The Disgraced Marchioness. Anne O'Brien

would all be grateful if you would explain the circumstances of this supposed marriage. My family, as you must be aware, is ignorant of its very existence.’

      ‘Of course, my lord. I can understand why you might consider it all a matter of pretence and artifice. This is not an easy situation and not one that I would naturally seek. Forgive me, my lady.’ Sir Edward bowed his head to Eleanor, clear blue eyes guileless and full of compassion. She watched him with a mind frozen in disbelief, the fragile skin stretched over her cheekbones, tight with fear. It was as if his voice came from a great distance, but anguish gripped her heart at what he might say.

      ‘My sister came out four years ago with a Season in London,’ he began to explain. ‘She was very young, but my mother was alive then and wished to see her daughter well established. Octavia met Burford during the Season. And then later in the summer months when we spent a few short weeks at Brighton. It is very simple. They met and fell in love, as young people may do on such occasions.’ He smiled understandingly down at his sister, who continued to sit, head bent, fingers worrying at her reticule. ‘And they were married, quietly, in Whitchurch, the village where we have our small estate. Their child, John, was born there the following year.’

      The information, clearly and lucidly delivered, dropped into the atmosphere as hollowly as pebbles into the depths of a well. Mrs Stamford found herself lost for words.

      ‘But why was it not made public at the time?’ Lord Henry frowned as he weighed the details. ‘Why did we not know of this marriage? Why did my brother not bring the lady home as his bride? I can think of no reason why he should need to keep this marriage a secret from his family and the world.’

      ‘I know not, my lord, but Burford spoke of family disapproval. We were not to know the truth of it.’ Sir Edward lifted his hands in acceptance of a difficult situation and the lowered them to cover those of his sister in warm comfort. ‘My sister presumed that your family would not accept his marriage to a lady of so little social consequence. Our family is respectable enough, of course, but we have never aimed to the heights of the haut ton. And to enter into marriage with the Marquis of Burford was beyond her dreams, even as a young girl who did not know the ways of society.’

      Henry turned his attention to the lady who sat silently, eyes on her clasped fingers. ‘Is this so? Did Thomas indeed marry you, then hide you away in—where was it?—Whitchurch?’

      ‘Yes, my lord.’ She raised her eyes, not flinching as they met such stern questioning. ‘Thomas and I … we fell in love and he wished to marry me, in spite of his family, he said. So we should keep it secret, he said, and I agreed. I was very young, you see, and knew no better.’

      ‘Then why did you say nothing when my brother entered into a second marriage with … with Miss Stamford?’ Incredulity coloured Henry’s question. ‘Surely it is beyond belief that you should simply accept such a development.’ And why in heaven’s name would Thomas have done such a thing?

      ‘That was a mistake on my part, I confess.’ Sir Edward came to his sister’s rescue, taking her hand again and holding it in a warm clasp. ‘My sister was very foolish and, I do not hesitate to say, is easily led. She was given to understand that his marriage to Miss Stamford—’ he inclined his head towards Eleanor with grave respect ‘—was a matter of necessity, desired and encouraged by his family. Burford asked that Octavia keep the matter of her own marriage quiet in return for a substantial annuity settled on herself and the child. I could not persuade her otherwise. She insisted on doing what Burford wished. But now she has seen that much is due to her and wishes to make everything plain.’ He smiled down at the young woman who coloured prettily and returned his clasp, nodding her agreement.

      ‘But if he loved you and had married you, regardless of … of the differences in your social rank,’ Eleanor spoke at last to the fair lady, ‘and since you had presented him with a son and heir—why would my Lord Burford consider the complications of a second marriage to me? It does not make any sense! Most particularly as—’ She closed her lips into a thin line, unable to continue. Particularly as my birth and the social status of my own family is no better! It simply did not make any logical sense.

      ‘My lady …’Sir Edward hesitated, all deference and concern. ‘I cannot tell you … Perhaps you are the only one here who might know the reason for such an unfortunate decision.’

      ‘But why wait to make any claim until now?’ Mrs Stamford interrupted, impatient as she pinned the fair couple with an eagle stare, clearly not believing a word of Sir Edward’s explanation. ‘My lord has been dead for four months. Why did you not speak on hearing of his death? It has been no secret, after all.’

      Sir Edward turned to face the lady with calm purpose. ‘We knew of Burford’s death, of course. A great shock to us all. We expected that Octavia would have been considered in the will. And that clear provision would have been made for the child—who, after all, is the heir. And so we waited in anticipation. But there was no word from the lawyers, there was no settlement for Octavia or for the child.’ His voice hardened and looked down at his sister’s face with concern. ‘As the will stands, she has been left with no income, no security … no recognition of her position as Burford’s wife. That is not right, as I am sure you will agree.’ His gaze swept his audience. ‘She deserves what is rightfully hers after three years of neglect, of being forced to live as if she had a guilty secret. I have persuaded her to come here today to lay the truth before you, knowing that you will not allow her to go unheard. She must receive what is due to her under the law.’

      ‘Is this indeed so?’ Eleanor appealed to the young woman who sat so blamelessly in her withdrawing-room and threatened to destroy her whole life.

      ‘Yes, my lady.’

      ‘Did you love him?’ And what a ridiculously inconsequential question that is!

      ‘Yes. I did. And he loved me. He told me so.’

      ‘Did he … did he visit you often in Whitchurch?’

      ‘When he could. It was not always easy.’

      Eleanor’s blood ran cold from her lips to the tips of her fingers. Was that why Thomas had been prepared to enter into a loveless marriage with her? Because it would have given her the protection she needed? And, more importantly, because he had already given his heart elsewhere so a union without love was of no consequence? It could be so. It could all be terribly true. The thought struck her with terrifying power. But why did he agree to marry her at all if he was already legally bound? The cool voice of common sense impressed itself on her mind, insisting that she listen to its reasoned tones. Surely Thomas, whom she had respected and married, could never have taken a decision so unworthy of a man of honour. Eleanor no longer knew what to think.

      ‘Forgive me, Sir Edward, if I put this bluntly.’ Henry broke into her thoughts. ‘Is there any reason we should believe this remarkable claim?’

      ‘Of course.’ Sir Edward released Octavia’s hand and stood, a deliberate confrontation now. ‘I am not so foolish as to believe that you would accept my sister’s claim without legal proof. I have it. I have with me the proof of the marriage of my sister and your brother. And the registration of the birth of the child. At the church of St Michael and All Angels in the parish of Whitchurch and both witnessed by the Reverend Julius Broughton who is resident there. It proves beyond doubt that the marriage predates any other agreement that Burford might have entered into and that the child was born in wedlock. Thus he is your brother’s legitimate heir.’

      From his pocket he produced two documents and handed them over. Henry read them, noting places, dates and signatures. And passed them to Eleanor, who did likewise, holding them with fingers that were not quite steady. Yes. There it was before her eyes. She swallowed against the tight constriction in her throat as the truth sank home. The documents predated her own marriage and the birth of her own child. She was not Thomas’s wife. Her son was not Thomas’s heir.

      ‘It predates my marriage,’ she stated in toneless acceptance, as if her world and that of her son did not lay shattered at her feet.

      ‘It