CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Kate had passed an uncomfortable night and morning. She was anxious about the note she had sent to Charles along with Alfred Day’s letter, for Amelia had returned to say that his lordship had been out and the message had been left with Mrs. Hardaway. Kate had heard nothing from Charles, so she could only trust that her message had not somehow been lost or fallen into the wrong hands.

But if Kate was worried, Lillie was obviously much more deeply troubled. The morning post had brought a long letter from Suggie de Bathe-not a reassuring letter, judging from the expression on Lillie’s face when she opened and read it at the breakfast table. In fact, she appeared so distressed that Kate thought she might even confide what her lover had written. But at that moment, Jeanne-Marie had come into the room, looking pale and drawn and with an obstinate set to her mouth. She avoided her mother’s eyes, refused to answer her mother’s queries as to her health, ate only a piece of dry toast, and drank only a cup of black coffee. Then she left the room, her back straight as a ramrod, her shoulders expressing her defiance. All the while she had said not a single word.

At midmorning, Lillie invited Kate for a tour of the Regal Lodge stables, where she kept the six or seven horses that were not in training with Jack Robinson in Wiltshire. Jeanne-Marie was twice summoned to go with them. She came downstairs at last and followed along behind Kate and Lillie, but while her mother was lively and vivacious, pointing out the merits of one horse and remarking on the difficulties of another, the girl resolutely said nothing. She did not even reply when Lillie made a great show of giving her a filly named Princess, to take back with her to Jersey. She was silent at luncheon, too, and while Kate made every effort to speak naturally, what little conversation there was seemed forced and awkward.

In the drawing room after luncheon, Lillie flung herself onto the sofa. “What am I to do with that horrid child!” she exclaimed petulantly. “I have apologized as well as I can, offered all the amends I can think of-even given her a horse of her own! And yet nothing satisfies her, nothing at all! What can she want of me?”

Kate felt such a deep surge of indignation that she was struck momentarily dumb. That she could not bear children was a great and lasting heartache, and the idea that a mother could deny her maternity and then wonder why the child was unhappy almost took her breath away.

“I think,” she managed at last, in as even a tone as possible, “that your daughter wants nothing but your public acknowledgment.”

“Acknowledgment!” Lillie cried vexatiously. “If that’s what the child hopes for, she will be sadly disappointed, for that is exactly what I cannot give her!”

“But why not acknowledge her?” Kate persisted. “It can no longer be a matter of Edward Langtry’s possible intervention in Jeanne’s life. And she is no longer a child-she would enjoy accompanying you on your tours. Surely-”

“It has nothing to do with Jeanne, actually,” Lillie said in a sulky tone. “The truth is that Suggie’s father is making a tremendous row about us, and poor Suggie is feeling utterly besieged on all sides. Discovering that he’s about to inherit a stepdaughter only a few years younger than he might tip the balance in the wrong direction. And it would certainly give his father more ammunition with which to snipe at me.” She sighed discontentedly. “It’s not as if there aren’t plenty of eligible young women madly flinging themselves at Suggie,” she added, with an unconscious emphasis on young. “They all want to be Lady de Bathe.”

“I’m sure you love one another,” Kate remarked, “but is it all that important to be married? You can support yourself without leaning on his social distinction, such as it is. Surely, a woman of your experience of the world-”

“Dearest Beryl,” Lillie said, with the patient air of one explaining something to a small child. “Marriage is not at all important-in fact, it usually gets in the way of satisfying one’s needs and deepest desires. And indeed I can support myself, and I intend to. I am not interested in the de Bathe money, not a bit of it!”

“Well, then,” Kate said, “why not claim Jeanne-Marie and let Suggie go. Surely-”

“Marriage is not important,” Lillie said, “except in this instance. Marriage to Suggie offers me something I want much more than mere money. It offers me social distinction, a title, respectability. I love Jeanne-Marie, but she must be content with our little deception until I am safely married to Suggie. Then I will joyfully tell the whole wide world that she is my daughter.” She spread her arms dramatically. “I will publish it in the Times, if she wishes, or proclaim it from the stage, if that will satisfy her! But for now-”

“No, Aunt Lillie,” a voice said, clear and firm. “You will never publicly acknowledge that you are my mother. I forbid it.”

Kate turned. Jeanne was standing in the drawing room doorway, dressed for travel, with a valise in one hand. Her face was pale, but there were two spots of color in her cheeks, and she had the look of a lioness.

“You don’t mean that, Jeanne,” Lillie said softly, holding out her hands. “Come to me, ma petite chérie. We will kiss and make up and everything will be right again.”

“No!” Jeanne flung the word, fierce with indignation and pent-up anger, at the woman on the sofa. “I am going back to Jersey, where I at least know who I am. I will make my appearance in court, since His Highness has so kindly arranged it, but you are forbidden to attend. And I forbid you to claim me as your daughter. Do you hear? Never!”

“But I want to acknowledge you, Jeanne!” Lillie cried shrilly. “I want it so desperately! It is my deepest, truest heart’s desire. But the world doesn’t give us what we wish for, and we must be practical. I want-”

“You want to be Lady de Bathe far more desperately than you want to be my mother,” Jeanne broke in. “Out of the thousands of lies you have told throughout your life, that, I believe, is the single truth.” Her voice was strong and measured, her eyes magnificently defiant. “So now I repudiate you. Do you hear that, Aunt? You are not my mother and never will be. I repudiate you!”

And with that, she turned away, picked up her valise and was gone. A moment later, the crunch of wheels was heard in the drive.

Lillie’s eyes were full of what Kate hoped were genuine tears. “Oh, dear,” she said brokenly. “Have I lost her forever? Tell me, Beryl-have I lost her?”

Kate could not answer that question. The natural bond between daughter and mother was incredibly strong. But if a mother refused to acknowledge her child, how could she expect to claim that child’s love? And perhaps it was better for Jeanne, after all, to learn to stand strong in her own right and for herself, rather than hoping against hope that her mother would declare who she was.

For a few moments, Lillie sat quietly, the tears streaming down her face. Then she took out a handkerchief and began to dab at her eyes. “I am sure Jeanne will think better of this in a few days,” she said. Her voice became more firm as she continued: “She will see that as a stage actress I cannot do a great deal for her, or make her life easier in any important way. But as Lady de Bathe, I can help her to make an excellent marriage. In fact, I already have my eye on one or two young men, friends of Suggie’s, who would be very fine candidates. One of them will inherit a baronetcy. The other has strong investments in-”