‘Lady Grace Callaghan isn’t one to be kept waiting,’ said Owen, ushering Ellen out the door before him. She’d found him in the dining room reading the boudoir novel with an open mouth, but he’d put the book aside as soon as she’d announced their unexpected visitor.
‘Surely she doesn’t want to see me?’ Ellen looked at him over her shoulder. Beads of sweat dotted his brow.
‘She couldn’t have come at a worse time.’ Completely ignoring her query, he corralled her into the front room. ‘Grace,’ he said with a formal bow. Then he gestured towards Ellen. ‘This is Miss Burney, your mother’s companion.’
‘So the rumours are true.’ Seated in the very centre of the settee, the duchess surveyed the room as though atop a throne. Her shoulders were so straight even Maggie would have been impressed, and she swept her gaze around the room with a disapproving frown, clearly having decided Ellen deserved no more of her attention. It was quite remarkable the furniture didn’t sink through the floor in shame. ‘I see some things never change.’
Ellen pressed her mouth closed. As a companion, it was not her place to speak unless spoken to. Grace’s own lady’s companion was seated at the desk, the only other seat available. Her hands were tucked neatly in her lap and she was resolutely staring at the Persian rug.
‘Lizzy is resting at the moment,’ continued Owen. ‘But we’ve sent her maid up to wake her, so she should be down in a—’
‘I’m not here to see my mother. I’m here to discuss something with my stepson.’ One of Grace’s eyes twitched at her mention of Calum. Tzar nudged her knee with his nose, his tail wagging feverishly.
‘Wood isn’t home at the moment.’
‘Not home? Whyever not? Did he die or something?’
‘Of course not,’ snapped Ellen without thinking. ‘Your Grace,’ she added quickly. What a ridiculous thing to say. Calum was perfectly safe and sound. As were Gwen and Maggie and Verity. She resisted the urge to cross her arms and glare at the duchess.
But Grace didn’t even favour Ellen with a glance. ‘His whereabouts matter little to me,’ she said to Owen, her self-composure returning as quickly as it had slipped. ‘What I really want to know is why this house is closed to visitors?’
‘Wood never has any visitors.’
‘But my mother does. And while Society is being turned away at the door, gossip is spreading faster and further around London. It’s the latest on dit, and it reflects badly upon me.’ She flicked an invisible fleck of dust from her skirt. Four years after her son’s death and she was still wearing half mourning.
Where Lady Faye was short and plump, Grace was tall and curvaceous. The weight sat well on her figure and her gown hugged her body in all the right places. She was a woman who knew the power of her curves and she used her size to command the attention of the room.
In that way, she looked more like Calum than Calum’s own blood relatives, with her dark hair and her dark eyes and her widow’s weeds.
‘Lizzy would never do anything intentionally to hurt you,’ said Owen. ‘It’s just that she didn’t come to London to entertain. She came to see her family.’
Grace’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s going on here, Tattershall? What aren’t you telling me?’
‘Absolutely nothing.’ Owen spread his arms out before him in the least convincing lie of all time.
‘What’s. Going. On?’ Grace punctuated each word with deep, angry exhales.
A knot of annoyance tightened in Ellen’s chest, and Owen tugged at his cravat. Only Tzar appeared unfazed. He pressed himself as close to Grace as possible, sitting on her slippered feet—ridiculously fashionable shoes of crimson wool that would probably die of fright at the first sight of a muddy puddle.
Ellen’s own half-boots were decidedly more practical, but beside the duchess’s rich wardrobe, she must look a fright. You look like a down-on-your-lucky lady’s companion, she reminded herself. Which was precisely what she was.
‘Tattershall,’ Grace warned.
‘There’s nothing… Wood’s not home… wedding…’ Owen mumbled, staring at the shiny buttons of his own waistcoat.
‘I’m afraid we can’t offer you tea,’ Ellen said, hurriedly. ‘Our cake is rather tied up at moment. And as Owen said, Lady Faye isn’t receiving visitors at the moment. Although I’m sure she’d be delighted to see you.’
But Grace had frozen. ‘Wedding? What wedding?’ Finally, painstakingly slowly, she turned her full attention onto Ellen. ‘You! He might be a duke, but you do realise that he’s half Scottish and a murderer? What, Miss Lady’s Companion, could possibly have you desperate enough to marry Calum of all men?’
Geoffrey! Ellen plastered a smile onto her face even as her heart started racing. She wanted to wipe that knowing expression off Grace’s face. Calum might be a little grumpy—a little, ha!—but he was also kind and thoughtful, and he absolutely positively wasn’t responsible for Lieutenant Callaghan’s death. Whyever couldn’t Grace understand that? Lady Faye and Owen could. ‘Oh, phiff,’ she said dismissively. ‘Haven’t you heard? It’s a love match.’
Grace rose, dislodging Tzar. The difference in height had Ellen almost despairing. ‘Is this true?’ she demanded of Owen.
‘Y-yes.’ He nodded. ‘Wood can’t keep his hands off her.’
Thank you, Mr Tattershall! Ellen rubbed the back of her neck. Was he bluffing, or had he seen them together?
‘Calum is making the wedding cake himself,’ she added quickly.
‘Now that I do believe. He was always messing around in the kitchen when he was a child. May I assume I’m invited to the wedding?’
‘Of course,’ said Owen. ‘Lizzy wouldn’t have it any other way. We’ll send you an invitation with all the details. It’s only going to be a small, family ceremony with breakfast back here at the house.’
Was it? When had Owen decided on the details of her and Calum’s fake wedding?
‘I suppose that means I’ll have to give you a wedding gift.’ Grace sighed just as dramatically as her mother was prone to doing. ‘I know. I’ll gift you my side of the house.’ She smiled. ‘You’re going to need it.’ And with that she glided from the room in a swirl of mauve skirts, followed by her lady’s companion and one ratty old dog.
The front door shut, and from the hallway came Tzar’s whimpering cry.
‘What just happened?’ Ellen blinked.
Owen wiped his face with his pocket handkerchief. ‘Sweetheart, she didn’t mean—’
‘Yes, she did.’ Two wedding gifts in the space of two days. The beautiful nightgown from the dowager and now half a house. She didn’t know which one to feel more guilty about. It was a lonely, empty half a house that had already seen one broken marriage and was about to be caught up in the drama of a fake engagement.
‘Grace?’ Lady Faye hurried into the drawing room. There were lines on her face from the wrinkles in her pillowcase. Her smile faltered as she looked between Ellen and Owen. ‘Where’s my daughter?’
***
Gwen watched him from across the table through eyes as dark as her mother’s.
‘Are you not hungry?’ Cal nodded to her untouched dinner. ‘We won’t be stopping again until morning, so you should eat something now.’
She looked questioningly towards Maggie. The older woman wrapped an arm about her shoulders, pulling the child closer to her side.
When he’d first set eyes on Gwen, he’d thought Ellen’s likeness strong in her face, and now he knew why.
Ellen only went and got herself pregnant. The doctor’s words raced each other through his mind along with many questions, each worse than the last. It was like there was a storm raging inside him, and Cal was hard-pressed to keep it from showing on his face.
Who was Gwen’s father? Where was he now? Was he still alive? How much did Geoffrey know? Was Gwen illegitimate? Hell, what if Ellen was actually already married?
A lump the size of a large boulder settled in his stomach, and he pushed his own plate of food away.
Is that why she’d refused his offer? Because she was already married.
Ellen. Pregnant.
After his shock announcement the doctor had glanced over his shoulder as though worried Geoffrey might come striding into the taproom. ‘It all happened back when their parents were still alive, Johnathan and Guinevere Burney,’ he continued.
‘Gwen was named after Ellen’s mother then?’
The catskin shrugged, clearly uninterested in names. ‘I’m still not entirely sure how it happened but it was put about town that the baroness had fallen pregnant and was ill with it.’ He leaned forward conspiratorially, the inside of his collar dampened with sweat. ‘Ellen stayed up at the house for months and months supposedly looking after her mother. Only I know it was Ellen who was actually pregnant because I attended the birth. It was complicated.’ He blinked, memories clouding his vision for a heartbeat. ‘That’s why they called me up to the big house. All the servants had been given the night off. Nobody was ever supposed to know the truth but the family—and then me.’
And now Cal.
‘You won’t tell anyone about this conversation, will you?’
‘Scared of Geoffrey?’ Cal scoffed. The doctor was at least a head taller than that numbskull and an ex-Army to boot.
‘Blackford pays me well to keep my mouth shut.’
‘I see.’ A doctor who was easily bought off. Cal’s estimation of the man sank even further. What other secrets was he being paid to keep? ‘I thought Blackford was broke.’
‘Doesn’t matter how much he loses at the tables, he always makes sure he can pay me on time.’
‘And Gwen’s father?’ The moment the words left his mouth Cal hated himself for asking. He shouldn’t be prying. It wasn’t any of his business. But then again, how was he supposed to protect Ellie if he didn’t know the whole story? She certainly hadn’t offered up the information freely. Just another secret she hadn’t trusted him with.
The catskin shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Doubt it’s anyone local, otherwise it wouldn’t be such a secret. Things like that tend to rise to the surface in a place this small.’
‘And Ellen’s parents: what did they think?’
He shook his head. ‘Her mother was dead in the next room.’
‘What?’ Cal’s mouth dropped open. ‘You mean…’
‘That’s right. Turns out she really was ill.’ He took another swing from his flask. ‘The baroness died the same night Ellen’s daughter was born. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect, and word spread that she’d died in labour. Nobody ever questioned it.’
Perfect timing? Jackass! ‘And Blackford—ah, Geoffrey?’ he corrected, making the distinction between Ellen’s brother and her late father.
He shrugged again. ‘Up at Oxford. He came home for his mother’s funeral of course. But he wasn’t around much those next few years. I always got the impression the old Lord Blackford didn’t want his son in the house.’ He raised his arms behind his head, once again comfortable with the conversation. He actually thought he’d done Cal a favour warning him off Ellen.
Cal gave his head a little shake, focusing his thoughts back on the present. It was Little Miss Guinevere and Maggie Miller sitting before him now, not the good-for-nothing country doctor. And they were many miles from Evendale.
Still, he should have called out that doctor. He should have challenged him to a good ol’ fashioned illegal duel—pistols at twenty paces at the crack of dawn.
To hell with the man. So what if Gwen was Ellen’s daughter. Who was Cal to judge? His mother had abandoned his father and run back to Scotland when she was supposedly pregnant with him. She’d sworn with her dying breath that he was Hammond’s true son, but they’d never looked anything alike. Everyone in London had thought it.
An illegitimate duke?
Cal pushed his chair back with such force it toppled over. Gwen jumped. ‘I’ll give you two some space to finish eating. But don’t take too long. We’re running late as it is.’
In just two days he’d gained a fake fiancée, a fake soon-to-be stepdaughter and a…Maggie. God help him. Lady F was going to be simply thrilled. The more the merrier in her opinion.