Legacy - The Wyndham Legacy Part 1

WYNDHAM LEGACY.

by Catherine Coulter.

To Karen Evans, A sweetheart of a person and a wonderful friend, whoas endowed with inexhaustible supplies of compulsive brain power. Youare bright and funny and you deserve all the very best. Youave got it all over Len D.

Thanks for always being there for me.

CC.

Prologue.

IN JUNE OF 1804 on the second day of her first visit to Chase Park at the age of nine, she overheard one of the upper-floor maids tell the Tweenie that she was a abastid.a aA bastid? Go on wita ye. Yeare not bamming me, Annie? The little nitas a bastid? But everyone said she were a cousin, meybe from aolland, meybe from Italy.a aCousin from aolland or Italy, me elbow! aEr mum lives down near Dovera"thatas as close to them strange places as she gets. aIs lordship visits aer ever so often, at least thatas wot I aeard Mrs. Emory tell Cook. Aye, sheas ais lordshipas bastid daughter, all right. Jest look at those eyes of aers, bluer than the speckles off a robinas egg.a aThe nerve of ais lordship bringing ais brat aere, right under aer ladyshipas nose.a aAye, but thatas the way of the Quality. aIs lordship probably aas a quiverful of bastids hid about, so wotas one more? But this oneas aere, so that means sheas special. Aye, sheas all smiles and sweetness and laughter, jest like she belongs aere too. aEr ladyship will ignore the little twit, yeall see. I aeard shead only be aere a fortnight.a Annie snorted, shifting the now-empty chamber pot from one hip to the other. a aTis more than enough fer the likes of aer. Jest imagine, bringing yer bastid to Chase.a aBut sheas awful pretty the little one be.a aAye, but ais lordship is as beautiful as ais grandda wasa"me grandma said ae were as lovely a gentleman wot ever breatheda"so it makes sense that she wouldnat be a prune pit. Iall bet aer mum ainat no scrub mouse either. Twelve years I aeard Mrs. Emory say they were togethera"just like they was married, only they baaint, so itas jest awful.a The upper-floor maid and the Tweenie moved away, still gossiping and twittering behind their hands. She stood there in the shadow of one of the many deep-set niches along the first-floor corridor and wondered what a bastid was. It wasnat good, she knew that much.

The earl of Chase was her father? She shook her head vehemently even as she thought it. No, he was her Uncle James, her real fatheras elder brother who visited her and her mother every few months to see that they were all right. No, her real father had been killed by the French in February 1797 when French troops landed on British soil. She never tired of hearing her mother tell her how there were nearly two thousand Frenchmen, not really soldiers, but French criminals, all released from gaols and pardoned if they would sail up the Avon and burn Bristol. Then they would go to Liverpool and burn it as well. Ah, her mother would say, but those French criminals landed at Pencaern and there they fought and surrendered to the Pembrokeshire Yeomanry. And her father had led those brave Englishmen who had defeated those wretched French whoad dared come onto British soil. No, her real father was Captain Geoffrey Cochrane and head died a hero for England.

Her motheras eyes would always grow soft then, the deep blue glazing just a bit as she would say, aYour Uncle James is a n.o.bleman, my dear, a very powerful man, a man with many responsibilities, but he will take care of us forever. He has his own family so he canat come to us all that often, but itas the way things are and the way they will always be. But donat forget, he loves us both and he wonat ever desert us.a And when she was nine years old, her mother sent her to spend a fortnight with her Uncle James at his magnificent mansion called Chase Park near Darlington in northern Yorkshire. Shead begged her mother to accompany her, but her mother had simply shaken her head, making her incredible golden curls tremble about her beautiful face, saying, aNo, dear, your Uncle Jamesas wife isnat fond of me. You keep away from her, promise me you will. You have cousins there and you will become friends with them. But stay away from Uncle Jamesas wife. Do remember, love, never to speak about yourself. It is a boring thing, donat you think? Much better to keep secrets and be mysterious.a She had avoided the countess of Chase with little difficulty, for the lady, once shead seen her, had frozen her with a look of utter contempt, turned, and left the room. Neither she nor any of her cousins joined the earl and his countess in the grand dining room each evening, so avoiding the countess in the evenings never came into it.

Uncle James was different here in this mansion, with all its servants in their immaculate blue and green livery and shining b.u.t.tons, than head been the other times shead met him. There seemed to be servants everywherea"behind every door and just around every corner, always there, always looking but never speaking. Except for Annie and the Tweenie.

Uncle James was quite attentive at Rosebud Cottage when he came to see her and her mother, but not here at this huge sprawling edifice they called Chase Park. She frowned, wondering why he hadnat even hugged her. But he hadnat. He had called her into his library, a chamber that was nearly as large as her home. Three of its very high walls were covered with bookcases, and there were ladders that stretched upward forever and they moved on rollers around the room. Everything seemed heavy and dark, even the luxurious carpet beneath her feet. When she came in, she had seen nothing but deep shadows, for it was late afternoon and the curtains were nearly drawn. Then shead seen her uncle and smiled.

ah.e.l.lo, Uncle James. Thank you for inviting me to stay with you.a ah.e.l.lo, my dear child. Come in and I will tell you how you are to go along here.a She was to call all his children cousin, but, of course, she knew that already, for she was a smart puss, wasnat she? She would take lessons with her cousins, she would watch them and copy their manners and their behavior, all except for her cousin Marcus, her uncleas nephew, who was currently visiting Chase Park. He was the devilas own son, Uncle James told her, and then head smiled, an odd smile that seemed at once resentful and proud.

aYes,a he said again slowly, athe devilas own son, thatas what my brother sp.a.w.ned. Heas all of fourteen, nearly grown, and thus very dangerous. Donat follow him or your male cousins into mischief. Of course, it is likely that the boys will ignore you for youare just a little girl.a aI have another uncle?a shead asked, eyes shining with excitement.

He frowned and waved away her question. aYes, but you are not to say anything to your cousin Marcus. Just be aware of how people conduct themselves. If they behave well, then you will emulate their behavior. If they donat, close your eyes and turn away. Do you understand?a She nodded. He came around from behind the huge desk and patted her on her head. aYou will be a good girl and I will allow you to visit me here once a year. Never speak of your mother or of me or of yourself. You are to say nothing about anything personal. But your mother told you this, didnat she?a aYes, Uncle, she said I was to keep secrets and the better I kept them, the more fun I should have, and you and she would be very proud of me.a His mouth curved into a smile. aTrust Bess to make it into a game. Heed her and heed me. Go now and get to know your female cousins.a He paused, then added, aThey have been told to call you cousin as well.a aBut that is what I am, Uncle James.a aWell, yes, there is that.a She understood none of it. But she wasnat stupid and she loved her mother very much. She knew it was important that she be obedient and agreeable and pleasing. She would keep mum about herself. She didnat wish to bore anyone.

That first day, the boys had been civil, then ignored her, but her female cousins, the Twins, as everyone called them, were delighted to meet her.

Everything had seemed beyond glorious until now.

What was a bastid?

She didnat ask her Uncle James. She went directly to the person who disliked hera"Uncle Jamesas wife.

She knocked on the door to the morning room and heard a crisp, aCome in, come in!a She stood in the doorway just looking toward the very pregnant lady who was seated on a settee, sewing something white and long and narrow. The countess was not only very pregnant, she was also heavy. She didnat understand how the countess could sew what she was sewing, for her fingers were very fat. Her face wasnat pretty, but perhaps it had been once when shead been young. She looked nothing like her mama, who was slender and tall and so graceful. No, the countess looked old and tired and now that the countess saw her, she looked mean, and she didnat bother to hide it.

aWhat do you want?a At the countessas very cold inquiry, she licked her lips, suddenly dry with foreboding. But she took a step into the room and blurted out, aI heard one of the maids tell another that I was a bastid. I donat know what that is but I could tell from hearing them that it was bad. You donat like me so I thought you would tell me the truth.a The lady laughed. aWell, itas already out and itas only your second day here. I say, if one wants to know somethinga"anythinga"just ask the servants, they never fail. Well, child, a bastid is properly called a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and indeed, thatas just what you are.a aA b.a.s.t.a.r.d,a she repeated slowly.

aYes. That means your mother is a wh.o.r.e and is paid by my husbanda"your so-called Uncle Jamesa"to be at his beck and call and you were the result of one of those becks.a And she laughed again, throwing her head back laughing and laughing, and she looked even nastier because her laughter was mean.

aI donat understand, maaam. Whatas a wh.o.r.e?a aItas a female who has no morals. Uncle James is your father, not your d.a.m.ned uncle. But I am his wife and your precious mother is nothing more than a rich manas mistress, a woman he keeps to provide him with . . . well, you wonat understand that either, but given your budding looks, I imagine that one day you will quite surpa.s.s even your mother. Havenat you wondered why your dear Uncle James is a Wyndham and you are a Cochrane? No, well, it appears you arenat any smarter than your s.l.u.t of a mother. Now, get out of here. I donat wish to see your face again unless I must.a She fled, her heart pounding, her belly roiling with fear and nausea.

From that day on, she was very quiet, never speaking unless spoken to, never volunteering a word or a giggle or even a snort when she was with others so that she wouldnat draw attention to herself. It was toward the end of that visit that her cousin Marcus began calling her the d.u.c.h.ess.

Her cousin Antonia, only six years old, frowned up at Marcus and said, aWhy, Marcus? Sheas a little girl just like me and f.a.n.n.y. Weare not anything but Wyndhams and ladies. Why is she a d.u.c.h.ess when we arenat?a Marcus, the devilas own son, looked down at her from his vast height, his expression very serious as he said to Antonia, aBecause she doesnat smile and she doesnat laugh and she is aloof and more reserved than she should be for a child her age. Already she dispenses smiles and approving nods as if they were guineas and she only has three of them to last forever. Havenat you noticed how the servants rush to do small services for her? How they melt if she but nods pleasantly to them? Also,a he added slowly, asomeday she will be b.l.o.o.d.y beautiful.a She said nothing, merely looked up at him and wanted to cry, but she didnat. She merely pushed her chin up and looked beyond him.

aThe d.u.c.h.ess,a he said, tossed her a laugh, and went riding with her two male cousins.

She bore her t.i.tle of the d.u.c.h.ess well, for she had no choice. When she heard someone say she was perhaps too proud, another would say, not at all, she was merely becomingly reserved, allowing for no forwardness, her manners a joy to all those in her company.

When she was at Chase Park in June of 1808 at age thirteen, Marcus was also there. He was down from Oxford, visiting his cousins. When he saw her, he laughed, shook his head, and said, ah.e.l.lo, d.u.c.h.ess. I hear it is your name now. Has anyone told you that it fits you perfectly?a He was smiling at her, but she saw it only as a disinterested smile, a smile he gave because he had nothing better to do at the moment than speak to her.

She looked up at him coolly, her chin going up a trifle, and said nothing at all.

He raised a black eyebrow at her, waiting, but she held silent, hating his mocking look as well as his mocking, disinterested voice, until he said at last, aAh, how very aloof youave become, d.u.c.h.ess, how very haughty. Is it because of my prediction when you were a little girl? Perhaps not. And to go with that, you are well on your way to becoming as beautiful as I knew you would. You are thirteen, I hear. Imagine when you are sixteen or so.a He paused, adding under his breath, aJesus, I donat believe I want to see you after youave grown up.a He laughed again, patted her shoulder, and strode out of the entrance hall to join Charlie and Mark.

She stood there with her two valises beside her, Mr. Sampson now coming toward her, smiling at her as he always did, Mrs. Emory at his heels, Mrs. Emory smiling as well, calling out, aWelcome, Miss, welcome!a And everyone now called her d.u.c.h.ess, even her father, Uncle James, even the Tweenie, who had first unintentionally informed her of her illegitimacy four years before. But everyone also knew she was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Why were they so nice to her? She would never understand it. She was James Wyndhamas b.a.s.t.a.r.d and there was no way around it.

Had anyone ever asked her, she would have said without hesitation that she had lost her innocence at the age of nine. When her Uncle James visited Rosebud Cottage she came to realize that he slept in her motheras bedchamber. She became aware that they touched each other and laughed, their heads close together, like the devil and an angel, his dark head and her golden one so distinct but blending nonetheless, two such beautiful people, fascinating and gay. Once she even saw them kissing in the narrow corridor of the second floor, her motheras back pressed against the wall, Uncle James hard against her, his fingers clutched in her glorious hair, his mouth heavy on hers.

Just three months before her yearly visit to Chase Park, it was Uncle James and not her mother who told her she was his daughter. She said nothing, merely looked at him. She was seated opposite him on a small pale blue brocade settee in the cozy drawing room of her motheras home. He said without preamble, aYou are my daughter and we will no longer pretend that you are not, at least not here. You are old enough to understand, arenat you, d.u.c.h.ess? Yes, I see from your eyes and the set of your mouth that you already know. Well, no surprise there. I told your mother that you did, that you werenat stupid or blind.a He shrugged, then said, aUnfortunately at Chase Park the pretense must continue. My wife wants the pretense and I have agreed to it.a He said other things too, things she no longer remembered, for shead thought at the time that they were just words spoken to a child by a man who felt guilty. Did he care about her? She didnat know. She doubted if she would ever know. She had her mother. She didnat need him.

She merely nodded and said, aYes, Uncle James. I am a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I have known that for many years now. Please do not let it worry you, for I am well used to it now.a Head started at her calm words sounding so disinterested and flat, but he said nothing more. He was relieved. What more was there for him to say? He looked into his own very dark blue eyes, at his own ink-black hair, the shining braids thick and smooth on her small head. But her mother hadnat been forgotten in the daughter. There were errant curls loose from the braids that curled around her small ears, and he loved to wind his fingers around the motheras curls, so very soft and sweet-smelling. Ah, and she had Bessas mouth, full and beautifully shaped, and her elegant nose, thin and straight. He shook his head and regarded his daughter sitting quietly across from him. He thought fancifully that she was so still, so utterly self-contained, like a statue. She was disconcerting, this daughter of his, not filled with laughter and mischief, not teasing and bounding about as the Twins always were.

It was hard to remember now that head not wanted her at first, that head ordered Bess to get rid of the brat. But Bess had told him plain out that she would birth the child and he could do what he pleased. What head pleased was to keep both of them, for he wanted Bess more than head ever wanted any other woman in his life. And now here was his daughter, staring back at him with his eyes, and she looked indeed serene and aloof as a d.u.c.h.ess, this once unwanted child of his loins.

The d.u.c.h.ess remembered the two weeks of 1808 very clearly. Her cousin Marcus had made her withdraw even more with his mocking words that had, really, been born of mischief only, nothing more, but the pain of them had made her tremble. Then, on that second Wednesday, her only other two male cousins, Charlie and Mark, were both drowned in a boat race when two sailboats collided on the River Derwent with more than two hundred horrified people looking on from sh.o.r.e and at least a dozen other boys leaping into the river from their own sailboats to help. But no one had come to their rescue in time. When Charlie was struck in the head by the wildly slamming boom, he was killed instantly and hurled overboard. His younger brother, Mark, had tried to find him beneath the wreckage of the other sailboat along with several other boys. Head drowned as well when the jib halyard had twisted about him, holding him under the water.

The boys were buried in the Wyndham family cemetery. Chase Park was in despair. The d.u.c.h.essas father locked himself in the library. The countess could be heard crying throughout the night. Marcus was white and drawn, speaking to no one, for head survived and his cousins hadnat. Head not even been on the sailboat with them. Head been buying a hunter at the Rothermere stud. The d.u.c.h.ess went back to Winchelsea to her mother.

Over the next five years, the countess of Chase was pregnant every year in an attempt to produce another male heir for the earldom of Chase, but alas, none of the babes born to the countess survived their first year. All of them were boy children. The earl of Chase brooded, becoming more solitary as time pa.s.sed, and bedded his wife endlessly, no pleasure in it for either of them, just grim duty, made more grim by the year, and he began to look upon his nephew Marcus differently, of his blood, certainly, but not his own son, not the blood of his own blood, and he wanted his line to go through his own flesh, not through his brotheras.

He came more often to Rosebud Cottage. He was quiet, his laughter becoming as rare as his daughteras. It was as if he clung to her mother, and she kept him close, loving and gentle and undemanding.

But when the earl returned to Chase Park, as he ultimately had to, there was nothing he could do except watch his wife produce one child after another and watch each of them die.

Marcus Wyndham was the heir to Chase.

1.

ROSEBUD COTTAGE, WINCHELSEA.

JANUARY 1813.

aIaM VERY SORRY to tell you this, Miss Cochrane, but there is more and it isnat good.a Mr. Jollis, her motheras solicitor, didnat sound sorry at all. He sounded unaccountably pleased, which was strange, surely, but she held silent, not only because of her grief over her motheras death but because she was used to holding herself silent. It was a habit of many years. Over time, shead learned a lot about people, simply listening and watching them as they spoke. She realized in that moment, in Mr. Jollisas meaningful pause, that her father didnat yet know of her motheras death. Shead forgotten him in the suddenness of it, in the numbness it had instilled in her. Now, there was no one else to tell him. She had to write to him herself. She could see him reading her words, see his disbelief, his bowing pain when he finally realized it was true. She closed her eyes a moment against the pain she knew he would feel. He would feel endless pain, for he loved her mother more than he loved any other human being. But her mother, alive and laughing one moment, was dead the next. Her death was so needless, so stupid really: a wretched carriage accident, the shaft snapping for no apparent reason, sending the carriage hurtling off the winding road that ran too close above on the chalk South Downs cliffs, near Ditchling Beacon. Those cliffs rose eight hundred and thirteen feet into the air, then plunged to the deserted beach below. Her mother was killed instantly, but her body was washed out with the tide and never recovered. At least it hadnat been recovered yet, and it had already been a day and a half. She looked up when Mr. Jollis cleared his throat, evidently prepared to finish his thought.

aAs I said, Miss Cochrane,a Mr. Jollis continued, that smug tone coming more to the surface now, aI am very sorry about this but Rosebud Cottage is leased and the lessor is your, er, father, Lord Chase.a aI didnat know that.a Indeed, shead always a.s.sumed that her mother owned the cottage. But then again, perhaps that was the way of it when a man supported and kept a woman. All remained his, thus he retained his power and all his prerogatives. It was merely another unexpected blow that she didnat feel at the moment. She waited, silent, her body utterly still. His face changed then, and he was looking at her differently, not as a man feigning sympathy for a bereaved daughter, but as a man a.s.sessing a woman for his own uses.

Shead seen the look before, but not that many times on that many male faces. Shead been protected, but now, she realized, she was unprotected. Her father was in Yorkshire and she was here, quite alone, except for dear Badger.

aI must write my father,a she said then, her voice curt, colder than it would normally be, but she wanted him to go away. aI imagine that since the lease will run out soon that I will have to go to Chase Park.a aThere is another option, perhaps,a Mr. Jollis said, and he leaned toward her, like a hound on a scent, she thought, eyeing him with more hostility than shead eyed anyone in her entire life.

aNo, there isnat,a she said, her voice as cold as the ice shards hanging from the cottage eaves outside.

aPerhaps,a he said, still sitting forward, his right hand outstretched toward her now, ajust perhaps his lordship wonat want you to live at Chase Park.a aHis wife died seven months ago, just before my yearly visit. I cannot imagine that he wouldnat want me there. She was the only one who didnat care for my presence, and that, I suppose, is very understandable. She held him as her husband, but she didnat have his regard. I have long understood her bitterness. However, now she is dead.a aAh, but now his lordship must be very careful, you understand, Miss Cochrane. His lordship is in mourning, very deep mourning. All his neighbors will be watching him closely, indeed, all society, all those whose opinions are important to him, will be watching him closely.a aWhy? Surely he wonat wed again, at least not anytime soon. I am merely his b.a.s.t.a.r.d daughter. Who would care if I lived at Chase Park or not?a aPeople would care and they would find out very quickly. It shows the ultimate disrespect for his dead wife, Miss Cochrane. You must believe me, for I know the ways of society and you do not.a She didnat believe him, but she didnat wish to argue with him anymore. aI do not believe men are watched all that closely, only women,a she said, her voice remote. aNor do I believe that men mourn anything all that deeply for all that long a time.a Her body became even more still, even though she could feel herself shrinking back from his still outstretched hand.

She remembered when her fatheras wife had died. His reaction, shead thought during her visit, when the countess had finally died birthing another babe, had been one of profound relief. When tears had wet his eyes, she knew it was from the death of the small infant boy, dead two hours after its birth, not from his wifeas expiration.

aThat is possible,a he said. aBut you have no one to look after you now, Miss Cochrane. Perhaps you should consider looking for someone well circ.u.mstanced who would protect you and keep you in this lovely little cottage.a She smiled at him. Mr. Jollis, like everyone else who knew her for a long time, was startled at the smile. It was beautiful and it made him feel warm all the way to the bunions on his toes. She had two dimples and her teeth were small and white and as perfect as her smile. He could not recall ever seeing her smile before. aIf I choose to remain here at the cottage, will you tell me who owns it?a aIt is Squire Archibald, but surely since you have so little money, you cannot consider keeping the lease. Why itas absurd, itasa"a She rose, her hands by her sides. aI should like you to leave now, Mr. Jollis. If there is more I need to know, please write me a letter.a He rose then as well, for he had no choice, at least not at the moment, and stared down at her, her beautiful smile forgotten. aYou think to be above yourself, Miss Cochrane. No matter, youare a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, nothing more, and thatas what you will always be. You cannot remain here. The lease on the cottage ends on the fifteenth of next month, and you will have no money to renew it. Squire Archibald is all of seventy and certainly not a candidate for your wiles. No, it is money he would require, not you warming his ancient bed. You will leave then. If your esteemed father wants you, then, he will give you a home, but for how long? Donat forget, your beautiful mother is dead. Do you truly believe he ever wanted you? No, it was your mother he wanted, no other, certainly not you. I would consider becoming your protector, Miss Cochranea"a Her face was very pale now, her eyes dulling in her rage, but he saw only the dullness, not the fury, for she just stared at him, then turned on her heel and left the small drawing room without a word.

Mr. Jollis didnat know what to do. Would she consider his well-phrased proposal? He thought her uppity, arrogant, but that would change. He wondered if she was a virgin. He wasnat left to wonder anything then, for Badger, the servant who had stood as protector to both Mrs. Cochrane and the d.u.c.h.ess, appeared in the doorway. He was a large man, well muscled, ugly as a fence post, his hair white and thick as a prophetas, and at this moment, there was blood in his eye.

Mr. Jollis backed up a step.

aSir,a Badger said gently, too gently, ait is time to remove your carca.s.s from the premises. If your carca.s.s isnat absent within a very few number of seconds, I will have to see that his lordship learns of your most regrettable behavior. He wonat be pleased.a aHa,a Mr. Jollis said, for he knew that this man didnat know what he was talking about. aHis lordship would be glad to get the little b.a.s.t.a.r.d off his hands and no mistake about that. Soon, Badger, you will be without money yourself, for she has none to pay you. Then, I daresay, you wonat speak to your betters like this. It doesnat matter that you have more wits than you should, that you have excellent speecha"who taught you to speak like a gentleman?a"no matter, youare still here and youare nothing but a servant, of no account at all.a Badger just smiled at him, shook his head, was on him in an instant, lifting him bodily, and tucked him under his mighty arm. He carried him to the front door, and dumped him out onto the frozen ground, that would, in five months, bloom wildly with the d.u.c.h.essas red, yellow, and white roses. He turned back into the cottage, saw the d.u.c.h.ess, and grinned, showing a goodly-sized s.p.a.ce between his front teeth. aHeall rest a bit in the snow, but heas all right, donat you worry.a He picked up her hand and made it into a fist. aNow, d.u.c.h.ess, Iave told you how to swing and strike and keep your thumb tucked under. Why didnat you knock him over the flower box?a She tried to smile, she truly did, but her face seemed as frozen as the earth outside. aI just didnat want to see him anymore, Badger.a aNo wonder,a he said and gave her back her hand. aBut donat forget now, if a fellow goes beyond the line, you shove his choppers down his throat, that or you slam your knee upward as hard as you can.a aI will. I promise. Thank you, Badger.a He grunted and took himself off to the kitchen to prepare the curry sauce for the chicken, currently roasting gently over the open grate. The cook and maida"Miss Priss, Badger had always called hera"had left for Welford-on-Avon to see her ailing auntie some two years before. Badger had taken over her duties. He was an excellent cook. He just wished the d.u.c.h.ess ate more of his wonderful concoctions.

Mrs. Cochrane had told him many years before that when the d.u.c.h.ess visited Chase Park, everyone pretendeda"at least outwardlya"that she was some distant cousin from Holland or from Italy, though her Dutch was nonexistent and her Italian was singularly bad. But no one ever said anything because she was, after all, the d.u.c.h.ess, and she was so very beautiful and so glorious in her pride and arrogance that all simply stood in awe of her, striving to please her, to make her give them one of her rare smiles. Mrs. Cochrane had smiled her beautiful smile at that, saying that shead been positively terrified to let her go to Chase Park, and just look what had happened. Shead come back the d.u.c.h.ess and that was what shead remained.

Badger heard the door to the drawing room close. He could see her going to the small writing desk, seating herself gracefully, her movements slow and elegant, and writing his lordship of their mutual loss.

The earl of Chase read of her motheras death before she could write to him of it, and he informed her through his secretary, Mr. Crittaker, that she was to pack her things and be ready for the carriage that would bring her to Chase Park. She was to bring Badger along for protection. He gave her two weeks to comply with his wishes.

The two weeks came and pa.s.sed. No one came to fetch her. She didnat know what to do. She stood by the window of the small parlor and waited. She wondered if she should write to her father and remind him of his instruction to her, but no, she couldnat bring herself to do that. It was too humiliating. She would wait. Four more days pa.s.sed. And she thought: He grieves for my mother and he no longer wants me. He has forgotten me. Iam alone now. What will I do?

Then she realized that shead always dreaded going to Chase Park on her yearly jaunts. Just stepping into that impossibly grand Italianate entrance hall with all its half-millennium-old dark wainscoting and equally old paintings with their heavy gold-encrusted frames, and that huge, utterly overpowering central staircase with still more ancestral paintings climbing the wall along it made her freeze inside and gave her stomach cramps. She had walked through the great oak doors every year and immediately begun to count down the fourteen days she had to remain there, to pretend as though all these n.o.ble people and all the children of these n.o.ble people and all these servants of the n.o.ble people liked her and truly welcomed her, when they all wished she had never been conceived.

At least this year the countess of Chase hadnat been there to shrivel her into herself with her cold looks and the bitter disdain that radiated from her like a living thing. The countess had died just the week before, and the mansion was draped with black crepe and every female wore black gowns, and all the males wore black arm bands. Shead heard the servants whisper that the countess had been too old for childbearing and look what had come of ita"the poor dear had died, cursing her husband, for he had forced her this final and last time, forced himself upon her until she conceiveda"at least thatas what all the servants believeda"forced her and forced her and look what had come of it. And, after all, she had managed to provide the earl with two healthy boys and twin girls, and it wasnat her fault that both boys had drowned in that boat race and left only the Twins. All waited for the earl to take a new wife, a very young new wife who would breed a child every year until the earl was satisfied that no matter how many accidents occurred there would still be a boy left to succeed to the t.i.tle and all the Wyndham lands. A man need only wait six months and it was past that time now. Thatas what shead heard and then shead repeated to Mr. Jollis, the miserable creature.

She frowned. Perhaps thatas why he didnat want her now at Chase Park. Head found his next countess and he didnat want to have his b.a.s.t.a.r.d there with his new wife. Yes, that was it. He naturally wanted to please a new wife and bringing a b.a.s.t.a.r.d into her new home and parading the b.a.s.t.a.r.d under her nose wouldnat accomplish pleasure, much less bring any harmony to the new union. But why didnat he simply write and tell her? She believed her father to be many things, but never a coward. It made no sense.

It began to rain, now just a drizzle, but the d.u.c.h.ess knew the signs. Before long, the drizzle would become sheets of slamming slate-gray water, driven against the windows by a fierce wind blowing off the Channel.

Even though he had deserted her now, she had to admit that her father had supported her mother and her for eighteen years, and her mother two years before shead been born even. She had been like his wife, only, of course, she wasnat, she was just his mistress, with no legal rights, no recourse, nothing. But now that her mother was dead, she supposed she might as well be dead too, for he no longer felt any responsibility toward her, no longer had to pretend liking toward her. Head probably decided that since she was eighteen, it was now her responsibility to see to herself. But why had he bothered to lie to her? Why had he told her that she was coming to Chase Park? It had been a lie, but why, she couldnat begin to imagine. All she knew was that she was utterly alone. Mama had no one, as far as she knew, at least there were never any letters, never any presents at Christmas from relatives of her motheras. She a.s.sumed they were Cochranes, surely that was her motheras name after all and not some tawdry made-up name. No, there couldnat be any brothers or sisters or aunts. It had always been just the two of them and the frequent visits from the earl.

The rain cascaded against the window. She wondered what she would do. Her motheras solicitor had told her in that sn.i.g.g.e.ring way of his, for he knew well that her mother wasnat the widow she always pretended she was, but a n.o.blemanas mistress, kept in this little love nest of a cottage, that the love nest was leased, the bills paid by the earlas man of business in London, and that the lease was ended by the fifteenth of the next month. The way head treated her made her feel dirty, but more than dirty, shead felt incredible anger. He all but told her that she was no better than her mother, and pray, what was wrong with her loving, beautiful mother? But she knew the answer to that, she simply shied away from it as she always did. At least she hadnat allowed him to make his insulting offer of another love nest, this one paid for by him.

She rose slowly, shivering in the sudden damp chill of the late afternoon. The fire was dying down. It was growing colder by the minute. She rose, carefully placed more logs on the fire, then began to pace the small room, lightly slapping her hands against her arms for warmth. She knew she had to do something, but what? She had no skills at governessing or being an old ladyas companion or even creating a stylish bonnet. Shead been raised as a gentlewoman, thus her only talents lay in her ability to please a man, all with the goal of finding a husband who would overlook her unfortunate antecedents.

She paced and paced, feeling infinitely bitter, then wanting to cry, for her mother was dead, her beautiful mother who had loved the earl probably more than she had loved her daughter, loved him even more than shead hated the position in which head placed her.

Mr. Jollis had bragged how he knew society better than she. Her eyes narrowed now at that impertinence. Shead poured over the London Times and the Gazette since the age of ten, devouring all the goings-on of society, laughing at their seemingly endless foibles and acts of idiocy, their disregard of the most minimal restraints. Yes, she knew society and their ways, and as she thought about it, she realized that she did have one talent, but shead never really considered it as a way to earn a livinga"shead never had to.

She stopped in her tracks, staring unseeing at the thick slabs of rain pounding against the drawing room window. Yes, she had a talent, an unusual talent, certainly a talent never recognized as being possible in a female. Was it possible? She would have to discuss it with Badger. If there was a way to make money at it, why then, he would know how it would be done.

As she walked up the charming but narrow stairway upstairs to her bedchamber, she smiled for the first time since her motheras death.

2.

CHASE PARK NEAR DARLINGTON, YORKSHIRE.

MARCH 1813.

MR. CRITTAKER DIDNaT like what he was about to do, but he had no choice, none at all. He was markedly pale, his breathing shallow. He raised his hand, paused a moment as he thought of possible disastrous consequences, got a grip on himself, and finally knocked on the library door. It was late, very late, and Mr. Crittaker knew that this was a gross imposition on his lordship, but he had to tell him what head done, or more to the point, what head forgotten to do.

There was no answer. Mr. Crittaker knocked again, louder this time.

Finally, an irritated voice called out, aAll right, come in before you bruise your d.a.m.ned knuckles.a The earl of Chase was standing in front of the pink-veined Carrara marble fireplace that was the showpiece of the Wyndham library, despite the three walls of bookcases that went up some twenty-two feet and held more than ten thousand tomes. It was a beautiful room, not overly large so that oneas voice echoed, but still overwhelming in its dark magnificence. Mr. Crittaker looked toward the desk that backed against the one wall that held a huge set of gla.s.s doors. There was a lit candle on the desk, but the chair was empty. He saw the earl standing in front of the fireplace. He appeared to be doing naught of anything, save standing there warming himself. Still, it was near to midnight.

aWhat is it, Crittaker? Didnat you work me enough all day? I had to scrub to get all the d.a.m.ned ink off my fingers from signing those interminable papers. Well, man, speak up. What new crisis besets me now?a aMy lord,a Mr. Crittaker began, not really knowing how to confess his sin, not really knowing if the earl would merely chastise him verbally or boot him out into the March snowstorm. He cleared his throat and began again. This time, he simply blurted it out. aMy lord, by all thatas holy, I forgot Miss Cochrane!a The earl just stared at him, obviously at a loss. He said finally, slowly, aMiss Cochrane?a aYes, my lord. Miss Cochrane.a aWho is Miss Cochrane?a aThe d.u.c.h.ess, my lord. I forgot her, sir. Her mother died and, well, then your uncle died, and I, well, in all the preparation for your arrival, I, ah, forgot her.a The VIII earl of Chase continued to stare at his now-dead uncleas secretary, now his. aYou forgot the d.u.c.h.ess? Her mother died? When, man? My G.o.d, how long ago was this?a Then he waved Mr. Crittaker to a seat. aCome here and tell me the entire story and donat leave out any details.a Mr. Crittaker, heartened that he mightnat be cast out into the frigid night by the easiness of the earlas deep voice, came forward and said, aYour uncleas, era"a aHis mistress,a the earl said sharply. aHis twenty-year mistress. Yes, what about his mistress?a aYes, his mistress, Mrs. Cochrane, she was killed in a carriage accident. Your uncle immediately told me to write to Miss Cochrane to tell her to be packed to come live at Chase Park. I wrote to tell her she would be fetched in two weeks.a aI see,a the earl said. aHow many weeks have pa.s.sed beyond the two weeks, Crittaker?a aEight of them, my lord.a The earl once again simply stared at his secretary. aYou mean that an eighteen-year-old girl has been left alone for two months?a Mr. Crittaker nodded, so miserable that he wanted to sink into the elegant Aubusson carpet beneath his shoes. aThere must be a servant, my lord, surely.a The earl waved that information away, saying slowly, aI wonder why she didnat write my uncle to ask him why he hadnat sent a carriage for her?a Mr. Crittaker didnat have to pause at all, just said, more miserable now than he had been just the moment before, aShe must have believed that your uncle no longer wanted her since her mother had died. He never treated her with any affection when she was here, my lord, on her yearly visits. How he treated her when he visited her mother at Rosebud Cottage, I donat know. No, she wouldnat have said a word to your uncle. Sheas very proud, my lord. You know that. Sheas the d.u.c.h.ess.a aOr perhaps her letter never arrived, or it did arrive and you simply misplaced it, Crittaker.a Mr. Crittaker could hear the howling wind outside. He thought again of standing in the blowing snow with naught but his greatcoat for protection. He was forced to admit, aIt is possible, my lord, but I trust, indeed, I pray, that such a thing didnat occur.a The earl cursed heartily and at great detailed length. Mr. Crittaker was impressed, but was wise enough not to compliment his lordship on his fluency. His lordship had been a major in the army, selling out only six weeks earlier when head come to take his place as the VIII earl of Chase.

The earl finally ran himself out of verbal bile. He said, aHow is it that you just now remembered the d.u.c.h.ess?a Mr. Crittaker tugged at his cravat, a somber creation that immediately unfastened itself with his pulling. aIt was Mr. Spears who remembered.a aSpears,a the earl repeated, then smiled. aMy uncleas valet, now mine, reminded you about the d.u.c.h.ess?a aMr. Spears took a liking to her when she was just a little mite, thatas what he called her,a Mr. Crittaker said. aIt occurred to Mr. Spears that something might have aslipped through the crevices,a as he phrased it, my lord. He had believed that Miss Cochrane was perhaps in London at his lordshipas behest, but of course she wasnat, but Mr. Spears couldnat have known that.a aI see,a the earl said, and appeared to withdraw himself into deep thought. Mr. Crittaker didnat move. He wanted to pull on his ear, a habit head had since boyhood, and it took all his concentration to keep his hands at his sides.

The earl said finally, aIt appears I must make a short trip into Suss.e.x. I will leave in the morning and fetch Miss Cochrane back with me.a aVery good, my lord.a aOh, Crittaker, your cravat is a mess. Also,a the earlas voice dropped markedly, aif something has happened to Miss Cochrane, you will be finding yourself a new employment.a The earl continued his perusal of the glowing embers in the fireplace, kicking one with the toe of his boot.

Forgotten! Good G.o.d, Crittaker had simply forgotten her. It froze his blood to think of the d.u.c.h.ess alone and unprotected for two d.a.m.ned months. On the other hand, head not given her a thought either, nor for that matter, had anyone in the house save for Spears. Marcus hadnat seen her in five years, not since that long ago summer when his two male cousins had drowned in a boating race. He wondered if shead grown as beautiful as head believed she would then.

Not that it mattered. She was his b.a.s.t.a.r.d cousin. But he owed it to his uncle to see that she was taken care of. What would he do with her? Ah, that was the question.

The d.u.c.h.ess was the topic of conversation the following afternoon in the snug and very cozy Green Cube Room at Chase Park.

aThe d.u.c.h.ess,a Aunt Gweneth said in the general direction of the Twins, speaking in her precise way, for she always prided herself on her enunciation, ais quite the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.a aBut you havenat seen many girls at all, beautiful or otherwise, Aunt Gweneth,a Antonia said, looking up from her Mrs. Radcliffe novel. aYouave never ventured beyond York. However, I do hope sheas all right. How perfectly awful to be forgotten. She must be very hurt.a aMarcus will take care of her,a f.a.n.n.y said. aHe can do anything. Yes, he will make her feel better about her being forgotten. I would I could have gone with him. I could have kept his spirits up.a aI do wish you would get over your unfortunate infatuation with your cousin,a Aunt Gweneth said, looking up at f.a.n.n.y. She thought of the new earl, Reed Wyndhamas only son, now the earl of Chase. And head been in the fighting in the Peninsula! He could easily have been butchered by those d.a.m.ned French, or by those guerrillas that seemed to abound in Marcusas few letters to his uncle over the past three years. But head survived, thank G.o.d, even though she doubted that James had thanked anyone heavenward. So many dead babes, so very many, and all of them male. She would have sworn to anyone who had bothered to ask her that her brother would remarry the day after the countess had been placed reverently in the Wyndham family tomb, the primary consideration being whether the girl was likely to be a good breeder. But given the opportunity, he hadnat remarried, to her great surprise, and now he was dead.

She would give Marcus credit for the consideration head shown his twin cousins and her. He had, in truth, surprised her greatly, for in her experience, gentlemen had the sensitivity of toads. She would also allow that Marcus was a handsome man, had much of the look of his uncle, with his thick dark brown hair and heavily lashed blue eyes. Ah, and that chin of his, stubborn as a demented mule, at least that had been what it depicted in James. In Marcus? She remembered James referring to Marcus as the devilas own son, and smiling slightly. She sighed. They still all had yet to see either the limits of his good nature or the depths of his irritation. He was taller than his uncle, towering over even Spears, his uncleas valet, who had consented, his voice at its driest, to take over, and doubtless improve upon, the appearance of the new earl. Spears, Gweneth had heard Sampson say, believed the new lordship to have a good amount of potential and grit, the latter commodity something he would have dire need of.

Head only been here at Chase Park for four weeks now, having left his widowed mother in Lower Slaughter where she refused to budge from Cranford Manor. He was the head of the Wyndham family, this new earl who still couldnat seem to remember to answer to aChasea rather than simply aMarcus Wyndham,a only son of a second son with no particular prospects for anything save a life in the military. Life was uncertain, Gweneth thought, and served up wretchedly unexpected dishes on oneas plate.

aI am not infatuated with him,a f.a.n.n.y said as she poked her needle through a piece of very poorly st.i.tched embroidery, whose dubious plat.i.tude would be eventually rendered as Home and Heaven. aIt is just that he is wonderful. He has been very kind, Aunt, even you admit that, and you remember how Papa always went on and on about how Marcus didnat have pure blood, whatever that means.a aMarcus does have pure blood, f.a.n.n.y,a Gweneth said, her voice sharp. aItas just that it isnat your papaas blood, such a pity.a aI hope nothing is wrong with the d.u.c.h.ess,a Antonia said, oblivious of almost everything except her novel, effectively camouflaged by a tome of Dr. Edwardsas Daily Sermons. aTwo months alone. You donat think she went back to Holland, do you, Aunt Gweneth?a Her twin sister, f.a.n.n.y, identical down to the split thumbnail on her right hand, put down her embroidery, and said, aIf Papa were alive, he would have provided her a Season in London to find a husband. He would have provided her with a dowry. Do you think she went back to Italy, Aunt Gweneth? She isnat from Holland, Antonia.a Aunt Gweneth shook her head, even as she said, pain and anger deep in her voice, aYour papa was most unfortunate in his choice of mounts. The brute killed him.a aThe brute was his only mount for eight years, Aunt,a f.a.n.n.y said. Her lower lip trembled as she added, aPapa loved that horse. I remember once when it started raining and he took care of his horse before he took care of Antonia and me.a Gweneth didnat doubt that her brother had done exactly that, not for a moment. He rode to the hounds all the time, and took risks that made even Spears raise an eyebrow, but nothing had ever happened to him, not even a fall, until six weeks ago. Head turned in his saddle to shout insults to a long-time friend riding behind him when he struck his head on a low-hanging branch of an oak treea"since cut down in a spate of reprisala"knocking him off his horse, killing him instantly.

Within three weeks of the fatal accident, Marcus, twenty-three years old, stationed in the Peninsula with his army battalion, was informed that he was the new earl of Chase. The VIII earl of Chase. Gweneth wondered if Marcus still felt like he was walking in his uncleas shoes, treading down his uncleas huge ornate central staircase, gliding across his uncleas rich Turkey carpetsa"in short, if he still felt like an intruder.

aI wonder if Marcus will give the d.u.c.h.ess a dowry and a Season to find a husband,a f.a.n.n.y said as she rose, shook out her skirts, and walked to fetch a scone from an exquisitely formed silver tray service.

Antonia snorted. aShe doesnat need a dowry, just a chance for the gentlemen to see her. All of them will be on their knees, begging for her hand in marriage. This heroine in Mrs. Radcliffeas novel is ever so beautiful and kind and sweet and good, but sheas as poor as a church mouse. There are already three gentlemen who hold their hands over their hearts when she pa.s.ses by.a What drivel, Gweneth thought. If there was ever a gentleman with his hand over his chest, it wasnat from undying love but from indigestion after imbibing too much brandy. af.a.n.n.y, you will eat just one scone and when you chew on it, donat converse with us. Maggie remarked to me the other day that your gowns were getting a bit snug around your waist. You and Antonia are near an age where you should begin shedding your baby fat, not anchoring it on. As for you, Antonia, I sincerely doubt that Dr. Edwardsas sermons include gentlemen eyeing young ladies. Mrs. Radcliffe, indeed. Your mama wouldnat have liked that at all.a Antoniaas lower lip trembled. Gweneth sighed. aWhy donat you read a pa.s.sage aloud for f.a.n.n.y and me?a

PIPWELL COTTAGE, SMARDEN, KENT.