When Aldridge and Rede joined the ladies, only Anne was left. Aldridge was alarmed to hear that Mama had carried Rose off for a private interview, but by the time he got upstairs Mama was alone.
"I hope you didn't frighten Mrs Darling, Mama," he told her.
But the duchess just laughed, patted his cheek, and told him that he was a naughty boy. "Now off with you, dearest, and let this old woman seek her bed."
"You will never be old, Mama," he told her, loyally.
What had Mama said to Rose? What had Rose said? She must have gone to bed herself, for she was nowhere to be found, and didn't appear again until the duchess was leaving in the morning.
Her Grace went down the line, enfolding each of them in a perfumed hug.
"Take care, now, Anne," she said to the countess. "You must eat wisely and exercise a little each day."
"Let me know if you hear from David," she told Rede. "Jonathan always falls on his feet, but I cannot help but be a little anxious."
She hugged Rose next, and Rose looked as surprised as Aldridge. "Remember, dear," was all she said, ratcheting Aldridge's alarm up another couple of notches.
Aldridge was the last in the line, Her Grace having farewelled the nursery party upstairs. "Do not look so worried," she told him, patting one cheek while she kissed the other. He wished she would stop doing that. It made him feel 12 again. Though knowing Her Grace, that could be the point.
"Relax, dear," she told him. "The world is not on your shoulders. Have a little fun."
Her Grace might be the only person in the world who thought his life wasn't totally devoted to fun. Even His Grace of Haverford, who had off-loaded onto his heir almost the entire work of running the ducal estates, continued to insist that Aldridge was a useless ne'er-do-well with no occupation beyond enjoying himself. Mind you, Aldridge was himself at pains to project that impression.
As he waved off the carriage, he wondered idly how long Rose would be fooled.
Right. Time to bring this long negotiation to a conclusion. With luck, they could be on the road tomorrow, and his promise to Rede did not extend beyond the boundary of Rede's estate.
"Rose," he murmured, as they went back up the steps to the house, "have you made a decision? Are you ready to sign?"
Rede overheard, and held back, letting Anne go on into the house without him. "Mrs Darling has asked me to look over the papers for her, Aldridge. You don't mind do you?"
He was rational enough to realise that he should not mind. If he'd met Rose in London, and she'd had a bit of Town bronze, he'd be dealing with a solicitor experienced in such matters, and would think nothing of it. However much he would prefer his relatives to stay out of his business, Rose had a right to good advice.
"Of course not," he assured Rede. "Rose, I am willing to make changes, of course. But I hope we can settle this today."
Rede looked pointedly at Aldridge's fall and laughed. "This way, Mrs Darling."
Instead of following them into the house, Aldridge crossed the porch to the outside door of the estate office. It opened. Good. On the other side of the room, an internal door let onto the study, and he was able to open it a crack before Rede showed Rose into the other room.
"I've had a look through," Rede said, "and it is a fair contract, on the whole. I would like to make a couple of suggestions, however."
"The contract specifies a nurse for Sarah. I suggest changing that to a governess. Anne tells me that she is a bright little girl. You have been teaching her yourself, I understand, and I expect you will continue to do so. But your time will be at my cousin's disposal, and a governess will provide structure and continuity."
Aldridge nodded. Perhaps Rede's intervention was a good thing.
"Also," Rede continued, "as she grows older, you will want to hire other teachers for particular skills. I suggest you broaden the bit about other teachers for you to include her."
That was fair. Aldridge had no objection to that.
"And I'd write in a clause that says you have the hiring and firing of staff. You'll know best what you want, particularly for Sarah, and you will be more comfortable if they answer to you at least in some respects.
"The town-house. Make sure you have the right to refuse one that is unsuitable, and for God's sake, reserve full control of its decoration. I've seen Aldridge's bedroom in the heir's wing at Haverford House." Rede's voice was redolent of disgust.
"What is wrong with his bedroom?" Rose asked. Aldridge wanted to know, too. He'd spent a lot of thought and effort getting it just the way he wanted it.
"It is clearly designed for one thing, and one thing only," Rede said. "And sleeping isn't that thing."
Yes, true. And none the worse for that, Aldridge thought.
"You don't want your daughter to grow up in a fornicatorium," Rede continued, "if you will excuse my blunt language, Mrs Darling."
"Decoration," Rose said, firmly. "Is there anything else, Lord Chirbury?"
"It is a two-year contract, and if you wish to leave early, you do not keep the house."
"Yes," Rose acknowledged. "That is fair, is it not?"
"Add a clause to say that, if he wishes to dismiss you early, you do keep the house, and also any quarterly payments owed to the end of the term."
Really? Whose cousin did Rede think he was? Still, it was fair enough, and Aldridge should have thought of it.
Rede hadn't finished. "And he has given himself right of renewal after the two years is up. Make that 'renewal on mutual agreement'."
Why this alarm at the thought she might not wish to renew? He'd never kept a mistress as long as two years, let alone longer.
"You've written a note about... er... intimate services." For the first time, Rede sounded a little embarrassed.
"Yes. Aldridge said he would not require... that is to say, I would have the right to... he would not ask..."
"Yes; quite," Rede interrupted. "Mrs Darling, such a clause... it would be unenforceable in law. Property rights are one thing, but the courts would hold that anything Aldridge does to the woman he keeps, short of causing serious bodily harm, is perfectly acceptable."
At that, Aldridge very nearly opened the door. He would never hurt any woman, let alone one under his protection. The idea! But Rede was still talking.
"But you don't have to worry. Aldridge... whatever you've heard about him, he's a good man. I have never known him to break a promise. And I have never known him to deliberately hurt a woman. He's a careless son of a devil, though. Don't give him your heart, Mrs Darling."
"I have no heart left, Lord Chirbury. But thank you."
The two in the study were silent after that exchange. Aldridge sat back thinking about what he had heard. It was a fair warning; his heart, if he had one, wasn't available. He'd cheerfully share the rest of his anatomy, though. One part in particular thought it had waited long enough.
In the next room, Rede said, "One last thing. Your name. The contract should bear your full legal name, though I fully understand your wish to bear a use name while you are active in the demi monde. I think it unlikely in the extreme that you'll need to sue Aldridge, but if anything happened to him, you might end up fighting his father, and you will need all the advantages you can get."
"Let us pray that doesn't happen," answered Rose—or Becky?
Aldridge should have thought of that. He had assumed that Rose Darling was a use name, but he hadn't thought to insist on having her legal name to put on the contract. He had no intention of breaching it, but Rede was right again. Life was a chancy thing, and His Grace would spurn her without blinking an eye. Or insist on taking his son's place in the contract, the old devil.
"Very well, if you have no questions? No? Then we just need a fair copy written, and you and Aldridge can sign in front of witnesses." Rede pitched his voice to carry a little further. "Aldridge? If you've finished eavesdropping, how about joining us and writing out the new copy of this contract?"
*****
She was Rebecca Mary Winstanley. So said the contract, his copy of which currently resided in case of legal papers he carried with him in the carriage. Rebecca. Becky, at least when they were private, though she would continue to use the name 'Rose Darling' in public.
He'd borrowed two carriages, one for him and Becky, and one for Sarah and the maid they'd borrowed from Anne. They would be one night on the road, and he did not intend Becky to spend it looking after Sarah.
Indeed, why wait for an inn when one had a commodious carriage?
With many miles of journey ahead of them, they had plenty of time to explore one another, and he was enjoying a long appetiser to the main event when the carriage drew to a halt not half-an-hour out of Longford.
Becky tucked her exposed breast back into her bodice, and wrapped a shawl to cover the loosened stays, while he buttoned the side of his fall that she'd half released.
Just in time, as a knock on the door disclosed a tearful Sarah.
"Mama, Pansy has been sick all down my dress," the child complained.
Becky apologised as she helped the little girl to wash in a nearby stream and change into fresh clothes. She made sure the travel-sick maid was supplied with a bucket. Aldridge wondered whether Rede knew the maid was subject to travel-sickness, then dismissed the thought as unworthy.
Becky attempted to persuade Sarah back into the carriage. Sarah burst into tears again.
"Bring her in with us," Aldridge suggested.
She looked stricken, and he reassured her, "Don't worry, Becky. We have another two years. We don't have to start right now."
Still, after two hours in the carriage, he called for his horse and rode the rest of the way to the inn where he'd booked a suite for the night, his heart lifting as he reflected that the little girl would be tired and would go early to bed.
He had dinner served in their suite, but went down to the public bar afterwards to let Becky put her daughter to bed, the exhausted maid being asleep on a pallet in the child's room. "I'll give you one hour," he said.
She looked at him through lowered lashes. "I will be in bed when you return, my lord," she murmured, and just like that he was hard as nails again. Still; not long now.
He found a table in a corner and worked his way through the day's satchel of mail. It included a letter from Overton—one that had clearly followed him for several weeks, from London to the house party and back to London before ending in the satchel of duchy business. It was just a brief note saying that Baroness Overton and her baby had died. Poor Overton.
One hour to the dot, he returned up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The suite was silent and dark. He lit a candle from one in the hall, and let himself into the bedroom he'd reserved for him and Becky. "Becky, I'm here," he said.
No reply. She was tired, after spending the day keeping little Sarah amused. He put the candle down on the bedside table and stripped naked, muttering to himself as his fingers fumbled over buttons and laces.
He'd wake her with kisses, then... his mind full of images of what came next, he had one knee on the bed and one hand already reaching for the blanket when a tousled dark head emerged, confused blue-gray eyes blinking at him. "What are you doing in my Mama's bed," asked little Sarah.