I’d seen enough children in London born weak of limb or eye or brain. Sometimes their families kept them in the circle of their lives, teaching them, feeding them, loving them. Others were dumped on orphanages or locked away in madhouses. “Where is this child?”
“In a cottage on our estate, cared for by a childless couple. They’re very good to him. They can give him time we can’t with our busy lives and our trips to London.” She sniffed and looked around her. “We seem to have passed the hyacinths.”
We had. After we turned back, I asked, “How did Drake learn of this child?”
“The boy was near death last year. The woman wrote to me, thinking I should know. I foolishly kept the letter. It disappeared after an event last season.”
“How was the blackmail threat delivered?”
“In person. Here in the park. I let him think I had to raise the money from my housekeeping allowance, but in truth I told the duke. He gave me the money for Drake’s silence, but he blames me for the blackmail, the child, everything.” For a second, I thought she’d dissolve into tears. Blinking furiously, she pulled herself together as she glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention to us.
Everyone was too busy enjoying the day. Noise droned in the background as children shouted, nannies gossiped, and carriages were pulled by neighing, clopping horses. We could have been completely alone.
The duke was a coldhearted fathead for making his wife suffer the separation from her child, even if he was willing to overpay me for a volume for his antiquarian collection. And I was to blame today for her grief, because I had to dive into her pain. “Drake still has the letter?”
She nodded.
“And is still demanding money?”
“Money and invitations.”
That surprised me for a moment, but it made sense. The more places Drake was invited, the more places he could rob. “Has anyone seen him at an event in the past week?”
“Few social events have occurred lately. I haven’t received any demands for money, either.”
“Was the child born ten years ago, when you didn’t come to London for the season?”
“Yes. The duke said I was ill, but I was awaiting the birth of the child. Our other children were grown or nearly so, and the pregnancy was difficult. The doctor told us not to hold out much hope for a successful conclusion. I prayed he was wrong, and we’d be able to show off our little surprise. One look at the baby when he was born, and I knew he could never be part of a duke’s family. How I prayed for him to die.” She looked at me with sad eyes. “That sounds hard, doesn’t it?”
“I can’t judge what it’s like to be married to a duke.” I could, however, judge the duke, and I did.
“The couple who take care of him have been with us for a long time. I regret to say they take better care of him than I would, since they’re simple people and can love him.” She drew a shaky breath. “I visit them when we’re at the estate. He thinks of me as the pretty lady in the big house. The duke has never seen the boy—”
“His son,” I corrected.
She nodded. “His son, David, preferring to call the husband to his estate office if he needs to talk to him.”
I’d spent enough time with her sorrow. “What do you want the Archivist Society to do, Mrs. Watkins, or should I say, Lady Merville?”
She sighed. “You knew Watkins is our family name?”
“Yes.”
“Retrieve my letter from Drake and give it to me. Sir Broderick knows the duke will pay well for its return.” She looked down at where we’d stopped. “You’re right. The hyacinths are lovely.”
Perhaps it was the word “duke,” or perhaps the unbowing glamour of the hyacinths, but my mind immediately went to Blackford. “How many people in London know your secret?”
She flinched. “No one.”
“Not even the Duke of Blackford? He and your husband appear to be political allies and friends.”
“He’s the duke’s friend, not mine.”
“You don’t like him.”
“No. He’s a fine man. If one of my daughters had wanted to marry him, I’d have had no objections. It’s his half sister I don’t care for.”
“Do you know Lady Margaret well?”
“No one knows Lady Margaret well. My older daughter was good friends with Victoria Dutton-Cox—and the stories she told me! Terrible. Lady Margaret was ungracious when it would have been just as easy to be courteous to the other girls.” Lady Merville shook her head. “Do you know, she once threw a figurine when she didn’t get her way.”