Chapter Twenty-Two
Lord Mark Rydell’s Bloomsbury residence
Half-past six in the evening
Mark stood still, taking slow shallow breaths and resisting the urge to toss Howe into the Thames.
His finicky valet, now also his butler, had retied Mark’s cravat twice, with quaking fingers and reddened cheeks, determined to produce a perfectly symmetrical knot.
He now circled Mark with a brush, straightening, pulling, and picking imaginary nits from the black-and-white kit, muttering dire comments about dining room measurements, polished silver, and soup courses.
“She can read a recipe, but can she read a ruler? Apparently not. The knives were too far from the plates, and the silver polish is still in the pantry, looking all the world like sauce for the duck. We are not using two of the candelabras because they are still tarnished. We are not equipped for this. We are not staffed for this.”
“You do know I can hear you, correct?”
Howe stepped back, stiffening his posture. “Sir?”
“You’re muttering, but I can still hear you.”
The valet blinked. “I was . . . muttering?”
Mark tightened his lips to avoid smiling. “Howe, whatever you were thinking was coming out of your mouth. Fine for a valet. Not so much a butler.”
Now the red crept up the man’s forehead. “Um . . . I . . .”
Mark waved off the thought and sat down to put on his slippers.
“Try to remain calm. I realize this is your first meal as my butler, but this is not a state dinner. It’s my family and Lady Sculthorpe, and they all know about you, even if they have never met you.
Lady Sculthorpe’s maid will accompany her but will remain in the servants’ dining room.
Make sure Miss Epworth, their carriage driver, and the footman get something to eat. ”
“Yes, sir.”
“You go on down. They should be arriving soon. I will join you shortly. And, Howe?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Take a few deep breaths. Neither your position nor your reputation depend on this dinner.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. But I still wish to do my best.”
“Of course. Which is why I appreciate you.”
Mark watched Howe leave, releasing a long sigh of relief.
Since Mark had announced the dinner and sent the invitations, Howe had been relentless in his fastidiousness.
In just four days, the house had been cleaned top to bottom, the menu devised and revised, supplies purchased, and the dining room prepped with new linens and china.
Clara had turned out to be an excellent organizer and leader for the female staff, as well as being able to calm the much older Howe in the midst of his fits of panic.
Mark’s own sense of unease about the evening, however, had little to do with the place settings, the recipes, or any cobwebs the maids might have missed.
Because he knew none of his guests would be considering his gifts as a host. Instead, they would be focused on the dark curls and blue eyes of a three-year-old girl.
His mother, in particular, would be examining the way Olivia walked, the way she smiled.
That smile.
Mark headed up to the nursery, opening the door to find Rose waiting patiently in a dark-green linen gown, the best of her meager frocks, although it now hung loosely about her frame, and he wondered if she had lost weight again, the way she had during her first illness.
Mark had offered to have a modiste make her several new dresses after they had moved in, but she had refused, and he did not want to push the matter at this time.
They faced far too much adjustment to the new living arrangement.
Rose, in complete opposition to her daughter, remained a quiet and private person who doted on her granddaughter.
Said granddaughter looked up at Mark, a smile spreading over her face.
She had been sitting at a low table, combing the hair of a doll almost as tall as she was.
Mark, who knew nothing about buying clothes or toys for little girls, had thought the doll would be more of a decoration for the room, occupying one of the small chairs.
Instead, it had become Olivia’s constant playmate, an escaped princess named Elizabeth but dubbed Lizzie.
Tucking Lizzie under one arm, Olivia crossed to him. “Are they here?”
He squatted, stroking her arm. “Not yet. Are you ready?”
She nodded vigorously, her curls bouncing. “Will they be nice?”
His relationship with his mother crossed his mind, but he set it aside.
“They will. It’s my brother and his wife, my mother, and a good friend of ours, Lady Sculthorpe.
They just want to meet you. They may ask a few questions, but it will not take long.
Then you can come back up here, change out of this fancy thing, and play.
” He tugged the skirt of her frock, a high-waisted white muslin dress with a royal-blue cotton slip underneath and a matching ribbon around the waist. Blue ribbons dotted her hair, which had been pulled away from her face in an attempt to tame at least a few of the curls.
Olivia giggled. “I feel like a princess.”
“You are a princess.”
Her eyes widened. “Does that make you a prince?”
“Oh, no. I am a nobody.”
“But you are my papa.”
The word still caught Mark off guard, and his breath hitched. “I am.”
She gave a single sharp nod. “Then you can be my prince.”
He kissed her on the forehead, then stood, addressing Rose. “They will gather in the front parlor before we go into the dining room. I will send Clara up when we are ready. It should not be long. I think I heard the first knocks as I came up.”
Rose nodded, her hand pressed hard across her stomach.
His whole household was a bundle of nerves.
Heading downstairs, Mark heard the mantel clock in the front parlor chime the hour, the tone echoing through the foyer and over the soft muttering of voices.
Mark listened as he approached the room, immediately hearing the rough rumble of Matthew’s words, along with the strident tones of his mother.
Sarah, Matthew’s new wife, spoke with a soft alto that inexplicably soothed his brother’s temper.
He heard Judith’s dulcet words . . . then another, higher pitched voice that caused Mark to halt outside the door.
That made one too many people. He had only invited Matthew, Sarah, his mother, and Judith. Then who . . .
He pushed open the door, and they all turned to face him, falling silent. Except for one of them.
“He still does not look like a doctor, even though he has on clothes.”
*
Judith watched the color drain from Mark’s face as Matthew snorted a laugh, and Sarah gripped her husband’s forearm in reprimand. Phyllida sniffed and clutched her hands together in front of her, murmuring, “Seen. Not heard.”
For once Judith would agree. She gripped the back of William’s neck and whispered. “Remember.”
He twisted to look up at her. “Oh. I forgot.”
Judith faced Mark, hoping that he would not be too angry by her surprise guest—and that the heat in her cheeks did not mean her face had turned beet red. “I thought perhaps—”
“It was my idea.” Phyllida stepped forward. “The children are almost the same age, and no child should be left alone, especially when there is a party in the house.”
The gleam returned to Mark’s eyes as did the color to his cheeks. “Is that experience speaking, Mother?”
“You should know better than most.” Phyllida turned to Judith. “By the time he was five, my second son could not be left unattended. He could shimmy down the lattice on the outside of the house and be under the dining room table causing havoc before anyone noticed him missing from the nursery.”
Judith kept her expression solemn. “I take it punishment did not have its desired effect.”
Phyllida sniffed. “He has a remarkably short memory of such.”
Mark focused on Judith. “Was it truly her notion?”
Judith glanced at her son’s face, now wide-eyed at the exchange between the adults. “It was, in truth, although I agreed with her. I have always thought my boys too far apart. So I agree with her wisdom.”
“Take care on that score, my lady, as my mother’s wisdom often arrives with sharp edges and the occasional thorn.” Mark smirked as Phyllida huffed, then he reached for the bell pull. At Howe’s appearance he instructed the butler to have Clara bring Olivia and Rose to the room. He then faced them.
“I do appreciate you coming tonight. I was not certain how to integrate Olivia and Rose into the family, but I no longer felt comfortable leaving circumstances as they were.
Word is beginning to spread about Stella leaving a child behind and there is growing speculation about who her father might be.
The names I heard—dukes, viscounts, even the Prince Regent—put Olivia at even more risk than if I acknowledged her.
But this move has not been easy. Her grandmother Rose has never been associated with Society, and she is somewhat overwhelmed and a bit fragile.
The maids are helping her, but I felt she needed to meet some of the family with whom she will be associated.
“Not all men would be so honorable or thoughtful.” Sarah’s soothing words carried an edge of experience to them.
“Some men”—Matthew cleared his throat—“would have ignored them, left them to their fate, especially given the circumstances of her birth. The city is littered with such children.”
“Woe be to us,” Judith muttered.
Mark tilted his head as he looked at her. “Indeed. And that attitude is precisely why I invited you as well.” He looked down at William. “You were a surprise but are welcome.”
“But you are still not a doctor?”
Mark blinked, and Judith suddenly realized neither of them had actually answered his question. She stroked William’s hair. “No. He is not a doctor.”
“But he helped you.”
“He did.”
Mark smeared a hand across his lips as the other three Rydells looked puzzled.
Further commentary, however, stalled when the door opened to reveal an older woman in a loose and plain green gown and the most beautiful young girl Judith had ever seen.
Dark curls had been coiffed into tight ringlets held in place by a plethora of blue ribbons, which matched the slip beneath her white gown, a miniature of a woman’s ballgown, revealing an intimation of the beautiful woman she would become.
Enormous blue eyes scanned the room as her focus moved from one person to another, finally settling on William.
Her face lit as she spotted him, and she took a step forward, only to have the older woman put a hand on the girl’s shoulder, holding her back.
Phyllida gasped, one hand covering her mouth. Matthew looked from the girl to his brother several times before his gravelly words echoed what everyone seemed to be thinking.
“It is rather obvious who her father is, is it not?”
Phyllida whispered, “She is Daphne made over.”
The girl looked up at Mark. “Who is Daphne?”
“My sister.”
“There are more of you?”
“A lot more.”
The girl grinned. “Good!”
Mark touched her shoulder but looked at the others. “May I present Mrs. Rose Ashley and Miss Olivia . . . Ashley.”
His hesitation before saying the girl’s last name told Judith that “Ashley” would not be her surname for much longer. And his face softened as he gazed down at her, his eyes becoming moist.
“Never thought I would see that.”
They all turned to Matthew, who shrugged. “That’s the way Father used to look at Daphne.” He squatted and held out his hand. “I am pleased to meet you, Miss Ashley. I am Matthew Rydell.”
Rose released her, and Olivia went to him, her small hand slipping into his. “The same, sir.” She looked around at Rose, who nodded, motioning her encouragement with a flick of her hand.
When Matthew lifted her hand to kiss the back of it, the girl’s mouth opened in a quiet O. She did not move until Sarah bent and introduced herself, as did Phyllida. Olivia then stopped in front of William, who did not say a word.
“Who are you?”
William simply stared.
Judith leaned over. “I am Judith Lovelace, and this is my son, William.”
“Are you family too?”
“No,” Judith said, nudging William, who resisted.
“Not yet,” muttered Matthew, earning another squeezed forearm from Sarah.
“How old are you?”
At William’s continued silence, Judith murmured, “He is four.”
Olivia nodded, her ringlets bouncing. “Do you have a rocking horse? I have a rocking horse. It is brand new. Would you like to see it?”
William looked up at Judith, who looked at Mark, who looked at Rose, who nodded. Mark turned back to Judith. “Rose and Olivia had planned to eat dinner in the nursery. William may join them, if it is permissible.”
“It is.”
Olivia bounced up on her toes, and all semblance of polite civility vanished as she grabbed for William’s hand, tugging him toward the door. “Come on! I’ll race you!”
With one startled look back at Judith, William broke into a run. “I’ll win!”
As their thundering footsteps raced up the stairs, an awkward silence settled on the room. With a nod to Mark, Rose followed the children.
Judith watched her go, an odd worrying nagging at the back of her thoughts. She could not quite place it, but something about Rose Ashley felt strangely familiar.
Phyllida sniffed, jerking Judith’s attention back to the room. “Well, that was . . . unexpected.”
Judith felt her face heat again. “My son has not been around many other children. Just his brother, who is ten and already a bit full of himself.”
Phyllida nodded. “As all ten-year-old boys tend to be. Unfortunately, most of them never grow out of it.”
Sarah gave a short laugh, and Matthew a growl. “We are right here, Mother.”
“If the cap fits . . .”
Sarah caught Judith’s eye, and they both laughed, causing the men to look highly affronted. Fortunately, Howe appeared to indicate dinner was ready to be served.
Mark offered Judith his arm, which she gladly accepted, her fingers curling around his elbow. As they walked toward the home’s small dining room, he leaned closer. “How are you feeling?”
“Back to normal. It never lasts too long. But I do appreciate all you did. Thank you. Do you need me to return the vial?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. Does this happen every month?”
Judith looked away, her cheeks warming again.
“My apologies. My mother will tell you I have never been very good at knowing what is and is not appropriate topics of conversation.”
“Then I suspect you have seen many a young lady grow red in the face.”
He chuckled. “More than you can imagine.” After a pause, he whispered. “Are you wearing it?”
She tightened her fingers on his arm.
“I will take that as a yes.” His voice dropped even lower. “No matter what you hear tonight, keep one thing in mind.”
She peered up at him. “Which is?”
“First choice.”