Sattler, Veronica (78 page)

When
Brett had gone, Mary rushed up to the schoolroom on the third floor and
witnessed a perfectly executed pageant in which Alessandra and Georgio were decked
out as the king and queen of the fairies, Oberon and Titania—Aldo had just
finished reading Shakespeare's
A Midsummer Night's Dream.
The two were
meant to represent Ashleigh and Brett. Alessandra had black hair and blue eyes
and wore a replica of one of the duchess's gowns while Georgio, the only one of
the boys with chestnut-colored hair, did his best to emulate the duke as he
postured with a bold, masculine stride he hoped all would recognize.

Praising
them for their work, Mary told them she would see them all at seven that
evening, when Old Henry and one of the grooms would drive them to Cloverhill
Manor. Then she hurried downstairs to summon the barouche.

But
as she arrived at the foot of the staircase leading to the front hall, she
spied a solitary, gray-clad figure standing there. At first glance, she didn't
recognize the woman, but then the footman on duty came forward from his
post—where he'd been hidden by one of a pair of tall Jacobean chests that
flanked the entryway.

"Lady
Jane Hastings to see Her Grace, mum. I told her Her Grace was not at home,
but—"

"Why,
Lady Jane! Of course!" exclaimed Mary. "How do you do, my dear?"

Jane
Hastings looked frightened for a moment. She stood there in the richly
appointed hallway, wearing a somber gray frock that appeared to have been made
for a fashion that had passed out of date thirty years earlier. In her hands
she clutched a carved ivory casket that was about the size of a breadbox.

"Lady
Jane?" Mary questioned. "I'm Mary... ah, Westmont. Don't you know
me?"

Hazel
eyes met hers, but whereas Mary's were bright and gaily flecked with shards
that matched her dress, Jane's were somber and apprehensive.

Finally
the drably dressed little woman spoke. "Mary... yes... I remember... you
were kind to me once...." Suddenly her eyes flashed a hint of emotion.
"But
they
weren't kind to
you! They
weren't kind to you...
either."

"You
wished to see my daughter-in-law, did you?" Mary questioned. She smiled at
the woman she had pitied many years ago, hoping to dispel the fear that still
lurked in her eyes. "I'm afraid Ashleigh has gone on ahead... ah, to the
party. You'll see her back at the Manor if you hurry." She glanced over
Jane's shoulder, to the windows beside the door, and thought she saw a carriage
waiting in the drive.

"Oh,
dear!" said Jane. "Oh, no! Oh, that might be too late!" She
glanced down at the ivory box she now clutched to her ample bosom, then back at
Mary. "I... have this gift for her, you see." She glanced furtively
in the direction of the footman who had returned to his post, then added in a
whisper,
"It could save her life!"

Mary
made an effort to quell the grip of terror that clutched at her heart. Brett
had taken her into his confidence regarding the attempts on Ashleigh's life
after the riding accident, but made her promise not to tell Ashleigh, stating
his well-pondered reasons, and Mary had reluctantly agreed. She'd privately
felt her daughter-in-law was more than up to dealing with such information; she
had watched her grow in strength and maturity herself, after all, and she was
not inclined to underestimate Ashleigh's fortitude. But Brett had insisted, and
she'd been forced to agree. The last thing she wanted to be was a meddling
mother-in-law!

But
now, as she heard Lady Jane's fearfully whispered words, she wondered if she
might help in another way.

"Lady
Jane, is there something in that box that the duchess should be aware of?"
she ventured cautiously.

The
hazel eyes searched her own for a long moment. Then Jane nodded, before
thrusting the casket toward the woman she remembered as one who'd befriended
her years ago. "Here," she stated emphatically. "You might know
how to help her... you... were a lot like her in those days."

Mary
accepted the box, then watched Jane spin about and scurry toward the door. When
she reached it, she glanced back at her over her shoulder. "Read
them," she said fearfully. "Read them,
quickly
!"

Mary
watched her go, then glanced at the ivory casket. Deciding time was of
importance here, she hurried into the nearby drawing room, satisfied herself
that no one was about, and sat down on a sofa to open the box.

The
hinges on the box creaked, indicating it had probably seen little recent use.
Inside, she spied a pile of what appeared to be some very old letters, their
stale-smelling musty pages indicating years of disuse. She took the first in
her hand and began to read....

* * * * *

Brett
stood on the terrace behind the Hastings's E-shaped Elizabethan manor house and
watched as an elegantly coiffed and begowned Elizabeth fussed with an
arrangement of summer flowers in a vase on one of the nearby tables. Yes,
Elizabeth certainly was beautiful, he mused, as his eyes ran over her ice-blue
gown fashioned in the latest mode, but cold... haughtily and distantly cold. He
stifled a shudder as he thanked Heaven for the turn of events that had brought
Ashleigh into his life and saved him from a life shared with this winter.

"It's
not like you to be nervous over hostessing some simple country celebrations,
Elizabeth," he said. "Even something as elaborate as what I'm sure
you've planned for today." He gestured at the array of perfectly decorated
outdoor tables on the terrace, each of them covered by a snow-white damask
tablecloth and set up for luncheon with matching, paper-thin china, ornate
silverware and sparkling Waterford crystal.

Elizabeth
frowned at the bouquet she'd rearranged a dozen times, then pulled her hands
away and forced a smile. She chastised herself for forgetting that her former
fiance was a man who rarely missed anything that went on about him. She'd have
to be more careful. Auntie Meg had been very particular about the necessity of
keeping Brett busy here at the Manor, and she had no wish to foil her godmother
in carrying out those instructions.

Of
course, as to
why
she was to do this, Elizabeth had no idea. Margaret
had simply stated that it was imperative that Brett be kept away from his own
estate, and the dowager's cottage in particular, today. But she'd hinted at the
fact that, once the day was over, the duke might yet again become free to marry
in the future, and that was enough for Elizabeth; despite his betrayal, she
still longed to be Brett's duchess. Indeed, hardly a night went by when she
didn't dream of it, though the dreams more closely resembled nightmares since
he'd returned to England with that little usurper!

But
it had also been part of some secret plan of Margaret's that they pretend to
befriend the little black-haired bitch, and Elizabeth had gone along with this.
If Auntie Meg had a need to keep secrets, there was likely good reason for it.
Auntie Meg was clever; in fact, they didn't come any more clever than her
godmother. If she had a plan to deliver Brett into her hands again, Elizabeth
had no doubt that it would work and she would obey her unquestioningly, even
blindly, to see it effected.

Now,
as she smiled at Brett, her mind fastened on the need to keep him from
suspecting anything. "Oh, Brett, darling, it's just like you to read me
like a book. But I have every reason to be a trifle nervous. I've never given a
fete for a duchess before. And besides, you know why you're here. I'd simply
die
if father were to imbibe too many spirits and pass out in the middle of
things!"

Brett
grimaced in distaste. "Yes, well, speaking of his rum-loving lordship,
where is he?"

"Ah,
upstairs in the library," she answered quickly. "Shall I take you to
him?"

* * * * *

Ashleigh
thanked the groom who'd driven her to the dowager's cottage and watched him
turn the team of matched grays and head back to the Hall. She saw Jonathan
Busby and Tom Blecker working on the picket fence that enclosed the front
garden.

"Good
morning to you, Mr. Blecker, Jonathan!" she called.

Both
men paused in their work, old Tom pulling on his forelock in the old fashioned
gesture of respect while young Jonathan merely gave a slight bow, then grinned
and waved.

At
that moment the cottage's front door opened, and Lady Margaret came out. She
was followed by her abigail, who carried a tray in her hands; the tray bore a
pair of tankards.

"Good
morning, my dear," said Margaret. "I see you're on time, as usual.
Promptness is a virtue I applaud, you know. I'm so pleased to note your
adherence to it. So many of your generation seem to have forgotten the old
standards."

"Well—"
Ashleigh smiled "—it's really just a matter of common courtesy, as I see
it. I wouldn't dream of making someone wait for me." She bit her bottom
lip to keep from smiling at her recollection of what had almost made her late
this morning, for after her morning lovemaking with her husband, she'd had to
race through her toilette to be here on time!

Margaret
was mumbling something about there being nothing common about the thing called
courtesy as she gestured with a loftily pointed finger for her abigail to carry
the tray with the tankards to the men working on the fence. "A cooling
drink of my special chilled herb tea for you, gentlemen," she called to
the perspiring workmen. "Do pause a moment and refresh yourselves."

Tom
and Jonathan each pulled on their forelocks this time, Ashleigh noted, then set
down their tools to accept the drinks.

"Dora,"
Margaret continued to her abigail, "collect the tankards immediately
they're finished and scrub them thoroughly before you go out to the rear garden
to cut those flowers. I want a fresh bouquet in each room before you leave for
your half day, is that clear?"

Dora
bobbed a curtsy, murmured, "Yes, m'lady," and stood attentively
beside the fence, watching young Jonathan and old Tom quench their thirst.

Margaret
chuckled to herself as she joined Ashleigh and nodded in the direction of the
lake where the skiff awaited them. "She'll grab those tankards the second
they're empty, if I know her! And the flowers will be cut and arranged in
record time, too! The lazy slut never fails to do her work in half the time it
usually takes her when it precedes her time off. I guarantee she'll reap
herself an extra hour today. Ah, servants! They're such a trial!"

Ashleigh
refrained from commenting, for her private assessment of Dora's lot was that
she was one of the hardest working servants at Ravensford Hall—and the
unhappiest. The poor girl ran and fetched for Margaret day and night, and
Ashleigh had never once seen her smile.

But,
as they neared the little skiff and she was forced to pay heed to Margaret's
instructions for entering it, Ashleigh thrust these thoughts aside. After all,
Margaret was making every effort to be kind to her, and she felt it was hardly
right for her own thoughts to wax ungenerous toward the woman in return.

* * * * *

Mary
sat in disbelieving silence as she allowed her eyes to scan once more the
letter she'd just read.
It wasn't possible!
It just
wasn't possible!

But
even as her mind attempted to deny what she'd read, she knew it was the truth.
The letter was signed by Margaret Westmont and had been penned to "My
dearest love, Andrew," in the year 1766. Mary held it in her trembling
hands as she digested the words:

My
dearest love, Andrew,

We
were fortunate, indeed, that my brother's extended stay at his estate in Surrey
helped us keep my pregnancy a secret. But your news that Jane bore you a
stillborn daughter, though unfortunate, must also be seen as welcome. Of
course, I share your grief at the loss of the child, but take heart, my
dearest! In a matter of hours—for, yes, I have begun to labor, even as I write
you this letter—I shall be bearing you a child which it will now be infinitely
easier to place in your home as your
legitimate
offspring! I pray it
will be a son, and if what you've been telling me is true, we should have
little trouble placing it in your befuddled, grief-stricken wife's empty cradle
and convincing her it is hers.

The
letter had left off here, then began anew:

Wonderful
news, my love! Between the hours of seven and eight last evening
I bore you
twins!
The elder is a boy, and I have named him David as we agreed on, for
a male child; the second twin, a girl, I've named Caroline, our choice of a
feminine name. As we also agreed, I've arranged for the midwife we brought down
from Glasgow to be driven home; she leaves just as soon as that deaf-mute girl
from the village is brought to attend me.
No one
must discover what
we've done....

Mary
dropped the letter onto her lap, almost too stunned to think. David...
Caroline... why, those were the Hastings twins who—
Caroline!
Caroline
had married
Edward
after the divorce! But—but that meant that Margaret
had stood by and watched—no,
encouraged
—Edward to wed his own
first
cousin!