She had acquitted herself magnificently. He had been poised to intervene from the moment Hitching set foot inside the salon but had not needed to do so. He had watched her with admiration and pride—and an uneasy feeling that she was far more courageous than he would ever be. She had run in the past, it was true, most notably last year when she had first got wind of the possibility that Muirhead was not her real father. And she would have avoided coming back to London if she could this year. But she had come. And now she had come here.
Ralph had not thought beyond the meeting with Hitching, however. He had assumed that the marquess would himself undertake to speak with his wife and daughter and sons. Yet here they were, on their way to meet the women of the family.
Hitching opened a door at the head of the stairs.
Three people—not two—looked toward the doorway, and all three looked suddenly startled to see that the marquess was not alone. One was a plump, square-faced older lady with florid complexion and dark hair turned mostly to gray. Behind her chair stood a young man who had her dark coloring while in features and build he resembled Hitching. The young lady who sat on a love seat was fashionably dressed in russet brown, a color that emphasized the vivid redness of her hair and the green of her eyes.
She did not really look like Chloe after all, Ralph thought. Her face was narrower, her mouth smaller, her eyebrows straighter. She was not as beautiful despite the fact that last year, according to George, she had been known as the Incomparable. He was partial, of course. And she was noticeably younger than his wife. There was enough of a resemblance, however, to account for the rumors that had sprung to life last year.
“My dear,” Hitching said, stepping to one side and addressing the older lady first, “Angela, Gilly, allow me to present the Duke and Duchess of Worthingham. My wife, my daughter, and my eldest son,” he added, turning to his visitors.
Viscount Gilly’s fingers closed about the handle of a quizzing glass though he did not raise it all the way to his eyes. His mother sat very still. Lady Angela Allandale tipped back her head and fixed Chloe with an arctic stare along the length of her nose.
“How do you do, ma’am.” Ralph bowed to the marchioness as he advanced farther into the room, one hand firm beneath Chloe’s elbow. “Lady Angela? Gilly? I hope we have not interrupted you at an inconvenient moment. It seemed to my wife and me, however, that we really ought to call on you privately, and the sooner the better, since it is almost inevitable that we will meet in public very soon.”
“How do you do, ma’am,” Chloe said. “I do assure you that I intend you no harm or embarrassment. Quite the contrary, in fact. I have a family of whose members I am dearly fond and have no intention of making any claim on another. My only wish is that we can all agree to meet in public without stirring the gossip mill again. It is what we must all wish.”
Ralph did not release her elbow. They were not offered seats, for which fact he was relieved.
“I will never be able to meet this woman in public, Mama,” Lady Angela said, not taking her eyes off Chloe. “How could she dare set foot in this house? Why would any servant admit her? And how could Papa bring her up here?”
Lady Hitching ignored her daughter.
“How do you do, Duchess, Duke?” she said with awful civility. “I am quite sure I will always treat any member of polite society I may meet outside my own home with the good manners expected of a well-bred lady. And within my own home too when such persons are presented to me by my husband. I have raised my daughter to do likewise. You will forgive her, I trust, for the uncharacteristic outburst occasioned by your unexpected appearance in such a private apartment of our home. As for my sons, the younger two as well as Gilly have been raised by their father to behave as gentlemen under all circumstances.”
She was, Ralph thought with not a little admiration, a formidable lady. This must be a dreadful moment for her, but she had somehow taken command of it with a great deal of dignity.
Viscount Gilly, with little choice but to live up to her description, inclined his head stiffly and let his glass fall on its ribbon.
“Perhaps, my dear,” the marquess suggested to his wife, “you would ring for a tea tray? Perhaps our guests—”
“Oh. No. Thank you,” Chloe said hastily.
“We will bid you a good morning, then,” the marchioness said. “Duke? Duchess?”
The marquess led the way back downstairs. He nodded to the footman who had admitted them earlier, and the man opened the front doors. The marquess accompanied them down the steps to their waiting carriage and touched Chloe for the first time. He took her right hand in his and raised it to his lips.
“He has been good to you?” he asked her. “Muirhead? Your papa?”
She stared at him until he released her hand and smiled ruefully.
“But of course he has,” he said. “I remember him from all those years ago as a decent sort. I am sorry you inherited my coloring, Chloe. It would have been better for you if you had never known the truth. Better for me too, perhaps. Now that I have met you, I wish I might know you better. But it will not happen, will it? I wish you well. I will always wish you well.”
She nodded briefly and turned toward Ralph. He handed her into the carriage, turned impulsively to shake Hitching by the hand, and followed her up the steps. He took her hand in his as the coachman shut the door and climbed back to his box.
“I hoped that I would dislike him quite intensely,” she said as the carriage moved forward—she did not look toward the window, though Hitching raised a hand in farewell.