“After Emma’s death, Albert insisted on taking care of you himself. He swore you were all he had left in the world and would not even permit me to raise you,” Lady Dalrymple said, still absorbing the stunning realization that the lie she had invented to protect Cassandra had indeed been the truth all along.
“We were in rehearsal at the Theatre Royal in Bath,” the marquess recalled. “It was a very popular melodrama that was on the bill—De Montfort. I was assigned a small, but rather significant role, if I do say so. A character named Friberg. He’s the chap who gets to introduce Jane de Montfort for her grand entrance. That was Siddons herself, and all eyes were upon me as I spoke my lines. Cassandra had been a good little tyke, amusing herself backstage with the props and the costumes and so forth, but as this was my big moment in the drama, I could not keep watch over her. Just as I spoke my line—I remember it to this day—it went”—he stepped forward and struck his most theatrical posture—“‘It is an apparition he has seen or it is Jane de Montfort,’ Cassandra went toddling across the entire width of the stage on her sturdy little legs, and disappeared into the wings. We looked high and low for her after the rehearsal, but we never saw her again.”
Lady Oliver narrowed her eyes. “Highly irregular! Highly irregular, indeed! How do we know for sure, amid all this theatrical folderol, that this young woman is indeed who you claim she is and not an impostor?”
“If I recall correctly, my daughter had a little birthmark on the inside of her left thigh,” the marquess said. “Shaped a bit like a tea kettle.”
“A tea kettle? How preposterous!” sniffed Lady Oliver.
“I can verify that information for you if you wish,” Manwaring retorted.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” replied Lady Chatterton and Lady Dalrymple in tandem.
“I think not, old chap,” interrupted Darlington, staying the marquess with his hand. “I shall undertake the task.”
“I’m surprised that you do not remember,” C.J. whispered into the earl’s ear.
“I do, actually. And it happens to be true. But why squander such a delicious opportunity?” He guided C.J. to her feet, and they began to disappear behind the cluster of tall trees.
“On second thought, perhaps it was on the sole of her right foot—,” the marquess said ponderingly. “Bless me, it’s been so many years, I cannot remember . . . I need a drink.”
Darlington and C.J. emerged from the grove. “Remarkably like a tea kettle, your lordship.” The earl winked at Manwaring. “And one of Staffordshire’s finest—I believe the mark most resembles a Wedgwood.”
Mary threw her arms around C.J.’s neck, weeping tears of jubilation, then an emotional Lady Dalrymple embraced the couple after first removing her serpentine accessory and handing the snake off to a terrified Mary, who immediately dropped it amid the golden pebbles. “So, my niece,” the countess said, “it would certainly appear that you are indeed the very person I have claimed you to be all along.” Lady Dalrymple joined her hands with those of Darlington and C.J. “And here is your heiress after all, Percy.”
“God grant you joy,” said Lady Chatterton, waving her wand over everyone who was in any way reunited with a loved one during the past several minutes. “But I think you need it most of all,” she added, blowing some sparkly pixie dust at a glowering Lady Oliver.
Her head spinning from this most extraordinary of revelations, C.J. sank down onto the marble bench. So this was where she belonged; her every instinct about her visceral connections to this world had been accurate. In fact, she had been transported into the future when, so many years earlier, she had disappeared into the wings at the Theatre Royal, Bath. Now, she had come home, to continue to live the remainder of a life begun in the eighteenth century.
“I am astounded, Clementina, that you went to all this trouble for me.” Manwaring bestowed a kiss on Lady Chatterton’s delicate fingers. “I am touched beyond all measure. Behold me, an unworthy suppliant at your feet,” he declared, dramatically prostrating himself before her.
Outside the pavilion, the fireworks began anew, sending showers of silver and gold into the treetops and down again.
Mathias Dingle removed his conical hat emblazoned with stars. “Our revels now are ended,” he said with a smile to Lady Chatterton.
Darlington slipped his arm around the waist of his future wife, drawing her to him. “On the contrary, my dear sir,” he exclaimed, “I’ll wager they have barely begun!”
C.J. COULD SCARCELY WAIT to return to Bath to share the news of her good fortune with Miss Austen, informing her when they met three days later that Lady Dalrymple had named C.J. as her heiress and would settle an income upon her.
Jane gasped with delight at her friend’s great fortune. “An annuity is a very serious business.”
Then a beaming Darlington announced for the benefit of his cousin, “And Lady Cassandra will not only eventually become Marchioness of Manwaring, she has consented to accept another title, which we fervently hope she will be able to enjoy far sooner. The young lady lately known as Miss Welles has agreed to do me the great honor of becoming the Countess of Darlington. I had thought to postpone my entreaty to Cassandra to do me the ultimate honor until I had the proper documents in hand, but once I saw her at Vauxhall, I found I could not contain myself.” He discerned a distinct blush on his fiancée’s cheeks. “I have just now come from Canterbury so as not to add a moment’s more delay, although the elaborate wedding preparations I have in mind—which will accord Lady Cassandra the fullness of the honors she deserves—will take a good deal of
