The Foundling (Rags to Richmonds #3)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

E verything in Penrith’s demeanour evinced his shock; confusion suffused his face, and he held himself improbably still. “Pardon?”

“I am Frederica Richmond, granddaughter of the late Lord Tipton. Niece to the present one.”

For the longest time, he said nothing—only regarded her with his customary gravity. “How long have you known?” he asked at length.

“Since I was old enough to read my adoption papers.”

He could not conceal his surprise. “You have papers proving this?”

“Yes.”

“Why, then, did you tell me you were known only as Female Child?”

“Pardon me, Your Grace—I said my name was recorded as such, which it was. The full entry is, ‘Female Child, born to the Honourable Mr and Mrs Robert Richmond’. ‘Frederica’ was added to the earliest document in pencil, though I know not when, exactly, or by whom.”

He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again and observably checked himself before making another attempt. “Pray, pardon me —I recognise you have no obligation to explain yourself to me. But might I enquire how you came to be known as Miss Child if your true identity was known?”

She smiled at his manner, for it showed he had already accepted her history despite his questions. Not even the most liberal duke would show such courtesy to a foundling of obscure birth. “As I told Lord Ryde, it stuck. ‘Female Child’ had been changed to ‘Frederica Child’ by the time my second adoption papers were drawn up, and that is the name on all subsequent documentation.”

Again, Penrith regarded her intently, and had Frederica not been watching him just as closely, she might have missed the return of the same ghost of a smile that had flitted across his lips before—equally fleeting, equally captivating. “I knew there was something distinctive in your address.”

“Your Grace?”

“My consequence commonly produces a nervousness in people of your station. You have never exhibited anything of the sort. Despite the pains you have taken to disguise your descent, you gave yourself away in your bearing.”

Frederica shook her head, frowning; he did not seem reproachful, but she was nevertheless anxious at the thought of him thinking her deceitful. “I have never lied about it. My papers are filed with every other orphan’s in the office for anyone to look at who wishes to.”

“That may be so, but neither have you advertised it. Why have you never told anyone?”

“There was nothing to tell. I have no claim to nobility.” She could not have, for she would not have been passed from pillar to post all her childhood years otherwise. Mr Mulligan and Mrs Cromarty would never have agreed to allow her to stay at Taverstock if she belonged to somebody. They had seen her papers when she was brought here, and both had drawn the same conclusion as everybody else before them—that her Richmond connections were useless to her.

A stiff breeze whipped through the orchard; Frederica pulled her shawl more tightly about her shoulders and set off walking again. When Penrith fell in beside her, she said, “My father was disinherited. My true family would not recognise me any more than they did him—but pray, do not think for a moment that it troubles me. I do not covet a privileged life, and I have no desire to impose upon anyone for favours. I am more than content here.”

There was a short pause before Penrith spoke, and when he did, he sounded unaccountably cautious. “I would never presume to question your wishes, madam. But you are wrong about your family. They are looking for you.”

She glanced at him sharply, then away again, disquieted by his earnestness. “I cannot imagine why they would have begun a search after twenty years. There must be some mistake.”

“There is no mistake, Miss Richmo?—”

“Please, call me Miss Child. It is the only name I have ever known.”

“I beg your pardon.” He sighed softly and added, “Might we sit?”

They had come full circle, through the orchard to the other side of the house, where several benches were nestled amongst a small rose garden. Frederica acceded with a nod and sat on the nearest one. Penrith joined her, a respectful distance away but turned slightly towards her.

“Your uncle, Lord Tipton, has a son, Viscount Oakley. Two summers ago, he discovered a young woman working as a maid at a house in Southampton who greatly resembled his late grandmother. Investigations revealed that she was, in fact, the daughter of the earl’s estranged brother, Robert Richmond.”

Frederica felt her skin prickle and stared at him, prodigiously glad now of the solidity of the bench. “Do you mean to tell me I have a sister?”

“You have two. Once the first was restored to her family and began moving in higher circles, her sister was not long after discovered, for they are twins, and their likeness such that discovery was inevitable.”

“ Twin sisters!”

“Scarlett and Adelaide—though they are both married now and styled Lady Worthe and Lady Kemerton respectively. Indeed, I was at Lord and Lady Worthe’s wedding in October, where the mystery of the remaining lost Richmond sister was all anybody was talking about. I believe I can safely say they would be overjoyed to meet you.”

Frederica knew not what to say or think. She probably ought to be elated, or at least shocked, but she felt unaccountably numb. She had never had a sister—she had never had a family—and she knew not what to do with the information.

“Miss Child? I apologise if I have distressed you.”

“Oh no, I am not…That is, I…it…” She huffed a small, self-conscious laugh. “I am not sure what to make of it. Contacting my uncle has never been a consideration, but I never knew I had sisters. That changes everything.” On a whim, she asked, “Do I look like them?”

“No, I confess, you do not. But they are twins, so their more obvious similarity to each other is to be expected.” After a brief pause, during which he looked at her with uncommon gentleness, he asked, “Would you like me to let them know you are here?”

Would I? I hardly know. Not five minutes ago, she had been Frederica Child, foundling girl, sister to nobody, picking flowers for the vase in her small, unadorned bedchamber. Now, it seemed the world wanted her to be Miss Richmond, niece to an earl, sister to twins who were impatient to know her, and with a duke offering to put himself at her service. It was too much!

She became intensely aware of Penrith’s gaze and could not help but question his part in it all. “Your Grace is very kind, but…I hope you will not think me ungrateful if I ask why you are doing this for me? ”

He gave a small shrug. “I happen to be the person to discover you. But the Richmonds are good people—as are Lord Worthe and Lord Kemerton. As are you. I would help bring you all together.” Sadness abruptly overtook his face, filling his eyes with sorrow that was awful to look at. “There has been too much loss in my own family for me to sit back and allow another to be kept apart when it could be so easily avoided. I can never have my wife back, but you can regain your family. It is not a chance anyone should throw away.”

His vehemence took Frederica’s breath away; his misery made her want to hold him as she sometimes cradled the children when they first came to Taverstock, bewildered and grieving. “What was her name?” she asked gently.

He was visibly taken aback, but she did not quail from his incredulous gaze, and after a moment, he shook his head with some wonder. “There you go again, talking on subjects no one else dares to broach.”

“She deserves to be talked about, Your Grace. She gave you three beautiful children. And you loved her, did you not?”

His incredulity increased, but so did his sadness. Together, they gave him the appearance of utter despair. “What makes you say that?”

“I spend my days tending to those who have lost loved ones. I recognise a broken heart when I see one.”

He averted his eyes abruptly, and sat, staring at the ground, completely still. Frederica did not apologise or retract her remark. She only waited, as experience had taught her would serve best—and, at length, Penrith’s shoulders rose and fell with the deep breath he required to bolster his courage.

“It was not a love match. My father knew he was dying and wished to see me wed before he passed away, so he arranged it. But we grew to care for each other very deeply.” He raised his eyes to hers. “Her name was Margot.”

Frederica smiled, faintly but sincerely. “It is a beautiful name. You must say it to your children as often as you can. That way, they will never forget. I wish I knew my mother’s name.”

He twisted to face her more fully. “Should you like to find out? I am sure your uncle will be able to tell you if your sisters cannot.”

There was nothing for it. Her qualms notwithstanding, the duke’s argument was compelling. And in truth, she doubted she could ever be content, aware that she had sisters alive in the world whom she did not know. She nodded, for it was easier than saying aloud that she gave her consent for him to turn her whole world on its head.

She took him to the office and showed him her papers before he left, in order that he could confirm to Lord Tipton that he had seen them. Then she accompanied him back to his carriage, where he bade her farewell and promised to act on the matter in the next few days. After which, she returned inside and joined Mrs Woods in preparing the workroom for the girls’ sewing lesson. Her head was awhirl with all that she had learnt, but her heart was soothed the instant the children began filing in to take their seats. All of them were pleased to see her—a few observably buoyed by her presence. She did not regret agreeing to meet her sisters, but there was no denying that in the absence of her real one, Taverstock’s children had always been her true family.