The Virgin in the Rake’s Bed by Ava MacAdams

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Ian, you came home!” his mother exclaimed, entering the salon a few moments later and practically falling on her son, who kissed her cheek and stepped back with an embarrassed look on his face.

“Mother, I would like to introduce you to the Baroness Westwick, Catherine… my wife,” he said, and Catherine gave a nervous smile.

“It is an honor to meet you, Lady Westwick,” she said, curtseying to Ian’s mother, whose face now broke into a smile. She had a formidable look about her, though her features were softened by the evident joy she now felt at seeing her son returned. She looked Catherine up and down and smiled.

“My dear, I knew nothing of it. Was there a grand ceremony? Have I missed my only son’s marriage? Oh, Ian, why did you not think to tell me? I read nothing of it in the society pages,” she exclaimed.

There was hurt in her voice, and Catherine could not help but feel sorry for her, despite everything Ian had told her. “We were married in secret, mother, at Gretna Green,” he replied, and his mother raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“You eloped? How exciting,” she exclaimed, and Catherine blushed.

“My father does not approve, you see, and I was promised to another. But it is Ian I love, and it is Ian I wanted to marry,” she said, and Ian’s mother smiled.

“You do not need to explain yourself to me, dear. When a person falls in love, there is little that can be done but to accept those feelings and dare I say, delight in them,” she said.

At these words, Ian rolled his eyes, and Catherine knew it was a look borne of the bitter experience of his mother’s extensive feelings for others. “It is done now though, mother. We are happy,” Ian replied, and he slipped his hand into Catherine’s, squeezing it reassuringly.

“And you came all this way to seek my blessing. I am surprised, and delighted. You have it, Ian, and I am so glad that…” she began, but Ian interrupted her.

“I do not require your blessing, mother, and it is not for that reason I have come, but for quite a different one,” he said, and his mother looked at him curiously.

“Shall we have some tea? I shall call for Redfield to serve us. Please, sit. It is not every day one is able to entertain one’s new daughter-in-law,” she replied, offering Catherine a seat.

A small bell on the table summoned the butler, and soon a maid arrived bearing a tray of tea things. There were elegant cakes and savories, all presented on exquisite China plates, the tea poured from a large, ornate teapot painted in scenes from the orient.

“The gardens here are quite magnificent,” Catherine ventured.

A silence had descended over the room, a stinted awkwardness between mother and son, which Catherine was in the middle of. She could not dislike the Baroness, and even her formidable countenance seemed to disguise a softer, kinder interior, one which she now displayed in her behavior toward Catherine, who could not fault the welcome she had received at her mother-in-law’s hands.

“They are my pride and joy. When winter comes, I find myself in the depths of despair, but when spring arrives, it is as though I am reborn. I take such delight in seeing everything coming back to life. If you are to remain awhile, then I will show you over them. I have just planted a new lavender walk which runs down to the boating lake. The fragrance will be quite delightful when they are in full bloom,” she replied.

“We will not be staying awhile,” Ian interjected, and the Baroness looked hurt.

“Then I do not understand why you have come, Ian. Do you wish for reconciliation?” she asked, and Ian grimaced.

“I need to know something, mother, and you are the only person who can tell me the truth,” he replied.

It was clear to Catherine how much Ian’s mother desired reconciliation with her son. She could imagine the pain of their separation, and whilst there was sadly little love lost between her and her father, it was clear that for Ian’s mother the separation was painful.

“I will tell you anything you wish to know. But how I wish you had come sooner; I have wanted to see you so very badly. When Redfield told me you were, I thought it must be some sort of mistake. But here you are, and you seem… different, somehow,” she said.

“I am different, mother. Many years have passed since last we were in one another’s company, and now I have met Catherine I am fortunate in my happiness, but there is still a weight which hangs over me, a sword of Damocles which even now hangs precariously over me. The threat is even greater than once it was, and I must know the truth,” he said, and his mother blushed.

“Please, Ian, not in front of your wife. I know what you are going to ask…” she began, but Ian held his hand up to silence her.

“What is to be said will be said in front of Catherine. She is my wife, and we are to have no secrets from one another, none at all,” he replied, and his mother nodded.

“Then ask what is on your heart, for it is clear we cannot continue in civility until the truth is known,” she replied.

Ian glanced at Catherine, and she held out her hand to him, giving what she hoped would be a reassuring smile. “It is for the best,” she said, and Ian nodded.

“For what it is worth, mother, I never wanted to hate you. To despise one’s own mother is quite abhorrent, but what choice did I have? You treated my father in the most appalling manner and…” he began, but his words faltered at the sight of the tears flowing down his mother’s cheeks.

“I could not help my disposition, Ian. I loved your father, but… I had other lovers, too. But I only fell in love with your father, though your father was not the easiest of men to live with. I needed more than his occasional affections. He loved me, I have no doubt he did, but he rarely showed it, and that is what I found so hard to bear. In those other men, I found a touch which was passionate and intense, and for which I craved,” she said, and Ian seemed to falter, his face flushed with embarrassment.

It was hardly a matter for polite conversation, though it was a conversation which could now no longer be avoided for the sake of English reserve.

“But there is a question Ian must know the answer to, and I, too, Lady Westwick,” Catherine said, knowing she must say something to save Ian’s awkwardness at this confrontation.

“The reason you have come here?” his mother asked, and Catherine nodded.

“A question has been raised concerning Ian’s father, his natural father, and the truth must be known to avoid or lessen a scandal,” she said, but Ian put his hand on hers to stop her.

“It is all right, Catherine. I will speak,” he said, drawing a deep breath.

“I will tell you what you want to know, Ian. I am sorry these questions have kept us apart for so long,” his mother replied.

“I must know the truth, mother. I must know who my real father is. There is malicious rumor spread and because Catherine’s father and brother are so set against our marriage, they have taken it on themselves to discover anything they can use against me. The truth of my lineage is disputed, and now, even on the morning after our wedding, we were confronted by Catherine’s brother with claims which turned my stomach ill,” he said.

His mother pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at the tears in her eyes. She was filled with regret, and Catherine wanted only to put her arms around her and comfort her. “How sorry I am you have endured such a thing and only for love,” she said, shaking her head.

“They claim the Duke of Sinclair, George Lowood is my father, and if it is so then…” Ian began, but his mother gave a start.

“That man… oh, I can hardly bear to hear his name. The lies he told, the things he said, all of it is painful to me,” she exclaimed, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.

“But what is it that he did? Is he…” Ian asked, and his mother nodded.

“I have no doubt he will deny it, but I have proof of it, Ian, your true father is the Duke of Sinclair, and I am only sorry it has taken so long for it to be known,” she replied, as Catherine and Ian looked at one another in wide-eyed astonishment.