As Ada took her leave, climbing back into the hackney she had hired to take her to this manor just outside London, she realized what a smart move she had made. Any reservations she’d been harboring in the wake of Maggie’s urging to join her was quickly wiped away. She settled back against the seat of the hackney and realized how grateful she was that such a wonderful place existed. It gave people like her hope for an otherwise bleak future.
Mr. Brandt Clarke sat at the East End tavern across from his best friend, Cortland Beaumont, Duke of Argyle. Although they could have held this discussion in a more comfortable setting like Brooks, where they both held a membership, it was Brandt who had yearned to be apart from the crowded, aristocratic atmosphere. He might have grown up around the nobility, but he had never felt like he was truly a part of the peerage. Perhaps it was because he was the younger son of a baron, or maybe because he had spent much of his adult life in Egypt where he had been subjected to a very different sort of lifestyle. He would have probably continued his work searching for antiquities for the British Museum even now, except he had been forced to return for personal reasons.
He was still trying to figure out that particular conundrum, which was why he had enlisted Cortland’s help.
“That is quite a situation you have,” the duke murmured.
“Indeed,” Brandt agreed with a long exhale. “At the moment, she is with my mother, but what do I know about raising children? I was the youngest of the family, and my elder brother certainly had no trouble ordering me about.”
“Perhaps you might send her to his residence then,” Argyle suggested with a broad grin.
Brandt rolled his eyes. “I’m sure that would be rather poorly received. Nathanial would say it was my fault for getting myself in a situation that I have no recollection of ever encountering with the lady in question. I admit that, before I left for Egypt, my memory was a bit fuzzy at times, but I think I would remember fathering a child that is now nearly five years of age.”
“Not necessarily,” his companion countered. “Don’t you recall Lord Herford who didn’t realize he was a father until his son was almost twelve years of age?”
Brandt shuddered. “I do recall the mention of something to that effect, but I thought it was merely rumor. I didn’t think there was actually any truth to it.”
The duke shrugged. “I suppose there’s no way to know for sure, since he left for the Americas with nary a word to his family. I can’t imagine he would be pleased by rubbing elbows with such savages and traitors to the Crown, but who am I to tell someone how to live their life? I decided long ago that I shall eschew the marital state. It holds no appeal for me whatsoever, and neither do any sniveling brats that come from my loins. I was cured from that long ago by the way my mother enjoyed her numerous peccadilloes, dangling her lovers in front of my father’s nose.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m quite content with my bachelor life, thank you.”
Brandt knew, from the moment he’d met the Duke of Argyle that anything to do with his family was a sore subject. He had suffered the trauma of a typical, aristocratic arranged marriage and had suffered as the child from that unhappy union. He always said how lucky he was that he had never been blessed with siblings who would have to deal with the same, cynical outlook on the world around them. When his father had died, Cortland had made sure that his first order of business had been to ship his mother away to Scotland, as far away as he could manage, making the ducal hunting box the new dower house.
Brandt sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “You are to be no help then? No advice to come from a revered duke, such as yourself?”
Cortland barked a laugh that caused a couple of the patrons to cast a glance in their direction. “Certainly not. Do you know anything about me?” He shook his head. “The only thing I know how to do is beget heirs, not retain them. Mayhap you could send her off to school in Switzerland or some such?”
“My mother would not hear of it. It is her first grandchild, or so she believes.” Brandt frowned. ”I’m not entirely convinced it’s the truth.”
The duke leaned over from his side of the table and clapped him on the shoulder. “Be glad there is only one to deal with. Thankfully, there are none of my spawn running about the city. At least, not that I am aware. Heaven help me should that ever change.”
Brandt snorted as he got to his feet. “I suppose I should be retiring. I have a big day tomorrow.”
“Oh? Do tell?” The duke crossed his arms.
“My mother wishes for me to take the ‘poor darling’ – her words, not mine – to the country estate until she settles in.” Brandt ran a hand through his hair. “I need to speak to my solicitor to find out what can be done. If anything.”
“Good luck, old chap.” Cortland motioned the serving maid over. It didn’t escape Brandt’s notice that she was comely, had light hair and quite buxom, just as Cortland liked them. His gaze dropped to her chest and his eyes lit with lust. “I shall have my hands quite full myself.”
“Always a good chat, Argyle,” Brandt muttered as he left the tavern and his licentious friend behind.
Chapter 2
Three months later…
* * *
Ada was humming to herself as she headed downstairs to the kitchens to speak to Cook. The plump lady was always a welcome sight when she was in residence, and since tonight was Ada’s first time running the Manor as the senior widow, she was anxious about what was on the menu.
She entered the kitchens and saw the dark blond widow rolling out some dough, but whatever struck Ada’s nostrils smelled absolutely heavenly. “Mrs. Givens,” Cook greeted brightly, as she wiped her hands, sending flour into a white cloud in front of her, before she wiped them on her already coated apron. “I heard you would be back to stay with us today, so I made your favorite, cottage pie!”
Ada’s mouth watered. “You are a saint,” she sighed. “I cannot wait until dinner. I’m suddenly quite famished.”
Cook beamed from ear to ear as Ada returned upstairs. She passed the housekeeper on her way, but other than a brief nod of acknowledgement, she knew to give Mrs. Hall a wide berth. She wasn’t unkind, but her stern countenance was intimidating.
With a decided spring in her step, Ada was about to cross the foyer to enter the library when she paused and glanced up at the portrait hanging in a place of honor at the top of the grand, gleaming staircase. Now that she had met four of the ladies in the picture—sadly, Mrs. Williamson had passed on—she had even more respect for the women who had been determined to pave the way for their fellow ladies of society who had been left on their own, but without any intentions of changing their solitary status. Ada had been lucky. Archie had been a kind and caring man, a thoughtful lover, if not one that had made passion sing in her veins. They’d had a few years of marriage before he was called to serve in the war.
During that time, she had struggled with the same emptiness she was feeling now, but she’d had the hope that he would come back to her. Joy had reigned when he’d returned, only to have tragedy strike just a few weeks later. Although it was possible for Ada to remarry again, she didn’t want to take the risk that she might have another child. Bearing the weight of not one, but two babes born without the chance to see them grow had been a devastation she didn’t wish to repeat. Nor did she want to give another man the right to rule over her decisions. At seven and thirty, she was quite content to be on her own.
She started walking again but was overtaken by her friend, Maggie. “Ada! I did it!” Her round face was wreathed in a mischievous grin as she waved a paper in her grasp.
