The Scandals Of An Innocent

Miles drew her closer into his arms and held her so tightly she was afraid she would not be able to breathe for some considerable time. There was comfort in his touch, and sympathy for her anguish for Lydia as well as love for her.

“Tom is a free man now, I suppose,” Alice said, sighing. “I hope he does not show his face around here though.”

“Fortune is an out-and-out bastard,” Miles said, under his breath. “He will get his just deserts in the end.” He held her a little way away from him, his gaze moving slowly over her face, his expression hardening as he took in her ripped bodice and filthy skirts. “You gave me a hell of a fright, Alice,” he said. “Next time I tell you not to venture out alone when I am away, will you obey me?”

“I hope,” Alice said, “that the situation will not arise.”

Miles laughed. “Now I have the special license, you will be marrying me very shortly. And then you will be promising to obey me.”

“Fortunate then that you saved me before Henry Cole knocked me on the head like a dying rabbit,” Alice said. “Thank you for saving my life again.” She smiled. “You would not want to see your heiress whipped from under your nose before you had a chance to save yourself from the debtor’s prison.”

“That,” Miles said, kissing her gently, “was the least of my concerns.” He released her. “Let’s go home,” he said. He laughed. “Let’s go and get married.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THEY WERE MARRIED three days later in the little church at Fortune’s Folly. Lizzie Scarlet was bridesmaid and caught Alice’s bouquet. Miles had asked Philip to be his groomsman, alongside Dexter and Nat. Philip had been puffed up with pride at the honor and Lady Vickery had cried with joy. Lydia had been there, too, a silent, pale Lydia whose eyes were red from crying but who had come to see her friend wed because, as she had whispered to Alice when she had kissed her in congratulation, one of them deserved to have found a rake who had put aside his past for the love of a good woman. Alice’s heart had bled for Lydia but later she had seen her friend walk away to sit quietly by the river and had seen Lowell follow her to talk to her, and she had wondered a very little. It would take a great deal for Lydia ever to trust any man again but perhaps one day…

The only sour note in the day was struck when Sir Montague Fortune announced that he was reviving the medieval Marriage Tax, which was to be levied on all couples tying the knot. Dexter and Nat had thrown him in the River Tune before returning to toast the health of the bride and groom.

“A circle with a dot in the center!” Mrs. Lister said triumphantly, looking into her teacup as she and Alice sat in the parlor at Spring House partaking of a quiet cup of tea together at the end of the wedding breakfast. “That means a baby, Alice! A honeymoon child!”

“Mama,” Alice said, “that splodge in your cup looks more like a fish than a circle-”

“A fish means good news,” Mrs. Lister crowed, peering closer. “Though perhaps it might be a heart or a horn…”

“It can be whatever you wish it to be,” Alice said, taking her mother’s hand in hers. She felt so happy that she was not sure she cared what swam out of the cup.

There was a knock at the door and Frank Gaines stuck his head around. He had been at the wedding breakfast earlier with Celia, but then a messenger had arrived for him from Harrogate and Alice had seen him speaking with Celia again afterward. It had appeared that hot words were being exchanged and Alice had wondered at it, especially when Celia had walked off, head held high, and had ignored Gaines for the whole of the rest of the afternoon. Now, she thought, he looked grim and tired.

“If I might trouble you for a moment of your time, Lady Vickery,” Gaines said. He took the chair that Alice offered and sat down slowly. There was an odd expression on his face, a compound of pity and embarrassment. Even Mrs. Lister had noticed it, for she dropped her teacup back into the saucer with a clatter.

“A raven,” she whispered. “Bad news.”

“Mama,” Alice said sharply. A strange, hard knot had formed in her throat. “What is it?” she said to Frank Gaines.

Gaines shook his head. “Mr. Churchward and I have been making the arrangements for the transfer of funds to clear Lord Vickery’s debts, my lady,” he said. “In the course of our discussions-” he cleared his throat “-it became apparent that there was an ongoing charge on the Vickery estate which must be honored.” He stopped again.

“Please, Mr. Gaines,” Alice said, trying not to sound impatient at the interminable legal language.

Frank Gaines gave a slight shrug. “In truth,” he said, “it is none of my business but…Churchward and I disgreed…I said that the money was yours before it was given to your husband and so you had a right to know. I am your trustee and as such I could not do less than my duty though it pains me. I feel-” he cleared his throat and tried to loosen his neck cloth “-though it is not a fashionable view…that an intimate relationship can only succeed if based on honesty, my lady.”

“I agree,” Alice said, “but I am afraid that I still do not quite see-”

“None of my business,” Frank Gaines said again, “but I would rather that you knew-”

“Is there a list of Lord Vickery’s ex-mistresses who have all been pensioned off?” Alice inquired. She tried to keep her voice steady. She would have to be very mature about this, she thought. It might be difficult to swallow the fact that she was in effect paying off Miles’s past lovers. But that was all over and done with now. He loved her now. She knew it.

“No, madam,” Gaines said. “Not exactly.” He took a deep breath. “Lord Vickery has in his keeping a woman named Susan Gregory who was once a maidservant in his father’s house. Her rent and keep is paid from the estate on an ongoing basis, madam, and has been for eleven years.” He hesitated. “She has a child, madam, a little girl. She is said to be of Lord Vickery’s fathering. She is just over ten years old. He visits them sometimes.”

There was a long, long silence. Alice stood up abruptly, knocking over her empty teacup. Her mind was spinning.

Miles had a woman in his keeping. A maidservant. There was a child.

He had not told her. Even though he had professed to utter honesty, he had kept this secret from her.

The words repeated over and over in her head.

A maidservant. A child. He had not told her.

She grasped after something to steady herself and felt the back of her chair hard beneath her fingers. She gripped it tightly. Eleven years took them back to the time that Miles had quarreled with his father so badly that he had been banished. Eleven years before, Miles had walked out on his family, joined the army and become the hard, embittered man whom she had thought she had finally, finally reached out to touch and bring back into the light. But it seemed she had been wrong, for Miles had kept from her the most important secret of all, that of his daughter.

Mrs. Lister made a tiny noise. She seemed to have shrunk in her seat, dwindling under Alice’s gaze. She spun around accusingly on Gaines.

“You should not have told her. She did not need to know!”

“Mama,” Alice said, “Mr. Gaines was my trustee and he has my best interests at heart.”

Mrs. Lister’s face crumpled. “I saw it in the leaves,” she said. “A lamp for secrets that would be revealed. Well, you are a marchioness now, Alice.” Her voice broke. “Four strawberry leaves…You will just have to close your eyes and pretend that you do not know.”

“I am sorry, my lady,” Gaines said. “I only discovered today. Too late.”

“Too late to tell me before the wedding,” Alice whispered. She looked at him. “You told Celia that you were going to tell me,” she said, understanding at last what it was she had seen between them. “She was upset. She knew about the mistress and the child.”

“I am sorry, my lady,” Gaines said again, and Alice’s heart sank like a stone that he did not contradict her.

Celia had known. Lady Vickery must know, too. They all knew that when he was eighteen Miles had seduced a maidservant and the woman had given birth to his daughter. They must know that he was still paying for the upkeep of mother and child, but they all ignored it with the aristocratic disdain of their kind,