Page 24 of His Illegitimate Duchess

C orporal Harding called on Elizabeth the very day he'd returned from Wexcombe. Being clearly shown she was someone’s priority made her feel giddy and important.

As the two of them sat in the exquisitely decorated drawing room that was her mother’s pride and joy, he asked Elizabeth to accompany him for a walk in St. James’s Park the following afternoon.

“Your mother is free to join us, of course,” he said nervously when he saw Elizabeth frown.

“It’s quite all right, Corporal Harding,” Elizabeth hurried to reassure him. “My aunt Isolde will accompany us. She is my chaperone for all outings this season.”

Oliver’s relief was visible on his face. The unspoken reason hung between them for a moment. Elizabeth resented it, although she knew she couldn’t blame him. Her mood darkened.

Has he ever had a mistress? She suddenly wondered, then scolded herself for the inappropriate thought, but was unable to stop entertaining it. He is a man almost a decade older than I, surely he’s had some… experience? Perhaps in the military. Maybe a French girl?

Despite what Elizabeth knew about herself, the thought didn’t ignite any jealousy in her.

“Excellent,” Oliver said, “I’ll pick you two up at 5 tomorrow.”

Elizabeth barely slept a wink that night. She was being plagued by the memories of her last (and only) visit to St. James’s Park, a visit she never talked about. Her mother knew about it, of course, but the woman was a master at pretending and avoiding the less rosy aspects of their lives.

Where would she be today if her father were still alive?

Lizzie had the gnawing feeling she wouldn’t be attending balls and house parties.

Lady Burnham had told her about some noblemen who’d acknowledged their base-born children, but those children were usually male, and those men were almost always unmarried.

Did my father love Lady Madeline? She wondered.

Would he have hidden me away forever to avoid hurting her feelings?

Or was he in some way indebted to her, in terms of funds perhaps?

Then, a most horrifying thought struck Elizabeth.

Was the late duke ashamed that he had procreated with a woman so far beneath his station?

That was the thing with deceased fathers: one would never get the answers to all the questions that one had. Some time before dawn, she finally rose from bed, giving up the pretence of sleep altogether, and went to the kitchen, where she made herself some chamomile brew.

“You’re up early, Lady Elizabeth,” the young maid, Susan, exclaimed in surprise.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Let me help you with that,” she offered, walking towards the kettle.

“No need, Susan, thank you. You can go about your usual tasks, I’ll take my brew upstairs and try to rest for a bit.”

“Very well, milady.”

Elizabeth was tempted (not for the first time) to instruct the young woman not to address her that way, but she was aware that it was all part of the new life she’d accepted by becoming Nicholas’s sister, no matter how dishonest and disingenuous it felt.

Just a few years ago, she could have been working at the salon with Susan, sitting side by side, complaining about rude and demanding customers. Today, she felt the young woman’s obvious relief when she left the kitchen.

Elizabeth managed to fall asleep for a few hours and was in a much better mood when she woke up. She had breakfast with her mother as usual, then wrote some letters before washing up and getting ready for her walk.

Mary pinned her hair up in a way that would allow her to don her new bonnet, whose exquisite garnet ribbon was sure to liven up her buff-coloured cloak. Despite how pleasant March had been, April had surprised them all by reverting to winter.

Even Aunt Isolde had no choice but to nod in approval when she saw her walk down the stairs.

“You even remembered your gloves this time.”

Elizabeth hadn’t. Mary had.

“Not entirely hopeless, then, am I?” Elizabeth teased her aunt.

“Time will tell,” Isolde answered, utterly serious.

Corporal Harding arrived at the promised hour in a rented carriage. As much as it pained Elizabeth to see him waste his money on it, even she knew better than to make him feel inadequate by offering to use her private carriage instead.

The three of them merrily chatted on their drive to the Park, exchanging news and pleasantries, and complaining about how dirty the air in London was.

“I’ve never appreciated Wexcombe more!” Harding exclaimed. “Returning to London after a fortnight in the country feels like a punishment. Only such terrific company makes it worthwhile.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Corporal Harding. I usually stay in our country seat. I only ever spent longer periods of time in London when my daughter had her Season, and now for my Elizabeth. There is nothing better than the English countryside.”

Elizabeth felt an odd need to defend the city, although she knew it to be even dirtier and more noisome than they would ever experience.

But at the end of the day, it was hers; the only home she’d ever known.

She’d walked its streets confidently long before her brother had determined she needed a minder.

It was pure chance that this conversation was being had just as they drove down Church Street. Elizabeth gazed at the familiar houses with an odd longing she knew was irrational. Her life now was better. But that one had been hers.

Her hands felt damp and cold in her gloves when they finally exited the carriage.

She ordered herself to stop thinking about that day, choosing instead to focus on the fact that Aunt Isolde was her father’s sister.

It felt unreal. He’d never told her he had a sister while he was alive. And her aunt looked nothing like him.

What would she say if she knew how her beloved brother had treated me in this very Park? Elizabeth’s treacherous thoughts once again returned to the topic they had been expressly forbidden to entertain.

It seemed that the entire Ton had decided to take a stroll in the Park at the same hour. The numerous bonnets with their colourful ribbons resembled little ships sailing on the sea of muslin and grass.

Oliver offered his arm to Elizabeth, and they walked ahead, with Isolde trailing behind them at a distance that somehow ensured both privacy and propriety.

“Are you feeling unwell, Lady Elizabeth?” he asked, true concern evident in his eyes.

“I’ve had some trouble sleeping last night, so I am still somewhat tired, you must forgive me if I’m poor company.”

“I don’t think you’re capable of ever being poor company,” Oliver said with a smile, and it didn’t feel like oily flattery.

It felt to Elizabeth like he truly meant it, and it perked her up a bit.

“Do tell me about the ball at Almack’s I missed while I was away,” he urged.

“Your absence was keenly felt. Oh, Baron Waldegrave was there,” she said conspiratorially.

“Have they managed to locate his brother?” Oliver asked as he nodded to someone in the distance.

“Not yet, I’m afraid. He seemed very upset by it.”

“I don’t know what they hope to accomplish once they do find them,” Harding frowned. “They will long have been married, and her father will have no authority over her. I suppose Powell could call Slaymaker out, but that would be cruel to his daughter.”

“You don’t think he would?” Elizabeth was horrified at the thought of the frightening man duelling anyone.

She was sure Slaymaker would stand no chance against him. And if Miss Caroline loved him…

“I’m sorry, Lady Elizabeth, I shouldn’t have said anything. I got carried away. I’m certain nothing of the sort shall happen.”

Elizabeth felt like a child being pacified, and she disliked it.

“I must admit I am failing to see what Mr Powell is so upset about. Yes, his daughter is young, but she was already out in society. And Lord Slaymaker is an earl’s son, so there is no cause for complaint about the match on that side,” she explained zealously and then reminded herself not to wave her hands like that again.

Harding sighed. “I’ve been thinking about that myself. I assume you heard about Powell’s late wife?”

“I’ve heard the rumours.”

“All of them tragic, correct?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“I know it’s irrational, but the only conclusion that makes sense is that he wants to protect his daughter from her mother’s fate.”

Elizabeth remembered the soft adoration in Powell’s gaze when he talked to his daughter, coupled with the fact that he’d introduced her to society early in order to keep her by his side when he travelled…

“I think you’re right,” she breathed, astonished at Oliver’s insight. “How did you ever guess that?”

Harding seemed abashed.

“You learn to read men pretty well in the military. Your life depends on it.”

Elizabeth nodded solemnly, her head full of swarms of thoughts that were competing with each other. She wondered whether Oliver could read her. What would he think if he knew how her own father had discarded her in this very park?

Would he think her worthless if she told him?

Should every father be like Powell and do everything in his power to protect his daughter? Perhaps only if the daughter merits such protection, she mused.

Did I? Do I?

“I would love to hear more about your time in the military one day.”

“One day, perhaps.” The usually open and jovial face that Corporal Harding seemed to wear for the rest of the world was suddenly a closed book.

Elizabeth didn’t like it.

“What do you think of their match?” she asked.

Oliver nodded, as if he’d thought about that as well.

“It’s not one I’d foreseen. They’d hardly spoken to each other in my presence while we were at Winchester. They seem well-matched in terms of temperament, but I’m afraid that Slaymaker might have trouble renouncing his bachelor ways. Mind you, this is based on my intuition alone.”

“I understand,” Lizzie said, and she did.

One dance with Slaymaker had revealed him to be a dandy in the making. Maybe loving Miss Caroline would rectify that, or maybe her considerable dowry would exacerbate it.

In the words of Aunt Isolde, only time would tell.

She suddenly had a vision of Louisa’s face when she saw her talking to Slaymaker during their walk to the pond. Was he the reason the young woman had been so pale the last time Lizzie had seen her?

***

That night, at the kitchen table, Elizabeth told the Mayfair women all about her walk with the Corporal: how the dark blue of his coat had complemented his blond hair, how gently he had helped her into the carriage, his thoughts on the Slaymaker elopement, and what he had said about her company being the only thing that made a stay in London worthwhile.

Jane said, “If you don’t want him, I’ll gladly take him,” and everyone laughed.

He is wonderful, Elizabeth thought, closing her eyes against the memory of the Corporal’s face hardening when she had asked about the war.

He is the perfect fit for me.