mews behind the house, which was right next to the small white stone church, with the burial ground on the other side.
All the while, he tried to think of things to ask or say.
His tongue and mouth wouldn’t cooperate.
Everything he wanted to say sounded wrong for a six-year-old.
He opened the door to the carriage, which was parked outside the stables, and motioned for Reginald to come closer. “These two are for your parents. Take care with them.”
“Yes, sir,” he said with a nod as he held out his arms, and Samuel placed the packages in the boy’s arms, one of which was quite heavy.
Samuel grabbed the three others, and they headed back to the house, his tongue still tied in knots. How could a six-year-old have him so nervous that he couldn’t talk or think straight? Because he’s no ordinary six-year-old. He’s your son. All the more reason he should be able to speak to him.
“Mama!” Reginald exclaimed as he rushed into the room holding two presents. “They brought you and Papa presents.” He handed one to his mother and one to his father.
Mrs. St. George’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Let the children open theirs first.”
“We have presents, too?” Richard asked with wide, excited eyes.
“Of course,” said Samuel as he handed them out. “We could hardly come visit our good friends without bearing gifts, could we?”
All three faces looked to their mother. “You may open,” she said with laughter.
They tore through the wrapping, and the room’s noise grew louder. “Look, Mama,” Penelope said. “It’s a dolly.” She hugged the doll. “She is so pretty. Thank you, Mr. and Mrs.—what’s their name, Mama?” she whispered, not very quietly. Samuel tried not to chuckle at the sweet little girl.
“Radcliff, my dear.”
“Radcliff, thank you. She’s pretty.”
“I’m glad you like her,” Clarice said, a tear falling down her cheek. His poor wife, overwhelmed by the emotions of carrying a child. Add the emotional overload from meeting their son, and he wondered why she was not sobbing into her handkerchief.
Richard opened his eyes and exclaimed, looking puzzled. “What is it, Papa?”
“It is backgammon. It’s a game that I will teach you. You are still young, but you will learn quickly. Perhaps tonight I can teach you?”
“I would like that, Papa.”
Reginald opened his present and shouted, “Look, Mama, Papa, it’s my very own chess game. Now Papa won’t be upset when I move his pieces around the board.”
Samuel hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath while Reginald opened his present, and he inhaled deeply. His heart eased up on the pounding, and he noticed Clarice sighed and looked more relaxed.
“Now your turn, Mama and Papa,” Reginald exclaimed with excitement.
Mrs. St. George opened her box and gasped as she dug through the paper wrapping.
“It is lovely.” She lifted out a wash basin and bowl decorated with blue and yellow flowers.
“Thank you so much.” She whipped a tear away, but others followed.
“Your turn, vicar,” his wife said with a beaming smile and tears streaming down her cheeks.
His eyes widened in surprise and elation when he saw what it was. Samuel and Clarice had hunted far and wide to find the beautifully illustrated Bible.
“Thank you,” he said, hugging it to his chest. “It’s the most beautiful Bible I’ve ever seen. I can’t thank you enough.”
Samuel nodded to him. “It is we who cannot thank you and Mrs. St. George enough. You have eased our troubled minds and hearts. There is no finer house than yours anywhere.” When the vicar nodded, Samuel knew he understood. No finer house for their son to grow up in than theirs.
They spent nearly every moment of the next few days together until, teary-eyed, they had to say goodbye. Samuel and Clarice promised to visit at the same time next year.