Page 143 of Dawnlands

He dropped his head into his hands. She watched him, judging his reaction, and was pleased to see that he did not sink into self-pity; but raised his head and said: “I am sorry that I forced you to tell me this, Lady Mother. May I ask one more thing: are you certain that this man, this criminal, is my father?”

Her large black eyes met his without flinching. “Son, I am so very sorry. I cannot know. I was attacked the night of my husband’s death. I cannot know for sure which man was your father. My husband was a great man, bearing a long honorable name. He may well have left me with you—his parting gift. His family would not believe it, they did not accept me, but nobody can know for sure.

“I gave you the name of your foster family to hide my fears. I called us da Picci—in the Italian way of speaking—and I would have changed your name to Avery when I married Sir James, if only he had agreed to it. I have only named this crime to you now to save you and the girl from the terrible sin of incest. For all I know, Mia Russo is your half sister.”

“She’s not to blame!” he said.

“Only one man is to blame,” she said steadily. “The rapist: FelipeRusso. And God will punish him. Not us. So you will have to meet Mia as a friend, and never tell her, nor Gabrielle, nor even Alys, what I have told you today.”

His face was anguished. “I had thought I would marry her!” he said. “I was going to write to him as my father-in-law!”

She was tender. “My son. It has cost me greatly; but I have saved you.”

WHITEHALL PALACE, LONDON, AUTUMN 1687

Livia was diverted from her plans for Matthew by undertaking the work of moving the queen’s household into her newly renovated apartments at Whitehall Palace. The rebuilding of the palace had been so elaborate and so rich—gilded and painted ceilings, glorious antique hangings, five different marbles on the floors and the walls—that it was not even finished now, years late and way over the planned cost. “But worth it!” Livia exclaimed. “This is a bedroom fit for a queen indeed!”

“And it has a deep-water bath!” Mary Beatrice came running through the adjoining rooms. “Come and see, it’s wonderful. I can almost swim in it! And water piped to it, hot water! Nobody has to carry it in! I can lock the door and bathe in complete solitude.”

Livia followed her into the lavish room; gold-framed mirrors surrounded them, throwing their images back and back until they looked like a dozen women in a golden maze. The queen closed the door so that no one could hear her whisper.

“I think I have news,” she said, holding Livia’s hands and drawing her close to whisper. “I’m not sure.”

“News?” Livia breathed, instantly alert.

“You know my courses are changeable, but I think I have missed two. And I feel strange in myself. Like I did before, when I was with child. I can’t bear the smell of hot chocolate in the morning and my breasts are tender. Livia, I think I may be with child.”

Livia’s knees gave way and she plumped down on the edge of the bath. “With child?”

Mary Beatrice blushed. “I think it was when His Majesty joined us at Bath,” she said. “The waters. And I was so happy.”

“God be praised!” Livia was amazed.

“And the king prayed at St. Winifred’s well, and had a vision.”

“Of course!” Livia said, delighted, hardly listening, counting on her fingers. “So you will be brought to bed in July? This summer, at any rate.”

“Perhaps on the anniversary of my mother’s death?” the queen whispered. “Perhaps Duchess Laura has sent me an angel from heaven.”

The queen and Livia agreed that she should tell Father Petre, the king’s confessor, and he should tell the papal nuncio, who would in his turn tell the king so that he might formally announce the wonderful news to the court and country. Father Petre said there could be no delay. The recent progress had hardened feelings against the king; the pregnancy must be announced before Christmas, to suppress the increasing ill will of the country against the court.

“Once they know there is an heir to the throne, they will object less to the changes,” Father Petre said. “Once they know that there is no Protestant descent through Princess Mary to Princess Anne, they will have to surrender. They will see the future royal succession of the true faith; and convert.”

“God has been good to us,” Ferdinand d’Adda observed. “And Her Majesty is well?”

“There is no apparent danger,” Livia warned. “But we are all, always, in God’s hands.”

Count d’Adda smiled. “The Holy Father himself prayed for thisbaby,” he said. “This child is going to build the true faith in England, he will be the rock. I will go and tell His Majesty now.”

Livia watched him go and turned to Father Petre. “It’s true, we should pray. I don’t think Her Majesty could bear the loss of a son. It would break her heart.”

He inclined his head to the angle of a priest listening to a confession.

“Of course, I will do everything in my power to keep her well.”

“As will we all,” he said, softly prompting.

“But it might perhaps be wise…”