“Father…”
He looked older, all his customary carefree air leached out of him. “Izzy, dear,” he said wanly. “Come into my study. How are you?”
It was such a ridiculous question to ask that her bottled-up anger burst out of confinement. “How am I?How am I?Is that all you can say to me, Father? How do you think I am, having been told that everything I believed about myself is a lie? That I am not a viscountess at all, and not even noble… I ambase-born, Father, and so are my daughters. How do youimagineI feel?”
He winced as he ushered her through the door and firmly shut out the curious servants. “I know, I know. It is difficult for all of us, but Birtwell… Walter… is the hardest hit, after all.”
“Walter is aman. It is never so bad for a man. He always has the option of a career of some sort, to make a name for himself. For a woman, everything —everything —depends upon the rank her father bestows on her… or her husband. And I am nothing.Oliviais nothing. Even Mama is nothing. Why has she gone away, anyway? I wanted to see her… to talk to her. She is the sensible one of the family.”
“She is indeed,” he said with a sigh. “I wish she had not gone away, but… well, she would go, and I cannot keep her here against her will.”
“Papa, is it really true — that Uncle Arthur was never ordained? Surely there must be some mistake. How is it possible that no one knew?”
The earl sighed again, rubbing a hand tiredly across his eyes. “Oh, Izzy, I only wish itwerea mistake! He certainly presented himself for ordination at Winchester, but something happened to prevent it.”
“What can possibly have prevented it? Was Winchester Cathedral struck by lightning? Washed away by floods? Burnt to the ground? Men are ordained without difficulty every year, so what made Uncle Arthur an exception?” She was pacing again, quite unable to be still.
“Do you truly want to know?” her father said with a spurt of laughter. “You are a married woman, so I will tell you. He was caught in bed with the dean’s scullery maid the night before he was due to be ordained. The bishop not surprisingly harboured doubts as to his commitment to the precepts of the church and sent him away to consider his future. But after leaving Winchester, he bumped into your grandfather and ended up here, where he was instantly called upon to marry your mother and me.”
“And he said nothing? He simply…marriedyou, knowing that you were the heir to the earldom, without mentioning the minor detail that he was not, in fact, a priest?”
“Precisely. Neither then nor at any other time did he so much as hint that he was not ordained. He never went back to Hampshire, of that I am certain, and the Archbishop of York has made enquiries of all the bishops in the north, and he has not been ordained here, either. He was never ordained.”
“What are you doing about it?”
He frowned, blinking at her. “Doing about it? What do you mean?”
“I mean, obviously, what are you doing to set things right? Surely the archbishop can—”
“No, Izzy. No. There is no setting things right, not entirely. What is done is done, and cannot be changed. But Izzy, it is not so bad for you. Farramont will marry you again, properly this time, so it will only affect your girls, and illegitimacy is never so bad for girls. If they are as pretty and lively as you, and with good dowries, they will make excellent matches, so you need have no fear on that score.”
“No fear on that score?Are you insane, Father? Have you truly so little understanding of how society works that you think it makes no difference? Of course, people will smile and seem friendly enough, but doors will remain firmly closed to them. Do you imagine they can ever be presented at court? Or dance at Almack’s? None of the most important hostesses will invite them to anything. They are condemned to live on the fringes of society forever. If they are very fortunate, perhaps they may marry some bucolic squire willing to exploit the tenuous connection to the peerage. That isyourdoing, Father!Youshould have asked questions of Uncle Arthur.Youshould have checked his papers. And Farramont, too. Women are helpless in such matters — it is formento protect us and ensure that all is done as it shouldbe. You and Ian between you… and grandfather, too… have destroyed this family. It is all your fault, and I shall never forgive you, never!”
She stormed from the study, almost knocking over the footman lurking outside the door, and strode away to her room. At least she had the principal guest suite on this visit. Last time, it had been occupied by Birtwell, since his own room was undergoing redecoration, and she had been forced into one of the smaller rooms. She paced about, getting in Brandon’s way, reciting her grievances loudly, until interrupted by a timid knock on the door.
A dark head appeared with artfully arranged curls framing a heart-shaped face. Izzy’s younger sister, Olivia.
“Izzy! Oh, Izzy!” she wailed, bursting into copious tears. “Is it not the most infamous thing imaginable?” So saying, she flew into the room and hurled herself into Izzy’s arms.
“Olivia! It is, it is! We have been shamefully treated, both of us. Come into the sitting room. Brandon, send for some tea.”
“And cakes,” Olivia added through her tears. “Macaroons, or some of the cherry cake, if there is any left.”
The sitting room was in one of the circular towers set at each corner of the castle, and although it was small, it was elegantly appointed in pale colours, with a sofa and two chairs, a davenport, two small tables and a narrow bookcase. The sisters settled on the sofa, and wept violently for some time, wrapped in each other’s arms. They cheered up a little when the tea tray arrived, Izzy pouring the tea and Olivia eyeing the array of cakes with relish.
The two sisters were six years apart, and alike in both appearance and temperament. Both were small, dark and universally accredited as beauties, although Olivia’s fondness for cakes had given her a plumper figure. Both raced through lifein either the highest glee or in despair. Not for them the steady, even temper of most of their relations.
At present they were both in the depths of despair, raging against the unfairness of life such that one deceitful chaplain had destroyed their respectability.
“It is all very well for you,” Olivia said, mumbling a little, for her mouth was full of cherry cake, “for Farramont will marry you legally and you will be Lady Farramont again, just as before. Nothing will have changed. Whereas I—”
“Nothing changed? What about the girls? And let us not forget that I have been Ian’smistress, in effect, for five years. How can I hold my head up in public when this becomes known?”
“At least you already have a husband. How am I ever to marry, let alone marry well, with this terrible blot on my reputation?”
This was an unanswerable point, and Izzy wisely did not attempt to address it.
“I planned to have the most successful season imaginable,” Olivia said, becoming tearful again. “Even better than yours, sister, although I know that would be difficult,” she conceded gracefully.
