The Favoured Child (68 page)

She would be disgraced by a clandestine match – but such a thing could be hushed up and forgotten within a few years. There would be an early baby, but Wideacre was a tolerant place where the old ways were still known. There were few weddings
celebrated in the village church at which the bride did not have a broad belly to carry before her, and a flood of banns were read over the few weeks after the May courting on the downs. I would be clinging to my reputation by the skin of my teeth in the world of the Quality with a secret marriage and an early baby. But among the common people of Wideacre, I would be nothing out of the ordinary.

I straightened up and looked at the fire. I would never see James Fortescue ever again, and I flushed suddenly hot at the thought that somebody would be bound to tell him that pretty Julia Lacey, who was the toast of the season last year in Bath and had been quite his favourite for a while, had dashed into marriage not a moment too soon. He would be glad at the narrowness of his escape when he heard that. He might tell the gossip who whispered my name that he had wellnigh married me himself! And they would shake their heads and wonder that such a pleasant young lady should be such a whore. I put my face in my hands at that and sat without another idea in my head for a little while.

Then I shrugged.

I could not help it.

I had made a mistake, a grievous and awful mistake, and I would have to live with it and take the consequences.

It could have been worse, I tried to tell myself, seeking for some courage inside me and finding little. At least I loved my cousin Richard. I had wanted to marry him when we were children. He had held my heart in his hands since we were children together. I might close my eyes in the blankest of horror that we had to be married in such a disgraceful way, but at the end of the day I would have the two constant loves in my life: Richard and Wideacre.

Mama would be grieved. Mama would be distressed but.. .

I gave up the attempt to pretend that it would be all right. I could find no courage in myself, and I was too honest to pretend that a shameful secret marriage and an early baby was anything but a catastrophe in my life. But a pregnancy without being able
to own the father would be immeasurably worse. There was no way that I could tell Mama that I was with child. There was no way that I could tell Uncle John. But if Richard would take my part and tell the lies we would need to tell, I might yet come through. Richard was the only person I could trust with the truth. Richard was the only person I could go to for help. There was only one way before me that I could see and that way led me directly to Richard at Oxford.

I
hardly saw the town; the great grey colleges which fronted the streets looked more like prisons than palaces of learning to me. Mama was entranced by the style and the history of the place as we rattled to Richard’s college over the cobblestones; but I thought the windows too small and the façade of the buildings grim.

I learned later that the beauty of the colleges is hidden inside, that they are often built in a square with lovely secret gardens locked away. If the porter at the gate knows your name, you may walk inside the gateway and on through to a place of utter peace and silence where a cedar tree grows or where a fountain splashes.

From the outside they are forbidding, and all the secret gardens behind the walls did not compensate me for the way they seemed to frown at me as if they were all serious and thoughtful men and before them I was a silly girl who had lost her reputation and was growing big with a bastard child. Women were not welcome at Oxford, not even aunts and cousins, and pregnant mistresses would be utterly despised. It was a man’s place, and they kept their libraries, their books, their theatres and their gardens to themselves.

Richard was expecting us and had ordered tea for us in his lodgings, but he was quick to see the urgency in my eyes. I had forgotten his ability to deceive, and his start of surprise when he realized he had left some books at his tutor’s house would have convinced an all-seeing archangel. Mama agreed to sit down with a newspaper while Richard and I strolled down the road to fetch his books, and Richard turned to me as soon as we were clear of the house.

‘What is the matter?’ he said abruptly.

I noticed a certain grimness about his face and felt my heart sink. If Richard no longer wished to marry me, then I was lost indeed. ‘I had to see you . . .’ I started awkwardly. ‘Richard, it is about our being betrothed . . .’ My voice trailed off at the sudden darkening of his eyes.

‘What about it?’ he said, and I had to bite back a rush of panic because I had irritated him.

‘Richard,’ I said weakly. ‘Richard, you must help me, Richard, please!’

‘What do you want?’ he asked levelly.

We were walking down the road before the stone-faced men’s colleges as we talked, but at that I put both hands on his sleeve and tugged him to a standstill. ‘Richard,’ I said, ‘please don’t speak to me in that cold voice. I will be ruined unless you will save me. Richard! I am with child!’

He was delighted.

I
know
Richard. I could not mistake that blaze of blue in his eyes any more than I could mistake my own wan horror. I put my hands on his arm and told him I was ruined, and he was as delighted as if I had signed over Wideacre to him, and all of Sussex with it.

His eyelids dropped instantly to shield his expression. ‘Julia,’ he said gravely, ‘you are in very serious trouble.’

‘I know it!’ I said rapidly. But in some clear small corner of my mind I noted that he had said that it was I who was in trouble. He did not say
we
were.

‘It would kill your mama,’ he said. ‘She would have to send you away from home. You would not be able to stay at Wideacre. I think it would break her heart.’

I nodded. Anxiety had made my throat so tight that I could say nothing.

‘And you would be dropped entirely from society,’ Richard said. ‘None of your friends would ever see you again. It is a dreadful prospect. I cannot even think where you might live.’ He paused. ‘I suppose John might set you up in a little house abroad
somewhere,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘or they might arrange a marriage for you with a tenant farmer or someone who would accept your shame.’

I tried to speak, but I could only make a sound like a little whimper. ‘Richard!’ I said imploringly.

‘Yes?’ he answered. He sounded distracted, as if he could ill spare the time for my interruption when he was trying to think what would become of me now that I was ruined.

‘We were betrothed,’ I said very softly. People walking past on the street turned to look at us, a handsome youth and a pretty girl holding tight to his arm and looking up into his face like a despairing beggar. Richard saw their glances and smoothly moved us on, tucking my cold hand under his elbow.

‘We were,’ he agreed, ‘but I thought you had been betrothed to someone else. The last word you gave me on the matter was that you wished to marry no one, that you wanted us to be brother and sister. I had the impression, Julia, I must say, that you were not enthusiastic about our marriage.’

‘I was not,’ I said honestly. ‘I am not.’ It was like a nightmare, it was worse than a nightmare. I could hardly walk down the street, my knees were so weak with horror at this conversation. I could hardly believe Richard was triumphant over me and I was a supplicant being tormented. ‘But this alters everything, Richard.’

‘Yes,’ he said, and not even he could conceal the relish in his voice. ‘It does indeed.’

Then, all at once, I had taken my fill. ‘Don’t tease me, Richard,’ I said blankly. ‘This is no jest for me. If you will not own the child, if you refuse to marry me, you should tell me clearly. You must tell me now.’

The determination in my voice stopped him, and he looked at me narrowly, measuring my will against his own. ‘What would you do?’ he asked curiously.

‘I should tell Mama,’ I said, dredging up courage from the very soles of my shoes. ‘I should tell Mama, and I should tell Uncle John. I should tell them that I might be shamed, but I
should still be the part heir to Wideacre. We have been talking in the village about sharing out the land and running the estate as a joint venture of villagers and Laceys. If I could not be one of the Quality, if I could not be a lady, then I should give my share of the land outright to Acre. I should give it to them as a gift. I should take one of the better cottages in Acre and live there alone, and raise my child there. I know no one would visit me, and I know I would be ruined. But I still have friends among the poor people of Acre, and many of them were born a few months after a wedding, and some of them out of wedlock. Even if society and all my family close their doors to me, I should still have Wideacre.’

He nodded, slowly, and I could see his eyes flicking along the grey roofs and the pale skyline, as if he were trying to calculate something at speed. He did not know whether to believe me or not. He looked down at me and he saw my set face, and knew that I was determined. He believed that I could do such a thing.

Then I saw his eyes warm and he turned his most lovable smile towards me. Oh, my darling Julia,’ he said sweetly, ‘what a silly girl you are! I have loved you all my life, quite adored you! Of course you will not be shamed in that way. I will marry you. I would never dream of not being your husband. And you will have a son, my son, and he will be the heir, the sole heir to Wideacre!’

I gave a little gasp, and the courage which had been holding me steady and upright while we spoke suddenly deserted me and I felt weepy with relief. ‘Yes,’ I said.

Richard’s smile was sweet as a May morning. ‘We must plan,’ he said in a businesslike manner. ‘When will he be born? At the end of January?’

I paused. I had not thought of the birth of the child at all. All I had thought of was the distress it would cause my mama, and the shock to Uncle John, and the shame for me. But to hear Richard speak so confidently of the boy that would be born, that would be the next squire for Wideacre, made my spirits suddenly rise for the first time since I had conceived. The child would be a
Wideacre baby as Richard and I had been. The child would be raised on Wideacre under the wide sweet skies of my home. And she – for I was certain that the baby was a girl – she would be my little daughter, and I would teach her about the land and how to farm it, and she might be the one to give the land back to the people that worked it.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I am nearly two months into my time.’

Richard nodded. ‘When does it start to show?’ he asked.

I frowned. Oh, I so wish Clary was alive!’ I said in sudden longing for her common sense and for her wealth of knowledge. ‘I am trying to remember from seeing Clary’s mother, and the other women. I think it starts showing about the third month. But, Richard, I want to be married at once. I have to be married before it starts to show!’

The note of panic in my voice made Richard smile his cruel teasing smile. ‘Yes,’ he said gently. ‘I am sure you do. I don’t think I have ever seen you so afraid of anything, Julia.’

I could not retort. I looked up at him and I knew my mouth was trembling.

‘It is all right,’ he said, his voice silky with his happiness at seeing me in fear, at hearing me beg. ‘I shall make the arrangements. Now, stop looking so scared, Julia, we must go back for tea.’

The arrangements were easier than I had thought possible. Richard was given a few days’ leave by his tutor and claimed the right to escort us back to Sussex. Once we were home, Mama and Uncle John were tolerant when Richard asked if we might use the curricle and said he wanted to drive me to the coast. They did not expect us home until late, and they did not know what time we left, for we were away in the morning before they were stirring. We drove in the pale early light down the road to Portsmouth, Richard whistling and singing snatches of songs. I was as quiet as if I were going to my own funeral rather than to my wedding. The motion of the carriage made me queasy and tired, and after we had stopped for breakfast and changed the horses, I laid my head on Richard’s shoulder and dozed.

An odd sight we must have looked when we drove into the city. I felt I should have been looking about me at the noise and the bustle and the hurry of people. But I stared around dull-eyed and noticed nothing. I was on my way to my wedding and I felt nothing but dread, and when I glanced sideways at Richard, my heart sank.

The streets narrowed, and the sound of the wheels on the cobbles was deafening. The pavements were very crowded, and people continually stepped out into the road so Richard had to pull up the horses all the time.

We were due at the quayside, where there was a captain greedy enough and careless enough to sell us a licence to say that he had married us when on a voyage outside the limit of coastal waters, where his authority was legal.

Richard was following a hand-drawn map spread out on his knee. His friend Wrigley from Chichester had made it out for him and advised him as to the name of the captain. There were no secrets. One young man, living only a few miles from Wideacre, knew that we were to be married, and no doubt Richard told him why. There were no secrets and there was no escaping my shame.

He turned the curricle into a hotel yard and snapped orders at the ostlers: we would be gone two hours and the horses were to be ready for our return. Then he gave me his arm, casually, as one might pick up a valise, and took me down the road to the quayside.

The harbour was a forest of masts, with sailors, impossibly high, clinging to sails and to rigging and clamouring like an aviary full of swearing parrots. I shadowed Richard and clung to his arm.

‘How will we ever find the right ship?’ I asked; and I knew with a sudden dread that I was hoping we would
not
find the right ship and that we might go home. Even Mama’s heartbreak and my shame was better than this hopeless roaming around in a town I did not know with a man whose true character I was just coming to learn.

‘It’s there,’ Richard said. This expedition, which was weakening me with every step we took, was high adventure to Richard; his eyes were sparkling, he was looking around him with excitement. ‘There it is!’ he said triumphantly. ‘Now to find the captain.’