The Virgin in the Rake’s Bed by Ava MacAdams

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“But you have not spoken to your mother in… years,” Catherine said, and Ian nodded.

The thought of visiting his mother was far from an attractive one. He had not seen her in five years, and they had barely spoken in seven. The discovery of her illicit affairs – particularly with the Duke of Sinclair – had caused such a rift between them as to be irreparable in Ian’s eyes, though his mother had attempted reconciliation on a number of occasions.

Ian had wanted nothing to do with her in the wake of such terrible revelations. The thought that his dear, deceased father was not the father he believed him to be was truly terrible. He had suspected as much for many years, though finding himself confronted by it was almost too painful to bear. He did not know if the Duke of Sinclair was his father – father in name, at least, for his true father would always be the man he had called father in his youth.

“And it pains me to think I will be forced to do so again,” Ian admitted.

But Ian knew the only way to discover if Rickard’s words were true was to go to the source of the scandal – his mother. Only she could tell him truthfully what had happened. It was a story he had never wished to hear, pushed aside, as he had all of womankind, believing that all of them were wolves in sheep’s clothing. But Catherine had proved him wrong, and for her sake, he was willing to confront his fears again, hoping that happiness could still follow.

“Will she admit it?” Catherine asked, and Ian shrugged.

“I do not know. She has attempted reconciliation before, and I have been the one to reject her – the following of my own self-imposed rules. Number one, “have nothing to do with a mother like that,” but perhaps I was foolish, given I still do not know the truth,” he said.

“But if you explain, and tell her of the misfortune that is to befall us. Perhaps she will know of the evidence my brother speaks of, or tell us it is simply nonsense,” Catherine said.

Her words were reassuring. She did not speak of him in the singular, but of the problem as one they shared, as any married couple should share their problems. Ian had spent so long living under his own auspices, that to have another to share his troubles with gave him fresh impetus to succeed. He would not allow his reputation to be destroyed so easily, and if that meant confronting his mother, then so be it.

“I do love you so very much, Catherine, with all my heart,” he exclaimed, and she smiled at him.

“And I love you, too, with all of mine. These problems will pass, all this will pass, but our love will endure,” she said, and he put his arms around her and kissed her, knowing that already the vows they had made were being tested, for better for worse…

* * *

Catherine was nervous at the prospect of meeting Ian’s mother. He had spoken little of her in the time she had known him, only fleeting mentions of a woman it was clear he had little time for. Her own mother had been kind and gentle, the very opposite of her father, who had treated her in the most appalling manner. Catherine had happy memories of her mother, the times she would read to her or play the pianoforte, happy times, and how she wished she had been alive to see her marriage to Ian. It would have made her mother happy to know Catherine had found a man who loved her and whom she in turn loved, too.

But it was evident to Catherine that Ian’s own mother was quite different. She had had an affair – a string of affairs – and Rickard’s claim that Ian was illegitimate weighed heavily on them both as they traveled south. The claim made no difference to Catherine’s feelings for Ian – she would love him if he were a pauper and with nothing – but illegitimacy would mean grave consequences for Ian, and for their future, too, and thus they had little choice but to question the one person who could tell them the truth.

“It must be eight years since last I traveled this road,” Ian said, peering out of the carriage window.

Their journey had brought them deep into the Hampshire countryside and now they were driving along a straight, narrow lane edged with tall larch trees on either side, approaching a grand house set in parklands on the bend of a river. The journey south had been uneventful, and there had been no sign of Rickard in pursuit, though they had been careful to take a roundabout route after leaving Walter Perkins and the mail coach at Lancaster.

“And this is where you lived as a child?” Catherine asked, looking with interest out of the window.

All of this was new to her, for she had barely left London before, and knew little of the provinces.

“Ashcourt Park, my mother’s home, though my father – the man I call my father – preferred the town,” Ian replied.

His expression was troubled, and it seemed that being here was rousing memories he would rather forget. Catherine felt sorry for him and wished there were some way of relieving his troubles. She was angry with her brother and father at their insistence on her marriage to the Earl of Westwood. She loved Ian, and nothing they could say or do would persuade her otherwise. She wanted only for them to be left alone in peace, and to enjoy the marriage which was legally and rightly theirs.

“Did they ever get on?” she asked, and Ian shook his head.

“A man is supposed to have mistresses, his wife is supposed to accept it, and we are told that is the order of things, though I think it quite detestable myself. But for it to be the opposite, well… that is a scandal. My father knew, of course, and it broke him, for his love for my mother was absolute. I cannot forgive her for what she did to him, for the pain she caused him,” he said, and Catherine reached out and took his hand.

“You must not worry, it will all come well in the end. We are married, and my fidelity to you is absolute, as I know is yours to me,” she said, and he nodded.

“You have it entirely, dearest Catherine. If it were not for you, my burdens would be far greater alone,” he replied.

“If it were not for me, there would be no burden,” she said, feeling suddenly terribly guilty for bringing this situation on them both. But Ian shook his head and fixed her with a stern expression.

“One person can fall in love, and if that love is not reciprocated, then there will be pain. But when two fall in love they can do nothing to prevent it, for it is meant to be. That is the way for us, and how thankful I am it is so. I love you, Catherine, and we will face whatever difficulties we must face together, for that is surely the only way,” he said, and she smiled.

“And that is just how I feel, too,” she replied, the gates of Ashcourt Park now coming into view.

The house was grand, though hidden away, as though the occupant had somewhat retreated from the world. A high wall surrounded the forecourt, and the house was covered over in wisteria in the first flush of early bloom. Steps led up to a colonnaded entrance, and the carriage pulled up in front, with Catherine eager to disembark after their long journey from the inn they had stayed at the night before.

There was no sign of anyone about, and Ian opened the carriage door and helped Catherine down. The scent of roses was in the air, and Ian led her up the steps to the main door, but across the forecourt toward the gardens. These were laid out in a most spectacular fashion, and it seemed that whilst Ian’s mother may not have cared much for her son or her husband, she did care for her roses.

“It is quite beautiful here,” Catherine remarked, gazing around her.

Lawns surrounded the house on three sides, with magnificent beds of flowers bordering them, the walls of the garden allowing for trailing plants to cover them. There were hothouses and lines of vegetables, neatly growing in rows. Everything was ordered and in its place – perhaps an antidote to Ian’s mother’s chaotic life.

“My mother always took good care of her garden, if not for those she should have done,” Ian remarked.

“I do not even know her name,” Catherine replied, realizing just how little she knew of the woman who had brought her husband into the world.

“Roberta Bennett, Dowager Baroness of Westwick. A grand title for a woman of no deserve,” he said, shaking his head.

“But she brought you into the world, Ian. There must be some bond between you. I think of my own father, and as much as I detest his actions, I cannot deny my parentage,” she replied.

He sighed and shook his head, gazing around the garden before turning to take her hand in his. “Forgive me, but I find all this terribly difficult. There are so many memories here, and most of them are bad,” he said, and she nodded.

“I understand. But you must not let these things trouble you. We will find the truth together, and we will surely be stronger for it,” she replied.

“How glad I am to have you, Catherine. Truly I am the richest of men,” he replied, just as footsteps came hurrying toward them.

“Your Lordship…” a man dressed in frock coat and tails exclaimed.

He was balding, and had the air of a servant, a deep bow confirming Catherine’s observation. “Ah, Redfield, is my mother at home?” Ian asked, and the servant nodded.

“She is, my Lord, but we are not expecting you… she is not expecting you,” he said, looking nervous.

“And that is the best way, Redfield. I have come to speak with my mother, and I would be grateful if you would inform her of my presence,” Ian replied.

“Certainly, my Lord. Will you wait inside? Your mother is taking tea by the boating lake. I will inform her you are here,” the servant said, and he hurried off across the lawn, glancing nervously back in their direction.

“Redfield has been my mother’s butler for many years. I would not be surprised if he did not know the facts himself. He is always listening at keyholes,” Ian said, shaking his head and turning back toward the house.

A terrace ran on the south side, and they made their way up a flight of steps and through a door into what appeared to be Ian’s mother’s private salon. It was lavishly furnished in the oriental style, the wallpaper a riot of peacocks and pagodas, the chairs draped over in exotic silks, and a table set for tea at its center.

“Will she welcome the intrusion, do you think?” Catherine asked, knowing it would be a shock to his mother to find Ian not only there, but married, too.

“She will welcome it, for she has always hoped for reconciliation. I am sorry to say the rejection lies with me. I am not proud of it, but I could hardly bring myself to be in her presence after what she did to my father. I really want nothing to do with her, but needs must, and I shall try to remain civil,” he replied.

“And what of me?” Catherine asked.

Despite Ian’s words, she was anxious to make a good impression on Ian’s mother, knowing that any woman always sought the highest standards when it came to the marriage of her children.

“She will delight in you, as do I. How could she not?” he asked, putting his arm around her and kissing her.

But Catherine was still nervous, and when she glanced out of the window to see a tall and imposing woman striding across the lawn, it did little to calm her nerves. “Is this her?” she asked, and Ian looked out, too.

“This is here,” he replied, “brace yourself, Catherine, she can be quite a handful.”