Chapter Forty-Two
At precisely half past ten, the Duke of Montrose whirled Adelaide right past the patronesses of Almack’s in a delightful waltz.
She still did not have permission, but it seemed Nick had been correct. They could not tell the difference between her and Alice, even though her sister preferred bright colors, while Adelaide usually wore pastels. Or perhaps it was that she was in the arms of a duke. No one would reprimand a duke, not even Lady Castlereagh.
“What time will Westsea make the announcement?” Montrose asked Adelaide.
For a moment her vision clouded and spots danced before her eyes. No, she would not faint—she had managed a few bites of luncheon, despite her mother’s subtle hints about the importance of looking her best tonight. It was only nerves. She was overly excited, that was all. It was only natural.
Tonight her engagement to Duke Montrose would be announced.
She shook her head to clear it. “Mama wants all the pomp and circumstance possible. She insists my father must announce our engagement at the stroke of midnight. Not a second before or after will do.”
“The stroke of midnight? That is rather ominous.” The duke’s hand at her waist tightened briefly.
She peered up at him, puzzled. “How do you mean, Your Grace?”
“The old fairy tale. I don’t expect your carriage to turn into a pumpkin, but I hope you won’t flee the ball, leaving behind only your slipper.”
“Oh, no.” She laughed. “I am quite fond of my slippers. The embroidery on them is superb. If I flee, I shall make sure to keep them both firmly on my feet.”
“That does very little to reassure me, my dear.”
He smiled, but she noted the tension in his eyes and jaw and hastened to soothe him.
“You do not truly believe I would flee, do you? I would not humiliate my family in such a way, nor would I wish to hurt you. You have been so kind to me, Your Grace, and I am very grateful for your understanding about my unexpected ward. I have no desire to run.”
Earlier that evening, she had told him about James. Well, about the very young, suddenly orphaned distant relative whom she wished to bring into their home. Montrose hadn’t thought twice, but agreed immediately.
“Everyone has a relative in need of assistance,” he said sympathetically. “I admire that you do not shirk your duty. You show great compassion by taking in the boy.”
She lowered her gaze to their feet, afraid of a misstep, and blinked hard to keep her tears at bay. Why could she not be more like Alice, instead of a constant vale of tears?
Of course she felt guilty for her deception, but the lie was necessary. No man would marry her knowing she wasn’t a virgin. If Montrose knew James was her own son, she would lose everything. Maybe someday, when they had children of their own, she could tell him. Until then…
Well. Her entire life would be a lie, and she simply must accept that.
She felt slightly sick.
The music stopped, and with it the dancing.
“I will walk you to your mother, as a gentleman ought when the dance has ended, but I shall do so slowly.” The duke’s eyes glinted with mischief. “I wouldn’t want you to twist your ankle.”
“How thoughtful of you, Your Grace,” she said drily. She gave him a wide smile. “Heaven knows I am quite clumsy.”
They walked—slowly—toward the perimeter of the ballroom. She glanced at the great clock as they passed. Only an hour and a quarter until the big announcement. Her throat went dry.
“Can you imagine?” she heard Lady Margaret’s loud voice say. “Oh, Miss Bursnell. This will be of interest to you.”
With a barely suppressed sigh, Adelaide stopped and turned. There was Lady Margaret, standing with Lady Claire and grinning the smug smile of a victor to her vanquished foe.
“Then by all means you must share it,” Adelaide said, although she rather wished the lady wouldn’t. She doubted very much it was happy news.
“I was visiting my father at his office of Parliament this morning, and will you believe it? Mr. Eastwood was there, too. He is courting you, is he not? I heard he sent you flowers.” There was an odd note of triumph in her voice that Adelaide neither understood nor liked.
Next to her, Montrose stiffened.
Lady Claire saved her from answering. “He sent many ladies flowers. Myself included. Gentlemen sometimes do such things, you know.”
Adelaide looked at her. Lady Claire gave a small shake of her head, sending Adelaide a message with her eyes that she could not decipher.
“Well,” Lady Margaret went on, “Mr. Eastwood was conversing with a great many lords. His father, Lord Wintham, was there. So was Duke Wessex, and the Marquess of Winchester, and several earls. And what do you think? Mr. Eastwood announced before them all that he has a by-blow!”
Adelaide turned very hot, then very cold. The room shook and wavered. If Montrose had not been holding her arm, she would have collapsed on the floor.
“A by-blow?” she repeated.
“A child. A bastard.”
Dear God.
What had Nick done?
“But that is not all!” Lady Margaret said. “He has brought the boy to live with him. Is that not preposterous? No lady will hear his suit with a bastard living under his roof. And he was to be a marquess! Of course that is quite impossible now.”
Adelaide turned very slowly to face Montrose. “Is it, Your Grace?”
“It is,” he said softly. “Pardon us, ladies. I must see Miss Bursnell to her mother.”
He tugged gently on her arm. She followed woodenly, her spine stiff, holding herself as far from him as she could without causing a scene.
“Adelaide, please,” he said, his voice low. “I tried to stop him, truly I did. He has not lost the marquessate on my account. I promised you I would not withdraw my support, and I meant it. He is my friend still. He saved my life.”
“I don’t understand. If he had waited a week, the letters patent would have been signed and the marquessate would be his,” she said. “Why would he do this?”
Montrose shook his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps he did not want the title, knowing his firstborn could never inherit.” He looked at her intently. “We will speak of this more later, if you wish. But now let us focus only on our happiness. Can we do that, Adelaide?”
She nodded and curtsied as he left her there with her mother.
It was then that Lady Margaret’s words struck home.
He has brought the boy to live with him.
Oh, God.
Nick had taken her son!