“As discretion is the mark of a true gentleman, I shall not give name to the extraordinary ladies who have provided me with abiding care and comfort since the death of my beloved wife, but shall charge my legitimate son and heir with the duty of awarding to any lady who should present to him, his legitimate heir, or representative, a gold and diamond locket engraved with my seal, containing my likeness, stamped by my jeweler, and matching in every way the locket enclosed with this document, an annual sum not to exceed twenty thousand pounds to ensure the bed and board of the lady and any living children born of her body in the nine months immediately following my Departure from the Living.
“The ladies who present such a locket have received it as a promise from me that they shall not suffer ill for having offered me abiding care and comfort. Any offspring who presents such a locket shall have done so at their mother’s bequest and shall be recognized as children of the fifteenth Marquess of Templeston and shall be entitled to his or her mother’s portion of my estate for themselves and their legitimate heirs in perpetuity according to my wishes as set forth in this, my Last Will and Testament. George Ramsey, fifteenth marquess of Templeston.”
Kit took out the locket, opened the lid, and stared down at the miniature portrait of his father. He closed the lid and studied it. He didn’t remember the locket, but it seemed familiar—as if he’d seen it somewhere before.
Drew walked to the bell and rang for Horton. “Please ask Lady Templeston to join us in the study,” he instructed when the butler appeared, then waited until Horton left the room to continue. “It’s her story as well as mine. She should she be present for the telling of it.”
* * *
Wren knew when Drew summoned her what was to come. The thing she had dreaded all these years had come to pass. Kit had grown into a man, and the answers that had satisfied him as a child would no longer suffice. Now he wanted to know the whole story of who he was and how he had come to be her son.
She entered the study and ran straight to Kit. He stood up and caught her in his arms as she hugged him the way she’d wanted to do when he arrived. “Oh, Kit, it’s so good to have you home.”
“It’s good to be home with you and Papa and Ally and the girls.” Kit hugged her tightly.
“Kathryn,” Drew said gently. “It’s time.”
Wren took a shaky breath, and Drew walked over and put his arms around her. “Does he remember that terrible, terrible day?” she asked.
“What day?” Kit wondered.
“The day you were stolen away from us by the people who thought they had a right to you.” She glanced at Drew. Once Kit had been safely returned to her, Wren had never again spoken aloud the names of the people who had taken him. But for years thereafter, Kit had had bad dreams and nightmares about the people who had taken him away from his mama and Drew.
Both Wren and Drew had sworn that that would never happen again. They set out to make certain no one would ever have reason to question Kit’s place in the world as Drew Ramsey’s son and heir.
“Start at the beginning and tell him everything,” Drew told her.
“I don’t know if I can,” Wren said. “But I’ll try.” She met Kit’s gaze. “What I am about to tell you changes nothing. I am your mother. You are my son. That’s all that matters to me.”
“Of course, Mama.” Kit lowered his gaze. The last thing he wanted to do was upset his mother.
“You know that I was married before I married Drew?”
“To Stafford. The celebrated biologist,” Kit answered.
“Yes, that’s right.” Wren nodded. “To Bertrand Stafford, a sweet, gentle old man who offered to marry me and give my child a name.”
“What?” Kit was stunned.
“Drew and I were engaged to be married before I married Bertrand, but something happened two days before our wedding that changed the course of our lives.” Wren stopped speaking, visibly struggling to find the words and the courage to say what she had to say next.
“He’s a grown man, Kathryn, my love. Tell him.”
She looked at Drew with tears in her eyes. “I can’t.”
Drew took a deep breath. “Two days before our wedding, your mother was attacked and her virginity was forcefully taken from her. Kathryn failed to appear in church the morning of our wedding. I tried to find out what had happened, but she refused to see me—couldn’t let me see her, for her assailant had struck her and bruised her face. Her failure to show up made me a laughingstock in town. The earl of Ramsey was left standing at the altar. Hurt and angry, I rode off to join Wellington on his campaign to corral Napoleon.”
Wren resumed the tale. “By the time I was sufficiently recovered to face Drew, he was gone to war. I thought I would die from the pain and the heartbreak and the humiliation of what had happened to me. I wanted to die. And then a miraculous thing happened to make something horrible bearable. I discovered I was with child. I couldn’t go to Drew, so my father turned to his dearest friends, Bertrand Stafford and George Ramsey and prevailed on them to save my reputation. Because I would not reveal what had happened, George had no way of knowing if the child I carried was Drew’s. Nor could he offer me marriage because he had promised Drew’s mother he would never remarry or allow another child to take precedence over hers.”
“But there was another reason my father wouldn’t marry Kathryn,” Drew said. “Because he always held out hope that one day we would meet again and fall in love again and marry, and he knew that if he married her, she would be barred by law from marrying me—her stepson.” He smiled at Kit. “We didn’t know it at the time, of course, but now we know that Father had another reason as well. He had already met and fallen in love with your mother. And he couldn’t marry Kathryn without betraying three of the people he loved most—my mother, your mother, and me.”
“So Bertrand married me and gave my son a name. Of course, there were rumors about me. It was impossible to keep my condition a secret. And since I had left Drew waiting at the altar, everyone assumed we’d had a lover’s quarrel and that I married Bertrand when I discovered I was carrying Drew’s child. I did nothing to quell the rumors, for I would rather have the gossips believe my child belonged to the man I loved than to know what really happened to me. Five months after my son, Ian, was born, Bertrand died.”
“Your mama was left with an infant son and facing eviction from the home she had shared with Stafford.”
“And then Ian died suddenly, unexpectedly, soon after Bertrand,” Wren continued. “I was devastated. My life had been irrevocably changed by his conception, and his birth had been the only thing that made my life worth living.” She looked up at Kit. “Losing Ian was a blow from which I thought I would never recover. I thought I might never have another child, because after Ian’s death I learned that boys in my family often died in infancy. Then one night, three months after Ian died, George showed up at my door with you in his arms. It was love at first sight. George gave you to me, saying that the best thing he could do as your father was to give you to me to love. All he asked in return was that I move to Swanslea Park and become your mother. My doing so created a firestorm of gossip. There were those who thought George had made me his mistress and that you were our son and there were people who thought that George had taken pity on his son’s discarded betrothed and that he had made me his mistress in order to gain possession of his grandson. I let people think what they would because I was afraid that if anyone found out I wasn’t really your mother, someone might try to take you away from me.”
Drew continued the story. “And one day, shortly after your mama and I had reunited and married, the family of the man who had assaulted Kathryn arranged to have you stolen from us because he believed you were his child.”
“We died a thousand deaths before we were able to rescue you,” Wren told Kit.
Kit raked his fingers through his hair in an impatient gesture so reminiscent of Drew that Wren’s heart ached to see it. “I was so angry,” Kit said. “When
Father Francis told me about my birth, I was so angry because I believed you had kept the truth hidden from me. I believed you lied to me.”
“Oh, Kit …” Wren held out her arms to him, and Kit walked into them, put his head on her shoulder, and wrapped his arms around her waist, the way he had done as a child. Tears rolled down her cheeks as Wren held the man who had been her precious little boy. “If we lied to you, we did so by omission. It hurt so much to talk about what happened. It hurt so much for me to remember and for you as well. You suffered bad dreams and nightmares for years after you were taken from us. You would leave the nursery and come climb into bed with Drew and me because you dreamed the man had taken you away from your mama and papa again. We never really knew how much you heard or how much he’d said to you before we rescued you, and so we tried to forget it and hoped that you would.” She pressed a kiss to Kit’s forehead and ruffled his soft brown hair. “You are my son, Christopher George Ramsey. I never knew your other mother’s name until after you inherited Telamor Castle, but I’ve said a prayer of thanks to George and to her every day you’ve been mine.” Wren kissed him again.
“Her name was Lady Alanna Farrington,” Kit said softly.
Drew nodded. “The wife of Michael Farrington, who was a cousin of ours and was, in fact, next in line to inherit our title. He was reported drowned the year preceding your birth, but turned up alive some months later. I learned that he was married and that his wife died in childbirth. I had no idea that she had died giving birth to you until Martin presented you with your inheritance and I began to ask questions. I do know that Michael Farrington returned to service and that he died of fever and without legal issue in India shortly after Father’s death. When his solicitor contacted Martin with the news, Martin realized that with Farrington’s death, I had no legal heir, and without one, our title would be extinct unless I could make you my heir. We began petitioning the Crown for an amendment to our letters patent when I married your mama.” He smiled at Wren. “And not just to make you my legal heir, but to allow you or any other children—male or female—born of my body to inherit. Farrington’s untimely death allowed the petition to go through.” Drew turned to look at Kit. “Martin and I have spoken and I have managed to piece together a good bit of the facts he could not, in good faith, reveal. Imagine my great pleasure in discovering that you could have inherited anyway.” Drew ran his fingers through his hair. “Although, I must admit that at first I was surprised to find that Father had fallen in love and had an intimate relationship with another man’s wife. I had never known him to do that before. But once I began to fit the pieces of the puzzle together, I knew he believed her to be a widow.”
“They both did,” Kit said. “At the time they met.” He related the story Father Francis had told him of how Lady Alanna and George met and what transpired once Michael Farrington returned from the dead.
“Poor George to find love again only to lose her,” Wren whispered. “And poor Lady Alanna, forced to choose between the men she loved.”
Drew nodded in agreement.
“Father Francis told me what he knew about it,” Kit said. “Including the fact that she and Mariah’s mother grew up together. Lady Alanna was the earl’s daughter and Lady Siobhan was the earl’s ward.”
Wren took a deep breath, and then leaped at the opportunity to change the subject. “Your Mariah is a lovely girl. And she tells me we have much in common.” She smiled at her husband. “While I smell of turpentine and paint, she tells me she always smells of baked bread and cake frosting. I take it she bakes?”
Kit laughed. “For the entire village of Inismorn, the castle, and the convent. At St. Agnes’s everyone works and Mariah was trained to be a baker. She will be the first to tell you that she is the best baker in all the parish …”
Drew poured Wren a glass of sherry, refilled his and Kit’s glasses with whisky, then sat down and motioned for Wren and Kit to do the same. “All right, son, tell us all about the girl who is to become our daughter-in-law.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The babe whose birth embraves this morn,
Made his own bed ere he was born.
—RICHARD CRASHAW, 1613–1649
“Good morning, miss.” Lady Templeston’s abigail, Nealy, placed a tray containing a cup and saucer, a pot of hot chocolate, and a plate of toast with orange marmalade on the table beside the bed.
Mariah opened her eyes and discovered a necklace, bracelet, and earring set of perfectly matched diamonds from Kit lying on her pillow. She picked up the folded piece of stationery and read the note written in Kit’s bold hand: No young woman can make her curtsy to the queen without diamonds. Wear these for luck and know that I will be thinking of you. Your Kit.
Mariah sighed. Today was her twenty-first birthday. The day she would make her debut into society and be presented to the queen. It also marked the day when she could be legally wed without forfeiting her fortune. And although Kit had presented her with a gift to honor the occasion, he had made no mention of his promise nor wished her a happy birthday. She knew the sting of tears that filled her eyes was childish, but she had thought that once she became of age, Kit might formally propose or at least admit to having feelings for her. She was disappointed that he hadn’t signed his note with love, but he had remembered her love of jewelry and given her a small fortune in diamonds.
She drank her chocolate, took a bite of toast, and hurried through her toilette in order to thank him before he left for his morning ride. She dressed in a morning dress of the color of damask roses and fidgeted in her seat as Nealy piled her hair into an artful arrangement of cascading curls. When the abigail finished fashioning her hair, Mariah handed Nealy the diamond necklace.
“I’m afraid it isn’t done, miss.”
“What?”
“Young ladies who’ve not yet made their bows are not allowed to wear diamonds before afternoon.”
“But, Nealy, Lord Kilgannon gave them to me. He expects me to wear them.”
Nealy shook her head. “I cannot help you, miss. If you wish to wear them, you will have to seek permission from Lord and Lady Templeston or Lord Kilgannon himself.”
Mariah glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel and sighed. “I overslept. It’s past time for Lord Kilgannon and Lord Templeston to leave for their morning rides in the park. I won’t be able to thank him or to ask permission.”
“You may still be able to, miss, for when I was getting your breakfast tray, I heard that Lords Templeston and Kilgannon had been forced to delay their morning ride because of a loose horseshoe or something …”
Mariah clutched the box to her chest and fairly flew down the stairs in an effort to catch Kit before he left for his ride, hoping for the opportunity to thank him privately.
They had been in London for nearly five days, and Mariah had been swept up in a flurry of last-minute shopping and other activities that coincided with preparations for the season. She had barely had the opportunity to speak to Kit, much less spend time with him alone. He rode early in the morning, but there had been no time to teach her to sit a horse, so Kit rode with Miss Allerton or his father while Mariah breakfasted with Iris and Kate.
Lord Everleigh had been right. In London her reputation was of paramount importance and what might be overlooked in country society could be devastating in London. She hadn’t believed any rules could be more confining than the rules with which she’d grown up at St. Agnes’s, but she was wrong.
Although Lord and Lady Templeston had welcomed her into the family and treated her with great kindness and respect, Mariah had not yet come out into society and was, in many ways, relegated to the company of Iris, Kate, and the governess.
She missed Kit And the freedom he had afforded her in Ireland. She missed their private time together and the way he kissed her and made her feel.
Since coming to London, his behavior had been above reproach.
Mariah couldn’t help wishing that it had been a little less circumspe
ct.
“Surprise!”
The shout rang out as she entered the breakfast room.
Mariah stood framed in the doorway until Kit walked over.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” Kit leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, then took her by the hand and led her to the breakfast table where a small mountain of presents awaited her.
Lord and Lady Templeston, Ladies Iris and Kate, Miss Allerton, Lord Everleigh, Mr. Mirrant, and Kit had risen at an unfashionably early hour and assembled in the breakfast room to wish her happy birthday.
Kit noticed that she was hugging the box containing the diamond set pressed to her heart.
“Don’t you like them?” he asked.
“Oh, Kit they’re beautiful!” Mariah breathed.
“If they’re that beautiful, I suppose it’s silly to ask why you aren’t wearing them?” he teased.
Realizing that Nealy’s refusal to allow her to wear the jewelry had been little more than a ruse to force her downstairs, Mariah answered, “It isn’t entirely proper for me to appear at breakfast in diamonds, unless you’re the one who fastens them on.”
“Then allow me to do the honors so you can open the rest of your gifts.” He took the box from Mariah, opened it, and fastened the necklace around her neck, then followed with the bracelet. When he’d finished, he handed her the earrings.
Mariah shook her head. “My ears don’t have holes for them.”
Iris gasped. “You can’t go without the earrings.”
Mariah looked at Kit, and then at Lady Templeston to Lord Everleigh, who told her, “Young ladies customarily wear earrings upon their presentation.”
Kit frowned. “I suppose we could return them to the jeweler for refitting with a different sort of clasp—”