Chapter 23 #3
“Then that leaves you with Horatia,” Darien said. “Unless Lucien has some family we don’t know about.”
“Damn you,” the marquess choked, glaring at his son. “Do you think it amusing to taunt me? You won’t find a wife who will take your by-blow.”
“Henry already has,” Darien said and followed her into the room.
“She’s so tiny,” Darien whispered, overcome with awe.
Henrietta sat on the bed like a cozy Madonna, the baby nestled in her lap. Her hair was coming loose from her cap, and her eyes, which had been a stormy gray all through the interview with his father, had subsided to their customary gray green.
She sent the wet nurse away, and Darien swallowed the strange urge to thank the girl for caring for his daughter.
One did not thank the servants, who were paid to dispatch their business, but he wondered how she must feel, watching another child thrive in her care when she had not been able to nourish her own.
In the next room, Clarinda sat with his father, sipping tea and no doubt discussing marriage settlements. Lady Clarinda was as canny as her husband when it came to business dealings. She had dangled Henrietta—or rather, her properties—like a piece of choice meat before a famished dog.
“Look at her fingers,” Darien said, moved.
Henrietta held a tiny digit. “Look at her toes. Every nail is perfect.”
“And her eyebrows.”
“She scrunches her brow in a very fierce way sometimes. It reminds me of you.”
“Her eyes are so blue. Just like mine.”
Henrietta leaned closer and peered at the baby, who peered back. “But hers don’t have that ring of violet around the iris. I suspect she will be beautiful, much like her mother.” She laughed. “I shall not know how to teach her to deal with men. But Lady Mama can.”
Darien watched Henrietta, not the child. His Henry continued to surprise him. Sitting here like this, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met, with her elegant shoulders and regal neck, her determined jaw and fierce chin, those eyes as mysterious and inviting as the depths of a forest.
Impossible for her to pretend she did not want him. He knew she did.
“My solicitor wrote that he has found a family for her,” he said cautiously. “A church sexton and his wife, with three children of their own.”
She stilled, her finger caught in the baby’s small fist. Her cinnamon curls fell over her face, hiding her profile.
“They cannot give her what I can.”
“Henry, you saw my father’s reaction. You will hear the same from all sides. A young unmarried woman cannot adopt a baseborn brat.”
“You asked me to marry you. You could adopt her. Make her yours in truth.”
Men of his rank rarely acknowledged their bastards.
But the thought that the child might truly be his stirred a wasp’s nest of emotion in Darien’s chest. Amidst the turmoil he felt an aching wish to sit with Henrietta just like this, picking out their individual features in a child of their own, one they made together.
“An illegitimate child in the nursery with our trueborn children? It isn’t done.”
She bit out a laugh. “It is done all the time. Lady Melbourne has several cuckoos in her nest, and they say the Duchess of Devonshire plans to bring home her…indiscretion.”
Darien saw her rigid back and shoulders.
“I am thinking of you, Henry. Each time you look at her, especially if she resembles Celeste, you’ll be forced to recall—” He swallowed.
It wasn’t infidelity. He couldn’t imagine wanting any other woman now.
No other woman could fascinate him as she did. “My past.”
She raised her eyes in that curious, direct manner of hers. “When I look at Celestina, I will simply see her,” she said. “The same way I simply see you.”
Darien’s throat went dry. The soft down of the bed felt like knives under his thigh. Impossible that she could see him, all of him, and love him. Not after all he had done.
“Are you accepting my hand?” he managed.
She swaddled the baby and held her out. “Do you wish to hold her?”
“I might drop her,” Darien said, alarmed.
“It is not that difficult.” Henrietta rose, smiling. “You make a basket with your arms and hold her in it.” She demonstrated.
“Henry.” He cleared his throat, and she paused before the connecting door. “I think my father was in earnest, that he will settle something on you if you marry me.”
Her eyes grew stormy. “He came here expressly to forbid you to marry me!”
Darien laughed at her expression, though it made his shoulder hurt. “I suspect you won him over. He never could resist a strong, managing, housewifely sort of woman.”
“Housewifely! I am an activist and a reformer. I told him that.”
Darien nodded. “So was my mother. A firebrand and a scholar, involved in more charities than we could count. It made her an excellent wife and mother, and an even better marchioness.”
Henrietta shook her head with a little tsk. “I find it hard to believe that my paltry ten thousand would sway your father in my favor.”
“If he has tasted your butter,” Darien said, “he might offer for you himself.”
“Don’t be absurd.” She opened the door and went still as stone.
“And here she is,” Clarinda said. “Duchess, may I present my daughter, Henrietta. Hetty, dear, I believe you’ve met the Duchess of Highcastle? Lord Langford and I were so cozy, I hope you don’t mind that I received her here.”
The duchess glared at Henrietta. She was magnificent and awful in an ornate polonaise robe, her powdered hair built into a towering edifice atop which perched a picture hat piled with feathers. Her features gathered into a mask of fury as Darien stepped to Henrietta’s side.
“You!” she said, the word an epithet. “You…defiler of women!”
“Careful, Medora,” said the marquess, settled into a Hepplewhite chair with a plate full of buttered bread. “He’s not the one who twirled her off to the Continent.”
“He might have married her,” the duchess spat. “Instead of throwing her over like a hothouse strumpet.”
“I am very sorry, madam,” Darien said, “but I do not think your daughter wished me for a husband.”
“The heir to Langford?” the duchess said. “We could have paid off Havering! We had to anyway.”
“My father has an heir,” Darien said, his eyes traveling across the room. “My brother Lucien.”
“We’ll not discuss it here,” the marquess warned.
The duchess regarded the bundle in Henrietta’s arms. “Freddy said it was here,” she said with great scorn. “I suppose you’re pleased, since you came banging on the door to get it. The front door, of all things. So the entire square might see a tradesman’s daughter on my stoop.”
“A knight’s daughter, Medora.” The marquess sipped his tea.
The duchess’s eagle eyes turned to Henrietta. “What is its name, then?”
“Celestina, Your Grace.”
The duchess snorted. “To remind us ever of our shame. How lovely.”
Darien slipped his good arm around Henrietta’s waist, lending her silent support. His Henry felt calm and warm and strong.
“The duke won’t own it,” the duchess warned.
“I do not require him to,” Darien said evenly. “I shall be the child’s guardian. Celeste surrendered her rights when she sent the child to Henrietta.”
Henrietta’s shoulders stiffened, and he squeezed her lightly. She must know they had to provide a united front, or the duchess would scent blood and pounce.
“She’ll be knocking up my door again, I don’t doubt, the next time she wants something,” the duchess said. Her eyes dipped to the infant, who stared unblinking at the feathers of her hat. The duchess looked away.
“I won’t ask a thing from you or the duke,” Henrietta promised. “Darien is having papers drawn up by his solicitors. She will be my daughter.”
There was no talking her out of it now, he saw. He’d been hoisted by his own petard.
“And what will you do with her?” the duchess snapped. “Bring her up to trade?”
“I have an estate she may inherit,” Henrietta said. “And who knows but that she will be interested in running my mills.”
“If you don’t find yourself in prison or transported. Don’t you know Pitt means to bring a suit against you?”
The color left Henrietta’s face. “Suit?” Darien asked.
“There won’t be a suit once their betrothal is announced. Pitt won’t dare reach for such high fruit. I’ll squash him like the toad-eater he is,” the marquess said.
“Pitt called up every police force in the city to monitor our debate,” Henrietta said hollowly. “I don’t doubt he means to make an example of me.”
“You forget that Sir Pelton will speak to Mr. Pitt,” Clarinda murmured, “and Sir Jasper will have some influence. Your Grace, another dish of tea?”
Darien could tell Henrietta was not reassured by these promises.
Determined always to stand on her own two feet, she never believed anyone would rescue her.
He gave her another squeeze. He had to find a way to make her believe he would shield her, no matter what.
He had to convince her to trust him with her fortune, her future, her assorted wards and charges.
He had to prove himself worthy of her trust.
The duchess turned her stony glare on Darien. “Freddy said you meant to marry her. A bit ridiculous, Daring, all the girls you’ve compromised, to throw yourself over for a bluestocking.”
“That’s my new daughter, Medora,” the marquess said, “and my granddaughter, too. Hold that viperous tongue, if you don’t mind.”
“You’d best watch your step, Cassius,” the duchess replied. “Highcastle knows about the suit you mean to bring in Lords, and he’s not inclined to favor it, given the reputation of your erstwhile heir.”
“The inheritance must be settled,” the marquess retorted, “and Highcastle knows that as well as I do. He’d best hope he won’t be fighting his own suit. Your son challenged mine to a duel, remember.”
Her Grace’s eyebrows, artificially dark, snapped together in a marvelous scowl. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“I won’t cry rope on Freddy,” Darien said, shifting on his feet. He ached to sit down, but the duchess would take it as a sign of weakness.
“Well, I might,” the marquess said and sank his teeth into a piece of bread and butter.
The duchess held perfectly still, only the ostrich features on her outrageous hat trembling from the force of her wrath. “What do you want?” she said to Darien in a strained voice.
“Nothing from you,” Darien replied. “Freddy and I have settled the matter of the family’s honor.” He moved his arm slightly in its sling.
He willed Henrietta not to make one of her remarks. She had a neck-or-nothing brother; she must know it was customary for men of their rank to shoot at each other in the morning, then have a drink and cards together that night.
Clarinda spoke. “It might do to arrange something for the child.”
“What? Dower her? Unacceptable,” the duchess said through gritted teeth.
Henrietta lifted her chin. “I would consider a trust for Celestina’s education,” she said. “There is a school in Bath, Miss Gregoire’s Academy for Girls, where I spent many happy years. I hope to send Celestina there, if Darien approves.”
“I expect I will,” Darien said. “The more I hear of this Miss Gregoire, the more I like her.”
Finally—finally—she looked up at him and smiled. She hadn’t believed he was on her side. Well, she would find out. He meant to stay at her side as long as she would have him.
“There you have it, Medora,” the marquess said. “Set up a trust for the child’s schooling. She’ll learn how to support herself in the world, and she’ll never come with hand out to you for money.”
“She’ll have me—” Darien began, but Henrietta, without appearing to move, elbowed him in the ribs on his uninjured side.
“Oh, very well,” the duchess said with ill grace. “If you promise not to prosecute Freddy for shooting you, and if you give me your word this child will never trouble me nor the duke for acknowledgement. You may have your solicitors get in touch with Highcastle’s.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Henrietta said, holding the child close.
The duchess turned, her plumed hat nodding. “Well, Clarinda, you must be very pleased with yourself! We all thought you’d lowered yourself abominably when you married, but here you are with your husband made knight, and now his daughter is going to marry into a marquessate.”
“I have indeed been very fortunate,” Clarinda answered, one hand on her middle. “In most everything.”
“I hope your daughters never shame you as mine has,” the duchess said, pulling on her gloves. She advanced to the door and glared as the marquess drew to his feet. “If you see Highcastle at the club, have a drink with him, will you? He’s dreadfully cut up by all this.”
“I’ll make a point of it,” the marquess agreed.
“Well, good day, then,” the duchess said. “Clarinda, I’ll send a footman round to you later. I want to know where you get that butter.”
“And just like that,” Henrietta said after the duchess departed, “you’re all friends again, and will chum together at the clubs, even though you ruined her daughter and her son shot you.”
“Well, of course,” the marquess said. “There ain’t that many of us at this rank, gel. We may fight like the sons of Atreus, but we have to stick together in the end.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Darien said.
“She is learning,” Clarinda said kindly. “And now her daughter is provided for. Well done, Hetty.”
“That’s one solved,” the marquess said with a nod. “Once Jasper is home, we’ll draw up settlements, so that’s another.” He set his plate aside.
“I haven’t agreed to anything,” Henrietta reminded them all, but no one was listening. The marquess regarded his son.
“There’s one more matter we need to settle, puppy,” he said.