“We went last year,” Jane said. “But I am always happy to have an excuse to go to Vauxhall. It is sheer magic if the weather is good.”
“Oh, the weather will be perfect for my birthday,” Barbara assured her. “It would not dare be otherwise. Adrian will be coming. He has asked Lady Estelle Lamarr to accompany him. Do you know her, Papa? She is making her debut this year, though she is well past the usual age. I have seen her once or twice. She is a beauty—very dark coloring.”
“I have an acquaintance with her,” Charles said. “Her twin brother was at Oxford with Adrian.”
“It would be lovely, in order to keep numbers even,” Barbara said, “if you would invite someone too, Papa.”
“Mrs. Summoner, perhaps?” Jane suggested.
Mrs. Summoner, who had been widowed about the same time as Charles had, had signaled on several occasions that she would not mind indulging in a discreet affair with him. She must be all of twenty years his junior. He held up a staying hand.
“If I must bring someone,” he said, “I will choose for myself. I shall ask Lady Matilda Westcott.”
He did not quite know what made him say it—and he certainly did not know if she would accept—except that he had been trying to pluck up the courage to talk to his daughters about something they needed to know, and this would make it somewhat imperative that he say it now.
“Lady Matilda Westcott?” Jane frowned. “Do you meanAbigailWestcott, Papa? But she is no longerLadyAbigail, is she? She lost the title several years ago. Besides, she is too young for you.”
“And she has recently married, I have heard,” Barbara added.
“I said LadyMatildaWestcott,” Charles told them. “She is Abigail Westcott’s aunt—Abigail Bennington now. She recently married Lieutenant Colonel Gil Bennington. My son.”
They stared at him blankly.
“Did you say‘my son’?” Jane asked, and laughed.
“I did,” he said. “Gil Bennington is my natural son. He was born thirty-four years ago, before I even met your mother. His mother was the daughter of a village blacksmith. She raised him without my assistance, though assistance was offered. The only help I ever gave him came after her passing, when I purchased a commission for him in the foot regiment in which he was a sergeant. He refused any further help not long after that. I saw him for the first time a few weeks ago after he arrived in London with his new wife. They came to appear before a judge who was to decide who would have custody of his daughter. She was living with her maternal grandparents at the time. Now she is with Gil and his wife. I was at the hearing. I spoke up in Gil’s defense. He has since taken his family to their home in Gloucestershire.”
It all came out in a rush.
Jane’s smile had disappeared. Both daughters were staring blankly at him.
“You have ason?” Jane asked. “Apart from Adrian?”
“Does Adrianknow?” Barbara asked. “Dear God, it will kill him.”
“He knows,” Charles said. “He came with me last week to a dinner given by the Earl of Riverdale and his wife. A number of the other members of the Westcott family were there too. It occurred to me when I was invited that the truth was almost bound to leak out at last and that it would be better that you all hear it from me than fromtongossip.”
His daughters were looking identically stunned, rather as Adrian had looked when Charles told him.
“And you are going to invite Abigail Bennington’saunt, one of the Westcotts, to Barbara’s birthday party?” Jane said.
“Unless Barbara objects,” Charles told her. “Obviously I have not asked her yet. She may say no even if I do.”
“Lady Estelle Lamarr has some connection with the Westcott family too, does she not?” Barbara said, frowning in thought. “Her father married the former Countess of Riverdale a few years ago? Abigail Westcott’s mother?”
“Yes,” he said.
“And Adrian is bringing her to Vauxhall,” Barbara said. “Yet heknows.”
“Yes,” Charles said again.
“Oh goodness.” Barbara sat back in her chair and placed her palms against her cheeks. “I feel as though I were in the middle of some bizarre dream. We have ahalfbrother, Jane.”
“If you happen to have a feather about your person,” Jane said, “someone could easily knock me over with it. How is it possible we never knew of this? And howcouldyou, Papa? Oh, of all the dreadful things. Whatever will Wallace say when I tell him? What is he like, Papa? Though I am not at all sure I want to know.”
They were none too happy, Charles realized. It was unsurprising. He was not himself. He had kept the secret for so long that it felt disconcerting to have the truth out in the open to upset his children. His wife had never known.
“I believe he is a good man,” he said.
