“That is a good plan. We will say we married at Gretna Green.” He paused then snapped his fingers. “No, that would make it sound hasty. We will say that you visited me at my estate in Southampton, I obtained a special license, and we were married in my family parish.”
“Very well, but what if anybody should ask to see the record?”
He turned his whole body toward her. “I know you may not like this next part, but it is crucial for our plan to work. We must make it true. We must get married. The vicar at my home parish is a good man, and I think if I explained the situation to him, he would be willing to help us. Perhaps even enter the date of our supposed marriage in a suitably ambiguous way in the ledger so that it will appear as though we really did marry a year ago.”
“You would ask a vicar to lie for you?” she said, genuinely startled by this.
“Not lie. But perhaps if we simply ask him to make the nine in 1819 look slightly more like an eight, he would not be entirely opposed. Especially if he hears that Arabella is involved. He baptized her, after all, and me. After her parents died, he was such a comfort to her. Always supporting her and me. And when my parents died, he was our greatest supporter.” He paused then, and a shadow crossed his face.
For the first time this evening, it became apparent to Clara that he was afraid. He was afraid for Arabella. She reached out, balancing the baby with one arm, and placed her hand briefly on his forearm. His skin was warm beneath her glove, the fine hairs pressing through the thin material.
“She is clever,” she said. “She has always been clever. I am certain that she will be quite all right. She knows how to look after herself, and she knew that the two of us would care for her child. Or that I would, anyhow, since she did not involve you.”
“No,” he said. “She didn’t. I cannot believe that she didn’t at least leave the baby with me directly.”
“She couldn’t have. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. If you suddenly had a child in your care, it would have been very hard to explain.”
“I suppose,” he said quietly. “So are we in agreement? We are going to get married?”
She shook her head. “This must be the least romantic proposal a lady has ever received.”
Despite everything, the two of them laughed.
“Yes,” she said at last. “But you will have to explain it to my parents.”
“I will,” he replied. “Come morning, I will. I imagine they will not be too displeased, seeing that their daughter is now a duchess, and there is a little heir already.”
She nodded. “What will we do when Arabella comes back? She will want her child again, and everyone will think he is ours.”
He shook his head. “I do not know, and I do not have the capability at this very moment to think of every explanation. For the time being, all we can do is think about right now.”
Clara worried at her lips, another thought nagging at her. She didn’t want to say it out loud, but it seemed he had already figured it out.
“You worry for your reputation and for your future,” he said. “And I am sorry that this will rob you of the opportunity to marry a man you love. I want you to know that I am not opposed to annulling the marriage or even obtaining a divorce once Arabella is back and reunited with the child.
“There will be ways to explain things. I would settle a handsome jointure upon you, and I imagine your father will want to provide a dowry which will also be yours. You will not lack financially, and I will help you start over elsewhere. If you wish to go to the continent, I will help you. If you wish to go to the new world, I will help you. If you wish to weather the storm here, I will take all the blame for the eventual demise of our marriage.”
“You would do all this for me?” she said.
He blinked. “I would do all this for my cousin, who was like a sister to me, and for her son.” He paused. “And for you of course. I have known you since you were a child. You are?—”
He said nothing further but looked out of the window. “I simply want to make things right for everybody.”
Silence settled upon the carriage as they left London and made their way toward Brixton where the Lynden estate stood.
“He will need a name,” she said suddenly. “We cannot continue to call him the baby.”
“He has one. His name is Horatio.”
“After her father,” she said with a small smile.
“Yes. His middle name is David, after mine. She regarded my father almost as her own since he took her in when her parents died.”
Clara nodded. There was a strange sense of peace about having the baby in her arms.
“I suppose we should call him David. Horatio is an unusual name, and if we name him so, people will ask why we would name our child after your uncle who has passed when your own father is also gone. It makes no sense.”
He nodded. “You have always been sharp, Clara. And of course, you are right. David it is.”
