Margaret hurried downward, but Sir Graham had already taken his wife in his arms, looking pained. "If you would just let Sheringford /talk/, Ethel," he suggested, "perhaps you would be put out of your suspense a little sooner." Toby, Margaret could see, was clutching fistfuls of Stephen's hair and was trying to duck down behind his head. His eyes were frightened again. "They were going back to London, I assume, Mama," Duncan said, "or to the devil for all I care. Meet Toby – Tobias Duncan Pennethorne, my son and Maggie's. I will tell you the whole story later, after you have rested and had some refreshments." "Grandpapa," Margaret said to the marquess, "let me take your arm." He was leaning heavily on his cane. He was looking fierce, but his complexion was gray-tinged with fatigue. "Hmmph," he said, and he looked at Toby with a ferocious frown.

Toby was making small wailing sounds, and Stephen's hands had gone up to hold him protectively by the waist.

The Marquess of Claverbook was feeling about in the pocket of his coat with his free hand. "What the deuce is this poking into my ribs and rubbing them raw?" he asked of no one in particular.

Toby's eyes were riveted upon him.

He pulled something out of the pocket and held it up between his thumb and forefinger. "A shilling," he said. "Deuced uncomfortable thing. Here, boy, you had better take it from me. Spend it wisely on some sweets." And he took a few steps closer and held it up to Toby, who hesitated for only a moment before releasing his hold on one clump of Stephen's hair and closing his hand about the coin. "Tobe?" Duncan said softly. "Thank you, sir," Toby said. "Can I buy sweets, Papa?" "Tomorrow," Duncan said.

Margaret took the old gentleman's arm and turned him in the direction of the stairs. "Come up to the drawing room," she said, including Sir Graham and Lady Carling in her invitation. "You will be ready for a drink before going to your rooms to change for dinner. Oh, how /very/ pleased I am that you came. I do hope you will stay for a good long while." "Hmmph," the marquess said. "I would give my kingdom for a cup of tea," Lady Carling said. "Not that I have a kingdom to give, of course, but I am parched. Oh, Margaret, do let the child come to the drawing room too. I do not care what Graham says about how inappropriate my raptures over him are. I am quite determined to know him and to love him and spoil him quite atrociously." "In all fairness, Ethel," Sir Graham said, "you must admit that I have not said a great deal on the subject yet. I have not been given the opportunity." Margaret glanced at Duncan, and they smiled at each other. "How many sweets will I be able to buy, Uncle Elliott?" Toby was asking. "Enough," he said, "to tempt your mama and your nurse to insist that they be kept on a very high shelf and doled out in small amounts over the next month or two. And we all know that /that/ is no way to enjoy sweets. If I were you, I would hide them away in a secret hiding place before they can get their hands on them, and pick away at them whenever you please." "Oh, Elliott!" Vanessa protested. "Meg will be forbidding us the house." Toby was shrieking with helpless giggles. His terror was forgotten, though it would, Margaret supposed, reappear in his nightmares for some time to come. They would deal with it, she and Duncan. Just as they would deal with the fact that he would forever be illegitimate and different from any brothers and sisters he might have.

And eventually he would learn to deal with life himself.

Life was never perfect.

Only love was.

25

SOME days were so uneventful that a week later one could not recall a single thing that had happened. Other days were crammed so full of events that it was impossible to believe that so much living could be packed into twenty-four hours.

Today, Duncan reflected at the end of it, had been the latter sort of day.

He was feeling drained, both physically and emotionally, by the time everyone had retired for the night. So was Maggie. She had looked quite exhausted all evening, in fact. Both her sister and his mother had tried – without success – to persuade her to have an early night.

And even now, when it was close to midnight, she was not in bed. Neither was he. In fact, they were not even inside their home. They were seated on the riverbank, where they had picnicked earlier before all the excitement and activity began.

They sat with their backs to a thick tree trunk. The water rippled darkly past them and lapped against the bank. The leaves overhead rustled in the cool breeze, which was welcome after the heat of the day.

A night owl hooted some distance away.

Duncan felt relaxation seep into his bones. At the moment it meant as much as sleep.

Toby was safe. They were all safe. His family and Maggie's knew the whole truth, and incredibly none of them were scandalized at the presence of the child in his nursery – even though Tobe was not in reality his son at all but the product of incredible ugliness. Duncan's mother was quite determined, despite those facts, that she would be his grandmama. And his grandfather had somehow managed to fish a shilling out of his coat pocket.

Duncan had felt embarrassingly close to tears when that had happened. "I wish," Maggie said, reaching for his hand in the darkness of the night and clasping it in hers, "you did not have to appear the villain in all this yet again, Duncan. I wish everyone did not have to believe that you and Mrs. Turner were lovers even before you ran away together." "But it must be what people have always believed," he said. "Why would we have eloped if we were /not/ lovers, after all? Nothing has changed.

And it is very old news. The recent discovery that there was a child of our illicit union has doubtless titillated a few fancies, especially when it seemed he might have been Turner's. But Turner's repudiation of him will soon put an end to that speculation. All will be forgotten again soon enough." "I just wish," she said, "you might have been vindicated in the end. I wish people might know the truth." "About Toby?" he asked, turning his head to look at her.

She was silent for a while. "About you," she said. "But one could not be known without the other, could it?" "Life is not perfect," he said. "It is one thing one learns in thirty years of living, Maggie." He watched her smile. "No," she said. "Life is /not/ perfect. Will you shield Toby from the truth all his life, Duncan?" He sighed. "No," he said. "He would surely find out. Too many people know the truth, after all, and someone would be sure to think it a fine thing to tell him. I will let him know about his birth when he is old enough to deal with the knowledge, and when he is secure enough in my love and yours not to have his sense of self destroyed by it. We can love him and love him, Maggie, but only he can live his life. Just as only we can live ours." "There is no happily-ever-after, is there?" she said. "Would you want there to be?" he asked her. "Would not life be horribly dull? I would rather aim for happiness." "Happiness?" she asked, turning her face to look back at him. "When everyone will think the worst of you?" "Oh, not everyone," he protested. "All those who are nearest and dearest to me know why I did what I did – both five years ago and this year after Laura died. Sacrifices must sometimes be made, Maggie. And sometimes they bring with them blessings that far outweigh the suffering they caused. If I had not run off with Laura and scandalized the /ton/, I would not have known and loved Toby And I would not have met you. Or if I had, it would have been too late – I would have been married to Caroline." "Would that have been so dreadful?" she asked him, her voice soft and surely wistful. "Not meeting me, I mean?" "Yes," he said. "It would have been the most dreadful thing of all. I would have missed the whole point of my life. I would have missed the reason for my existence. I would have missed the love of my life. I might have known what it is to love, for there are people in my life whom I /do/ love and always will. But I would never have been /in/ love.