A Baron for Becky (22 page)

By now, a
number of people had noticed the resemblance between Lady Overton
and Rose Darling, but that they were two separate women was beyond
doubt.

On Tuesday, the
Duchess of Haverford held a ball, and Society held its collective
breath to see the Merry Marquis meet a lady who looked so like his
mistress. They were disappointed. Beyond a certain possessiveness
in the way the baron put his hand over the one his wife nestled in
the crook of his arm, and the laughing bow with which Aldridge
acknowledged what nearby onlookers whispered was a refusal to
dance, the three were clearly well acquainted and on good terms.
And the baroness did not dance that evening, so nothing could be
made of her not dancing with Aldridge.

On Wednesday,
they met again, this time in Hyde Park. It was, of course,
scandalous of Aldridge to bring his mistress there at all,
especially at the most fashionable time of the afternoon. But what
else could one expect of Aldridge, and didn’t Mrs Darling ride
well? She moved as if she and the horse were one.

She wore a
riding dress in her signature powder blue, cut close to her curves,
with a deep scooping neckline. A jaunty top hat with a veil perched
on her pile of dark curls, and the dress was draped to show neat
boots that hugged shapely ankles.

Lady Overton,
by contrast, wore an afternoon dress and redingote in shades of
rich deep red. She had been wearing jewel colours all week: red,
deep blue, a rich emerald green. There was, beyond a doubt, a
surface resemblance between her and Aldridge’s doxy, but Lady
Overton was every inch a lady.

Aldridge tipped
his hat to his friend and his friend’s wife as he rode past, and
onlookers noticed that the lady did not seem to be offended when
the mistress grinned cheerfully and waved a hand. Not at all high
in the instep, Lady Overton. A good sort. Society was inclined to
approve of anyone so clearly sponsored by its
grandes dames
,
and Baron Overton was well regarded (except his occasional
excesses, which most blamed on Aldridge) but Lady Overton was fast
winning supporters on her own modest and charming merits.

What happened
next, nobody quite knew. Something spooked Mrs Darling’s horse;
that much was obvious. It bolted. Bolted so suddenly and so fast
that Aldridge, whose attention had been on the Overtons, was
seconds late in responding.

In moments,
horse and rider disappeared into the trees, with Aldridge in hot
pursuit. The park erupted in a collective gasp when a low branch
swept Mrs Darling from the horse.

The Overtons
were among the first on the scene, and Lord Overton persuaded the
distraught Marquis to allow the still, broken body to be lifted
into the Overton carriage. Aldridge insisted on taking his mistress
to Haverford House, and servants were sent running for any doctor
who could be found.

Three of them
arrived in quick succession, and together they examined the body
and pronounced it dead. If they thought the injuries inconsistent
with a fall from a horse, none of them mentioned it, even to one
another.

Naturally, no
one at a nearby workhouse hospital linked the disappearance of a
body with the death of the Marquis of Aldridge’s mistress. Why
would they? What had a low street prostitute, beaten to death by a
client, to do with goings on in the upper echelons of Society?

The following
day, the Overtons left for their estates in Lancashire. Aldridge,
reportedly deeply affected by the death of his mistress, did not
come to see them leave.

Two days later,
Aldridge walked behind the coffin at a small private funeral. His
half-brother, David Wakefield, was the only other mourner.
Afterwards, Aldridge thanked him for coming. “It’s the least I
could do,” David said. “After all, I found her for you. Poor girl.
That coffin is the most luxury she has ever known.”

Elsewhere, at
the same time, Christiana O’Blair, formerly an equestrienne in the
employ of Astley’s Amphitheatre, stood at the rail of a ship with
the horse trainer who was her husband. The docks of London
disappeared into the fog.

“
Don’t you
go missing that high life, Chrissie,” said the husband.

Chrissie
tossed her head. “It were fun for a few days, Charlie, but it ain’t
me. All that gossiping and such, and the screechy music, and that
there Marquis? Spoilt, he is. Thinks he’s God’s gift to women, and
so he does.”

“
If he tried
it on, Chrissie, I’m going straight back to London to knock his
head off.”

Chrissie made
a face, poking her lips out in distaste. “Nah. That’s not to say he
wouldn’t have, if you know what I mean. But I’m a married woman,
Charlie, and so I told him. And if any of that was in the plan,
then it was no deal, I told him.”

“
It’s a rum
deal, and that’s a fact.”

Chrissie
looked alarmed. “You won’t say nothing, though, Charlie? You
promised.”

Charlie
laughed. “And lose the money his nibs is going to pay us right and
tight every year? Not likely. With what he gave you, and what we’ve
saved, we’re going to have us a stud farm and horse training
school, Chrissie, my love. And in a land with no Marquises and such
sniffing ’round another man’s woman. No. He’s got what he wanted,
and you and me, we’re going to get what we want, and no
mistake.”

Chapter Seventeen

3 months later,
Lancashire

Becky knew from whence
the letter came before she took it from the salver. The Haverford
seal embossed the heavy wax, and the Duke of Haverford had franked
it. She held it to her nose for a moment; she had a better sense of
smell when pregnant, but would have recognised this scent even
without the extra boost of her condition.

She levered
herself to her feet to go to her desk, refusing help offered by the
hovering butler. She still had four or five weeks to go, according
to the local midwife and the very expensive
accoucheur
Hugh
had brought up from Liverpool, but she felt enormous. Surely she
hadn’t been this big and awkward with Sarah?

The servants
would have wrapped her in cotton wool if they could. Hugh, too. She
smiled at the thought of her attentive husband. She was so happy,
so very, very blessed. It was a heady thing to be treated as a
lady, a person worthy of respect.

And Hugh, who
would be home from his week in Liverpool this very day, he seemed
content too. It was simple enough to keep a man satisfied. All she
had to do was make sure his house was comfortable, his daughters
cared for, and his needs met. And this letter would help, she was
sure.

Her letter
opener made short work of the seal. She unfolded the letter
carefully, and laughed. No economies for Her Grace, the Duchess of
Haverford. Three sheets were covered with her small, elegant hand.
Becky scanned them quickly. Most comprised instructions,
admonitions, and suggestions about her pregnancy.

Several lines
brought her up to date with news on Aldridge, who was—so the
duchess said—well and about his usual activities. ‘And still
wearing that ridiculous arm-band, my dear Rebecca, which I cannot
like, though whether that is in memory of his mistress or because
of the sympathy it wins from woman, I would not like to venture a
guess.’ Becky snorted. She did not have to guess.

Ah. Here is
what she sought. She read quickly, her smile broadening. But this
was perfect! Hugh would be so pleased, and so would the girls. And
Miss Wilson, Sarah’s governess, who had come as a favour to Becky
and Aldridge but was anxious to begin her promised retirement
before the first snow.

She began a
reply. She wouldn’t send it until she had spoken to Hugh, but
needn’t waste time.

A footfall
behind her announced her husband an instant before his hand came
over her shoulder and snatched up the letter.

“Hugh!” she
turned awkwardly in the chair. Her husband’s stormy face unsettled
her. “Hugh? Is something wrong?”

The storm faded
quickly. His frown turned to puzzlement, and he nibbled at his
upper lip as he read the first page of the letter, then turned to
the signature. “The Duchess of Haverford?”

“Who did you
think?” Becky knew perfectly well what he thought. How could he?
She had given him no reason to doubt her!

“I... uh...” He
shuffled the pages, shifting uncomfortably. He covered his
embarrassment with a glare. “Why is the Duchess writing to you?
Does she mention Aldridge?”

It hadn’t
occurred to Becky until this moment that they never talked about
Aldridge. Never. And what a large oversight that was. He was
supposed to be Hugh’s best friend, and had, in his own way, been a
good friend to her, but in this house, he had ceased to exist.

“She says he is
still wearing a black armband and enjoying sympathy, presumably,
mostly from women,” she told Hugh, trying to keep the hurt and
anger from her voice.

“That sounds
like Aldridge.” He looked down at the letter.

Becky took a
deep breath and let it out slowly. Calm. Stay calm. “I wrote to the
duchess to ask if she would find us a governess, Hugh. Miss Wilson
only came for a short time, and it has already been three
months.”

“Oh.” His face
flushed, and he shifted again from foot to foot, avoiding her eyes.
Good. He should be embarrassed to think so ill of her. “I... can we
start again, Becky? Can I go out and come in again and just pretend
this never happened?”

They should
talk about it. She shouldn’t let him just brush it away. But she
could not stay cross while he smiled at her, begging with his eyes.
She smiled back and nodded, and he tiptoed to the door with
ostentatiously large steps, trying to make her chuckle. Which she
did, just to please him.

Moments later,
he poked his head around the door again. “Becky, my love, I’m
home.”

“Hugh, how
lovely. You’re early.”

“I finished
early, and could not wait to see my lovely wife.”

He’d crossed
and was now kneeling beside her, his hand tipping her forward for a
kiss. She poured all the love she was afraid to confess into that
connection between them, opening her lips to his tender invasion,
sucking gently on his tongue and sliding hers to explore his mouth
in her turn.

“And what are
you doing here, Becky?” he asked, when they paused, both short of
breath. “Writing letters?”

“I have heard
from the Duchess of Haverstock,” she told him, playing along.
“Hugh, she has found us the perfect governess! All the
accomplishments we were looking for, and just think, Hugh, she has
a daughter almost the same age as Emma! I have been so concerned; I
tell Sarah and Sophie that they must include her, but she struggles
to keep up, and they do forget. Besides, three is an awkward
number. However kind the older girls might be, Emma keeps getting
left out, and they are not always kind, Hugh.” She was babbling.
She knew she was babbling. But his face—the unscarred side—had gone
cold and still. What had she done wrong?

“It is unusual
for a governess to be a widow,” he said, his voice even and
expressionless.

“She is not a
widow,” Becky admitted.

The frown was
back. Hugh picked up the letter again, and this time scanned until
he found the passage about the governess. “Becky, you cannot hire
this woman. I forbid it.”

The cold in
Hugh’s voice crept into her own. “What is your objection,
Hugh?”

Let him state
it bluntly.

“You can ask?
Becky, she’s from a seminary for fallen women! She has had a child
out of wedlock! What is the duchess thinking? A woman like her
isn’t fit to have charge of children! No decent person would even
let her into their house, let alone near their family.”

Dear God. All
this time she had thought he accepted her, respected her. All this
time, he thought... The cold seeped through her, touching her heart
and turning it to a lump of ice.

“You did.”
Becky let the words fall uncompromisingly, stopping him in
mid-speech.

“Becky. No. I
didn’t mean... Becky, you’re different.” Hugh looked bewildered.
The benighted, stupid, arrogant lummox. “You didn’t want to... I
mean, I’m sure you felt you had no choice.”

“
Felt
I
had no choice?
Felt
?” The cold flashed to heat so fast, the
burn scorched through her veins. She was out of her chair more
quickly than she had moved in weeks, stalking towards him so
fiercely, he stepped back and fell, rather than sat, on the sofa
behind him.

“You are
absolutely right, Hugh. I
felt
I had no choice. Is that what
you think? That if I had just tried harder, I would not have
fallen, and you would not have been forced to compromise your
integrity to allow me in the same house as your children?”