Chapter 17
The following Sunday, Julian escorted Clara into Hyde Park. It was refreshing to be able to walk with a young lady without the accompaniment of an attendant, somewhat daring even. Although for all the world, they were an ordinary couple now. Still, inside, it felt like breaking a taboo.
“It would be quite agreeable if you took my arm,” Julian said to her, and proffered it.
She took it at once, and they continued on through the gates and into the park.
It was a warm afternoon, and the park was bustling with people.
A governess attempted to bring three rowdy young children under her control while nearby, a young couple accompanied by their chaperone sat in the shade of an oak tree.
Groups of young women were congregating nearby, each positioning themselves to look their very best in front of the passing gentlemen who were riding and walking by on the sunny Saturday afternoon. Clara, he noted, drew more than a few glances herself.
He looked at her and smiled. She looked radiant in her yellow gown with its pretty puff sleeves and the little sash that accompanied it. It was the bonnet that caught his eye, however. Something on it was familiar in a way he couldn’t quite place, and then he could.
“Are those the wildflowers from your wedding bouquet?” he asked.
She nodded, her smile warm. “They were so pretty. I decided to dry them, press them, and put them on my bonnet. I’m afraid they will not last very long, but they were too pretty to throw away.”
“I’m glad you liked them.”
“Even had they been less than attractive,” she said, “I still would have liked them for the thought alone.”
Something in the depth of his stomach erupted—a warmth that spread to his chest before he had any opportunity to contain it. She meant those words. He knew it. He was pleased—more pleased than he had any particular right to be—that he had done something nice for her.
“I am glad,” he replied.
They had been back in London for almost a week now and had made sure to be seen, either the two of them alone or with David, and it seemed to be working.
The first scandal sheets had been written in a salacious manner when their union had first been announced, but the tone had shifted of late.
Now they spoke of what a handsome pair the Lyndens made and how well suited they appeared to one another.
It was odd and yet comforting. The plan was working.
David was safe for now. If only he knew the same to be true for Arabella.
They had received no word yet from the gentleman he had hired—a man of very high intellect and character—but of course, these things took time.
Nathaniel, whom they were meeting today, had likewise engaged a man he trusted implicitly after coordinating with Gideon.
James, Rhys, and Lucian remained in the dark for the time being.
“I believe David smiled this morning,” she said, and his thoughts returned at once to the matter at hand.
“Did he? Is he not too young to smile?”
“I should not think so. It certainly looked like a smile.” She paused. “And it rather resembles yours.”
He glanced at her sideways. “Now you are merely flattering me.”
“I am not. It is true. Besides, you are related after all.”
“That we are.” He steered them gently around a pair of ladies who had stopped directly in the middle of the path to conduct what appeared to be a very urgent conversation. “Have you seen your mother since we returned?”
She stiffened slightly on his arm and nodded.
“Yes. She is insistent upon seeing David. I am trying to convince her otherwise. I do not want her to form a bond with him only to have him taken away once we find Arabella. And besides—” she lowered her voice so that only he could hear, “—I am also worried that she will be able to tell that he is not mine.”
He waved a hand. “Do not fret about that. We shall simply say that he takes after his father. Which he may well do for all we know.”
“Some father,” she said quietly. “To want to discard his mother and keep only the child. And for what? The little one is a bastard, for all we know, unless she married him.”
“We will sort all that out once we find Arabella. We will find out whether she married him, and if not, we will come up with a suitable story. We will make certain he does not come anywhere near her or the child.” He looked at her.
“As for your mother, it will be difficult, but I will be at your side. I will take the blame. Do not fret.”
She exhaled slowly. He wanted, in that moment, to wrap his arms around her and hold her—to soothe her in some way—but he didn’t know how, and he didn’t know if she would want that.
There had been a lightness between them of late, since the Royal Menagerie.
In the evenings back at the house, they spoke with ease.
They even laughed. And sometimes, they sat in silence, and he knew those silences were filled by the same thing—worry about Arabella and worry about the future.
“Julian! Over here!”
Nathaniel’s voice carried across the park.
He was waving his arm above his head in the manner of a man who had entirely abandoned dignity, standing near the Serpentine.
Julian nudged Clara slightly, and the two of them made their way over to where Nathaniel and Evelyn had settled on a black and red checked blanket that had already been spread out on the grass.
Greetings were exchanged, and they sat.
“It is rather crowded today,” Nathaniel observed. “Perhaps we ought to have met at home.”
“Certainly not,” Evelyn replied with brisk authority.
“They must be seen together, and they must be seen in the company of their friends so that everybody knows we accept them—that we are all on their side.” She glanced around with a serene expression.
“You see how we are being examined already. As though we were some rare species of—”
“Birds,” Nathaniel supplied.
“You are a rare bird indeed,” he added, in a teasing tone that made Julian chuckle. Beside him, Clara smiled.
“I shall take that as a compliment,” Evelyn said, “for otherwise you would be walking home.”
Nathaniel raised both hands. “It was a compliment. Of course, it was. I know better.”
“After all these years, I should hope so.”
“Now—” Julian leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice though the chatter of people and the clatter of hooves on the nearby bridle path would have drowned them out regardless. “Has Stanhope found anything?”
Nathaniel’s expression shifted. He nodded.
“He has. Apparently, Arabella returned by ferry from Dover four weeks ago. She was in the company of two others—a young Italian gentleman and a lady. He has not yet been able to establish their identities although it appears they parted ways at Dover. The lady remained at an inn there before eventually making her way to London.”
“London,” Clara said. “So, you think they all met up again here?”
“They must have,” Julian said. “The gentleman who handed me the baby was Italian or at least his accent was. I spoke to him for only two or three minutes, but it was plain enough where he was from.” He paused.
“I wonder—was he a gentleman come to her aid or a servant? A servant might have helped her, but I cannot see one simply abandoning his posting.”
They fell silent for a moment.
“Is there anything else?” Clara asked. “Any idea of where she might have gone from here?”
Nathaniel shook his head. “Our man, Stanhope, searched all of your holdings.”
“He did,” Julian confirmed. “I thought perhaps she had made her way back to Southampton.”
“Could there have been another reason to go so far? Was she preparing something, do you think? Staging somewhere? Otherwise, why make the journey at all?”
Nathaniel scratched his chin. “It is peculiar. For her to go to Southampton, baptize the child and return here.”
“She would have made the journey to have her son baptized by our family vicar,” Julian said. “She has always been close with him. Her parents and mine were both baptized by his predecessor.”
“Stanhope found nothing more?” Nathaniel asked.
“Nothing. And I am quite certain he would have told me.”
“I cannot believe nobody has seen her with this gentleman,” Evelyn said. “Did she never once use his name when she wrote to you, Clara?”
All eyes turned to Clara. She blinked. “She referred to him only as Mr. X. I cannot think why, except that she wished to be mysterious which was very much in her nature.”
“That is what she called him when she spoke of him to me also,” Julian confirmed.
A brief silence fell over the group until Evelyn broke it.
“How is the child? And the wet nurse—is she proving satisfactory?”
“Very much so,” Julian said. “I was grateful she was available at such short notice. Some things do appear to be meant to work out.”
“She is wonderful with David,” Clara agreed. “He has taken to her completely. And her little daughter, Molly, is very sweet.”
“Molly—is that her name?” Julian said. “I confess I haven’t yet had occasion to speak with her properly.”
“I hope her husband does not mind her being away from home for so long,” Nathaniel said. “She is staying with you, is she not?”
Beside him, Clara swallowed. “I do not think that he minds,” she said.
Something in her tone gave Julian pause. Clara had always had this way about her—of giving answers that seemed perfectly direct but were, in fact, quietly evasive.
As the carriage rumbled down Bond Street towards Mayfair, he looked at her.
“Earlier, when Nathaniel mentioned Mrs. Holt’s husband—why did you say you do not think he minds? Is there strife in their marriage?”
“Not strife,” she said. “For, in order for there to be strife, there would have to be a marriage. From what she told me, her husband—if there ever was a husband—made off. She is quite alone with the little girl.”
“Good gracious,” he said. He was quiet for a moment. “It is fortunate then that she found refuge with us. We shall have to look after her well, even after—” he stopped himself, “—even after all of this has resolved.”
She smiled at him then—a small, private smile that she didn’t seem entirely aware of.
“What is that smile for?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “Only, I am glad you said that. Many a different kind of man would have said she was a loose woman for allowing herself to be placed in such a position. That she ought to give away the child or some such.”
“Never,” he said, with more conviction than he intended.
“That is entirely unfathomable. Whatever her story is, it is her story. A person’s life can be turned upside down at the drop of a hat as the two of us can certainly attest.” He paused.
“Whatever happened to Mrs. Holt—we shall see that she is looked after. She and the little girl both.”
Clara looked at him. He became aware, only now, that she was sitting beside him rather than across from him, as was the custom.
She had sat beside him on the journey to Southampton, too, and evidently the habit had settled without either of them remarking upon it.
They were close enough that their arms nearly touched.
He did not move away.
When they returned to the house, Mrs. Holt had retired to her chamber, and Mrs. Parker, the housekeeper, had taken charge of David.
They heard him before they saw him—the little boy’s wails carrying clearly across the front of the estate where Mrs. Parker was attempting to push the pram along the gravel path with the expression of a woman confronting something she had not anticipated.
“I do not know what has come over him,” she said, looking genuinely aggrieved as Clara descended from the carriage and hurried over. “He was perfectly content with Mrs. Holt. The moment I took charge of him, he set up this dreadful noise.”
Clara lifted David from the pram and rocked him gently. Julian came to stand beside her. “It is quite all right,” he said to Mrs. Parker. “He simply does not know you well yet. Once he does, all will be well.”
“I should certainly hope so,” Mrs. Parker replied, pulling herself to her full height, “seeing as I shall be a rather more permanent fixture in his life than the wet nurse.” And with that, she turned and walked away, her nose held at an angle that conveyed her feelings on the matter with perfect clarity.
“I believe you have offended her,” Clara said, a smile playing about her lips as David began to quiet against her shoulder.
“I expect she will recover, in due course,” Julian replied mildly.
He looked at David, who returned his gaze with wide blue eyes, apparently having decided that the crisis was over. Then, with the sudden and devastating charm that only very small babies could produce, he broke into a broad, gummy smile.
“By Jove,” Julian said, “I daresay he does like us.”
“I think so too.” She glanced at him. “Would you like to hold him?”
He nodded and took the baby. David felt heavier than he had just a week ago, and the clothes he had arrived in were already beginning to strain at the seams.
“We shall have to get you bigger clothes,” Julian told him in the conversational tone he had, without quite noticing, begun to use with the child. David considered this information and gripped Julian’s finger.
Julian looked at him properly then—at the dark lashes and the dimpled cheeks and the expression of complete and trusting contentment.
“When your mama returns,” he said quietly, “she will not recognize you. You will be so big already. She will wonder what on earth we have been feeding you.”
He did not look up. He did not want Clara to see his expression just at that moment, for he suspected it might give rather too much away—not about Arabella but about the small, inconvenient, and entirely unexpected feeling that had been growing in him steadily since a certain afternoon in a carriage when a woman he had barely known had sat beside him and made him feel, for the first time in a very long time, that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.