Page 69 of Betting on a Duke
Chapter Twenty-Six
Five Months Later
“Are you ready,my love?”
“I believe I am,” Clarice replied, leaning into Samuel’s body for warmth, as autumn was upon them. And today, with the wind whipping, it was especially bone-chilling.
Clarice was ready to meet her son the day he was born. Now that she was close to seeing him—the son she had given birth to and thought she’d never see again—nerves and panic swirled inside her. It had taken months for the Bow Street Runner to track down the servants who had delivered her baby. Both women had changed their names to hide from her fury, knowing it was only a matter of time before she found them. At first, they’d refused to reveal their true identities, pretending they knew nothing of the Marquess and Marchioness of Chesterfield or any baby born on the wrong side of the blanket.
The Runner had made them see that if they were wise, they would also fear the Duke of Stanton. A duke of the realm was not someone you wanted to deceive. The women had finally admitted where their son was.
Over the past month, Clarice had been exchanging letters with her son’s mother, Mrs. St. George. The son she never knew was named Reginald after his father, a local vicar in Northumberland.
Mrs. St. George had been cautious when shereceived Clarice’s letter, and she wasn’t afraid to say so. Clarice still didn’t know her well, other than through her letters, but she admired the woman. She had been unable to conceive. Mr. St. George was originally at a vicarage just outside London when Mrs. Fitzhugh brought Reginald to them—Mrs. St. George and Mrs. Fitzhugh were cousins. Chesterfield had apparently ordered her to kill the baby and toss him into the Thames. But though Mrs. Fitzhugh was an unkind woman, she was not a baby killer, so she brought the baby to her cousin, knowing she would take good care of him.
The vicar and Mrs. St. George, fearing Chesterfield, fled to the north, where the vicar was fortunate and received his own vicarage, as the previous vicar had recently succumbed to old age. It had been six years, and in that time she’d adopted two other children—a girl and a boy, Reginald’s younger brother and sister. And Mrs. St. George assured Clarice in her letters that Reginald was an intelligent, smart, and kind boy.
Thinking about all this, Clarice wiped tears from her eyes with her gloved fingers. “You are so handsome, Samuel. I hope Reginald resembles you.”
Chuckling filled the carriage. “Whether he does or not, I’m sure he is a handsome boy. And from reading Mrs. St. George’s letters, he is a good boy and they love him and have provided for him, his every need.” He paused, moved the curtain aside, and stared out the window. “We’re coming into a small town. The vicarage should be nearby. I see an inn up ahead.” He rapped the roof, and the carriage stopped. “I’ll see about securing rooms for a few days.”
Samuel disappeared and returned less than ten minutes later. “We have rooms listed under our last name of Radcliff. I’d rather no one know the Duke and Duchess of Stanton are in town until we know if the St. Georges plan to tell Reginald who we are.”
“From what I gathered from Mrs. St. George’s letters, they will tell Reginald when he is ten and can understand the circumstances of hisbirth,” Clarice said.
“Regardless, during our time here, I need to speak with Mr. St. George to agree on the stipend amount to be sent to him monthly from my bank. Also, I want to inform him of a trust that has been set up, from which Reginald will begin receiving a portion upon turning twenty-one. I also want him to know that we will cover all his educational costs.”
“Samuel, there will be time to discuss all of that. We don’t want to insult the man, thinking he can’t provide for his son. We should be thankful that we are finally getting to meet our child. And the time will come when we can acknowledge him, but we need to be patient and not compromise the wonderful job the St. Georges are doing raising Reginald. We will be introduced as friends from London for the time being.”
Sighing, Samuel said, “I don’t care who or what we are. I just want to see my son and know he is being cared for and is happy. I would never tear his young heart out and security apart by telling him the truth at his young age.” He knocked on the roof and the carriage started going.
A short time later, the carriage came to a stop and Samuel said with a strained voice, “We’re here.” One of Stanton’s footmen opened the door and flipped down the stairs. Samuel exited, leaned back in, and held out his hand to assist Clarice. When she exited and stood beside the coach, she swayed. As always, her husband steadied her by wrapping his arm around her back. Clarice’s hand went immediately to her increasing stomach as the baby moved around. A little Stanton baby was due in roughly four months, and they were both elated.
“Mr. and Mrs. Radcliff.” Mrs. St. George, a woman around forty, hurried over to them with Mr. St. George, two boys, and a girl following. Clarice couldn’t take her eyes off the oldest boy, who did resemble Samuel. Blinking back tears, she forced herself to look away.
“Mrs. St. George, Mr. St. George,” she said, briefly grasping Mrs.St. George’s hands and meeting her kind, compassionate eyes. “It’s so very good to see you both again. It’s been too long.” Clarice went along with what the St. Georges had told their children. They needed to pretend they knew one another.
“Yes, it has,” Samuel said as he stepped forward and shook Mr. St. George’s hand. “And who are these fine children?”
Mrs. St. George’s eyes shone with pride. The pride of a mother. “This is our eldest, Reginald, he’s six. Richard is five, and Penelope, four.”
Samuel held out his hand and shook each boy’s hand, then bowed to Penelope, who giggled. “It is very nice to meet you. Your parents speak highly of you.”
Clarice turned her back and quickly wiped away her tears from seeing Samuel shake his son’s hand, before she pivoted and addressed the children. “I’m pleased to meet such well-behaved children.” She curtsied, and little Penelope copied her while still giggling.
“Where are my manners?” Mrs. St. George said. “You must be tired from your long journey. Please come in. I had the cook prepare luncheon, hoping you’d arrive soon.”
“Thank you. I hope it’s not an imposition. We have taken rooms in town,” Clarice said as they entered the square house built with cream-colored stone. It was larger inside than she had originally believed, comfortable and clean. The smells coming from the small kitchen she could see at the back of the house smelled divine. A nice place for Reginald to grow up in.
“No imposition at all.” She pointed to a long rectangular table with eight chairs. “Please have a seat. Luncheon will be served.”
“Thank you.” Samuel met her eyes, hesitating on where to sit.
The vicar, noticing their hesitation, offered her a chair. “Please sit here, Mrs. Radcliff. Mr. Radcliff can sit beside you.”
“Thank you,” Clarice said as she sat down and Mr. St. George pushed her chair in. One servant served the food—a thick rabbit stewthat smelled and tasted wonderful. Fresh bread and sweet cream, fruits, and nuts also accompanied the meal.
As the dishes were being cleared away, Clarice leaned toward Samuel and whispered, “Would you please get the gifts from the coach? There are five of them.”
