The Foundling (Rags to Richmonds #3)

Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“ O h, my dear, what is this, now? Come, come!”

Frederica tried in earnest to collect herself upon hearing Lady Tipton re-enter the saloon, for she wished her aunt’s first impression of her would not be a snivelling little girl. Nevertheless, her distress was proportionate to her guilt, and since one was unassuageable, the other seemed impossible to quell. She continued to weep as her ladyship settled herself on the sofa next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

“You poor dear—this has been a wretched welcome. An inquisition followed by our complete desertion. I should not have left you alone.”

“’Tis not that,” Frederica said between sniffs. “I feel awful for the trouble I have caused.”

“Now, we shall have less of that,” Lady Tipton said. She fidgeted about a little and produced a handkerchief from somewhere. Frederica accepted it even as she shook her head in protest .

“I have agonised over what it would do to the family if I were to stay at Taverstock, but I wish now that I had stayed, for this is infinitely worse! Because of me, Oakley could lose the viscountcy, Mr Richmond will run the estate into the ground, and my sisters’ reputations will be tarnished forever. I shall be the means of my family’s absolute ruin.” Her last word devolved into another sob, and she covered her face with the handkerchief.

There was a short pause, then Lady Tipton withdrew her arm and gently but firmly pulled Frederica’s hands away from her face to hold in her own. “Now listen to me,” she said softly. “There are many apologies to be made in this situation, but not a single one of them is owed by you. Everything that has happened is a result of decisions that were made by people you never knew, long before you were even born. Your father chose to elope with your mother; your grandfather chose to disown him; your uncle Charles and I chose to bring your brother up as our own.”

Her ladyship tucked a finger under Frederica’s chin and lifted her face until their eyes met. “Despite all the disadvantages we put in your path, you made a good life for yourself, and now along we have come to cut up your hard-earned peace. It is we who ought to be apologising to you .”

She stiffened slightly and patted Frederica’s hand a few times as she added, “You will certainly have no share of the blame for your uncle Damian’s reprehensible duplicity. He is a wicked man, and he has used you infamously. But your uncle Charles and I made the decision to try and prevent him from inheriting, and the responsibility for that lies with us—not you.”

Such a confession could not entirely banish Frederica’s remorse, but it was nevertheless a great comfort. She regarded her ladyship for a long moment before replying, distracted by her familiar expression. She thought it must be a family resemblance at first, until she comprehended that there could not be one, for her ladyship was unrelated to any of them except by marriage. Her heart gave a little leap upon placing it. It was the sort of smile she was more used to seeing on Gold Days, when families came to collect their newly adopted children from Taverstock to take home with them. It was the best sort of smile; it spoke of hope and love. She took a deep breath and wiped her tears away with the handkerchief.

“Did you know my father?” she asked tentatively.

Lady Tipton’s smile broadened. “I did. I wish he had lived long enough to know the woman you have become. He would have been exceedingly proud.”

“Will you tell me about him?”

“I should be delighted, but I ought to leave that to his lordship, for he knew him best. Although it must be said that my sister, Lady Carbrooke, has a few choice tales to tell about him. He was supposed to marry her, you know—before he ran away with your mother.”

This shocking and unexpectedly diverting turn of the conversation occupied them until it came time for Worthe and Oakley to depart. It was unlikely they would cover much distance before dark, but Oakley was adamant they must travel through the night, and Scarlett was not much less keen. Once they were gone, Lady Tipton enlisted the twins to assist her in showing Frederica around Chiltern Court—something Frederica suspected was as much to distract them from their woes as to acquaint her with the house. She appreciated the attempt, but it was not wholly successful. It was evident that everybody was concerned and only pretending to be otherwise, giving a false jollity to the tour that was difficult to maintain.

For her part, the inevitability of this soon becoming her home pressed more heavily upon her shoulders with each door she opened. She felt an onus to like it but instead found herself comparing every room to Taverstock—and occasionally, to her dismay, Cedarvale. That was especially the case when Lady Tipton took them to the nursery. Having been unoccupied for nigh on two decades, it was outmoded, cold, and damp. While Adelaide and Scarlett fondly attempted to imagine Oakley playing there as a boy, all Frederica could picture was Cedarvale’s much more fashionably fitted up nursery, and Penrith’s darling children, sitting on her lap as she read them a story. The memory made her heart ache.

The bedchamber Lady Tipton said would be Frederica’s was larger than the largest dormitory at Taverstock. It could have slept twenty children at least if the beds were arranged closely enough. This bed had four posts and curtains to keep out the draught—something she had never needed at Taverstock thanks to the heat from the kitchen. Her clothes had been unpacked by somebody she did not know and hung in a closet in a separate dressing room. She did not have a closet at Taverstock; her clothes had always been kept folded in her trunk.

Frederica privately scolded herself for being so churlish; these differences had been equally in evidence at Avonwyke, and she had not been half so affected by them. Yet, Avonwyke was Adelaide’s home, and she had been but a guest there. Chiltern Court, on the other hand, was set to usurp Taverstock as the place Frederica supposedly belonged, and no matter how much she tried to approve of it, it simply did not feel like home.

The mood continued to be subdued at dinner. There was some conversation as everyone tried their best to make her feel welcome, but nobody mentioned the succession of the Tipton Earldom, or Mrs Beamish, or the threat to either of them from Damian Richmond. It cast a pall over proceedings that made Frederica thankful when her aunt signalled an early end to the evening.

She went to bed with her spirits in utter disarray. She thought back, as she had taken to doing of late, to all the precious times she had spent with Penrith. In particular, she recalled the vast comfort he had been on the day she received her initial communication from Lord Tipton. That had been the very first time the spectre of leaving Taverstock had raised its head, and she had been caught wholly unawares by the prospect. His Grace had been so wonderfully gentle on that occasion—all compassion and understanding. How she wished he were here now, to comfort her in the same way again.

She wondered what he would advise. He was intelligent, worldly, and dependably self-composed. Perhaps he would not say anything her uncle had not already said, but he would say it while steadily holding her gaze, his poised, handsome countenance a much-needed tether amid the maelstrom. Perhaps he might even say it with his arms around her. Perhaps afterwards, he might kiss her, as he had done at the ball, before?—

Before it all went so horribly wrong!

Frederica rolled over with a groan, pulled the pillow over her head, and willed herself to think of nothing until sleep arrived to numb her broken heart.

An express arrived from Worthe and Oakley just after noon the next day. The whole family was seated together in the saloon when the butler brought the letter to Lord Tipton, and therefore they were able to hear in unison that Damian had not been to visit Mrs Beamish. She was safe and well and could not recall a single encounter with a man of Damian’s description. Scarlett’s relief was palpable, but so was Lord Tipton’s concern.

“Is this not excellent news, Uncle?” Adelaide asked.

He regarded her unhappily. “I am excessively pleased that he has not embroiled any more innocent people in his schemes, but if Damian is not in Hertfordshire, pestering the Beamishes, then I should like very much to know where he has gone, and what he intends to do.”

“Perhaps he will do nothing? It may be that Worthe was right, and he has given up,” Lady Tipton said, but her husband was already shaking his head .

“I am not convinced. He held the position of schoolmaster for how long, Frederica?”

“A little over a month,” she answered.

“A month ,” Lord Tipton repeated, nodding. “I ask you, Louisa, have you ever known Damian to willingly do a day’s work in his life?” When his wife admitted that she had not, he said, “Nor I. If he condescended to endure a month of it in the hopes of finding something out from our niece, then I cannot believe he will have given up his search now. If anything, he will be more determined, for Lord knows he despises losing.”

“What if he still plans to go to Bess?” Scarlett asked in alarm. “It may be that he has not yet found out where she lives and will go when he discovers it.”

“The Beamishes are forewarned now,” Kem observed. “Mrs Beamish’s husband will be able to protect her.”

“Not so, I am afraid,” Lord Tipton said, flicking the letter open to read it again. “Oakley writes that Mr Beamish is not with his wife. According to her, he is gone to Bath.”

Scarlett frowned. “Without her?”

Lord Tipton shrugged. “Evidently so. Oakley says he intends to remain in Hertfordshire to ensure Mrs Beamish’s safety in the man’s absence.”

Lady Tipton bristled at that. “I beg you would write to him and tell him to come home at once. He has no place acting as protector to a married woman. Mrs Beamish may write to her husband and ask him to return to Hertfordshire. Or her brother if her husband will not do it. ”

“But in the meantime, it would be better that Bess is not left alone,” Scarlett said worriedly. “Worthe will not mind staying for a few days. He promised me he would do whatever he could to ensure no harm came to Bess.”

“And I am sure no harm will come to her,” Adelaide said comfortingly.

“I shall write to him though,” Lord Tipton assured his wife. “If only to warn him to take care.”

“What do you mean ‘take care’?” her ladyship asked. The clickety-clack of her bracelets as she twisted them around her wrist spoke volumes as to her anxiety.

His lordship regarded his wife pityingly. “My dear, Damian has already attacked Frederica. You must know there is a risk that he will attempt to accost Oakley.”

Frederica had not known Lady Tipton long enough to know whether the bout of nerves she then suffered was usual—though, judging by Adelaide and Scarlett’s surprise, she guessed not. So extreme was her ladyship’s distress that once she had extracted a promise from her husband that he would write the letter directly, she retired to her bedchamber to lie down.

“Oakley is extremely dear to her,” Kem explained when only the three sisters and he remained in the saloon. “She is as attached to him as any mother could be.”

After their conversation the day before, Frederica suspected there was as much guilt as affection at play in her aunt’s present distress. If her ladyship had not decided to pretend Oakley was her own child, nobody would presently be in any danger. She could not help but wonder what Robert Richmond would have made of the imbroglio his brother and sister-in-law had created for his son.

She was startled out of her reverie when something touched her face. Adelaide had leant over the arms of both their chairs to nudge the curls aside from her temple and peer at her curiously. She giggled and gave Frederica’s arm a light squeeze. “I am sorry—I did not mean to startle you. I was just looking at your face.”

“Why?” Frederica touched her cheek self-consciously. “Have I something on it?”

“Not at all. It is just, with the mention of mothers…well, Uncle Charles said yesterday that Damian was probably telling the truth when he said that you looked like ours. I have always wanted to know what she looked like. I was trying to see her in you.”

Frederica smiled to think of it. “Do you truly not remember her at all?”

“Not a stitch of her,” Adelaide replied. “Scarlett and I were only two when we were orphaned.”

“And Oakley was not quite four,” Scarlett added. “Do you remember anything from that age?”

“I take your point,” Frederica said. “My earliest memory is of sitting by a large window and being too hot in the sunlight coming through the glass. But I could not tell you my age or where the window was.”

“My earliest memory is of being scolded because I had fallen asleep in church,” Scarlett said, adding, “I can hardly be blamed, for the reverend’s sermons were always deathly dull.”

Adelaide stubbornly declared she could not recall anything prior to the age of twelve—which Scarlett quietly explained was because she did not like to talk about her childhood—and they all petitioned Kem to relay his earliest memory instead. He was in the midst of attempting to describe his first terrifying encounter with an earwig when the door to the saloon abruptly swung open so violently that it banged loudly against the wall.

Lord Tipton stalked into the room, his cane abandoned and his limp more noticeable for it. He looked shockingly ill. “Where is her ladyship?”

The sisters exchanged a worried look, and Adelaide answered, “Upstairs, resting still.”

“Good.” He shut the door and came farther into the room, but he did not join them in sitting. “I have just received another letter.”

“Oh no! Has something happened to Bess?” Scarlett cried.

“What?” Lord Tipton looked momentarily confused, then waved away the query with an impatient gesture. “Mrs Beamish is perfectly well. Damian never went to Hertfordshire, and neither does he intend to. He is in Wykham. He has been to Farnborough’s and Co. and seen Robert’s last will and testament.” He grasped the back of the nearest chair as though he might topple over. “He has found his proof.”