Anne O'Brien - The Disgraced Marchioness

‘Forgive me, your ladyship, my lords.’ The gentleman bowed to the assembled company, face grave, politely deferential but firm. ‘I would not normally arrive on your doorstep without due notice. But this is not a social visit. Time is, I believe, of the essence. And what I have to say will certainly, I fear, be distasteful to you.’ He allowed his gaze to linger on the faces around the table, his own face and voice strained with compassion.

‘Then in what way can we be of help?’ Eleanor approached the little group, now with some concern, noting that the young woman was nervous and kept her eyes fixed on Sir Edward, as if for guidance or reassurance.

‘I fear that we are come here in some way under false pretences. This is my sister, Octavia.’ He took the hand of the young woman beside him to lead her forward. ‘She was Miss Baxendale. She is now, I must inform you, Octavia Faringdon, wife of the lately deceased Thomas Faringdon, and has been so for the past three years. She is the lawful Marchioness of Burford. And this child—’ he indicated with a glance behind him ‘—is their son, John. Heir to the title and Faringdon estates. I believe, madam, sirs, that we have much to discuss.’ Sir Edward bowed again and waited to see the impact of his declaration.

The silence that hung in the room was painful in its intensity, as enveloping as the cloud of dust motes that drifted around them in the sun’s rays.

Until Mrs Stamford grasped the edge of the table and pushed herself to her feet in outrage. ‘A marriage? Thomas’s wife? I have never heard such disgraceful nonsense in all my life!’ She glanced fiercely at her daughter. ‘If I were in your shoes, Lady Burford, I would have nothing to do with this scandalous claim. It is my belief that it is merely a charade on the part of these … these people, to get their hands on the Faringdon fortune.’ She paused to cast a look of pure disdain towards the pair, her lips curled in what, in a less well-bred lady, would have been seen as a sneer. ‘If I were you, I would have Marcle show these impostors the door, on the instant!’

The company, robbed of any desire for further social platitudes, or to sample the fine array of cheese and fruit set out on the dining table, repaired immediately to the blue withdrawing-room in stunned and uncomfortable silence.

‘Perhaps you would be so good as to explain your astounding claims, Sir Edward,’ Lord Henry requested with remarkable calm.

The gentleman was now seated on the silk-covered sofa, his sister beside him, palpably uncomfortable with hands clasped tightly in her lap. Their companion chose to take the child into the window embrasure, away from the heart of the crisis, to look out at the park and gardens and be entertained. Eleanor had lowered herself to an oval-backed chair as if she did not trust her legs to support her. Nicholas stood behind her, Mrs Stamford took a seat at her side. Lord Henry, either deliberately or through natural inclination, took a position of authority before the fireplace. When thoughts and impressions ran riot, spiking the air with nerve-jangling tension, he took command in a cool, unemotional fashion and broached the shattering development.

‘We would all be grateful if you would explain the circumstances of this supposed marriage. My family, as you must be aware, is ignorant of its very existence.’

‘Of course, my lord. I can understand why you might consider it all a matter of pretence and artifice. This is not an easy situation and not one that I would naturally seek. Forgive me, my lady.’ Sir Edward bowed his head to Eleanor, clear blue eyes guileless and full of compassion. She watched him with a mind frozen in disbelief, the fragile skin stretched over her cheekbones, tight with fear. It was as if his voice came from a great distance, but anguish gripped her heart at what he might say.

‘My sister came out four years ago with a Season in London,’ he began to explain. ‘She was very young, but my mother was alive then and wished to see her daughter well established. Octavia met Burford during the Season. And then later in the summer months when we spent a few short weeks at Brighton. It is very simple. They met and fell in love, as young people may do on such occasions.’ He smiled understandingly down at his sister, who continued to sit, head bent, fingers worrying at her reticule. ‘And they were married, quietly, in Whitchurch, the village where we have our small estate. Their child, John, was born there the following year.’

The information, clearly and lucidly delivered, dropped into the atmosphere as hollowly as pebbles into the depths of a well. Mrs Stamford found herself lost for words.

‘But why was it not made public at the time?’ Lord Henry frowned as he weighed the details. ‘Why did we not know of this marriage? Why did my brother not bring the lady home as his bride? I can think of no reason why he should need to keep this marriage a secret from his family and the world.’

‘I know not, my lord, but Burford spoke of family disapproval. We were not to know the truth of it.’ Sir Edward lifted his hands in acceptance of a difficult situation and the lowered them to cover those of his sister in warm comfort. ‘My sister presumed that your family would not accept his marriage to a lady of so little social consequence. Our family is respectable enough, of course, but we have never aimed to the heights of the haut ton. And to enter into marriage with the Marquis of Burford was beyond her dreams, even as a young girl who did not know the ways of society.’

Henry turned his attention to the lady who sat silently, eyes on her clasped fingers. ‘Is this so? Did Thomas indeed marry you, then hide you away in—where was it?—Whitchurch?’

‘Yes, my lord.’ She raised her eyes, not flinching as they met such stern questioning. ‘Thomas and I … we fell in love and he wished to marry me, in spite of his family, he said. So we should keep it secret, he said, and I agreed. I was very young, you see, and knew no better.’

‘Then why did you say nothing when my brother entered into a second marriage with … with Miss Stamford?’ Incredulity coloured Henry’s question. ‘Surely it is beyond belief that you should simply accept such a development.’ And why in heaven’s name would Thomas have done such a thin g ?

‘That was a mistake on my part, I confess.’ Sir Edward came to his sister’s rescue, taking her hand again and holding it in a warm clasp. ‘My sister was very foolish and, I do not hesitate to say, is easily led. She was given to understand that his marriage to Miss Stamford—’ he inclined his head towards Eleanor with grave respect ‘—was a matter of necessity, desired and encouraged by his family. Burford asked that Octavia keep the matter of her own marriage quiet in return for a substantial annuity settled on herself and the child. I could not persuade her otherwise. She insisted on doing what Burford wished. But now she has seen that much is due to her and wishes to make everything plain.’ He smiled down at the young woman who coloured prettily and returned his clasp, nodding her agreement.

‘But if he loved you and had married you, regardless of … of the differences in your social rank,’ Eleanor spoke at last to the fair lady, ‘and since you had presented him with a son and heir—why would my Lord Burford consider the complications of a second marriage to me? It does not make any sense! Most particularly as—’ She closed her lips into a thin line, unable to continue. Particularly as my birth and the social status of my own family is no better! It simply did not make any logical sense.

‘My lady …’Sir Edward hesitated, all deference and concern. ‘I cannot tell you … Perhaps you are the only one here who might know the reason for such an unfortunate decision.’