Chapter 7
An Intolerable Situation
“Ma…ma. Mmma….”
Lizzie was humming as she rolled the dough for a piecrust. It was a beautiful June day, neither too warm nor too cool, with barely a cloud in the sky. She had decided to make an apple pie for supper.
The moment the words were out of little Ned’s mouth, she froze, her heart lurching.
In a few weeks, Ned would have his first birthday.
He had been making all kinds of sounds for some time, but he had never spoken a coherent word before.
Lizzie whirled to face her child, who sat strapped into a tall kitchen chair, his handsome face covered with stains from the blueberries he was eating.
“Neddie?” she whispered, amazed at the miracle she was witnessing. Was he finally speaking?
“Mma!” he shrieked, and the blueberries exploded from his hand.
The berries rolled across the floor, but Lizzie did not care. With a whoop, she reached her son and hugged him. “Neddie! Oh, tell me my name again. Neddie, say Mama!”
“Mma!” he cried, needing no encouragement, and beamed at her, clearly understanding his huge accomplishment.
Tears filled Lizzie’s eyes. Her heart was so swollen with love, it almost seemed impossible for it to expand. “My darling boy,” she whispered. “You are so clever! Just like your father!” And Tyrell’s darkly handsome image came to mind.
As the mother of his son—a child who looked exactly as he must have at that age—Tyrell was never far from her mind.
Ned stopped smiling. Looking very serious, he glared at her and he pointed one chubby hand at the floor. “Mma,” he demanded. “Mma! Da, da!”
For one instant Lizzie stared in disbelief.
As Ned had no father in his life, and no male figure other than Leclerc, she could not fathom that he might now attempt to say Papa or Daddy.
Then he shrieked, still pointing at the floor, and she understood.
Relief overcame her then. He wasn’t trying to say Dada.
He was trying to tell her that he wanted to get down from the tall chair.
“Down,” Lizzie corrected gently, removing the waist belt and putting him on the floor. Instantly he staggered upright, took a few wobbling steps and fell down. He howled in outrage.
“Come, Ned, try again,” Lizzie said softly, taking his hand.
The temper tantrum vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Eagerly he pushed to his feet, using her as support. Lizzie helped him take a few teetering steps. Ned laughed in delight, clearly as pleased as punch over his accomplishments.
“He will be an arrogant man, I think,” Eleanor said from the kitchen doorway.
“He just called me Mama,” she said eagerly. “And I think he will be walking very soon.”
Ned was tugging on her hand, clearly wanting to go to Eleanor. Lizzie gave in, leading him over. Instantly Eleanor lifted him into her arms. “Clever boy,” she said fondly.
Lizzie smiled at the sight of them. Ever since she had decided to keep Ned, her life had become perfect, or nearly so.
It was the fear that prevented her life from being truly perfect. She lived in quiet terror, waiting for the day when his father would walk into their lives and claim him, furiously angry with her for this deception, tearing Ned from her arms and her very life.
Of course, Lizzie reminded herself that Tyrell could not possibly discover the truth—she, Anna and Eleanor were all sworn to secrecy.
Only a handful of servants had remained during the obvious part of Anna’s pregnancy; the rest had been given a leave.
Those servants, such as Leclerc and the nursemaid, Rosie, were completely trustworthy.
Eleanor and Lizzie continued to avoid having guests at Glen Barry to this day.
Even Rory remained in the dark, having no clue as to Ned’s existence.
When he did visit them, Neddie remained in the third-floor nursery.
And as for her guilt, she rationalized that away.
Lizzie knew it was wrong to deny Tyrell de Warenne his son.
She knew he would be an outstanding father.
But he would never be given that chance, not now, not while Ned was a child.
Lizzie had sworn to take Anna’s secret to the grave with her so that Anna would not be ruined—and so she could keep Ned as her own.
So much had changed since that promise was made.
Ned was a little person in his own right.
Lizzie had only to look at him to know he was a de Warenne.
Lizzie loved him so much that she knew one day he must be told the truth of his paternity and claim his birthright.
But Anna’s marriage would be ruined if Ned ever stepped forth openly as a de Warenne.
Tyrell would never believe Lizzie was his mother, and if he were to accept that Ned was his son, the truth would have to be told.
Eleven months ago, Lizzie’s promise had seemed simple enough. Now Lizzie was acutely aware of her determination to guard Ned’s birthright for some future day. The promise she had made to Anna would eventually have to be broken.
But there was time, yet.
The guilt nagged on all possible levels, but Lizzie told herself she would wait until Ned’s eighteenth birthday to set matters right. Surely, by then, even Anna would want her son to claim his place in the de Warenne dynasty.
Eleanor cut into her thoughts. Her tone firm, she said, “We need to speak, Elizabeth.”
Lizzie tensed, certain she knew what was coming. She simply was not ready to go home. She would never be ready to return home—Raven Hall was too close to Adare. “I am baking a pie,” she said in a rush. “But I will be done in an hour or so.”
“The pie can wait,” Eleanor said seriously. “Elizabeth, I went to your room looking for you and I saw a letter from your mother—the letter you have yet to open! The postmark is a week old. It is time to end this madness, my dear.”
Lizzie flinched because Eleanor was right.
She missed her parents and Georgie. Anna had long since left Glen Barry and she had married Lieutenant Morely in September as planned.
Lizzie had not attended the wedding, a decision she and Anna had made together.
Anna and her husband now resided in Derbyshire at his family home; Thomas had resigned his commission and was now a gentleman of leisure.
Anna’s letters indicated that she was very happy.
There were frequent guests at Cottingham; she wrote that she was very popular and that Thomas wished to start a family.
The fact that Anna’s life sounded perfect reassured her that they had done the right thing, never mind that Tyrell was being denied the opportunity to raise his child.
But Lizzie avoided the letters from home.
Georgie kept insisting that she return. She had recently become engaged to Peter Harold and Lizzie knew that she was miserably unhappy, as she could read between the lines her sister wrote.
Mama had begun to hint that her stay had become an overly long one.
It was obvious that Mama missed her and was hurt by her prolonged absence.
Papa had even written, blatantly asking her to come home, even if she must bring the ailing Eleanor with her.
Last week Lizzie had received letters from Mama and Georgie.
They remained unopened on her secretaire, for her excuses for staying in the Pale were running out.
“Lydia has written me as well. She misses you terribly, Elizabeth, and I cannot say that I blame her. It has been well over a year, my girl, and it is time for you to return and face the music—if you still intend to continue this masquerade.”
Lizzie turned away from her aunt, aware of the fear rising rapidly inside of her.
Tyrell’s image loomed. She heard Eleanor set Ned down.
She glanced at him, playing with the blueberries on the floor and, reassured, she fingered the edge of the floury counter.
Eleanor was right. But she wasn’t ready to go home—she was a coward, nothing more.
Eleanor touched her shoulder from behind. “You can’t stay here, hiding in the country with me, forever.”
Lizzie turned, biting her lip, overcome with dismay. “Why not?”
Eleanor’s face softened. “Darling girl, what kind of life is this for you? We live in absolute seclusion. There are no parties, no outings, there is no culture, nothing at all! No one ever calls anymore, as they are always turned away. You know how fond I have become of you and Neddie. But I yearn for the city, for the theater and the opera, for a ball. I miss Rory! And I do not know how much longer I can lie to him.”
Lizzie could imagine how terrible Eleanor felt dissembling to her favorite relation; Lizzie felt terrible, too. She and Rory had become good friends in the past year and that made deceiving him all the harder. “My life has become nothing but a lie,” she whispered.
“Your life is far more than a lie,” Eleanor disagreed. “Elizabeth, you do not have to go through with this, you know.”
Lizzie was aghast. “I love Ned. He is my son, in every way except the biological one. If you are suggesting I give him up, I could never do such a thing.”
“I know that, dear. I was suggesting you declare him an orphan you have adopted, rather than go home and claim him as your own illegitimate child. You would still have a chance at wedlock, my dear.” Eleanor’s tone was surprisingly gentle.
Lizzie shook her head, almost frantic now. “If I return home claiming to have adopted Ned, Mama will not stand for it. She will insist I give Ned up.” Lizzie had no doubt. Mama would be horrified and there would be no reasoning with her.
“I suppose there is that risk, Elizabeth, but perhaps, for once, Lydia could be persuaded.”
“No! I cannot take that chance, Aunt Eleanor. I have no desire to ever marry—my life is Ned!” Lizzie cried.
Eleanor clasped her shoulder. “And have you really considered the scandal?”