Page 48 of His Improper Lady

“This young woman has an all-too-familiar story of a man having an affair and then abandoning his child and her mother.”

“Who? A Moreland? She thinks it’s one of us?”

Emmeline smiled fondly at him. “No, no, Henry, not one of our Morelands, of course. But there are quite a number of others.”

“True.” The duke reached out to take the cup of tea she poured for him and took a meditative sip. “Rather too many of them, really.”

“The thing is, Papa, we think it would probably be someone in your generation, so we came to ask Uncle Bellard,” Alex explained.

“Well, I wouldn’t think it was Richard,” the duke said. “He and Valinda get along rather well, I think—though that may be because he’s so often gone on his butterfly hunts. My other brother Nicky died young.” Sorrow touched his face for a moment. “What do you think, Uncle?”

“I’ve never heard any gossip like that. Though one of the girls would know better—my sisters have all the gossip about everyone.”

Desiree hid a smile as she realized that the “girls” he referred to were women his age. She supposed sisters always remained “girls” to their brothers.

“Now, my generation had more boys in it,” Bellard went on. “And they had sons who would be the right age. Let me see...” He began to list male names, finishing, “I think that’s all...well, there was Alistair, too—Conrad’s son, but he moved to America a long time ago.”

Desiree stiffened. “America?” She glanced at Tom, who looked equally alert.

“Lord Moreland, do you remember when that was?” Tom asked.

“Oh, goodness, years and years ago, must be close to thirty years.” He looked over at the duke and duchess.

There followed a good deal of discussion between the three older members of the family concerning the dates of various exhibitions, discoveries, treatises and social reform legislation, as well as a couple of births and a wedding in the family before they agreed.

“1864,” Bellard said firmly. “Yes, the autumn of 1864. That’s when he left.”

Desiree felt as if her stomach had dropped to her toes. Tom said sharply, “1864? Are you sure?”

“I’m almost certain.” Bellard nodded. “Though Wilhemina would know better, I’m sure. She was his age, and they were rather close. Well, as close as he was with anyone. He was always a bit shy.”

The duchess, watching Desiree, said, “I take it that year is significant?”

Desiree nodded. “That’s the year I was born. And the year our mother ran away.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“I SEE,” EMMELINE said gravely.

“It wouldn’t be terribly surprising if Alistair had an affair. His was not a happy marriage,” Bellard said.

“True. A woman as straitlaced as Tabitha should never have married a Moreland.”

Bellard nodded. “They were not compatible. The dowager duchess and Alistair’s mother pushed him into marrying her. Tabitha’s family was quite old, and, as I remember, Cornelia thought it would be an advantageous marriage.”

“No doubt she felt it would make up for Henry being so wayward as to marry me.” The duchess cast a decidedly flirtatious smile at her husband. In response, he raised her hand and kissed it.

“No doubt that played a part,” Bellard agreed. “I believe he was engaged to Tabitha, then balked, and of course it would have been a scandal if he’d jilted her. I’m sure Cornelia and Agatha—that’s Alistair’s mother,” Bellard explained in an aside to Desiree and Tom, “were at him day and night to ‘do his duty’ and not damage the family’s name. I had the feeling there was something more, some worse scandal, that forced his hand, but I don’t know what it was.”

“Alistair always was a bit of weak reed,” Henry said. “He couldn’t have stood up against Mother. As I remember, Aunt Agatha was equally ironfisted.” The duke added, with breath-taking irony, “Alistair was an odd chap. He was a poetical sort, wasn’t he? And isn’t he the one who collected carriages?”

“Yes, he did,” Uncle Bellard agreed. “I think it was something of a bond between Alistair and his father. My brother Conrad had a large collection of them at their country estate. He kept the family’s coronation coach from, oh, must have been the second Charles’s coronation.”

“Didn’t Conrad find a tumbril from the French Revolution?” the duke asked.

“Well, that’s certainly gruesome,” the duchess commented.

“Yes, Conrad had an unusual sense of humor,” Uncle Bellard agreed. “After his death, Alistair continued collecting them. His were more normal. I remember he had a lovely phaeton made by Davies. A tilbury. And that carriage from America.”