Chapter 42: Arianna
We’ve all gotten showered, dressed, and had a quick breakfast at the table in our room when there’s a knock.
Dell checks his watch. “The driver’s a little early. I’ll tell him to take the things we’ve already packed.”
He opens the door. But it’s not our driver from yesterday. It’s the woman from the front desk.
“Mr. Brant,” she says. “Your presence is requested in one of our cottages. Your wife and the baby too.”
Dell stares her down. “Who sent you?”
“I’m not at liberty to say,” she says. “It’s just for a visit.”
“If it’s just a visit, then you can tell us who it is,” he insists.
I guess he’s afraid the Duke is back with his gun after all.
The woman looks both ways down the hall, then leans in. “It’s the Duchess, sir.”
“Of Attenbury?” Dell doesn’t disguise his surprise.
She nods. “Can I take you there?”
Dell motions for me to bring the baby. I snatch up the diaper bag and heft Grace on my shoulder.
We exit the back of the inn and cross a landscaped courtyard. Beyond a gate is a small pond with three cottages.
“It’s the one in the middle,” the woman says. “She is expecting you.”
When she is out of earshot, I ask Dell, “You think the Duchess knows we showed up at her house?”
“Looks like it,” he says. “And she wants to see the baby.”
My heart hammers in my throat. This is it. What we came for.
Dell knocks on the door. After a moment, it opens. It’s a young woman, maybe twenty. “Come in,” she says.
After we pass through, she leaves the cottage, closing the door behind her.
The inside is rustic and charming. A braided rug beneath a coffee table. Well-worn floral sofa and Queen Anne chairs.
In one of them is a woman, regal, fair-haired, and thin. She has that air about her you expect in those who know their station in life.
“Dell,” she says. “So good of you to come.”
She doesn’t take her eyes off him, as if looking anywhere else will spoil the illusion that he is alone and there just for her.
Dell walks up and bows. “Duchess,” he says.
She lifts her hand and he kisses the back of it.
“My husband informed me you tried to crash my party,” she says. “I thought it very dashing of you. But of course you brought a wife.”
Only then does she look to me. When her eyes meet mine, I bow too. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to, or if Dell was being gallant, but I err on the safe side.
She turns her attention back to Dell. “What have you named your child?” she asks.
“Grace,” Dell says. “For my grandmother.”
“Lovely,” she says. “I suppose you are here because you think I am her mother.”
What? She’s not? I glance at Dell to see if he is registering any shock, but he has his boardroom face on.
He bows again. “When I looked upon her beauty, I knew she could be none other than yours.”
“Still the charmer,” she says, relaxing a little. “What a whirlwind few days we had. I will never forget them.”
Dell gestures to the baby. “And now they live on.”
Her face remains neutral. “Who is this woman you’ve married? I saw no mention of it in the press.”
He pauses. “Arianna,” he says. “She’s the perfect mother.”
“You can’t have known her long,” the Duchess says. “Yet you know this about her?”
I’m aghast he hasn’t corrected her about our marriage, but I say nothing. She still hasn’t admitted to being the mother.
“I know her,” Dell says. “And there is none like her.”
The Duchess watches him a few moments more. Then she says, “That is good enough for me.” She rises and goes to a small rolltop desk in the corner. She withdraws a long envelope.
“You’ll find in here a certificate listing the baby’s date and place of birth in a very small Russian village. The mother is documented officially as one Galina Popov. She was a local girl who died in a car accident around the time I arrived. Her mother assisted in the delivery of the baby and agreed to list her. You are named as the father. This ensures she could easily become an American even though she was born in Russia.”
“What is her official name?” Dell asks.
“Galina Brant.” The Duchess passes the envelope to Dell. “But it is of no consequence. Change it as you like.”
“How did you hide your condition?” Dell asks.
“It is not so hard to disappear on an extended holiday when you serve no purpose past your provision of heirs,” she says. “With my children grown, no one even noticed, other than Christmas, which was covered with minimal fuss. Everyone has their lives, you know.”
I can’t imagine not being missed for a year. It’s terrible.
“Who brought her to New York?” Dell asks.
“I have no idea,” the Duchess says. “I had it arranged. I never saw the baby. I would not allow myself to fall in love with her. I wanted more for her than to suffer as the object of derision and scorn.”
Only now does her gaze shift to the bundle in my arms. “However, I should like to see her just this once.”
I hesitate only for a moment. Then I walk up to her and hold out the baby.
The Duchess takes her. “I have three grandchildren. I never would have dreamed for a moment I could still conceive. But it had been a decade since the opportunity could have arisen.”
My empathy rises for this woman. She is admired and envied throughout the country. But she is lonely.
The woman examines the child. Grace looks at her with a solemn expression. There is still no resemblance, but when she is older, it will most certainly be there.
“You can use the birth certificate or burn it,” she tells Dell. “It was not officially registered. Your lawyers there will do what is necessary, will they not?”
He nods.
“All right, then.” She presses a long kiss into one of the baby’s cheeks, then the other, then passes her back to me. “It is done. I trust you will keep this secret to your grave. We cannot upset the balance of heirs.” She gives a sardonic laugh. “As if anything passes through the females, even today.”
She stands and kisses both of Dell’s cheeks. “Love her. I could not be more pleased to see you have settled your philandering ways.”
Then she turns to me. “Raise her as your own.” She tilts her head at Dell. “And keep him too busy to wander.”
She kisses both of my cheeks as well. Then she leaves the room.
Dell and I exit the cottage. Neither of us speak, as if struck dumb by the Duchess, her confession, and the necessity of her sacrifice.