“That she isLadyRooke,” Ian said calmly. “Is that not it, Willerton-Forbes? That she is, in point of fact, Sir Frederick’s mother.”
“Indeed, that is what I believe, my lord, yes.”
“Barty’s mother is dead,” Izzy said. “He told me so.”
“I expect his father said so, and a child of eight would have no cause to doubt his own parent,” Mr Willerton-Forbes saidgently. “Or perhaps Sir Humphrey waited for a year or two, and then claimed to have news from England. However, there is no record of Lady Rooke’s death anywhere, and the locals are very close-lipped about what became of her. Just conceive of the difficulty of her position! Surrounded by creditors and with no money to be found anywhere — if she had no relations to turn to in her time of need, then she would have been forced to accept paid employment, and where better than her own house?”
“Poor woman!” Izzy said, trying to envisage herself in such a situation. Would she have become a housekeeper? Never! But then, she had brothers and uncles and cousins enough to help her. If a woman had no one, and nowhere to turn… What a dreadful fate for the wife of a baronet!
“There is one other detail that perhaps I should mention,” Mr Willerton-Forbes said, setting down his empty Madeira glass with a look of regret. “Mrs Crowe has a daughter, aged fifteen. If my suspicions are correct, then she was born some months after Sir Humphrey had left. He might not have known he was to be a father again.”
Izzy gasped, sitting bolt upright. “Barty has asister!Oh, that is splendid! Surely he must be told of this… if your suspicions are correct?”
“That would be my advice, yes, if for no other reason than to tell Lady Rooke that her husband is, in fact, dead. After all, she may wish to marry again, and regain a more appropriate place in society for herself and her daughter. And even if Sir Frederick’s ancestral home is lost forever, it may be a great comfort to him to know that he still has relations in this world.”
“We must tell him at once!” Izzy cried. “He will be delighted to know that his mother yet lives, and that he has a sister. I shall write to—”
Ian reached towards her and touched her hand. “We must be cautious about this. Barty is… very settled in Northumberlandwith Bayton. I shall write to Davenport, I think, since he is both friend and brother to Bayton now, since he married Sophie Hearle. He can discuss it with Mrs Davenport, she will discuss it with her brother, and they may be left to decide how best to proceed.”
And with that Izzy had to be content.
When Mr Willerton-Forbes had satisfied his appetite for cakes and Madeira and departed, and the cricket players had gone into the house to be handed back to the nursery maids, Izzy lingered on, gently rocking the cradle and pondering this new development.
Ian sat quietly beside her, his legs stretched out and arms folded. “You must not be disappointed,” he said after a while, “if Barty is less enthusiastic about his new family than one might expect.”
“Why would he be unenthusiastic about finding his mother and sister?” Izzy said. “Surely they can only enrich his life?”
“Not necessarily. He is very contented where he is, with Oliver Bayton, and he may feel that his relations may expect something of him. To move back to Bedfordshire, for instance. Or to set up house together. Or he may fear that they will be encroaching and want to live with him at Bayton House.”
She was silent for a while, unsure. Then she burst out, “People are strange!”
He smiled at her affectionately. “Are they?”
“There is no accounting for them. Godfrey Marsden marrying his housekeeper. Sydney Davenport proposing to marry for a field. Robert Osborn overwhelmed by responsibility. And then look at us. Who would have suspected, after six years of marriage, that we would be so much in love?” He smiled even more broadly, but said nothing, so she went on, “Mama said that I made a good choice when I married you, and it seems she was right. And yet… I almost chose differently, and it wasentirely your fault, for you were late, if you remember. Having arranged matters so that you all knew I would decide on that one particular evening, I expected you to be there on time. You were always so punctual, but that night—”
“I almost did not go,” Ian said, his face wreathed in anguish. “I was convinced it would not be me, and I was not sure I could bear to watch you choose one of the others. So I dithered and hesitated. Twice I set off from Brook Street and then turned back. But then I decided that would be cowardice, and as soon as I walked into that room, you looked at me and smiled. You cannot imagine how cheered I was by that smile, when you had Marsden and Davenport and Osborn clustered about you.”
“But I was waiting foryou,” she breathed. “I had decided days before that I would marry you, but you were not there! I was terrified I had driven you away altogether. And then I was terrified that you would leave before I had spoken to you, so—”
“You came straight to me,” he said, with a little laugh. “You looked up at me while I made some inane remark and then you said,‘Lord Farramont, I shall marry you. Call on me tomorrow at noon.’And then you skipped away and danced with everyonebutme for the rest of the evening.”
“But you watched me,” she said, laughing up at him. “You moved around the room, but you never took your eyes off me. Even when Robert was trying to talk to you, your eyes never wavered.”
“He wanted to know what you had said. Probably I told him, for I was too stunned to be aware of anything beyond those words of yours echoing in my head.”
“You must have done, because he knew. They all knew. I remember the expressions on their faces. Oh, I was so cruel to you all, was I not? No, better not answer that. Iwascruel and selfish and thoughtless.”
“Well, you were very young,” Ian said. “You enjoyed feeling your power over us.”
“You see?” she said, merriment bubbling up inside. “The perfect husband — you excuse all my dreadful behaviour.”
“But you were never malicious,” he said. “You tested us, I think, but that is only right. Marriage is too important to be settled in a frivolous manner. That was what decided me not to stay at home that night. I had to allow you to choose, once and for all, and I would never forgive myself if I arrived too late for the final decision.”
“You were not late the next morning,” she said, with another burst of merriment. “You were walking up and down outside the house a whole half hour before noon, because Josie and I saw you from the drawing room window. We were on the lookout for you.”
He chuckled. “The hands on my watch had never moved so slowly. I allowed myself to knock at two minutes to the hour and Simpson must have been lurking in the hall, because he opened the door at once, and showed me straight into a room where you were waiting. Do you remember what I said to you? Because I cannot.”
“It was something like,‘Lady Isabel, I… I… Lady Isabel, I…’. To which I said,‘Are you asking me to marry you, Lord Farramont?’.You nodded, and I made my little speech… very honoured… delighted to accept. And you said,‘Oh!’, as if it were a great surprise.”
