The Foundling (Rags to Richmonds #3)

Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

A s promised, the duke sent his carriage, along with a waiting woman to accompany Frederica to Cedarvale. The journey was at once nerve-racking and tedious. She had rarely travelled by any means other than by foot, except on the few occasions she had ridden in the back of a dog cart. This equipage, with its plush squabs and gentle, rolling motion that did not rattle her bones with every rut or stone in the road, made for an uncomfortable reminder of the disparity between the world she had left behind and the one towards which she was headed. She would have preferred to occupy her mind with something other than trepidation, but darkness put paid to reading or watching the passing scenery, and her companion was reluctant to make conversation. It was a little while before Frederica comprehended that the woman perceived her as someone of rank, too superior to exchange pleasantries with.

She thought it absurd, given her appearance. She had worn her Sunday best, but it was above four years old, faded, patched, and plain. She owned only one pair of boots, though she had polished them as well as she could. Her hair was arranged into a larger, looser chignon than usual, but more than that, she had been unable to achieve on her own. She was content that her family would not think her a disgrace, but without doubt, passers-by would have been forgiven for mistaking her for the servant, and the waiting woman for her mistress.

Cedarvale appeared out of the darkness as a vast bank of light. There was an impossible number of windows all lit by blazing candles, leaving the building itself masked in shadow, but the sheer bulk of it was unmistakable. Inside, the glare of the candles was almost blinding. She lowered her eyes, blinking furiously, and saw with dismay how very dull her gown looked in this light—more pale grey than the violet it had once been.

After passing through several lofty and finely decorated rooms, the butler slowed in front of a large pair of double doors. Frederica was heartened to hear laughter from within, but it ceased when the handle was turned, and that made her hands clammy with nerves.

“Miss Frederica Child,” the butler announced.

Frederica flinched to hear her foundling name spoken in such a grand setting. It was yet another reminder of how far from her sphere she had strayed.

Everybody stood up when she entered, ladies and gentlemen alike. The first face she recognised was Penrith’s. He came towards her, his reliably steady countenance a balm to her rattled nerves, and bowed .

“You are very welcome, Miss Child.”

“Thank you.” She curtseyed. “Um…if it pleases Your Grace, ‘Miss Richmond’ will do just as well now—at least while I am away from the orphanage. It seems silly to persist with ‘Miss Child’ when I am amongst my family.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. “As you wish, madam. Please, join us.”

Frederica wished the duke would stay near her, but he gestured for her to precede him into the centre of the room, where five eager faces awaited her. Adelaide and Kem she knew, and Scarlett was unmissable next to her twin. She guessed who Oakley and Worthe must be; the former was identifiable by his fair Richmond hair, and the latter was the only gentleman she had not yet met. Both were smiling welcomingly, but before either could speak, one of the twins stepped forwards.

“ Dear Frederica!”

Frederica was touched to see the almost teary gleam in her eyes. “You must be Scarlett.”

Murmurs of surprise and appreciation rippled through the party, and Scarlett gave a little jolt. “How did you know? Nobody can ever tell us apart. Sometimes even our husbands get us muddled.”

“Oh, well…upon my word, I cannot easily account for it. You just did not seem like Adelaide.” Frederica did not like to say that Scarlett had seemed more timid than her twin, with a shyer smile and less firm grip. The likeness was otherwise truly remarkable. From crown to chin, they were the double of each other. Her gaze tr avelled to Scarlett’s frame to compare her height and build to Adelaide’s, but there, her attention was captured by something entirely different. She could not help but stare at the singularly ugly gown her sister was wearing—a plain muslin day dress that was formless and unflattering.

Adelaide stepped forwards, her gown plainer still and evidently much laundered, rendering it even greyer than Frederica’s own. She broke into a small but triumphant smile. “We guessed you might not have much in the way of full dress, for neither did we used to. We did not want you to feel out of place.”

“These are the gowns we wore in our previous lives,” Scarlett added. “And I must say, yours is much prettier.”

Frederica was deeply moved by their thoughtfulness. She mumbled a thank you and worried that it sounded underwhelming but knew not what else to say.

“If you two have finished explaining your hare-brained scheme, might I get a word in edgeways?” Oakley enquired gamely, coming forwards to bodily elbow himself into their conversation. He took up Frederica’s hands and beamed happily at her, his eyes bright with merriment. “I am Oakley, and I cannot tell you how delighted I am to meet you at last.”

His joviality was infectious; before long, he had completed the introductions, passed on Lord and Lady Tipton’s sincerest wishes, and—once they were all seated—told Frederica more information about the Richmond family than she was ever likely to remember. She was captivated by his ebullience, and Adelaide was right; there was something familiar about his mouth when he talked.

Throughout it all, the duke kept a respectful silence, allowing his guests to talk to—and sometimes over—each other without interference. He kept his eyes on Frederica, once or twice raising his eyebrows in question of her comfort, to which each time she nodded in the affirmative. In truth, she did occasionally feel overwhelmed, but each time, either his steadfast support or some small kindness from one of her family would calm her nerves. She had relaxed enough to begin to enjoy herself when Mrs Coombs, the nanny, came to speak quietly to the duke. He nodded and then turned to address the group.

“Miss Richmond expressed a wish to see my daughter at some point this evening. I hope none of you will object if Delphine and her brothers join us for a few minutes before we go through to dinner.”

So far from objecting, everybody was charmed by the idea, and the children were duly ushered into the room. To Frederica’s delight, Lord Ryde recognised her and ran forwards to show her his wooden horse. Lady Delphine clung shyly to her nanny’s hand until Scarlett complimented her on her ribbons, at which point the little girl ventured to toddle around the room and show them—and her new back tooth—to everyone present. Lord Ryde did not wish to cede his place at Frederica’s knees when his sister reached his side, and she resorted to having them count each other’s teeth to avoid a squabble.

“You two seem very at home with a little one,” Worthe observed .

Frederica looked up, espying a wry sort of smile on Worthe’s lips; her gaze shifted to see that Adelaide was holding little Lord Felix in her lap. Kem was leaning close to them, smiling at the toddler’s sweet babbling. At Worthe’s tease, both reddened slightly and exchanged a look.

“I suppose this is as good a time to tell them as any,” Adelaide said.

Kem smiled at her tenderly, then turned to everyone else. “We are to be blessed soon ourselves. Towards the end of the summer.”

A wave of enthusiastic congratulations arose, and though Frederica could not have been happier for her brother and sister, she worried for Penrith. It had not lasted—he was already shaking Kem’s hand and offering his own felicitations—but at the moment the announcement had been made, the turn of his countenance had been distressing to observe. Frederica comprehended. To see a couple so obviously in love, anticipating the joy of bringing a child into the world together, could only make his loss more painful. When he turned around, she caught his eye and sent him what she hoped was a comforting smile.

“How about that then, eh, Frederica?” Oakley called brightly from his seat. “Not with us five minutes and already you are old news. There will be a newer member of the family even than you!”

“It is perfectly well by me. I am excessively fond of all children.”

“And me? ”

She turned her attention back to Lord Ryde, diverted by his sweet question. “Of course! How could I not be when you have been so brave, coming to meet all these new people.”

He frowned and tilted his head questioningly. “Father said you didn’ted know them, too. Are you brave?”

“Miss Richmond is very brave indeed, Ryde,” Penrith said, coming to stand next to Frederica’s chair. “But it is time for you to go with Nanny, now. Say goodnight.” As his children were led away, he added, “You have a truly special way with children, Miss Richmond.”

She felt herself colour at his praise. “Children bring me great joy. I rather think it is they who have a special way with me.”

He nodded slightly, his expression pensive, but he did not have the opportunity to reply before his butler announced that dinner was ready.

Mr Mulligan, on hearing that Frederica was to dine at Cedarvale, had drummed into her the proper etiquette for the occasion. She was surprised, therefore, when Penrith offered his arm to escort her into the dining room, for she was the lowest-ranking person present. It soon became clear, however, that the duke intended a far more informal evening than Mr Mulligan had expected. They were encouraged to choose their own seats, and conversation, far from being restricted to their nearest neighbours as she had been forewarned would be the case, was soon flowing freely and energetically around the table.

Frederica wondered, at one point, how much company Penrith had allowed himself since his wife died, for he seemed thirsty for it. He did not speak as often as the others, but he listened intently to everything that was said. As such, it was no great surprise that he noticed her discomfort when the conversation turned to her future plans. It began with an innocent question from Oakley about her work at Taverstock.

“I tend to the children,” she answered.

“Miss Richmond understates it,” Penrith interrupted. “She is responsible for every aspect of their care outside of the schoolroom and the kitchen.”

“Surely somebody else could be found to do all that?” Oakley enquired, sending a shard of panic through Frederica’s gut.

“Oakley!” Adelaide chided.

He looked up from his plate and winced as he realised his mistake. “Stuff it sideways, Frederica, I am sorry. Of course you are essential to the running of the place. I only meant…eventually.”

“You must excuse Oakley,” Kem added drily. “He has an unfortunate predisposition for being impetuous.”

“It is true,” Oakley agreed sheepishly. “I promise I shall not rush you into a decision.”

Frederica smiled but said nothing. None of them seemed to comprehend that she had already made her decision. To them, it seemed only a matter of time before she gave up her vocation and moved three counties away to live with an uncle she had never met. To her, there was no possibility of ever leaving Taverstock.

“It can be very hard to leave people behind,” Scarlett said, looking at her with concern. “We do understand. I suppose Adelaide told you about Patty?”

“She did, yes.”

Adelaide acknowledged the mention of her friend with a resigned shrug. “It is my only regret—that I shall never see her again. I should dearly love her to know I am to be a mother.”

“And I left my childhood friend behind in Stanbridge,” Scarlett added.

“Scarlett, you have not lost Bess,” Adelaide said encouragingly.

“Have I not?”

“Who is Bess?” Frederica enquired.

“Mrs Beamish,” Oakley answered before Scarlett was able. “A wonderful young lady, who has been Scarlett’s closest friend since girlhood.” He skewered a potato and began to hack at it with his knife. “She was only lately married and omitted to invite Scarlett to the wedding breakfast—or any of the rest of us, for that matter.”

Worthe gave Scarlett a consoling look. “I am sure there is a perfectly good explanation for it.”

“Indeed, there is,” Oakley interjected heatedly. “It is clearly Beamish’s doing. Bess would never treat Scarlett so infamously were it not for his influence. Would that she had stayed in Stanbridge last Season and avoided the man altogether.”

Frederica wondered at Oakley’s tone—had ‘Bess’ disappointed him? She did not have long to think on it before Penrith cut in .

“They are making quite the case for you never leaving Taverstock, Miss Richmond.”

She laughed lightly but then sighed and shook her head. “It is not just the people I would leave behind. Many of the children are only passing through in any case. It is that…I have been there so long?—”

“And how we wish we had found you sooner!” Oakley lamented, taking hold of entirely the wrong end of the stick. “Father has positively railed at the solicitor who had Robert’s will. If he had taken the trouble to contact us, none of you would have been left unprotected for so long.”

“You have not dealt with many solicitors if you think they take trouble for anyone but themselves,” Worthe said, chuckling.

“Which solicitor was it?” Penrith enquired.

“Farnborough’s and Co., in Wykham.”

“I do not know them,” the duke replied. “But Wykham, you say? Is that where they lived? That is but fifteen miles away.”

“It is,” Adelaide answered. “Barring my years in service, we have been all but on top of each other our whole lives.”

They wanted, then, to hear Frederica’s story—the families she had lived with, the different orphanages she could remember, and her time as a child at Taverstock. It was a telling which, with all their questions, took most of the rest of the evening. To her surprise, Frederica found she did not mind. She rarely said as many words in a week as she had said this evening, but her new family were all so fascinated , it was a magnificent feeling, and she talked until she was nearly hoarse.

Penrith listened with equal attentiveness despite having far less cause to be interested in her tale. Frederica thought more than once how good of him it was to lend his home to this first meeting. He was quite right—an impartial setting and his steady advocacy had indeed made it ten times easier.

Of course, it helped that her new family had been so very kind. She savoured the knowledge that these gentle, considerate people, all of whom were fascinating in their own right, were her family now. And all of them seemed as pleased about that as she—even Oakley, who did not appear to mind that they were only cousins. He was every bit as welcoming as her sisters and their husbands, his enthusiasm undiminished to the very end of the evening.

“Frederica, you have been fantastically patient, allowing us to interrogate you all night. I am grateful to you for allowing us to know you better. I am proud to call you my family.” He was clasping both her hands again, this time in farewell, as they climbed into their various carriages. The flickering light of two dozen scones and all the brightly lit windows from the house picked up the flash in his eyes as he said this—and Frederica started.

“I had not noticed before—your eyes are the same colour as the twins’.”

He seemed to hesitate, glanced at the duke, then laughed modestly. “’Tis the only handsome feature they saw fit to share with me, the fiends! ”

He let her go and stepped back to allow Penrith to come forwards and hand her into the carriage that would bear her home. The same waiting woman was already settled within, travel blanket at the ready to drape over Frederica as soon as she sat down, and a hot brick at her feet. The duke had thought of everything.

“I cannot thank you enough for your generosity in opening your home to us this evening,” she said to him.

“The pleasure has been all mine. And please, call me Penrith. ‘Your Grace’ gets tiresome awfully quickly when one is in frequent company.”

She felt a thrill at the idea that he anticipated them being often in each other’s company, though she soon shook the notion from her head. He referred, of course, to seeing her at Taverstock. Still, the fleeting pleasure only confirmed what she had already begun to suspect of her own sentiments.

Nothing could ever come of it. She was an uneducated pseudo-matron who lived and worked at the small country orphanage that had been her home for most of her days—and he was a duke, who was still desperately in love with his late wife. She nevertheless sank back into the shadows where nobody could see her and allowed herself the duration of the ride home to feel the warmth of her affection for Penrith.